The Things I Know

by Amanda Prowse

‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ Thomasina yelled. This was not how she had seen the lovely meal ending.

  ‘Yes, just stop it, Change Purse!’ Emery pretended to lunge at Grayson across the table and he flinched.

  ‘You’re a bastard, Emery!’ he yelled. ‘I know how you’ve taunted her throughout her whole life, and it stops now! I know how shit it feels to listen to the crap people like you spout, just because it makes you feel a bit better, but I also know I’d rather be on the receiving end than have your brain and your nature. You are nothing!’

  ‘Is that right? Look at you – who the fuck are you?’ Emery fired.

  ‘Language, Emery!’ her dad yelled again, a little louder this time. ‘I will not have it in my house!’

  The younger men ignored her dad and Thomasina felt rooted to the spot.

  ‘I know who I am, faults and all, and I know I am someone who would never taunt a person with words so cruel they cut her. That’s what you did to her!’ Grayson again spoke directly.

  ‘You’d better watch your back, mister.’ Emery snorted like a bull.

  ‘I’m not scared of you,’ Grayson said, looking him in the eye. ‘And if I’m not scared of you, what do you have left?’

  Without warning, Emery grabbed his plate and hurled it towards Grayson, who ducked, leaving the plate free to hurtle through the air and land with an ear-splitting crack against the tiled wall behind the range. All five watched, shocked and with hearts hammering, as shards of floral china, meat, veggies and thick gravy slid down the wall, landing with a hiss near the hotplate.

  ‘Oh no!’ Mrs Waycott whimpered.

  Thomasina yelled out, ‘Holy shit!’

  ‘What in the name of God is going on here?’ Her dad stood and drew himself up to his full height. ‘This is my home! My dinner table! And this is not how you behave! It’s not fair and I will not tolerate it!’ It was an uncharacteristic outburst from this usually most demure of men. ‘How dare you two argue like this, and how dare you throw food, break china in this kitchen! It’s a disgrace! You are a disgrace!’ His voice shook with an unfamiliar undercurrent of rage.

  ‘Grayson’s right, Pops – he is a bastard, and I wish I’d told him that years ago!’ Thomasina piped up. ‘It’s my home too and there have been many times, because of him’ – she pointed at Emery – ‘that I wanted to be anywhere else, and that’s not bloody fair!’

  Emery looked from her to Grayson with a smirk. ‘I’m leaving before I do something we’ll all regret! But this isn’t over, you freak – not by a long shot!’ Emery spat the words at Grayson and glared at Thomasina before reaching for his coat and cap and heading back out into the darkness, slamming the door on the way out.

  Grayson pushed his plate away and she knew that, as with her, his appetite was now non-existent. Her mum rinsed out a cloth and tended to the sticky brown splash on the wall.

  Her dad stumbled back into his seat, a little overwhelmed by the exertion. ‘What in hell just happened? Good Lord, I have never known the like!’

  Thomasina wasn’t sure if he was addressing her or Grayson. Both of them, probably.

  Grayson looked at her dad and her heart flexed for him. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at your nephew in your kitchen.’ He looked at the barely touched plate of food in front of him. ‘I was just so angry.’

  ‘So I noticed.’

  ‘It’s not his fault, Pops,’ Thomasina said in his defence.

  ‘I think everyone just needs to calm down,’ her mum added from the range, looking at her husband over her shoulder in concern, trying to calm the situation.

  Thomasina saw Grayson examine his hands and curl his fingers, in an effort to steady them, she thought. He then sat up straight in his seat.

  ‘Well, I’m not sorry,’ she stated, all eyes now on her. ‘I’m not sorry I stood up to him. And I’m not sorry that Grayson wants to stand up for me.’

  ‘Are you hearing this?’ her dad said in exasperation, addressing his wife and daughter. ‘I don’t understand: one minute we’re having a nice dinner and the next . . .’ He shook his head.

  ‘You know, Pops, Emery has upset me, impersonated me, laughed at me. He’s said and done some really terrible things, and I mean it, it’s not bloody fair.’

