The Things I Know(64)
‘Ah, that’ll be Mr Chops, guard pig extraordinaire!’ It made her smile, thinking of how Grayson had said this first.
‘I loved him!’ The petite, dark-haired Mrs Arbuckle beamed, and continued, in her beautiful Glaswegian accent as she cut into her bacon, ‘Such a smart, noble creature!’
‘Can we book ahead for next year?’ Mr Arbuckle enquired hopefully. ‘We’d like to bring the grandkids – we have quite a clutch!’
‘Actually, I’m not sure.’ The reality of the farm sale flared in her stomach. ‘The farm might be for sale and I don’t know if bed and breakfast will be on offer, but I can keep your details and either pass them on or let you know?’
‘That would be grand, thank you. How can you stand to leave this beautiful place?’ he asked.
Thomasina looked around at the ornaments and bric-a-brac gathered over the years by the women in her family. While leaving would be hard, maybe the bungalow for her parents wouldn’t be so bad, not when Thomasina would be living a different life, one she’d chosen and not one she’d been born into. For the first time ever, it felt within reach.
‘Life moves on, I guess,’ she said with a smile.
‘I guess it does,’ Mrs Arbuckle acknowledged, loading up her fork.
Swishing back into the kitchen, Thomasina put plates of bacon and eggs on the table for her parents and Emery before resuming her humming as she began doing the dishes.
The lovely Arbuckles had left a little while ago and the room had been stripped and cleaned. Her day was flying by fast. The animals were fed and mucked out and the vegetable beds weeded and mulched. She decided to forgo lunch and instead make a start on supper – one less job for later. With a steady hand and a song in her heart, she piped the top of the shepherd’s pie with creamy mashed potato and set the Pyrex dish on top of the range, ready to be browned.
‘What’s for lunch?’
She turned sharply, not having heard Emery come in.
‘Whatever you find in the fridge, I guess.’ She was damned if she was going to cook just for him. She stacked the saucepan and utensils into the deep sink and ran the hot tap.
‘I work hard for this family, and the way you treat me—’
‘The way I treat you?’ She spun around, cutting him off with passion in her words. ‘Jesus Christ, Emery! You might have Mum and Pops fooled, but I’m on to you.’ Her words and reaction were offered without the filter of self-protection that normally shaded her exchanges with him. On this occasion she spoke her mind with her guard down and her confidence high.
‘Is that right?’ He laughed.
‘Yes! You think the way you treat me is funny, but it’s not. I’m not here for your sport.’
‘No, but you’re game – or so Tarran was telling everyone in the pub the other night. He said you were well up for it.’
‘There you go again!’ She paused to draw breath. ‘Only you make me this feel this way and it’s not fair. I hear you coming into a room and I get a sick feeling in my stomach. How is that right?’
‘You need to be less sensitive.’ He reached for the milk jug from the fridge and poured himself a glass, quaffing it quickly.
‘No, you need to lay off! I don’t even ask that you’re nice to me – we are way past that. I just want you to leave me alone.’
‘Get over yourself, Hitch. I don’t give a shit about you or what you want!’
She shook her head at the case in point and found her voice. ‘Do you know, Emery, you’ve been so horrible to me my whole life! Every memory I have of you is one where you’re calling me names, teasing me,’ she said, swiping furiously at her falling tears. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him and yet here she was, her weeping almost overwhelming now in response to those memories. ‘Nanny and Grandpa were only in the snug and you called me Tard, Fuckwit and . . . and Rabbitmouth.’ It was hard for her to say it out loud. She saw the smile slip from his face. ‘And them names have stayed with me. I think about them in every new situation – when I have to face someone, when I go into a shop or walk down a street. You don’t think it was hard enough being me without you giving me horrible names to think about? The farm was my refuge, but whenever you were around I lost that, and here you are! And you cosy up to Mum and Pops because you think you can get control of the farm.’
‘Well, it’s not like your golden-balls brother is going to be around, is it? He’s not coming back and so what’s your Pops going to do? Leave it to you?’
‘No, Emery. No, he isn’t. As he said, he’s going to sell it to the Buttermores and they will finally have this house, and you know what? I’d rather they had it than you. At least it will just be business, fair and square, but you’ – she straightened her shoulders as her tears subsided – ‘you don’t deserve it. You’ve been a total shit to me and I never deserved it. I was just a little girl! A little girl with way enough on her plate!’ They came again, those darn tears.
As if in tune with her distress, Buddy came in from the dining room and barked loudly, then began to growl: a low, deep, rumbling sound that suggested he was primed and ready to defend the girl he loved.
Emery looked at the dog, slammed the glass on to the table and turned on his heel.