by Katie Ginger
A crumb caught at the back of his throat and he coughed. He hadn’t expected that. People simply didn’t ask him anymore. Those who knew him well just accepted he still struggled and that he would come out of it at some point in the future. To strangers he was just normal, if a little sullen. It was nice to be asked, but what could he say? He shrugged and put his plate down. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’ Esme fussed with the cushions and Joe felt bad for sounding so dramatic.
‘It’s not that, I know you’re not. It’s just …’ He took a deep breath. Would he at last tell someone the whole truth? Esme met his gaze, her eyes gentle and kind. He could see she wasn’t going to push and for the first time he actually wanted to tell someone. ‘She … Clara, my ex …’ He shook his head. ‘It was all a mess.’ He ran a hand through his hair and scrunched it into a tight fist.
Esme didn’t speak.
‘We were going out for a long time. We met at university. She was from Australia and after we graduated, she wanted to move back there, so I went with her and we were happy, for a while at least. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.’ In his lap, he linked his fingers together, tensing them so hard they were turning white.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ Esme said, and her lack of pressure was reassuring.
Joe smiled. It felt kind of good to talk. It had been the most he’d talked for a long time. But as he got closer to having to say it, he felt the guilt, the shame and the anger at the unfairness of it all, rise in him. He tried to keep going. ‘It’s okay. I was miserable being so far away from home. I didn’t think I would be, but that physical distance from everyone you love is hard. We split up after about five years out there and I moved back here.’ He tried to carry on and finish the story but then his throat closed over, and a queasiness rose within him. He took a deep breath and tried to open his mouth to speak but couldn’t as the sharp pains pierced is chest, running into his heart. He so desperately wanted to fill the noiseless space between them and finally open up to someone, but he couldn’t. And before long, the silence had wrapped itself around him, closing in like a thick, invisible wall.
‘I’m sorry,’ Esme said, sipping her tea. ‘It sounds like you’ve had it much worse than me.’
Joe met her gaze. ‘I think with all your work troubles as well, we’re pretty much even.’
Esme’s hair was illuminated by the dreadful Seventies lamp and cast an aura around her. He wanted to reach out and touch her face. To run his thumb over her full, pink lips, then kiss them. Her steady gaze examined his soul and his heart was suddenly awoken. After all this time of locking the pieces of his broken heart away, was he was ready to let someone else in? Was she? As he couldn’t even tell her everything about his break-up with Clara, he didn’t think so and at that thought, a heavy weight like a wrecking ball hit his chest, making him shrink backwards.
‘So,’ said Joe, feigning cheerfulness. ‘I’ll put all these pictures on a memory stick and then you can upload them to your blog whenever you like.’
‘Thank you,’ Esme replied, but Joe knew it was like a curtain had suddenly been drawn between them, that she felt brushed off, but he couldn’t help it. Joe glanced at his watch.
‘I’d better be going.’
‘It’s quite late isn’t it? Thank you again, Joe. I’m sure the photos will make a real difference to the blog.’ He walked around the sofa towards the door and picked up his coat. She followed and got ready to open it for him. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you around, but, if I don’t …’ She paused, considering her words. ‘If you ever need to talk, I’m here, you know?’
Joe’s breath paused and he didn’t know what to say. ‘With food like that on offer, you may find me here more often than you’d like. Goodnight, Esme Kendrick.’
‘Goodnight, Joe Holloway.’
The teachers had always read out their full names when reading the register. He had no idea why they were doing it now, but it made him smile. It was like there was a special connection between them. He heard the door close behind him and climbed into his car. Joe took a breath. It felt like the first time in years he’d been able to take anything resembling a deep breath. He hadn’t been able to tell her everything, but he’d told her a lot more than most other people. The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. Not by much, but by enough that he could roll them back and stand a little straighter.
