The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘What’s the card say?’ asked Esmé, making her way between desks.

  ‘Dunno. I just deliver them, lady. Can you sign here?’

  ‘Let’s guess. It might read ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me’, the same as the other six delivery cards, or he might be developing a flair for this flower sending business and start cracking a joke on each card.’ Esmé stared at Marianne, it helped to divert her anger.

  ‘Does he really think that sending me flowers will erase what’s happened?’

  ‘Fresh flowers cost a lot of money, it would be a waste not to accept them,’ added Penny, as she peered up from her paperwork.

  ‘Plus, it gives me a choice in selecting the arrangement that I’ll be taking home on the bus, given that Penny had one yesterday!’ said Marianne.

  ‘You can have the lot, Marianne, enjoy!’

  Esmé snatched the clipboard and signed the delivery slip.

  The door slammed shut on the delivery biker. Esmé and the ladies gathered round as she broke the cellophane seal to open the cardboard box. The smell of lilies took them all by surprise.

  Esmé lifted a tall glass vase in which an arrangement of orange tiger lilies was pre-positioned and set it down on the nearest desk.

  ‘They are beautiful,’ swooned Marianne.

  ‘They are… but I don’t want them!’

  ‘Esmé!’ cried Penny. ‘Any girl would die to receive such beautiful flowers… you really should—’

  ‘… send them on to Sadie because that’s who he’s been playing away with?’

  Both woman hovered and stared enviously at the tiger lilies. This delivery was in a different league to the previous ones.

  ‘Seriously, which arrangement do you want to take home, Marianne? This is past a joke!’

  It was all too much, Esmé’s emotions had got the better of her so she dashed from the office in tears.

  ‘Do you want to go after her, or shall I?’ asked Penny.

  Marianne followed Esmé.

  ‘Esmé, it’s me, Marianne. Are you OK?’

  The toilet door swung wide and Esmé crossed to the sink area.

  ‘OK? Do I look OK to you?’

  Marianne shook her head.

  ‘Do you know what’s the hardest thing?’

  Marianne remained silent, which Esmé took as a sign to continue.

  ‘I was busy dashing home last Thursday to ensure we had a great night because all I could think about was us getting engaged on our anniversary – how ridiculous am I?’

  ‘You’re not ridiculous. You loved him and only wanted what every girl wants.’

  ‘Exactly, how pathetic!’ Esmé had dissolved into tears as Marianne wrapped her in a tight hug.

  ‘You are not ridiculous, you’re hurting and you want to hurt him for causing this but Esmé please don’t lose sight of what you could have by forgiving him… surely there’s a way past this.’

  Esmé had shrugged free of her embrace.

  ‘You don’t even like him…’

  ‘Yeah, but you do,’ whispered Marianne.

  And finally, to complete her tear-stained afternoon.

  ‘Esmé, phone call for you,’ said Penny, sheepishly putting a call through and mouthing. ‘Andrew.’

  They’d argued. In ear shot of her colleagues, they washed their dirty linen in public and hung it out to dry.

  ‘Are you coming to Bacchus Bar for a cheeky vino?’ asked Marianne, pulling on her coat come home time.

  ‘I should but I’ll give it a miss, thanks. I could do with getting home.’

  Esmé wanted to kick herself as the two women headed off towards the city centre but it was no good pretending, Andrew’s phone call had got the better of her.

  Despite day six of The Single Girl’s Calendar throwing her the perfect excuse for an after work drink at barely seven o’clock this morning, Esmé knew that her mood was low and heading home was best.

  Instead she was now standing on the doorstep looking up at the guttering and trying to figure out whose bedroom was situated on the first floor at the front, and whether he would really mind if she managed to scale the drain pipe, and break in?

  If the rear kitchen window was still open she could nip in via Asa’s route.

  Esmé dashed along the side entrance leading to the rear garden, to view a firmly closed kitchen window. She looked around the garden for anything to aid an entry into the house, a spade, a long-handled broom or a patio chair. Nothing, everything was locked securely in the shed, on the door of which she could see a firmly closed shiny padlock.

  The block paving, gravel edged patio and expanse of lawn covered a far greater area than she had realised from the view from her bedroom window. Esmé tried the back door handle, purely on the off chance, as she returned to the front of the property.

  Nothing. Everything was locked as tight as a nun’s knicker elastic.

  ‘Bloody typical.’

