by Erin Green
What am I doing here?
‘Sod off, you never said that!’ came the muffled voice of Kane, her older brother, through the kitchen door.
Great! I don’t need an audience for this.
Esmé conjured up a brave face and entered the kitchen. A large kitchen that had seen homework tantrums, late night cheese on toast making and the aftermath of many Sunday morning hangovers around the scrubbed wooden table that held pride of place.
‘Get real, man… surely you can wait another week?’ chuntered Kane, seated at said kitchen table in jeans and a faded Jack Daniels tee-shirt.
‘My hands are tied, you know that… you knew that last week and the week before,’ retorted Russ, his best and oldest friend, seated on the Formica worktop and slapping his hands on his spread knees.
‘Bollocks! Do it for me, please.’
‘Hi,’ interrupted Esmé, staring between the two men but ending up face to face with Sue, her surprised mother, turning from the stove as she tended a grill pan of spitting bacon. ‘Only me.’
‘What a nice surprise! What the bloody hell have you done to your hair?’ screeched her mother, her own auburn hair tied back in a knot.
‘Scalped, more like,’ snorted Kane.
‘I fancied a change!’ said Esmé. ‘I’ll have you know the stylist who did my hair has just won a national prize at…’ Esmé had forgotten his credentials but it suddenly mattered that others knew he had some kudos. ‘I may go back and have a colour tint applied in a few weeks…’
‘Hello, Esmé,’ said Russ, and his dark monobrow moved as he spoke, before proceeding. ‘Kane, you knew the deal, man – I was honest and upfront and now… this.’
‘Mr Gallagher… long time, no see,’ said Esmé to Russ, before returning to Kane’s remark. ‘I fancied a change, if you must know.’
Esmé took in Russ’s profile and a fleeting blush came to her cheeks, how had her brother’s best mate grown from a gawky, spotty teenager into a sturdy man with a five o’clock shadow at just three in the afternoon.
‘You look like a boy – is it finished?’ asked her mother, pointing at her fringe. ‘What’s Andrew say about that?’
‘It’s the new me!’ said Esmé in a bullish tone, though deep down she agreed with them.
Esmé looked around at the faces – did they all really need to hear her news first hand?
‘He loved it,’ muttered Esmé, annoyed with herself for bailing out and avoiding the truth.
‘Really?’ snorted her brother. ‘It’s hardly feminine.’
Russ stared at her as if he could see through her lie.
‘How long’s it been since you had a girlfriend, so don’t give me the male talk about what’s desirable and what’s not!’
‘Get over yourself, woman… I’ve got eyes in my head and that… doesn’t do anything for the old libido.’
‘I’m glad, given that I’m your sister!’
‘Sod off,’ scowled Kane.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Esmé, as she slumped into the seat opposite Kane and looked between the two friends. Never in all their years of friendship had she heard a cross word between the two and yet, a definite undercurrent was brewing.
‘Nothing,’ snapped Kane.
‘We were securing a deal but it looks like it has fallen through,’ muttered Russ, his eyes flicking a glance towards Kane.
‘Intriguing.’
‘He hasn’t got the deposit for his share of the rent,’ explained Sue.
‘Leaving me and the other guys in the shite.’
‘Two more days, that’s all I need,’ muttered Kane.
‘You said that two days ago and two days before that… and now look at us.’
‘Bollocks, you could lend it me if you weren’t so tight but nah, you’d prefer to cut me out.’
‘Stuff you, Kane. We’ve had a month’s notice. We all attended the viewing, we all agreed and still…’ Russ held his hands up for effect.
‘Moved out, have you?’ asked Esmé. Ironic, I’m about to reverse the process and beg to return like the prodigal daughter.
Russ nodded before adding, ‘Trying to.’
‘About time, too,’ added Sue, removing the grill pan from the heat and forking the cooked bacon onto white rolls.
‘Cheers Sue, I bet my mother’s thinking the same, though she’s pretending to be heartbroken.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Russell. I’m sure she’s heartbroken at the thought of less washing, less ironing and an end to the stream of blondes sneaking down her staircase at the weekend,’ laughed Sue, squirting brown sauce onto each cob.