  ‘But’ – her lovely dad was struggling with the information – ‘he’s your cousin! Known you his whole life, like another brother.’

  ‘He is not like another brother!’ she corrected, thinking of Jonathan. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘But he’s been living here under our roof . . . Is it true, Hitch – Thomasina?’ he corrected himself, looking from his wife to his daughter and back again, as if hoping someone was going to help him figure out the puzzle, understand what in hell was going on. ‘Has he been mean to you?’

  ‘It’s true, Pops.’ She kept her voice steady, her stance firm. ‘He’s been disgusting to me. It’s not the gentle ribbing you think it is, not like with me and Jonathan, who love each other. Emery makes me feel like less than a person.’

  ‘How does he do that, love?’ Her mum stopped scrubbing and leaned on the range, giving her daughter her full attention.

  She looked at her parents and she whispered the word still shameful on her tongue. ‘Since I was six, he has called me rabbitmouth and other things . . .’

  Her dad made a small sound, as if he’d been winded, and again there were a few seconds before he spoke. ‘Oh, love. Why – why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you say something?’

  Thomasina looked back into her lap and her voice was soft. ‘Because, as you say, he’s kin, and I know things are hard enough. I know you need the extra pair of hands and—’

  ‘Extra pair of hands?’ Her dad’s voice had gone up an octave. ‘I’d rather let the whole bloody place go to rot than let anyone treat you badly. Your mum and I have done all in our power to protect you, to look after you, and he comes into our home and is horrible to you? I feel so stupid – I did think it was just affectionate ribbing between the two of you. I mean, I know you used to bicker, but . . .’

  He looked at his wife, who shook her head, as if lost for words.

  ‘Me too,’ admitted Thomasina’s mum. ‘The way you moaned about him, I thought it was the way you always told a tale on Jonathan. Of course I would have listened if I’d known it was anything more! You should have said something.’

  ‘I did say something. I told Grayson.’ Thomasina spoke plainly.

  ‘Yes, you did.’ Her dad sat back in the chair. ‘And here we are.’

  ‘I love her,’ Grayson announced, reaching for her hand across the table. ‘I think she’s pretty perfect.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Her dad smiled at them both briefly before rising slowly from his chair.

  Thomasina watched as he walked around the table to place his hand on Grayson’s shoulder. It was a moment of tenderness she would never forget, a shoot of something good growing up through the dark soil of new beginnings.

  ‘You know what, Mr Potts?’

  ‘What?’ Grayson asked a little sheepishly, looking up at the older man.

  ‘I like the way you care for my daughter and, for the record, I happen to agree with you. I think she’s pretty perfect too.’

  She slept fitfully in his arms. Adrenaline from the previous day and a jump of joy in her limbs meant she watched the sun rise through the window she’d cleaned countless times while Grayson ran his fingers through her hair. She knew that this was the most perfect way to spend any night: by his side and in his arms while the tall cedar tree tapped its nosy spikes on the windowpane and the sun filtered through its wide branches.

  ‘I’m in this bed with you.’ She spoke dreamily, her head on his chest and her arms about his waist.

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I think it would be nice to wake up like this every day.’

  ‘Me too.’

  She felt the inevitable bolt of joy at hearing him echo her own thoughts and marvelled at how easy it was to be in this other world, where life felt kinder and
every thought was tinted rose with optimism.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ she said with a yawn.

  ‘Surprisingly good. A little embarrassed by the scene we caused, but I think your parents have forgiven me.’

  ‘They have.’ She kissed him. ‘And I’ve been thinking about what you said, about maybe it being the right time for me to think about education.’

  ‘What would you like to do?’ he asked, with such solemnity it only reinforced her thoughts that this could actually be possible.

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but I was thinking of something to do with chickens.’

  ‘Chickens?’ This time there was a hint of levity in his tone.

  ‘Yes! What do I love the most? Chickens! Who do I spend most of my time with? Chickens! I’m a bit of an expert.’