Glancing back at the cottage he realised that he hadn’t seen any Christmas decorations. No tree. No nothing. Though he hadn’t bothered with Christmas decorations for the last few years, he didn’t want Esme to feel the desolation he did at Christmas time when everyone else was celebrating the season and he’d go home to an empty, undecorated house. Then an idea occurred to him and he placed the key in the ignition. Taking a quick look up at the stars sparkling in the sky, he turned the key and drove home.
Chapter 19
Sandchester
Recipe books sat open and Esme poured through them all deciding what type of recipe to cook for her first live show, narrowing down the choices to two or three she loved the most. Sat on the living-room floor with her legs crossed, her jeans and jumper covered in flour and smudges of butter from the baking she’d been doing all day, she turned the pages back and forth.
It was mid-afternoon and her thoughts flew back to Joe. He’d told her about the break-up but it still seemed like there was more to it. When he’d suddenly shut down, his eyes losing their sparkle again, she’d assumed she’d overstepped the mark. She couldn’t get over how different he was to what she’d expected. Not only was he all grown up but the break-up had clearly affected him deeply. She couldn’t help but wonder if he really had dealt with it. As he was happy spending the night with other people, Esme supposed he must have. She looked again at the piles of books around her. She had to concentrate. All her previous recipes and blogs had been about flashy food. The type of thing you’d cook for dinner parties or special times of year. She wanted to do something simple, but tasty. It needed to be thick and comforting and perfect for long winter nights.
They were edging slowly towards Christmas now and the time of year felt so different. The rain beat down almost every day and the wind was cold and strong. Some of the windows in the cottage leaked and she had taken to rolling up towels and stuffing them along the windowsills. It stopped some of the draughts and soaked up the rain, but they did get a bit smelly if she didn’t change them regularly.
She’d thought at first of making a stew. A chicken stew like her grandma used to make. Esme smiled as she remembered the terrifying pressure cooker that whistled and steamed in the kitchen every Monday, after they’d had roast chicken the day before. Grandma would use the leftovers, throw in vegetables and pearl barley, and it would cook for hours, finishing just as she got home from school. The stew made her think of autumn and returning to school amidst the red and golden leaves falling from the trees, and the smell of her new leather satchel. The start of a new school year had always brought some bullying by some of the kids, teasing her for her ginger hair. It would eventually die down, but those comforting Monday nights had helped her get through the week.
Esme thought back to the days when she had entered the kitchen at home; the strong smell of cooked chicken made her mouth water but the terrifying contraption sounded like it would explode any moment. She remembered edging round the wall, opposite the cooker, scared it would blow up in her face while Grandma tutted and told her not to be a wimp. Then her mum and dad would come home from work and with Alice, they’d all gather round the table. Then there were the dumplings. Grandma made the best dumplings. Soft fluffy clouds, sometimes with fresh thyme, which floated in the top of the thick stew and fell apart as you ladled them out.
As wonderful as that recipe was, she wanted something a little more modern. She’d thought then of a cassoulet, or a chicken chasseur, but this needed to be more of a midweek supper. Something you could cook from the ingredient
s in your fridge or a quick stop-off at the local shop, not something that required hours upon hours of preparation.
It was then she decided on a risotto. A lot of people were afraid of cooking risotto. The thought of standing over a pan of simmering stock, continually stirring, made people think it was hard work, but actually, it was easy. You could stand there for twenty minutes or so, thinking about the day you’d had, planning the day to come, or just listening to the radio while you stirred. It was a great midweek dish to help you relax and you ended up with a delicious meal at the end of it. A pea and pancetta risotto would be perfect. The sweet peas – frozen was fine – dotted throughout, all green and shiny, were the perfect contrast to the smoky, salty pancetta. When it was mixed in with the velvety rice that had been flavoured with a chicken stock (made from a stock pot or cube, she wasn’t a sadist), it was perfect for this time of year.