‘What’s the set-up?’ asked Esmé.
Kane shook his head.
‘A house share across the city,’ explained Russ.
‘Where?’ asked Esmé, eyeing the plates her mother handed to each bloke. Had she eaten lunch?
‘Edgbaston,’ added Kane.
‘Montague Road, it’s a renovation job on a Victorian property… the landlord has done it out pretty smart. Swish-like. There was supposed to be five of us but this waster can’t get his act together,’ explained Russ.
‘Waster? Sod off… I’ve got a crisis,’ growled Kane, between mouthfuls of bacon.
‘You’ve always got a bloody crisis and it’s usually financial – that’s why I kept reminding you.’
Silence descended as the two men bit into their butties. Esmé watched as her mother pandered to them. If only she knew that while she fussed in her motherly way over these oversized boys Esmé’s heart was lying shattered and broken on her freshly mopped tiled floor thanks to Andrew’s cheating libido.
‘Esmé, you want some putting under?’ asked her mum, pointing to the grill pan.
Esmé shook her head; eating was not on the agenda while her stomach somersaulted at each imaginary flashback of Andrew and a blonde on her Egyptian cotton. Esmé gulped down the lump in her throat. This was too much to bear.
‘Where’s Andrew?’ asked Kane. Her mother looked up from the sink.
‘I have absolutely no idea. Probably in bed with a woman called Sadie!’ Esmé said, as calmly as she could muster.
The silence was deafening. The trio stared, unable to fathom who should take charge of the conversation. Sue was dumbstruck, her bottom lip trembled.
‘I thought that you and he…’ said Russ.
‘You said he liked your hair,’ said Kane.
‘Yes, so I did. And yeah, I lied, but so did he. Apparently, we’re not and haven’t been… what’s the word?’
‘Exclusive?’ offered Russ, finishing his first cob.
‘Exclusive… I was thinking faithful, but hey, apparently not. Anyway, forget him. How much?’ asked Esmé hastily.
‘Esmé!’ exclaimed her mother, her wet hands dripping on the kitchen tiles. ‘Where’s Andrew?’
‘A grand and a half, which was to cover the basic deposit, rent for the month and the electrical stuff we’ve had to buy for communal living… kitchen stuff, kettles, pans and a cheap plasma tv for the lounge… don’t shake your head, Kane. I told you everything as it was agreed, so don’t try blaming me.’
‘Have you moved in then?’ asked Esmé.
‘Me and two others moved in last Friday, this weekend Kane and Dameer were supposed to pay up and move in, but it looks like the rest of us will have to cough up more cash if this one bails – the others aren’t going to be happy.’
‘But Russ, if you lend it to me,’ whined Kane, between mouthfuls of bacon.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Esmé, her voice eager and refreshed.
‘Cheers, Sis.’ Kane said through his stuffed mouth, adding. ‘Nice to see someone would lend me that much.’
‘Nah, I mean I’ll move in, if you’ve bailed.’
‘Get stuffed, Esmé!’ snorted Kane.
‘Would you?’ asked Russ, choking on his bacon cob. ‘It would save us having to pay more each month.’
‘Esmé!’ snapped her mother, slamming the fridge door as she tidied h
er kitchen.
‘Another time, Mum… I’m getting myself sorted here.’
Amidst a chorus of ‘you can’t do that’, ‘your father will go mad’ and ‘that’s great stuff,’ Esmé gave a valiant nod.
This felt right. It was hasty, but it solved an immediate problem and meant she didn’t have the undignified prospect of sleeping in the old box room on a creaking futon.
‘Will this afternoon be OK for the money? I’ll fetch it now if that’s OK with you, Russ.’ Esmé stood, eager to complete her mission.
‘Hang on a minute!’ shouted Kane.
‘Perfect. I’ll tell the guys we’ve got a woman joining us,’ smiled Russ, as he polished off his second cob.
‘They won’t be happy,’ interrupted Kane, licking his fingers and scowling. ‘Dam’s family will object.’
