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 more pressing problems, at least.） But now I’m here, and Bunce is telling me that Snow isn’t here—that he’s left—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. Shepard should look 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 get stationery?
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 an adult. ”
“Oh, for snake’s sake. He is not. He’s a walking catastrophe!” I turn to her, my palms held out in frustration. “You know that! You taught me 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’m not crying. This is all too ludicrous to cry about. “What do you mean ‘no’？ Why aren’t you making any sense tonight?”
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 to make him 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 need people!
Simon needs us!”
“That’s what I always say, Baz!” She’s swinging that ponytail again. She’s shouting, too. “‘ Simon needs me’—that was always my excuse!”
“Your excuse for what?”
“For doing whatever I wanted! For making him do what I thought best. I was more like a commanding officer than a friend.”
“You kept him alive.”
“Barely! I kept him alive after goading him into danger.”
“I wouldn’t say you goaded him,” I mutter. “Snow never needed goading.”
I hate how little sense she’s making. I hate this note. I hate Snow’s messy handwriting; it looks like a child’s. I hate the view I have of his empty wardrobe.
“Baz, I’m not going after him. I promised him I wouldn’t.”