The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘Why the tattoo?’ she asked, openly looking at his face.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But it’s your face… surely it could have gone somewhere else?’

  ‘Not really. I wanted it there. I like peacock feathers.’

  ‘But there’s no face or a beak.’

  ‘That’s lower down my back. Peacock feathers symbolise immortality and resurrection.’

  ‘I thought the eyes warded off evil spirits.’

  ‘It would make my life a whole lot simpler, if that were true,’ said Asa, giving a deep laugh.

  ‘How come you always have something smart to say?’

  Asa shrugged.

  ‘It’s what comes of being an arse.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have called you that, it was rude of me. Sorry.’

  ‘You could be right, I might be an arse. I call it being honest… but being an arse works as well.’

  Esmé laughed.

  ‘I’m honest, if nothing else.’

  ‘Even so, I’m sorry for calling you that during my phone call – though it did make us both laugh when you answered.’

  Meat Loaf finished wailing. Asa looked towards the jukebox, then around at the other customers.

  ‘Is it my turn?’ he asked, jumping down from his stool. Esmé watched as he walked to the jukebox, studied the plastic cards and then pumped his money into the slot.

  Esmé’s ears strained to hear the intro of the track.

  The piano bursts from the beginning of… it couldn’t be, Asa wouldn’t choose Abba?

  Asa walked casually back to the bar, his eyes holding her gaze. Coolly ordering another round with a wave of his hand while climbing back onto his stool just as ‘Dancing Queen’ burst forth from the jukebox. Numerous customers stared across at the pair as the distinctive tones played loud and proud.

  ‘They are staring,’ laughed Esmé.

  ‘Yeah, but watch them,’ whispered Asa. Esmé loved this tune, she’d have jumped up and run to the dance floor had she been with anyone other than Asa.

  ‘Are you watching?’

  ‘Yes.’

  From every inch of the busy bar Esmé could make out the tiny bopping actions made by every customer, be it a lively foot tap, a finger dance on the table top or the twitch of a shoulder. Every customer was moving, tapping, jigging or mouthing the words, unconsciously or otherwise, along with Abba.

  ‘The one song everyone loves to hate and yet, they know every word. They can’t resist joining in as if it gets inside each and every one of us.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me? I love this song!’

  Esmé burst out laughing.

  ‘Now, I know you’re kidding me.’

  Asa’s face stayed deadpan.

  The refilled glasses appeared on the bar.

  ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ laughed Esmé.

  ‘What’s not to like about ‘Dancing Queen’? It reminds me of my childhood and happy times, dancing around the lounge with my mother… why would I dislike a song that instantly brings her back to life?’

  He was right. Be it a wedding, an eighteenth birthday party or a retirement do, the dance floor is always full when ‘Dancing Queen’ is played. A crowd pleaser, if nothing else.

  The seated jives continued until the track finished and a fresh set of memories were revived by the next track.

  ‘Where did you grow up then, after your mum…?’

  ‘Aunty Judy and Uncle Jim… took me in, I can’t complain, they gave me everything I needed, apart from my mum.’

  Asa collected his drink and knocked it back in one.

  ‘Steady on,’ said Esmé. ‘I can’t do that.’

  Asa held his arms wide.

  ‘See what I mean… come on, live a little, Esmé.’

  Esmé knocked back her drink in one before spluttering and almost toppling from her high perch.

  Asa summoned the barman again.

  ‘Two more, please?’

  ‘I’ll pay for these – I owe you a twenty anyway.’

  ‘OK, pay your way, Esmé.’

  The final hour of the day passed in a blur at the bar, knocking back a range of spirits recommended by a wayward Asa.

  ‘Now, the real test… can you still walk home or is it a taxi job?’

  ‘I can walk,’ said Esmé, as she tested her legs by climbing cautiously from her high stool.

  ‘Great, we can spend the money on a final round. Climb back up.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ll stand,’ she laughed.

