The Penn Friends Series Books 5-8: Penn Friends Boxset

by T H Paul

  That week was to have a significant effect on me. The thought of only doom and gloom that had clouded me just months ago seemed to be lifted and gone for good. I had found someone in Joy who I could finally speak to and had landed a new job that would open me to a whole world my naive self had yet to imagine.

  It is strange now, thinking back, that I hadn’t foreseen that working in a pub would throw me into a different world, a whole group of people––especially the regulars––who I had no reason to meet otherwise. It was like a family, of course. A strange family, sure, but there was a loyalty about them all.

  The couple who ran the place, too, seemed to take me in, though I sensed he appeared to be more fond of me than his wife was initially. I had to work with her. It’s how it always went; she was probably suspicious of me, though did not need to be. I wasn’t interested in anything but my salary at the end of every two weeks. If anything, her paranoia would only make me try something on with her husband to spite her. It would never come to that, however.

  That place was undoubtedly going to take hold of me in new ways over the next few years, that much would become clear. And there I was walking innocently, blindly forward.

  Penny had taken work at the pub each day that week following her first shift, as locals counted down the days until the end of the year. She was working New Year’s Eve, which was meant to be the busiest yet. Some entertainment had been brought in, and while the bar was still to be open that night as a special request, the kitchen had closed at nine. Penny stayed on, regardless, happy to see in the New Year with her new crowd.

  Several new groups of customers––nearly all men––had started coming regularly. The landlord had noticed that already, Penny was proving useful for business, just as he had expected she might. A few had asked the landlord about her, assuming she was a daughter or niece. He soon put them right, though warned them all she was only a kid, not even old enough to serve the drinks. That just seemed to incentivise the punters all the more.

  Penny had been getting looks each time the doors to the kitchen swung open, food orders going out at a nearly impossible rate. Penny had spent the last two hours of the shift helping with waitressing––the dirty plates could wait for her until after they’d stopped serving food––and that only encouraged them all; though in fairness, the jokes were mostly good-natured. There had been a few wolf whistles, the landlord just laughing it off; as long as the punters were happy.

  Now approaching midnight, Penny was sitting out in front of the bar––she wasn’t meant to be there, and couldn’t buy herself a drink––but the barman had poured her a coke, anyway, adding a drop of Jack Daniels for good measure. No one would be checking the place for underage drinking on New Year’s Eve, he was confident.

  Penny had a large group of punters around her––not primarily around her, alone, just it was crowded and midnight was approaching. It was as if the guys who hadn’t come with a woman that night were hoping she might kiss them if they were close enough at the stroke of midnight.

  That hadn’t happened, though there had been plenty of hugs, Penny indeed receiving more than her fair share, and spirits were good. A few of the men had given her their number, most at least five years her senior, some more than ten. They were customers, regulars, and as such, she was polite and took each card offered, but she had no intention of doing anything with them.

  It felt like a family, however, as she looked around that night. She’d only been working there for a week, though apart from visits to Joy each morning, had spent every afternoon and evening in the pub that week. The faces were beginning to become familiar. It was her crowd, her bunch. Somewhere where she could fit in, without anyone judging her. Somewhere they knew nothing about her history with Jack, or the reasons she lived alone. No one there knew her father had walked out, nor what Penny had done to her mother. They didn’t know her connection to Abbey Lawrence, nor her appalling history for Jenkins, a convicted sex offender, though someone still on the run since escaping from prison.

  No one knew anything about her there. No one judged her. She was just the new girl, the kitchen girl who washed dishes and served food. She was someone for the men to try and hit on––she was amazed at what confidence, it seemed, a few pints would give. What bravado, what arrogance. But none of it had been ill-intentioned. None of it was the manipulation or malice of Jack Ferguson and his slippery charm. None of it the secretive, grooming nature of her former dance teacher, someone who she thought was trustworthy, rocklike. Someone who had been a steadying anchor in her upbringing, but had since proved the fraud he was. There was a simplicity in the place she worked.

  Once school started back, she would have to cut back her hours. She hoped to be able to carry on Saturday and Sunday afternoon to evening shifts, and a few in the week, but had promised to do her best when she’d discussed it with the landlord. He was more cautious than she was, concerned what impact it might have on her studies. Penny knew she could handle both. She needed the money, too. As the only source of income she had, she wanted to be able to pass her driving test which she had booked in for the third week of January. She had started intensive lessons already.

  With a use of a car, she could save a lot of time coming back and forth to both work and the care home. It would stop her having to walk home in the dark, though the last two nights she’d been dropped home by one or two of the regulars––couples, each time. She wasn’t going to get into the car with just a man if she could help it.

  Penny would approach her test as prepared as she could be, though nerves would prove an issue. She’d managed to learn well enough how to drive the car, but the pressure of showing that all in a test was too much. She’d taken the theory test the week before, and without using any skills––besides hard work and some study––she’d passed that one with ease. The practical suddenly felt like a different thing altogether.

