After a couple of seconds Megan is by my side, her arm round my back. She’s seen this before, and for all her faults I’m grateful she never makes a big deal about this. She’s just there for me.
When my breathing has calmed down to normal levels, she ventures a question: “What happened? Did Callum say something?” Her forehead scrunches into a frown.
“No, not at all. I think . . . I don’t know. I suppose everything just got a bit much. I’ll be fine.” I force a smile onto my face, and Megan squeezes my hand.
“It’s OK, you know, to like someone else,” she says quietly.
My heart skips a beat as Megan manages to put into words the source of my anxiety. Because deep down inside, another voice is telling me I’m not so sure.
Chapter Five
Megan leans against the side of the building, tapping away at her phone, while I perch on a wall and focus on my breathing. When I feel a measure of calm, I lift my eyes to watch people going about their day. What are you up to? I think, following the crowds. I pick out certain individuals. Where are you going with that giant backpack—are you travelling the world? That couple holding hands—are they on a first date? Their third?
Turning my focus outwards, concentrating on what might be happening in the lives of other people, is something my therapist told me to do when managing my anxiety. I only started seeing a therapist after coming back from the tour, and she has already helped my confidence massively. She’s helped me learn that, while anxiety is part of my life, it doesn’t have to define it. Little tricks, like people-watching, stop me focusing too much on my spiralling thoughts and the physical symptoms that dominate my body whenever I start to panic. Already I can feel my heart rate slowing down and the clamminess on my palms evaporating.
I look over my shoulder. “Megan, I think I’ll be OK now. If you don’t mind, I just want a few minutes by myself to completely clear my head before going back inside.” I can tell I’ve caught her by surprise: she’s smirking at a viral video of a puppy slipping on ice that she’s had on a loop, but she turns off her phone and nods.
“Of course, Penny. I’ll be in the common room. Think you can find your way back?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Cool. See you in a bit.” She walks back inside, leaving me sitting on the wall.
I continue to scan the scene in front of me, and my eye is caught by a young girl sitting on the bench opposite me, ending a call in a fury and wiping a tear away. I wonder who she’s just argued with. A parent? A friend? Her partner? It’s little things like this that remind me that absolutely everyone has their “stuff”—stuff they struggle with or have to deal with on a regular basis.
To my alarm, the girl’s single tear turns into uncontrolled sobbing into her hands. There’s a battered rucksack between her black pumps on the grass by her bench and her glossy black hair is up in two neat buns, one on each side of her head. Suddenly she lifts her head and makes eye contact with me. I almost fall off the wall. Now she knows I’m just sitting watching her.
An awkward lump rises in my throat. She averts her eyes again and wipes her tears away, obviously aware I’m still watching her. I spot a Madame Laplage patch on her rucksack and realize she must be a student here. I slide off the wall. I can’t just ignore her now that she knows I’ve been watching. There is a small possibility she’ll tell me to clear off and yell at me for being so nosy, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. If she needs someone to talk to, sometimes a sympathetic stranger is as good as anyone.
She looks up when she hears the gravel crunching beneath my Converse. Despite the fact that her face is splotched red from crying, I’m struck by how pretty she is. Her delicate almond-shaped eyes are a beautiful dark brown and a small smile creeps over her face, displaying a dimple on one of her cheeks.
I take the smile as a promising indication that she doesn’t mind me approaching. “Sorry for intruding, but are you OK?” I slide onto the bench next to her. She’s trembling slightly, reminding me of a delicate butterfly. She might fly away at any moment.
“I’m so embarrassed!” she says. She wipes her nose with the crumpled tissue in her hand. “I hate crying in public. And I especially hate crying at school. I’m sure everyone’s going to know now.”
“Do you want to go for a walk? Get away from here for a bit?” I say, and she nods.
We walk in silence away from the school, back towards the South Bank. There’s always something soothing about water, I find. I prefer the sight of the sea off Brighton beach, but even the River Thames will do. The girl sniffs loudly. “I . . . I don’t recognize you from any of my classes, but please don’t tell anyone at school about this.”
“Oh, I’m not at Madame Laplage,” I say.
“You’re not?”
“No—I’m just here visiting a friend. Look, I’m Penny. I’m sorry for watching you, but you seem really upset. Have you had an argument with someone?”
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. I must pass her test because she nods again, slowly. “I’m Posey,” she replies, “Posey Chang. And yeah, an argument . . . You could say that! My mum is my best friend, but she doesn’t half pile the pressure on. She just doesn’t understand. I was trying to explain to her that I didn’t want to play a certain role in the show because I can’t bear the thought of being centre stage.” She blows her nose loudly and drops the tissue in a bin. When she speaks again, her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear her over the sound of the birds squawking and tourists chattering behind us. “I know it’s supposed to be an honour to receive such a big part. I’m studying theatre and music here after all, and it’s something I’ve always loved to do, but I find it so difficult in front of an audience, and nobody really understands! Mum told me I was being ridiculous and that I needed to pull myself together and there was absolutely no way I was going to swap my role. I hate it because she’s right. If I don’t do this . . . I might not get my scholarship renewed. Then all the hard work to get in here will be wasted anyway.” She sniffs again and a single tear escapes down her cheek.