The Love Square

by Laura Jane Williams

  ‘Safiya fell off her bike?’ Stuart said, worriedly, whilst also acknowledging the man Penny had let in. ‘Alright mate?’ Stuart had a crush on the bread supplier and did a terrible job of hiding it – even the way he said Safiya’s name betrayed him.

  The puffer-vest-wearing man put the brown paper bags down on the table by the door and happily inserted himself into the conversation. ‘Not Safiya. A guy she’s dating. But I’m here to save the day! I’ve got more in the van. Croissants, I think. Nice to meet you. I’m Francesco.’ He shook Stuart’s hand and nodded at Penny, who’d already walked back across the café.

  Penny caught Stuart’s face fall. A guy she’s dating. That must’ve stung. She went back to the counter just as the coffee maker roared into life and spat hot, syrupy espresso into her cup, and Stuart busied himself by filling up the sugar bowls on each table. She watched the man outside shift several delivery trays in his van around into a more orderly fashion. His complexion and hair colour made sense now she’d heard him speak – he had a slight accent. He wore a striped apron over his clothes and paused his work to pull out a phone from the front pouch. Whoever was on the other end of the line when he answered delighted him so much that he threw his head back, laughing. Seeing somebody so elated made Penny smile by proxy. A handsome man enjoying his life. She wondered if it was his girlfriend, and then wondered why she’d wondered about him having a girlfriend. She concluded it was because of the accent. And the smile. And the heavy-lifting.

  ‘I wish you’d let me do that for you,’ Stuart said, interrupting her reverie. ‘You don’t treat it with the respect it deserves.’

  ‘It’s just a double espresso,’ giggled Penny.

  Stuart looked stern and held up a finger. ‘It is never just an espresso, Penny.’

  ‘My bad …’ Penny stepped away from the machine, back around the counter, holding her hands up while giving a mocking roll of the eyes.

  ‘This is your café – you’re Penny?’ Francesco said, reappearing in the doorway and dropping down two smaller paper bags.

  ‘I am.’

  He wiped a hand on his apron and held it out to her as he approached.

  ‘I’ve read about you.’

  The warmth of his palm met hers.

  They locked eyes.

  His smile was broad – not just wide, but all-encompassing. It was disconcerting to look him in the eye, this stranger, not least because they were stood not even a body’s width apart, but Penny found that she couldn’t look away. She took him in – his sprinkling of stubble and the tangy smell of coffee on his breath.

  ‘I wish I could stay for breakfast,’ he said.

  They were still shaking hands.

  ‘Leaving before breakfast and you didn’t even spend the night,’ Penny baited without thinking, shocking herself at how easily she’d let something so inappropriate slip out.

  ‘I’ve heard great things,’ smirked Francesco.

  ‘Well … I …’ Penny spluttered. She was embarrassed now. Why had she said that? Maybe this explained her perpetual singledom – she was a horrific flirt who, when it came down to it, didn’t actually know how to communicate with the opposite sex.

  ‘I meant about the breakfast.’ Francesco laughed.

  ‘Yes. Of course! Right. Yes, so did I.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he murmured, clearly enjoying her squirming.

  They stood, touching, him grinning at her, looking at her, scanning her face like maybe he knew her, and Penny realized she was grinning just as widely back.

  Something was happening.

  Penny didn’t know what to say.

  His eyes were like pools of black marble.

  Deep.

  Penetrating.

  She could count on one hand the number of times she’d experienced that. Somebody looking not at her, but almost through to the essence of her. Piercing something. The last time she’d felt like this with a hot bloke was at culinary school, when she’d met her ex. She’d felt it when she’d told her uncle about being ill, when she was twenty-five, too. Her sister Clementine could look at her that way sometimes. There was no hiding. Jesus, I hope that wasn’t his girlfriend on the phone, Penny thought. He’s beautiful. Not that she was going to do anything about it. Obviously. She’d probably never see him again, for starters.

  ‘Well. I’ll … be back,’ Francesco said. ‘I’ve got more deliveries now.’

  They were still holding hands. Still staring.

