The Penn Friends Series Books 1-4: Penn Friends Boxset

by T H Paul

  “We’ll see about that,” Penny spat back at the television. She went and poured herself a drop from her mum's secret stash of Cinzano. Alcohol now called for, and it would help her to control what she had inside her, to channel it when the time would come. And that moment was less than a few hours away.

  It was nearly half nine, Penny easily working through her second glass of Cinzano, when the cameras once again focused on the 100-metres track, and the commentators said the finalists were about to be introduced. Abbey Lawrence, of Team GB and the only British runner to have made the final, was in lane six. The crowd gave her a huge cheer. She’d once again pulled up a little before the finish line in the semis, her place in the final already safe, and had only the fourth quickest time as a result. Much was expected of this unknown, but fast adored, star.

  Penny sat forward so that she was nearly falling off the sofa. It was now the moment. It was what she’d dreamed about for over three years.

  The runners took their marks, the stadium going quiet, even the commentators remained silent. Penny watched the eight athletes from five nations––the USA and Jamaica having more than one runner in the final––take to their places, before the camera zoomed in on British runner Abbey Lawrence. Penny could only imagine how nervous her former friend now felt, though didn’t apparently show it. She certainly felt nervous, and it had nothing to do with the race. She’d been dreaming about this moment of revenge for years.

  The call came clearly through the TV for the athletes to get on their marks. Set was then spoken seconds later as the whole stadium––the entire nation, for all Penny knew––held their breath in absolute silence.

  Then the gun fired, and an eruption of noise was met with a surge of energy, as all eight women raced from the blocks, their heads only coming up after the first ten metres had passed. For Penny, it was now or never. In ten seconds, the race would be over. The world would have a new Olympic champion, someone to gloat over, especially if she was British. Delay anymore, as the runners cleared the fifty-metre mark, the race too close to call, and Penny would miss the moment.

  She didn’t miss a thing.

  I undo the gift of running she thought, something she’d wanted to say for years, the effort as the words went through her mind almost giving a physical release.

  “Lawrence is in trouble!” came the anguished cry from the commentator on the television, a sudden sigh going up from thousands inside the stadium, their disappointment palpable. A hush came over the television––spectators and presenters alike. Penny was instantly brought back to reality as the last few seconds of the race unfolded before her, the Jamaican champion going on to retain the gold medal she’d won four years before, Britain’s own Abbey Lawrence dramatically slowing over those last forty metres, coming in last. She looked distraught.

  Penny just laughed her head off.

  Over the coming days, speculation grew as to what had happened. They confirmed that Abbey had not pulled a muscle, as had been expected, and she was still due to run in the 200 metres which were due to start two days after the 100-metre final. That would make an interesting Monday night viewing for Penny, and wherever she had gone that day, Penny couldn’t help but listen in on countless conversations that discussed their local school’s superstar. Most still thought she’d done them all proud. Penny shrugged those comments off.

  As Monday night’s viewing started, Penny once again was glued to the television. Without any great gift for running, the first round of the 200-metre heats was going to be spectacular to watch. Penny couldn’t wait. During the first race, which Abbey wasn’t in, Penny got a text message from Mr Jenkins, her former dance teacher, asking if she was watching the athletics. She ignored it.

  It was the fourth heats that most interested Penny, as Abbey made her way out onto the track, still wearing the Team GB colours, still looking the part––tall, leggy and attractive––but Penny knew the engine was gone. It was all just a shell now; there was nothing inside that could make this anything but a complete failure for Abbey. A small part of Penny wondered if she’d done enough already, that she'd had her fun and should restore the gift she’d given Abbey, maybe to only take it away again for another final? The thought that she could use her gift to get Team GB more medals than they might otherwise have got did not once cross her mind. She wasn’t going to let anyone exploit her that way.

  Abbey took her block, outside in lane number seven, so it was hard to know until the final straight, how far she was behind. But given that she was just now a seventeen-year-old school girl with no super talent, up against matured athletes at the height of their careers, it didn’t take a genius to know a train wreck was coming.

  It didn’t.

  Abbey Lawrence scraped through as one of the four fastest losers and made it into the semi-finals of the Olympic Games, which were on the following night. During the day on that Tuesday, the talk around the nation only focused on Abbey, classmates from her school speculating on social media at how far she could go. Penny was shocked. The fact Abbey had managed to beat anyone seemed impossible, let alone to then qualify for the next round. Penny reasoned that the years of training since she'd gifted Abbey, had toned and built enough muscle to still turn Abbey into a decent runner, despite what Penny might otherwise do to her.

  Penny couldn’t help but feel cheated. She’d waited years for this moment, and yet Abbey was still running.

