The Love Square
Page 6
‘It’s so badass that this is your life,’ Francesco said, as he pulled her feet up onto his lap for the massage he’d promised. ‘This apartment, Bridges, the way you talk about your uncle and your sister and Sharon … you’ve really got your shit together, haven’t you?’
‘Thank you. That’s a kind thing to say.’
‘I’m not very happy at work. I think I’m sensitive to everyone else’s lives because I’m trying to build up the courage to change some things about my own.’
Penny nodded. ‘It’s a horrible feeling when things don’t sit right. But I’d have thought working under Anthony Farrah would have been a total dream, no?’
Francesco scrunched up his nose and lightly shook his head. ‘I want my own place,’ he said. ‘It’s amazing to me that you do. It’s really inspiring.’
‘What’s stopping you?’
‘Money,’ Francesco lamented. ‘And courage.’
‘The first thing I understand,’ Penny replied. ‘I got a big medical insurance pay-out, so that’s how I made this dream come true. The second thing, though – I’m fairly sure that has to come from you.’
‘You mean you don’t have any extra courage stored in another Tupperware that you can lend me?’
‘Afraid not. Do feel free to take the pasta you liked, though.’
‘No courage, but plenty of sustenance. Got it.’
Penny giggled. ‘Can’t climb the mountains of the mind until you’ve been properly fed,’ she said. ‘And I’m not just saying that because food is my business.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t in the kitchen,’ Francesco pondered. ‘If I wasn’t a chef I think I’d still end up in restaurants, maybe front of house or as a mixologist or something.’
‘Oh,’ said Penny. ‘I totally know what else I would do.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Number one, I’d be a beautician. I just think it must be so satisfying to help people feel better about themselves through something as straightforward as waxed legs or a different arch in their eyebrows. Number two, I’d be a teacher. I don’t know for what subject because, to be honest, I wasn’t hugely academic at school myself. Maybe home economics? Do they even still teach that? Or, number three, if I didn’t own Bridges, I would …’
‘Run away and join the circus,’ Francesco supplied.
‘Noooooo.’
‘Become a nun, for the habit?’
‘Tempting, but no.’
‘Stunt double?’
‘Not that, either. Counsellor, I think. For cancer survivors. Pay it forward and all that.’
Francesco absorbed this information. ‘You’d be a great counsellor,’ he said. ‘I’d trust you.’
‘Cheers,’ she replied.
‘Was it horrible?’ he asked. ‘Is it still horrible? You said about being tired …’
‘My joints seize, sometimes,’ Penny explained. ‘I don’t sleep through the night well – even by myself, let alone when I’m sharing a bed. And I’m not very good at sharing a bed, even though I love waking up with someone. I sweat. From every pore. Sometimes I forget people’s names. My libido is pretty up and down. I feel bloated for seemingly no reason, and sometimes just … weird. Empty. Anyone going through treatment right now would kill to be on the other side. When you’re in it, all you want is for it to be over. But nobody told me about this bit. The aftermath.’ She was determined not to be emotional, to not give cancer another tear. She gathered herself. ‘I was declared cancer-free four years ago now, but I have hormones injected every month because it was a hormonally-driven strain that I might always be in battle with, so I’m effectively in early menopause. Which I’m sure is very erotic to know.’ There it was – more of her truth.
Francesco nodded. He didn’t offer her advice or solutions, or insist she look on the bright side: she was here! She was alive! He just kept rubbing her feet and letting her talk. It felt good. Not the foot rub – though that was wonderful. But to give air to all of her feelings: sometimes she worried that saying all this out loud would make it grow. That shedding sunlight on her anxieties would encourage them. But as she spoke it felt like a relief. She did more pretending than she gave herself credit for.
