The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

‘Thankee thankee,’ said Russ, who gleefully grabbed seconds.

  Jonah watched, shaking his head.

  ‘Blobby, blobby, blobby,’ he sang, before leaving the table and heading to the lounge.

  Esmé looked at the solitary piece of sponge cake.

  Would Asa want his piece? Or could she sneak it to her room and eat it away from the table?

  ‘That was gorgeous, Esmé,’ said Dam, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Ignore Jonah, you bake as much as you want – I’ll eat it every time.’

  ‘Thanks Dam.’ Esmé mustered a smile, while deciding on the final piece.

  ‘What’s with the hair?’ asked Dam, pointing to her red locks.

  ‘I just fancied a change, that’s all.’

  ‘Kind of suits you, though I prefer…’ Russ stalled, licking his fingers.

  Esmé looked up and saw the two men exchange a glance.

  ‘What?’ she asked swiftly.

  Dam shrugged, collected the empty plates and headed for the sink.

  ‘Dam, I’ll have a coffee if you’re on drinks duty,’ said Russ, leaving the table.

  Esmé cling filmed the cake plate and placed it in the fridge for Asa.

  Jonah was right, another piece would stick straight to her thighs so what was the point. He’d probably notice that straight away yet, he hadn’t mentioned her hair.

  *

  ‘Hi,’ said Esmé looking up from her new book, as Asa entered the lounge.

  ‘What’s happened to your hair?’

  Esmé smiled and gently teased her fringe.

  ‘I fancied a change.’

  ‘Does it wash out?’

  ‘No, it grows out.’

  Asa nodded and left the lounge.

  ‘There’s a piece of cake in the fridge for you,’ she shouted after him.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Esmé watched as the door closed gently and returned to her reading.

  What was wrong with him? Grumpy ass. One minute he was sweetness and light looking after folk, the next he was all grouchy and moody.

  The wall clock said twenty minutes past midnight. She should really go to bed, but the just-one-more-chapter gremlin had kept her up way past her bedtime. She returned to her book and continued to read.

  A tiny voice in her head kept interrupting.

  ‘He frowned at my hair’, ‘what’s happened to your hair?’, ‘does it wash out?’.

  Esmé put the book aside, jumped up and took a look in the mirrored glass of the wall unit. She pulled and tweaked at her fringe, turned her head this way and that inspecting what Asa had just viewed.

  Looks great to me.

  The lounge door opened making her jump.

  ‘Thanks for the cake,’ said Asa, dolefully.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  He stared at her, glanced at her hair and turned to leave.

  ‘Doesn’t it suit me?’ she asked.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Grace, Russ and even Dam said it suited me and yet you… you frowned when you saw it… and then the does-it-wash-out comment?’

  Asa turned back, tilted his head and stared.

  ‘Does it really matter what everyone else said?’ he asked, adding. ‘But hey, if everyone else said it’s great – then yay!’

  Esmé stared at him.

  ‘That isn’t it though, is it?’

  Asa sighed, rubbed a hand over his face before looking back at her.

  ‘You don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘I do, you can be honest,’ she said.

  ‘We both know why you’ve dyed your hair red… so, I hardly need explain.’

  Esmé frowned.

  ‘Don’t pretend. I heard him talking to you and Kane in the hallway.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jonah.’

  ‘Jonah?’ Esmé’s face lit up.

  ‘Are you for real? A mention of his name and the heart flutters, doesn’t it?’

  Esmé pulled her chin in and she could feel the flush creep up her neck.

  ‘Jonah told you how much he adored red hair, ‘irresistible’ and ‘What I wouldn’t give to spend some time with a red haired lover’ I believe was his exact phrase. Surprise, surprise, you now have red hair.’

  ‘Asa!’

  ‘Forgive me, but I thought you had more sense than that,’ he turned to leave the room. ‘Thanks for the cake, by the way – it was nice but…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did Jonah say he loved Victoria sponge sometime last week?’

  ‘You’re such an arse, do you know that?’ she spat.