  Abbey didn’t make the final, though was far from the slowest in the semis, she managed to beat three others. Her lack of making the final was put down to feeling over-pressured at what was her first major event. Abbey was not in the team for the opening round of the 4x100 metre relay; the public word was she needed a rest. The studio commentators, however, were sure it was a stronger team without the seventeen-year-old, who needed a little more experience before being ready for the big stage if she ever was to be. They agreed that Abbey had had an exceedingly good Games, for a nation already riding very high in the medal table.

  Worse was to come three nights later, for Penny, as she turned on the television. The British women, minus the flop that was Abbey Lawrence, much to Penny’s humour, had made it to the final of the 4x100 metre relay. The only problem being that one of the four had pulled their hamstring the day before. Abbey Lawrence was suddenly pulled into the team and would run the second leg of the four. Penny, as well as the entire school, could only watch in shocked awe.

  The bronze medal that the British women managed to win was put down as one of the most unexpected turns of events, in a Games that had produced many. Penny sat there feeling sicker than she had done in months, more alone than ever. She even thought about replying to that message from Mr Jenkins but hadn’t yet sunk that low. Abbey had won an Olympic medal, and Penny had nothing to do with it. Well, not anymore to do with it.

  But she knew, even then, even as she watched the victory ceremony that same night, watched as Abbey took to the podium with the three other girls and received her medal, it was not fair. It should not have happened. None of it should have done.

  Life wasn’t fair.

  13

  You might judge me for what I did to Abbey, but I’d done her a huge favour however you look at it. She’s twice the girl she ever would have been because of me. She might never have left that park alive had I not done what I did that day, either. Will she keep running? We’ll have to see, won’t we?

  You might also have so many other questions running through your minds right now––who else have I messed with, what else have I done? We’ll get to all that, and we’ll start with how I began, where I came from and what I had to put up with as poor excuses for parents. You don’t know the half of it!

  Year twelve, Penny Black and her peers, finished the term and broke up for summer before anyone else saw Abbey Lawrence again in the flesh. She would return for her final year, along with all the other thirty members who remained from the original class of thirty-two. One boy would be very much in the news come September, hi
s non-appearance back for the final school year, with A-Levels looming, a mystery about whom few, bar one girl, knew anything.

  It was Penny’s job to make sure they never found out.

  Abbey Lawrence left London Stadium that summer evening a more determined girl, a more humbled runner than ever before. She sensed something had broken deep inside her during that one hundred metre final when at the midway point, when a medal felt possible, her world seemed to collapse, and those last fifty agonising metres got away from her. She would have several sleepless nights over the remainder of August where she’d picture the backs of the other seven athletes sprinting away from her. Some nights, when sleep did come, they’d be looking back, laughing at her. Jack’s face would often appear there too, those eyes that she’d never forget, his angry face that night after Spring Ball when he’d raped her.

  Abbey often wondered why she’d never said anything. Had she actually encouraged him? Had Abbey wanted it all along? She had felt like she knew these answers for a while, but still had never done anything about it. Athletics had become her soul passion since that night, and in many ways, Abbey could see a connection between what she had just achieved, and those dreadful shadows of that despicable wood. It had been her catalyst, the moment when she’d decided she was better than that, better than Jack, better than any of them. Abbey would show them. She would make something of herself. She would never let anyone dictate what she did in the future.

  Strangely, she owed much to that moment.

  It still didn’t do away with what he had done to her. They’d never spoken about it since, and if anything their lives seemed to move on as if nothing much had happened. Jack was still at school, still around the sports team, still a catch in his own eyes for any girl. Penny had been reeled in at last. Abbey had seen someone post something on Facebook, the two of them shown holding hands at someone's party. Abbey was well rid of all that. She would return to school for the final year; she knew that much. She knew because of that moment in the final of the one hundred metres that there was a ceiling to her ability, a charge to the top having seemed so limitless before that night, where Abbey was able to smash any record or milestone she’d hit as a developing athlete. The Olympics had exposed her, stretched her too much, maybe. The question of would she run again, in her mind, was not yet entirely settled. Yes, she was still good, but she knew she was never going to be great. London was prime time for her, and she’d been left wanting. The spark had gone. The drive just no longer there. Had she only ever been about winning? She pondered that thought; success had been so automatic these last four or so years, the competition so thin.

  Studies would, therefore, have to remain. Abbey was on course for some good results, if she made an effort. With everything over the last twelve months pushing her focus solely to the Olympics, she’d need to double her efforts to get back on track, figuratively speaking, regarding her studies. She might still need those grades for future job options, after all, it seemed. For so long running had been her life. It’d cost her already her one good friend at school. Penny was far from a friend to her anymore, though it was a distance formed by silence more than anything else. There had been very few angry words between the pair, very few words at all, in fact. They’d simply just seemed to drift apart.

  Her parents insisting they move house to be closer to the athletics academy had been a significant factor. They’d never liked their Abbey hanging out with Penny, disapproving of the whole Black family as they were. The absence of a father figure was as much systematic to their mistrust in Penny as it had been inevitable.