  ‘Do. Yes. We’ll … be here,’ Penny grinned, not entirely sure what that even meant. ‘I mean. Of course we’ll be here. Buildings don’t tend to move around. Ha.’ Her mouth was dry. Why was she so horribly incompetent with this? ‘You’re welcome any time.’ She felt ridiculous.

  Francesco flashed his smile once more. ‘Cool,’ he nodded, and dropped her hand to turn on his heel.

  ‘Francesco?’ Stuart said, and Penny realized with mortification that he’d been stood behind the counter watching as all of this happened.

  ‘Yes mate?’ Francesco replied, not making eye contact with Stuart as he spun back around, instead immediately catching Penny’s eye again, grateful for the excuse to elicit another smile. She had bright red hair piled on top of her head and not a scrap of make-up. She looked tired, like she’d already been in the kitchen for hours, but her cheeks had flushed to make her glow, and her voice, when she’d spoken, had reminded him of something. He felt like he’d met her before, somewhere. He wanted permission to keep staring, to keep looking.

  ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

  That got his attention. Francesco looked to Stuart. ‘Ah, I’m not gay, mate. Sorry.’

  Stuart rolled his eyes and motioned towards Penny. ‘Not for me. For her.’ Penny’s eyes widened in horror. ‘The one that’s slack-jawed and dripping over there.’

  ‘Me?’ Penny squeaked.

  ‘You’re single?’ Francesco questioned.

  Penny looked from Francesco to Stuart, and then back again.

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘Oh. Cool. Well—’

  Stuart cut him off by handing him an order pad and pen.

  ‘Write your number down,’ Stuart commanded.

  Francesco laughed. ‘God, there’s no messing around here, is there?’ he laughed. He looked at Penny. ‘Is that … okay? If I do that?’

  ‘Sure,’ yelped Penny, three octaves higher than she normally spoke. ‘Yes. Okay. Um … awesome. I will … use it. Yes.’ She inexplicably did a thumbs-up mixed with a finger point. Later Stuart would say to her: you were real cool, Pen. Real, real cool.

  Francesco scribbled down his digits as Penny glared at Stuart and Stuart supervised Francesco, nodding encouragingly as he handed the slip of paper over to her.

  Penny smiled.

  Francesco smiled.

  They stood, neither of them saying anything.

  This stuff doesn’t happen! thought Penny. This stuff doesn’t happen to ME!

  ‘Okay then,’ said Stuart. ‘This is the bit where you both say goodbye. We’ve got a café to run.’

  ‘Bye,’ Francesco said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

  ‘Bye,’ said Penny, giddy.

  ‘You’re both very welcome,’ said Stuart, ushering Francesco out. ‘Especially you,’ he added, for Penny’s benefit, winking. When Francesco was out of earshot he added: ‘I told you it could be the very next man to walk through that door.’

  ‘Well yeah,’ said Penny, lowering her voice, her eyes fixed on Francesco’s bum through the window – she’d have to have been dead not to notice how his jeans hung low on his waist, his boxers peeking over the top. ‘But a man who looks like that – there’s got to be something wrong with him, hasn’t there? Nice guys don’t … swagger.’

  Francesco gave one last look back before he got into the bread van. Penny and Stuart each raised a hand to wave at him.

  ‘Right?’ she prompted Stuart.

  ‘Put that number into your phone right now, right this
second,’ he said. ‘Before you lose it. If there’s something wrong with him, at least find out what it is.’

  ‘Like that’s not the story of my life,’ Penny replied sceptically, still waving at Francesco and his cute bum.

  After service had ended that day and Bridges was closed, Penny sat outside in the unseasonably warm March sunshine. (‘Fake spring’ her uncle called it. ‘There’s three fake springs before May, but don’t be fooled: a week of sun does not a change of season make.’) All day she’d been turning over what had happened that morning in her mind – getting Francesco’s number that way. What did she have to lose by texting him? But then, what if he’d only passed along his number because he was too embarrassed not to? Penny couldn’t quite engage the ‘sod it’ muscles it took to make a move on him. He was gorgeous, though. Really … urgh. She didn’t want to use the word ‘sexy’ but it was the most appropriate one that came to mind. He might be too sexy, thought Penny. If I’m a six out of ten and he’s a nine, he probably wants to date another nine. That’s just hot people maths.

