by Erin Green
‘I’ll do it. I’m yet to buy a party frock for the Christmas party without returning it two days afterwards.’
‘Are you serious? Even that shimmery blue one you wore last year?’ asked Marianne, shocked by the confession.
‘Absolutely, even that shimmery blue one. Actually, I nearly kept it but no, I took it back in the end. Never cut your labels out, a stitched tack here and there to keep it from falling out on the night, then return. I’d never wear them again anyway.’
‘Penny, I’m shocked! You’re always so honest,’ said Marianne, trying to change her expression.
‘I was given a caution by the police on Friday night.’
Both ladies turned and focused on Esmé, both open mouthed.
‘Why?’
Esmé relayed her Friday night adventures.
‘And afterwards? Go straight home, did you?’ asked Marianne, a sparkle twinkled in her eye.
‘Not quite…’
Work in the office failed to begin until the ladies had received a full account of Friday night.
‘I’ve got a feeling about this one,’ said Marianne, draining her coffee mug.
‘Ergh! No way. Not Asa. He would take the micky out of everything a date would ever do, he knows everything about everything and doesn’t mind reminding you at every opportunity. Worse still, you can’t relax when you’re talking to him because of his tattoo.’
‘That sounded very shallow,’ said Penny, shaking her head.
‘I thought I wasn’t judgemental about how people look, but hands up.’ Esmé lifted her hands above her head. ‘I’m Esmé, and I am totally judgemental when it comes to accompanying a tattooed man into a bar and talking to him face to face. I also can’t stop using that bloody word in his presence. Now, go ahead, judge me.’
‘He might have his reasons,’ said Marianne, having settled at her computer and pressed the ‘on’ button.
‘For sure, and you’re bound to feel bad when you find out why?’ added Penny, copying Marianne.
‘He’s defiant in the face of social norms, that’ll be why,’ announced Esmé, adding ‘see I can’t stop myself, can I?’
‘How’s Jonah?’ asked Marianne.
‘Ah Jonah, Jonah is a different kettle of fish.’
*
During her lunch break, Esmé smiled at an elderly gent, a sulking toddler and the assistant as she queued at the local bakery. None of them returned her gesture, instead they simply stared back at her before turning away.
Armed with paper bags containing warm sausage rolls she hot footed it back to the office. She smiled at the biker carrying his tinted-visor helmet at the cash point. She gave a warm smile to the security guard patrolling the delivery entrance to the warehouse next door to Stylo’s. She even smiled at the young man, suited and booted, seated in reception as she walked through.
Nobody smiled back.
‘Nobody smiles any more, do you know that?’ she announced, arriving back at her desk to unpack her food.
‘Sure, they do,’ said Penny, as she scoffed salad from a Tupperware box.
‘They don’t. Today’s calendar task is to smile at ten strangers. I’ve smiled at six and not one has returned the gesture.’
‘It’s Monday, maybe you’d have better luck if it were a Tuesday?’ said Marianne, spreading her Ryvita with soft cheese.
‘Friday would be a dead cert, everybody smiles on a Friday.’
‘I didn’t smile much the other Friday, I cried for most of the day,’ muttered Esmé, biting into her lunch, and scattering pastry over her lap.
‘Show us your smile, then?’ asked Marianne. ‘I can be number seven.’
‘Yeah, maybe it’s you.’
Esmé quickly swallowed her mouthful and ran her tongue over her teeth before giving the pair her best smile.
‘You’re grimacing rather than smiling,’ said Marianne. ‘You need to include the eyes for a proper smile.’
‘I agree. I think those six people think you gurned at them, rather than smiled.’
‘Thanks for the confidence boost, ladies,’ said Esmé. ‘You’re supposed to be supportive.’
‘We are, now try again but be more natural…’
‘Try to portray a warm glow, as if you’re delighted to see them,’ added Penny, her salad fork suspended and watching.
‘Like this?’ Esmé leant forward, widened her smile in an ear to ear move and crinkled her eyes.
