Penny stood quickly, dabbing at her cheeks. ‘Priyesh!’ she said, fixing a smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I just wanted to drop these off,’ he said, studying her face. If he could tell she’d been crying he was sympathetic enough not to mention it. ‘I haven’t really heard from you since Valentine’s Day.’ He turned his attention to the others sat around the table. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Priyesh.’

Clementine’s eyes widened slightly at his name, understanding who he was. ‘I’m Clementine,’ she said. ‘Penny’s sister. And this is Rima, my wife.’

Priyesh walked to the table. ‘Hello, Charlie,’ he said, acknowledging them too.

Penny took the flowers from him, and as she did he leaned in for a kiss. Penny offered up her cheek.

‘Well,’ said Priyesh, addressing Penny. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt, I just wanted to give you these.’

‘I’ll walk you out,’ she said.

They walked in silence to his car, and then Priyesh began, ‘It’s okay. All of it – it’s okay. I knew you and Francesco were close. I didn’t let myself understand how close. But, you and him – that makes a million times more sense than this. I can see that. But I’m not going anywhere, okay. Take your time in any decision you make.’

‘Priyesh,’ Penny said, softly.

‘Oh,’ he said, his face dropping. ‘I see.’

‘It’s not you, it really isn’t.’

He paused for a second. ‘Right. That’s … disappointing.’

‘It’s not like I’m going to be around for much longer anyway, you know? It’s been ace, spending all this time with you, but I was never here to stay.’

‘You stopped talking about leaving, though,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I thought maybe you’d change your mind.’

‘My life is in London. You are charming and so clever and honestly, the sex we’ve had has been out of this world. This really is all me.’

‘And I can’t change your mind?’

‘You don’t want someone whose mind you have to change, do you?’

Priyesh offered a lop-sided smile. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ Penny opened her arms for a hug.

‘No hard feelings?’

‘No hard feelings.’

21

‘Penny Bridge,’ she said, into the buzzer microphone at the front door. ‘Here for a 9 a.m. initial consultation.’

‘Come in Penny,’ a sober voice said at the other end. ‘We’re upstairs and to the left.’

The lock sounded and Penny pushed her way through into the terraced townhouse that, from the outside, could have been somebody’s home. On the other side of the door, though, it gave itself away as a corporate space, furnished with carpet tiles, strip lighting, and a fire extinguisher. It was chilly. Penny gingerly climbed the stairs, found the waiting room, and took a seat. On the table in the middle were various leaflets.

Post-Traumatic Stress and You.