  ‘Sorry to mess up your illusions of love but the guy doesn’t even notice you… so go dye your hair any colour of the rainbow.’

  Asa left the room, Esmé heard him cross the hallway and start up the staircase.

  ‘Touchy git…’ Esmé went back to the armchair, furious. ‘You’re only jealous because he’s better looking than you. You’ve ruined your looks with your tattooed face.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Day 15: Take up a new interest or hobby

  ‘So, how’s tricks?’ asked Carys, settling herself opposite Esmé for a cheeky merlot straight after work. ‘And, I’m loving the new hair colour.’

  ‘Do you like it? Couldn’t be better, though I had two days off due to a migraine, but other than that… I’m coping.’

  ‘Understandable, given the recent upheaval. And Andrew, he’s not bugging you too much?’

  ‘Did I text you about him stalking me from our back garden?’

  Carys sipped her wine and shook her head.

  ‘Well…’ Esmé launched into a detailed account, talking Carys through the evening as if she were watching it unfold on a screen. After fifteen minutes, she finally drew breath.

  ‘What a bloody cheek!’

  ‘I know…’ agreed Esmé. ‘He didn’t mind admitting it either, quite happy for me to know what he’s up to.’

  Carys winced.

  ‘He’ll be sucking up to your parents next – so watch out.’

  ‘Kane said he hasn’t been anywhere near them. Dad helped me clear the apartment of the majority of my belongings last weekend.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘Well, there’s a question. Two weeks on and I can’t face her. Kane said she’d been low about the whole thing but I don’t want her to try to talk me into going back. Hopefully I’ll clear the rest in a week or so, then be able to visit Mum. Her knowing that the apartment is cleared should underline that I’m not going back.’

  ‘It’ll confirm there’s no going back.’

  ‘The guys are packing for two days away this weekend so I have the place to myself… I was wondering if you fancied going out on Saturday night?’

  Carys pulled a face.

  ‘No can do, babe – Jenny’s boyfriend’s sister’s hen do, sorry.’

  Esmé quickly deciphered the relationship connection like a tongue twister in her head.

  ‘I’ve got to go, they’re lacking in numbers and the bride-to-be has had a hissy fit because the surprise hen do that she requested from the maid of honour has gone tits up, despite the bride-to-be keeping a close eye on proceedings, and now she’s had to wade in, trying to rescue her own surprise party from being a shambles.’

  ‘How does that work then?’

  ‘Don’t ask. I don’t like hen dos at the best of times but even more so when the pressure is on to have the time of my life with my sister’s prospective in-laws knowing that I’m being judged by some giggle-o-meter measuring device. The bride-to-be might cattle prod me if I don’t consume three times my own weight in Prosecco.’

  ‘Rather you than me. Anyway, I’ve got loads to do… I could even pamper myself by being home alone.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, seriously, don’t fret. I’ll be fine. I’ll view it as a mini retreat in my new home.’

  ‘Sounds great, wish I could join you,’ said Carys, adding. ‘Are they all going?’

  ‘Oh yeah! It’ll end in a b
rawl though, with Jonah and Asa in the same camper van.’

  ‘Dam’s going?’

  ‘I know, that was my reaction… I know he’s a grown adult but his family sometimes hold him a little too close, if you get what I mean.’

  ‘Really?’

  Esmé gave a cheeky smile.

  ‘Interested, are we?’

  ‘You know… maybe. He seemed pleasant enough at the pub the other Friday.’

  ‘He’s such a sweetheart at home, mmmmm, nice choice.’

  ‘Don’t breathe a word, OK?’

  ‘I won’t, not unless you want me to…’

  ‘No, I just thought… he was nice, that’s all.’

  Esmé sipped her wine, trying desperately to control her smile.

  Carys simply shook her head.

  ‘Now, I wish I hadn’t said anything.’

  *

  Esmé walked to the bus stop in Moor Street.

  Did matchmaking count as an official hobby or not? Was it true matchmaking as Carys had asked about him? It wasn’t as if she’d spotted a connection last Friday and then attempted to bring them together. Fail. She’d been far too busy talking to Jonah. Definite fail. But still they might be a good match, if he was interested.