‘Not quite so much, but better… you need practise,’ laughed Marianne.
‘Practise smiling? No way,’ snorted Esmé, eyeing her colleagues suspiciously.
*
The Personal Shopper suite situated on the top floor of the department store was classy beyond belief. Scarlet velvet curtains hung in front of each changing room cubicle which was big enough to house a party of ten plus the shiny silver mobile hanging clothes rails.
Esmé was early for her six o’clock appointment so sat nervously waiting, watching the service and attention devoted to a middle aged man. His male shopper, Gregory, was dressed to impress in a three piece suit, his designer beard clipped to perfection and his startling blue eyes never wandered from his client. Other Personal Shoppers whizzed back and forth collecting, carrying, fetching and returning garments.
It reminded Esmé of the Pretty Woman shopping scene.
Esmé smiled as a whirlwind of energy, dressed in a stylish two piece in pale lilac, leapt forward with her hand extended to introduce herself. Her name badge read ‘Minnie’.
‘Nice to meet you, I’m Minnie and I’ll be your Personal Shopper for today’s visit.’ Her vibe was infectious and her hand shake firm, Esmé instantly felt at ease. ‘And can I say, what a lovely smile you have.’
‘Thank you, I’ll remember to mention it at work tomorrow,’ said Esmé.
‘Your booking form said “looking for a spring clean” for your wardrobe – all tee-shirts, jeans and boots. Is that correct?’ asked Minnie.
‘That’s me, the comfy but clean look,’ said Esmé, shrugging with a continuous smile.
‘Am I correct in saying a size twelve?’
Esmé nodded.
‘Anything in particular or an occasion that we could focus upon?’
‘I’m recently single, so hoped that in the next few weeks I might be enjoying a few days and nights out.’
‘Perfect. Describe an outfit that you’d hate to be seen wearing?’
Esmé took a long time to think.
‘Struggling, clothes not your thing, hey?’
‘Not really. As long as I’m presentable and it doesn’t break the bank – I’m happy.’
‘Let me get you a coffee, and then I’ll nip downstairs and select the first outfit… and there won’t be any tee-shirts, jeans or boots. OK?’
Esmé sat back enjoying a large latte with extra sprinkles as Minnie exited the plush suite, and she listened to the dominating voice behind the next curtained section repeatedly saying ‘No, not suitable. No, not my style. No, I’m not interested in stripes, or checks, or dots.’ Gregory came from behind his client’s changing room curtain at record speed, his brow furrowed, dragging behind him a large hanging rail laden with men’s clothing.
‘Here we are!’ called Minnie, speed walking into the suite. ‘If you’ll come this way please.’ Esmé discarded her empty mug and went behind the billowing curtain held open by Minnie.
‘Now, trust me, these are going to look stunning on, hangers never do the garment justice,’ said Minnie, snapping each hanger from the clothing rail. ‘First a straight leg black trouser, with a classy white blouse and a beautiful scarf – just to add a little something special. While I was on the shop floor, I also selected a second outfit, which I hope you’ll love… just as much.’
*
‘How much did all that cost?’ asked Kane, as Esmé proudly strutted her imaginary cat-walk in the morning room.
‘Cost is irrelevant, Kane,’ she said, striking a pose in the window reflection.
&nbs
p; She hardly recognised herself, as she turned and re-traced her steps, hand on hip, chin lifted and pelvis sashaying. Esmé was delighted with her ‘new image’.
‘You’d better have next month’s rent, that’s all I can say.’
‘Fear not, Bro… all sorted.’
Four outfits, one for going out and three for casual wear, was more clothes than she had intended to purchase but still, she deserved a bit of pampering. Esmé felt good in her new attire. And confident. And feminine.
That wasn’t the first time today she’d had that thought. Walking into the city straight from work, she’d tried to smile at everyone. Specific smiles were saved for the young man waiting outside the sports shop. He’d smiled in return which had made her blush. A young woman struggling through a shop doorway with a double buggy pushchair had also returned her smile albeit tinged with motherly frustration. Number nine had received Minnie’s welcome compliment. And finally, smile number ten had caused the man who worked the flower stall on New Street to do a double take and shout good evening to her. It had taken some effort but afterwards she’d felt good, positive and yes, confident.
