by Katie Ginger
‘You’re just saying that,’ said Esme.
‘No, we’re not,’ assured Helena. ‘I’d tell you if you were shit. You know that.’
‘Okay,’ said Esme, nodding to herself. It was true. Helena most definitely would. Esme took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I can do this.’
Every setback was a learning opportunity if she chose to see it that way. She’d read that in a self-help book once. All she needed to do was prepare more and get some better equipment, but it was a step in the right direction. And being on camera hadn’t felt as weird and unnatural as she’d expected. ‘Come on then,’ she said, sipping her wine. ‘Let’s get some lighting. But not too expensive, okay? I’m starting to seriously run out of money. Soon I’ll be living off baked beans on toast.’
‘I’m sure you could fantabulatise those as well,’ said Mark.
‘That’s not even a word. But I like it. I might use it next time.’
‘Can’t you get any freelance work?’ asked Helena, still eating her chocolate cake. She was one of life’s nibblers, she didn’t shovel food into her mouth at a rate of knots like the rest. ‘There must be hundreds of other shows needing staff.’
Esme shrugged. ‘I’ve been in touch with some agencies and some of the contacts I’ve made over the years. I’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘I’m sure it’ll work out,’ said Mark. ‘Things always work out for the best.’
‘I hope so,’ Esme replied. She wanted to believe him, but without the routine of a normal job she felt adrift. Esme sighed, but she’d come too far now to quit. She studied the tiles behind the kitchen sink. They would look good when the lighting arrived, she reckoned. With pride, Esme thought of the cake she’d just made, of all the different ingredients and flavours there were to play with, and the cathartic act of cooking. She could make this work. No, she would make this work. ‘More cake, everyone?’ she said with a smile.
Chapter 16
London
Lying in his bed, next to Veronica’s sleeping form, Leo stretched and placed his hands behind his head. Right before bed, Veronica had had a meltdown about the few odd items of Esme’s that were still in the flat. Leo thought she was overreacting, and ruining what had been a nice Saturday night, but telling Veronica that wasn’t an option. It was simpler to just agree to phone Esme and remind her the things still needed removing. It wasn’t that much, just a large chest of drawers that had been too big for her weird friend Mark’s hire car, and a couple of trinkets he’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. And seeing how quickly she’d moved out the rest of her stuff, which on reflection was very decent of her, he didn’t feel he could keep nagging. To be fair, he’d just wanted Mark to get done and leave. He’d flounced around the flat giving Leo dirty looks, even though he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. When Mark finally found someone for longer than two minutes, he’d realise that. Leo had never liked Mark, who was too exuberant and loud – it was off-putting.
Leo ran his hand over his chin, flung his legs out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown. He went into the living room and, checking his watch, thought about calling Esme now. It was almost one in the morning and even though it was late, Leo picked up the phone to dial, hoping she’d be asleep and wouldn’t pick up. He’d tried to avoid speaking with her, not wanting to hear the heartbreak in her voice. She must have been destroyed by their break-up and he didn’t want to have to deal with tears. He’d never been able to predict if she’d cry, laugh or get angry when they got into a fight thanks to her tempestuous nature. If only he’d mustered up the nerve to call before now. In his mind, he pictured Esme in her parents’ awful poky little box room, devouring a tub of ice cream while she sobbed. For Esme’s sake he hoped they were laying off the midnight activities. The last thing you need when you’ve just been dumped is to hear your parents getting it on. And she’d definitely have put on weight from all the comfort eating. If he phoned now though, it should click through to voicemail and he wouldn’t have to actually speak to her.
‘Hello?’ came a harsh, wide-awake voice from the other end.
Damn it. ‘Oh, hi, Esme. It’s Leo.’ He could hear moving around, giggling and laughter in the background and his brow creased in confusion. Then he heard Mark’s voice loud and clear.
‘Is that that scumbag? What’s he doing calling at … blimey, it’s one in the morning. We’re all asleep, Leo, you’ll have to call back.’