  She stood at the bus stop, iPhone in hand browsing the internet for books. She didn’t recognise half the names in the current book charts – had it been that long since she’d purchased books for herself?

  Rankin, McDermid, Billingham and Patterson – all Andrew’s favourites but hey, she’d never be buying those again.

  Her heart sank.

  When would that feeling disappear?

  Some days seemed easy compared to others. Carys was right, the migraine probably was connected to it and her weepy Sunday evening was definitely a delayed reaction to the break-up. Maybe love died little by little, fading each day…

  Today was a good day. Work was good, the ladies were on top form with their banter, she had a quick drink with Carys and considered the possibility of matchmaking.

  What more could I ask for?

  The number 126 bus pulled in and the queue shuffled forward.

  Esmé settled herself before continuing her on-line book search.

  ‘Hello?’ came a voice from the seat behind.

  Esmé turned to view a young man with a beard and dazzling blue eyes gazing at her.

  She hesitated a fraction too long in placing him.

  ‘The Personal Shopper suite… I had a particularly awkward guy who was refusing any advice…’

  Yes, Gregory.

  ‘Hi… yes, I remember “No checks, no stripes and no dots”, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Greg. Esmé, isn’t it? Though your hair colour has changed…’

  She gave a brief nod.

  He’d remembered.

  ‘Exactly his phrase. He left long after you did and with only one outfit.’

  ‘I left with four… though it wasn’t difficult given the lovely clothes Minnie had selected for me.’

  ‘You were pleased?’

  ‘Oh yeah, delighted. I’d have never selected those for myself, I’m more a tee-shirt and jeans girl.’

  ‘Good to hear…’ the pause lengthened, as Greg shifted in his seat. ‘Would you mind if I?’ He pointed to the vacant seat bedside her.

  ‘Not at all.’

  I must be dreaming. The good looking guy usually asks to sit next to the girl in front of me, but never me.

  Greg swiftly resettled himself, his brown leather man bag riding on his knees.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘Oh yes, sorry, I was in a world of my own… anyway…’

  ‘I’ve only got two stops, so you’ll be free of me in a second.’

  ‘Really?’

  More’s the pity. Since when had decent young men started taking an interest in her?

  The bus drew to a halt and several passengers left before they continued.

  ‘I was just searching for books… I’ve just got back into the habit, it’s been so long since I read anything. I was just browsing really but… anyway, less of that.’ Esmé tucked her phone into her pocket.

  Stop waffling, and smile.

  ‘I tried to speak to you as you were leaving but my client wasn’t the easiest so… I’m glad I bumped into you.’

  Esmé blushed.

  ‘Would you be interested in going for a drink sometime, if you’re not busy?’

  ‘I’d love that,’ said Esmé, a little too eagerly and loudly for her own liking.

  ‘Excellent, if you could scribble your number on there,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow night, we could work something out for this weekend perhaps.’ He passed her a slip of torn paper from his pocket. Esmé rummaged in her hand bag for a pen and quickly wrote her mobile number on it.

  The bus drew to a halt.

  ‘My stop. I’ll call you, tomorrow,’ he said, before standing and leaving.

  That’ll fit perfectly with my free weekend.

  Esmé watched him make his way off the bus, and gave him a lingering look as the bus pulled away from the kerb and passed him walking. He smiled back.

  Could Greg count as a new interest for my daily task?

  *

  Esmé jumped off the bus one stop earlier than usual. It wasn’t her plan to introduce exercise into her daily routine, instead she wanted to nose in a particular shop window: Second Chances.

  She pressed her face eagerly to their grimy window to view two objects: a sewing machine and a knitting machine – both old but the sign clearly read: good working order.

  Esmé entered, the tiny wind chime danced and immediately an elderly lady appeared through the beaded curtain at the far end of the cramped shop.

  ‘Hi, I wanted a price for the sewing and knitting machines in the window,’ called Esmé, as the old lady approached.

  Her walking stick made a rhythmical thud and her feet shuffled.

