Six Months Later, in November
‘Service!’ Penny called out from behind the pass, where four plates were lined up, ready to be delivered to the table they called Bar Four.
‘Yes chef!’ replied Agnieszka, a Polish waitress with alabaster white skin and feline, blue eyes.
Penny spoke quickly but firmly. She had two more tables to plate up. ‘We’ve got the Sri Lankan King Prawn and Cod Curry,’ she said, using a cloth from her shoulder to wipe a small dollop of liquid from the side of the bowl. ‘This is Derbyshire Lamb Rump, that one is the Club Sandwich, and that one,’ she said, pointing to the final dish, ‘is the Pork Chop with Apples. Sides are seasonal veg, creamed savoy cabbage, and two portions of parmesan truffle fries. Thank you.’ She turned to her sous chef, Manuela. ‘How long on the sauce for the braised beef, chef?’
‘Thirty seconds, chef,’ Manuela replied, not looking up from the pan she was vigorously stirring.
Manuela was a small fifty-something-year-old Filipino woman who Uncle David had hired seven years ago for her quiet demeanour and steady work ethic. Penny had met her in passing over the years as she’d come to visit, but hadn’t truly understood Manuela’s capabilities until she took over from her uncle. It turned out Manuela had been running the kitchen more or less herself since last Christmas, when Uncle David started to slow down, so she thought like a head chef – making her the best sous Penny could have asked for.
Penny plated up another curry and pork chop, called service, and then started in on the last dishes of the day.
‘Bar One say that was delicious, chef,’ Agnieszka trilled, as she sailed by the pass carrying dirty plates she’d just cleared.
‘Ahhh, thank you!’ Penny replied, wiping sweat from her brow.
Hair stuck to the side of her face. She’d cut it all off just after moving, so that it was shoulder length, and now she had the last remnants of a fringe that – it turned out – hadn’t suited her. How many women would have to suffer the ill-fated ‘fringe after a romantic devastation’ before a less strident expression of malaise was found?
Penny added: ‘How many covers tonight?’
‘I’ll check with Charlie,’ Agnieszka said, her accent thick and delivery efficient. Penny adored her – she never complained, the customers loved her, and she didn’t take any shit.
Penny flicked off the lights opposite the cookers, instantly feeling relief from the heat.
‘That must have been more than seventy people we served tonight,’ Manuela instructed. ‘Maybe seventy-five.’
‘It felt like a hundred and seventy-five,’ replied Penny, slipping her foot out of her Croc so she could stretch out her ankle. ‘I still can’t get used to the leap from thirty or forty plates a day to this. This is kicking my ass.’
‘They’re all coming for you, Pen,’ Manuela grinned. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re putting this place on the map.’
The Red Panda was going from strength to strength under Penny’s command, and her impact on staff morale, the kitchen, the décor – all of it was immediate. Profit was up, overheads were down, but more than that: she was good at running a bigger place. There’d been a few early issues – she’d not known how to work the till, and screwed up the rota the first three weeks she’d been there, not to mention sleeping in one Sunday and almost missing service because she was used to Bridges being closed on a Sunday and having the day off – but mostly, she’d hit her stride. Maybe it was because there wasn’t much else to focus on – no men to distract her, no big city to seduce her and occupy her time – but Uncle David had been right that she’d thrive under a different sort of pressure. Penny had updated the menu and streamlined how service was run, as well as laying out training days and enforcing ‘Family Dinners’ so that staff got fed together between lunch and evening service.
She missed Sharon, and Stuart, and the tiny kitchen at the back of Bridges. She missed her routine, and the rhythm of her days. She missed so much of her old life, but took comfort in being surrounded by lush green hills and the almost obscene friendliness of everyone in the village. It was lovely to go for a walk and see people who knew her name and asked after her uncle. There weren’t many people she’d gone to school with left – loads had moved to Nottingham, or Leicester – making the median age of the immediate demographic closer to sixty than thirty. But Havingley was where her mother was buried and being there made Penny feel close to her. She was enjoying the change of scenery, too, and the physical space around her meant she felt physical space in her mind as well.
Especially from him.
Penny had been steadfast in her promise to herself: she’d never cried over him, and hadn’t spoken to him since she’d left, either.
That prick, is how Sharon referred to him. She’d been even more furious than Penny. That. Prick. Penny tried not to think of him by name, either.
