‘Italy?’ she said. ‘Oh, Francesco. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you not to go. I wish I could undo Valentine’s Day, and everything that happened.’
‘Don’t,’ insisted Francesco. ‘Let’s not do this again. We’ve been here before. It shouldn’t be this hard. If it is, then …’
Penny swallowed. She knew she had no right to get emotional. Not really. She’d turned it over in her mind and she knew, deep down, she didn’t trust Francesco. How could he say he loved her when the whole time he’d been here he’d been dating other women? The goddess woman, the woman he’d met at The Boot – his words and his actions hadn’t lined up, so why should she think they were now, even if he’d said he loved her? What were words anyway?
She couldn’t trust him.
She couldn’t trust herself.
It was better if he went.
I can’t say that I love you.
She’d loved having him at the pub but it had all been pretend. They’d pretended to be friends, to be pals, to be buddies, but it was always going to end in tears, wasn’t it, exactly like it did that morning in Stoke Newington. It was a short-lived romance limping on, masquerading as something more and exhausting them both.
I can’t say that I love you.
‘When will you go?’ she asked.
‘Is two weeks’ notice okay?’
‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘Though I’m sure I can find somebody else before then, if you want.’
Penny said softly, ‘We really screwed this up, didn’t we?’ and it made him finally look her dead in the eye.
‘No, Penny,’ he said, plainly. ‘We didn’t screw this up – you did. You were right: you’re too broken for me to fix, and I’m not a good enough man to be a pick-me-up who doubles as a toy.’
Penny was shocked by the level of his anger. His words came out strong and practised, like he’d rehearsed them in his head and designed them for maximum impact.
‘You are selfish, and uncomprehending of the games you play with grown men’s emotions,’ he continued. ‘I said I loved you, but now I have thought about it I don’t know if I could love somebody who would be so cruel. So thoughtless. You are an animal, trapped in her own pain, lashing out at anybody who dares come close enough to show you some kindness. I say this because I care, and because as soon as I have finished talking I will not care any longer. Get help. Go to therapy. Sort your head out. Because you will never find true contentment until you do, okay? This victim routine you have is mind-numbing. It’s time to grow up. It really, really is.’
Penny felt like she’d been slapped. Francesco was talking as though he hated her.
‘On second thoughts,’ he said, untying his apron. ‘I hereby retract giving you two weeks’ notice. You can stick your job up your arse.’ He tugged the apron over his head and handed it to Penny. ‘All the best.’
And then he walked away.
Penny stood shaking in humiliation. She knew she should go after him. She knew she should beg him to listen to her, to let her explain how she felt, to tell him she did trust him, actually, or she could, if he helped her, but the truth was that she had no idea what she felt. Who was this person she’d become? She’d strayed so far from who she thought she was that it was almost as if Francesco was right: she didn’t deserve his love.
And so she didn’t deserve to chase after him, either.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ she told Sharon over the phone. ‘I just froze. I’m an idiot.’
Sharon tutted at the other end of the line, kindly. ‘You’re not an idiot, darling, I promise you. This isn’t anybody’s fault. Maybe he won’t even go?’
Penny sniffled and reached for a tissue. ‘I think he already has,’ she said. ‘Charlie saw him packing up his car.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. Oh.’
‘Well, you don’t have to do anything just now, okay? If you’re hurt, be hurt. If you don’t know what to do next, don’t do anything for a moment. None of us is fucking up like we think we are, okay? So just be. I’m here if you need me, okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Penny. ‘Thank you.’
‘I love you.’
Penny pulled out some Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer and flicked on The Notebook. She used a tablespoon to shovel the food into her mouth without tasting it, the sugar hit barely making her high. She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be with anybody else, either. She watched Noah and Allie swinging into the river and riding bikes and snogging up against walls, and her whole relationship with Francesco played like a movie montage in her mind: how’d he’d looked that first morning in the café, the way it felt to see him at Dofi’s restaurant. She thought about him standing in stocking feet in her kitchen making brunch, kissing her by the reservoir, taking her to a hotel with a bag of toys. The endless chats, the midnight snacks, the way she felt more capable with him than without him.