Idiot. Taken aback, Leo forgot why he was calling. He hadn’t expected her friends to be with her. Then Esme’s voice cut into his thoughts.
‘Leo? What the heck are you ringing me for? I can’t imagine you’ve got anything to say to me and I definitely do not want to talk to you. Plus, it’s the middle of the night. No one calls people in the middle of the night. What are you doing? Are you drunk?’
‘Bog off, Leo,’ he heard Helena shout. So she was there too. They couldn’t all be at Carol and Stephen’s. Esme must be staying somewhere else. But where? Confusion filled him and he suddenly felt adrift. Like he’d floated out to sea and his legs couldn’t reach the bottom. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to. Trying to find some control and regain his footing, he cleared his throat.
‘Yeah, umm, sorry for ringing so late.’ Leo ran a hand down his brilliant white T-shirt over striped pyjama bottoms and pulled his dressing gown tighter against the cold. ‘I just wanted to say, that, you know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us.’
‘At one in the morning? Are you mad? And anyway, it’s not that they didn’t work out for us, Leo. You dumped me.’
‘You tell him!’ shouted Mark, before he began chanting ‘Loser’ over and over again.
Leo tutted at Mark’s childishness. This wasn’t the Esme he was used to. The Esme he was used to was much more … nurturing. He felt suddenly on the back foot. He did with Veronica sometimes and it unnerved him. He’d never felt like that with Esme. ‘Yes, but you’ll find someone else, Esme. I know you will. You’re an amazing girl.’
There was a pause. ‘What’s he saying?’ asked Mark. ‘Tell him if he calls you again I’ll—’
‘Sssshhhh!’ Esme replied. ‘What do you want, Leo?’
‘I just wanted to ask if you could possibly come to get the last of your things? There isn’t much. Just that old chest of drawers in the spare room and a few little ornaments. When Mark couldn’t get it in the car he said he’d be back soon with a van but he hasn’t. I didn’t want to get rid of it because I know how much you love it.’
Silence.
‘You’ve rung me at stupid o’clock in the morning to ask me to come and get my antique chest of drawers from the spare room?’ He heard Mark and Helena in the background but couldn’t make out what they were saying as their voices blended into one. It wouldn’t be good though. ‘Why is that, Leo? Are you moving in some other woman and you need the spare room clear for all her clothes and shoes and accessories?’
‘Esme. I’m sorry, it’s just Veronica—’
‘Oh, yes, that’s her name, isn’t it?’
‘Esme, please—’
‘Don’t worry, Leo. I’ll get it sorted out tomorrow. Just don’t be there when Mark shows up. For your sake.’ She hung up and Leo tapped his phone against his chin, exhaling a long deep breath.
That had gone quite well considering her friends had been there. Wherever there was. The sound of Veronica’s gentle snoring emerged from the bedroom and he debated whether to have a cup of tea before going back to bed.
Leo went to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Veronica would ease off a bit now. She required a lot more care and attention than Esme ever had. Veronica was great but it had to be said, she didn’t look after him as well as Esme. They’d shared the housework, and Esme had done all the cooking for them. He gave a scornful laugh; that had changed now. It was him who did all the cooking these days. And though Veronica was grateful, she didn’t hesitate to tell him how he could improve next time. And she wanted to hire a cleaner. Esme had been messy when she fir
st moved in, but she’d soon seen how important it was to be tidy and made an effort to clean up after herself. Veronica just wanted to hire someone to come in and clean up after her. Who would pay for that though? Financials were always a difficult subject in a new relationship, and it wasn’t a conversation he particularly wanted to have yet. Still, things were going to work out fine with Veronica, he told himself as a familiar niggle gnawed at the back of his mind. Of course they were.
Chapter 17
Sandchester
A week later, Esme spent all Saturday morning waiting in for the lighting to arrive. By the time the courier knocked on the door just after lunchtime, she’d eaten an enormous sandwich and gulped down seven cups of tea but, excited, she didn’t want to waste a second and called Mark to talk her through setting up the spotlight.
