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Francesco nodded. He didn’t offer her advice or solutions, or insist she look on the bright side: she was here! She was alive! He just kept rubbing her feet and letting her talk. It felt good. Not the foot rub – though that was wonderful. But to give air to all of her feelings: sometimes she worried that saying all this out loud would make it grow. That shedding sunlight on her anxieties would encourage them. But as she spoke it felt like a relief. She did more pretending than she gave herself credit for.
‘I’m lucky to be here. I know that. And I do my best to get on. I’m in a fortunate situation, and I had Uncle David, and my sister, and Eric all rallying around me. I’d never felt so looked after. Protected. Loved. But I’m also human. And I still find this hard. Harder than I make it look, sometimes. And, well, you may as well know that it was as soon as I got diagnosed that my ex ended things with me. Kind of like how my dad left my mum, weirdly. I was always the strong one, the cheerleader in our relationship, but then he couldn’t do the same for me. Not that I’d have wanted him to stay out of pity, but it was pretty devastating. And embarrassing. I haven’t really had a relationship since.’
Francesco shook his head gently in disbelief. ‘Wow. That’s … a lot.’
‘Yeah. I think Mo had wanted to end it for a while and then had to do it as soon as I got diagnosed or else he’d be the monster who dumped me halfway through treatment. So. Now you know all the skeletons in my closet.’
‘You’re a strong woman, though. Not in spite of it all. Because of it.’
Penny shrugged.
‘You’re a strong woman who knows it’s okay to be vulnerable. Not a lot of people understand that. I think it’s a very special trait.’
‘I don’t know about that. I feel like a spikey hedgehog most of the time – balled up, not letting anyone really help.’
‘Thanks for telling me. Thanks for letting me ask.’
‘Thanks for caring,’ she replied, gently.
Francesco nodded. ‘Is this pressure still okay?’ He motioned to her foot.
‘Yeah, that’s good. I might need you here every night.’
‘Easy tiger.’
Penny leaned her head against the side of the sofa, closing her eyes, breathing deeply and smiling just slightly. Francesco studied her, and Penny caught him doing so as she opened one eye.
‘It’s rude to stare.’ She smiled as she said it.
Francesco didn’t smile back. He thought about something, and then decided to say it: ‘I think I could fall in friendship with you, you know.’
Friendship? Penny thought, alarmed. Her whole body tensed.
‘Oh, you mean this isn’t …’ Penny opened her eyes properly and watched him rub her foot, which had tensed up in horror. Was he telling her this wasn’t romantic? That he just wanted to be her friend?
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is. Sorry. I didn’t mean …’ he trailed off. ‘Okay, you told me some stuff, so now I’ll tell you some stuff, okay?’
‘… Okay.’
‘I’ve never had a proper teammate before, you know? Somebody who I fancied and wanted to rip their clothes off and who I laughed with, yeah, but never somebody who was also just my mate. Because the passion and stuff fades, doesn’t it – or at least, it changes – and I have this theory that before I fall in love with somebody – my person – I’d like to fall in friendship with them first. As the basis of it.’
‘So you … don’t wanna sleep with me.’ She said it as a statement.
Francesco laughed. ‘I do not have words for the extent to which I want to sleep with you, Penny Bridge,’ he replied, and relief washed over her. ‘But also, I just want you to know that it’s easy to be with you. And I just think you’re the coolest. I really respect you. Which sounds like the corniest thing in the world to say because of course I’ve respected anyone I’ve gone out with but, I mean … I feel like my best version of myself with you. Not like I need you to be better, to be my life coach, but … even after knowing you this short amount of time, I suppose you make me play my best game. Because you’re a good player too.’
‘Francesco. It would be my honour and privilege to fall in friendship with you right back.’ She reached out to one of his lotion-covered hands and laced her fingers with his. ‘I’m very pleased to be spending time with you.’
‘Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? Falling in friendship?’ He held his free palm up in question. ‘Wait, don’t answer that. It’s lame city, I know.’
Penny closed her eyes again and smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’
Francesco didn’t say anything in response, he simply absorbed what she’d said. Penny moved so that instead of sitting at the opposite end of the sofa she was curled up beside him, her head on his chest. He wiped his hands on the cloth he’d thought to leave on the coffee table and then tenderly played with her hair. He watched the flame from the candles dance as they burned down. On the speaker the notes of an old Italian song he recognized from his childhood played – his parents had owned it on CD in the car. It was from a film called Senza Sapere Niente Di Lei – ‘Without Knowing Much About Her’. His parents had always been very happily married, and he’d always had the sense they loved each other, but that they worked to like each other, too. That’s what he wanted for himself.