I can’t say that I love you.
‘We’re staging an intervention.’
Penny had opened the door to the back step of the kitchen for her afternoon smoke to find her sister and Rima stood on the decking. She hadn’t been expecting them – had no idea they were coming at all – and so the first words out of her mouth had been, ‘What are you doing here?’ That had been Clementine’s response: that they were staging an intervention. Penny didn’t have a clue what that meant.
‘Are we okay to go through to the bar?’ Clementine asked, after giving Penny a big hug and taking a good look at her face. She refused to acknowledge her sister’s confusion, as if there would be an ‘all will be revealed’ moment if only Penny were patient enough.
‘Sure,’ Penny replied, shaking her head. ‘Go ahead.’
It was the only time in her life she hadn’t been pleased to see her sister.
‘Charlie!’ Clementine cheered, seeing them through the archway to the bottom bar. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased you’re here! I was hoping I could introduce you to Rima. Rima come here,’ she said, turning to her wife. ‘This is Charlie. We used to go to school together. Charlie—’ with this she turned back to Charlie, ‘this is Rima.’
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ Charlie said, reaching a hand out. ‘I’m so pleased you came.’
Penny scowled. Had Charlie been expecting them?
‘Oh, no handshakes!’ Rima said. ‘Give me a hug!’
Everyone watched them wrap their arms around each other, smiling and making squealed exclamations. Penny couldn’t get a handle on what was unfolding. She couldn’t stand how happy everyone seemed, how okay they all were. Didn’t they know she was hurting? Didn’t they know not to be demonstrably happy in front of her breaking heart?
‘You guys are making me feel really stupid,’ Penny announced. ‘This feels like an ambush and I don’t know what about, except that I feel a bit like I’m in trouble.’
As soon as she said it she felt a wobble in her throat. She’d been like this for ten days now, since Francesco had walked out. She felt guilty he’d gone, panicked about getting a replacement for him, sad that she’d made him sad, somehow like she’d failed … And here her sister was, making her feel an inch tall for reasons as yet unknown.
Rima and Charlie parted. Clementine took off her coat.
‘Sit down,’ Clementine said. ‘Charlie, is it okay if Rima helps you make some tea?’
‘It’s not an ambush,’ Clementine repeated, sat beside her sister.
‘So why do I feel overwhelmed when I should just be pleased to see you?’ Penny asked, glumly. It was obvious she wasn’t okay.
Clementine reached out for her hand. ‘I should have told you. I’m sorry. I was just worried you’d tell me not to, and I figured it was easier to get forgiveness than permission if you were feeling …’
‘Shit,’ supplied Penny, fiddling with a salt shaker.
Clementine nodded. ‘Charlie mentioned you’ve been a bit upset. They weren’t gossiping about you, I swear. I called to book a table for Uncle David’s visit, b
ecause you weren’t replying to my voice notes. I specifically asked if you were okay, because not hearing from you was scaring me. You always tell me everything, and since Francesco left you’ve told me nothing.’
Penny shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell,’ she said, when what she meant was: how do I even begin?
They drank their tea and ate their biscuits, and eventually Penny said: ‘I miss him.’
As she blinked, a tear spilled over and ran down her face. She used her fingers to blot it away and the others didn’t say a word, knowing that on the verge of confession the best thing to do is simply listen.
‘I just …’ Penny looked around the room as a way to distract herself. It was getting lighter noticeably later recently, and the promise of spring – her year’s end – was near. And then what? She felt like she’d thrown a hand grenade into her time in Havingley. She’d wanted to leave proud of what she’d done in transforming the place to its fully-booked, profitable incarnation. Now she’d leave knowing that above all else, what she’d done was get distracted by a bevy of men, like a horny teenager, and spoiled everything she had with each of them.
‘I guess …’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know …’ Now she looked down again at her lap. Clementine stood and moved to sit beside her.
