by Katie Ginger
‘I’m just going to check the sausage rolls.’ She placed her oven gloves on and bent down to the oven. Her head swam and it took all her concentration to keep her eyes focused. She opened the oven and the sausage rolls were golden on top. The scones needed a few more minutes, but were rising. ‘Here we go,’ she said taking out the tray of sausage rolls and placing it on the side. As relief steadied her a little, she moved her wine glass away. ‘Don’t they look delicious?’
They did. The golden pastry smelt buttery and the chilli ketchup was oozing out a little from under the sausage meat. ‘We just need to wait a few more minutes for the cheese scones but they’re turning a beautiful golden brown.’ Esme leaned on the counter again and glanced at the camera then back down. ‘I wish we could have a proper conversation. It feels weird talking to myself. And a bit lonely. When I was little, I used to pretend I was filming a cookery show all the time. Did you guys ever do that?’
She picked up her wine glass again and took another sip. Sod it. She was already way past tipsy and on her way to legless, she might as well enjoy it. There was no point in drinking water now. She’d never be sober before the end of the show and the wine was nice. ‘Write on the blog, won’t you, and let me know if you ever played cookery shows when you were little. And let me know what you made.’
The timer sounded and she removed the cheese scones. ‘I wish you could smell these guys,’ she said, placing the hot tray on the countertop. ‘They smell so delicious. You can almost taste the onion and garlic without taking a bite and the cheese has melted going all gooey.’
Esme placed them down one side of a Victorian platter, next to the sausage rolls and showed them to the camera. ‘So here you are, these are the staples in our house at Christmas. No matter what else we eat, we always need sausage rolls and cheese scones.’
She lifted up her wine glass to the camera. ‘And the best thing is, they are so easy you can even make them drunk. Cheers, everyone!’ She took a final gulp of wine and tottered unsteadily to turn the camera off.
*
Joe switched on his laptop, laid back on the sofa with a beer in one hand, the other propping up his head and readied himself to be swept up in Esme’s magic. After seeing the first video she’d made, he’d worried that something else might catch alight. But as he watched Esme getting more and more drunk as time wore on, his head sunk further and further down, like a turtle hiding in its shell. He couldn’t decide if this was better or much, much worse. She hadn’t set her kitchen or anything else on fire, but here she was slurring and waving a wine glass around when she was in charge of an oven. An oven that had fire in it.
He sighed, but as he watched on, a smile began to creep over his face until he felt it in his cheeks and the endorphins filled his body. She was incredibly endearing, even when drunk. Her cheeks were growing pinker with the booze and the heat of the oven. The way she was leaning on the counter and chatting, like you were there in the kitchen with her, was new and different to all those static TV shows where it was more like a lesson at school than being in a friend’s home. This could really take off if she kept going. If only those people on the blog would stop making mean comments.
He grabbed a handful of peanuts. The last time he’d watched her blog he’d made the mistake of calling Siobhan to try and make amends. Just when he felt his heart was cold and dead, it had taken another knock and one he thought he’d never recover from. But each new day had come and with it the possibility of running into Esme, or the thought of watching one of her videos, and it had got him out of bed every morning. The strangest thing was that she didn’t seem to have any idea of the effect she had on those around her. She was completely clueless to the positivity and love she radiated. Watching her now, Joe felt the overwhelming urge to ask her out for a drink the next time he saw her. He hadn’t felt like that about anyone in such a long time that it felt strange, but not as scary as he’d expected.
Esme was leaning on the counter, chatting. He hoped people loved this vlog as much as he did. She needed the boost right now. But who was this guy she was talking about? The ex? He really hoped she wasn’t thinking of going back to him. If people were mean about the blog, would she go back if he asked? The idea filled him with dread. She deserved so much more and a flicker of hope started in the back of his mind. If only he could get himself together, could he be the man for her?
*
‘She’s knocking back that Pinot a bit quick,’ said Mark, leaning back and rubbing his chocolate-covered fingers onto his old sweatpants. He and Helena were huddled together on the sofa with an enormous bag of Maltesers, watching Esme on Helena’s laptop.