  ‘So now that we’re housemates and drinking buddies – what’s the story with ex-lover boy?’

  ‘History.’

  ‘Boy, he must have mucked it up big time?’

  ‘Yep, his cheating was the quickest exit of my life.’

  ‘Did he know that it would be?’

  ‘Of course, I couldn’t stomach a cheating partner.’

  ‘So, where are you pitching your cap?’

  Esmé pulled a face.

  ‘What’s your type?’

  ‘Hmmm, now that depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘My tastes may have changed. Andrew was a nice guy but I’m now wiser, maybe it’s time for me to widen the range a little by taking an interest in people I’d never looked at.’

  ‘Sounds promising,’ said Asa leaning on the bar and closing the gap between his and Esmé’s shoulders.

  ‘I like blonde, athletic bodies and maybe… I’ll step out of my comfort zone with something a little different next time.’

  Asa watched her face enter into a dream like trance. He’d got as close to her as he dared but now, on hearing her wish list, he gently eased his frame backwards, distancing himself as she spoke. One thing was certain, housemate or drinking buddy, it was clear who she’d set her cap at.

  ‘Shame to ruin the fun, lady, but it’s time to stagger home.’ Asa jumped down from his stool and made slowly for the door, and Esmé tottered and swayed in his footsteps.

  Chapter Twenty

  Day 10: List three future dreams

  Esmé staggered into the lounge, dressed in her pyjamas and a towelling housecoat, carrying a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol.

  ‘Morning, nice of you to join the land of the living,’ laughed Russ from the sofa with little Toby tucked under his arm, watching cartoons. ‘A little hung-over, are we?’

  ‘Please don’t be cheery on my account, I want to die.’

  ‘Serves you right. Was it ‘Dancing Queen’ you were singing as you staggered up the path?’

  Esmé flopped into the armchair and swallowed two tablets.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Seriously, as loud as you could.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You did. Ask Asa.’

  ‘He’ll be just as bad as this,’ said Esmé, taking some comfort.

  ‘He’s not. He’s up and out… it’s eleven thirty.’

  Is this some sort of joke? Had she been downing shots and he just had water?

  ‘We drank enough to kill a buffalo, he can’t be OK.’

  ‘You don’t know Asa, he can take his booze.’

  Esmé watched the two on the sofa, snuggled together and chuckling over the cartoon. As the excitement grew, Toby’s tiny slippered feet jiggled to and fro.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘They’re funny at that age, aren’t they?’

  ‘This little fella is, though he was running around at six this morning so I came down here.’

  ‘We watched cartoons,’ gabbled the child, his bright face looking up into Russ’s.

  How cute.

  ‘I’m off then but…’ said Kane, bursting into the lounge. He halted on seeing Esmé. ‘You look dead rough.’

  ‘Talking to me now, are we?’ she smarted.

  Kane ignored her, and spoke to Russ.

  ‘I’m off then. You all sorted, know what to do?’

  ‘Yes, I know what to do, thanks.’
<
br />   ‘Toby, I’m off.’

  Toby scrambled from his seat and ran like a puppy to give Kane a cuddle.

  ‘Catch you later, bye,’ said Kane, before disappearing. Toby returned to his spot beneath Russ’s arm.

  The front door slammed. Esmé watched as Russ’s brow furrowed and his mouth twitched as if talking to himself.

  ‘Don’t let him put on you,’ said Esmé, after a moment of heavy silence.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Kane, don’t let him put on you, he’s a sod for making others do his dirty work… just tell him no.’

  ‘Ah that, no, he’s fine.’ Russ jumped up with sudden exuberance. ‘Come on, Toby, let’s go to the park and play football.’

  ‘Yay!’ cried the child, following him.

  Esmé watched the two disappear, so cute, and yet, so sad.

  Esmé stared at the plasma screen as a mouse chased a cat with a frying pan.

  How different life would be if she had a child to consider last weekend. Could she just have upped and offed? Would Andrew have made a decent father? Possibly, though given his latest actions and irresponsibilities, no.

