No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [84]
The phone rang just after eleven p.m., waking Penny from a drunken nap. The shrill voice hurt her sore head and it was a moment before she worked out who was speaking. Adam’s wife’s voice was distinctive with her Dutch accent. Penny was caught off-guard and the call had been a long time coming.
“You selfish bitch!” Alina correctly asserted.
Penny had known for a long time that putting her needs above those of Adam’s wife and children was indeed selfish. She had no real answer to the accusation thrown at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, with her head in her hands.
“You’re sorry?” came her adversary’s disbelieving reply.
“I am. I’m sorry he married you when he was in love with me. I’m sorry I couldn’t have loved someone else. I’m sorry your marriage is a joke and I’m sorry that I’m alone. I’m sorry for a lot of things – for you, for your kids, for me and for him. I spend most of my time being sorry.”
For a moment there was silence at the end of the line and Penny wondered if her accuser would hang up.
“All you had to do was stay away,” Adam’s wife snapped.
“If only I could have.” Tears escaped and raced down her cheeks.
“I hate you!”
“I hate you more,” Penny replied. “And I’m sorry for that.”
Then she hung up and threw the phone against the wall while she rocked and wailed, allowing all her pent-up pain to spill out.
It wasn’t her broken phone that woke Penny the very next morning. Instead it was the incessant knocking and sustained ringing of the front-door bell. She dragged herself out of her bed and had barely unlatched the door when Mary stormed past her to the kitchen. Penny followed, mentally preparing herself for the onslaught. The newspaper was balled in her friend’s hand and red-ringed eyes suggested that she was very upset.
“I’m sorry,” Penny said, putting her hands in her pockets to conceal the shaking.
“I don’t understand,” Mary said, eyes filling. “How could you? How could you not even tell me?”
“I was going to. It wasn’t supposed to come out until after Mia played Wembley next week. My editor sold it on. I swear I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know. You did this, Penny! You did it!” Mary slumped onto a chair.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“What would I say?”
Penny shook her head. “I know you’re angry but I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. It was a good story and I’m a journalist.”
“That article is nothing but gossip-ridden tat. You think there’s merit in destroying a person?”
“Your friend was the one who did the destroying,” Penny defended herself.
“Really?” There was steel in Mary’s voice.
“He’s devastated everyone he’s ever known. He was a heroin addict, for Jesus’ sake – and, frankly, since he’s come here he’s been playing you for a fool. He’s dangerous and not to be trusted.”
“Why? Because he was an addict? That’s rich coming from you!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You want to know?” Mary asked, giving Penny a way out – but Penny didn’t take it.
“Yeah, I want to know.”
Mary went to the sitting room and returned with a few empty vodka bottles, which she placed in front of Penny. She went to the fridge and opened it. It was empty. She went to the bag that lay by the bin and untied the knot. White and red wine bottles and numerous cans spilled from it.
“How dare you?” Penny said, fighting tears.
“Is that it? How dare I? No excuses? No bullshit about an impromptu party or your editor and his wife coming to dinner or that it’s been months since you’ve been to the bottle bank?”
“Get out!” Penny roared, so loudly that it was possible her neighbours heard.
“My pleasure.” Mary grabbed her bag.
She made it to the car before she began to cry. It was ironic that she had intended to visit her friend to address her drinking problem that morning. Jerry Letter had called with a copy of the article. She had read it in disbelief. Hurt and shock had followed. Mostly she felt bitterly let down by both Sam and Penny. Penny had borne the brunt of it, but why wouldn’t she? She was supposed to be Mary’s best friend, not her worst