‘She’s doing well so far,’ Helena replied. ‘Her personality shines through much better than a lot of the boring people we’ve worked for.’
They watched as she took the tray full of sausage rolls from the countertop and knocked over a knife. Helena grabbed Mark’s arm and he placed his hand over hers. They waited for the swearing, or for blood to start pouring from her stabbed foot, but it didn’t. Mark sat back and exhaled.
‘That was close,’ said Helena, just as Esme popped her head up and shouted boo. ‘What the hell is she doing now?’ They exchanged worried glances. ‘At least she hasn’t set anything on fire this time.’
Mark narrowed his eyes at the screen. ‘I’m really not happy with the number of glasses of wine she’s had.’
‘No, me neither.’
‘Drink some water!’ Mark shouted. ‘You’re in a kitchen, woman, just turn around, get a glass and fill it.’ They grinned at each other and Mark raised his eyebrows.
‘There’s nothing we can do about it now,’ Helena replied. ‘If we ring or text we’re just going to disturb the broadcast and that would completely throw her off. Just cross everything you have.’ She sipped her own glass of wine and popped a Malteser in her mouth.
They watched on as Esme prepared the cheese scone mix.
‘Did she just talk about poo?’ asked Mark, giggling. Helena nodded. ‘Oh God, I love that girl.’
Helena giggled too. ‘It feels like we’re all there with her. Can you feel the atmosphere she’s creating? It’s more like she’s preparing for a party and there’s that excitement in the air. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do.’ A few minutes later, Mark paused, his glass of wine untouched he was so absorbed in Esme’s monologue. ‘Christ on a bike, she’s completely pissed. She only ever gets this chatty when she’s pissed.’
Esme’s voice rang out in front of them. ‘I won’t go into details. I’d probably get sued if I did.’
‘Not probably!’ shouted Helena. ‘Definitely. You will definitely get sued! Esme, don’t you dare mention Felicity’s name.’ She picked up her phone ready to interrupt the video if required. She didn’t want Esme to land herself in more trouble.
‘Wait, wait,’ said Mark. ‘It’s okay, she’s changing topic.’ He leaned back against the soft sofa cushions. ‘I nearly had kittens then. That would’ve been a mess even we couldn’t clean up.’
‘She would totally have got sued,’ repeated Helena.
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t start on about Leo. It’s one thing for us to listen to it, but another for the general public.’ Mark rubbed his forehead. ‘She is, isn’t she? She’s talking about Leo now. Bloody hell. What was that? Is she thinking of going back to him? She never said.’
‘No, she didn’t, did she. She wouldn’t though, I suppose. He’s such a knob sometimes I really hope she doesn’t. I was hoping she might get together with that Joe. He seemed really nice.’
‘And he was gorgeous with a capital G.’
Helena nodded in agreement. ‘She’s going to have a raging hangover tomorrow.’
‘Who’s she shouting at? Did someone come to the door or something?’
‘She said it was a bird.’
Mark shook his head. ‘That’s it, she’s officially lost it.’
Esme signed off and said goodnight, and Mark and Helena both let ou
t a deep breath.
‘Pass the vino, love,’ said Mark. ‘I need a top up after that, I’m exhausted.’ Helena passed the wine and he topped up their glasses. ‘She is bloody brilliant though, isn’t she?’
Helena smiled. ‘She certainly is.’
Chapter 25
Sandchester
Esme awoke the next day with someone banging a drum inside her head and rolled over to look at the clock. The numbers kept moving about as her eyes tried to focus. In the darkness, she reached out her hand and pushed the clock over then went back to sleep. When she next woke, the morning light shone in through her thin curtains and hurt her eyes. Esme shielded them and turned back the other way. Her stomach rolled with her and her head hurt. Groaning, she screwed up her face, took a deep breath and lay very, very still until her phone started ringing. ‘Urgh. Hello?’
‘Hello to you too, sweetie,’ teased Mark. ‘Is that anyway to greet a friend? Too early for proper sentences, is it?’