That prick is all he got.
That prick had tried to text and tried to call over and over again for weeks after Penny had left. He’d even sent a letter to the pub. He’d started out hopeful, wondering how she was, if they were allowed to talk – they’d not discussed any ‘rules’ around communication, but friends stayed in touch so this was him staying in touch, he’d said.
Stay in touch with that woman you were kissing, Penny had thought, darkly.
She’d examined that whole situation from every perspective, trying to make sense of what had happened. It could have been his ex, but after what he’d said Penny was sure he’d never get back with her. Had he been dating somebody else at the same time he’d been dating her? Clementine said she just couldn’t believe it. Sharon said at least they’d found out he was an arse sooner rather than later. Stuart said he’d seen nothing, but he did have a vague recollection of a woman with big curly hair asking after Francesco once, which he’d thought was odd because how had she known Francesco had been spending time at Bridges? Not that it mattered anymore. Penny had a job to do: get The Red Panda in tip-top shape, and in only six more months, once Uncle David was fully better, she could be back at home. She didn’t hate having to be there, but she knew it wasn’t the place for her. London was her heart and soul’s true home.
Uncle David had come to visit once, but otherwise he’d stayed at Eric’s sister’s second home on the Cornish coast to convalesce. He was still mildly grey in complexion, even months after his heart attack, and Penny had tried to suggest to Eric that maybe he was depressed. Penny had experienced it herself – the feeling of total helplessness when the body betrays, when it feels so out of your control to do anything other than rest, and go slow, and accept the help of everyone around you. Penny knew there was no way he could have continued to work. There was no way this could have played out any differently. She was always going to end up here, so she just had to make the best of it. She kept her head down, all of her attentions on the pub, and pressed on.
Penny’s favourite person at The Red Panda, even considering the strong contenders of second-in-command Manuela and efficient Agnieszka, was her old friend Charlie.
After Penny and Clementine had moved from a village ten miles away to be with their uncle in Havingley, they’d often walk to school with Charlie or hang out after homework club eating jam sandwiches and watching TV. Charlie’s mother was a cleaner at the pub, and had taken Penny and Clementine under her wing, never asking questions about their mother or talking ill of their father, but simply being there as a routine, a benign figure in the background who never overstepped the maternal mark but provided reassurance through continuity. As an adult, Penny recognized that was half the battle of feeling okay on any sort of day-to-day basis: continuity. She’d spent so long in her twenties trying to eschew any kind of banality in routine, and yet it was inevitable as she got older that banality was often the sweetest kind of refuge.
‘You stay here,’ Charlie said to Penny from where they waded through old bottles and kegs in the cellar, in between lunch and dinner service. A voice had infiltrated where they were hanging out whilst also working, and immediately Charlie had identified it as belonging to Priyesh, their wine merchant. Penny rolled her eyes.
‘I’ll deal with him,’ Charlie insisted. ‘I know how. We don’t want him lingering for a whole hour like he did last time he held you hostage.’
Penny fixed her mouth in a traumatized straight line at the memory – Priyesh was a man who liked a monologue, and an audience for it. Not long after she’d taken over, Penny had been cornered by him out by the recycling bins and returned back to the kitchen with visible sunburn she’d been out there that long. She’d avoided him ever since, under the excuse that she didn’t need to interfere with the bar when Charlie was so capable. Really, she simply didn’t like him.
Charlie was gender non-binary and recently had explained – patiently, Penny had thought – that they didn’t want to be referred to as ‘she’ or ‘her’. Charlie was ‘they’ or ‘them’, and had clarified that they didn’t need Penny to understand them in order to respect them, which Penny understood implicitly.
Penny pulled bottles from the wine-rack on the furthest wall as Charlie clamoured up to the bar. She blew dust off of a 2016 bottle of Tignanello Antinori Toscana and admired her find. ‘I might keep this,’ she thought, that prick’s face elbowing its way into her head. She had a sudden image of them by the fire, drinking it together, him taking in the surroundings and admiring this new place she called home. There are a lot of things she would have liked to have told him about the past six months – if they were speaking.
‘Well, I was rather hoping to see the proprietress,’ Penny could hear from up in the bar. His voice was booming and commanding, and it was Penny’s default response to roll her eyes. She couldn’t help it. ‘It seems rather improper that I don’t deal with the person in charge.’
