The Love Square

by Laura Jane Williams

‘Or maybe it’s thirty-five. I saw something on Twitter about it. You ask each other the questions that are supposed to get more and more intimate and then at the end you look into each other’s eyes for five minutes and hey presto! It’s love!’

  ‘Oh my god!’ Thomas trilled, in a silly high-pitched voice. ‘Let’s fall in love!’ He went to pull out his phone. ‘I’m googling it now.’ He stabbed at his phone with his thumbs. ‘Questions … to … fall …’ he said, under his breath. ‘In … love. Oh you’re right – there’s loads of stuff about it here. It’s thirty-six questions, though. Okay.’

  Penny leaned over his shoulder, looking at his screen with him. He turned and gave her a peck on the cheek. He wasn’t shy about his physical affection. He was always pawing at her waist or smoothing her hair or kissing her. Penny liked it. Using her body with him put her firmly back into her physical self, instead of where she had been living: in her head.

  ‘Okay, I’ll just pick a link. Surely they all say the same thing.’

  ‘Surely,’ said Penny, ‘They all say, you fancy Penny Bridge.’

  ‘I think we’ve established that,’ remarked Thomas, humorously. ‘The question is, could I love Penny Bridge?’

  Penny fell quiet. Love? She hadn’t thought that was on the table. He was heading back on tour in a few days. She’d only been messing around.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, as if he hadn’t just raised the issue of the ‘L’ word. ‘I’ve got the questions. Are you comfortable? Shall I get more wine?’

  They were snuggled in front of the log fire in the lower bar of the pub, after hours. Penny was excited by the novelty of it – a real fire felt very country, and incredibly festive. Thomas had shown her how to lay it – old newspaper balled up but not too tightly, kindling on top in a tee-pee shape, and a big log to finish it off.

  ‘It’s kind of how I feel about relationships,’ he’d explained. ‘There needs to be enough room to breathe, but also enough going on to get the spark going.’

  ‘Cute,’ said Penny, rolling her eyes playfully at his cheesiness.

  ‘I try my best,’ he’d replied, winking.

  She got up to get a jug of water and some glasses for them, and to top up their snack of homemade roasted almonds – something the local drinkers had gone wild for, and Penny was glad. It was important to her that they felt included in the restaurant’s growing reputation. It was a pub that did food, but locals were as welcome as ever to simply come and drink in the top part of the bar. She wanted them to know that.

  ‘Question one,’ Thomas said, starting to speak before Penny had even returned to her spot.

  ‘Oh, you’re starting, are you?’ she questioned, shouting from behind the bar.

  ‘I’m using my initiative,’ Thomas responded. ‘The quicker we do this, the quicker we get to run off into the sunset.’

  Penny rolled her eyes. He was impatient, and she tried to be forgiving about it. ‘Question one …’ she repeated, good-naturedly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Who is your top choice of dinner guest, dead or alive?’

  Penny didn’t even need to think about it. ‘My mother,’ she settled on, simply, heading back over to him and sitting back down. ‘I’d do anything to dine across from her and tell her what I’ve been doing these past twenty years. Ask her if she’s proud of me.’

  Thomas looked at her. ‘She’s proud of you, Pen.’

  Penny avoided eye contact. He was so kind to her, Thomas – impatient, yes, but also sweet and gentle when he needed to be. For somebody she’d dismissed as a playboy, his emotional intelligence was very attuned. She smiled at him fondly and pressed on: ‘And your answer?’

  Thomas leaned towards her and pressed his nose to hers. Another kiss. ‘My number one dinner guest choice would be …’ he said, into her mouth, landing another light kiss. ‘AA Gill.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Penny questioned, understanding why he’d chosen the famous Times journalist right away. ‘Let me guess. Is it the Hermès scarves thing?’

  Thomas laughed. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He was a man who lined his suits with silk Hermès scarves, and you,’ Penny gestured to his designer ensemble of a Mr P woollen polo shirt and Tom Ford mohair trousers, ‘seem like you’d love to have a suit lined with silk Hermès scarves. Unless you already do.’ Penny detected the slight change to Thomas’s face. ‘Ohmygod you do, don’t you!’

