The Things I Know(94)
I know that Mum and Pops are going to enjoy the retirement they deserve.
I know my brother is coming home.
And I know that I’m going to New York, where I will drink cworfee, and then I’ll come back to this farm, and to the man I love.
I know I will give him my answer on the question of marriage and I know I will be Mrs Grayson Potts and life will be . . . It will be wonderful.
EPILOGUE
Grayson stood in front of the flat rock in his heavy work boots and threw stones, trying to skim the surface of the water, which shone with the diamonds cast by the warm summer sun.
‘You’re really terrible at that, Gray,’ Thomasina said, laughing.
‘I know, but practice makes perfect!’ He lobbed another round pebble, which sank straight down.
‘But you’ve been practising for nearly two years and you’re not getting any better.’
‘Stop with all the encouragement!’ He laughed and took up his place on the folded tartan rug by her side.
‘I just tried to cross my legs and assume the gnome-on-a-lily-pad pose to make you laugh, but there’s no chance,’ she said with a sigh.
He reached over and ran the flat of his hand over her enormous bump. ‘I can see why – you’re a pregnant gnome on a lily pad.’
‘I’m an enormous pregnant gnome on a lily pad!’ she yelled.
‘So come on – names!’ he said, kissing her stomach.
‘Oh God! Not the names conversation again!’ She let her head flop forward. ‘I think we should wait and see what it looks like and whether it’s a boy or a girl.’
‘Okay, but we should at least have a vague plan. How about Reggie?’ he suggested brightly.
‘As in Reggie, the shoeless murderer?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, no way!’ she shrieked. ‘Definitely not. How about Eva or Joan?’
‘No, no way!’ His reply was instantaneous.
‘Actually, talking of which, we ought to be getting back. It’s nearly two.’ She pulled a face and he nodded with a reluctant sigh.
‘Don’t be nervous.’
‘I can’t help it.’
He joined hands with her and kissed her palm. This was what they did for each other: they provided safe harbour and confidence. ‘Come on, Buddy! There’s a good boy!’ he called out, and their faithful dog leapt to heel.
‘Sometimes I think you love that dog more than you love me!’ She beamed.
‘Not true. I love you equally,’ he joked as they made their way up the twisting lane, past the paddock, towards the field where her parents were now happily ensconced in their brand-new cottage, complete with wood-burning stove and, of all things, a large jacuzzi that took up most of their bathroom. The new building sat neatly on its generous plot within a drystone wall, lovingly constructed from rocks gathered by Waycott hands of generations past – a link to their ancestors and the farm they held dear.
Jonathan, as farm manager, lived with Shelley in a similar cottage on the other side of the wall when they were not abroad, touring with her latest exhibition. Thomasina could only think of Shelley’s art with enormous pride. Soon to be her sister-in-law, her globetrotting friend and her fabulous new tits dashed from country to country, with Jonathan in tow when the farming calendar allowed. A whole wide world away from pulling pints behind the sticky-topped bar of the Barley Mow . . .
Thomasina laughed, recalling a conversation with her mum, who had explained that Shelley’s work wasn’t quite to her taste.
‘I mean, I don’t know why she doesn’t paint something pretty like a flower or a cow, something I can actually recognise! I know they sell for a lot of money, but Pops and I put her pictures in the closet and then, when she and Jonathan visit, we swap out our Ikea prints and put hers up in their place.’
‘What would you do if they just turned up one day, Mum, and you weren’t expecting them?’
‘Oh good Lord!’ Her mum seemed unsettled by the thought. ‘I’d have to shut the front door and tell them to hang on a minute while I made the switch!’
It made her laugh. Her parents had certainly taken life down a gear but, despite having retired, they could still be found weeding flowerbeds or feeding animals, just at a slower pace and with the freedom to slope off for a soak in the jacuzzi when the fancy took them. The other difference was that her mum now often wore a nice frock over her jeans and work boots.
She, Jonathan and Grayson had made sweeping changes in the two years since they had taken over the farm. There was now an on-site farm store selling fresh produce and meat, as well as flowers, poultry supplies and local crafts. There was also a café and a wedding barn. The newly built studio within sight of the river was where Thomasina held workshops on chicken rearing, and beyond the paddock sat an encampment of luxury yurts. Further along still lay the glamping fields, just as they had done in her imagination for a number of years. This was where repeat guests such as the Arbuckles came to stay each year with their ever-expanding brood, who liked to make a fuss of Mr Chops, the guard pig, who still roamed the lane, and marvelled at the sights of the early morning when the sun hit the wide, sweeping bend of the River Severn and it looked for a second as though the water was on fire.
Waycott Farm was thriving, owing largely to the investment from Grayson and an incredible team which included Mrs Reedley and her daughter, Julie, who with a small army of helpers ran the kitchen garden, café and store. It was also down to Jonathan, who had a knack of knowing where to invest on the farm. True to his word, yields had increased. Thomasina also took pride in knowing she played her part, working as hard as ever, but also certain that, if she hadn’t found her voice, it would be a Buttermore sitting in front of the fire in the snug of an evening. The very idea was unthinkable.