The Things I Know

by Amanda Prowse

  Grayson nodded. ‘And she knew. She always knew. I remember scrawling him notes when I was little and being too afraid to ask her where to post them, so I’d throw them off the roof of our block, thinking they might float to him. And she told me that she wrote to him, telling him not to make contact with me. I tried to tell her how much of a difference it would have made to me just to have a Christmas card or a birthday card – anything! It would have made all the difference in the world to know that he hadn’t just disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘Oh my God, that’s huge!’

  ‘It is. All this time, she knew where he was, she knew all about him. And I’m not laying the blame solely at her door. I mean, my dad didn’t exactly fight for me, did he? He didn’t try. He never made contact, but she made it easy for him, really. But I realised that you’re right, Thomasina. There comes a time when you have to make a stand, make a decision. And I’m done with both of them. I need to start thinking about me and about you, and that’s why I’m here, chasing life. I’m chasing you.’

  ‘Because it doesn’t come to you.’ She smiled at him, feeling the warm spread of desire through her limbs. How she’d missed him!

  ‘That’s right, because it doesn’t come to you.’

  ‘And yet here you are,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yep, here I am.’

  She stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm, and to be in contact felt wonderfully familiar. She stared at him, feeling a flicker of joy rise up through the cruel embers of rejection.

  ‘I’m glad you came, Grayson, but—’

  ‘But what?’ he asked, his expression pained.

  ‘Things are different now. I am different. I have set goals and I’ve taken control and it feels good!’

  Grayson took a deep breath. ‘Have you met someone else? You’re not with that Buttermore chap?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, finding the very idea laughable and noting his expression of relief. ‘There’s no one else. But the farm is being sold and I’m going to New York for a long holiday.’

  ‘Wow! You’re really going?’

  ‘I am,’ she replied, with a certain smug satisfaction, a recognition of how far she had come and how far she intended to go. ‘I figured it’s not that much different jumping on a plane to New York as it is jumping on a train to London. As long as I have a map and a tongue in my head, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘What?’ His question threw her off course.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  She avoided answering him. Grayson had not figured in her plans for New York and she wasn’t sure she wanted to alter the image of herself walking solo around the city that never slept. ‘When I come back, I’m going to set up my business – properly set up my business.’

  ‘That sounds great. I know you can make it work.’

  ‘I think so too.’ She looked over towards the chicken coop.

  ‘I quit my job.’

  ‘You quit your job? Oh my God!’ She knew that this too was big news, aware that going each day to fulfil his role as number magician was not only a routine he thrived on but that the place was also a refuge of sorts. There, and in the basement beneath the flats where the storage cages lurked. She watched as Grayson reached for her hands and she liked the pulse of his warm palms beneath her fingers on this cold, cold day. There was something about being this close to him with their hands touching. It eroded a little of her resolve and it was almost instinctive, her need to stand closer and feel his skin against hers.

  ‘You’re the missing piece of my puzzle, Thomasina. And it’s the only puzzle I have to figure out: how to be happy. And the answer is you – you’re what makes me happy. You’re where I’ve been heading, always. This I know.’

  His words were sweet and sincerely offered and caused a ricochet of happiness within her. She thought of all the years before Grayson, when kind words, confidence and being desired were short on supply. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say to me—’

  ‘I mean it!’ he cut in.

  ‘I believe you, but things are a little uncertain for me, Grayson, and I’m not sure what my future looks like.’

  ‘Who’s sure?’ He laughed. ‘No one! I’ve quit my job – left London! Who’d have thought that one seminar invitation to Bristol that I nearly didn’t accept could change my whole life? Could you change yours?’

  ‘Yes, but this farm is all we’ve ever known, and it’s going to belong to someone else, and the closer it gets, the more the hugeness of that hits me. So yes, I’m looking forward to my trip, but at the same time, all of this’ – she threw her arm around in an arc – ‘when I come back it will be private property and to set foot on it will be considered trespassing. Can you imagine? Trespassing on the land that my dad, my grandad, great-grandad and great-great-grandad have worked on every day of their lives! It was supposed to be Jonathan’s, and I thought’ – she drew breath now, about to make a confession that had only previously lived silently in her mind – ‘I thought that, if ever I had children, they would have the run of the place, like I did. I thought they’d learn to drive a tractor when they were considered too young, play in Big Barn and have a dog like Buddy.’ She hated the catch to her voice, unable to control the sadness that underpinned her words. ‘It’s a lot.’

  ‘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.

  ‘It’s possible, Thomasina. A few days to think. That doesn’t sound unreasonable.’ He winked at her, her lovely dad.

  The sudden bang of the back door against the wall took them all by surprise, shattering the calm. Her cousin Emery stood in the doorway, with his knack for ruining the loveliest of moments. She saw Grayson stiffen and her mum put her cup firmly on the table. Thomasina had forgotten just how much she disliked the very sight of him.

  ‘What can we do for you, Emery?’ Pops asked calmly. It seemed that nothing could spoil his day.

  ‘I just heard from Thurston that the farm is nearly theirs.’

  ‘That’s right,’ her dad said. ‘Nearly, in a few weeks, give or take.’

  ‘So I thought I’d come and . . .’ Emery swallowed, his confidence seemingly evaporated.

  All four stared at him.

  ‘We . . . we are family,’ he managed.

  ‘Yes, Emery,’ Pops said with a nod, ‘we are family. And you are a Waycott and have contributed your own blood and sweat to keeping this farm running in some of its darkest times. And I appreciate all your hard work – it’s not an easy life, not at all – but how dare you call my little girl names? How dare you make her feel scared or sad in her own home? You think that’s what family does? You think that’s nice or fair?’