  He hid his face behind his hands. ‘Am I that unoriginal?’ he said. ‘Yes! Yes, I do.’ He uncovered his face. ‘I remember reading about that in The Times one Sunday – my parents always get The Times – and thinking it was the coolest thing ever. I must’ve only been about fifteen. My first big bonus from Sony Music went on one. Only one, though. And let the record show I look after it very well.’

  ‘You’re a parody of yourself,’ Penny giggled and Thomas shrugged.

  ‘My personal brand is strong,’ he acknowledged, handing her his phone. ‘I’m not ashamed. I worked hard to dress this pretentiously, you know. Now. You pick the next question.’

  Penny scanned the screen.

  ‘Would you like to be famous and in what way?’

  Thomas didn’t miss a beat before he said, ‘Absolutely not. Fame is a trap, man. I think I’ve got the best gig in the world – I get to be around fame enough to understand it is gross, but I also get a lot of the perks. Like a nice fat salary and quite a bit of free shit and loads of time off in between working like the devil.’

  ‘Yeah, I couldn’t imagine, like, not being able to go to dinner without being stared at or whatever. I heard Bradley Cooper doesn’t even make eye contact when he walks down the street anymore, in case people recognize him.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s true. It just invites trouble.’

  ‘Bradley told you that himself, did he?’

  ‘Actually,’ Thomas said, ‘yeah. I did some research stuff with him for A Star Is Born.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ exclaimed Penny. ‘Why am I even surprised?’

  ‘Okay, says the woman who used to bake cookies for Ed Milliband because his podcast is recorded around the corner from her café that incidentally Time Out once listed as one of London’s most exclusive hidden spots.’

  ‘One,’ said Penny, holding up a finger. ‘Thank you for the Google deep-dive, you stalker. And two,’ she held up another finger here, ‘Ed Milliband is hardly Bradley Cooper.’

  ‘Don’t led Ed hear you say that.’

  ‘Isn’t it weird how famous people all have those kinds of names? Ed, Bradley …’

  ‘Don’t get personal, now.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘My point being, don’t take the piss out of my fabulous lifestyle when you, yourself, have personally cooked for Björk.’

  ‘We only knew it was Björk afterwards. She had on jeans and a t-shirt. Another customer pointed it out after she’d gone.’

  ‘Still,’ Thomas said. ‘If namaste means “the light in me recognizes the light in you”, then let it be known that the pretentiousness in me recognizes the pretentiousness in you.’

  Penny narrowed her eyes. ‘You take too much pleasure in putting me in my place,’ she flirted.

  ‘I’m only giving like for like.’

  ‘Tit for tat.’

  ‘My tat for your tits.’

  Penny squealed. ‘You’re terrible! Ewwww!’ She pretended to swat him with a pillow and he pushed it away, grabbing her arm so that she had to lower her weapon and once again submit to being kissed.

  ‘Mmmm,’ he said, before taking his phone back. Penny drank her wine as he said, ‘Oooooh. This is a good question. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.’

  Penny considered it. ‘Well,’ she began, looking into the fire as it crackled and popped. ‘We both like sitting cosy by the fire with a good glass of red …’

  Thomas nodded. ‘Correct.’

  ‘And, I think we both know what’s important to us. All the noise and glamour and flashy stuff is fun, but not the
most important bit. Speaking of which, random segue – where do you fall on the kids front?’ She’d been dying to ask him. She couldn’t help her curiosity.

  ‘Me?’ he said. ‘I think I’m a better uncle than I could be dad. I don’t really think it’s in my future.’ Penny nodded. She’d assumed as much, but then he often surprised her with the contradictions to his personality, so she was glad she’d checked. His answer was confirmation that he definitely wasn’t her forever guy, however cosy their soon-to-be-goodbye felt. She wanted to be with someone who saw themselves as a parent one day, eventually. That was an immoveable truth. ‘You?’

  ‘I want it,’ she said. ‘Yeah.’

