The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  Esmé flung back the duvet, she threw the empties in the bin and rummaged in her overnight case for her jeans and a sweater. She dressed as quickly as possible in an attempt to beat the mass of Andrew related thoughts that sloshed around in her mind. The quicker she buttoned her jeans, zipped her boots and pulled a sweater on, the more chance there was that her brain could be fooled into normality. Like forcing a delete and reboot on her computer at work?

  Having dressed, washed and applied a small amount of make-up, she took the hotel key from the dresser and headed out in search of breakfast.

  *

  Esmé walked along New Street, where many of the shops’ metal shutters remained closed and locked, as the staff commuted towards the city centre. Esmé had the empty streets to herself, fresh and clean, like a blank page on which to wander until the rest of the world caught up and awoke to Friday morning.

  The early sun was shining, the sky was clear blue and yet the world was very different compared to yesterday morning. Yesterday, Esmé was a woman in love. Today, she was in limbo. Neither committed to a relationship nor single.

  Beyoncé’s ‘Single ladies’ song ran about her head. It was now so obvious; Andrew hadn’t liked her enough to put a ring on it. A lump grew in her throat.

  Esmé checked her mobile again – still no text, no apology, no call.

  What was she supposed to do now? Start again? Reinvent herself at twenty-nine? Or return to the life she had before Andrew? A singleton, wining and dining with friends, with yoga and boxercise classes on alternate nights. Esmé couldn’t remember her last day as a singleton. What had happened to the life she’d once loved? When had the group of girlfriends disappeared? The visits to the cinema for popcorn and late night chats? When had they stopped phoning? How long had it been since she had painted the town red on a girls’ night out with old school friends such as Charlotte, Fiona and Deb? They were probably living the lives they’d all dreamt of living filled with weddings and babies.

  I bet I don’t even have their mobile numbers anymore, thought Esmé, sadly. Who’d have thought seven years on I’d be walking the streets purely to fill my time.

  Esmé strolled the length of the pedestrian area, crossed the new tram line and went partway up the sloping gangway that leads to the Grand Central shopping area. And stopped.

  I can’t hold this together for a minute longer. I need to speak to Carys.

  Taking her mobile, she stood against the metal railings and called her best friend.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘And?’ came the bubbly yet drowsy voice of Carys.

  ‘We’re finished – he cheated on me. What am I going to do?’ Esmé’s voice broke and tears flowed.

  *

  ‘I feel like my two year guarantee has expired and he’s exchanged me for a newer model – much like the first sofa we purchased together from PlushSofasAtDiscountLand.com,’ said Esmé, spooning froth from her skinny latte. ‘He loved it at first sight but soon used the returns voucher in preference for the four-seater model.’

  ‘Esmé, are you serious?’ asked Carys, her dark eyes staring intensely over the rim of her tea cup. Her ebony complexion shone after having dashed into the city for lunch after Esmé’s earlier crisis call.

  ‘Yeah, the new sofa was being delivered as the store’s removal guys were collecting the one they dropped off three days earlier. And now, he’s exercised his consumer rights with lovers, too.’

  ‘No, I mean about it being over between you two?’ asked Carys.

  Esmé balked at the question.

  ‘How can it not be? We’ve just done seven years of promising each other a future and he wrecks it with a…’

  ‘Mindless shag?’

  Esmé paused.

  ‘That’s the worst of it. I don’t think it was… he didn’t make a single excuse, he simply stood and took everything that I threw at him. Carys, I don’t think it was a mindless anything… from what he said… he was totally aware of what he was doing and how it would affect us. I’ve gone from soon to be fiancée to ex-lover in less than twenty-four hours!’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Maybe he’s wanted out for a while. Played his hand and chanced his luck that I’d do as we’d always promised… threatened… without a fuss or a fight if either of us strayed.’

  ‘Is there no way back from this?’

  Esmé shook her head, her bottom lip protruded.

  Carys reached for Esmé’s hand and gently squeezed it.

  ‘So, what have you done all morning?’

