The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘Seems like hard work to me, he’ll get bored with it soon, believe me. I’ve seen it so many times.’

  Esmé shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so, he said he’d wanted one since childhood and now, moving into his first proper adult home… tadah! He bought one.’

  ‘Surely someone else will protest.’

  ‘Jonah moaned that he’s expected to put up with our interests and belongings so why shouldn’t he be allowed to buy what he wants?’

  ‘And he wants a pet?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’ve never really had pets.’

  ‘I had loads as a child, gerbils, guinea pigs, rabbits… but nothing exotic.’

  ‘I can imagine cats and dogs being good company.’

  ‘We always wanted a dog but my dad said no.’

  ‘A far nicer pet than a spider. Argh, I wouldn’t be best pleased either, but have faith, the lads won’t ignore your reaction.’

  ‘Well it’s hard to ignore, I jumped up and down on the new couch, screaming,’ laughed Esmé. ‘He was trying to tell me how he’d called her Rose, I simply screamed at him.’

  The terror that had risen within had been monumental, every nerve of her body wanted that spider dead. How was she to live under the same roof?

  ‘My idea of a Chilean rose is chilled in the fridge before drinking,’ said Esmé, finally raising a smile.

  Feeling calm and safer, Esmé switched topics and relayed the details of last night’s graveyard delivery.

  ‘This morning they all knew about it, so Asa must have filled them in before I woke up.’

  ‘A lesson learnt there, nothing is kept quiet between the men then,’ laughed Grace.

  ‘If you tell one, you might as well tell them all! The police issued us with a caution but nothing else… boy, what next?’

  ‘Nothing, life will settle down for you and then you can breathe,’ suggested Grace, as she collected the empty tea cups. ‘Time for another?’

  ‘I will, if I’m not holding you up from doing anything.’

  ‘The dusting can wait, believe me… there’s no rush left in me to do anything else these days.’

  As Grace pottered around her kitchen making fresh tea, Esmé told her about little Toby, his cute slippers and an irate Rita.

  ‘Such a pity, but at least young families aren’t hidden nowadays – they were in my time. Girls were sent away to their aunts in the country and then came home without their babies. We all knew about it but nothing was ever said… taboo, if you get my drift? But still such a struggle to raise a little one outside a relationship.’

  The afternoon slipped slowly past, by the time Esmé had drunk all her offered tea, the kitchen was losing the light and the dark night was drawing in.

  ‘We’ll have to nip out for a walk next time, visit the local park on a fine day,’ suggested Esmé, knowing her own grandmother had enjoyed such visits when she’d been alive. Nanny Peel had enjoyed the spring colours and the blue sky on a fresh day.

  ‘That sounds lovely, now take care and don’t you worry your head about that spider.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ said Esmé, knowing all too well she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight if the new lodger remained in the house.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The thunder of feet on the staircase woke Esmé early on Sunday morning. She heaved her bedding over her head and tried to return to her slumber. The image of an eight legged fiend filled her mind.

  ‘Errr,’ she jumped, as she felt something touch her left foot. Whipping back the duvet just to be sure, a dash of cold air ensured she was fully awake. ‘So much for a Sunday lie-in.’

  She plodded to the mantelpiece to collect her single girl’s calendar.

  I never completed yesterday’s task! Fancy failing on day ten having been so good every other day?

  Only last night, she had thanked Carys for such an intriguing present. Carys had phoned to say she and her younger sister, Jenny, were going to the cinema, did Esmé wish to join them? Esmé had jumped at the invite, having made no plans of her own.

  ‘You can’t spend a Saturday night home alone…’ said Carys. ‘I predict you’ll end up watching Casualty while downing a bottle of vino and bed before half ten.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Casualty?’ asked Esmé, when they met in the cinema’s foyer.

  ‘Single woman’s cheesy tv,’ explained Carys. ‘The actors are super fit but the storyline’s total mush.’

  ‘That covers half the tv I watch anyway… so?’

  ‘Change, my dear girl… it’ll be good for you,’ giggled Jenny, her dark eyes sparkling like her older sister’s.

