The Love Square

by Laura Jane Williams

  ‘I mean this in the most grateful possible way, Clementine, but please don’t mess with me.’

  Clementine turned and put her hand on her sister’s knee. She fixed her features to sit encouragingly and kindly. ‘Let me speak,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t want to screw this up.’ She took a breath. ‘Rima and I have really thought this through, and we want to do it. We want a part in continuing our – yours and mine – bloodline. Because, without family, what else is there? We support this decision one thousand per cent, and if you want to use me as your oven, well, you absolutely can.’

  Penny shook her head. Could finding someone to help her start her family really be this simple? ‘This is … I don’t know. I can do what I said. I can go to Russia for it. People do.’

  ‘That worries me,’ Clementine mused. ‘Who knows if those girls are doing it willingly, or for the money, or …’ She paused. ‘Is it selfish of me to say I want to be a part of this process? Rima and I will truly never start a family of our own – we don’t want that, really, really. But we know how much you want it.’ Clementine bumped her shoulder against Penny’s, smiling. ‘I hereby volunteer as tribute.’

  Penny twisted the cardboard sleeve around her takeaway cup, staring at it going around and around. It felt dangerous to be hopeful, to think this was something her sister really would do. It wasn’t offering to share her chips or pick up the tab for lunch. This was everything.

  ‘I can’t get my head around this. It’s too much.’

  Penny had very first dared talk about motherhood after Bridges had celebrated its second birthday. She had overcome the darkest period of her life, made a total success of her dream business, and gone upstairs to her flat and cried and cried and cried, because somehow it wasn’t enough. It felt anti-feminist, in a weird way, to say she needed something beyond work. She’d sent Clementine a voice note that said, ‘I want to come upstairs after my shift and for my child to be there. To be doing all this for a reason. I want kids, Clementine. Like … now. I just feel so sad! I don’t want it to be just me! I want a family!’ It was with unending gratitude that Clementine had been so kind in her response, and never once made Penny feel ridiculous for thinking about doing it alone.

  But all of that was before Francesco. It was too soon to know if he changed things, but Penny felt a small notion that it might. She wanted to ask him, just in theory, but what exactly would she say? Hey, Francesco? I know I met you twenty minutes ago but just trying to get a read on how you’d feel about being a daddy, except I’ve already fertilized my eggs so it wouldn’t really be ‘yours’, and it’s too dangerous to come off my hormone medication so I wouldn’t actually be the one getting pregnant. What’s your timeframe on that? Maybe within the year? Is this a do-able scenario for you? No pressure.

  ‘I didn’t mean to blindside you,’ Clementine said. ‘I honestly thought you knew this is what I’d been thinking about for ages. I wanted to tell you now, today, because then I’m gone again and it’s not exactly the kind of thing you say over a Personal Podcast, is it? But I’ve honestly been thinking about this ever since you said you wanted to be a mum. Rima and me, we’ve discussed this at least once a month for a year. I couldn’t take away the cancer for you, but I can help with this.’

  Neither spoke. The fountain sprayed and the sun shone and they sat and sat.

  ‘They’re my embryos,’ Penny said, eventually.

  ‘They’re your embryos,’ said Clementine, before shaking her head. ‘Sorry. I keep repeating everything that you say. I’m just trying to let you know that I hear you.’

  The pair observed a pregnant mother pushing a toddler in a pram, talking to him about the ducks he could see and laughing as he mispronounced the word ‘walking’: They wokking, mama! They wokking!

  ‘I know I’m still only thirty, so there’s my whole life ahead of me for kids,’ Penny said. ‘Except, every day feels like this perfect, beautiful gift, and I don’t want to throw that away. My business is secure, I work really sensible hours, I can afford childcare … the only thing I don’t have is the ability to carry the kid myself. And, well, a father-figure.’

  ‘That’s where I come in – not as a father-figure, obvs, but I can carry it. At least let me do the tests, see if I’m viable to help. Because I want to.’

  ‘I can’t ask you to do this,’ Penny said.