  Thomas rested the side of his head against the sofa and watched her talk. One side of his face fell into shadow as the other was lit by the flames of the fire. His eyes were soft and he looked totally at ease. He was good-looking, in a youthful, fresh-faced way. He could easily have been in a boyband a few years ago, or a TV presenter.

  ‘And the third thing we have in common then?’ he prompted.

  ‘And …’ Penny said, thinking. ‘We both think Lizzo is the tits. Your turn!’

  ‘And here was me thinking you were about to get all deep with me,’ he said, softly.

  ‘I’m as deep as a puddle,’ Penny said. If he wasn’t her forever man she wasn’t going to bare her soul to him. This isn’t what this was.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got a message,’ Thomas announced, nodding at her phone on the table. She caught sight of Francesco’s name and reached to turn it over, screen down.

  ‘Nothing important,’ she said. ‘Not when I’m here with you.’

  Thomas grinned and held eye contact for a beat longer than was comfortable, then looked back down at the question list. He cleared his throat. ‘This is a good one,’ he said, pressing on.

  ‘They’re all pretty good, aren’t they?’ Penny said. ‘I can see how this works.’

  He continued: ‘If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ considered Penny. ‘I’d want to know if I will be a mother. I want that very, very much. I thought it would have happened by now, but … Well. Maybe soon. And … I’d want to know if I will be loved.’

  ‘I think you already are,’ said Thomas. ‘Your uncle, your sister, your friends … you’re a very loveable person.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Penny said. ‘I don’t … feel it, sometimes. I feel like everyone else knows what the deal is with love, and they find it easier than I do. I don’t understand how to find it, let alone what to do once I have it.’

  ‘Everyone feels like that.’

  ‘I don’t think they do.’

  ‘You’re not alone in how you feel alone.’

  ‘Everybody hurts?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Thomas reached out for her hand. ‘Don’t let anybody ever make you feel like less than you are,’ he said. ‘Because you are wonderful, and kind, and fun, and beautiful, and very, very loveable.’

  Penny felt something prick at her eyes. Love was all she wanted. A family, something outside of work. She was thankful Thomas was here to add something other than the pub to her time in Havingley. In forcing her to remember life outside of the pub, Penny had started to remember the other hopes and dreams she had for herself.

  ‘I’m not fishing,’ she said, swallowing hard to release the lump in her throat. ‘I promise.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But even if you were, I appreciate the excuse to tell you anyway.’

  Penny tilted her chin up, just slightly, an invitation. Thomas leaned in. It was deep and sensuous, and Penny felt her whole body respond to him.

  ‘Mmmmm, almond-y,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Are we done with the game?’ Penny said. ‘I feel like we’re done with the game.’ She moved up closer to him and they kissed once more – harder this time. More intense. Penny leaned forward to put down her wine glass and moved so that she straddled him on the sofa.

  ‘We’re supposed to look into each other’s eyes when we’re done with the questions,’ Thomas said. ‘That’s the important bit. The instructions said so.’

  ‘I’m looking into your eyes right now,’ Penny said.

  ‘This much is true,’ conceded Thomas, grinning. ‘But … can we do it properly? Not that I don’t enjoy having your legs wrapped around me – I don’t want you to move – but talking to you this way, getting to know you … I like it. I like you.’ His hands lay proprietorially on her thighs.

  ‘Me too,’ said Penny, pulling back her face from his so that she could see his full expression. ‘You make me feel differently about being here.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yeah. I know you’re going again and everything, but you’ve shown me a side of Derbyshire that really means something to me. The walking and the landmarks and places to go and stuff. I was in danger of being a London snob all my life.’

  ‘I think we can be both,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s possible to love London, and miss London, but also see the good in everywhere else. For me, it’s medicine.’

  ‘I’m glad you shook me out of my bad mood that day,’ Penny said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t let me be a moody-bum with you.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting … you.’

  Penny furrowed her eyebrows in question.

  ‘I was expecting somebody older, maybe. Or more … matronly. Not a hot thirty-something with a spunky attitude.’

  ‘Spunky attitude!’ Penny said, mock-outraged.

