The Things I Know(72)
‘Probably, but if you look at the wider picture, it’s only the fourth day I’ve taken off ever. I’m never sick. I think the issue might be that I’ve disappeared again without notice. They like things to be planned, requested. But life doesn’t always work like that, does it?’
‘It really doesn’t.’ She considered this. ‘How are things going to work out for us, Grayson? How do I get to wake every day by your side when you’re based in London and your mum is so . . .’ She didn’t have the words. ‘And even if she didn’t hate me, I can’t imagine living in that little flat with you both.’
She felt him shift beneath her as he moved up the bed and leaned back against the headboard. ‘Things need to change for me – for us.’
‘They do,’ she agreed, knowing that recognition of this was half the battle. ‘What was it like with your mum after I’d gone? Did she say anything?’
‘She said lots of things. Not that I paid any attention.’ He pushed his long fringe behind his ear.
‘She hates me.’
‘She hates everyone, just about. She hates the wicked world that has done her wrong. It’s all nonsense, of course. She’s just a mess and she drinks too much to see things clearly. And the alcohol and her distorted view are the linchpin to everything.’ His sigh was loud and came from a place deep within.
‘I don’t know what the solution is, Grayson, but I know we have to find one, because I’m not going to be satisfied with anything other than this every day. This in tandem with me branching out – who knows, even teaching!’ she said with a laugh. ‘This is what will make me happy and I want it all! And the big difference is, for the first time ever, I actually feel that I can have it.’ She reached up to kiss his face and, as the two sank down on the soft, soft mattress, she again felt herself slip into another world where nothing mattered more in that moment than the feel of this man’s skin and his mouth kissing hers.
Grayson sat at the table while Thomasina fried eggs and bacon. She noted the soft slant to his shoulders as he read the Gazette, and the way he hummed as if all was right in his world, and she understood, feeling a lot like humming and singing herself with the overwhelming sense of relief.
‘I think today we should spend a bit of time with the girls – they’d love to see you – and then we could walk to the flat rock with Buddy, hang out, maybe take a picnic lunch, some warm soup in a Thermos? Would you like that?’
‘I would,’ he said, looking up from the newspaper.
‘Look at us, planning a picnic before we’ve even had breakfast,’ she said, laughing.
The back door opened and her mum came in. She took up a seat at the table, smiling at her daughter briefly then looking away, as if the knowledge they shared was almost too much.
‘Morning, my lovelies. How did you sleep?’ Her manner was a little flustered.
‘Good, thank you.’ Thomasina felt her chest flutter with embarrassment, figuring her mother was probably aware that Grayson had been by her side, although, at some level, she was glad. For her it was a clear and open statement that she was no longer the child they often treated her as: she was a young woman, with a future that might just lurk outside the walls of Waycott Farm, and with a man like Grayson Potts by her side. Me, a teacher – an expert!
‘Well, I’m glad someone slept well. Pops and I stayed up talking until God knows when, chasing things around and around, trying to make sense of it all, working out how we go forward, talking about the sale of the farm and the things you said about Emery. It doesn’t feel nice knowing there’s a split in the family.’ She gave a weary sigh. ‘And I keep thinking of how I used to run back and forth from the school if we even got a sniff of someone being mean to you.’
Thomasina looked up sharply; this was something she’d not been fully aware of.
Her mum continued, ‘And we would nip it in the bud, and yet, all the time, my own nephew, the boy we have tried to help . . . We feel like we’ve let you down.’
‘No, you didn’t, Mum.’ Thomasina walked over and crouched down by her mother’s side, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘You and Pops are and always have been great with me. I love you both.’
‘Oh, my girl, you wonderful woman – how we love you.’
To be called a woman meant more than Thomasina could express. It was an admission, a recognition of all the changes that had recently taken place within her.
Grayson stood and took her spot at the range, using the abandoned spatula to turn the crisping bacon and push the mushrooms deeper into the shiny fat.
‘You’re a good man, Grayson.’
She watched him turn to smile at her mum, who, in her roundabout way, had just given him her blessing.
‘You say that’ – he smiled – ‘but I think I’ve made a bit of a mess of this.’
Her mum stood to look at Grayson, who held the skillet with the burnt bacon in it out for examination.
‘We’ll make a farmer of you yet, son,’ her mum chuckled, ‘and the first thing you need to learn is how to cook bacon.’
It was a golden day, one Thomasina would remember; the air tasted full of possibilities. It started with Grayson having his cookery lesson at the range as her mum taught him the intricacies of frying in an aged skillet: the importance of fat temperature, heat control and moving things around the pan. He seemed to really enjoy it, and Thomasina could see it was not only the actual lesson but the feeling that he was being entrusted with something – understanding, as she did, that to be welcomed into this country kitchen, the beating heart of Waycott Farm, was akin to being welcomed into the family.