  ‘Morning, how are we?’ asked Dam, charging into the room, trainers in hand.

  ‘Dying.’

  ‘Thought you would be, good night though?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Dam sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled on his trainers.

  ‘Sorry if I woke you.’

  ‘No worries, it was funny. Asa said you got cautioned for being in the graveyard. That’s hilarious.’

  Esmé cringed.

  ‘Off out?’

  ‘Yeah, to a family meal, it’s a must on Saturdays… though I’ve plenty of studying I could be doing.’

  ‘What, you’re studying as well as lecturing?

  He nodded.

  ‘Studying what?’

  ‘Physics.’

  ‘Oh right. More physics,’ Esmé said, as if she understood the subject.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend to be interested, no one ever is.’ Dam stood and straightened his trouser legs.

  ‘Even so, I’d like to take an interest in my housemates,’ said Esmé.

  Dam smiled.

  ‘And your plans for today?’ he asked.

  Esmé realised she had no plans.

  ‘To get showered and dressed once I feel slightly better.’

  ‘Bye, Esmé,’ said Dam, shaking his head.

  ‘Bye.’

  In an instant he’d gone and the front door slammed.

  Asa was right. She had no plans, not for today, or tomorrow or… well, ever.

  Esmé felt an irritation deep in her stomach.

  Did he actually tell me, ‘You’ve hardly lived, your head is full of daydreams and you’re afraid of everything, even your own shadow’? Cheeky git, well she’d show him!

  *

  By mid-afternoon, her head had ceased to bang like a drum. Having consumed a plate of pasta to line her stomach, Esmé sat reading in the lounge when there was a hammering on the front door.

  Who the hell was that?

  She hadn’t heard any of the guys return home but waited to see if one of them answered but they didn’t and the hammering continued.

  Esmé peeled herself from the armchair to peer through the lounge window and see the noisy visitor. A young woman in a green coat, her black hair swept into a messy bun and her face bare apart from a smudge of pink lipstick. She turned round as Esmé peered. Her frown didn’t ease to a smile on seeing she was being watched, and she hammered on the door again.

  I’ll be polite and calm, she’ll be fine.

  Esmé dashed to open the door. As the latch left the cradle the woman pushed it hard and stormed inside.

  ‘Excuse me…’

  ‘Where is he?’ she demanded, striding back and forth at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Toby!’

  ‘Toby’s at the park with Russ.’

  ‘Are you joking me?’ she snapped, her delicate features twisted into a knot.

  ‘Yes, they went a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘What a frigging joke this is!’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not sure what time they’re coming back… do you want to walk up to the park? I believe it’s only in the next street.’

  ‘Do you live here?’ She began to pace.

  ‘Yes and…’

  ‘Has he been upset?’

  ‘Not when I’ve seen him. He’s watched cartoons while snuggling on the sofa, played football in the back garden and, from the dishes in the sink, ate a bowl of scrambled eggs – I haven’t seen him crying.’

  The woman relaxed and stood still, suddenly extending her hand.

  ‘I’m Rita… you are?’

  ‘Esmé.’

  ‘I see.’ The pause seemed to last for an eternity before she continued. ‘I’ll take myself off up the park then, sorry to disturb your Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘No worries, see you.’ Esmé closed the door. This could well be the downside to living with others, their dramas entered your world, and with so many individuals under one roof maybe there’d be one every day.

  *

  An hour later Russ returned, swinging a bag of shopping and no Toby.

  ‘Rita called by… did she find you?’

  Russ stared.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘I told her that you’d gone to the park and that Toby hadn’t been upset – sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing but she seemed to calm down once she knew.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s like that is Rita. Thanks. He was late going back, she panicked,’ said Russ, as he disappeared into the morning room.

  Another of life’s complications that he had obviously learnt to live with. How difficult it must be having a lifelong connection to an ex-partner?