  ‘Back in fashion, they tell me,’ she said, threading her way between the collection of vacuum cleaners, battered suitcases and old tea chests.

  ‘In a way, yes, but the modern machines do a lot of the work for you… these older ones are the kind my mother had when I was a girl – I know how to use them.’

  The old woman drew the window backdrop aside so Esmé could examine the machines for herself.

  They had a few scratches and knocks but looked in fair condition. No worse than her mother’s Singer machine that she’d used on Saturday afternoons.

  ‘Could I buy them as a pair for cash?’

  ‘I see, what price had you in mind?’

  Esmé smiled.

  Cute and very shrewd.

  ‘What’s your best price for the two?’

  The old lady smiled, her crepe paper skin wrinkled excessively.

  ‘You young ones know it all, hey?’ she said. ‘I blame those damned tv shows for teaching you how to haggle.’

  ‘I’m a fair person – I’m sure we can come to a fair price.’

  ‘One twenty-five,’ said the old dear, as she peered through tiny specs.

  ‘One hundred and fifteen and I’ll pay now,’ answered Esmé.

  ‘Deal!’ The old woman spat on her hand and shook Esmé’s firmly.

  Deal? That was easy but urgh!

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Boy, that was swift bargaining…’ muttered the old lady, writing out her receipt.

  ‘I know a fair deal when I see it,’ said Esmé, adding, ‘now… what time do you close?’

  *

  ‘Are you serious?’ moaned Russ. ‘I’ve got to carry that to our house?’

  ‘Yep, Dam is going to carry that one,’ said Esmé, delighted that both men were at home when she’d phoned. ‘Do you hear him complaining?’

  ‘Not yet,’ muttered Dam, loading the sewing machine onto his thigh before he heaved it up into his arms. ‘This’ll be down by my knees by the time we get it to the end of Montague Road.’

  Russ hoisted the knitting machine high on his shoul
der.

  ‘It’ll be like the Strongest Man competition with the stones… remember those, Dam?’

  ‘I’ll have had a heart attack before then,’ said Dam.

  ‘Are you ready, the lady wants to close for the night?’ asked Esmé, eager to get going with her new toys.

  ‘The things we do…’ said Dam, as he managed a few steps carrying the machine close to his body and high against his torso.

  ‘Sorry Dam… her offer was just too good to refuse… we should have waited for Kane to get his cash together and we wouldn’t be doing tasks like this,’ moaned Russ, looking around at Esmé.

  ‘Oy, I made you lot a cake the other night, I’ve got my uses too,’ shouted Esmé, walking steadily behind the pair of waddling men.

  Please don’t drop them, please don’t drop them.

  By the time they’d reached the end of the street Dam was asking for a rest, so he placed the sewing machine on top of a nearby wall and stretched his arms.

  ‘Fancy switching for a while?’ he asked Russ.

  ‘No chance, I can balance this one perfectly on my shoulder.’

  ‘How about I have a go at balancing it perfectly, and you take this one…? It’ll give you a biceps workout as you’re carrying it.’

  ‘Jog on, lad, just two streets to go’ laughed Russ, walking off and leaving Dam to hoist the sewing machine back into his arms without help.

  ‘And two flights of stairs,’ muttered Esmé, walking slowly behind them. ‘Unless I’m allowed to use the dining room for sewing.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Day 16: Break an annoying habit

  ‘I haven’t got any annoying habits, have I?’ asked Esmé, making her morning tea.

  Dam gave her a sideways glance as he collected his cereal bowl from the cupboard.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing… apart from you have!’ he laughed, emptying half a box of cornflakes into his bowl and adding milk.

  ‘Excuse me, what about you?’

  ‘I’ve got loads… I annoy myself half the time.’

  ‘You spray that poison hairspray every morning so the house is filled with that nausea gas… it sticks to your throat,’ offered Asa, drinking his coffee at the table. ‘And, you act like a sheep following what others do rather than thinking for yourself.’

  ‘I don’t!’ Esmé swung round, knocking her mug over and sloshing the contents over the sideboard.