The Things I Know

by Amanda Prowse

  She thought about their whispered conversation earlier as they had tidied the cups and saucers from the table. ‘There’s something I don’t know if I’ve made clear, Thomasina.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She had studied his hesitant expression and her heart had skipped at what other revelations might be forthcoming today, unsure how much more she could cope with.

  Grayson had held her grandma’s cake tin, running his finger over the dented lid. ‘I earn a considerable amount, the most at our brokers, and I have saved it all. I never really had anything to spend it on.’

  ‘A proper haircut wouldn’t have gone amiss.’ She had broken the tension and he’d given her a half-smile.

  ‘You’re probably right, but I have an idea – why not let me invest in the farm? Why not let me become a partner? I know nothing about farming, but I know a lot about money.’

  ‘Because that’s your magic trick.’

  ‘Because that’s my magic trick.’ He had then leaned forward and kissed her.

  Thomasina now returned her attention to Jonathan on the screen.

  ‘You would like to invest in Waycott?’ His look was one of suspicion.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry to be so blunt, Grayson, but can you afford it?’

  ‘Yes. I have a lot of money.’

  ‘Right.’ It was Jonathan’s turn to sit in silence.

  ‘Plus, I want to ask your sister to marry me, and it makes sense. It all makes sense, really.’

  She looked at Grayson, this wonderful man whom she loved, liking the way he spoke so plainly, as if anything other than hitching his wagon to hers was unthinkable. ‘Is that some kind of proposal, Mr Potts?’ she asked, thinking back to that day on the lane when instinct told her he’d been about to ask.

  ‘Well, not really.’ Grayson shifted in the chair. ‘I do want to do it, but not in front of your brother – no offence!’ he said, turning to the screen.

  ‘None taken.’ Jonathan beamed.

  ‘Although,’ Grayson coughed, ‘if that were a proposal, what do you think you might have said?’

  She looked at her man and smiled, agreeing with him that everything made sense – when she was with him.

  ‘I would have said, “I’ll think about it and I’ll let you know when I get back from New York.” ’

  ‘Hitch – you’re coming to New York?’ Jonathan asked, aghast.

  ‘I am,’ she said, nodding, ‘and for the record, Jonathan, my name is Thomasina.’

  I know that you never know what’s around the corner, even if you think you do.

  I know that the Buttermores might have a lot of money, but who wants to live in a house where they’re stingy with cake?

  I know that Emery isn’t as much of an arsehole as I have always believed.

  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 w
as 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.

  Emery worked for them with a new-found energy, which had seen him promoted with a handsome raise, meaning he was able to put the deposit down on a little cottage in the village. Thomasina was grateful for his hard work and liked the civility that now existed between them but knew that she and Grayson would never be close to her cousin. Too much water had flowed under the bridge and too many words had cut too deep.

  It was testament to how much she had grown that she now felt able to work with Emery – in fact, she felt differently about a lot of things. As if a reminder were needed of just how much, she touched her fingers to her rebuilt lip, still more than a little amazed at the incredible job her surgeon had done. It wasn’t so much with vanity but in wonder that she stared at her reflection, smiling, pouting and taking such joy from the pretty mouth that made her feel brand new.

  Now, as they neared the house, Thomasina saw the car parked in the immaculate block-paved yard in front of the farm store and café.

  ‘Oh my God, Gray, they’re early!’ She sped up, walking as fast as she could, and he followed in her lumbering wake. Turning back, she saw the twitch of nerves on his face. ‘You’ve got this, my love.’

  ‘I just don’t know why you asked them.’

  ‘Because they’re family. Family.’ She cradled her stomach.

  There was a deafening wail of greeting from Grayson’s aunties as they drew close. She waved as the women leapt from the car and embraced first her and then Grayson, smiling as Eva and Joan rubbed her bump.

  ‘Oh god! You look beautiful!’

  ‘You sure there ain’t two in there? You’re bloody huge!’

  ‘I know!’ she sighed.

  She now walked to the car and opened the door on the passenger side. ‘Hello, you!’ she said, bending down to kiss her mother-in-law on the cheek. ‘Come on – come and see how enormous I am.’

  His mum nodded slowly and stepped gingerly from the car. Mrs Potts was coming up for a whole year sober and was as quiet and reflective as she had been on her last visit. She carried with her a melancholy air of regret, tinged with disapproval that sobriety meant she chose not to voice – and that was fine with Thomasina, preferable, in fact.

  ‘How was your journey?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Fine,’ her mother-in-law whispered.

  ‘You look well.’ She spoke the truth – weight loss and a healthy diet had worked wonders for Grayson’s mum.

  ‘And you do too. It suits you.’ Mrs Potts looked at her burgeoning bump and then let her gaze linger on Thomasina’s new mouth. She said nothing.

  ‘Grayson’s looking forward to seeing you!’

  ‘Is he?’ Her mother-in-law looked at her with such hope it was almost painful.

  ‘He is.’

  Having managed to extricate himself from his aunts’ grappling hugs, Grayson walked over to his mother. ‘Hey, Mum,’ he said, reaching down and taking her loosely in his arms, holding his wife’s gaze over her shoulder. She gave him a slow blink of support and love.

  ‘Right, I’m sure you’re all in need of tea and cake and a visit to the bathroom, and not necessarily in that order!’ Thomasina marched ahead with the troop following behind. She smiled and ushered their guests into the farmhouse kitchen. ‘There’s fruit cake or lemon drizzle. I made both!’ she said with a smile, as she pictured her grandparents’ cake tins, full of fine fare, baked with love for the man she adored.