‘I’m lucky to be here. I know that. And I do my best to get on. I’m in a fortunate situation, and I had Uncle David, and my sister, and Eric all rallying around me. I’d never felt so looked after. Protected. Loved. But I’m also human. And I still find this hard. Harder than I make it look, sometimes. And, well, you may as well know that it was as soon as I got diagnosed that my ex ended things with me. Kind of like how my dad left my mum, weirdly. I was always the strong one, the cheerleader in our relationship, but then he couldn’t do the same for me. Not that I’d have wanted him to stay out of pity, but it was pretty devastating. And embarrassing. I haven’t really had a relationship since.’
Francesco shook his head gently in disbelief. ‘Wow. That’s … a lot.’
‘Yeah. I think Mo had wanted to end it for a while and then had to do it as soon as I got diagnosed or else he’d be the monster who dumped me halfway through treatment. So. Now you know all the skeletons in my closet.’
‘You’re a strong woman, though. Not in spite of it all. Because of it.’
Penny shrugged.
‘You’re a strong woman who knows it’s okay to be vulnerable. Not a lot of people understand that. I think it’s a very special trait.’
‘I don’t know about that. I feel like a spikey hedgehog most of the time – balled up, not letting anyone really help.’
‘Thanks for telling me. Thanks for letting me ask.’
‘Thanks for caring,’ she replied, gently.
Francesco nodded. ‘Is this pressure still okay?’ He motioned to her foot.
‘Yeah, that’s good. I might need you here every night.’
‘Easy tiger.’
Penny leaned her head against the side of the sofa, closing her eyes, breathing deeply and smiling just slightly. Francesco studied her, and Penny caught him doing so as she opened one eye.
‘It’s rude to stare.’ She smiled as she said it.
Francesco didn’t smile back. He thought about something, and then decided to say it: ‘I think I could fall in friendship with you, you know.’
Friendship? Penny thought, alarmed. Her whole body tensed.
‘Oh, you mean this isn’t …’ Penny opened her eyes properly and watched him rub her foot, which had tensed up in horror. Was he telling her this wasn’t romantic? That he just wanted to be her friend?
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is. Sorry. I didn’t mean …’ he trailed off. ‘Okay, you told me some stuff, so now I’ll tell you some stuff, okay?’
‘… Okay.’
‘I’ve never had a proper teammate before, you know? Somebody who I fancied and wanted to rip their clothes off and who I laughed with, yeah, but never somebody who was also just my mate. Because the passion and stuff fades, doesn’t it – or at least, it changes – and I have this theory that before I fall in love with somebody – my person – I’d like to fall in friendship with them first. As the basis of it.’
‘So you … don’t wanna sleep with me.’ She said it as a statement.
Francesco laughed. ‘I do not have words for the extent to which I want to sleep with you, Penny Bridge,’ he replied, and relief washed over her. ‘But also, I just want you to know that it’s easy to be with you. And I just think you’re the coolest. I really respect you. Which sounds like the corniest thing in the world to say because of course I’ve respected anyone I’ve gone out with but, I mean … I feel like my best version of myself with you. Not like I need you to be better, to be my life coach, but … even after knowing you this short amount of time, I suppose you make me play my best game. Because you’re a good player too.’
‘Francesco. It would be my honour and privilege to fall in friendship with you right back.’ She reached out to one of his lotion-covered hands and laced her fingers with his. ‘I’
m very pleased to be spending time with you.’
‘Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? Falling in friendship?’ He held his free palm up in question. ‘Wait, don’t answer that. It’s lame city, I know.’
Penny closed her eyes again and smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’
Francesco didn’t say anything in response, he simply absorbed what she’d said. Penny moved so that instead of sitting at the opposite end of the sofa she was curled up beside him, her head on his chest. He wiped his hands on the cloth he’d thought to leave on the coffee table and then tenderly played with her hair. He watched the flame from the candles dance as they burned down. On the speaker the notes of an old Italian song he recognized from his childhood played – his parents had owned it on CD in the car. It was from a film called Senza Sapere Niente Di Lei – ‘Without Knowing Much About Her’. His parents had always been very happily married, and he’d always had the sense they loved each other, but that they worked to like each other, too. That’s what he wanted for himself.
