The Things I Know(59)

She spun around. ‘Is it common knowledge then, the offer?’ She felt a little anxious at how fast things seemed to be moving.

‘Well, I don’t know about common knowledge, but it’s moving forward, for sure. The lawyer in Bristol called me, told me it’s the Buttermores who made the approach.’

‘Well, that’s no surprise.’ She sighed. ‘But no, I didn’t hear anything about it, Pops. Is it a serious offer, is it what you were expecting?’

‘’Bout as serious as they come.’ He tweaked the edge of the newspaper.

‘Anyway, I didn’t really hang about in the pub.’ She took a breath and spoke with confidence. ‘I was only there for one night. I went to London.’

‘London?’

‘London!’

Her parents shouted in unison. It made her laugh.

‘Yes, London! Christ, it’s not the moon!’

‘Yes, but London.’ Her dad tutted. ‘Terrible place, full of crowds and noise, where folk scuttle like mole rats underground – t’ain’t natural!’

‘It’s London, only a couple of hours away, really.’ She smiled, thinking of the stinky stairwell, Grayson’s narrow bed and his awful, awful mother.

‘Well, get you, Miss Cosmopolitan!’ her mum said, chuckling. ‘London! I don’t know, whatever next? New York?’

‘Oh God, I do hope so!’ Thomasina took a chair at the table, a little pleased now that the atmosphere was conciliatory and that Emery was nowhere to be seen.

‘So where did you stay, as if we need ask?’ Her mum mumbled the last bit.

‘Yes, I stayed with Grayson. And it was lovely to see him again.’

‘Did his people make you welcome?’

Thomasina snorted. ‘Not exactly. He lives with his mum and she’s . . .’ She blew out through pursed lips, recalling the woman’s venomous manner. ‘She’s a proper handful.’

‘Really, and him being so quiet?’

‘I know. I reckon it’s because he can’t get a word in edgeways!’ In her jest lay more than a kernel of truth.

‘But it went well, did it, love? He was nice to you, was he?’

Her mum’s pained expression tugged at Thomasina’s heart strings. It was nice to be loved and, having spent time with Ma Potts, she knew just how much, but still she felt the weight of the suffocating blanket of love around her shoulders, and she’d only been home for a few minutes . . .

‘We spoke to Jonathan yesterday,’ her dad said, steering the conversation in a different direction. ‘Had a long chat about everything.’

‘How is he?’ She took a chair at the table, grateful for the immediate and familiar cup of tea in her hands. Buddy lay across her feet, anchoring her to the place, as if asking her never to leave him again. She touched his ears.

‘He was thoughtful, you know, quiet – it’s a lot to take in – but he listened to what I had to say and he agreed,’ her dad offered in summary.

She was confused. ‘Agreed to what?’

He shifted in the chair. ‘Are you not listening to me, Thomasina? I told him about the call from the lawyer. The offer! What d’you think I called him for, to talk about the weather?’

‘Sorry, Pops. I didn’t realise we were at “offer-accepting” stage. I feel like it’s happening a bit fast.’ She sat up straight. ‘And you know, I’d like to talk about it too. I want to be fully informed. It’s not just Jonathan’s life that will change.’

‘We know that, lovey,’ her mum interjected.

‘But also, I don’t want you and Mum to be rushed or feel pressured. You are going to think about it all carefully?’

‘It’s all I can think about, love.’ He bit his lip. ‘Yes, it’s all moving quite fast, and you’re right, you should know what’s going on and the situation we’re in. After all, you’re a grown woman.’

She felt the bloom of something warm in her gut. These words from her dad felt a lot like progress, an acceptance that she’d quietly yearned for.

He tapped the table with his working man’s fingers. ‘The truth is, things are . . . things are tough. More so maybe than your mum and I have let on.’ He glanced at his wife and Thomasina felt her presence as an intrusion to the current of intimacy that flowed between them. It made her think of Grayson and she felt a burst of longing for him.

‘How tough exactly?’ She took a sip of the strong brew in her mug and pushed the soles of her boots against the flagstones, steeling herself. It wasn’t easy to hear that her beloved parents might be suffering.

Her dad swallowed and looked towards the window, then the door – anywhere, she noticed, other than her face.

‘We are . . . we are struggling, love, and I can’t . . .’ He stopped and sighed, as if the words carried a physical weight he did not have the strength to bear. ‘I’m tired. Your mum is tired, and it would be one thing to work as hard as we do and enjoy the rewards, but there are no rewards. It’s never-ending. The early starts in all weathers, the late finishes . . . I’ve lived with one eye on the clock my whole life – my whole life,’ he said, letting this sink in, ‘always alert to the next task waiting for me, and now I want a rest.’ He nodded, as if this was it in summary, the point of the discussion. ‘I want a rest and I want to be able to buy your mum a new frock.’