  ‘You’re not,’ Clementine replied. ‘I offered. My womb, your baby, made from some lovely German sperm. You said it’s German, didn’t you? And I’m bringing this up now as I’m going to be in London for at least six months this autumn, because we’re doing a concession stand in Selfridges as well as the new White City store. I’ll be around, like actually around, and I’ve also got a lot of holiday to take as well. Logistically, now is the time I can help, plus I’m young and I’m healthy, and I think you’ve sat on the idea long enough to hold your head high in saying you’ve given it real thought. Not that I’m judge and jury on a woman knowing her own mind. Just, I see what this means to you.’

  Penny moved to rest her head on her sister’s arm. ‘I keep thinking of that yoga retreat. The stories of all those women. What are the chances that on my very first retreat I’d end up with nine women who all had different motherhood stories? There was a forty-three-year-old there who had used a donor and was already seven months pregnant. A lesbian who’d done a turkey baster with her best gay mate, and because they were doctors they got it sorted literally the second time they tried. And that was more than twenty years ago! Their son just graduated from Cambridge!’

  Clementine nodded, making her shoulder jiggle and Penny’s head move up and down with it.

  ‘I know you worry about getting Uncle David on side, but I think he just worries that you’d be alone, and that having a baby on your own is a lot of work. He’s still old school that way.’

  ‘Well, I am seeing somebody now …’

  ‘You are …’

  ‘And I’m not saying I’m going to marry him, but … I have to admit that it feels weird to be discussing this now. Even a month ago if we’d have talked about this I’d have said, “Okay, sod it, great, shall we start next week?” But now … not that I want to change my plans for a man, but … this feels different. Worth the pause.’ She issued a funny noise from the back of her throat. ‘Bloody hell, I felt like a bad feminist for wanting a bloody kid in the first place, and now I feel like a bad feminist for waiting. I can’t win with myself.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Clementine. ‘I’m not going anywhere. The offer isn’t going anywhere. I’m here in the autumn but we can always figure it out for whenever you’re ready. This autumn, next year, in five years. I just really wanted to tell you.’

  ‘What did I do to deserve a sister like you?’ Penny asked.

  ‘Well, you were basically my mother growing up, so there’s that.’

  ‘Talking about becoming a mum makes me miss her even more, you know. Maybe that’s why it feels so pressing to me. Bringing a new life into the world, being a parent … I could know what she felt like when she had us.’

  ‘I think that’s why I want to help, too. It’s a way for her to live on a bit, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Penny. ‘It is.’

  7

  When Penny got home there was a bouquet in her hallway. ‘For no other reason than you make me want to be the kind of man who sends flowers,’ the note said, and it was signed ‘F’ with a kiss after.

  Penny knew that life was too short not to think about a baby when that was a burning desire for her, but also that the baby really could wait if love – or something like it – was on the table. Maybe Francesco could stomach a conversation about it. Maybe this is what she had been looking for every time she’d stalled: the ‘us’. And as for the sex – they’d figure it out. Maybe they could go to a class, or a therapist. Maybe they just needed to watch some porn together.

  Penny texted him: They’re gorgeous, and you’re wonderful. Thank you x. She felt genuinely fond of him. He was just
so nice. Why did that feel so radical? A man! Being nice! To her!!!

  Francesco replied: I can’t get you out of my head.

  Penny smelled the roses. She couldn’t get him out of her head either. It made her want to tell Uncle David about him.

  ‘Davvy?’ Penny said over FaceTime, seeing her uncle’s ear and shouting to the screen. ‘Davvy! It’s video! Show me your face!’

  She heard muffling and then his face came into view. ‘Oh! I see!’ he tittered. ‘I thought it was a phone call!’

  ‘How are you?’ said Penny. ‘I miss you!’

  ‘I miss you too, sunshine. I’m okay. Bit of heartburn today though.’

  ‘Have you had a glass of milk?’ Penny said.

  ‘Good idea,’ he replied. ‘See, this is why I need you. You know which way is up.’

  Penny smiled at him.

  ‘I’ve met somebody,’ she said.

  Uncle David raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Another chef. Francesco. It’s been a few weeks.’