He noticed Penny’s breathing had deepened. She was asleep. Francesco listened to the inhale and exhale noises she made. He let the rhythm of her breathing wash over him, becoming a meditation.
Him.
Her.
He felt peaceful, and protective.
Eventually, seeing the time on the big clock by her TV, Francesco moved Penny’s head over to a cushion and slipped away, covering her with the blanket. Tip-toeing, he cleared away their empty water glasses and put them in the sink, blew out the candles, and checked the back door to the small terrace was locked. He took out the key and put it soundlessly on the sideboard. Then he let himself out – but before he headed down the stairs he looked back to where she slept, committing the moment to memory.
‘Hey sis,’ Clementine’s voice came through the phone. ‘That was a superb voice note you sent – you continue to sound … I don’t know? Really dreamy? But like, in a good way. In a I’m not worried way. He just sounds like a real stand-up guy, and I know we don’t know many of those – well, many straight ones – but if you think he might be one of them, I am totally on board. Everything here is great, but I’m ready to come home for a bit. I’ll be back for two whole weeks on Saturday! Can you imagine? I don’t think I’ve had two weeks in my own bed all year yet. I’m excited for us all to get together for Eric’s birthday, too. Why don’t we go up there? We never go up there. And, when I’m back, I’d like to talk to you. I’ve got an idea. No – a suggestion. Just something I want to run by you. Also I am desperate to come and see the café and eat your food and be on your sofa and have you over for dinner. I’ve really missed you lately! More than usual. I just want my big sister. Okay, that’s all from me. Keep me up to date with this handsome Italian situation, please. Does he take bookings for the foot massages? Love you. Bye!’
Penny listened to the message right before the first breakfast order came through, and spent the next few hours wondering what Clementine’s ‘suggestion’ might be. Penny was the older sister but it was Clementine who acted like it. It hadn’t always been that way. As with almost everything in her life, most things changed with the cancer. Penny had been so full of life up until then. Ambitious, but without taking anything too seriously – she’d loved working in kitchens and learning about food and then playing hard, too, taking impromptu trips to new cities and staying up all night. She’d been a textbook twenty-something until she wasn’t. Life was divided into ‘Before I Got Ill’ and ‘After I Got Ill’, and in the after bit, Clementine definitely became the protector, and Penny had had no choice but to let her.
‘Pen, there’s a bloke out there who says he has to compliment the chef,’ Stuart said from the doorway of the kitchen, a tea towel in his hands, interrupting her last dishes of the day. ‘Says your heirloom carrots are the best he’s ever had, for a little café.’
‘You what?’ Penny replied. ‘He said that? For a little café?’
‘He’s a handsome bastard. Italian, I think.’
Penny smiled in understanding. ‘There’s ten minutes left of service. Let me just get this Panzanella out and then tell Francesco I’ll be right up.’
Stuart started to leave. He turned around and said, ‘Pen?’
Penny looked up.
‘I like him.’
She grinned. ‘Me too.’
Penny pulled a baking sheet lined with kale from the oven and put it on the counter, arranging it on a plate with radicchio leaves and beetroot before sprinkling croutons over the top and spooning smoked ricotta on the side. She lost herself in the music of her art, drizzling over olive oil and saba, finishing the plate with flaked salt.
‘Service!’ she called out, and Estelle, a petite blonde with half her head shaved, appeared to whisk it away.
Penny looked around the kitchen. It had been a busier service than normal, and her section was a mess.
‘Bobby?’ she said in the direction of the pot-wash. ‘I’m just running upstairs for a sec. Do what you can over there and then I’ll sweep and mop. I know you need to leave by half past.’
‘Cheers, boss,’ said the kitchen-hand from behind a mound of sudsy water. ‘I promise I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.’
‘I know,’ Penny said. ‘It’s cool. Thank you.’
Penny headed up the six or so stairs from the lower ground level kitchen at the back to the main part of the café out front. Stuart saw her as she turned the corner and from behind the counter tipped his head in the direction of the window where, at a table meant for four, sat Francesco on his own. She walked over, smiling.
