by Erin Green
‘Plus, you never wipe up after yourself in the kitchen,’ continued Asa, smirking.
Esmé grabbed a cloth from the sink and began to wipe.
‘And you snore!’
Esmé and Dam stopped what they were doing and stared at Asa.
‘No. I. Do. Not!’ shrieked Esmé, wide eyed as she choked on her first sip of tea.
‘How would you know, mate?’ asked Dam, his spoon suspended mid-mouthful.
‘She does. You can hear her through the wall, Dam. Every night since she arrived she’s snored,’ said Asa, giving her a grin.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Morning,’ chimed Jonah, entering the room and looking around at the three intense faces. ‘Boy, what’s happening here?’
‘I’ve just informed Esmé that she snores,’ said Asa. ‘She’s calling me a liar.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘I believe you just did.’
‘You kind of did, Esmé.’
‘Seriously, you snore?’ Jonah pulled a face. ‘Wow!’
Esmé’s face turned scarlet with embarrassment.
‘I do not snore, Jonah.’
‘How would you know, really?’ said Jonah, helping himself to breakfast.
‘Precisely!’ said Asa, getting up from the table to put his dirty crockery into the dishwasher.
‘Jonah, he’s pulling my leg, saying it purely to rattle me.’
‘Seriously, I’m not.’
‘I once slept with a girl who snored, never again… what an awful night that was,’ muttered Jonah, searching for a teaspoon. ‘I kept having to ask her to turn over onto her side…’
Asa pulled a face at Esmé.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing.’
‘What does what mean?’ asked Jonah, turning round to look at the other three.
‘Him pulling faces,’ said Esmé.
‘Boy, have you gone red,’ said Jonah.
‘Jonah, I nearly got out of bed the other night to knock on her door purely to ask her to roll over,’ laughed Asa, enjoying her embarrassment.
‘You can’t sleep on your back if you snore,’ explained Jonah to Esmé.
‘I don’t sleep on my back! I can do any position.’
A moment of silence occurred. Esmé looked at each male, their faces flickered with wry smiles.
‘See you all, have a nice day!’ called Asa, heading for the door.
‘Asa!’ Esmé followed him.
‘What?’ he turned in the doorway.
‘I don’t snore, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say I do, OK?’
‘OK. But ya do!’
The kitchen door closed.
‘He’s doing it to wind me up.’
‘It worked then,’ said Dam, as he finished his cereal and cleared his dirty bowl away.
‘He can probably hear it through the wall,’ offered Jonah, slurping his coffee.
Esmé took a deep sigh, brightened her face and turned to Jonah.
‘For the last time, I do not snore… that arse is saying it purely to tease me.’
‘Oh right, I get it,’ muttered Jonah.
‘Get what?’
‘You and him… you know?’ Jonah waved a hand casually between Esmé and the closed kitchen door.
‘No! That wasn’t it! Heaven forbid!’
Jonah looked up from his breakfast and smirked.
‘It’s not difficult – you’re easy to wind up.’
‘On that note, I’m out of here. Seriously, I came down to enjoy a peaceful breakfast and this is what I get…’ said Esmé, throwing half of her tea in the sink. She put the dirty mug in the washing up bowl and headed for the door. ‘Bye.’
‘That’s another…’ said Dam.
‘What?’
‘Another annoying habit… never washing your mug up or putting it in the dish washer.’
‘Oh, shoot me down!’ called Esmé, leaving the morning room.
*
Esmé spent her lunchbreak surfing the internet for sewing patterns for a flared skirt.
‘It’s all a bit boho, isn’t it?’ asked Marianne, joining her at the computer screen.
‘Maybe, but I was thinking the other night, I loved crafting and making things as a child. Just like reading, I don’t know when that actually stopped.’
‘Probably when you discovered boys,’ added Penny from the other side of the office, chomping her salad.
‘Hmmm not really, I made my own prom dress. I think it was when I came here to work.’
‘Earning a wage and having spare cash?’ said Marianne. ‘I remember you used to wear a little burgundy skirt with stitch detail on the waistband – I remember asking you where you bought it?’
‘I made that. Wow, where did that go? I loved that skirt.’
‘I loved it too,’ said Marianne.
‘I don’t remember it, but even so, why go back to making your own clothes. It’s so easy to buy.’
‘My calendar task was to start a new hobby so I bought myself a sewing machine last night on the way home from work.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Penny.
‘Two of the guys helped me to get that and a knitting machine back to our house before half six. Second hand, but both in good nick.’
‘I bet Stella McCartney’s quaking in her boots,’ laughed Penny.
‘Oy, don’t knock it, at least she’s trying to do something with her life. What are me and you doing, hey?’ said Marianne, over the top of Esmé’s head to Penny. ‘Seriously, I work here, go home, clean, cook and scrub before I do the same again the next day.’
‘Just joking,’ muttered Penny into her plastic food box.
‘My life has evened out to a whole load of routines… That’s it as you get older, life becomes routine…’
‘So, change it,’ said Penny.
‘Aren’t you sick of it?’ asked Marianne.