He noticed Penny’s breathing had deepened. She was asleep. Francesco listened to the inhale and exhale noises she made. He let the rhythm of her breathing wash over him, becoming a meditation.
Him.
Her.
He felt peaceful, and protective.
Eventually, seeing the time on the big clock by her TV, Francesco moved Penny’s head over to a cushion and slipped away, covering her with the blanket. Tip-toeing, he cleared away their empty water glasses and put them in the sink, blew out the candles, and checked the back door to the small terrace was locked. He took out the key and put it soundlessly on the sideboard. Then he let himself out – but before he headed down the stairs he looked back to where she slept, committing the moment to memory.
‘Hey sis,’ Clementine’s voice came through the phone. ‘That was a superb voice note you sent – you continue to sound … I don’t know? Really dreamy? But like, in a good way. In a I’m not worried way. He just sounds like a real stand-up guy, and I know we don’t know many of those – well, many straight ones – but if you think he might be one of them, I am totally on board. Everything here is great, but I’m ready to come home for a bit. I’ll be back for two whole weeks on Saturday! Can you imagine? I don’t think I’ve had two weeks in my own bed all year yet. I’m excited for us all to get together for Eric’s birthday, too. Why don’t we go up there? We never go up there. And, when I’m back, I’d like to talk to you. I’ve got an idea. No – a suggestion. Just something I want to run by you. Also I am desperate to come and see the café and eat your food and be on your sofa and have you over for dinner. I’ve really missed you lately! More than usual. I just want my big sister. Okay, that’s all from me. Keep me up to date with this handsome Italian situation, please. Does he take bookings for the foot massages? Love you. Bye!’
Penny listened to the message right before the first breakfast order came through, and spent the next few hours wondering what Clementine’s ‘suggestion’ might be. Penny was the older sister but it was Clementine who acted like it. It hadn’t always been that way. As with almost everything in her life, most things changed with the cancer. Penny had been so full of life up until then. Ambitious, but without taking anything too seriously – she’d loved working in kitchens and learning about food and then playing hard, too, taking impromptu trips to new cities and staying up all night. She’d been a textbook twenty-something until she wasn’t. Life was divided into ‘Before I Got Ill’ and ‘After I Got Ill’, and in the after bit, Clementine definitely became the protector, and Penny had had no choice but to let her.
‘Pen, there’s a bloke out there who says he has to compliment the chef,’ Stuart said from the doorway of the kitchen, a tea towel in his hands, interrupting her last dishes of the day. ‘Says your heirloom carrots are the best he’s ever had, for a little café.’
‘You what?’ Penny replied. ‘He said that? For a little café?’
‘He’s a handsome bastard. Italian, I think.’
Penny smiled in understanding. ‘There’s ten minutes left of service. Let me just get this Panzanella out and then tell Francesco I’ll be right up.’
Stuart started to leave. He turned around and said, ‘Pen?’
Penny looked up.
‘I like him.’
She grinned. ‘Me too.’
Penny pulled a baking sheet lined with kale from the oven and put it on the counter, arranging it on a plate with radicchio leaves and beetroot before sprinkling croutons over the top and spooning smoked ricotta on the side. She lost herself in the music of her art, drizzling over olive oil and saba, finishing the plate with flaked salt.
‘Service!’ she called out, and Estelle, a petite blonde with half her head shaved, appeared to whisk it away.
Penny looked around the kitchen. It had been a busier service than normal, and her section was a mess.
‘Bobby?’ she said in the direction of the pot-wash. ‘I’m just running upstairs for a sec. Do what you can over there and then I’ll sweep and mop. I know you need to leave by half past.’
‘Cheers, boss,’ said the kitchen-hand from behind a mound of sudsy water. ‘I promise I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.’
‘I know,’ Penny said. ‘It’s cool. Thank you.’
Penny headed up the six or so stairs from the lower ground level kitchen at the back to the main part of the café out front. Stuart saw her as she turned the corner and from behind the counter tipped his head in the direction of the window where, at a table meant for four, sat Francesco on his own. She walked over, smiling.
‘Can I buy you a coffee?’
‘Hello, you,’ Penny replied. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I told you I needed to eat here,’ he said, as way of explanation. ‘And now I have. Penny, you’re brilliant. I didn’t want you to know it was me you were feeding. I wanted to be treated like any other regular guy.’
‘Yes, I would have been rather distracted to know I was cooking for the world’s best foot masseuse.’