‘Can I buy you a coffee?’
‘Hello, you,’ Penny replied. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I told you I needed to eat here,’ he said, as way of explanation. ‘And now I have. Penny, you’re brilliant. I didn’t want you to know it was me you were feeding. I wanted to be treated like any other regular guy.’
‘Yes, I would have been rather distracted to know I was cooking for the world’s best foot masseuse.’
‘You understand my logic, then,’ retorted Francesco. He hadn’t shaved that day and his five o’clock shadow made him look rugged and outdoorsy. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin delicately, the gesture at odds with his appearance. It was – oh god, Penny cringed, I need to come up with another bloody word for him – disarmingly sexy.
‘You left without saying goodbye last night,’ Penny said. She pulled up the chair opposite. Francesco looked like a framed picture with the street in early bloom behind him, the light hazy as evening threatened to arrive soon, his jacket in a pile beside him.
‘Like I said in my text, I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘I’m a terrible host,’ Penny said. ‘Falling asleep on you like that.’
‘Nah,’ Francesco replied. ‘I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to do so.’
They stared at each other, beaming.
‘It’s good here,’ Francesco said. ‘It’s really, really good. The food, the vibe, the service. You deserve all the hype.’
‘Did you hear that, Stu?’ Penny said, turning around. ‘Great service, he said!’
Stuart raised a hand to say he’d heard.
‘What’s it really like, having your own place? I know we talked about it a bit last night but honestly, chef-to-chef, are you satisfied?’
‘Chef to chef?’
Francesco nodded.
‘It’s the fucking best.’
Bobby interrupted them then, rounding the corner of the stairs and lingering at the table on his way out of the door. ‘Thanks again, boss. It’s pretty decent down there, but it’s not perfect.’
‘Give your mother my love,’ Penny said. ‘And tell her I’m determined to get that chowder recipe out of her sooner or later!’
‘Will do, boss. Cheers.’
‘Well,’ Penny sighed. ‘That’s my cue. I’m a kitchen porter down and I get too tired if I linger, so I’m sorry that I can’t stay an
d drink coffee with you.’
‘Oh, well – let me help,’ Francesco said, standing. ‘I don’t have anywhere to be. I’m not going in until five thirty. I can play kitchen porter with you.’
Penny raised her eyebrows and lowered her chin. ‘You want to help clean the kitchen?’
‘Sure!’
‘On an afternoon when you are not working at your job, which is in a kitchen?’
‘Come on,’ he said, already walking away. ‘Many hands make light work and all that.’
Penny shrugged. ‘As long as it isn’t a pity hand,’ she said after him, meaning: don’t feel sorry for me because I told you I used to have cancer.
He turned around and caught Stu’s eye as he did so, winking at him and so bringing him into the joke. ‘Have you ever been told you complicate things too much? I just wanna hang out with you! I don’t care what we do!’
Penny felt weirdly suspicious, but conceded. ‘Okay,’ she said, knowing Stuart was looking at her and deliberately ignoring his smugness. She knew he felt proud of the hand he’d had in her current contentedness. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m so sure.’
‘You could just stand and keep me company as I finish off,’ Penny said, after they’d assessed what needed doing and she’d pulled her apron back on.
‘Pass me an apron, too,’ Francesco replied. ‘Like I said: many hands make light work. And maybe being behind the scenes of the famous Bridges Café means I’ll get some insider info on how the magic is made.’
‘I guard my secrets with my life,’ Penny warned, wiggling her eyebrows.
‘I have my ways of seduction,’ said Francesco, taking a step closer to her.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Penny laughed, and she didn’t. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, pulling back before she got carried away. He tasted like coffee and promise.
‘Mmmmm,’ Francesco smiled. He added, ‘One more please.’
She leaned in and kissed him again, the length of her body pressed up against his. He put one hand behind her neck and held her to him.