  ‘Apart from visit cafes, I’ve walked around the city, stared in shop windows and had a meltdown when I found myself in the crime section at Waterstones…’ Esmé coughed as a wave of nausea lifted to her throat. ‘I felt fine until then. How many times has that store saved my skin with his birthday presents or stocking fillers? Not anymore. Those days are gone.’

  ‘In that case, I have just the thing,’ announced Carys, releasing Esmé’s hand before rummaging in the plastic bag beneath her chair. ‘Don’t laugh, but this actually helped me through the break-up with Myles.’

  ‘I thought I helped you get through that.’

  Carys raised her head mid-rummage, her corkscrew curls bouncing as she disagreed.

  ‘Nope! You know nothing about break-ups, Esmé. Seriously, your relationship has been so long-term you haven’t a clue. But this…’ Carys lifted a pink boxed object onto the table top. ‘This might help.’

  ‘What the hell?’ said Esmé, staring at the advent calendar styled object with its tiny perforated doors.

  ‘It’s 100 per cent tack and it only cost a fiver but—’

  ‘Carys?’

  ‘Hear me out, Esmé… it’s worth a laugh if nothing else.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Esmé, lifting the calendar to read the blurb on the reverse.

  Want a sassy new way to overcome a break-up? Or simply an opportunity to focus on your life? The Single Girl’s Calendar is made for you! Behind every door is a task that will help you focus on you, and you only! A whole month of pampering, mindfulness activities, caring and sharing ideas which in just four short weeks will have you feeling on top of the world! An insightful way to put a spring back into your step as a strong, independent woman!

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Carys nodded.

  ‘It felt like a guilty secret when I did it.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Believe me, I didn’t tell anyone. This was my daily fix – a daily dose of chocolate plus a focussed task which helped to take my mind off Myles and our break-up. Go on, open door one and see what today’s task is.’

  Chapter Five

  Day 1: Look and feel fabulous with a new hair style.

  It wasn’t her usual hair salon, but the stylish window of ‘Guyz ‘n’ Dollz’ was inviting when an emergency appointment was called for. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the heavy door open to enter the hair emporium.

  The catwalk model perched at the receptionist’s desk pouted in her direction.

  ‘Hi, is there anyone available for a wash and restyle?’ Esmé gave an apologetic grimace, hoping to hide her desperation.

  ‘Sure,’ answered the receptionist, flicking through various screens on her tablet. ‘Tristan’s available, he’s one of our top stylists. He recently won the Snip, Snip and Snippet national award – you’ll be in good hands. If you take a seat, I’ll go and find him.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ replied Esmé, removing her jacket. She took a seat on the low sofa made of bamboo and coconut husk – giving thanks to her curves for providing some padding against such uncomfortable furniture.

  Only fifteen minutes ago she was happy with her current hair style.

  ‘Now dry your eyes, Esmé. Go and get your hair done – you’ll feel ten times better for it. It’s your first task – so, go!’ It was clear from Carys’s face she was pleased with the suggested task for day one.

  ‘But Carys…’ Esmé hadn’t meant to
cry on opening the tiny calendar door but doing so confirmed her new status: single.

  ‘And, I’ll meet you tonight – we’ll go somewhere fabulous.’

  ‘Carys, I can’t…’

  ‘You can and you will… now go! I’ve got to dash otherwise I’ll be late back from lunch and my team leader will moan at me all afternoon.’

  Esmé viewed her reflection in the huge mirror hanging behind the receptionist’s desk. How long had she had this hair style? Eight years? It was definitely longer than she’d been with Andrew. Seven years with the same guy and the same haircut. And faithful to both.

  ‘Change brings about change,’ muttered Esmé, turning her chin left and right to view her appearance.

  The bustle of the salon was visible from her vantage point. Beautiful, svelte people who happened to be talented stylists side-stepped and danced around each chair, snipping, combing, tinting and pandering to the needs of individuals draped in burgundy satin robes. The mirrored walls gave the illusion of row upon row of identical twins as each hairdressing station was reflected multiple times in opposing mirrors.

  Esmé shrank a little within her own skin. How dare she bring her split ends into such a high brow establishment. Surely any minute now, Tristan will appear and demand that she leaves the premises and never darkens their door again.