  Penny rolled a cigarette from the pouch of tobacco in her lap, using a menthol filter. She knew smoking was bad for her, and yet that was part of the appeal. She let herself have one a day, like Obama apparently did. A good girl doing a bad thing. Lighting it, she simultaneously fished her phone out of her apron, pulling up WhatsApp to send a voice note to her sister Clementine. She held down the record button and slid it up so that it locked, meaning she could talk at length without needing to keep her finger pressed down.

  ‘So, a thing happened this morning,’ she started, thus beginning the kind of monologue that she and Clementine lovingly called ‘Personal Podcasts’. Clementine was a project manager for Stella McCartney, which meant she was seldom in the country for more than one week at a time before she had to fly off to Tokyo or Helsinki or Milan to oversee the building and fitting of a new store. For the past two years their bond had subsisted mostly on these voice notes recorded and listened to at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes it was easier to be honest about their lives without the other one there – like truths whispered between lovers after dark, when it was simpler to say what needed to be said. In truth, Clementine’s job had brought them closer, even though they were physically far apart.

  ‘This guy … Oh I don’t know. This is so dumb.’ Penny sucked on her roll-up and exhaled loudly. She explained all about acquiring Francesco’s number and concluded with, ‘I’m going to text him. That’s what I came on to tell you. I’m going to text him because I am a grown woman in charge of herself and it’s not a big deal. That is what he gave it to me for. So I could use it. Which I am going to do. Use it. Me. To text him, Mr Hot Stuff, right now, in a minute.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette with the heel of her trainer and gently tucked it into the side of a bay tree at the back door, in amongst all the other butts she told herself she’d ‘collect all at once’ to ‘save time’ but hadn’t done in about six months.

  ‘Anyway, tell me your news when you can. I know I just made this all about me. But, sisterly entitlement and all that, isn’t it. I just needed to talk myself into being brave. Love you! Send photos from Miami! I am now going to text the handsome man!’

  Except, once Penny had sent the voice note, she sat staring at her phone, turning it over in her hand, most definitely not texting Francesco. She stared at the darkening sky and let out a sigh. Cristian hadn’t wanted her. Trevor hadn’t wanted her. The Iraqi estate agent hadn’t wanted her. Why would this guy be any different?

  Dare I … she wondered. Images of Cristian playing on the dating app the night before flashed up in her mind, the shame and degradation washing over her once again.

  ‘Damn it,’ she said, unlocking her phone. She couldn’t get the idea of feedback from another man out of her mind. She thought about it for a minute and then typed:

  Oh hey – me again. Penny. I was wondering if I could ask you one thing. Not being weird or anything, but I think there’s something you could help me with?

  She was in luck: it came up at the top of the screen that Cristian was online, and then that he was typing back.

  … ok??? Cristian replied.

  Penny took a breath and decided to just go for it. I saw you playing on Bumble when I was coming back from the bathroom last night, she explained. So obviously you just weren’t that into me. I’m not saying your ex isn’t back in the picture, but even if she isn’t you decided you didn’t fancy me. And that is totally cool! That’s ok!!! But I’ve been really unlucky with dating, and I wondered if there was something I did to mess it up? She hoped she didn’t sound like she was begging him to change his mind. She sent another message: Honestly, I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything. I really am hoping you can solve the mystery (to me) of my eternal singledom!

  Cristian is typing, her phone promised, before his reply pinged back.

  lol. Soz that u saw that. Not that we r married or anything lol.

  Lol, she replied.

  Penny hated that she had replied with a ‘lol’. She hated that she was even asking the question. The man couldn’t even spell his texts properly! But if she was going to message Francesco, she wanted information first. She wanted to know how to protect herself. She wanted to make sure that if there was one thing that was turning these men off that she knew, once and for all, what it was, so she could decide if she was willing to change it or not.