‘You understand my logic, then,’ retorted Francesco. He hadn’t shaved that day and his five o’clock shadow made him look rugged and outdoorsy. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin delicately, the gesture at odds with his appearance. It was – oh god, Penny cringed, I need to come up with another bloody word for him – disarmingly sexy.
‘You left without saying goodbye last night,’ Penny said. She pulled up the chair opposite. Francesco looked like a framed picture with the street in early bloom behind him, the light hazy as evening threatened to arrive soon, his jacket in a pile beside him.
‘Like I said in my text, I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘I’m a terrible host,’ Penny said. ‘Falling asleep on you like that.’
‘Nah,’ Francesco replied. ‘I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to do so.’
They stared at each other, beaming.
‘It’s good here,’ Francesco said. ‘It’s really, really good. The food, the vibe, the service. You deserve all the hype.’
‘Did you hear that, Stu?’ Penny said, turning around. ‘Great service, he said!’
Stuart raised a hand to say he’d heard.
‘What’s it really like, having your own place? I know we talked about it a bit last night but honestly, chef-to-chef, are you satisfied?’
‘Chef to chef?’
Francesco nodded.
‘It’s the fucking best.’
Bobby interrupted them then, rounding the corner of the stairs and lingering at the table on his way out of the door. ‘Thanks again, boss. It’s pretty decent down there, but it’s not perfect.’
‘Give your mother my love,’ Penny said. ‘And tell her I’m determined to get that chowder recipe out of her sooner or later!’
‘Will do, boss. Cheers.’
‘Well,’ Penny sighed. ‘That’s my cue. I’m a kitchen porter down and I get too tired if I linger, so I’m sorry that I can’t stay and drink coffee with you.’
‘Oh, well – let me help,’ Francesco said, standing. ‘I don’t have anywhere to be. I’m not going in until five thirty. I can play kitchen porter with you.’
Penny raised her eyebrows and lowered her chin. ‘You want to help clean the kitchen?’
‘Sure!’
‘On an afternoon when you are not working at your job, which is in a kitchen?’
‘Come on,’ he said, already walking away. ‘Many hands make light work and all that.’
Penny shrugged. ‘As long as it isn’t a pity hand,’ she said after him, meaning: don’t feel sorry for me because I told you I used to have cancer.
He turned around and caught Stu’s eye as he did so, winking at him and so bringing him into the joke. ‘Have you ever been told you complicate things too much? I just wanna hang out with you! I don’t care what we do!’
Penny felt weirdly suspicious, but conceded. ‘Okay,’ she said, knowing Stuart was looking at her and deliberately ignoring his smugness. She knew he felt proud of the hand he’d had in her current contentedness. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m so sure.’
‘You could just stand and keep me company as I finish off,’ Penny said, after they’d assessed what needed doing and she’d pulled her apron back on.
‘Pass me an apron, too,’ Francesco replied. ‘Like I said: many hands make light work. And maybe being behind the scenes of the famous Bridges Café means I’ll get some insider info on how the magic is made.’
‘I guard my secrets with my life,’ Penny warned, wiggling her eyebrows.
‘I have my ways of seduction,’ said Francesco, taking a step closer to her.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Penny laughed, and she didn’t. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, pulling back before she got carried away. He tasted like coffee and promise.
‘Mmmmm,’ Francesco smiled. He added, ‘One more please.’
She leaned in and kissed him again, the length of her body pressed up against his. He put one hand behind her neck and held her to him.
‘I find your payment terms very favourable,’ he joked in hushed tones when she pulled away again, his hand lingering on her waist. His touch made the top of Penny’s thighs ache.
Sex-y.
Francesco set about with the last of the pans in the dishwash area as Penny sprayed and wiped down all the surfaces, and he’d been right: working together meant they got done in super quick time.
‘What are we listening to?’ he asked across the kitchen, after about ten minutes of companionable effort.
‘The High Low podcast,’ Penny replied.
‘They’re funny,’ he said, resuming his work.
Penny snuck glances of him from the other side of the workspace. She watched him crumple his face, concentrating on the two women coming from the speaker talking about the high maternal death rate in black mothers. He nodded slightly, as if agreeing with the point at hand, and Penny saw the way it made the muscle of his shoulders ripple under his t-shirt, how his neck moved.
‘It’s rude to stare,’ he said, not looking up from the sink. ‘You taught me that.’
‘Caught red-handed,’ Penny said.
He flashed her a smile, elbow deep in the bubbles from the washing up.
Francesco loaded the last few pieces into the dishwasher, pulled the plug on the sink, and then rinsed everything down with the shower head attached to the plug.