  ‘The last ten days have been nothing but change… one step at a time, yeah?’ Esmé had joked before giving Carys a quick update on the week’s events, especially the flower deliveries and their subsequent disposal of them.

  ‘Pretty busy then… yet another way of getting over a break-up,’ soothed Carys, after Esmé’s detailed summary. ‘And now, time for a bit of Firth and Bridget.’

  ‘Always a good shout. Come on!’ Jenny had ushered them briskly towards screen five, laden with popcorn and candyfloss.

  Esmé returned to her bed clutching her calendar. She re-opened day ten, not such fun without the tiny slab of chocolate, to re-read yesterday’s task: list three future dreams.

  What were her dreams? Nothing came to mind. She used to know – Esmé held up three fingers and counted.

  ‘To get engaged, to get married and to have my own family in a few years,’ she said aloud to the empty bedroom.

  Simple but ruined. She needed Andrew to succeed at each one. Esmé folded her arms in disgust. How can one person mess it up for someone else on such a grand scale?

  The three things she’d wanted most in the world he’d now wiped from her reach. What new dreams had she to replace them? None.

  Esmé didn’t wish to be richer, thinner, fitter, more fashionable, more intelligent, more out-going, less frightened of spiders, more charitable, less reflective… she smiled at the irony.

  She still wanted to be engaged, married and planning a family – had she specified Andrew’s family? No. She wanted a guy who a, wouldn’t cheat b, would commit to her and c, commit to their future family. Simple. Though not so simple when you’re starting all over again.

  She could feel the hollowness growing deep inside.

  Leave well alone before the memories make you cry. This isn’t the way to start a Sunday morning. Sunday morning is supposed to be a joyful, bright part of the week.

  Esmé jumped from her bed, pulled the covers straight and headed to the wardrobe and grabbed a colourful tee-shirt and her favourite jeans.

  Within ten minutes, she felt a whole load better, vowing to leave yesterday’s task until later but instead to focus on today. She took the calendar from the bed clothes and searched for day eleven, a mouthful of chocolate was guaranteed to brighten her mood, she read the task.

  Day 11: Spring clean your wardrobe

  Esmé looked down at her outfit.

  Did she need to spring clean her wardrobe? She’d never followed fashion trends but was comfy and ticked the boxes of clean, tidy and presentable. Did anyone she know, apart from Jonah, consciously choose a particular fashion style? Penny shared her clean and tidy category, Marianne was older, yet stylish in a classy way. Carys and Jenny had definite styles or was it simply cultural expectations which determined their colourful appearance and choices?

  Esmé opened the wardrobe doors wide. Despite still needing to collect most of her clothes from the apartment she stared at the foundation of her possessions: tee-shirts in a rainbow of colours that had complimented her old auburn hair, jeans and a variety of boots: some heeled, some flat, with round or square toes.

  She knew she had a selection of other clothes in the apartment but honestly, for the majority of the time, Esmé was happy as she was.

  She could wear a pink tutu, Doctor Martin’s and a wet suit – but would it
make her a more interesting person? She doubted it.

  Wow, she’d struggled with these tasks. The first week was easy but yesterday’s lowered her mood and today’s had made her feel like a dowdy frump. What’s wrong with clean, tidy and presentable? Wasn’t changing her hair style enough?

  Esmé was having none of it, this wasn’t the way she’d hoped her Sunday would start, so she left her room and began the day afresh.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Esmé, as she entered the morning room to find her brother eating cereal. ‘You don’t pay rent, you don’t have a room and yet you’re here all the time.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Kane, with his mouth full.

  Esmé snapped the switch on the kettle.

  ‘It feels like it,’ she muttered, taking a mug from the draining board. ‘Seriously, you had the chance to live here, and you blew it.’

  ‘You jumped in my grave by waving your cash around, isn’t that right, Dam?’

  ‘Sibling argument – please leave me out of it,’ chuntered Dam into his toast and pâté. ‘I have enough when I visit my parents.’