  Life was good.

  ‘Both for me,’ Eva replied. ‘Well, it’d be rude not to!’

  ‘And when we’ve had our cake, I brought my hairdressing scissors, case you wanted a little trim!’ Joan made a chopping sign at Grayson with her fingers and they all laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ve packed it in.’

  Thomasina and Grayson exchanged a mutual look of relief.

  ‘Tell them about your new hobby, Joan,’ Eva encouraged.

  ‘I’m a tattoo artist!’

  Thomasina roared with laughter as Grayson choked in shock. She knew a dodgy tattoo would be a lot harder for him to shift than a wonky fringe.

  They walked via the dining room.

  ‘Blimey!’ Eva stopped to admire the very large abstract painting over the fireplace. ‘Would you look at that!’ She stared up at the vibrant clash of colours that brightened the room.

  ‘My friend painted it. She’s engaged to my brother, actually. We were at school together. She has exhibitions everywhere, even in New York!’ Thomasina smiled at her husband, thinking of how she had got to drink cworfee on Fifth Avenue . . . The memories of that trip would last her a lifetime. It wasn’t only what she had seen that had amazed her, but how she had felt as she travelled alone, as if she could take on the world and win.

  It was a lovely afternoon spent catching up. Grayson’s aunts regaled them with familiar stories, about how Great-Grandma Noella had got her leg stuck in the fence between her own and the neighbour Betty’s house on a perfect sunny day.

  ‘Betty was screaming, and it sounded like a right old bother!’

  She watched as Grayson finally relaxed, as if the more time he spent with his new and sober mum, the more he was convinced there would be no more scenes or nastiness. That woman had left the building, and this lady, while not exactly approving of how he had upped sticks and relocated to the back of beyond, was doing her best to build bridges wherever she could.

  After a tour of Waycott Farm, a quick introduction to Daisy Duke V, Mrs Cluck VII, Helga III, and presenting his mother and aunts with a box of freshly packed eggs each to take home, Thomasina and Grayson kissed them all goodbye and waved them off as night began to fall.

  Mr and Mrs Potts got ready for bed, jostling for space at the sink as they cleaned their teeth.

  ‘I’ve had the loveliest time. I hope they come again. It wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  ‘Not so bad at all.’ He beamed. ‘Thank you, Mrs Potts.’

  ‘Any time,’ Thomasina answered casually as she pulled her nightgown over her head. ‘I gave your mum a copy of the scan,’ she offered softly.

  He nodded. ‘Good.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if . . .’ she began.

  ‘Wasn’t sure if what?’ He looked up at her.

  ‘If I should send a copy to your dad too? Now that we have his address. I thought it might make him think about stuff.’ She knew it was still a delicate subject and thought about Henry Potts, who had replied to Grayson’s letter of introduction with page after page of detail about his life, his family, his job and made no reference at all to the life he had led before. The life with Grayson in it. She knew it was a lot for her husband to deal with as he tried to reconcile the person with whom he was now free to correspond and the man who had stood at the foot of his bed all those years ago. Grayson was still figuring out how to reply or indeed whether he should reply at all. She knew that his dad’s letter had made him question whether contact was a good idea – such was his disappointment at reading about a life that seemingly had no space for him in it.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I suppose, if he can’t relate to me, then he might relate to his grandchild. I’m just not sure I want him to – not sure if he deserves that chance.’

  ‘Only you can decide, and I will, of course, support you either way.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll come to visit, Thom? Ever come here to see our baby, our life?’ His tone was now neutral and not full of hope, as she knew it would have been in the early days.

&
nbsp; She climbed beneath the covers of the rickety brass bed and patted the space next to her on the soft and saggy mattress.

  Buddy curled into his basket by the door.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Thomasina, like her husband, knew it was always better, easier, to tell the truth.

  He climbed in next to her and took her in his arms. ‘I don’t know either, but you know it’s funny – I don’t mind so much. Not any more. It’s like you and our life here, and this baby . . . you have filled up all the gaps I had inside me. I have everything I ever wanted. I’ve been thinking a lot about Mr Waleed, who lived in the flat below with his kids, wife and mother-in-law, and their garden implements lying in the basement storage cage where they had no use.’

  ‘I remember him shouting at you by the bins.’ She snuggled down.

  ‘The sound of his happiness floating up to the ceiling of my bedroom fascinated me, and I couldn’t understand how he could be so happy, but I get it now. He had the people he loved around him and that was everything. That is everything.’

  ‘It is everything,’ she agreed as sleep pawed at her. Being pregnant was exhausting.

  She thought about the sparkly toffee-apple-red shoes, bedecked with sequins, and their neatly curved kitten heels, with a bow no less, now sitting in a special box in her closet. Shoes that she would never get to wear, shoes not designed for a foot like hers, but which she could look at whenever she wanted.

  Thomasina wriggled to get comfortable as her husband smoothed her long hair over his chest. She smiled as she felt the pull of sleep, confident that the sun would rise tomorrow and that she, Thomasina Potts, would idle in her own kitchen and make breakfast for the man she loved. She might get her nails painted a pretty shade of pink and put on a dress with flowers on it. And she would spend the day talking to her baby and preparing to meet them, telling her child that it was okay to be born a little bit different, okay not to be like everyone else. And even if you sometimes felt as if the instructions had been upside down when you were made, or maybe they had lost a part when they opened the box – that was okay too. Because life was all about courage, about making the changes that would make you happy, and taking chances, recognising opportunities and being the kind of person who just bought the damn shoes.