  ‘Hi babe, how are we? What’s it to be? A shampoo and spritz? Or a total transformation?’ A bald-headed Tristan appeared dressed from head to toe in the blackest of black apart from bright red patent leather shoes. He asked her a multitude of quick fire questions and then paused, waiting for answers.

  ‘I simply want a change,’ said Esmé, her hands lifting towards her auburn bob.

  ‘Oh darling, you’ve got good hair, good cheekbones and beautiful blue eyes – all hidden beneath that bob… now, let me see…’ Tristan’s fingers gently lift and fluff Esmé’s shoulder length hair.

  Within seconds, Esmé is ushered towards the far corner where two juniors in matching jumpsuits perform a talented rub-a-dub-dub in oversized basins with heavily scented potions before wrapping her wet hair in a towel turban.

  ‘Esmé darling, this way!’ beckoned Tristan, swivelling a large padded chair in her direction. Tristan pumps the foot bar and she lifts like Venus from the waves to face herself in the large gilt-edged mirror.

  What a bloody mess! Her mascara was smudged beneath each eye and she instantly regretted opting for a no foundation day as her natural complexion looked sallow and waxy under the neon lights.

  ‘Now darling, do you trust me?’

  ‘Infamous words,’ giggled Esmé, unsure as to how she should answer. Say no and she’d pay the price. Say yes and Lord knows what he’d do.

  ‘Sweetie, wake up and smell the hairspray… this,’ he said, lifting the ends of Esmé’s bob ‘needs a restyle. Trust me, you’ll look fabulous.’

  Esmé gave a weak smile followed by an unconvincing nod.

  ‘A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life!’ sang Tristan, at the top of his voice.

  ‘Really?’ Esmé sat a little taller, eager to know more.

  ‘And so, let us begin.’

  Like an over active version of Edward Scissorhands, his blades flicked and spliced her auburn mane and discarded locks tumbled down upon the satin robe.

  *

  ‘Tadah!’

  Esmé stared at the reflection and didn’t recognise the young woman who stared back. Gone was the shoulder length bob. It had been replaced by an ultra-short, platinum blonde, pixie-style crop with an asymmetrical fringe dramatically splicing her forehead from left to right, or would that be right to left given the reversal of mirrors?

  ‘I… I… I… love it,’ she lied, her gaze frantically searching the reflection for anything that resembled her previous self. Wasn’t this the kind of cut you gave yourself, aged four, having found the kitchen scissors in a drawer? A stranger stared glumly from the reflection. Esmé stared while Tristan did the flicky thing with his product covered fingers to fluff her fringe and by the time the double mirror routine to view the back was over Esmé was near to tears.

  ‘Lovely, thank you,’ is all she could repeat as she was de-robed and ushered towards reception. Would it be too cheeky to ask the trainee broom handler for her hair clippings in a doggie bag? Instead, she watched as they are swept into the corner and lost for ever.

  Esmé knew the payment transaction was a race against time. Any minute now, the tears would start. Esmé was no superstar but this version was far removed from who she was. They wouldn’t recognise her at Stylo Stationery come Monday morning.

  ‘Fabulous… glad you love it. Come back soon and we’ll treat you to a colour tint which will enhance your skin and eye colour!’ said Tristan.

  ‘That’ll be seventy-six pounds fifty, please,’ smiled the model receptionist, pouting her plump lips as Esmé rummaged through her purse seeking a wrap of notes.

  Great, that’s twice in twenty-four hours I’ve been screwed over, thought Esmé. She handed the money over swiftly, trying to make it less painful like swiping off an Elastoplast. The eight crisp ten pound notes were fresh from the cash point. Esmé hadn’t planned on spending them all at once, but hey, if Carys’s calendar advice was anything to go by she’d feel like a new woman in no time, with new hair and no money.

  ‘And another appointment?’ prompted the receptionist, flicking the tablet’s screen.

  ‘I think I’ll leave it for now, see how… what my…’ Esmé wanted to say boyfriend, fiancé, husband, but the words snagged in her throat. She failed to finish the sentence and left it hanging in mid-air, then retrieved her offered coat before she scurried from the salon. She struggled to open the heavy door and squeezed through the tiny gap as it closed swiftly on her backside.

