“Me too,” Penny said.
“It was my mother-in-law’s lover who taught me to love kitchenware,” he breathed.
Penny said, “It was Liz who passed the love on to me.”
They went to the bathroom section.
“Honestly,” Mark said. “It’s like being one of the Stepford Wives, but I don’t care. I just love things for the house.”
“Me too,” said Penny.
They came home in the dark on the 213 and Penny realised that she’d had a nice day with him.
He said goodbye at her garden gate. Tactfully he didn’t let her ask him in for tea, knowing he’d probably bump into Andy.
She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you—” she began, and jumped backwards.
The instant they touched, her lips brushing the side of his face, Penny came over weird. Mark, too, had straightened up, looking shocked. “What was that?” he asked and, instinctively, they took a step apart.
“I don’t know,” murmured Penny, but she did.
When she kissed Mark Kelly on the cheek it had been in a particular spot along his jawbone. This was a piece of his design she had been fixated on all day, a very beautiful tattoo she couldn’t help feeling drawn towards. Just above his jawline, to the right of his mouth, there was a crimson butterfly, very small and tucked into the blocks of tidy colour. This is what Penny had kissed and, at this first contact, she had felt those thin, cottony wings stir and beat a brand-new pulse against her mouth.
Mark smiled at her. “See you soon.”
“Well! You bugger!”
This was after tea and Elsie stood in Fran’s kitchen, peering through the blinds.
“What is it?” asked Fran, who was busy washing up and weary with Elsie. All through dinner that woman had talked about nothing but herself. Frank and the bairns had gobbled up their dinners as quickly as possible, when usually dinners here were a long-drawn-out affair, full of family chat, business and argument. Tonight Elsie banged on and on about her poor, missing husband, his madness, her son’s first love and her own bladder complaints. Maybe Elsie was embarrassed because she had to go to the loo a few times through the meal, but not everyone wanted a running commentary. Frank was a man, Fran thought crossly. Why would he want to be hearing about Elsie’s waterworks? Eating fish fingers, listening to that. It was intolerable.
Elsie was supposed to be doing the drying now. But the Mother Shipton tea towel was still in her hands and she was clutching a wet plate to her chest. “Just look at them!” She was staring at number sixteen.
“Whatever now?” asked Fran, but she went to see.
They both stared at Penny kissing Mark, just outside her garden gate.
“Oh,” said Fran.
“I have something to say to that little madam!” Elsie said.
Fran regretted letting Elsie have some of Frank’s beers. He’d been pissed off but acquiescent. Fran was only too pleased to lessen his intake tonight — Spar lagers 50p a can — but Elsie was becoming red-eyed and reckless-looking. Fran had forgotten Elsie was meant to be on the wagon.
“It’s just like Jane said,” spat Elsie.
“Jane said what?” asked Fran.
“Penny’s been carrying on behind our Craig’s back.”
“Oh, I’m sure she—”
“With that shirt lifter from over the way!”
“Elsie,” Fran said. “You can’t go round calling people shirt lifters!”
“I’m going over there,” Elsie said grimly, and was out the door.
At one glance Penny saw how drunk Elsie was.
“I don’t want to talk about this now, Elsie.”
The older woman had barged her way into number sixteen. She was short but surprisingly powerful. When Penny looked at her she was shaking with rage, her hair all disturbed. “You’ll listen to me whether you like it or not.”
Penny sighed. “What is it?”
“You’re treating our Craig like a common convenience,” Elsie said, her mouth all twisting. Penny thought she might be having a stroke. “And I’m not having it. I know you think you’re better than us.”
“What’s he said to you?” God knows what version of last night’s row Craig had given Elsie. There was no way Penny could come out of it well.
“He’s said nothing. He tells his mother nothing. He wouldn’t hear a word against you! He worships the chair you sit on! But I saw you, you little minx. You’re taking him for a ride. I saw you kissing that bloke from over the way.”
“You what?”
“That Mark.”
“So?”
“So, she says! Have you no common decency! You’re going out with my son! You’re practically his fiancée!”
Penny had heard enough now. “Yeah, yeah,” she said airily and opened the kitchen door, readying herself to throw Elsie out.
“I don’t understand you, Penny. You’ve got a lovely lad in my son. You’re like a cat on heat.”
Penny raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You really think you’re a cut above, don’t you? You think you can mess about in our lives and then just leave us.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Like your mother. Think you’re so superior. Not like the rest of us. Even lying in a coma she still thinks she’s it.”
Penny stood by the open door. “I’m throwing you out now, Elsie.”
“Throw me out, she says! Listen to her!”
“I’m asking you to leave.”
Elsie gathered up her dignity. “Little madam!”
“And you tell your Craig he can fight his own battles!”
“Oh, he can, he can.” Elsie cursed, shuffling past. “And you’ll find yourself sorry, you little bitch!”
Penny slammed the door behind her.
Elsie cried all the way across the dark playground to her house. The wind had picked up, forcing her to struggle against the garden gate to get in. She just wanted to be indoors and hiding now. What a horrible day it had been. She felt she’d run out of people she could talk to. Even Fran looked cross with her tonight. Elsie wanted to be in her house, watching telly, the fire going.
Something nagged at her and pushed her back, however. A feeling of gloom. Something like a warning.
She let herself indoors and the hallway was dark. There