‘It’s shit that Francesco has gone,’ she supplied. ‘I can’t imagine how that must feel.’
Penny nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I miss him, you know? He was my friend, and then he got so mad at me, and …’
‘Is that all? He was just your friend?’
‘I don’t even know,’ Penny said. ‘I can’t figure it out. I think he is. We’d talk about who I was dating, and who he was dating, but then we kissed and I panicked …’
Charlie added, ‘And then he flew off the handle. Like, he barely spoke before he walked out. Just came for his shifts, made his desserts, and then left. I don’t know how well you two knew him, but that was so weird for him. I’d never seen him like that before.’
‘He didn’t even say goodbye,’ Penny said, suddenly letting out a huge wail of a cry.
Clementine put her arm around her. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, stroking her hair. ‘It’s okay, Pen.’
Rima said, ‘And he’s gone to Italy?’
‘I think so,’ Penny nodded. ‘I don’t know. I feel so, so sad that I hurt him. I think … I think I really did. I think I really hurt him, and I didn’t mean to. I don’t think I’ve been a very nice person …’
Clementine rubbed Penny’s back and Penny closed her eyes, thoughts of Francesco swimming in her mind. It had all spiralled out of control. It had all gotten too dramatic, too crazy. All these men, dictating her fate: her uncle asking her to move in the first place, Thomas walking into the joint and asking her out, Priyesh being at her Christmas party and Francesco showing up on her doorstep and staying. Everyone wanted something from her, and Penny realized she didn’t know what she wanted for herself. She’d been so caught up in everyone else’s needs and wants and agendas, escaping from herself and making a mess of her life, when what she actually needed was to look inward and figure out what was important to her.
‘God, I’m sick of myself,’ Penny proclaimed, finally. ‘If my life was a movie I don’t think it would pass the Bechdel test, you know. All I do is talk about bloody men. Even sat here with you right now – I’m not asking about Stella, or the non-profit, Rima. You and me, Charlie, we should be talking about podcasts and the movies we’ve seen and what we think about the local government. When did I become this person? This woman that only talks about her love life? It’s so uninteresting!’
She was interrupted, then, by Priyesh’s voice sing-songing through from the top bar.
‘Hellooooo,’ he said. ‘Anybody there?’ He appeared in the archway, a bouquet of flowers in hand.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You’re having a party and I wasn’t invited?’ He meant it jovially, but he’d misread the mood of the room.
Penny stood quickly, dabbing at her cheeks. ‘Priyesh!’ she said, fixing a smile. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just wanted to drop these off,’ he said, studying her face. If he could tell she’d been crying he was sympathetic enough not to mention it. ‘I haven’t really heard from you since Valentine’s Day.’ He turned his attention to the others sat around the table. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Priyesh.’
Clementine’s eyes widened slightly at his name, understanding who he was. ‘I’m Clementine,’ she said. ‘Penny’s sister. And this is Rima, my wife.’
Priyesh walked to the table. ‘Hello, Charlie,’ he said, acknowledging them too.
Penny took the flowers from him, and as she did he leaned in for a kiss. Penny offered up her cheek.
‘Well,’ said Priyesh, addressing Penny. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt, I just wanted to give you these.’
‘I’ll walk you out,’ she said.
They walked in silence to his car, and then Priyesh began, ‘It’s okay. All of it – it’s okay. I knew you and Francesco were close. I didn’t let myself understand how close. But, you and him – that makes a million times more sense than this. I can see that. But I’m not going anywhere, okay. Take your time in any decision you make.’
‘Priyesh,’ Penny said, softly.
‘Oh,’ he said, his face dropping. ‘I see.’
‘It’s not you, it really isn’t.’
He paused for a second. ‘Right. That’s … disappointing.’
‘It’s not like I’m going to be around for much longer anyway, you know? It’s been ace, spending all this time with you, but I was never here to stay.’
‘You stopped talking about leaving, though,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I thought maybe you’d change your mind.’
