No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [42]
Mary had turned up just in time to say goodbye to her old friend and to put an arm around a distraught Penny. Adam put his car into gear and, with one last look back at the love of his life, flanked by his two best friends, he drove away. Sam stood back, watching them all from the doorway, but it was Mary who captivated him – her tenderness and strength, and the way she held her grieving friend. He found himself thinking she would have been a beautiful mother. Damn shame she’s such a bitch. Ivan had suggested they all go and get something to eat and, despite himself, Sam hoped that Mary would agree. But Penny was too distressed so Mary took her home. He watched her drive away, one hand on the steering-wheel and the other stroking her friend’s hair. She hadn’t once looked him in the eye.
Penny stood under the shower while Mary surveyed the contents of her fridge. The ingredients were sparse but when Penny emerged in a towelling robe a Spanish omelette awaited her.
“I can always rely on you to cook in a crisis.”
“Just eat,” Mary scolded. “When’s the last time you ate a decent meal anyway?”
“Now,” Penny said, before shoving some into her mouth.
Mary worried about the amount of vodka in the fridge but said nothing. Penny always liked to have a stash in case of a party and she often gave one, mostly after the pub. Mary guessed she wouldn’t for a while, so with that in mind she made a mental note to pour some of the vodka down the sink as soon as Penny’s back was turned. Just in case. She probably won’t even notice.
Penny was silent.
“What can I do?” Mary asked.
“Nothing.”
“What are you thinking?”
Penny sighed.
“Honestly?” Mary urged.
“I thought he’d pick me,” she admitted. “I know he has kids, but when it came down to it, I really thought he’d pick me.” Tears rolled down her face and her nose ran. She sniffed.
“I’m so sorry, Penn.”
“I know I’m selfish,” Penny said, wiping her nose with her hand.
“You’re human.”
“I wanted Adam to abandon his children.”
“Penn, I don’t give a frig about any of that. I think you’re it.”
Penny looked at Mary. “You think I’m it?” she said, with an emerging smile.
Mary nodded. “I do.”
“What? Are you sixteen?”
“No. I just look it.” Mary grinned.
After that Penny said she felt better. Mary insisted on washing up and mopping the floor, having decided that Penny was too traumatized to engage in such menial tasks. Penny argued but Mary had taken on her in-charge mode so she sat with her coffee while Mary cleaned.
“So, what’s the story on the American?” Penny asked, stirring her coffee.
“He’s everywhere,” Mary said. “Every time I turn around there he is with a stupid face on him. The other week he actually pulled me up on my manners.”
“He did not!” said Penny, amused.
“He did. And I wouldn’t mind, but I’d helped him with his stupid gate. I never thought I’d say this but I miss the Brinkerhoffs. At least they knew how to keep to themselves.”
“The Brinkerhoffs were wanted by Interpol,” Penny said, with a slight smile and, annoyingly now, still stirring her coffee.
“And he’s Ivan’s new best friend. Three lunches last week, two nights in the pub, and clay-pigeon shooting last Sunday.” She shook her head. “It’s unbelievable.”
“Ivan’s lonely,” Penny commented.
“So he should get himself a girlfriend,” Mary said.
Penny scoffed. “Yeah, right, because that’s so easy. And what’s your big problem with the American anyway? He seems nice enough. He helped out today.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Penn. Four lifetime friends saying an emotional goodbye to one another and there he is, Mr In-Town-On-A-Wet-Day-Tourist, stuck in the middle of it.”
“This isn’t you. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Mary answered honestly. “There’s just something about him. I can’t put my finger on it but I don’t like it.”
“Oh, are you being the all-seeing psychic again?” Penny had never really bought into her friend’s abilities. “He’s not featuring in any angry eggs, is he?”
“No.” Mary smiled.