  She had never heard her dad so threatening or so earnest and her heart flexed with love for him.

  Emery shook his head and looked at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Thomasina.’

  She stared at him, unable to forgive him, not when the hurt still ran deep, and chose to say nothing.

  ‘I’ve been up at the Buttermores’ for a while now, and it’s . . . it’s different.’ His voice was uncharacteristically small, his shoulders hunched.

  ‘What’s different?’ her dad asked, a little more settled now.

  ‘I’m an outsider, not family, and now I’ll be coming back to Waycott but working for them, and it’s made me think that my great-great-grandparents built this house.’

  She looked at the brute, amazed he was on her wavelength, but not liking him any more for it. Maybe spending time with another family had made Emery realise just how good he had had it here.

  ‘Yes, they did’ – her dad paused – ‘but it’s only bricks and stones, Emery. Home is where your family is, and it’ll be good for you working here with all the investment the Buttermores can make. Remember, lad, this building and this land will be here long after we have all gone.’

  Emery nodded. ‘And I wanted to say I’m sorry, Change Pur—’

  ‘Grayson!’

  ‘My name’s Grayson.’

  She and Grayson spoke in unison and they smiled briefly at each other.

  ‘Yeah,’ Emery said, nodding. ‘I’m sorry, Grayson, for all the things I said.’ He hesitated for a moment and had clearly not finished. ‘And, Thomasina, I shouldn’t have taken your postcard off the wall at the farm store. Tarran said that was a shitty thing to do.’

  Well, no wonder I didn’t get a single bloody call! Thomasina swallowed her response, not wanting to give him any satisfaction and glad that Tarran had apparently spoken up in her defence. It meant a lot and lessened some of her embarrassment when she thought of him.

  ‘And also . . .’ Emery swallowed, and she wondered what else he had done – this was turning into quite a list. ‘I wanted to tell you that, on my life . . .’ He now placed his hand on his heart. ‘I didn’t kill Daphne. I found her like that.’

  ‘Right.’ She was relieved that Daphne more than likely had lain her little head down and fallen asleep and not met the grisly, fearful end she had suspected. Slowly, Thomasina stood up from the table and nodded briefly. ‘Do you want a cup of tea, Emery?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He walked sheepishly around the table and took the seat she had recently vacated, as was the way in this kitchen.

  ‘And a slice of cake?’

  Emery let a small, hesitant smile form. ‘Yes, yes, please. I tell you what – the Buttermores might have all that flash equipment and loads of money, but they’re right stingy with their cake.’

  Thomasina petted Buddy’s ears as she made her way to the stove and filled the kettle, placing it on the hotplate, waiting for it to whistle. She looked over her shoulder at the four people sitting around the kitchen table and smiled. It was funny how things turned out. When she had woken up this morning she could not in a million years have envisaged the day ending with a scene like this.

  With the tea things cleared away and the Skype call connected, she and Grayson sat at the dining-room table.

  ‘Your text sounded pretty urgent. Are Mum and Pops okay?’

  ‘They’re fine, Jonathan.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’ he said, exhaling deeply.

  ‘I just need to talk to you, and we don’t have a lot of time. A few days at most.’

  ‘I’m all ears! Ah, and you must be the infamous Mr Potts my sister’s told me about,’ he said, pointing.

  ‘Hi!’ Grayson raised his hand and peered at the screen.

  ‘You mess her around and you have me to deal with!’ Jonathan let out a loud laugh, but Grayson, sitting stony-faced, clearly wasn’t sure he was joking.

  ‘I . . . I won’t.’ He held her hand beneath the table.

  ‘So come on, what’s going on?’ Jonathan clapped his hands and sat forward smiling, with his familiar confidence of a man who lived a happy life with a glass half full.

/>   ‘I keep thinking about the sale of the farm.’ She watched the smile slip from his face.

  ‘I can’t . . .’ he interjected, shaking his head and looking off-screen. ‘I can’t even think about it. I mean, I get it, I know it’s happening and I understand why. I tell Pops it’s all okay, because I don’t want to make him feel bad, but I can’t believe it. I didn’t realise we would run out of time.’

  ‘What do you mean, run out of time?’ she asked.

  He took a deep breath. ‘I thought it would always be there, and some of the things I’m learning here . . . I figured I’d become proficient in new things, better ways to farm, and one day I’d come back and implement them.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were just having fun . . .’ She let this trail.

  ‘Oh, I’m having fun, but I miss home. It’s . . . home!’ She noted the lump in his throat.

  ‘What if we try to fight for it, Jonathan? What if we really try to think of anything we might do to keep it in Waycott hands?’ So my children can run in the paddock and chase Bonnie and Clyde. ‘I have a couple of ideas.’

  ‘Me too.’ He peered more closely into the camera.

  ‘What kind of things?’ Now he’d piqued her interest.

  ‘So much! Bringing farming into the twenty-first century, compared to how we run Waycott now – upping the pace, working smarter. I know how I can bring higher yields, things like cover crops, better rotation and complete diversification in other areas.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said, picking up the verbal baton. ‘Glamping, agricultural experiences, a farm store, barn rentals for creative spaces, weddings, workshops on things like caring for poultry, or growing cutting flowers for supply.’

  ‘Yes, exactly!’ Jonathan sounded excited. ‘That’s exactly it! We need to get every acre and every square inch of brick making us money, and I know we could do it if we just had time and investment. I feel that, between us, sis, we could turn the fortunes of the farm, but as I say, it all needs investment, and that’s the hard bit.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Grayson coughed. ‘Thomasina and I have been talking, and I would be willing to invest in the farm.’