‘My life is in London. You are charming and so clever and honestly, the sex we’ve had has been out of this world. This really is all me.’
‘And I can’t change your mind?’
‘You don’t want someone whose mind you have to change, do you?’
Priyesh offered a lop-sided smile. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ Penny opened her arms for a hug.
‘No hard feelings?’
‘No hard feelings.’
21
‘Penny Bridge,’ she said, into the buzzer microphone at the front door. ‘Here for a 9 a.m. initial consultation.’
‘Come in Penny,’ a sober voice said at the other end. ‘We’re upstairs and to the left.’
The lock sounded and Penny pushed her way through into the terraced townhouse that, from the outside, could have been somebody’s home. On the other side of the door, though, it gave itself away as a corporate space, furnished with carpet tiles, strip lighting, and a fire extinguisher. It was chilly. Penny gingerly climbed the stairs, found the waiting room, and took a seat. On the table in the middle were various leaflets.
Post-Traumatic Stress and You.
You Don’t Have to Do This Alone.
CBT and Psychoanalysis: What’s The Difference?
A woman with short grey hair sat flipping through a copy of HELLO! and a student in a hoodie sat picking at the skin around his fingernails. Penny felt as if everyone was looking at her, assessing what her secret might be, but she was doing exactly the same in return. She wondered if the woman was weathering a divorce after years of putting up with a husband who never appreciated her. Maybe the student had questions about his sexuality. What would they say if they knew what Penny’s problem was? Oh, boo-hoo, you had three men fighting over you? How awful.
‘Penny?’ a woman said, appearing in the doorway. Penny stood and followed her into a stark room painted cream, with a cream sofa and a cream chair Penny recognized immediately as IKEA. There was a small table beside the sofa with a box of tissues on it. She couldn’t see a clock.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea, or some water?’ said the woman, who wore a name badge that read ‘Christina.’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ said Penny, sitting on the sofa. ‘Thank
you.’
Christina nodded. ‘And what brings you here today? This is our first time together, so I’ll be making notes as we talk. Is that okay?’
Penny nodded.
‘Thank you,’ Christina smiled. ‘So. What’s on your mind?’
Penny thought about how to begin. With Uncle David? Francesco?
‘Everything just feels a bit of a mess,’ she settled on, which was as good a summary as any. ‘And I’m having a hard time untangling myself from it, I think.’
‘Okay,’ said Christina, her voice slow, her tone neutral. ‘In what way does it all feel a bit of a mess?’
Penny shrugged. ‘I just don’t feel very happy, I suppose,’ she said, and saying that out loud to a stranger made her voice crack, like it had done when she’d talked to Clementine and Rima and Charlie. ‘And I don’t know what to do about it.’
Christina nodded. Her eyes were sympathetic but her face didn’t give away any kind of feeling about what Penny was saying.
‘That sounds like it would be a very heavy thing to carry around with you,’ she said.
‘It is,’ Penny said.
Christina let that hang in the air. She wasn’t desperate, it seemed to Penny, to drive the conversation forward at all or fill in the gaps after Penny had spoken. It made Penny nervous. Was she supposed to keep talking? Or was Christina just thinking about what to say next? When Penny had been to counselling throughout the cancer it was a bit more talkative than this, a bit more informal. Christina didn’t seem to want to go in for the role of a Chatty Cathy.
‘I feel like I’m letting everyone down,’ Penny continued, the thought just occurring to her in the space Christina’s silence had made. ‘I rely on my sister too much, and don’t support my uncle enough – he’s basically my dad, because dad left. Mum died. And I’ve been sleeping around a bit. Not sleeping around – god, this isn’t nineteen-fifty – but maybe I’ve been farming my self-worth out to men, like they might make me feel like it all makes more sense, or something. I don’t know. My friend Francesco said I was hurting people. He said he loved me, but then he said he changed his mind because he couldn’t love somebody who hurt people. Do I sound like a sociopath? Wait. Is sociopath the one who manipulates people? Maybe I mean psychopath? Narcissist?’
The Love Square Page 23