No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [7]
By contrast Penny mumbled, “Kill me!” several times while she downed her wine and played with her broken fingernail.
“If I didn’t know DiCaprio was an actor I’d believe he was retarded,” said Mary. “He’s really pulled it off.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Penny said.
“Like that Down’s syndrome kid – you know, the one on that TV show with the blonde girl who did Romeo and Juliet with DiCaprio. What’s his name?”
“Corky,” Penny said, perking up.
“Yeah, Corky. He was great.”
“He was. Wrong girl, though – you’re thinking of the blonde who went out with the HIV-infected teenager.” Penny was looking for the corkscrew.
“Rob Lowe’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she went on to play Juliet?” Mary said.
“No, that was the redhead from that other show. She was in love with the dyslexic rebel and had a gay best friend.”
“Funny – I could have sworn Juliet was Corky’s sister,” Mary said.
“The guy who played her boyfriend is a lead singer with a rock band now,” Penny said, still searching for the corkscrew.
“Rob Lowe’s brother?”
“No, the dyslexic rebel.”
“Oh. Any good?”
“Haven’t a clue,” she said, finally locating it. She opened the second bottle and poured a glassful.
Meanwhile, on screen, DiCaprio was being left to freeze to death in a cold bath overnight, forgotten by Depp, his horny brother.
“Kill me!” Penny repeated.
“We can turn it off,” Mary offered, battling the urge to cry for the boy, shaking and blue-lipped, on the screen.
“No. It’s fine. Seriously, it’s not that bad,” Penny conceded, but then Depp ended his affair with the married Mary Steenburgen, and Penny broke down in tears.
“Do you need a break?” Mary asked, and Penny nodded, unable to speak.
“OK.” Mary switched off the TV.
Penny wiped her eyes, mumbling something about how pathetic she was.
“Do you want some coffee?” Mary asked.
“No. I’ll finish my wine.”
“Do you want a hug?”
“That would be lovely.”
They hugged.
“I’m such a sap,” Penny said. “But, Mare?”
“Yeah?” Mary pulled away while Penny composed herself.
“Do you think it’s better to be alone?” Penny asked.
“No.” Mary shook her head. “But possibly safer.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“So you’re fine?” Mary asked, with a raised eyebrow, while Penny blew her nose.
“I will be.”
Mary leaned over and kissed her forehead to comfort her, much as she’d once comforted her son. “Yes, you will,” she said. Once a mother, always a mother.
Penny was too drunk to drive home so Mary fixed up the spare bedroom when the film finally ended. She wasn’t usually a crier, unlike Mary, for whom hiding emotion was a constant battle. Mary wasn’t sure if her friend had ended her affair with the only man she had ever loved and she didn’t know how desperately heartbroken she was – but she didn’t know much when it came to love. She didn’t have a clue what it was like to feel anything other than ambivalence towards the men who had crossed her path since Robert had died. She had little understanding of Penny’s heartbreak.
And yet Penny believed that she understood Mary’s lethargy towards love. To her mind, Robert had been Mary’s first and only love. Even now she couldn’t forget the one who had tied her up in knots, as she faced her thirties. Mary’s first love had died, leaving her a son who had followed his dad. Of course, Penny thought that Mary couldn’t let herself fall in love because love had only brought her suffering. But Penny’s view of Mary’s pain was simplistic. Penny was a diehard romantic. She liked to think that Robert was the Romeo to Mary’s Juliet. In reality, Mary’s reasons for being alone were far more mundane than that.
That night Mary tucked Penny in, while Penny made a drunken, silent pact to be more like her friend. She vowed to close off, to shut out the world and all its rubbish. It occurred to her that maybe then she’d have half a chance of being happy.
Mary stood at the bedroom door, watching Penny who was stirring. “You need to go to the loo again, don’t you?” She wondered what the hell was going through her friend’s mind.
“I can go myself,” Penny slurred.
“I know,” Mary