‘Mark, I’m feeling a little bit unwell today.’ She rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. ‘Can I call you back later?’
‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with the insane amount of wine you consumed last night would it?’
‘Urgh?’
‘Don’t you remember anything from your latest amazing broadcast?’
Esme sat bolt upright and for a second stared wildly, trying to remember everything she’d done the night before. Her head spun as she remembered how much wine she’d consumed and her stomach somersaulted, trying to climb out of her throat. Oh no, she’d probably lost what few remaining viewers she had now. Esme slowly lowered herself back down and placed her hand over her forehead. She could taste the stale wine on her fuzzy teeth.
‘Personally, I thought you were amazing,’ said Mark. ‘It was the best cookery show I’ve ever seen.’
Esme heard the hustle and bustle of the TV set in the background and her heart twinged, longing to be there. For a life where things were familiar and assured. ‘Oh, shut up, Mark. People are going to think I’m an idiot. At least, those who didn’t think that already.’
‘You can’t please everyone, sweetie. What do the comments say?’
A deep thudding in Esme’s chest made her wince. ‘I haven’t read them yet. Look, can I call you back, I think I need some more sleep before I can deal with this one.’
‘All right, sweetie,’ he replied. ‘I’ll ring you later.’
Esme closed her eyes and tried to sleep the hangover off, but it was no good. She was so worried about the blog and what people were saying that her mind was racing. Knowing her luck, they thought she was an alcoholic, or worse, an amateur. Oh God, what if Felicity Fenchurch had seen it? Felicity had lackeys who kept an eye on all the cookery blogs, looking out for the next sensation she could imitate. All right, Esme’s wasn’t well-known yet, but that woman would relish something like this and Esme didn’t think she could take anymore ridicule right now. But try as she might, she couldn’t sleep. She needed to know for sure what people were saying. And she needed to know now. Sliding out of bed, shivering, she ran downstairs to get her laptop. By the time she got back into bed she felt so ill she thought she’d contracted some terrible disease rather than just having a hangover. Her head throbbed and every muscle in her body hurt. She pulled the covers and blankets up around her and loaded up her blog.
At first it didn’t seem real. The hit counter had quadrupled. Nearly five hundred people were now watching her blog and there were so many comments she didn’t think she’d be able to read them all. Glancing through them, they were overwhelmingly positive. Okay, there were one or two saying she was a disgrace and sending the wrong message, but she didn’t care about those. Again, Penny85 had responded telling them to lighten up. Esme smiled. That was so nice of her.
The message Esme wanted to convey to the world was that cooking could be easy and fun and she’d certainly proved that. She took a sip of water, stretched her arms above her head, and began replying to the comments, her hangover fading. Esme sat typing until an email popped up on screen and she paused. Her fingers trembled over the keys. The title said, ‘URGENT: Unprofessional Conduct.’
She took a big breath and clicked on the email. It was from one of the agencies she had applied to as a freelance food technologist. Her heart sank deeper into her chest and tears pricked her eyes. Grabbing a handful of duvet, covered with three blankets, she pulled it up around her chin. The agency had seen the two live videos and thought her conduct was unprofessional to say the least. She was a liability rather than an asset in the kitchen, and they didn’t feel they could put her on their books. Sat alone in her bed, Esme nodded at the screen as if agreeing with the email and then closed her laptop, placing it to one side. She sank down and felt a coldness in her bones that emanated from inside. A part of her wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. She was sick of picking herself up after every failure. Sick of trying to carry on and shake it off. Without any energy to move, or face the cold light of day, she hid under the duvet and tried not to cry.
A few hours later Mark called again. ‘Do you resemble anything near human now, sweetie?’
‘Not really,’ Esme replied, burying her face into the pillow.
‘Have you got a cold or have you just been sick? What’s going on?’ Mark’s voice was panicked. ‘What’s the matter?’ Esme sobbed. ‘Sweetie? I’ve read your blog and most of the comments are nice. There are a few from some crazy Puritans, but you don’t need to think about those. You did great, you were amaz—’
‘It’s not that,’ Esme replied. Through short gasps she told him about the email. ‘Even the possibility of going back to my old life is gone now. I’ve ruined it.’