  Esmé spent the remainder of the day around the house, cleaning her room, doing laundry ready for work on Monday and steadying her delicate stomach.

  She heard the front door unlock, footsteps and then the morning room door open and close.

  ‘So?’

  That sounded like Kane.

  ‘I told you,’ answered Russ.

  Are they arguing? Never had Esmé heard a cross word between the two and yet, like in her mum’s kitchen last weekend, this sounded like another disagreement.

  ‘What’s the harm?’

  ‘Kane!’

  She heard the morning room door open and then the lounge door opened revealing Kane.

  ‘Hi, Esmé, you OK?’

  ‘Me? Yeah.’

  ‘Good good, at home all day, are we?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘Nothing, just asking… aren’t I allowed to ask?’

  ‘You weren’t speaking to me earlier and now this… what’s up, Kane?’

  ‘Nothing, just being polite.’

  Esmé stared.

  This wasn’t like Kane. Why did he keep flitting in and out of the house? What was going on?

  ‘Right, I’ll be seeing you then.’ Kane disappeared and re-entered the morning room.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Kane, it’s not fair.’

  ‘It’s fine, I tell you.’

  Esmé put down her magazine and listened.

  Kane’s footsteps traipsed through the hallway and the front door slammed. She jumped up to peer through the lounge window at his retreating figure.

  How come he’d got a key if he wasn’t paying any rent money?

  She jumped as Russ joined her in the lounge.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as she blushed having been caught at the window.

  ‘Kane has a key?’ she asked, ignoring his question.

  ‘For emergencies, yeah, we all thought it best given you were living here.’

  Esmé returned to the couch as Russ settled into the armchair with his coffee mug.

  ‘Have Dam’s family got a key?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your family?’

  ‘No.’

  Esmé pulled a face.


  ‘Just my family… do you think I need looking after?’

  Russ slurped his drink.

  ‘Being female, we thought it best, that’s all.’

  She returned to her magazine. Her gaze flickering between the page and the frowning male in the armchair. The silence lingered for near on thirty minutes until the front door slammed.

  ‘Hello, anyone home?’ called Jonah, in a jubilant tone.

  ‘In here,’ called Russ, emerging from his trance. Esmé sat up and fluffed her hair. Russ looked away when their glances met.

  Jonah burst into the lounge with an energy unseen in number seven today, carrying a small cardboard box.

  He was wearing a beige army coat and a pair of expensive leather boots, which made quite an outfit.

  Esmé’s stomach flipped.

  Seriously, when would this teenage obsession go away?

  ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve bought?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for games,’ moaned Russ, staring at the box.

  ‘A pet.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Esmé, who jumped up to take a look.

  ‘A Chilean Rose!’

  ‘A what?’ asked Esmé, peering closely as Jonah lifted the lid to reveal a tarantula. ‘Oh my life!’ Esmé darted backwards to stand on the couch cushions pointing at the box.

  ‘Not your thing then?’ asked Jonah, laughing.

  Esmé wanted to cry. She was in a room with a spider. A living breathing spider. And Jonah was laughing.

  ‘Russ, please make him close the lid!’ wailed Esmé.

  *

  ‘Then what did he do?’ asked Grace, handing Esmé a fresh cuppa in her cosy kitchen.

  ‘He just laughed. The very thought gives me goose bumps.’

  ‘He’ll get rid of it – the others will make him.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Grace brought an old biscuit tin with her to the table and settled opposite.

  ‘I’m certain, the tattoo guy will see to that… he’s more…’ Esmé waited for Grace’s character reference but it had faded, unlike her fear of the hairy tarantula.

  Esmé sipped her sweet tea, dunking her ginger nut biscuits as Grace looked on.

  ‘Don’t fret…’

  ‘What if it gets out of the tank?’

  ‘Tank?’

  ‘He’s taken delivery of a huge glass tank for his room. Apparently, they live in there amongst a load of green foliage and some kind of humidity making machine to make it tropical.’