‘Hello, sweetie. How’s it going?’ From his cheerful tone he must have got over his heartbreak already.
‘Yeah, good,’ Esme replied. Heavy metal clanged in the background. ‘Are you working today or are you stalking local builders again?’
‘Overtime, baby. They need everything set up for an early start on Monday so I volunteered. How’s things with you?’
‘Going okay, thanks. I’ve had a few visits to my blog and the lights have arrived. What do I do with them?’
‘Right,’ said Mark. ‘Do exactly as I say.’
Esme followed Mark’s instructions for setting it up in the right place to light the food and not her cleavage or the kitchen sink. She bustled around trying to do things with one hand, the other holding the phone. It was only at the difficult, two-handed parts, she put him on speaker. After half an hour she had a large overhead spotlight, similar to ones used on Felicity’s show, in the corner of the kitchen, and the work bench was lit perfectly for her next attempt to vlog. She said goodbye to Mark and began readying the ingredients for another go.
Esme had decided on a Christmas recipe – after all, it was now December. It was also one of her grandma’s favourites. When she was little it had been cooked every year, first by her great-grandma, then her grandma and now, Esme. Her mother had tried, but all she remembered from Carol’s attempts was a lot of swearing and dancing to Christmas songs while things burnt on the stove. She smiled at the memory. Carol had been just as close to her mum as Esme, and the year she’d passed away had been difficult. Remembering times in the kitchen when it had been her grandma, Carol, and her and Alice made her smile.
Esme hurried over, turned on her laptop and camera, and grabbed the basic script she had written. She ran upstairs and changed into a high-neck top and tightened her bra straps to avoid anyone seeing her assets. She even added a little make-up for good measure. The world didn’t need to see her without something on her face. They might think it was a horror movie and turn over. Soon she was back in the kitchen and ready to begin.
‘Hi everyone. My name’s Esme and welcome to my cooking vlog! This is Grandma’s Kitchen.’ She waved her hands around to show she was in a kitchen and instantly felt like an air stewardess demonstrating where the emergency exits were. She pulled her hands back to her sides. ‘I thought today we’d record a brilliant make-ahead Christmas recipe. Trust me, this is super-impressive and super-easy. We’re going to make sausage, chestnut and cranberry stuffing all ready for the big day, so when it arrives, all you have to do is shove it in the oven and crack open the bubbly. This is the stuffing we always have on Christmas Day in my family. It was originally my great-grandmother’s recipe, but was taught to me by my grandma. I always make it ahead and bring it with me on Christmas Eve when I come home.’
She paused, realising how different this year would be. ‘Well, that’s what I’ve done on previous years, but this year, I’m already home. So, anyway, we’re going to begin by melting some butter and olive oil in a pan and sautéing some onions and leeks with a little bit of garlic. Let the leeks soften first because if you put in the garlic at the beginning, it’ll burn and that’ll give your dish a bitter taste.’
She remembered to look at the camera. Even when it felt uncomfortable and false, she made herself smile.
‘Now we’ve got those all soft and translucent, put them to one side and brown your sausage meat.’ She moved the meat around the pan. ‘When it’s just started to brown, add in the chestnuts and cranberries. If you’re using frozen cranberries you can add them in straight from the freezer. They make such a great popping sound when they heat up and burst and all that juice trickles into the sausage meat making this all pinky and scrumptious. Now we just need to add the onion and leek back in and the breadcrumbs and you can throw in some extra herbs if you want to.’ She grinned as a memory flashed into her brain. ‘One year, when my sister and I were about 15 and my mum cooked this with us, she thought she’d do it whilst multi-tasking, waxing her top lip ready for a party.’ She giggled at the memory. ‘It didn’t go well. Mum totally forgot about the cream on her top lip and we weren’t paying much attention either, so by the time we actually remembered her top lip was free from hair, but it was also bright pink! Poor Mum was not impressed! Because my sister and I were teenagers we obviously found it hysterical. But my mum’s a trooper and because it was a fancy-dress party, she decided to swap costumes with my dad and went as a policeman with a big false moustache to hide it and my poor dad had to go as a nun!’’
