Simon closes a hand over my fist. “Penelope, no. I need you to listen.”
11
BAZ
Penelope Bunce isn’t making any sense.
I’ve come back to London, put on some decent clothes, finally, and headed straight to Penny and Simon’s flat. I’ve decided not to punish Snow for ignoring my texts. (Well, I’m going to evaluate the situation: If he’s a little sorry, then I’m going to punish him a little. But if he’s very sorry, I’m just going to pretend like it didn’t happen. I’ve got bigger problems than him being a terrible boyfriend.) (I’ve got morepressingproblems, at least.)
But now I’m here, and Bunce is telling me that Snowisn’there—that he’sleft—and that we aren’t supposed to look for him.
“Have you been bewitched?” I turn to Shepard, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Has she been bewitched?”
Shepard shakes his head. He looks uncomfortable. Shepardshouldlook uncomfortable—why is he still here? Snow told me that Shepard was only staying for a few days; Penelope owes him a favour of some sort. I assumed he’d be off breaking bread with dragons by now.
“I don’t have time for this, Bunce. Just tell me where Simon is.”
“He left you this note,” she says, proffering a yellow envelope.
I open it, and take out a matching card. Where did Simon getstationery? Did he purchase stationery for the purpose of writing me this confounding note? It hardly counts as a note, anyway. All it says is,Baz, I’m sorry.
“He’s sorry?” I hold the note up to Penelope. “What does that mean?”
She won’t look at me. “He doesn’t want to see us right now.”
She isn’t making sense. This doesn’t make sense.
“What?”
I think Bunce has been crying. Her eyes are red, and she looks haggard. “He says he needs time,” she says.
“Time isn’t something a person needs, Penelope. Time is a constant.”
“You know what I mean—”
“No. I don’t.I don’t know what any of this means! Are you telling me that Snow moved out?”
Her chin is wobbling. “I think he’s lost, Baz.”
“Because you lost him, Bunce!” I’m charging into Simon’s bedroom. “I left him with you for a week, and you lost him!”
She’s right—Snow’s things are gone. He didn’t have much, but it’s all gone. His duffel bag, his books, all of his grotty T-shirts with the slits cut down the back.
Penelope has followed me as far as the doorway. “I didn’t lose him—he decided to leave. Simon is anadult.”
“Oh, for snake’s sake. He isnot.He’s a walking catastrophe!” I turn to her, my palms held out in frustration. “You know that! Youtaughtme that! The only thing for it is to never let him out of your sight. Come on.” I point past her. “Put on your shoes. Let’s find Snow.”
“No.” Bunce’s arms are folded. She’s crying.
I’mnot crying. This is all too ludicrous to cry about. “What do you mean ‘no’? Why aren’t you making anysensetonight?”
Bunce looks like she hasn’t slept or brushed her hair since the last time I saw her. She shakes her head, and her bedraggled ponytail swings from side to side. “No, I’m not going to chase him. No, I’m not going to make him come back. No, I’m not going tomakehim do anything. If Simon wants space, I’m going to give it to him.”
“Space, is it? Did he say he needs space?”
“Yes.”
“People don’t need space, Penelope!” I’m shouting. “They needpeople! Simon needsus!”
