Page 56 of We All Live Here
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. He’s been texting, and it was him who suggested it in the first place.”
“After it was you who initially asked him for a drink.”
“Well, yes, but that was forgotten. He could have just ignored it. But he was the one who said let’s go out.”
Eleanor pulls the kind of face people pull when they don’t want to say what they would actually like to say.
“I’m sure he’ll be in touch before tomorrow,” Lila says firmly.
The sound of distant, fragmented piano playing, which has formed the backdrop to their conversation, has stopped and now Lila hears the sound of the front door opening and closing, the muffled goodbyes of Penelope Stockbridge’s departure. A moment later Bill walks into the kitchen. He greets Eleanor warmly, observes, when Eleanor shows him her hip tattoo that, goodness, it really is…quite something. And then, his offer of more tea gently refused, makes himself some Earl Grey and sits at the kitchen table. The newspaper is in front of him but he looks meditative.
“Everything all right, Bill?” says Lila, after she and Eleanor have exchanged looks.
“Fine!” he says. “All fine, thank you!”
“He’s moping because he likes Piano Lady and he doesn’t know what to do about it.” Gene strolls in from the garden, slugging a can of Coke. It’s an unseasonably warm day and he is in a faded T-shirt with a picture of Bob Marley on the front. Lila hadn’t known he was even in.
“That’s not it,” says Bill.
“It is. He likes her but he feels bad because of your mom.”
“I like Penelope as a friend.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. She’s hot to trot for you, my friend. Hanging on your every word. Watching you play your instrument like she wishes you were playing her.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Gene. Not everybody’s mind is in the gutter.”
Gene grins, pleased with himself.
“She does come round a lot,” observes Lila.
Penelope comes two or three times a week. Always just to help Bill with his scales, apparently. He’s a terribly good pupil. It’s so rewarding for her. This week she has also brought a pasta bake, a tray of scones, and some flowers that were simply taking over her borders. They would only have gone to waste. It was really nothing. Lila has found it rather charming. Penelope is such a careful, anxious presence, so eager to please, that it’s hard to resent her.
“I think it’s nice, Bill,” she says. “I don’t think Mum would mind if you saw her as…more than a friend.”
Bill is gazing at his newspaper with his brow furrowed, the closest he comes to expressing deep existential trauma. “She is a very sweet lady,” he says, after a minute. “I feel she’s been dealt rather a raw deal in life. And I do enjoy her company. But, honestly, I wouldn’t know how to go about…I don’t know.”
“Pal! Don’t make it heavy weather! You’re overthinking this,” says Gene, scratching an armpit. “Just invite her to stay on for supper one evening. She’ll jump at the chance.”
Bill’s look suggests he’s considering whether Gene would be involved in that dinner.
“If you did decide to invite her for supper, we could all steer clear, couldn’t we, Gene?” says Lila. “Give Bill a little privacy?”
“Oh. Oh, sure! Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.” Gene gives him a vigorous nudge, which Bill endures politely.
“I don’t know…” Bill says again.
“Fella. C’mon. Who knows how much time we have around here? You gotta live life while you can. Hey—what would Francie have done? She knew how to live, right? She sucked the marrow out of every moment.”
They are all briefly silenced while they think of her.
“She certainly did,” says Bill, and lets out a shaky little sigh.
“It’s not a betrayal. It’s what she would have wanted. We all have to move on! Doesn’t mean we think about her any less.”
Lila wonders quite how that squares with the fact that Gene couldn’t even be bothered to mourn her mother’s death, but he’s being sweet to Bill so she decides to let it pass.
“You’re right,” says Bill, after he’s thought about it. “Maybe I will ask her if she’d like to join me for dinner.”
