The Things I Know(76)

‘I don’t know – I like this fresh air!’ he said with a shrug, and she wished he could better articulate his thoughts.

‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘if my dad takes the Buttermores’ offer and sells the farm, we’ll all be doing something different. But I don’t fear it; in fact, I’m starting to think it might be quite exciting.’

‘The Buttermores?’

‘Yep, Tarran and his dad with their flash farm and flashier cars. Idiots, the lot of them, as you just saw. They’re the ones who’ve made the approach to buy Waycott. They’ve been sniffing around for years, and we’re running out of options. I think not having Emery around to work with my dad might be the final straw. But d’you know what, Grayson?’ She took a deep breath, like someone galvanising herself for the battle ahead. ‘Getting rid of him and gaining freedom from worry for everyone, as well as giving me the chance to do my own thing – it just might be worth losing the farm. And I never thought I’d hear myself say that.’

She parked in the yard and reached over, plucking the wellingtons from the rear seat. ‘Here you are, Mr Potts, your very own boots – better than those lace-ups.’

‘Thank you. I love them – I really do.’

‘You all right, Grayson?’

‘Yes,’ he said, swallowing. ‘I’m just thinking of how to start. I want to say something, but I want to get it right.’

She placed her hand on her heart. ‘Just tell me – it’s nothing bad, is it?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re scaring me a bit,’ she whispered. ‘I think the world of you and I still can’t believe you like me back. I keep thinking that, at any minute, you will see me like everyone else does and run away, and even the thought of that makes my heart hurt. I picture you by my side, in my chicken-expert van!’ she added, in an effort to lighten the mood.

‘I want to be by your side in the chicken-expert van.’ He smiled at her and she felt her insides leap with joy!

They jumped down from the cab and Grayson stepped into his wellington boots, leaving his shoes in the footwell. He stood taller and walked with confidence, reaching out for her free hand. They now walked along the lane with the picnic basket, tripping along the twists and turns of the rutted path as they made their way down to where the River Severn bordered the land.

‘The thing is, Thomasina . . .’ he began.

‘The thing is what?’ She giggled nervously, still thinking, in spite of his reassurances, that this state of happiness was too good to be true. She was waiting for the sting in the tail, the dark consequence, the sledgehammer to fall, which would shatter their happy state into fragments of regret.

It turned out that neither of them had to wait too long.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the phone in his pocket rang.

He glanced at the screen. ‘It’s my mum.’ Seemingly in no mood to talk to her, he ignored the call. With peace restored, he again reached for her hand.

‘The thing is, I want to ask you—’ The phone again broke the peace.

She looked towards his pocket. ‘Maybe you should get it?’

‘No. She’ll only want to shout or cry or both, and I don’t want her voice and her demands to dilute this.’

Again the phone fell silent and he smiled at her. Her heart beat quickly and she sensed that what might be coming was a proposal. Her spirits lifted at the very thought.

‘I want to ask you—’

The third ring in succession made them both jump.

‘Shit!’ he cursed, and let go of her hand.

‘It’s okay,’ she soothed, as he brought the phone to his ear.

She could hear the high and low notes of a woman’s voice, a lot like his mum’s but with the slightly deeper rasp of a roll-up addiction giving each word a sandpaper-like quality.

‘Auntie Joan, what’s wrong? It’s okay – calm down. You’ve got me now. What’s happened?’

Thomasina watched the rise and fall of his chest as he held the phone. The colour drained from his face as he stood with her on the banks of the river in their special place.

‘I’m . . .’ He looked up at Thomasina, who had heard, if not the details of the exchange, then certainly the tone of it. She stood with her knuckles pressed into her mouth.

‘I’m on my way. Try to stay calm. I’m on my way.’

He looked down at his feet, encased in his new wellington boots, which had taken no more than a hundred steps. ‘I’m on my way.’

I know I feel mentally free of Emery.

I know that Grayson Potts loves me.

I know that I love Grayson Potts.

I know we are heading to London, as his mum is very ill.

I know it doesn’t make me a very nice person, but I keep thinking how angry I am at her for robbing us of this happy time. We are just getting started with so many plans – and now this.

I know I will never tell that to a living soul.

I know these thoughts make me feel quite ashamed.





THIRTEEN

Grayson seemed to be operating on autopilot, distracted and tense from the moment they jumped down from the Subaru at Bristol Parkway.

She had kissed her dad.

‘Bye, Pops. And thank you . . .’