  Grayson twisted free of her grip and lay facing her now, with his head propped up on his arm. ‘Of course, there’s another way of looking at things.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you’re right in what you say – you are an expert, so instead of learning more about chickens, how about you teach other people about chickens?’

  ‘Me? A teacher!’ She laughed, partly at the absurdity of the suggestion, but also with joy at the very idea. ‘Who would I teach?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He seemed to consider this. ‘But you have a love of them and a lot of knowledge to pass on. There’ll be a way . . .’

  She lifted her head and looked at him. His words were so simple and yet so heavy with the possibility of a new and different life that could be hers. She just needed to figure out how . . .

  ‘Did Emery come back to the farm last night?’ His voice was now not quite so assured.

  ‘I didn’t hear him, but even if he did, I feel as if I can stand up to him now and so I don’t really care.’

  ‘That’s right. We won’t let him get away with anything.’

  ‘We . . .’ she smiled. ‘I am part of a “we”!’ She rolled on top of him, kissing him on the face and burying her head in the space beneath his chin. ‘You’re going to get in trouble again, Grayson, aren’t you, missing work because of me?’

  ‘Probably, but if you look at the wider picture, it’s only the fourth day I’ve taken off ever. I’m never sick. I think the issue might be that I’ve disappeared again without notice. They like things to be planned, requested. But life doesn’t always work like that, does it?’

  ‘It really doesn’t.’ She considered this. ‘How are things going to work out for us, Grayson? How do I get to wake every day by your side when you’re based in London and your mum is so . . .’ She didn’t have the words. ‘And even if she didn’t hate me, I can’t imagine living in that little flat with you both.’

  She felt him shift beneath her as he moved up the bed and leaned back against the headboard. ‘Things need to change for me – for us.’

  ‘They do,’ she agreed, knowing that recognition of this was half the battle. ‘What was it like with your mum after I’d gone? Did she say anything?’

  ‘She said lots of things. Not that I paid any attention.’ He pushed his long fringe behind his ear.

  ‘She hates me.’

  ‘She hates everyone, just about. She hates the wicked world that has done her wrong. It’s all nonsense, of course. She’s just a mess and she drinks too much to see things clearly. And the alcohol and her distorted view are the linchpin to everything.’ His sigh was loud and came from a place deep within.

  ‘I don’t know what the solution is, Grayson, but I know we have to find one, because I’m not going to be satisfied with anything other than this every day. This in tandem with me branching out – who knows, even teaching!’ she said with a laugh. ‘This is what will make me happy and I want it all! And the big difference is, for the first time ever, I actually feel that I can have it.’ She reached up to kiss his face and, as the two sank down on the soft, soft mattress, she again felt herself slip into another world where nothing mattered more in that moment than the feel of this man’s skin and his mouth kissing hers.

  Grayson sat at the table while Thomasina fried eggs and bacon. She noted the soft slant to his shoulders as he read the Gazette, and the way he hummed as if all was right in his world, and she understood, feeling a lot like humming and singing herself with the overwhelming sense of relief.

  ‘I think today we should spend a bit of time with the girls – they’d love to see you – and then we could walk to the flat rock with Buddy, hang out, maybe take a picnic lunch, some warm soup in a Thermos? Would you like that?’

  ‘I would,’ he said, looking up from the newspaper.

  ‘Look at us, planning a picnic before we’ve even had breakfast,’ she said, laughing.

  The back door opened and her mum came in. She took up a seat at the table, smiling at her daughter briefly then looking away, as if the knowledge they shared was almost too much.

  ‘Morning, my lovelies. How did you sleep?’ Her manner was a little flustered.

  ‘Good, thank you.’ Thomasina felt her chest flutter with embarrassment, figuring her mother was probably aware that Grayson had been by her side, although, at some level, she was glad. For her it was a clear and open statement that she was no longer the child they often treated her as: she was a young woman, with a future that might just lurk outside the walls of Waycott Farm, and with a man like Grayson Potts by her side. Me, a teacher – an expert!

