The Things I Know(91)
‘It is a lot.’ He too looked down towards the water, across the green pastures of Waycott Farm. ‘What does Jonathan say about it all?’
‘He’s gutted. We text and stuff, but it’s hard to tell him exactly how I feel and how I think it will affect us all when I don’t really have an alternative to offer. I know it will just make him feel as bad as I do, and what’s the point of that?’
‘I must say that, for someone who’s planning her own business, setting goals and taking control, you seem to be letting the place slip through your fingers a little more easily than I would have expected. I know that, if my dad had wanted to, he’d have fought for me. And if you really wanted to keep Waycott, you’d fight for it too.’
She stared at him, feeling a flare of defence at his words, which were both direct and hurtful, but they also stirred something within her. ‘Well, that’s easy for an outsider to say. And just by saying it shows me you don’t understand the situation. Not at all!’
‘Well, I don’t want to be an outsider and maybe I understand it more than you think. Maybe you’re just riled that you say you’re in control but, actually, you’re not. Maybe going to New York is a diversion from what really matters – maybe you’re looking for happiness in the wrong place?’
As Thomasina caught her breath, considering his words, her mum yelled from Big Barn, ‘Hey, Mr Potts! You’d better get these on!’
She turned to see her mum holding up Grayson’s wellington boots, the ones without the frog-eyes.
‘It’s all very well standing there chatting away, but there’s work to be done! Chickens are knee-deep in shit!’ her mum said, tutting, and threw the wellingtons on the ground.
Thomasina watched as Grayson went off to retrieve the present she’d bought him, just because.
How do I fight for it? How can I do that? The questions raced around and around in her mind. The answers, however, were a bit slow in arriving.
‘Do chickens have knees?’ Grayson asked as he leaned on the wall of Big Barn and put the boots on his feet.
The sound of the tractor came over the field and into the paddock, and her dad came to a halt. ‘Hello there, Mr Potts! Just in time for a cup of tea, and a slice of cake if we’re very lucky.’ He spoke matter-of-factly, as if they had last seen each other yesterday. ‘And I’m very glad you’re here – I have news!’ he said with a wink.
Pops jumped down from the tractor cab in an almost sprightly fashion, and the four made their way into the kitchen. Thomasina couldn’t deny that it was lovely to have Grayson here again, in the heart of the home where he’d learned to cook bacon. It reminded her of the comfort that lay in being part of a couple, something she’d almost forgotten. She liked the way her parents welcomed him in with ease, as though he’d never been away, as though he was part of the family . . .
With mugs of tea in their hands and crumbs of fruit cake littering the table, Pops coughed to clear his throat.
‘The lawyer chap called when I was down on the riverbank.’
‘Oh?’ Her mum sat forward with her hand at her mouth, knowing this was either confirmation that the sale was nearly done or that something disastrous had happened.
The anticipation was almost unbearable. Thomasina held her breath.
‘He told me that all the paperwork had been received and there were no further queries and we’ll sign over the farm in four weeks’ time.’ She watched as her dad reached across the table and took his wife’s hand in his. ‘And then, my lovely, we’ll go to Ikea and look at all the things we might want for our new home, and on the way back we’ll stop off at that Cribbs Causeway mall and we’ll get you a new frock!’
‘I don’t need a new frock,’ she said, shaking her head, her face contorted with barely contained emotion, ‘especially if we’re moving into a caravan while the new house is being built – but I wouldn’t say no to a couple of new cake tins.’ She beamed. ‘Thought I might pass the old ones on to you, Thomasina. For safekeeping.’
Thomasina smiled at her mum, knowing that the gesture was so much greater than the mere handing over of some slightly rusting cake tins.
‘Is it . . . is it too late, Pops?’ she said quietly, unsure of what she needed to say or how to say it.
‘Is what too late, my darlin’?’
‘Is it a done deal with the Buttermores, or can we still pull out?’
Her dad laughed and sat back in the chair with a wrinkle to his brow, as if he were unable to think of a single reason why, at this late stage, they might want to. ‘Well, it’s not too late until I sign to exchange the contracts, and that’ll happen next week, God willing.’
‘Can you give me a few days, Pops?’
‘A few days for what, love?’ her mum queried.
‘I’m not sure,’ she levelled with them. ‘I just want a few days to think about everything, and I need to know you won’t sign or move things forward while I do that. Is that possible?’ She fixed her eyes on her dad.
He nodded and looked helplessly from her to his wife and Grayson, as if he were the only one who might not understand what was going on. Thomasina noted that her mum shared the same vexed expression, but not Grayson. Grayson gazed at her calmly with something that seemed a lot like pride.