  Abbey often reflected on what happened to those two little girls wandering the park at the end of their cul-de-sac, talking through the gifts she’d got for her thirteenth birthday. She always thought about that dog, the look on Penny’s face as she had spotted Abbey being closed down, and then her legs moving despite herself. It was that charge, that surge away from the dog to which Abbey always came back. It’d been the moment that Abbey always pictured when standing on any start line, that moment she visualised as she placed her feet into the blocks and her hands behind the start line. Just her and that dog, with Penny willing her on from the sidelines. Always that same moment.

  Except, in London, during that final, this time, the dog had caught her.

  The Parents of Penny

  Book 2––Penn Friends series

  What's it like to live without your parents?

  1

  I get asked all the time now by the girls at school; what’s it like living on your own? I mean, no parents, no rules. Seems fun, right? Well, it is. And it isn’t. Money shortage, for one thing, was no fun. I’ve never been able to make it grow on trees, and believe me when I say this, I’ve tried. It’s not worth the stress!

  But I wasn’t always alone. It's only the last few years that this happened to me. Before that, I had a mother and father in my life, to some degree. We certainly didn’t always get on, but they were there, most of the time.

  You now know all about Abbey Lawrence. She was what started it all for me in regards to discovering who I was. But that’s only one story in an ocean of tales. To answer where I came from, we have to go back further still…

  Seventeen years ago, the broken, non-existent marriage of Thomas and Barbara Black was anything but that. They were madly in love.

  Tom worked in finance––that’s all he ever called it, Penny would see him for the last time after fourteen years of growing up with him and still not know any more about what he did. He worked in London and had married Barb after dating her for nearly two years. They were both just twenty-three when they rolled up to a registry office in his uncle’s Ford Sierra and officially tied the knot. They’d been living together for the last year already. It was mainly a tax advantage to get married. There were no religious undertones whatsoever in the couple, or their wider family, back then.

  They’d never planned to have children.

  “I don’t care what they are demanding. We can’t afford it.” Tom ended the phone call as he walked in through the front door of the couple’s three-bed semi located in a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs of London. Barbara was in the lounge, hearing the end of the call, taking in the tone of frustration that Tom used to return her greeting, and knew once more things were not working the way she’d hoped for him.

  Barbara knew that her efforts to make Tom's professional life successful should have achieved more results, but every attempt she made to try and make him successful never changed anything. She was at a total loss to explain why, and couldn’t talk to him about it––she’d never told him about her powers, and after all that time, couldn’t possibly bring it up now. Despite her abilities being as strong as ever on anyone else, for the man she’d loved for so long already, it made no difference whatsoever.

  Tom came into the lounge, the kettle already on in the kitchen. He kissed Barbara on the lips and sat on the sofa next to her.

  “Everything okay?”

  “The New York office is playing silly buggers again.”

  She’d heard him talk a lot about the Yanks across the sea, never usually too complimentary. One firm, two very different mindsets.

  They sat there in silence for a while, the kettle coming to the boil finally, and Barb got up and went to make the tea. It was how it always went.

  This time, Tom followed her into the kitchen, standing behind her as she dropped a couple of teabags into the pot, and wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips pressed against the back of her head. He always loved the smell of her hair; lemony with a hint of lavender. An elegant blend of her shampoo and perfume that she used every day. Something she always made sure they had in supply.

  Barbara turned and kissed him on the lips, before leaning sideways to open the fridge and get the milk out. He smiled, stepping back to allow her to finish what she needed to do, and they both walked back into the lounge with tea in hand. No biscuits this week, money was tight.

  Their one big luxury––
it was hardly that, and besides, it was an annual gift from Tom’s uncle and aunt––was a season pass for the local cinema. They could watch any film at any time and made use of that option more than anything else. They didn’t own a television––there was never much on anyway, Tom would always joke––and weren’t into music as much as some of their era. It was the big screen that took them to other worlds––better places––and they would alternate between who got to choose the movie each time, seeing as they both preferred very different styles. The only magazine that sat on their coffee table––it wasn’t technically a magazine but a free giveaway from the multiplex in question––was a film guide, listing everything shown that month as well as a look forward to future releases. It was a treasure trove of possibilities.

  It was a happy routine. Three, sometimes four, nights a week Tom and Barbara would leave the house at six and walk the thirty minutes it took to get to the cinema, where their gallery pass would give them access to a VIP lounge before the screening of their choice would start some point later on. The pass included drinks and snacks. Without children, without the demands that a family brings, they were free. It was also an easy meal––if the nachos on offer and other snacks counted as proper food––but it meant they could more readily get through the rest of the week. Buying food for just three or four home meals a week was a lot easier than for all seven.

  That night’s film had been Tom’s choice––another action adventure. Barbara didn’t mind, as a bowlful of chocolates would get her through just about anything.