‘I haven’t got a minute to myself to think about it, between Keith, the two kids and the house I don’t get time to myself, let alone time to worry about routines. I do what I do in the time available to me so I can do the next job. That’s it. My life. Wife and mother.’
Esmé looked up at her colleagues.
‘Ladies, really… is this necessary?’
‘We’re not arguing, lovey. We’re just saying how it is once you get to our age, so mind you try and make the most of the things you want to before you turn into us!’
‘Or you, Marianne. I’m quite happy with my lot.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Penny.
‘Maybe you are, you’ve got the children to look after but me and our Jimmy – we’re comfortable but…’ Marianne’s voice faded.
Penny and Esmé watched as she returned to her desk.
‘I don’t know, maybe it’s my age… I’ve been here fifteen years and what am I actually doing?’
‘You need telling now? I suspected you never understood the training,’ laughed Penny, pulling a face.
‘No. I know what I’m doing but in the grand scheme of things spending eight hours a day organising orders for the warehouse is hardly riveting, is it? I could be doing so much more.’
‘Do it then, Marianne. Sounds like you need a calendar like hers,’ said Penny, pointing to Esmé. ‘A stuck-in-a-rut calendar – which you knocked the other day as pure mumbo jumbo.’
‘It’s been great so far, if I think back just two weeks – how much has changed because of that calendar.’
‘Phuh!’ snorted Marianne. ‘Things have changed because you have been open minded, that’s why.’
‘Do you think? Yes, Carys’s gift has made me face each day and make changes. The house move, my hair, my new wardrobe… all those things came via the calendar.’
‘No disrespect, but she’d probably still have been snivelling into her breakfast whilst living at her parent’s,’ added Penny. ‘Which is what we all did after a break-up.’
‘Maybe Carys can buy me a married woman’s calendar?’ laughed Marianne. ‘I’ll just pretend to be married.’
‘Or the mid-life crisis calendar, more like,’ said Penny.
‘Either way, fingers crossed, Esmé won’t be here to clock up fifteen years like we have.’
Esmé peered from behind her computer screen at her colleagues.
This was going to be a long afternoon.
*
Esmé offered to make the tea on the hour every hour purely to escape the unusual ‘vibe’ in the office. She knew they hadn’t fallen out but the tension might not clear until a fresh work day began. On her fourth trip with the tea tray, her mobile rang.
An unknown number illuminated the screen.
Leaning against the canteen’s sink unit, with a dripping tap as a background irritation, Esmé took the call.
‘Hi, is that Esmé?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Greg… you gave me your number last night.’
He had rung. He’d actually done what he’d promised.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine thanks, we’re having a busy day here so it’ll probably be a late finish… so, I was wondering if you were free tonight for dinner. I’ll totally understand if you’re busy, it is short notice but I thought I’d ask.’
Esmé stopped herself from answering straight away.
What were the dating rules? Wasn’t he supposed to wait? Wasn’t she supposed to make out she was ultra-busy and make a date for the weekend?
‘That would be fine,’ she said, quickly adding. ‘I can switch plans, no problem. Busy weekend and all that.’
Should I have said that? If tonight goes well he may want to see me again over the weekend.
‘Great stuff. Shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll pick you up and we’ll catch a bite to eat… Chinese, Italian – what’s your favourite?’
‘Italian.’
‘OK. So, your address is?’
Esmé quickly gave him the details and after a swift goodbye, Greg was gone.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Esmé could hear Toby’s tantrum before she opened the front door of number seven. It was the last thing she needed tonight.
The office had remained quiet all afternoon so Esmé had got through it by making plans for her date: quick dash home, bubble bath, hair, make-up and possibly, an outing for the straight legged black trousers, blouse and scarf combo purchased with help from Minnie.
Or would that seem a bit strange given that it would be connected to Greg’s work?
Either way, Esmé had little else to wear that was suitable.
‘Hi Russ, how are we?’ asked Esmé, dropping by the lounge before heading upstairs. Toby was face down, spread-eagled, screaming into the carpet, his arms and legs flailing in all directions. Russ was staring at Cbeebies ‘Charlie and Lola’ on the plasma screen.
‘Great thanks, you?’
Esmé took in the scene and screwed her face up.
‘Is he OK?’
‘Oh fine, a fleeting visit given that we’re away this weekend, so Rita’s picking him up in a couple of hours.’
‘OK.’ Esmé stared down at Toby whose neck was deep red. ‘He’s gone a bit red.’
‘Yeah, he does that – he’ll stop in a minute.’
The child continued.
‘Catch you later.’ Esmé left the lounge and dashed up the staircase, eager to enjoy getting ready for her dinner date.
First things first, she laid out her outfit on the bed, ensuring she’d snipped the tags from each item. Then she selected a playlist from iTunes which was guaranteed to lift her mood and grabbed an armful of toiletries with which to pamper herself, before dashing to claim the bathroom before anyone else could.
*
At seven fifty-five, Esmé was preened, primed and peering through the stained glass section of the front door side panelling: waiting.
‘You going out?’ asked Asa, traipsing barefoot down the staircase in jeans and a tee-shirt.
Esmé nodded.
Now, is not the time to wind me up.
‘You look nice. Have a good time,’ he said, passing through the hallway into the lounge.