  ‘And another thing… you can start paying towards the food you keep scoffing when you do come around… you ate all the biscuits last time and my last piece of bread!’

  Kane pulled a face at his sister, mimicking her mood.

  ‘Woo, little Miss Arsey today, are we?’

  ‘No, Little Miss Not-Putting-Up-With-Brothers any more, that’s who!’

  ‘Pity, I had planned to put in a good word with Jonah for you!’

  ‘You arse!’

  ‘I thought you’d given Asa that pet name, not me?’

  ‘Seriously, you are a total waste of space, waste of a heartbeat, waste of standing space, an oxygen thief and waste of a skin!’ Esmé stirred her coffee and swiftly left the room.

  ‘Woo, what’s up with her?’ asked Kane.

  Dam simply shrugged.

  Esmé stood in the hallway, coffee mug in hand. She wanted to cry.

  What had just happened? Why did it bug her so much that Kane was here?

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Esmé turned to see Kane slip through the kitchen doorway. ‘You seem a bit…’ He pulled a grotesque face.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that… It’s me, I suppose, I’m all over the place.’

  ‘Come here.’

  Esmé put her coffee on the bottom step as Kane wrapped his arms around her shoulders and bear hugged her mighty tight.

  ‘I get it. You’re allowed to feel this way… just don’t let it get the better of you, that’s all.’

  Esmé cradled her head under his chin and wobbled it from side to side, a trick she’d done since his teenage growth spurts.

  ‘I know. I’ve had a good week considering. I’ve coped well but this morning I feel like… Blar!’

  ‘Maybe it’s catching up with you… you’ve kept yourself busy and now, Sunday morning, the blues kick in.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Esmé thought about The Single Girl’s Calendar, had yesterday’s task been too much to deal with so soon after the break-up? Or was the idea of spring cleaning her clothes that hard to take? ‘Do you think my clothes need updating?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ scoffed Kane, releasing his hold.

  ‘I’d say yes,’ said Jonah coming down the stairs. ‘And your platinum hair needs toning down, too.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you! And what’s wrong with my hair?’

  Jonah pulled a face.

  ‘I only had it done a week ago… Tristan said…’ Her words fade, Tristan had mentioned a return visit, hadn’t he?

  ‘Bleach blonde just isn’t now, whereas vibrant reds, mmmmm irresistible!’ Jonah smoothed his long blond hair over his shoulder. ‘What I wouldn’t give to spend some time with a red haired lover…’

  ‘You think everyone’s image needs updating,’ laughed Kane.

  ‘I’ll ignore that remark, Kane. Esmé, you’re a woman, I think you need to start dressing like one.’

  ‘Excuse me! I think you’ll find us women can please ourselves with what we wear and when.’

  ‘You can, but seriously,’ he waved a hand up and down indicating her clothing. ‘You’ve worn something similar every day you’ve been here… where’s your panache? Your finesse? Your vavavoom?’

  ‘Jonah!’ cried Esmé, laughing.

  ‘Only saying, you asked for his opinion so why not take mine? Treat yourself to a personal shopper for the afternoon – they’ll work wonders for your wardrobe,’ said Jonah, heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘Has that tarantula gone?’ asked Esmé, calling after his retreating frame.

  ‘Yep, I returned it yesterday actually… thanks to you and your hysterics!’

  ‘Thank you! It’s not my fault I have a phobia.’

  The kitchen door swung shut.

  ‘A personal shopper’s not a bad suggestion…’

  ‘Well, it’s your bank balance,’ muttered Kane, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Call me, if you need me.’

  ‘I will.’ Esmé collected her coffee mug from the stairs and watched him pull on his trainers by the front door. ‘Kane, thank you.’

  He looked up from tying his laces.

  ‘I get it, seven years is a long time… you must have thought these days were over.’

  ‘I did.’

