The Things I Know(82)

‘You need to call him,’ Shelley told her plainly when they bumped into each other in the lane by the pub. ‘You need to call him and tell him how you’re feeling because, right now, it’s like you’re . . .’

‘In limbo.’ Thomasina finished the sentence.

‘Yep, you’re right there. And you look like total shit.’

‘Thanks, Shelley. I feel like total shit.’

‘You look like you did that night when you turned up with your dead chicken and put her in my bath!’

It was testament to her friend’s good humour that Thomasina managed to raise a smile. Shelley took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Call him and get this sorted one way or another.’

‘Maybe I will.’ She found it hard to explain her reluctance, how she felt torn. She knew at some level that she did not want to have the conversation that might change them, end them – didn’t want to have to admit that to have this half-hearted, semi-interested boyfriend might actually be better than not having him at all, because she loved him. But at the same time the fire in her belly grew, and with the sale of the farm creeping ever closer, change, whether she liked it or not, was afoot.

‘Maybe you should. You’re worth more, Thom.’

She smiled at the affectionate nickname. Friends.

‘You’re worth more,’ Shelley reiterated, ‘and if he can’t see it, then he’s a dick.’

‘He’s not a dick, not really, just a bit weak.’

‘Aren’t they all? Which then begs the question, do you actually want to be with someone like that?’ Shelley trod the butt of her cigarette under the heel of her boot. ‘Oh, and by the way, I took your advice.’

‘What advice?’

‘About my painting. You were right – I am brilliant at art. I’m drawing wonderful things, and just doing it makes me feel happy!’

Thomasina saw the way Shelley’s face came alive, and she envied the bubbles of joy that fizzed from her, knowing this was how she felt when she pictured a future with herself in the driving seat. Shelley was right: she was worth more!



Standing in the paddock, she cradled Little Darling to her chest, cooing as she stroked the hen’s soft, feathery head with her finger. ‘What d’you think, little birdie? Should I call him?’ Little Darling wriggled and tried to flap her wings. Thomasina placed her gently back in the run and took it as a sign. She walked to Big Barn and sat on the sofa, where Buddy lay sprawled. Easing his head to make a gap, she sat down and liked how her pup placed his muzzle on her thigh.

‘Okay, Buddy, I’m going to do this.’ He closed his eyes in supreme indifference as she picked up her phone and tapped out the number. She exhaled sharply, like an athlete preparing for the final push.

‘Thomasina.’

It spoke volumes that she was equally delighted and unnerved that he had answered. It was hard from the one word to guess his mood, but she did not feel the flutter of yearning at the sound of him longingly uttering her name, not like she used to. She knew that, when she first met him, Hitch would have crumbled at the thought that he might be a little indifferent, but Thomasina, with her new-found strength, who knew she was worth more – well, she was as much irritated as upset.

‘Hello, Grayson.’ She cursed the rise of a lump in her throat that made it hard to speak. ‘I wanted to talk to you. Is now a good time?’ She tried to keep her voice steady.

‘Yes. I’m lying on my bed looking at the ceiling.’

The image of the two of them smiling and kneeling beneath the roughly plastered ceiling as they looked at the city lights below brought a crushing pain to her chest. It had felt so perfect, as though they could take on the world, and of all the futures she had envisaged for them, this separation and coolness was the furthest from her imaginings.

‘How’s your mum doing?’

‘Good. I’m back to work and she managed today with no problems. She’s napping now.’

‘Good.’ Again that gaping, loud pause. She felt the quake of nerves. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and again she tussled with the thought that maybe it was better to let things drift, to keep an iron in the fire, just in case . . . But then she thought about Pops, who very soon was going to hand over the keys of his beloved farm to the Buttermores, and she sat up straight, knowing that sometimes, no matter how hard, it was right to take a stand, to make a choice and go with it. ‘This is hard for me to say, Grayson, but I will do my best. I think this might be the last time I contact you. I can take a hint.’

‘No, don’t say that,’ he said urgently. ‘It’s not that—’

‘I . . . I don’t understand what’s happened.’ She cut him short, knowing she needed to keep talking or her confidence would evaporate. ‘I keep thinking how things were so lovely, and then after your mum got ill everything changed, and I thought it would all blow over, that the world would spring back into shape, but it hasn’t.’

‘It’s not that easy for me. You know that. She’s demanding, and she—’

‘Yes, yes, I know all of that.’ She was unwilling to listen to what sounded more like excuses than reasons. ‘But there comes a time, Grayson, when you have to make a stand, make a decision. You have to chase life, and you said to me on the lane, when I told you about wanting change – you said, what are you going to do about it? And I guess I’m asking you the same question now – what are you going to do? I feel as if we’re slipping, and I believed you when you said we were solid, but I don’t want to hang around like this, feeling like an afterthought. I’m worth more.’ She borrowed Shelley’s phrase.