  She didn’t think she had made any errors during the thirty-minute test but had already used her gift to make her examiner only see complete turns. She was given the good news seconds after switching off the ignition. She was now qualified to drive.

  She went straight home and jumped right into the front seat of her new car, playing with the key between her fingers for a while before pushing it into the ignition. She turned the engine on, only the second time she’d done that. She thought about her mother. Was there anything still left of her, was she trapped in some way like Joy? Could she hear what Penny was saying? Penny often imagined her mother could, that wherever she now was, her mother could always listen, could forever watch. Penny said very little while in the car.

  She went for a spin around the block, the car driving smoothly, the vehicle feeling like an extension of Penny herself. She still couldn’t believe she had passed her test, still couldn’t believe she owned such a motor. It had been a gift to herself, really, from herself. It had been such an impulse, such a swift decision, that she rarely recalled thinking it into being.

  There it was, cornering as she’d never known anything corner before, the vehicle with a lot more acceleration than the car she’d been learning in for the last three weeks. Penny slowed, dropping back in speed, the more powerful engine of her Jeep easily able to handle higher speed without it feeling like much more than thirty. She made a note to take it out on a motorway some time soon, to hit the open road and see what the thing could do.

  Penny drove to work that night, pulling up alongside the front door as the landlord was just opening for the afternoon. He smiled in delight, aware that Penny was taking her test that day.

  “Well done!” he beamed at her, giving her a fatherly hugged as she came in through the door. She would get a lot of congratulations, word soon spreading that the owner of the shiny new car was Penny from the kitchen. Drinks were generously purchased. Penny would be ordered a taxi home that night, ironically, too drunk to be able to drive home, despite only having had a few drinks. She’d never been into alcohol as much as her mother had, was put of
f it, in fact, because of her. However, one normally only passes their driving test once, they said countless times. That night was not one for inhibitions.

  “Here,” he’d said, one of the regulars who’d been turning up each night since she’d started working at the pub. “You can share my cab home. I’ll drop you off on the way.” His name was Clive Banks, and he’d been one of the many hopefuls on New Year’s eve who was edging for a kiss. He’d had to settle for a hug, as they all had.

  “You sure it’s no trouble?” Penny said, aware that she couldn’t drive back, slightly guilty at that thought, but only marginally.

  “I’m going your way anyway,” he said, which seemed to settle it for Penny.

  Five minutes later the taxi pulled up, Clive opening the back door for Penny as she got in, and he dropped in next to her.

  “What’s your address?” he asked her, before relaying it to the driver. She was nearly falling asleep on his shoulder before the car had even pulled away.

  Ten minutes later they were standing at the end of her driveway. Clive had paid the driver and helped Penny out of the car. The taxi had left.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said, walking Penny up the empty driveway, Clive having to reach into her pocket for her door keys after ringing the bell, Penny telling him that no one was home, that she lived alone. He opened the door.

  “Hello?” he called out anyway. There was no answer.

  Penny would wake a few hours later, her head still a little fuzzy, the house in darkness. Clive was laying next to her asleep, his upper body exposed and a hairy chest was showing above the duvet. She had vague memories of inviting him in, of asking for some help up the stairs. Penny remembered him kissing her and then unbuttoning his shirt. She remembered having sex with him on the edge of the bed.

  Panic raced through her, forcing her to sit up in bed, realising she was only partially clothed herself. Clive remained dead to the world.

  Penny swore. She got herself out of bed, the room spinning around her, causing her to stop for a while so that she could get her balance. She went into the bathroom and sank to the floor, tears flowing seconds later. She’d given herself to a man she barely knew, a man just showing her kindness, though she had no way of knowing if he’d seen her as an easy lay. He hadn’t left her. He was still there. Had he taken advantage of her? But she had asked him upstairs; she remembered that much.

  She swore again.

  The tears had stopped. Penny knew she couldn’t undo what had happened, so she would just have to move on as best she could.

  4

  There are many ways a first time with a man could have gone––I can’t say that what happened that night with Clive had been any of the ways I’d imagined.

  It left a hole inside of me, I think. I had assumed that when the time came and when I met the man I wanted to live with, to give myself to for the first time, it would be more than that; that I would feel something. Was it because I remembered so little about the night that it felt odd? Did it not count?

  I remember the slightly awkward conversation in the morning when he woke up and found me sleeping on the bathroom floor. We hardly spoke. In the light of day, I wondered again what I’d ever seen in him, but maybe that was the point. I hadn’t been thinking straight. It was my first real encounter with alcohol and boy had it beaten me. I would have to be careful from then on.

  That night did something in Clive, too. It connected us in a way that wouldn’t lead to anything good and had I had the foresight to know what that was, I might have left my job at the pub altogether. As it was, I continued with my shifts there but spent more time in the kitchens for the next few weeks.

  Penny arrived at the care home as scheduled that Sunday. She’d managed to get Clive out of the house without the neighbours noticing, she hoped and had pulled herself together enough to be prepared to face the world, but Penny knew there was only one person to whom she needed to speak. That was Joy. Penny had quickly come to rely on her Nigerian bedridden-friend more than anyone else on the planet. Over recent weeks she’d been able to start telling her everything.