  *

  ‘Aren’t you taking the rest of your clothes?’ asked Andrew, as Esmé slid closed the doors of their fitted wardrobes.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ she said, as Jonah’s suggestion churned over in her mind. She could turf the remainder of her jeans, sweater tops, hoodies and faded tee-shirts into several black bin liners but what if she failed to be impressed when out shopping. How many times had she returned empty handed from her favourite store? She’d kick herself for throwing out decent quality clothing. If nothing else she could leave these clothes here, replace the items and then donate these things to charity.

  ‘Good, I don’t mind,’ said Andrew, seated on the edge of their double bed watching proceedings.

  ‘Sorry, I know… that wasn’t easy.’

  ‘So, don’t do it.’

  Esmé paused.

  ‘I have no choice. We aren’t the same people as we once were. I can’t pretend it hasn’t happened.’

  She turned away and busied herself emptying the top drawer of her dressing table into a cardboard box. She could feel his eyes on her back, drinking in her every move, but she couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Have you told your parents?’ she asked, casually.

  ‘Yep, and my brother and both sisters – they all know I messed up. They all know you’ve moved out, I even explained how and why.’

  Esmé folded the flaps on the box and set about filling another with her cosmetics.

  ‘You didn’t have to go that far but thank you for being honest… I didn’t relish the thought of bumping into them in the city and having to defend myself.’

  ‘My mother was gutted, if you want to know. Said she couldn’t believe I’d acted so foolishly and that I deserved everything that I had coming to me. My father didn’t say much, but he never does, does he?’

  ‘Not usually.’ Esmé carried on packing in silence, working her way through the drawers.

  Who’d have thought that Diana Nixon would have sided with her? They’d got along well but still, Andrew was the apple of her eye. That was a turn up for the books.

  ‘Are you heading straight back?’ asked Andrew, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘Yep, my dad’s outside waiting with his friend’s van.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I said he could come inside but he didn’t want to intrude, you know how it is?’

  ‘OK.’

  Within fifteen minutes, Esmé had packed the majority of her possessions from their bedroom and the few that remained in the bathroom. Andrew helped her to carry the bulging bin liners and boxes down the stairs towards the entrance where the white tran
sit was parked.

  ‘I’ll leave these here, if your dad’s not too keen on speaking,’ muttered Andrew.

  ‘Thanks. Well, bye, sorry for interrupting your Sunday afternoon but… I needed…’ her throat closed up with a wave of sadness.

  Why had this happened to them? Why wasn’t today about Sunday roasts and choosing a design for wedding invitations. Instead, Esmé was frozen to the spot amidst a sea of bin liners, desperately trying to say a cheery goodbye to an ex-boyfriend whose pain was etched on his face.

  Andrew gave her a clunky hug that was roughly and hastily delivered, before he traipsed back up the stairs to apartment nine.

  Opening the entrance doorway, Esmé beckoned to her dad as she dropped the first of her bags outside on the block paving.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Day 12: Smile at ten strangers

  Monday morning, Esmé anxiously walked into the office.

  Would Andrew repeat last week’s flower deliveries and refurbish the office with round two from Interflora? Esmé opened the door and cautiously peered inside. Empty surfaces.

  ‘Morning Esmé,’ called Penny, as jovial as ever. ‘It’s safe to enter. We gave the flower arrangements to the cleaning staff on Friday night. How was your weekend?’

  ‘You’ll never believe me, so we’ll start with yours first.’ Esmé settled at her desk as Marianne delivered a tray of coffees and the weekend analysis. Penny explained how her new winter boots had cost the earth and hubby hadn’t been impressed so the guilt trip forced her to take them back on Sunday for a full refund.

  ‘Do you know how hard it is convincing one of the sales assistants that you haven’t worn them outside the house when you’ve clocked up an hour inside on carpet to break them in but forgot to take them off when you fetched the washing in off the line. Polishing that scuffed sole took some doing, phew!’

  ‘Did you get your full refund?’ asked Marianne.

  Penny and Esmé exchanged a glance and laughed.

  ‘Of course, I’m the Queen of refunds.’

  ‘I’ll remember that come Christmas time – you can stand in the queue and collect my refunds in place of me,’ said Marianne.