  Penny could see her uncle’s face light up at the mention of another chef. It was written all over his expression.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Penny, in playful warning. ‘He’s very much a London-based chef, Davvy.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything!’ he said. ‘What!’

  Penny rolled her eyes. She was bored of this subtle pressure he frequently put on her. Before the cancer, her career trajectory naturally pointed to her one day becoming the next chef de patron of The Red Panda. But then, when her ambition changed and she set up a smaller, much more manageable place, Uncle David’s retirement plan suddenly looked different. He was still sure he could change her mind, though – even last time she’d visited Uncle David and Eric, he’d said over dessert: ‘But people should know who you are, Penny! That small café, twenty-five covers – you’re so much better than that! You could really be somebody with your own restaurant – you could be somebody here. Bigger really is better!’

  Penny had reminded him that her small café with twenty-five covers turned over almost a quarter of a million and employed six different people. ‘I wish you could keep your eyes on your own mat,’ she’d said. Uncle David had shaken his head, not understanding. ‘It’s a yoga thing. You can’t do crow, or tree – or anything really – if you’re too busy looking at what everyone else can do. Yoga only works if you focus on your breathing, and your own mat.’

  ‘How did I raise such a hippie?’

  ‘You know, the most common misconception about Frankenstein is that it’s the name of the monster. The monster actually belongs to Frankenstein – it’s actually “Frankenstein’s Monster”.’

  ‘I’m Doctor Frankenstein in this analogy, I presume?’

  Penny had smirked.

  Across FaceTime, Uncle David sighed.

  ‘I love you so, so much, you know,’ he said. ‘I’d take a bullet for you. I just want you to be happy. I know I tease about you coming up here, but it’s only because I think you really would thrive …’

  ‘I am happy here!’ Penny yelled. Why did it always have to descend into a campaign to have her run his pub? It was exhausting.

  ‘How’s Eric?’ she said, changing tack.

  ‘He misses you too,’ David said. ‘He’s out in the garden just now but has found the perfect place for his birthday next week. Come hungry! Offft – sorry Pen. This heartburn is chronic.’

  ‘Maybe you should go and lie down,’ Penny said. ‘I can call later this week if you don’t feel well now.’

  ‘Okay. Yes. Sorry poppet.’

  ‘It’s okay. I just wanted you to know that everything down here is good. I’m good.’

  ‘And his name is Francesco?’

  ‘Yup,’ Penny said, smiling. ‘And I think I might actually quite like him.’

  ‘Hey, you,’ Penny said, picking up the phone to Francesco as she prepared the vegetables for that day’s service. ‘Hold on, let me find my ears.’

  ‘Find my ears’ was their shorthand for ‘find my earbuds’ – it had become a habit of theirs to call one another during morning prep, both talking to the other from their respective kitchens via hands-free Bluetooth headphones.

  ‘How are you today?’

  ‘I’ve just been online shopping,’ Francesco said down the phone.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Penny replied.

  ‘For some fun things …’

  ‘Fun like party poppers fun? Or fun like a new ACNE handbag fun? I’m devastated I still don’t own one of their bags. It’s just so much money! And I never even use a handbag, which I cannot discount totally from the argument …’

  Francesco dropped his voice. ‘More fun than both of those things …’ he said.

  ‘More fun than both of those things. Okay, well then I am all out of ideas. You’ll just have to tell me.’

  ‘Well,’ he replied, and Penny couldn’t place his tone. ‘I’d rather show you.’

  Penny stopped what she was doing. ‘Are you … using a sexy-time voice?’ she suddenly realized.

  ‘Well picked-up on,’ Francesco replied. ‘I am.’

  ‘You got me a sexy-time surprise …’ Penny ruminated, aware that pot-wash Bobby had slowed down his movements, probably because he was trying not to make too much noise as he eavesdropped.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Francesco said.

  ‘I can’t talk about that right now then,’ Penny said, immediately a bit more prim and proper. ‘Perhaps we can address the … matter at hand … um, tomorrow?’

  Francesco laughed. ‘I certainly hope so,’ he replied. ‘Because I am very, very excited for it.’