‘They won’t be happy having to fork out extra to cover your ass either, so what’s the difference?’
‘Call me when you’ve told Dam or better still… Asa, then we’ll have a chat about you lending me the money, Russ.’
‘Kane, mate.’
‘On second thoughts, they’ll probably offer me a loan rather than have a girl bunk up with them.’
‘Right, I’ll be off then, could I bring it round to you in an hour or so, what number was it?’ asked Esmé, ignoring the protests.
‘Number seven, Montague Road, just off Portland Road,’ instructed Russ, jumping down from his Formica perch. ‘I’ll be in, I’m still unpacking boxes.’
‘Esmé?’ said Sue. ‘What’s happening with Andrew?’
‘It’s a long story, Mum, but we’re through and this… this sounds perfect for me stepping out of my comfort zone and trying something new. See you all.’ Esmé grabbed her woollen hat from her pocket and pulled it tight about her ears.
She turned to leave, eager to get to the bank before closing time.
‘I never thought I’d see the day when my little sister did the dirty on me,’ said Kane, standing up in annoyance. ‘Twice in one day.’
‘Kane, get over yourself… if you wanted it badly enough you’d have got the cash ready,’ answered Esmé, over her shoulder.
Kane shrugged and pouted.
‘Gazumped me with a deposit and then disrespects me in a Villa hat!’ he scoffed, turning up his nose.
‘A what?’ Esmé stared in bewilderment from the half-open door.
‘Since when have you been a Villa fan?’
‘That’s a travesty when your dad and him are true blue noses,’ added Russ, pointing to Esmé’s woollen hat.
Esmé dragged the hat from her head and viewed the large badge sewn on the rear side. Shit.
‘Esmé, I want to talk about Andrew – where does he stand with all this?’
‘Another time, Mum. I’ve got to go!’ Esmé shoved the offending football hat into her handbag, pecked her emotional mum on the cheek and walked confidently from the family home to return to the city centre.
Chapter Seven
Esmé approached the corner of Montague Road warily. It was a popular area, one of many renowned roads boasting huge Victorian houses on each side of a leafy avenue – some tastefully renovated and modernised, others shabby looking and run down.
Was this the right move? So much had happened since yesterday.
On leaving her parents’ house, she’d caught the bus into the city, reached her bank just before closing, withdrawn the cash and returned to meet Russ Gallagher, her new roomie.
Esmé’s feet slowed as she counted the house numbers down from twenty-one.
Was common sense beginning to catch up with her? Or the fear of new adventures?
What if I pay my deposit and then hate living with four men? What if they chain me to the kitchen sink and demand roast dinners and non-stop house cleaning? Should I complain if I get lumbered with the box room that’s too small to stash a Christmas tree in? What if they pinch my food from the fridge?
Esmé stopped dead in her tracks.
Of course, they’re going to pinch my food, that’s the whole advantage of sharing a house, other folks’ food purchases were always far better than your own – so, why shouldn’t they?
At number seven’s wooden gate, she stopped and stared at the newly fixed brass digit. Seven was the luckiest number. Seven colours in a rainbow. Seven dwarves helped Snow White. Seven days in a week. Even, seven horcrux in Harry Potter.
Esmé smiled. This felt good. Yes, she’d be returning to the hotel room for one more night but tomorrow she’d start afresh here at number seven, Montague Road.
She unhooked the gate latch and paused. Ahhh, but seven deadly sins. Seven years bad luck. And cruelly, seven years of dating Andrew. Esmé gulped back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She had to be strong. What was the alternative? Phone Andrew up and ask what their chances were, before washing the stale smell of Sadie from her Egyptian cotton sheets? Or sleep on a creaky futon at her parents’?
What’s Andrew doing right now? She glanced at her watch: half past five on a Friday afternoon.
A fresh wave of anger flared from her boots.
I didn’t cause this, that hairy arsed git started this ball rolling and…
Esmé paused and viewed the property before her. Large bow windows and an ornate front door created a warm welcome. Home.
She flung the gate open and entered the neat garden.