Penny stepped a few inches closer to the ladder up to the bar where he was talking with Charlie. She knew she should see the wine merchant, but she couldn’t be bothered to paint on a smile and be charming today. Not when her perfectly capable front of house manager was there and was much better at getting rid of him quickly. What was it about men who liked their own voices and could never take a hint? He should respect Charlie’s authority, Penny thought.
Charlie said, ‘Unless you want to scramble down those steps through the cobwebs and into the underground cellar in your three-piece suit, I don’t think today’s your day.’
Good on ya, thought Penny. You tell him.
‘David always gave me the time,’ the man continued. ‘This is the second time I’ve been by and she’s busy. I’d hate to take it personally.’
‘Priyesh, are you after a free lunch? Is that what this is all about?’
‘Hardly,’ Priyesh replied. ‘I can buy my own lunch, and you know that. Although David did often try out his dishes on me. I’ve got a very attuned palate, you know.’
‘I am sure you do,’ Charlie said. ‘Listen. We need a minute before we figure out the last seasonal order, if that’s okay. I just found out we’re closing after December twenty-fifth and Penny has discovered whole crates of stuff we didn’t know we had, so we’re getting the lay of the land.’
‘Perhaps I could assist …’ Priyesh began.
‘We’ll let you know if we need anything. Penny is pretty au fait with wine. David taught her a lot.’
‘Well, we know who schooled David.’
Penny made a gagging noise from the floor below him. He truly was the most boring person to have ever crossed The Red Panda’s threshold. She had no idea how Uncle David managed him – she’d have to ask next time they spoke.
‘Thanks so much for understanding, and for dropping by unannounced personally. That’s quite the service,’ Charlie smiled, and Penny could tell from their voice it was through gritted teeth.
‘Well, as I said. I was rather hoping to see Penelope.’
‘She just goes by Penny,’ Charlie sighed. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to rename people without their permission.’
‘I see,’ Priyesh said. ‘Penny. Very well. Please do pass along my calling card to her and tell her I look forward to an audience just as soon as we might find a time of mutual convenience. I’m doing my best not to take offence, and yet here we are.’
‘I’ll pass the message along.’
‘What a twat,’ said Penny, as Charlie re-entered the cellar.
‘I’ve never wanted to colour your opinion,’ they said. ‘But yeah.’
‘Tell you what,’ grinned Penny, pulling out another bottle of the Tignanello. ‘Make sure he gets an invite to the staff Christmas party, so I can give him a bit of attention, but also have a get-out clause. If I have to relive our summer interaction again I’ll die. Actually cease to exist on this mortal coil through sheer boredom of interacting. And Penelope? Urgh. Nobody has called me that since my mother.’
The mention of her mother made her heart beat in double time. Tug, tug, tug – never would she be able to refer to her mother without feeling the loss all over again. Grief was like that. There was no end point.
‘Priyesh at a party,’ marvelled Charlie. ‘I can’t picture it.’
‘He really is that bad, isn’t he? Even that first time I met him I thought so. I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this!’
‘He’s just … buttoned up. He’s all business and doesn’t really laugh a lot and there’s a distance he keeps you at. You can ask him how his weekend was or whatever and he always just says, “Fine, thank you,” and never returns the question or gives you any details. I’ve known him maybe seven years now and I couldn’t even tell you anything beyond his name. And he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than my name. I just find it a bit odd.’
‘How old do you reckon he is?’
‘Forty-five, maybe fifty?’
‘Yeah, I think so too. The thing is, he’s actually quite fit. But boring. But also … fit! Do you think he’s married?’
‘Oh, that’s something I do know about, actually. Not from him. I think he was married a while ago – before I started working here full time – and she left him. He has this huge estate and lives there alone and sells wine. Let the record show that I’ve never seen the estate, and all of this is pure rumour. But yeah, jilted appaz.’
‘I would say something cutting about small minds gossiping, but here I am, getting the gossip myself.’
‘I’ll make sure he gets an invite to the party, anyway,’ Charlie said. ‘I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas already.’
‘And we’ve hit our financial target for the year already too,’ Penny said. ‘Which means only one sitting on Christmas Day. I can’t wait to close right through to the second week of the new year. I need a proper break.’
‘Yeah, all this change has been a lot,’ Charlie agreed.