Esme listed the ingredients she would need, checked what she had in the cupboards and noted the things she needed to buy. It wasn’t much, which reassured her she’d made the right choice. The wind howled through the cottage and she huddled closer to her open fire roaring with heat. Holding up her hands, she warmed them as her body shivered. A timer in the kitchen pinged and she got up to remove the delicious pie she’d made for her dinner. The best thing about her new life was that she could eat when she was hungry; she didn’t have to eat at particular times. Esme pulled open the oven and smelt the golden pastry, the dark red wine gravy bubbling and oozing from the sides, and the tender chunks of beef mixed with dense earthy mushrooms. Dishes liked this always brought out her nurturing side. Comfort food was great for bringing people together. She checked her phone for a message from someone – one of her friends. Joe, maybe? Seeing nothing, she felt a pang of disappointment. Since she’d overstepped the mark the other night, Joe hadn’t been in contact at all and it made her feel both concerned and guilty. She cut the pie and placed a large slice on a plate along with peas and carrots she’d steamed on the hob. Taking it to the sofa, Esme sat down and grabbed a book from the pile waiting to be read on the coffee table.
Just as she’d finished, she heard a knock at the door and went to answer it, glancing at the time as she went. It was almost three. As she opened the door her mouth dropped open a little. She hadn’t expected to see Joe stood there, looking shy and anxious. Esme worried he was embarrassed about their discussion last night and thought it best to just ignore it and pretend it hadn’t happened. ‘Hi, Joe. What’s up?’
He scratched the back of his head, reaching his fingers into his dark hair. She kind of wanted to do the same but stopped herself and focused on the conversation ‘Hey, umm, I wondered if you fancied coming for a drive?’
‘A drive?’ Esme knew she was scrunching up her face unattractively but it was a very odd suggestion. It was something her dad used to suggest on a Sunday afternoon and she and Alice would moan and try and make the best of it by listening to the Top 40 and singing along. She didn’t think people did that sort of thing nowadays.
‘Yeah.’ A blush crept into his cheeks. He took a step back. ‘If you don’t want to, that’s fine.’
‘No, I would. I do,’ she replied, annoyed at herself for being so ungrateful. ‘Let me just get my coat and stuff.’ She left Joe on the doorstep for a moment as she scrabbled around grabbing her things and putting the fire out. Slinging her bag on her shoulder she found the key and locked the door behind her. Once they were in the car she asked, ‘So where are we going?’
‘I’ve got somewhere I want to show you. It’s not far.’
‘Okay.’ Esme didn’t know what was happening but was happy to trust herself to it and to Joe. ‘Can we have the radio on?’ she asked and shared her memory of the family drives when she was little.
‘My dad used to do the same thing too.’ Joe smiled at her and whizzed the car down the country lanes.
The dark brown of the hedgerows, bereft of leaves and the bright greenery she loved, mixed with the dull verdigris of the privet, guided their path. The sky was overcast with thick grey cloud and the trees swayed heavily in the wind. She had no idea where they were going until eventually Joe pulled down a lane and that was when she saw it – a nursery in the middle of nowhere with row upon row of Christmas trees.
Esme felt the smile light up her face, just as it lit her heart. She’d wanted a Christmas tree but couldn’t convince herself to spend the money on a real one. She had to hold onto every penny and it felt self-indulgent to spend it on something that would only be up for a few weeks then gone. But she loved the piney scent that a real Christmas tree gave and at the thought of getting one now, of Joe bringing her here to get one, excitement rose like she was a kid again. She turned to him and beamed a great, wide grin. ‘Are we getting a Christmas tree?’
‘We are,’ he nodded. Esme squealed and jumped on the spot. Joe laughed then led them towards the stacks of trees. ‘How big should it be?’
‘Six foot, of course!’
‘Esme, the ceiling of the cottage is only just over that. I have to bend to get through some of the doors.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she conceded. ‘Five then.’
‘I think four might be better.’ She sharpened her eyes in fake annoyance and Joe held up his hands in surrender. ‘All right then, we’ll look at the five-foot ones first.’
They walked to the trees lined up under a hand-painted sign. The smell alone made Esme’s tummy flutter with excitement. She tucked her scarf inside the neckline of her coat but couldn’t have cared less about the wind. Joe grabbed a tree and grappled with it until it was ready for Esme to appraise. She pulled a face.