At the front door, Esmé pressed the gold button and listened as a deep rhythmical chime sounded somewhere inside. The front step was laid with tiny black and white squares in freshly applied cream grouting. The thick wooden door proudly bore a large door knocker and a substantial looking letter box slot. Everything gave the appearance of being solid, expensive and brand new.
No expense spared here, she thought admiringly.
Through the frosted glass side panels Esmé could see the fast approaching fuzziness of a male outline, the slant of the shoulders suggested Russ, who flung the door wide open and offered a cheeky grin.
‘Welcome to our humble abode.’ Russ stepped aside, allowing her to enter.
‘Wow, this is beautiful,’ she stuttered, taking in the mosaic floor, the elaborately carved newel post on the staircase and the overhead plaster mouldings that scrolled down each wall.
‘Amazing, isn’t it? The landlord reckons it’s taken him four years to renovate and us guys… and gal… are the first to rent it after completion,’ explained Russ.
‘I can see why you were so keen to secure the place even without all the deposits up front… which reminds me.’ Esmé plunged her hand into her oversized bag and retrieved the brown envelope bulging with cash.
‘I’m surprised you weren’t mugged walking through town with that lot,’ said Russ, taking the offered bundle.
‘It’s all there, I made them count it twice.’
Russ hesitated for a moment, then grimaced.
‘Please feel free to check, I’d hate for you to assume and then find part of it missing.’
‘Are you sure, it’s just that we’re all on tight budgets… I’ve stretched myself to the limit and there’s little room for manoeuvre financially for any of the other guys either. Mr Joshua’s a decent sort but I can’t see him slashing the monthly rent over a sob story.’
Russ crouched, emptied the bundle of cash onto the bottom stair and began to count the crisp twenties into piles.
Esmé waited as Russ counted.
‘Perfect, best to be sure,’ confirmed Russ, losing the sheepish look before stuffing the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I’ll call him to collect it as soon as you’ve seen your room and settled in.’
Esmé’s nerves had begun to dry her mouth.
‘I’m sure the room will be fine, Russ,’ she interrupted, eager to view what she’d just spent her hard-earned cash on. Even if the room was a dump in comparison to this hallway it’d be better than crawling back to the apartment shared with Andrew.
‘This way…’ Russ led the way up the galleried staircase, whi
le she followed. The navy carpet sprang beneath her step and her hand drifted along the polished banister – it felt like a day trip to a stately home where you pretend that all you survey belongs to you and yours.
As they ascended, the view through the wooden spindles to her right was of a row of closed wooden doors running the length of the first landing. As they reached the final stair onto the vast expanse of landing the second door along sprang open and a dark skinned male rushed out. His face was framed by a thick wiry beard which reached down to a tee-shirt that proclaimed ‘Time Lord’.
‘Oh Dam, this is Esmé… I mentioned her earlier,’ said Russ, waving an introductory hand between the two.
‘Nice to meet you,’ his hand shot forth and warmly shook Esmé’s limp offering. ‘I’m dashing out to collect more belongings. It’s like a Tardis in there, every box I open gets swallowed up and it still looks barren.’
She recognised Dameer but couldn’t recall much about him. He’d filled out from his willowy teenage form, though his thick black hair still lolled uncontrollably over his forehead. Pleasant enough as a teenager but he rarely spoke other than ‘yes, Mrs Peel’ or ‘no, Mrs Peel’ whenever he came around their house to play FIFA. It would be easy to be friends with Dam.
‘Catch you later, Esmé.’
‘Laters,’ muttered Esmé as Russ pushed on ahead towards the furthest curve of the landing and a second flight of stairs.
She watched through the carved spindles as Dam’s dark hair bobbed down the lower staircase.
‘He’s a decent sort, is Dam.’
‘Did he move in today?’
‘Yes, he works and studies at the university, so was too busy last week.’
‘I see.’ Esmé didn’t know what else to say having never entertained the idea of university herself. ‘What subject?’
‘Physics related, I think…’ Russ gave a shrug. ‘He’s too clever for the likes of me – I’m lost whenever he talks about his studies. His parents pushed him education wise and it’s paid off.’