  Esmé settled on the wall and prayed for it not to rain again. That’s when she heard the flute being played. The gentle melody was coming from the house next door hidden by a huge laurel hedge.

  How lovely to be so talented.

  Within minutes, the heavens opened and horizontal rain bucketed down.

  Esmé jumped up, nipping round to the front door of number five, her apology ready for whoever opened the stained-glass door. The flute playing ceased and a gentle shuffle could be heard from within.

  ‘Hello?’ came a feeble voice. ‘Who is it?’ The front door remained firmly closed.

  ‘I’m Esmé – I live at number seven. Sorry to interrupt but I’ve locked myself out of the house. I was just wondering if I could borrow an umbrella.’

  The front door opened as far as the door chain would allow. Two piercing blue eyes peered through the gap.

  ‘From number seven, you say?’

  ‘If I could borrow an umbrella, I’ll return it tomorrow, I promise.’

  In one swift action, the door chain was released revealing a tiny lady in her dotage, sporting a warm cardigan and a pair of M&S slippers.

  ‘No need, dear… we’ll go one step further. How about a cup of tea and a nice slice of walnut cake?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly intrude.’ Day 6: Accept an invitation floated around in her mind.

  ‘It’s no bother at all, come in, lovey.’

  ‘You’re so kind. They shouldn’t be long,’ explained Esmé, stepping across the threshold and removing her damp and dirty shoes. ‘I only moved in on Friday and I’ve locked myself out already, ridiculous.’ The carpet was a welcome relief to her throbbing feet.

  ‘There’s nothing worse, and without ladders you’re stuck,’ said the old lady, her eyes sparkling. ‘Come through, come through.’

  ‘I’m Esmé by the way.’

  The old lady plodded towards the kitchen.

  ‘Grace MacDonald. Mrs MacDonald… though I’m a widow now.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Grace, sorry to intrude.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, I was only practising.’

  ‘I heard a flute being played.’

  Grace nodded vigorously. Her face lit up as they passed into a dark kitchen lined with aged oak cupboards.

  ‘I’ve played since I was a wee girl,’ she said, adding. ‘Please take a seat.’

  ‘It sounded beautiful. I think I heard you playing on Saturday morning too – I thought it was one of the men,’ said Esmé, as she settled herself at the table.

  ‘I’ve lost my touch now, what with my arthritis, but in my younger days I used to play the concert halls back home in Glasgow and I taught the flute at the local school,’ explained Grace, lifting the kettle to the cold water tap.

  ‘Here, let me do it, you sit down… just tell me where everything is.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Sure.’ Esmé jumped up and buzzed around the kitchen; Grace watched from the table.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Esmé, mashing the tea.

  ‘Getting on fo
r forty years. Me and my Jack moved in as newlyweds… the area was very different then.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The Number 76 used to come straight by the corner of this street, which would be a godsend now.’

  The two chuckled, as Esmé delivered the china cups and saucers to the table.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me? As I said, literally a few days and already I’ve forgotten my key.’

  ‘Does the man with the tattoo live there too?’

  ‘Eh, oh yeah… Asa.’

  ‘Not a friend of yours?’ asked Grace.

  ‘We haven’t exactly hit it off, to be fair.’ Esmé chuckled. ‘In the early hours of Saturday morning I hit him with a poker…’ Esmé spent the next ten minutes retelling the story much to Grace’s delight.

  ‘A tortured soul, I fear,’ muttered Grace, sipping her tea.

  ‘Really? You wouldn’t say that if you lived with him.’

  Grace laughed heartily.

  ‘Honestly, he’s one of a kind…’

  ‘The kind that gets my back up,’ laughed Esmé.

  Grace spent a further ten minutes laughing as Esmé role played her phone conversation with Carys and then the misunderstanding about ‘Crystal’.

  ‘There used to be a load of those types around here a few years ago, the area went through a bad time, lots of drugs, prossies—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Prossies… prostitutes.’

  ‘I know what you meant, I just can’t believe that you said it.’

  ‘I’m old but not naïve, you know.’

  ‘I can see.’

  ‘Though honestly, it makes you wonder what awful experiences those people must have endured to resort to that, you know… it’s a real shame.’

  Esmé smiled politely, unsure what to say.

  ‘And you, living with four handsome men. It would have been frowned upon in my youth. Woo, you girls of today, you don’t know you’re born!’

  Esmé pulled a face.

  ‘None of them take your fancy?’

  ‘I’ve just broken up from a long-term relationship. Last Thursday in fact.’