  ‘Well, I’m glad someone slept well. Pops and I stayed up talking until God knows when, chasing things around and around, trying to make sense of it all, working out how we go forward, talking about the sale of the farm and the things you said about Emery. It doesn’t feel nice knowing there’s a split in the family.’ She gave a weary sigh. ‘And I keep thinking of how I used to run back and forth from the school if we even got a sniff of someone being mean to you.’

  Thomasina looked up sharply; this was something she’d not been fully aware of.

  Her mum continued, ‘And we would nip it in the bud, and yet, all the time, my own nephew, the boy we have tried to help . . . We feel like we’ve let you down.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, Mum.’ Thomasina walked over and crouched down by her mother’s side, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘You and Pops are and always have been great with me. I love you both.’

  ‘Oh, my girl, you wonderful woman – how we love you.’

  To be called a woman meant more than Thomasina could express. It was an admission, a recognition of all the changes that had recently taken place within her.

  Grayson stood and took her spot at the range, using the abandoned spatula to turn the crisping bacon and push the mushrooms deeper into the shiny fat.

  ‘You’re a good man, Grayson.’

  She watched him turn to smile at her mum, who, in her roundabout way, had just given him her blessing.

  ‘You say that’ – he smiled – ‘but I think I’ve made a bit of a mess of this.’

  Her mum stood to look at Grayson, who held the skillet with the burnt bacon in it out for examination.

  ‘We’ll make a farmer of you yet, son,’ her mum chuckled, ‘and the first thing you need to learn is how to cook bacon.’

  It was a golden day, one Thomasina would remember; the air tasted full of possibilities. It started with Grayson having his cookery lesson at the range as her mum taught him the intricacies of frying in an aged skillet: the importance of fat temperature, heat control and moving things around the pan. He seemed to really enjoy it, and Thomasina could see it was not only the actual lesson but the feeling that he was being entrusted with something – understanding, as she did, that to be welcomed into this country kitchen, the beating heart of Waycott Farm, was akin to being welcomed into the family.

  The breakfast things were scrubbed and put away and the bed turned down, and now, with the basket packed in readiness for their promised picnic at the flat rock, Thomasina raced outside to meet her beau. She watched him idle on the flint wall as he tapped his
phone against his palm. It was nice to watch him unobserved, see the tension gone from his shoulders and the way he jerked his head to flick his long fringe. Gone was the nervous finger push through his hair. He breathed deeply, throwing his head back and taking in great lungfuls of the clean air under the big, clear sky. Having spent time as one of the ‘mole rats’ in the grubby Underground, she understood his need to do so. He even clicked his fingers, calling to Mr Chops, who, as usual, patrolled the lane, snuffling around in the grass verge. She liked the fact that Grayson Potts was within reach on this cold yet sun-filled day. What more did she need?

  He was right: they could not be satisfied with anything other than this, every day. It sounded so straightforward when she thought about the big picture, but the truth was that any change would need careful planning on both their parts. She was more than ready for the challenge, knowing the reward was great. Only that very morning while she packed the picnic basket, she had had one brilliant idea of how to start bringing her dreams to fulfilment . . . She patted the card she’d written out that morning; it lay in her pocket like a precious thing.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ she called out. ‘You look miles away.’

  Grayson looked up sharply, as if he hadn’t heard her approach, and hopped down from the wall. ‘I was.’

  Buddy skittered to a halt in front of him and pushed his muzzle into his leg, demanding the affection his mistress gave so freely. Grayson petted him.

  ‘I think you rather like that dog of mine!’ she teased.

  ‘I have to admit, the whole shit thing aside, he’s a lovely dog.’

  ‘That makes me happy,’ she admitted, noting the look of tension that crossed his brow, an unwelcome addition to this perfect day. ‘So, come on, what are you thinking about?’ she pushed.

  ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Don’t give me too much detail there, Grayson!’

  He raised his arms and let them fall. ‘Literally, my head is full. I’m still thinking about yesterday and rowing with Emery at the table. I can’t believe he smashed a plate and made that mess . . . I’m embarrassed, and I don’t want your parents to think I do stuff like that.’