Esme added in the chopped herbs and gave them a good stir around. Helena had reminded her to roll her shoulders back so she wasn’t slumping and giving the world, or at least the three people who might be watching, a good eyeful. ‘We’re just going to add a little stock to bring it all together into a nice gooey mixture. If you’re cooking this fresh on Christmas Day, then get it into the baking dish and add some stock to the top. It’ll soak in and stop it drying out in the oven. If you’re making ahead and freezing it, then stop here and add the rest on the day of cooking once it’s thawed.’
She reached below the counter. ‘Here’s one I prepared earlier, so you can see what it looks like. This is a really tasty homemade stuffing for Christmas Day that’s sure to impress your guests. I really, really, hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think by leaving me a comment on the blog, I’d love to get chatting to you all!’ She really did; she was beginning to feel very lonely and isolated in the cottage when everyone else was at work, or busy with their own lives.
Esme turned off the camera and looked back at the kitchen. Pride at what she’d achieved bumped any negative emotions, and excitement and adrenaline welled inside as an overjoyed screech escaped her mouth. Esme congratulated herself on what a good job she’d done. She’d talked through every stage of the recipe without being pompous or patronising and the results were sure to be delicious.
She took a few deep breaths as the adrenaline subsided and made herself a cup of tea. As the heat of the oven died away and the kitchen became colder she had another go at lighting a fire and was pleased with the results. While the flames took hold, she ran upstairs to change into her warmest clothes: her fluffy pyjamas and two heavy jumpers. After all, she was her own boss and could do whatever she pleased.
Back in the kitchen she ate a spoonful of the cooked stuffing straight from the dish. The tang of cranberries popped on her tongue complimenting the savoury sausage meat. She made another cup of tea, then got comfy on the sofa while she edited the video and watched it back. It was much, much better and she posted it to her blog straight away. In the hours that followed, Esme kept checking the counter on her blog. It was slowly ticking up, which should have made her happy, but instead she felt like life was happening in slow motion. It was awful being reliant on the world to notice you and help make your fortune. For someone like Esme, naturally organised and pro-active, it was hard to give up that control.
As the afternoon wore on, and the day grew colder, Esme planned some more recipes and checked her emails. She wasn’t checking them as regularly as she used to. There hadn’t seemed much point. The rain tapped against the window pane and her neck stiffened
. There were replies from two of the recruitment agencies and one of the contacts she’d made in the industry. She opened them in turn, and as she did, her face crumpled in disappointment, tears swelled in her eyes and though she tried to sniff them back, a couple escaped and ran down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she rang Lola.
‘Lola, they’ve blacklisted me,’ Esme cried, taking the phone from her ear and wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.
‘What? Who?’
‘Evil Felicity Fenchurch and I presume Dopey David. And Sasha, too, I expect. The agencies and people I contacted have said they’ve got nothing for me. One was kind enough to hint that they’d heard there’d been a problem on a previous show. You know what that means, don’t you? It means that Felicity’s been telling everyone not to employ me because I’m a liar. What am I going to do?’
‘That’s awful! Oh, Esme, poor you.’
‘What am I going to do?’ Esme repeated, sniffing.
Lola sighed. ‘That Felicity is such a horrible woman. She’s only doing this because she’s scared of how talented you are.’ Esme couldn’t speak. ‘Oh, Esme, honey. I wish there was something I could do.’
She wiped again at her wet cheeks. ‘So do I. I just feel like jacking it all in. I’m trying so hard, Lola, but I’m not getting anywhere and I’m running out of money. It’s a good job this place doesn’t have central heating because I can’t afford to put it on anyway.’
‘Ezzy, please, don’t get down.’
‘I’m trying not to, but I feel like I’m going to end up begging on the streets.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lola chided.
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. Where’s my normal positive Ezzy?’
Esme sniffed. ‘She’s buggered off to the sun for a holibobs. Oh, actually she hasn’t because she can’t bloody afford it.’