‘What?’ Joe asked, eyeing the tree, clearly unable to see anything wrong with it.
‘It’s all lopsided. Look.’ She pointed to where one side was all squished and bent, some of the branches broken.
‘Fair enough. What about this one?’ He pulled out another one.
‘Better, but it’s a bit skinny. I like quite a wide one.’ Joe eyed her to remind her of the size of the cottage. ‘Oh, yeah, tiny living room. Okay, well, let’s try a four-foot one. I’d rather have a smaller wide one than a tall skinny one.’
A lady who worked at the nursery came over carrying two takeaway cups. ‘Would you two like a hot chocolate. They’re free.’
‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Esme. ‘Thank you.’ Joe thanked the lady and took his. As they walked on to find the four-foot trees, they sipped. It wasn’t as nice as the one Esme made, this one was quite sugary and sweet, but it was still nice, plus she hadn’t had to make it herself. The steam warmed her face against the cold wind and what could be better than looking for a Christmas tree with a cup of hot chocolate. Esme’s heart pounded with anticipation as they walked through muddy tracks, the tinny, faint sound of Christmas songs coming from the main shop. The sky was growing dark, warning everyone to get back inside, safe and warm for the night.
This was one of the most special moments of her life. Much more special than anything Leo had ever done and something within told her to commit every sight, sound and smell to memory. A family walked past, the children dancing and running to and fro full of excitement. They’d clearly come straight from school and Esme remembered being little and getting the tree every year with her mum and dad, and Alice. It was always such a special day.
Esme and Joe found the four-foot trees and Esme held his hot chocolate as he began pulling ones out for her to choose from. These were much better, much more fitting for the cottage. They’d look amazing next to the fire. She’d have to move some bits around, and possibly chop the back of the tree down a little bit, but it would look gorgeous, and no one would know when it was pushed into the corner. It would look splendid, even if she didn’t have any baubles for it.
After a few that weren’t quite right, Joe pulled out a tree and as the branches fell down into place and he twizzled it around, Esme gasped. It was perfect. Just the right size, evenly spaced and it smelt great. She moved closer, placed the hot chocolat
es on the floor and grabbed it, her fingers locking with Joe’s. Even in gloves it was like their fingers were meant to be together, and when he looked into her eyes, her heart pulsed. His eyes, wide open and searching, met her gaze. She really wanted to kiss him and hoped he wanted to kiss her too. As if fate was controlling her body, her head moved towards his, each dropping sideways, hopeful of a kiss. She could feel her heart throb in her body overtaking all other senses and silencing her brain.
‘Ezzy, what are you doing here?’
What the hell? She and Joe pulled away from each other, and the cold air made the heat of her cheeks burn hotter. It was her mum. Her mum! What the heck were her mum and dad doing here? And how did her mum manage to have the worst timing in history? A few drops of rain landed on Esme’s face waking her up to the cold harsh reality that her crazy parents had seen her and Joe nearly kiss. ‘Mum? Dad? What are you doing here?’
Carol gazed around at the trees surrounding them. ‘I thought I’d buy a new bathroom suite. What about you? What do you think we’re doing here, you doughnut? We’re buying a Christmas tree. Joe Holloway? What are you doing here?’
‘Afternoon, Mrs Kendrick. Mr Kendrick.’ He nodded then dropped his eyes to the ground, looking more like the 15-year-old boy Esme had known at school than ever before. She stifled a giggle at his nervous expression.
‘Hello, Joe,’ said her dad. ‘How’s business?’
‘Good thanks.’ Joe shuffled. ‘I just thought I’d bring Esme to get a tree.’
‘That’s kind of you. Isn’t it, Carol?’
‘It is,’ Carol replied, smiling like a lunatic and nudging Esme, then nodding towards Joe. Esme cringed and retrieved their hot chocolates from the ground.
‘Mum, stop it,’ she whispered. Her mum ignored her.
‘What? I’m not doing anything. Am I doing anything, Stephen?’