‘Hasn’t it just?’ said Penny, flopping down on a beer barrel to take a breath. ‘I’m so thankful you’re here, though. Have I told you that lately?’
‘Well, you haven’t told me in at least forty-five minutes.’
Penny laughed. ‘How would you feel about this bottle of red tonight? They’ve just put The Notebook on Netflix again if you want to cry like a baby with me. It’s one of my favourite pastimes. Lights out by midnight, though, otherwise I’ll be no good to anyone.’
‘I’ll bring the Minstrels,’ said Charlie.
‘Oooooh, maybe some sweet and salty popcorn too?’
‘Perfect.’
Penny ended up with a hangover from the bottle of red she’d shared with Charlie, and a margarita they’d had beforehand, too, as an aperitif. That was all it took – one cocktail and half a bottle of wine – to feel murderous the next day.
‘Well darling,’ Uncle David said. ‘That’s not exactly a small amount, is it?’
‘Oh piss off,’ Penny shot back, to which Uncle David looked hugely shocked across FaceTime, making Penny promptly burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffled, pathetically. ‘I’m sorry Davvy.’
‘It’s okay darling. Are these hangover tears? Or something else?’
Penny shook her head. Uncle David looked unwell still, and it upset her. She could tell just by looking he was still weak, still not himself. She just wanted him to be better already.
‘Hangover tears,’ Penny said, hoping that that was true. She’d woken up feeling like something was sat on her chest, suffocating her. Not literally – emotionally. Maybe it was because she’d been drinking the night before, but she felt anxious about everything as she made her morning coffee and switched on the news. Anxious about Uncle David, anxious about her life, and weirdly anxious about that prick. Surely it wasn’t normal to obsess over a fling for this long, she worried. Surely she was over-dramatizing the whole thing. She hated how he could barrel into her imagination and demand her attention. She probably didn’t even cross his mind. Penny who? he’d say, if somebody asked about her.
Uncle David smiled down the camera. ‘Nice big glass of water and five minutes in the sun before service, alright jelly-belly?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘And maybe get out of Havingley for a bit, if you can. I know it’s busy, but it’s important to take some time out for yourself, too, even if it’s just for an afternoon.’
‘Okay,’ acknowledged Penny. ‘Sorry to cry. I think my hormones are doing something crazy is all. I’ll ask the doctor next time I see him.’
‘I love you,’ Uncle David soothed. ‘You’re making me so, so proud. I’d be proud anyway, but. Well. You know. Thank you. I know you never really wanted to be up there, but I’m grateful you are.’
‘It’s okay. I love you too,’ Penny said. ‘Tell Eric I love him as well.’
‘Will do darling. Have a good day, okay?’
The water and five minutes in the sun helped, and fortunately Penny was ahead of herself in terms of kitchen prep so, as long as it was a quiet service, she knew she’d have time to nap before dinner. She definitely felt delicate, though, and so it was with a wince that she heard the gravel of the car park being flung into the air as somebody spun around and into a parking bay at a speed about twenty times higher than they should. Two more cars followed behind.
‘What the hell …?’ she said, under her breath, glancing out the window. ‘Who the hell are these guys, Manuela? Have you seen them? All the sports cars in the car park?’
‘The boys,’ said Manuela, rolling her eyes. ‘A big group of them – maybe every three or four months. They come, they drink, and then they drive home.’
‘They drink and drive?’
Manuela nodded.
‘But they also spend a lot.’
‘Figures,’ said Penny, craning her neck to try and see them better. ‘I should say something. They can’t drive that fast! They could honest-to-god kill somebody! Urgh!’
‘Idiots,’ said Manuela.
Later, Charlie said a table out front wanted to meet the chef. It had happened a few times since her arrival, though it still surprised Penny that guests could be so kind as to tell her they’d enjoyed her food face to face.
When the kitchen ran well it was like a ballet – her and Manuela working in harmony to create the dishes, Paul on the pastry section and Ollie in the pot-wash. It was true teamwork, and those shifts, where Penny truly occupied herself in the moment, were her happiest, and it was often reflected in the food. Those were the shifts where people requested to shake her hand, asking after her uncle and her future plans for the place. Those were the days she felt like she belonged. Today, though, had not been one of those days. Her hangover meant Penny had felt agitated and irritable. She’d snapped at Manuela and at Paul. Everything felt like too much work, and on those days the veneer of positivity she’d adopted – that she was okay being there, that she didn’t miss Bridges that much, that it was only for a year anyway – came crashing down. She’d tried to get out of going out front and speaking to the customers who’d requested her but Charlie said the group were insistent, and it was then Penny understood it was the group of men who drove their fancy cars and drank too much for a lunch and were stupid enough to drive home afterwards.
