Dear Diary,
Tonight Im still reeling from the absurd request my old schoolmate, Penelope, made over a pint at The Crown. She said, Ill live with you for a few months, and Ill sublet my flat so I can put a little extra on my wages. I couldnt believe how brazen people can be.
Olivia and Penelope were the living proof that the old adage Tell me who your friends are, and Ill tell you who you are doesnt always hold. Their personalities were as opposite as night and day, so much so that Id have to write a paper on Opposites attract just to describe them.
When the girls were growing up, everyone around them could only stare in amazement. How do they ever find something to talk about? They never seem bored together, neighbours would mutter.
Penelope was the vivacious fashionista, always flirting with any bloke from the moment she stepped into kindergarten. Olivia, on the other hand, was the textbookworm, shy by nature, preferring gestures to conversation.
How those two ever managed more than a polite nod is a mystery that no one could solve. Yet their friendship had its perks. Thanks to Olivias help, Penelope managed to hop from class to class without too many hiccups. No one ever dared to tease Penelope, the everpopular darling, because everyone hoped that by staying in her good graces they might reap a little benefit in return.
After Year 9, Penelope left school and scraped together a trainee plastererpainter job at a local trade college. It wasnt really for the learning; she quit shortly after Year 11 when Olivia sent her an invitation to a wedding.
The ultimate university for a lady is to get married well, Penelope giggled, recalling how shed met Alex at the reception.
Olivia felt no jealousy. She was genuinely happy for her friendafter all, who doesnt love seeing a mate achieve her goal? Olivia never chased after men; she trusted herself more than any fleeting romance. While Penelope was learning the ropes of married life, Olivia was grinding away at university, studying hospitality management.
Children and marriage were never on Olivias agenda. She poured all her energy into her studies and later her work. By thirty she had carved out a solid career, becoming the righthand woman to the director of the citys most prestigious hotel, the St. James Palace.
Penelope, meanwhile, seemed settled as a wife and motheruntil a bleak autumn evening turned everything upside down.
It was wet, slick, and darkhardly a night for crossing the road outside a zebra crossing, especially when youre dressed headtotoe in black. A car tried to brake, but it was too late. Luke, the husband, died in intensive care the next day, leaving Penelope a widow and her eightyearold daughter Victoria an orphan.
From that moment Penelopes life went downhill. Initially her parents and friends offered support, but after a year the wellmeaning words ran dry. When will you get a job? they kept asking, especially her parents, and the arguments grew more frequent.
One summer, a tearsoaked Penelope stayed at Olivias flat. Over a cup of tea she explained how her own parents had turned their backs on her, saying theyd rather raise Victoria themselves than keep a burden like Penelope around.
Find a job, then. Ill take yours straight away, Penelope snapped, recalling the few interviews shed enduredeither horrendous conditions or a cold stare that said, Youre not worth the salary we pay.
My dear, you have no qualifications, no experience, and a little girl to look after, the employers had scoffed. People like you are the last they want to hire.
Penelope sighed, Im not a person you can just push around. Give me a decent job, for goodness sake. Even her own parents seemed to think shed been handed a cruel joke.
It was then that I realised how fragile the bond between us had become. I could have taken the side of Penelopes parentsafter all, a retired teacher and a factory worker cant possibly afford to support an adult daughter and a child. Yet Penroses mother, Margaret, was still willing to look after Victoria, at least while the girl was under her watch.
I also understood that if I voiced my thoughts too bluntly, our decadeslong friendship could crumble. Penelope had a habit of snapping, then rushing to apologise, no matter who was truly at fault. That pattern had begun to wear thin.
Polly, I said gently, maybe I can help. Theres a vacancy for a waitingstaff role at the hotel where I work. Its a few years climb to manager, but its a start.
No one would dare to pester our director, and the clientele arent the sort who would make a girl feel uncomfortable. The kitchen fell silent.
Waiting staff, you say? Penelope repeated, each syllable dragging out. So youre offering me a girlhood job, running trays between tables?
Choose your words wisely, I warned. I once was a waitress myself, and among the lads who dash about with trays there are decent folk. Mind your language.
She stood, a shadow crossing her face, and headed for the hallway, sighing dramatically as she dressed.
A memory flickered in my mindhow Penelope, as a child, would declare Im offended, Im leaving! the moment anything didnt go her way, only to rush back later with apologies. That habit had resurfaced, and my comment had struck a nerve, so she wasnt eager to apologise.
When Penelope finally called, it wasnt a confession of guilt. She blurted out, I know I was sharptongued, but the situations tense, and I snapped at you, dear friend. She expected me to let the matter slide.
Then she asked if my offer still stood. I fought the urge to reply snarkilyThe queen herself has descended to a lowly trade?and instead said, Yes, the offer is still on the table. Training would take at most three days, and then you could start. The first weeks wont be glamorous, but youll earn enough to keep the lights on. I added, Your parents might see you taking responsibility and soften their stance, even if its just a few pounds.
She retorted, Youre giving me the worst post while you have the good ones. Thats not friendship.
I answered, I cant make you a manager without any experience or education, but
Does it matter? she interjected. Youre my friend; you could at least find me a decent spot.
She then proposed living with me for a few months, subletting her flat to boost her income. I imagined her strolling into my flat, draped in a coat two sizes too big, asking for a favour that seemed more like a demand.
I never thought Id see anyone as audacious as Penelope, and even now I hold out hope shell burst into laughter, shouting April Fools! as if it were still October. But the seriousness in her tone left me with a bitter taste.
In the end, the rosecoloured glasses have shattered. Penelope now faces the reality of finding decent work in a respectable place, and perhaps more painfully, the loss of a friendship that refused to bend.
Its a harsh lesson, but one I wont forget: loyalty is a twoway street, and generosity without boundaries only leads to resentment. Ive learned that helping a friend is noble, yet I must also safeguard my own peace.