‘Let’s go outside for your smoke,’ he said, after Estelle and Stuart had come down to say goodbye for the day.
‘I’ll mop us out and we can share a San Pellegrino from my stash out there,’ Penny replied.
‘How illicit.’
‘Just go,’ she said, laughing and pointing to the exit.
He stood outside the open door, against the walk-in fridge. It was his turn to watch her now, and it had turned into an unspoken game: she’d watched him and not been bothered at being caught, so now he watched her without hiding it, refusing to shy from doing exactly the same.
‘Listen,’ Penny said, as she crouched down to the bottom step, her 4 p.m. ritual, passing him a can of her fizzy drink and preparing to roll a cigarette. ‘Can I be totally upfront with you?’
‘You can,’ Francesco encouraged, moving towards her. He stood in front of her and she forgot what she was going to say. She swore she could feel the heat radiating from his trousers, and her breath got shallow at his proximity.
‘I, um …’ she began, and then BOOM. Somehow the pair of them went from two separate entities to enmeshed together, mouth to mouth, breathlessly consuming each other. Penny stumbled so that her back was against the outside wall, and she could feel Francesco through his jeans. They moved up against one another, the friction getting more and more urgent, the kissing deeper and deeper. Penny melted into Francesco’s every movement, furious with passion. He moved to her jawline, her neck, he pulled at Penny’s apron, pawed at her chef’s whites to find his way to bare skin. Whatever she’d been about to say was forgotten.
‘Mmmm,’ she moaned, electrified by him. And then: ‘Wait – wait!’
Francesco pulled away. ‘Stop?’ he said.
‘No,’ Penny intoned. ‘Not stop. Upstairs.’
‘Upstairs,’ Francesco repeated. ‘Good.’
Penny pulled him by the wrist so that he was inside, locking the back door behind him. She led the way through the sparklingly clean kitchen and up to the café so they could get to the flat, Francesco pushed up against her back, kissing her neck and behind her ears, stopping every few steps so that she could turn around and have their mouths meet.
In her front room she said, ‘Can I shower? I don’t want our first time to be when I smell like a kitchen.’
‘I don’t care what you smell of,’ Francesco told her, coming in for another kiss, but she put a finger to his lips and insisted.
‘I do. Wait here.’ As she left, she said to her Amazon speaker: ‘Alexa, play some Frank Ocean. Thank you.’ She lit a sandalwood incense stick on the table.
‘You’re very polite to your voice-activated technology,’ Francesco said, loosening his belt.
‘When the A.I. revolution comes, it is I who shall be spared,’ Penny smirked, noting the way he was making himself more comfortable. She added: ‘Okay, hold on.’
Penny returned only after she’d taken the day off her, standing naked in front of him, hair damp and loose around her shoulders, her eyes wide and lips parted.
Francesco took in the sight of her.
‘Come here,’ he growled, standing and walking towards her, taking her hand. ‘This is going to be a lot of fun.’
5
‘Okay, mmmm. Yeah,’ Penny lightly sighed.
‘Yeah?’ Francesco asked.
‘Yeah,’ Penny said. ‘Yeah. That feels good.’
‘Okay. Good. Could you just …’
‘Oh. Sure. Like this?’
‘Or maybe—’
‘Ouch! Watch my hair, it’s caught—’
‘Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
Francesco and Penny had initiated incredibly bad sex.
He had kissed her – kissed her everywhere. Penny had let his tongue roam her body, her cheeks, her chin, her breasts, her thighs, between her legs. She had undressed him, and pushed him onto the sofa, rolling a condom onto him and straddling his lap. She’d braced herself for the feeling of being filled, of handing herself over to him, of their two bodies becoming one … but it wasn’t working.
‘What if I go on top?’ Francesco said.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Penny murmured, moving off him and lying back.
He loomed over her, and she grumbled, ‘I just – these cushions. I’ll just move these …’ She picked up a throw pillow and dropped it to the floor.
Silently, and with increasing half-heartedness, Francesco pumped away. His eyes were scrunched closed in intense concentration. Penny coughed a little. She’d been hugely turned on but now things felt significantly less … lubricated.
Francesco stopped for a second to wipe hair from his clammy brow.
They made eye contact and smiled, Francesco going to speak but seeing that Penny was about to, and Penny going to speak but seeing Francesco was about to, and so both nervously giggling and neither saying anything until Francesco uttered, gingerly: ‘Should we stop?’
Penny said, ‘Yeah. It’s okay. Let’s stop.’
The relief was palpable to them both.
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