No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [16]
The other girl laughed. “Nowhere delivers,” she said.
“You’re kidding,” he said, looking over the first’s shoulder. She shook her head, smiling coyly with one leg behind the other and one arm hanging casually as if she was a teenager on dope or attempting an impression of Bono singing “Maggie’s Farm” at Self Aid.
“I didn’t see that coming.” He was disturbed by this news.
“You can eat here,” the second girl offered. “We have loads. Don’t we, Mare?” She moved towards him and put out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Penny Walsh,” she smiled a winsome smile, “and this is my friend Mary Mackey. She’s friendlier than she first appears. She’d love you to stay.”
Mary smiled, teeth gritted, at the stranger while silently wishing a nasty case of the clap on her friend. “Of course.”
“No, thanks. I’m really tired and not much company,” he said truthfully. Sam was no more interested in making new friends than his reluctant neighbour was.
Mary felt bad. “I could pack it up for you. It’s still hot and you could drop the plate back tomorrow,” she said, moving away from the door. “Just leave it outside, it’ll be fine.”
Sam was starving now and the smell of cooking was killing him. “That would be great, thanks.”
Penny flirted with him while Mary plated the remaining shepherd’s pie and checked the fridge for some sort of dessert. She had a cheesecake but it had been there since the previous Tuesday. “What’s today’s date?” she called.
“The nineteenth,” Sam told her, battling Mr Monkels who seemed fascinated with his balls, which Penny pointed out, to Sam’s embarrassment.
Mary screamed at her dog from the kitchen and, sulkily, he took to his bed in front of the fire, groaning like a cheeky teenager. She emerged from the kitchen with the plate. He thanked her; she told him it wasn’t a problem with her hand on the open door. He left and she closed it quickly.
Penny was shaking her head.
“Don’t,” Mary warned.
“He might be the prettiest man I’ve ever seen in real life. Maybe even a little too pretty. I didn’t have time to make up my mind.” Penny was a little put out that her friend had done everything to get rid of him but push him out of the door. She plonked herself down on the window-seat again, flicking at the curtain for one last glimpse, but he was gone.
Mary remained silent, the American already past tense. How could I forget? she asked herself. How is it possible that I could forget? How could I not know what date it is?
Penny was still talking but her voice seemed far away. No wonder she couldn’t sleep. The past week was starting to make sense. She needed to be alone. She got up. “I’m taking you home,” she said.
“What?” Penny exclaimed, swirling her wine.
“I’m tired,” Mary lied.
“OK, but I can drive myself.” Penny got up, but after the beers and half a bottle of wine she wasn’t going to be allowed to drive anywhere.
Mary dropped Penny at her house. It was set on a hill overlooking a sweeping valley littered with sheep interspersed with the odd cow, and spotted with clusters of wild flowers. The latter couldn’t be seen at night, of course, but a hint of their perfume hung in the air. Her neighbours were having a party and the music wafted into her garden. She had the key in the door when Adam called to her. She braced herself before turning. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’m not here, I’m next door – Neil asked us.” He pointed towards her neighbour’s home.
“Alina’s with you?” She almost cried.
“No, she’s with her dad in Cork. He’s not well.” He approached her, his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t have come but I wanted to see you.”
“We’re not getting back together,” she warned.
“I know.” He made it to the steps. “We’re leaving.” He couldn’t look at her.
“I don’t understand.” But her voice shook, suggesting she did.
“Alina knows.”
“What does she know?”
“About us.”
Penny’s legs felt as if they would fail her. “Five years we’ve been together. We finish and now she knows?” She couldn’t believe it.
“She found out a week ago. It was why I had to end it.”
That didn’t make any sense. “Why