  Esmé imagined that once the door was closed, every high-brow customer and stylist would look up and nod smugly to each other, knowing full well she’d never grace their wash basins again.

  Would it be awful if I went straight round to ‘Hair by Milly’ and asked her to correct the fringe? thought Esmé, trying to gaze in each shop window without making it too obvious that she was eyeing herself up.

  Esmé sighed.

  If this ever grows out, I’ll stick with my usual. Now, I’m mourning the loss of a relationship and my hair.

  Esmé quickly texted Carys.

  ‘Haircut. Don’t feel fabulous. Feel robbed. Woolly hat needed!’ Esmé speedily sent the text, hoping for an instant reply. Nothing.

  Esmé perused the shops. Within minutes, she spotted a wire basket containing clearance items, a hand-written sign pegged above it announced, ‘Everything £3.50!’ Following a quick rummage through the mix of colours, Esmé selected a deep claret colour with a contrasting banding in pale blue.

  ‘Bargain,’ muttered Esmé, as she purchased it and instantly covered up her expensive hair-do.

  Chapter Six

  Esmé inserted the Yale key and twisted. Had it only been two years since this key was her actual door key? Willclare Road, a wide leafy residential street of red brick homes where the pavements are dominated by oak trees and lined with parked cars.

  Given the events of last night, was this now home?

  Her heart was racing. This wasn’t the plan she’d made last night. The plan was to wait another day before telling her parents and yet here she was, thanks to that sassy calendar reminding her that today wasn’t day one of singledom – that started last night – today was actually day two!

  After her emergency hat purchase Esmé had browsed the busy stores of the Bullring, only to sidestep the flow of shoppers and lean against the railings by the top of the escalators to retrieve the calendar from her shopping bag.

  Esmé’s finger nail dug deep at the serrated edge of door two, and prised it open. She scoffed the tiny slab of chocolate before reading the task.

  Day 2: Step out of your comfort zone and try something new

  Wasn’t walking out on a cheating boyfriend e
nough? What about her unscheduled stay in The MacDonald Burlington? Or could returning to her parents’ home represent something new? The scratchy orange futon in her mother’s spare room definitely couldn’t be described as a comfort zone.

  Esmé quickly re-read the back of the calendar packaging. There was no mention of backdating tasks. Did she have to apply Carys’s stringent rules for the entire month?

  Esmé quietly entered the hallway and closed the front door. She needed a moment to ready herself for this family announcement. She looked around at the familiar gold flock wallpaper, the dainty telephone table and the lopsided Yucca plant – nothing had changed.

  The forever home of the Peel family. A national statistic of two parents and two children, living, breathing, fighting and laughing within these four walls for nearly thirty years.

  From the kitchen drifted a rabble of voices offering familiar warmth as she took off her coat and dragged the woollen hat from her hair. On passing the hallway mirror she stared at herself open mouthed.

  ‘A bad idea, I hate it. Step two of getting over a slime bag should be regrowing your hair, which explains why step one is getting it cut – it gives a girl focus,’ muttered Esmé at her reflection. She quickly pulled a few blonde strands down to frame her face and jammed the woollen hat into her pocket.

  Esmé kicked off her shoes in a teenage manner and plodded towards the commotion in the kitchen.

  She hesitated, her hand on the kitchen door handle. She felt sick. Never had her left hand, fourth finger, felt so bare.

  Despite the rental situation, her mother adored Andrew. At times, she sided with him rather than Esmé. It was one thing to take a boyfriend into the bosom of the family, it was quite another to adopt him in favour of your own daughter. Lord knows what would be said when she broke this news. Esmé needed to play this carefully.

  She and Andrew were finished. She wanted it to be dignified, she wanted a clean break. As long as his testicles fell from his body after having caught a serious, yet incurable, STD which he had instantly shared with Sexy Sadie during their love tryst. What she didn’t need was her mother berating her for losing the only decent man that had walked into her life, and how she’d obviously disappointed him to the point where he had to look for another woman.