Page 44 of Once Upon a Thyme
I ignored that. My pulse was thrumming in my head. I must still be in shock, I reasoned to myself.I’m not selling the gardens.
‘Oh, and if you’re thinking that I’m just wanting a place to stay and all that entails, I can assure you that I came out of the divorce with some money.’ Zeb’s voice seemed a long way away now. All that was real was the sunlight, the water and this feeling that all my nerves were too close to the surface. ‘We had a surprising amount of equity in the house. I’m not trying to get my feet under the table.’
His words weren’t making sense. I was here, feeling everything so acutely: the warmth of the road coming up through my wet shoes, the sun etching the stone, the apple-pie smell of willow herb from the riverbank. The anger had gone again now, to be replaced by confusion. Why was he still talking?
‘Zeb,’ I said, looking up at his face. ‘I really like you.’
He swallowed. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Well, the feeling, as you may have gathered, is mutual.’
We stared at one another for a moment, silently acknowledging what we had said and how important it might be. ‘I’m glad,’ I said quietly. ‘It makes all this’ – I waved to indicate the house behind us – ‘less embarrassing.’
‘No need to be embarrassed, Tallie.’ Zeb looked away and into the water below us. ‘You aren’t responsible for the way your mother feels.’
‘Thank you. I know that, really. But I’ve had nearly thirty years of being made to feel that I am. Which is why my life is such a mess – I have absolutely no idea what’s going on here, why my mother has suddenly decided to sell her family home and business, why she thinks I ought to go and live somewhere a long way away. It’s come out of nowhere and I don’t know what I should feel. I need help, I think.’
Cautiously, as though he was afraid that I might jump over the bridge to get away, Zeb took my hand. ‘You’re not used to asking for help, are you, Tallie?’
‘Nope.’
‘Then I’m flattered that you feel you can ask me.’
I glanced sideways at him. ‘There isn’t anyone else,’ I said, and then bit my lips together. ‘Sorry. Sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just not used to this talking thing.’
Now he laughed. ‘Clearly.’
But he kept holding my hand. ‘I’m starting to feel things that I’ve been ignoring for years and I really have no idea what to do. Or why my mother has pulled selling Drycott out of a hat as an idea.’
‘Perhaps you should ask her,’ Zeb said gently.
I did not protest at the hand-holding. It felt nice to have someone else on my side in all this. ‘I can’t. In my family you don’t ask questions like that. You don’t ask questions at all.’
Zeb tugged my hand until I came in closer. ‘That’s what they taught you. But you’ve never wondered why? I mean, I’m pretty shocking at communication, but you and your mother, you could give lessons to an order of Trappist monks when it comes to the “not talking” thing. I never properly learned to talk to people because my parents were always so busy, we didn’t do the family meals around the table talking about our day thing. Mum was out in the evenings – she was a music tutor, getting pupils through their exams – and Dad was out all day and working when he was home. I used to sit with a book in the corner wondering if they’d notice if I wasn’t even there.’
‘That’s very…’
‘And when I got married I realised that other people want me to talk about how I feel, about what’s going on in my head, and I don’t know how to.’ He tightened his grip on my fingers until I was almost pressed against him. ‘But you, Tallie, you’re like a specialist at not talking about things.’
He was tall and when he moved he blocked the reflections of light on water that were spearing my vision. But most important of all, he washere. He was calm and he was sensible. He wasn’t Mika, all over-excitement and raising my hopes of there being something between us only to dash them with his flightiness and exuberance. Mika wasn’t real. What I felt for Mika was just the crush that anyone would feel for a star which had unexpectedly appeared in their bleak sky. Zeb wasreal.
I moved in closer, of my own volition now. ‘Zeb,’ I whispered. ‘Maybe we could learn to talk to each other.’
He gave a tiny smile and the hand not holding mine came up, fingers brushing at my hair while his dark eyes smiled into mine. ‘We can try,’ he said. ‘I guess we just go with it and see what happens.’
‘You and me, is it… I mean, could we… is it athing?’
‘I’m not Mika,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’ve never played a washboard in my life.’
‘To be honest, I’m not even sure thatMikais Mika.’ Iwas enjoying this. Physical contact with no pressure, as though Zeb just wanted to be here, talking to me, and could have stayed here until dark. ‘I get the feeling that he’s a bit too used to being attractive and having any woman he wants. Oh, and I’m glad. About the washboard thing. I was never sure how I felt about a man who played the washboard. He’s not for the likes of me.’
‘CouldIbe for the likes of you? Do you think?’
I looked up at him. A hank of fringe was dangling over one eye and his head was cocked at an opposing slant. ‘Can we see?’ I whispered. ‘Take some time and just – see? I’m not used to being allowed to feel things. I’ve been sitting on emotional baggage for years and I need to find out how it all works.’
Zeb smiled and gave a twitch of his head that made his hair bob about. ‘Not an unequivocal “no”, that’s good.’ He sounded diffident, but then Zeb generally sounded diffident. ‘And you’re not throwing things, which is even better. I think you need someone on your side in all of this.’
I bridled a bit out of habit. ‘Peopleareon my side,’ I said, somewhat haughtily. ‘My mother, Ollie, um… other people.’
‘Your mother wants you to sell Drycott,’ he pointed out. ‘And I don’t think you can really bring Ollie into this.’