‘Oh god,’ she said to Charlie. ‘Let the record show I tried to fight you on this, so if I now end up fighting one of these fools that’s my get-out-of-jail-free card, okay?’
‘You’re too charming to be rude,’ said Charlie. ‘But just so you know: I’m hungover too and I’ve managed them okay, so no excuses.’ They shot a placating smile and went to unload the glasswasher.
Penny pushed through the doors and arranged the features of her face into the closest approximation of friendly that she could muster. The kitchen led on to what they called ‘Bottom Bar’, with five tables that were all now empty. The group of men were sat through the archway in ‘Top Bar’, meaning Penny could hear them before she saw them.
She turned the corner and they all looked up.
‘Whaaayyyyy!’ shouted one of them, like he was at a football match. ‘Chef!’
The other men around the table – six of them, all about Penny’s age, if not a tiny bit older, used their fingers to drum on the wood with increasing volume before a head of blonde curls yelled above the din, ‘Alright chaps, she gets it! She gets the point!’
Penny stood, bemused, wondering if that was it. Their drumming had made her head throb. The men resumed talking amongst themselves, arguing over who was going to pay the bill that sat in the middle of their table. They were all waving their credit cards about like swords, vying to be the one to show off by settling up what was indelibly in the high hundreds.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Penny said, turning back around. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ She would normally have added please come again but she wasn’t sure if she actually did want them to come again. They were bloody noisy.
‘Sorry about us all,’ the blonde curls bellowed after her. ‘We’ve had a great time!’
Penny didn’t turn back around. She wanted a cigarette. And she wanted the men to go home.
It was a dry day for winter, and so Penny flopped down on the back step down to the car park to smoke her roll-up. She typically didn’t like customers seeing her staff smoking or loitering, and for anybody else she would have stood and moved out of sight – but, hangover considered, she stayed where she was when she saw the lingering group from lunch leaving.
‘Oh hey!’ said one of them, clocking where she was sat. It was the blonde, curly-haired one. He wore Gucci silk joggers, boisterously shouting about their designer status with looping ‘G’s’ all over them. His collared t-shirt was similarly patterned but Louis Vuitton, and he’d pushed up the sleeves of his Burberry coat to reveal a huge Omega Seamaster weighing down his wrist – Penny spotted it because she knew Uncle David had once bought a similar one for Eric, who had made him take it back because, he said, ‘Nobody needs five grand to tell the time, you big twat.’
Playboy, was her assessment. He’s a total playboy. She could just about wager that if she looked him up on Instagram there’d be photo after photo of him in varying states of undress and in a smorgasbord of exotic locales around the country, if not the world. She bet none of them would feature a smile – only a pout – and that if he hadn’t applied for Love Island directly he had at least imagined that if he did, he’d get on it. He was that kind of man. That kind of playboy.
‘I don’t get to come home too often,’ the playboy said to her, reaching out a hand, inviting her to shake it, ‘and truly, I’ll miss it all the more now I know what my local has become. My compliments,’ he added. ‘This was the best meal I’ve had in a long time. And sorry we were so loud. There’s no excuse. We’re just a bit twattish after a drink.’
Penny didn’t stand, but extended a hand in return.
‘You’re very kind,’ she said, primly. ‘Thank you.’
He waited for her to say something else, but Penny refused. She was knackered, emotional, and didn’t have time for men who acted like louts and drunk drove.
‘Did you grow up here?’ the playboy pressed. ‘The barperson – they said something about you being related to Dave?’
‘David,’ Penny responded, taking the last drag of her cigarette.
‘Oh, yes. David. I called him Dave – it was a bit of a joke between us.’
Penny stood to go back inside and take that nap she’d promised herself.
‘Not very talkative today?’
Penny raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m just tired, and have a lot to do.’ She knew she was being overtly stand-offish, so also added: ‘Thank you so much for telling me you enjoyed it. Have a good afternoon.’
He wouldn’t let her go.
‘You weren’t at Havingley School, were you?’ he said to her back. ‘I feel like I recognize you.’ She turned around again to face him. ‘How old are you?’