  Penny felt nervous about telling Joy about Clive––Joy was a profoundly spiritual person. There was no way she was going to approve of Penny having slept with a man she barely knew.

  Penny set out from home just before twelve, needing to walk to the pub and first fetch her car. She couldn’t wait to tell Joy about having passed her test the previous day. Getting to the car fifteen minutes later, Penny was silent as she drove the mile it took from there to reach the care home. Penny couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts; maybe her mother already knew? Perhaps she’d seen Penny getting into the taxi with Clive the night before? Penny ignored those rebounding ideas and focused on keeping her head clear for the short journey ahead.

  Penny pulled up at the care home and walked in through the main doors. She was greeted warmly by the staff, who because of her regular visits, knew her by now. She was by far the most committed visitor. Most patients were primarily left alone after the initial few visits, yet Penny had faithfully come most days.

  Penny shut the door of the room, looking over to the bed, Joy lying down peacefully as she always did, the monitor connected to Joy and stood next to her bed giving its regular sound, Joy’s heartbeat shown on the digital display.

  “Joy, it’s me,” Penny said, her mind coming alive with the words of Joy as she made her greeting––Penny realised she always heard them with a Nigerian accent. She’d never heard Joy speak, had no clue how the woman sharing her thoughts with Penny sounded. Penny amused herself with the realisation that her mind must have added the accent.

  “I need to talk to you about something, to tell you something I did of which I’m not proud. I need you just to listen and let me finish, okay?”

  Believe me, girl, all I can do is listen she said, before going silent. Penny’s mind was her own again.

  “I slept with a man last night, someone whom I hardly know,” she said, coming straight out with it, no need to beat around the bush. She could only imagine the intake of breath, the shock that Joy would be expressing if she was there physically. Then again, had she been there physically, Penny would never have opened up to her as she had these last three weeks. “I didn’t mean it to happen. I was a little drunk, that was the problem. I don’t drink. I know you said working in that pub was not a good idea, and I think I now understand what you meant. I passed my driving test, you see. That wasn’t the reason, and I’m happy I passed, but they were all celebrating, buying me drinks and wanting to make me happy, I guess. I only had a couple. Anyway, Clive––he’s the man I slept with––he called a taxi, helped me home. I think it was me who initiated; he didn’t take advantage of me before you jump to conclusions. Well, I don’t think he did. I remember…doing stuff to him too.” Penny went silent. It felt hugely releasing speaking to what looked like an utterly vacant person; Penny knew a freedom she’d not known before. Her secrets would remain with the patient who would never speak again. But it also felt utterly exposing. She knew Joy was listening, knew she was present and could hear her thoughts. Over the days she’d been opening up to this fantastic Nigerian, Penny had known such happiness. She feared she had now brought deep sadness. Still, there was silence.

  “Well?” Penny said after thirty seconds had passed.

  You told me to remain silent, so I did she said, ever the comedian, ever the grand-motherly character. You don’t need me to tell you that was very unwise. Dangerous, too. She was right; Penny knew it had been both those things and then some. Did he wear a condom?

  Penny was glad Joy couldn’t see her at that moment as Penny squirmed at that last question. Penny had no idea.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, knowing an answer was needed.

  Dear child, where I grew up my neighbourhood was ravaged by two things; pregnancies and AIDS. Education was the only way out, as well as the only way to indeed get the message to my generation of the dangers of p
romiscuous sexual relations. You should go to a pharmacy; there is a pill you can take to at least protect you from the former risk. God help you with the latter.

  “You’re not angry?”

  Angry? What good would that do for you now? I’m sorry for you, indeed. I wish that hadn’t happened, as I’m sure you now do in the light of day. But I don’t see how anger is going to help anybody now, do you? Penny couldn’t help but feel Joy made an excellent point, and she felt more ashamed about the previous night than she had ever felt about anything before.

  “You said I should not be working in a pub.”

  That I did, and yet you’ve made a good go of it despite my reservations. Don’t let this get to you. If this man, this Clive, causes you problems, you have to talk to the landlord, though. Promise?

  Penny paused only briefly, before agreeing. “I promise.” Penny had so appreciated the wise words of a woman she had all to herself. A woman presumed brain dead, no doubt, and yet bestowed with wisdom. Someone to whom Penny had been as candid and open as she had ever been to anyone. Over the course of the previous three weeks, she’d opened up entirely to Joy about who she was, what she could do. Penny had shared her deepest secrets, her most prominent fears, airing them to the world for the first time and it felt terrific, such release like Penny had never known. She’d battled through talking about her parents’ crumbling marriage, how her father had given up, in much the same way her mother had. It was just their outworking of how that played out that differed for each. She’d shared the deep hurt, the heartfelt longing that all that had left inside her. Joy had only repeated that what she was looking for could not be found in any human, but only in God.

  Penny kept ignoring that part of the conversation. She could just about manage to talk to Joy about all this––she couldn’t bring herself to think about God.