‘Where’s Jonah?’ asked Esmé, reaching a standstill, hand on hip, holding her model pose.
‘Out on a photo shot… missing him, are we?’
‘Do you really have to talk like that?’
‘What? You asked.’
‘When I see him, I’ll thank him for suggesting a Personal Shopper – she was worth every penny.’
‘Lucky Jonah, he’s got all the girls flocking to thank him, whereas me… well, I’m plain Kane.’
Esmé stopped posing.
‘Don’t say that, you’ve got your faults Kane, but don’t put yourself down.’
‘Look who’s talking. You’re a fine one to talk, you criticise yourself all the time.’
‘I know. But not anymore, I’m trying to stay positive, and do you know what, if I thought there was a male version of my single girl’s calendar which Carys bought for me, I’d buy you one too.’
‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘Honestly, I laughed too, but there’s a difference about me, a positivity that I haven’t felt before.’
‘Flashing the cash more like, nothing else, my dear,’ laughed Kane, getting up to leave. ‘Anyhow, I’m glad you’re pleased, I’ll tell Mum you’re doing fine.’
‘How is Mum?’
‘Mmmmh.’
‘That bad? I know I need to explain to her but I can’t bear to see her upset over my decision.’
‘I told her that he cheated, she knows that.’
‘Thank you, I promised Dad I wouldn’t avoid her but…’
‘Esmé, focus on you – Mum’s upset but she’ll be fine. Don’t you worry. She just had high hopes for you both, that was all.’
*
Esmé hung each new item of clothing in her wardrobe. It felt right that a new start in life should have a new selection of attire. She wondered what adventures and memories were in store for her wearing these items.
She looked at the pile of jeans stacked neatly on the wardrobe shelf above her head. Hopefully a lot more fun than I had wearing those.
Esmé quickly undressed and climbed into bed. She looked at the mantelpiece and her single girl’s calendar and instantly felt guilty.
Today’s smiling task was completed. Yesterday’s wardrobe task had been started, though possibly not completed. But still Saturday’s day ten remained outstanding.
She climbed from her bed to retrieve the calendar. She must complete it, she’d promised Carys. She re-read day ten: List three future dreams.
She found paper and a pencil in her bedside cabinet and wrote down her three dreams for the future without thinking.
To fall in love again
To get married
To plan a family
Esmé scribbled the date in the bottom corner ‘March 2018’ as a memento. She knew she could still have all three dreams, they just wouldn’t include Andrew.
A knot of emotion swelled in her throat.
That was the hardest part to accept, for so long his name was attached to every dream but now, he had been erased.
Esmé let the tears fall. She didn’t jump up for tissues, or wipe her eyes on her sleeve. She felt guilty for causing her parents upset, she felt unkind for taking Kane’s place in the house, she even felt unsure why she was crying when today had been a good day. Esmé simply let the hurt roll down her cheeks and drop from her jawline onto the duvet. She hadn’t cried properly in days. Alone in her room, it just felt right.
*
Esmé peered from behind her bedroom curtains into the rear garden. There was definitely someone out there standing to the left of the bench by the rear fence. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light and dark the outline became apparent.
She darted towards the bedroom door and switched off the main light so she could peer without being seen. Kneeling before the drawn curtains she made a peep hole and took another look.
It felt wrong to be spying but surely, it’s wrong to stand out back and stare.
She could hear the goings on downstairs. Three adult men gathered their nibbles and beers to watch their Monday night football. Recorded earlier in the evening to be watched in a male huddle, if they could avoid hearing the final score on social media. Their muted banter filtered through the house, the fridge was opened and closed, the cutlery drawer searched for the bottle opener, even the slam of the crockery cupboard door. Russ’s excited chatter predicting scores, penalties and sending offs and the stunted reply, possibly from Dam, who’d stayed home.