Penny audibly exhaled. ‘I just had my birthday. I’m thirty-one. And yes, I was.’
‘I knew I knew your face! I’m Thomas. Thomas Eddlington. I was in the year above you.’
Penny narrowed her eyes, trying to place him. ‘Did you used to go out with Veronica Meadows?’
The playboy – Thomas – let out a hoot. ‘Yes! Verny! She’s married now, to her university boyfriend. Got two kids and a big house in Sheffield.’
‘Good for her,’ Penny said. ‘I mean, unless she left you for the man she’s married to now. In which case, sucks to be you.’ The playboy laughed.
‘No, no, we were long over. I think I might have snogged her mate, actually. All very immature.’
‘How shocking.’
‘Hey, don’t judge me on one loud lunch. I said sorry!’
‘Well. Anyway. I really do have to go. And you guys should call cabs.’
Thomas nodded. ‘Listen, um. I’m around for a couple of weeks,’ he continued. ‘I’m in the music business and it can all get a bit crazy, so I keep the house out here to remind me to calm down a bit. You know, when I get a bit carried away and all that.’
‘Party boy,’ Penny said, but it wasn’t a question. She’d seen how many empty bottles there were – although, to his credit, talking to him didn’t feel like talking to a drunk. His eyes weren’t glazed or anything.
‘I don’t really drink, actually. I’m designated driver. Definitely don’t do drugs. I think I’d get addicted – I’ve got an addictive personality. Workaholic, more like,’ he replied. ‘I just love what I do.’
Penny smiled. ‘That, I understand,’ she admitted.
‘You can tell. Your food – you’re really good.’
‘Cheers,’ Penny said. They stood. Out of politeness more than a real desire to talk to him she commented, ‘The music industry sounds cool, though.’
‘It is. It’s as cool as you’d expect. I’ve been working with Lizzo for years and years – do you know her? – and then two years ago she got massive and it’s just been the wildest time since then. We’ve been everywhere.’
‘Lizzo?’ said Penny, her interest piqued. ‘What do you do for Lizzo? I love her! I literally had her album on when I was cooking your food.’
‘Oh, no way, really? I can get you tickets to one of the UK shows soon if you want. I’m her tour manager,’ he said with a boyish enthusiasm.
‘Her album is brilliant,’ Penny said. ‘That song “Jerome” – urgh. That’s my shower song. In my imagination when I am in the shower I am Lizzo.’
Thomas chuckled.
‘No, actually, more than that – I am Lizzo at Glastonbury,’ Penny continued. ‘Bottle of tequila in one hand, microphone in the other …’
‘Yeah, she killed it that afternoon,’ he agreed. ‘We were all on cloud nine after that.’
‘You were there?’
‘I was. And I’m not even going to pretend I’m not smug about it. Like I said, I love what I do.’
‘It’s written all over your face,’ Penny acknowledged.
Thomas sensed the change in Penny’s tone, then, and changed tack with her. ‘Do you get much time away from here?’ he said, hopefully. ‘I like to go walking, try to stay out in the fresh air a lot when I’m back. I’m sure you’re very busy but, in case, you know, you aren’t. If you want to hang out.’
‘That’s a kind offer,’ said Penny. She wanted to tell him she had plenty of friends, and not a lot of time off, but in that split second she realized the only friend she really had in Havingley was Charlie – and they were an employee, too. Everybody else was a phone call or FaceTime or voice note away, and whilst she was loved and heard and seen, very little of that was actually done in person. The realization of just how starved she was of physical human connection hit her then. She needed more friends. And she certainly needed more time away from the pub, which was hard when she was the one in charge. She’d only really even left Havingley a handful of times since arriving.
‘I would love to go out for a walk with you, actually.’ She meant it. She didn’t realize until he’d asked that she was longing for fresh air, and the outdoors, and, basically, time away from The Red Panda. No wonder she was feeling exhausted lately: she lived and breathed the place. Uncle David had been right.
‘Excellent. I’ll stop by sometime? We’ll walk?’
Penny nodded. It would do her good, she figured. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Awesome.’
‘Okay, awesome.’
He went to say something else but then didn’t.
‘Awesome,’ he repeated, before one of his mates stuck his head around the corner and said,
‘Come on, Eddlington. I’m gagging for a piss.’