Esmé gave a polite nod.
As the door closed she heard him ask, ‘Kane, is there any Friday night football on tv?’
Kane was here again! Did he ever go home?
Esmé returned to her peering.
She had money and credit cards, just in case. A spritz of perfume in her clutch bag. A packet of tissues.
‘Earrings!’ she’d forgotten to put on her jewellery.
Dashing up the two flights of stairs, she charged into her bedroom and scrambled round the bed to grab her earrings from the mantelpiece. Busily pushing them through each ear lobe as she scurried back down the stairs.
My heart’s all of a panic, now.
She stopped mid-way.
Breathe. I’m ready to go. Just breathe.
Placing her hands on the banister she felt the gloopiness before the stickiness registered.
‘Urgh!’ Esmé stared at the smear of jam decorating her left hand. ‘What the hell?’
Toby!
One ear listening for the doorbell, she turned and darted back to the bathroom, her offending hand outstretched.
She quickly washed her hands.
‘If I’m late because…’ she stopped muttering, having viewed her torso in the large vanity mirror. A blob of red jam sat on the front of her new blouse. ‘Can anything else go wrong?’
Grabbing the nearest hand towel, she began dabbing at the jam blob. It smeared. She rubbed the blob some more, creating a large patch of transparent fabric.
Stepping back from the basin and mirror she straightened her blouse.
Could the patch be hidden by her left arm?
Esmé viewed her reflection, only if she held her arm at a strange angle – which would only be until it dried.
Esmé calmed herself enough to leave the bathroom, wiping the banister with a large section of toilet roll in passing, and made her way back to the front door.
It’s not his fault. He’s a little boy. Little boys have accidents with food, and toilets, and toys.
Patiently waiting beside the front door, Esmé felt back in control, her heart rate had slowed, her breathing was normal. She was going to enjoy tonight. Her first date since the break-up. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would make sure she had fun.
The time on her mobile said five past eight.
‘Is he late?’ asked Russ, leaving the lounge and spying her in the hallway.
‘I had an emergency with strawberry jam, so it’s a good thing he’s not on time.’
‘Really? At your age?’ laughed Russ, as he disappeared from sight.
‘Yes really. No thanks to your son redecorating the house with his mucky paws each time he visits,’ muttered Esmé, checking her mobile for a missed call or text message. Nothing.
Russ came from the kitchen carrying a beaker of milk and re-entered the lounge.
Asa instantly popped his head round the lounge door.
‘How long’s the time allowed for lateness before the female becomes irate?’
‘What?’
‘I said, what’s the…’
‘I heard what you said.’
‘Why make me repeat it then?’
‘Asa. Please go.’
‘Hey, I paid you a compliment earlier… that was me being nice. You look nice, so I said… hey, what’s happened to your blouse?’
Esmé changed her stance, hiding the wet blob with her arm.
‘Nothing. It’ll soon dry.’
‘Do you want me to leave you alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. Enjoy your night.’
Esmé checked her mobile for the time: 8:10 p.m.
He might be stuck in traffic.
8:14 p.m.
He might be lost, not everyone knows this area.
8:26 p.m.
H
e’s not coming, is he?
Esmé remained standing at the front door, waiting.
Now what? Call him? That’ll make me look even more desperate than I already am, having waited here for nearly thirty minutes. Call Roberto, see if he’s free? No, that would be rude.
Esmé knew that the minute she went back upstairs to change her outfit then either a, Greg would show up full of apologies or b, the guys in the lounge would realise she’d been stood up and Asa would have a field day taking the mickey. She decided it was best to stay silent.
8:33 p.m.
8:36 p.m.
8:39 p.m.
Esmé slid her feet from her shoes, and slipped them onto her outstretched fingers. She opened the front door as wide as she could and paused. She knew she had to be silent and swift if this was going to work.
Esmé slammed the front door with an almighty bang and flew up the staircase as swiftly and silently as her stockinged feet could carry her. She didn’t stop until she was safely behind her bedroom door, from where she threw her shoes onto the bed and let the tears fall.
What a fool! To be stood up on a first date by a loser who I’m so desperate to take me out to dinner. Idiot girl. Let that be a lesson to you!
She tiptoed away from the door and began to undress. Would they think she’d gone out with Greg for the evening?
Esmé quickly dashed to the light switch and doused the main light. She knew that the gap under the bedroom door emitted a strip of light onto the landing carpet. She’d use the bedside lamp for tonight, it would save face in the morning.
What time were the boys planning to set off on their weekend jolly?
*
Having changed into her pyjamas, Esmé lay on her bed reading. Her stomach was churning with hunger pains, her throat was so dry she could murder a cup of tea and yet, her pride was bruised to the extent that she couldn’t leave her room.
Hours passed.
The creak of footsteps outside her room made her hold her breath for fear of the men knowing her dinner date embarrassment, but she could really do with something to eat.
She spied The Single Girl’s Calendar on her mantelpiece, the packaging created long shadows on the wall.
She couldn’t. It would ruin the experience each morning, having a task but no chocolate.
She stared at it some more, she couldn’t focus on her book knowing the chocolate was calling to her.