‘I want somebody who puts me first and thinks of me and looks after me and I want to have one person, above all else, who I do that for too.

‘That’s what I want. I do.’

Penny stopped talking as she watched a woman with two small children walk through the graveyard, silently weeping but still smiling. She was carrying flowers, and the children looked solemn and serious, like they understood now wasn’t the time to run or play or act up.

‘I love you mum. I’m just trying to make you proud, you know? But it feels hard, lately. I feel like I’ve strayed from my path or something, and that makes me sad. I think because I know it would make you sad, if you knew.’

Penny started to cry again now.

‘I wish I didn’t feel like this,’ she said. ‘I wish you could tell me what to do.’

She stayed by the grave for forty-five minutes, waiting for a sign. It didn’t come. Penny understood she had to figure it out for herself.

Over the next few days, the tension at The Red Panda was such that it interfered with Penny’s leadership. Lunches were made and evening shifts came and went but she was distracted and made mistakes. Francesco’s cold shoulder was so extreme that Penny didn’t dare suggest a bowl of pasta. Francesco didn’t really say much at all, until one day he did.

‘We need to talk.’

He’d appeared at the bar where Penny was stood talking to Charlie about the benefits of the Kiehl’s Turmeric and Cranberry scrub versus the Elemis superfood glow mask.

‘I just can’t afford to stain yet another towel yellow,’ Charlie was saying, when Francesco interrupted. He looked wan and pale, and like he hadn’t slept.

‘Morning, bitch,’ Charlie said to him, but all he replied with was, ‘Hey.’ Charlie looked taken aback, and quickly understood he was finally going to have it out with Penny.

‘Shall we go outside?’ Penny asked Francesco, understanding the same thing.

‘I think that would be wise,’ he replied, and Charlie and Penny exchanged a loaded look as he led the way.

The pair walked through the pub to the back decking, and Penny studied Francesco’s face. It was the first time she’d seen more than a side profile of him in days. She pulled out a chair that was damp from earlier rain and sat, hoping he’d pull out the other one, but he remained standing.

‘I’m leaving,’ he said, simply. ‘I can’t stay.’