  Penny was under instruction to meet Francesco at the bar of The Standard in Kings Cross.

  ‘This place is phenomenal,’ she said, approaching him where he was perched on a stool towards the right-hand side. It was a hotel primarily, with signs in the lobby pointing to various bars and restaurants. It was incredibly plush, and Penny was relieved she’d worn the same red dress she’d worn the night of Dofi’s restaurant opening. It made her feel confident and sexy. ‘Also: hi,’ she added, leaning in for a kiss.

  ‘Hi,’ he said into her mouth, and then, ‘You smell amazing. Mmmm.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. She hopped up beside him and took in the atmosphere of the bar. She hadn’t been to The Standard since it opened, and she liked it. ‘What are you drinking?’ she asked, nodding towards his glass. ‘I’m gagging for something cold.’

  ‘Old Fashioned, because I am a millennial male cliché,’ he replied. ‘It’s good. This guy knows what he is doing.’

  ‘I’ll do that too,’ decided Penny.

  Francesco ordered two more drinks with the barperson and turned his chair so that he could rest his feet on the bottom bar of hers, so he was closer to her.

  ‘You’re quite the man of mystery,’ Penny said. ‘Do I get to find out what the evening entails yet? You’ve been very secretive.’

  Francesco grinned. ‘Convince me,’ he challenged.

  ‘Okay …’ Penny reached out an arm and rested a hand on the back of Francesco’s neck, where she idly stroked the space just below his hairline. ‘You’re looking very handsome tonight.’ She flicked her hair from her shoulder as she said it, letting the neck of her dress fall slightly to bare her shoulder. ‘And, um …’

  Francesco started to smile.

  ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘You were doing so well!’

  ‘Seduction isn’t my forte!’ Penny laughed. ‘It’s too much pressure!’

  ‘Okay, okay, that’s fair,’ he replied. ‘But you do have me laughing, which is the same result but just with a different technique.’

  ‘Phew!’

  ‘You’re adorable,’ he said, though Penny scrunched up her face at the word. ‘And I will tell you why we are here.’

  Francesco picked up his phone from where it lay on the bar, revealing a white keycard underneath that said, in small emboldened font: SUITE TERRACE.

  ‘No …’ marvelled Penny.

  �
�Yup!’ said Francesco. ‘I know a guy. Eighth floor. All night. And this,’ he said, reaching down for a sleek golden shopping bag, ‘is full of play toys. If I may be so bold.’

  The barperson set down their drinks, and Francesco said, ‘Are we good to take these up to our room?’

  ‘Sure thing, man. Have a great night.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ said Francesco. ‘We will,’ he whispered again, for emphasis, into Penny’s ear.

  The pair stood in the lift grinning, in cahoots together.

  ‘I’m excited,’ Penny said, bashfully.

  ‘Me too,’ said Francesco, equally as shy. ‘I hope you like it.’

  ‘Francesco,’ Penny replied, looking earnestly into his eyes. ‘I already do.’

  Upstairs, they both gasped as they entered the room. They could see out over the whole city, all the twinkly lights of a million other lives, St Pancras station in all its glory opposite.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Penny said, the awe in her voice clear. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are very welcome,’ Francesco murmured. ‘I figured this might be just what we needed: neutral territory, a nice cocktail, high thread-count sheets …’

  ‘And fluffy bathrobes?’

  ‘Shall we take a bath?’

  Penny grinned. ‘Let’s.’

  In the bath they soaked in bubbles that left their skin silky soft, the lights turned down low, sipping on their drinks as they talked about what they liked in bed, and what they didn’t. The bath was big enough for Penny to sit between Francesco’s legs, with her back to him, so that they could touch without looking at each other. It felt easier that way, rather than having to hold eye contact. Less pressurized. The talk came easier.

  ‘I like it when you kiss me slowly,’ Penny told him, her hand gently floating on the surface of the water.

  ‘I like it when you move your hips,’ Francesco said, his hand running up and down the top of her arm.

  ‘I like when you’re deep inside me,’ Penny said. ‘When you forget to be gentle and get …’ she started to laugh. ‘When you’re a bit animalistic.’