  Cristian continued: I mean, ur fit and everything, so don’t worry about that.

  Thanks. You too!

  It took everything she had in her not to add an emoji, but he didn’t deserve the happy face with the jazz hands. Was Cristian always this much of a moron? Penny reflected that they hadn’t really exchanged many messages before they’d gone out together – she’d just straight up asked him out, because it was draining to keep messaging and she didn’t have time in her schedule to waste. He was an eloquent conversationalist – or, at least, she remembered him as one. Although … huh. Now she thought about it, he hadn’t asked her many questions about herself, and he did tend to explain things to her that she already knew, even after she had said she knew them. Bloody hell, maybe I’ve been so desperate to couple up that I willingly got dickmatized, she thought, remembering what her best friend Sharon had said to her about straight women who become hypnotized into forgetting their partner’s flaws at the promise of sex. ‘And it doesn’t even have to be good sex!’ Sharon had insisted. ‘Just a warm body to wake up next to!’ Bugger, thought Penny. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

  Penny’s realization was interrupted by his reply.

  If I was gonna say anyting maybe your laff is a bit loud

  My laugh is too loud?

  It’s like confidence and that innit? You don’t mind people looking and that. I like my women a bit more quiet.

  Right. I’m too confident?

  A bit, yeah. Sorry if I’m affending you or whatever but you asked!

  How could Penny be ‘accused’ of being ‘too confident’ when literally her lack of confidence is what meant she was asking this man for feedback about herself in the first place? She started to type a response. At first she tried to make a joke about it, but then she hit the delete button and re-typed outrage at such blatant misogyny instead. She deleted that, too. Penny sat and stared at her phone and tried to reason with what she’d advise anyone else to do. If a friend told her they’d texted a date that didn’t work out to ask for ‘feedback’ what would she say?

  She took a breath.

  ‘Bollocks to this,’ she declared, and swiped left on the message thread to hit ‘delete’. Then she went to contacts and hit the ‘i’ by Cristian’s name, scrolling down to block his number.

  ‘That’s better!’ she avowed out loud, a feeling of relief washing over her that she might have lost perspective for a moment, but she’d pulled it back from the brink. She certainly wouldn’t be telling Clementine about this slip in judgement. There was nothing wrong with her. If Cristian didn’
t fancy her that was, like Stuart had pointed out, Cristian’s problem.

  Admittedly, it was a shame that Cristian’s problem left Penny as the one on her own.

  She put her phone back into her trouser pocket and stood to go back inside. She wasn’t going to worry about Cristian, and she certainly wasn’t going to get her knickers in a twist over the delivery man from this morning, either, who’d no doubt be yet another in a long string of anticlimaxes. No. It was better to swear off men altogether for a bit. She could always go on another wellness retreat, or buy a new vibrator, instead. Perhaps she’d finally join the Netball team at the leisure centre. Anything but men. Just for a little while. Maybe what she’d said to Stuart was right – that she’d plough on with her life single, and truly start preparing to find a surrogate. At least that way she’d be protected from dating disappointment. Trying to stay hopeful was costing her emotional wellbeing way too much. Couldn’t there be more to life than trying to find a bloody man?

  2

  ‘Well hello, you,’ Penny’s best friend Sharon said in her thick Irish accent as Penny climbed into the backseat of their Uber. ‘Who are you out to impress tonight? You look – well, there’s no other word for it – sensational.’

  ‘Oh, this old thing?’ Penny asked, putting on a faux-shy voice as she fixed her seatbelt and leaned across to kiss Sharon’s cheek.

  Penny revelled in the opportunity to get dressed up. She spent much of her life smelling, as Stuart lovingly joked, like burnt cream and boiled ham, so to shower with her favourite oils, and style her hair and wear a dress that she’d actually taken the time to iron, felt like stepping into a different side of her personality. She was always herself, but in a ruffled red midi dress she’d picked up at one of Stoke Newington’s Church Street boutiques, she felt girlish and pretty, and it was difficult to feel that way in the Crocs and chef’s whites of her day-to-day. She liked reminding herself she could be both versions of Penny.