The Things I Know(79)

‘Welcome back!’

Her sisters crowded over her. But it was the sight of her son that made her tears pool. She pawed at the plastic mask that covered her nose and mouth, pulling it down to her chest, gasping for breath. ‘My boy . . . I knew you’d come. I knew you would. I knew . . .’ Her breaths were quick and shallow.

‘It’s okay, Mum. Just sleep – rest now.’

‘I was . . . I was so frightened,’ she cried again, her words coasting on stuttered, distress-fuelled breaths.

‘’Course you were!’ Joan boomed.

‘Lying there all alone on the floor like that, ’course you were frightened!’ Eva shot Thomasina a look, as if it were her fault that he had been otherwise engaged.

She watched as Grayson seemed to shrink in their presence. It was as if their words, reminders of his abandonment, were a blanket that smothered him, leaving him gasping for breath and wordless. It was as ridiculous as it was bloody unfair.

Mrs Potts looked at her briefly and her eyes narrowed in the way she remembered. Thomasina felt torn. Part of her wanted to turn and run, all the way back to her soft bed in Austley Morton, the bed with a dip in the middle and the creaky springs, and part of her wanted to pull Grayson to her, to get him away from these women and never let him go.



It was late when they got back to the flat in the domino block, odd to find it in darkness and so quiet. She didn’t notice the graffiti or the wee smell on the stairs, or even the syringes. Tiredness and an aching body meant she didn’t notice much, other than the empty chair by the window with the empty wine bottles gathered around it, standing guard in a row. Thomasina and Grayson went straight to bed, forgoing the opportunity to fry something up in the kitchen. His lesson at the farmhouse range that morning was now nothing more than a dim and distant memory, and to mention it, something so frivolous as eating supper, felt churlish in the face of what was occurring.

Thomasina’s stomach rumbled nonetheless.

Overcome with fatigue, they fell awkwardly on to the narrow mattress in his sad bedroom. Grayson buried his head in the pillow and reached out to smooth the soft length of her hair as though it were a comfort blanket for him, and she liked it, liked his need of her. It made her smile.

‘I don’t know how my mum will cope in hospital overnight. She was pretty upset when we left.’ He slurred his words like a drunk.

‘She’s in the best hands,’ she mumbled, yawning.

Thomasina pictured the woman’s tearful face, pleading for him to return first thing in the morning. He had, of course, promised. And she’d felt a jolt of nausea at just how much Mrs Potts controlled him, this followed by a sharp mental rebuke: For goodness’ sake, Thomasina – the woman is very ill!

‘Oh shit!’ Grayson lumbered into a sitting position. ‘I need to tell work. I only had another day as planned absence, but I think I might need more.’ He fired a text off to his boss.

MR JENKS. MY MUM IN HOSPITAL. HER HEART. WILL TAKE FORMAL LEAVE. THANK YOU. GRAYSON.

The reply was immediate and unexpected.

SORRY TO HEAR THAT. TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED. SENDING YOU OUR VERY BEST.

The words were a relief and the final incentive he needed to fall asleep. They lay spooning, his arm over her stomach anchoring her to him and with the welcome weight of his thigh over her leg. She paid no heed to the heckling shouts to flats above and below from the concrete car park or the wail of sirens . . . Grayson was right: it was an urban lullaby – this was her last thought before she fell into a deep, deep sleep . . .



‘How’s Grayson’s ma?’ her dad asked with a note of concern.

‘Well, she’s awake, and so that’s something,’ Thomasina informed him as she knelt on Grayson’s bed and looked out of the window at the little train creeping along the bend of a track in the distance like a toy.

‘Good, good, and how’s the boy himself doing?’

‘He’s bearing up, Pops. It’s hard for him, but we were so tired last night we slept like logs. Should know more this morning. We’re heading off to the hospital in a minute.’

‘Righto, righto. Well, rest assured, all is okay here. Thurston Buttermore called me to say he’s taken Emery on as labour, just wanted to let me know, which was decent of him, and Mrs Reedley has popped up to lend a hand this morning and your chickens are all fine. I told them you’d had an emergency. And Buddy is right here, aren’t you, boy?’

She felt a flash of love for her birds and her pup.

‘I’ll be home soon as I can, Pops – love you . . .’



Standing at the end of Mrs Potts’s bed when they arrived was a young doctor in an open-necked shirt and with the confident handshake of a person certain of their place in the world. In that respect, he reminded her of Jonathan.

‘Your mum has been telling me all about you. I’m just glad my mother isn’t here, or I’d be in trouble – you’re setting the bar way too high.’

‘I’m not sure about that.’ Grayson looked at Thomasina, knowing that she’d borne witness to his mother’s dismissal of him and her sniping, which left him feeling worthless.

His mum beamed, as if complimented.

‘You have a bit more colour in your cheeks, Mum.’

‘Yes, a lot better today. Did you stay over last night?’ she asked Thomasina directly, with an undercurrent of disapproval that was strong for one so close to death’s door.