‘OMG,’ Mark replied. ‘OMFG. That is so bloody ridiculous.’ Mark’s movements always became more flamboyant the more outraged he got; Esme could picture him flailing his arms around.
‘I don’t want to be all self-pitying, Mark, but I just don’t think I deserve all this.’
‘You don’t, sweetie. Of course you don’t. You’re amazing and the world has decided to be a giant evil bitch to you at the moment. But it will get better, I promise.’ Esme didn’t answer, just sniffed and snuggled down further into bed. ‘But look at it this way, the comments on your blog are positive and fabulous. People are loving you and your madcap cookery show. The world is beginning to notice—’
‘They just think I’m a joke. I think I’m a joke. No one can take me seriously now. I’ve made myself a laughing stock.’
‘Don’t you dare think like that, Missy. You are amazing and people love you. Just re-read the comments. Maybe this is where your future lies and not back in the industry?’
‘It looks like there’s no going back now anyway, doesn’t it? What will I do for money though?’ she said, sniffing back the tears again. ‘I’ve been really careful but my bank balance is dwindling and at the moment there’s no chance of topping it up. I’ve been putting off buying Christmas presents because I have no idea how I’m going to afford that and next month’s rent.’ Esme shivered.
‘There are other agencies you haven’t applied to yet. Or can you get advertising on the blog? Sponsorship, maybe? Do you want us to come down?’ asked Mark.
‘No, it’s fine. I think I’d prefer to be on my own anyway.’
‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘But we’re here if you need us. You know that?’
‘I know.’ Esme hung up, her head throbbing even more than it had before and her stomach swirling. Completely demoralised, her body relented and somehow as tense, knotted muscles gave way, she fell back to sleep.
It was late afternoon and getting dark when she awoke again and made it out of bed. The make-up she had put on for the video was still streaked on the pillow and it was slightly damp from the tears spilled. She kicked some clothes out of the way. Life was a large dark hole that she was falling deeper and deeper into, and at the moment there didn’t seem to be a bottom, or a way back to the top. She was just tumbling endlessly
downwards. Esme glanced in the mirror propped up in the corner of her room and saw her frizzy hair larger than any Eighties rock god. There was no way she was going to get a brush through that with her head pounding.
On the bedside table, Esme’s phone vibrated with a message. As Daniel was staying with Sean’s parents for the evening, Alice was inviting her to the pub. The major effects of the hangover had gone but she still felt delicate, like she was made of glass and would break if someone knocked her over. Esme texted back to decline and within minutes received another text from Alice saying too late, she was already on her way, so Esme had better get ready. Huffing, and feeling too lost to argue, Esme picked up the clothes from the floor, decided they would do and went to brush her teeth. She removed the remnants of last night’s make-up with a wet wipe and applied some powder to stop her face from shining – apart from that she didn’t really care right now.
Esme made it downstairs just as Alice and her husband, Sean, pulled up outside. She waved from the window, then locked the door behind her and climbed into the car.
‘What’s up with you?’ asked Alice when she saw Esme’s pale face and puffy eyes. Esme told her about the blog. ‘I thought you were great.’ Alice giggled. ‘I wish all cookery shows were like that. I couldn’t stop giggling.’
Tears stung her eyes again and she stared out of the window, willing them not to escape. ‘Can you please not laugh at me right now? I know I’m a laughing stock, but still.’
‘You’re not a laughing stock,’ reassured Alice, her tone softening and losing its teasing edge. ‘Honestly, all my friends love your blog. They think you’re the best thing since Nigella Lawson. They all said they love how you’re so normal.’
‘I find that hard to believe. ‘Esme looked down at the jeans and jumper she had changed into. The jumper had bits of dried pastry hanging off it and her jeans were smudged with what appeared to be chocolate. She hoped it was chocolate, but living in the country, you couldn’t take that for granted and decided against wiping it off with her thumb.