Esmé knew that Jonah was down there too.
Why did she always feel like the child?
She balked.
Possibly because she was crouched on her bedroom floor peering through a spy hole at an unknown shape in the garden just as she had at the Boogieman aged just five.
The outline moved. Esmé imagined a side step or even a shuffle but what appeared to be shoulders definitely moved. No tree in the garden was that symmetrical. And none of them would tiptoe across the lawn towards the shed.
Burglars after Dam’s bike!
Esmé hastily scrambled to her feet, stumbled on the empty boxes scattered around her room and dashed downstairs.
‘Dam! Someone’s nicking your bike! Quick!’
She burst into the kitchen disrupting the male bonding session of opening Pringles, Monster Munch and popcorn.
Three males, two dressed in Aston Villa away kits, stared in surprise at Esmé’s pyjama clad appearance.
Why do men watch football wearing team shirts – surely, they know they haven’t been selected for the squad, right?
‘Quick, they’re breaking in right now?’ Esmé flung back the bolts on the rear door and stood aside so the men could charge out.
Nobody moved.
Huh? Cheesy puffs had won the day over superhero status or Dam’s precious bike.
‘Come on.’ Barefoot, Esmé took the lead, the men slowly followed.
Charging along the side of the house and around the corner, she reached the patio area. A crunching of gravel behind her boosted her courage, the men had followed. She tiptoed up the steps, her eyes scouring the shed area for the intruder but nothing was visible.
‘Great shout, Esmé,’ muttered Jonah, standing close behind her. ‘I was ready for some pre-match action!’
‘I swear, I saw them from my window…’
‘You need your eyes testing, love,’ called Dam, from the corner of the house. ‘And my bike?’
‘Relax Dam, the padlock is intact. I can see it from here – the girl’s gone crazy. She’s seeing things,’ called Jonah, returning to the house.
I wasn’t. I hadn’t.
The three men returned inside. Esmé stayed where she was, poised on the stone garden steps.
Sod them, they can all think what they want but she knew what she saw.
She peered into the darkness, the large trees loomed ahead, t
he giant conifers and pampas grass waved rhythmically as though taunting her for her error. She’d seen the cut of their shoulders, the dark outline of limbs against the dark background.
‘If I wait long enough they’ll have to come out of hiding. And when I scream, Jonah and Dam can apologise for not believing me.’
‘Talking to yourself again, are you?’
A voice from behind made her jump. Her hands flew to her heart as it lifted to her open mouth.
‘Asa! You scared the life out of me!’ She turned to face him, a few feet away on the patio.
‘Sorry, but you do that a lot, you know.’
‘So?’
‘Just saying.’
‘I’m not going crazy and I don’t need my eyes testing. I saw them standing over there,’ she pointed towards the back fence. ‘I watched them move across the lawn to the shed and that’s when I came down for the guys but…’
‘They didn’t believe you?’
Esmé shrugged and turned away.
In the distance, a child in a neighbouring house began shouting for their mum.
‘I believe you.’
He said it so quietly that she nearly missed it.
‘I believe I saw someone the other night.’ He took a few steps towards her and pointed towards the far corner of the garden. ‘A bloke standing over there. He’d gone by the time I got outside, but I was certain.’
‘You didn’t say?’
‘I took it to be your fella.’
‘Andrew?’
Asa nodded.
‘No.’
‘Us men act in funny ways when we don’t get what we want… I think he’s been loitering outside the front some nights and has now ventured to the back of the house.’
Andrew wouldn’t do that.
‘He’s got my number. He could phone any time he wishes…’
‘Us blokes, we’re not logical. Easiest thing would be to call, say you’re sorry, ask to meet up for a chat… try to impress and talk you round but nah… we don’t save face that way, do we?’
‘We want to know everything, without having to ask basic questions. I reckon he wanted to know if you’re shacking up with one of us four?’
‘Be bloody serious.’