  ‘You’re not exactly Little Miss Sunshine, are you? You’re like Little Ms Independent Woman, or something.’

  ‘There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure,’ Penny said.

  ‘No, it is. You’re not a pushover. I like it. It challenges me. Okay,’ he got serious now. ‘Time to stare at each other.’

  ‘Set an alarm on your phone,’ Penny instructed.

  ‘Yes, Ms Independent Woman,’ Thomas replied, leaning to one side to pick it up and program it with one hand. The other, Penny realized, was now on her bum. She liked the feel of him claiming her that way, touching her where other people couldn’t.

  ‘Four minutes staring,’ Thomas said. ‘No laughing, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Penny.

  ‘And go.’

  In theory, maintaining eye contact with somebody for four minutes shouldn’t be hard. Yet Penny found herself wanting to look away after what, ten seconds? Fifteen? Looking at Thomas, Penny became aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she studied his baby blues. She deliberately tried to inhale and exhale more slowly so that she felt more in control of herself. It felt awkward to be seen by him, with nowhere to go and no witty one-liners to detract from herself. She felt sad, too, as the seconds turned over into minutes. How long had it been since she let herself be seen? Did she think she wasn’t worthy of it? Why did she always feel she had to hide? She willed herself to push thoughts of Francesco to one side, because here was Thomas. It was safe to explore how she felt for him because she knew he was leaving. She didn’t have to worry about him going anywhere because she already knew he would, and in a way that was freeing. As she held his gaze and felt him growing harder underneath her she wanted, more than anything, to make love to him there, on the sofa by the fire and with red wine floating through her. And then he was kissing her and peeling off her t-shirt, and pulling a condom from his wallet.

  Thomas pushed up inside of her and Penny thrust her hips, forgetting herself, forgetting everything, back and forth, back and forth, pushing and pulling, and then he shuddered, and he’d come, and Penny had not.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, and Penny replied, ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No, I meant shit like wow,’ Thomas clarified, indicating that she should climb off him.

  Penny watched him peel off the used condom and throw it into the fire.

  ‘I don’t think that should have gone in there,’ Penny mused.
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  ‘Ah,’ he supposed. ‘Yeah. You’re right.’ He turned towards her. ‘I had fun tonight,’ he said, and Penny replied, ‘Me too.’

  ‘Did you come?’ he said.

  ‘I mean … Thomas … if you have to ask …’ She said it kindly, but it was important to her to say it.

  He looked at her. ‘Really?’

  Penny gave a tiny shrug.

  ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed. ‘Well. Let me rectify that.’

  He pulled a cushion off the sofa and used it to kneel on. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here,’ he pondered, as Penny ran her fingers through the back of his hair and closed her eyes.

  15

  ‘Let me put my ears in,’ said Francesco, bellowing down the phone.

  Penny stood at her work bench, chopping celery and onions for a soup.

  ‘I cannot wait to tell you what I did last night.’

  Penny scrunched up her face. ‘Do I even want to know?’ she said, flushed at the memory of what she did last night.

  ‘I went to a Nigel party.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A Nigel party!’

  ‘Ahhhh, that well-known annual event on everyone’s calendar! A Nigel party!’

  Francesco issued a deliberate cough. What he meant by that was ‘wanker’. He’d once told her a story about being a kid, and having learned about that insult from one of the British girls at school, had employed it on his father. Only, Francesco’s father had understood it and when he’d challenged him (‘What did you say to me, boy?’) Francesco had tried to tell him he’d only coughed. It became a running joke. Nobody needed to actually say the word ‘wanker’ when they could cough. In Francesco’s family – and now for Penny – everyone knew what a meaningful cough meant.

  ‘Tell me about your Nigel party, then …’ Penny said.

  ‘Well,’ said Francesco, and she could hear the hustle and bustle of the road as he walked somewhere. It must have been his day off. ‘Did you know the number of Nigels born in this country is in rapid decline?’

  ‘Imagine my surprise,’ said Penny.

  Francesco coughed again, refusing to resume conversation.

  ‘Sorry,’ Penny said. ‘I went to bed late last night. I’m being cranky with you because I’m tired.’