  ‘Busy weekend, my dear?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Our tortured soul, what’s the thing with his face?’

  ‘I daren’t look. He tried to make me the other night but I was too scared to. I’m dying to know why… it’s peacock feathers in blue and emerald swirls. Quite frightening to look at really.’

  ‘He has such a lovely smile, yet he’s not said why?’

  Esmé shook her head and sipped her cooling tea.

  ‘He’s quite defiant in his mannerisms, I reckon it’s to break with social norms – he seems a bit of a free spirit.’

  ‘What’s his job?’

  ‘At the hospital but he wasn’t specific.’

  ‘And the long haired one?’

  ‘Jonah’s a male model posing for adverts and catalogues.’

  ‘The Asian lad?’

  ‘Lectures in physics at the uni.’

  ‘Clever boy! And the plain one?’

  ‘An engineer, I think… well, he was when he was younger. He’s my brother’s best friend… my brother was supposed to be the fifth housemate but he ran out of cash, so I stepped in instead.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ chuckled Grace.

  Esmé watched the vibrant blue eyes twinkle throughout their conversation.

  When would life become easy enough to laugh at?

  ‘Do you work?’

  ‘I couldn’t afford to live here otherwise, I do admin for a stationery company.’

  ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Grace’s brow creased.

  ‘So why are you there?’

  ‘Hmmm, good question. I’ve been there nine years and never had the urge to leave.’

  The light in the kitchen had faded without either of them noticing. Their tea cups had cooled and the dregs in them scummed over.

  ‘I guess there’s a chance one of the men has arrived home by now,’ said Esmé, getting to her feet. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘Thank you for the chat, it’s been lovely. Oh, we forgot the walnut cake!’

  ‘Never mind. Another time.’ Esmé collected the dirty cups and took them to the sink.

  ‘Leave them, it’ll give me something to do when you’ve gone,’ said Grace.

  Esmé gulped.

  Her own nan had said words to that effect whenever they visited as children.

  ‘Have you any family?’

  ‘Yes, my David, he pops by when he can.’

  Esmé watched as her bright eyes dimmed just a fraction.

  ‘You’ll have to come round to ours one night for a meet and greet. I’m sure the fellas would like to get to know our new neighbour.’

  ‘In time, in time,’ muttered Grace, as she saw Esmé to the front door.

  ‘Take care, and shout if you need anything.’

  ‘I will, dear. Thank you.’

  Esmé hesitated on the doorstep.

  ‘Do you like fresh flowers?’

  Grace’s face lit up.

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘At the moment, I don’t.’

  The rain was still lashing down as Esmé trotted down Grace’s drive and over to her own pathway. Grace stood on the step and waved heartily.

  I hope I’m as bubbly as that at her age, thought Esmé, hammering on the door of number seven.

  She dashed through the door as soon as Dam released the latch.

  ‘Thank you, not at your mum’s tonight?’

  Dam pulled a face, closing the door.

  ‘I’m not there every night, you know.’

  ‘Aren’t you? I thought you were,’ said Esmé, as she dropped her handbag down by the coat rack and darted up the stairs two at a time.

  Dam returned to the lounge and the blare of the tv.

  Esmé continued to climb, and a waft of aftershave greeted her as she reached the top.

  ‘Hmmm, someone smells nice,’ she muttered, reaching her bedroom door.

  ‘Why, thank you, so nice of you to say,’ answered Asa, coming out of the bathroom, dressed head to toe in black, his wet hair glistened.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean…’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised – I scrub up quite well, if I say so myself,’ he added, strutting past her down the flight of stairs.

  Esmé watched the painted face flicker through the banister railings – the blue and emerald tattoo in full view along his left side.

  Why would anyone in their right mind have that done? He wasn’t a bad looking bloke but then to ruin it all was a ridiculous idea. If both sides of his face looked like the right side he could give Jonah a run for his money in the looks department. Which is probably why they didn’t get—

  ‘You standing there catching flies?’

  Esmé started as Asa ran back up the staircase, catching her in a day dream.

  She didn’t answer and turned to enter her own room.

  Rap a tap tap.

  The sudden knocking made Esmé jump. She wrenched the door open, half expecting another one liner from Asa, only to find Kane glaring at her – with Russ at his side.

  ‘Russ, please tell my sister the information,’ said Kane, turning away childishly having spoken.

  ‘Kane here,’ Russ deftly pointed to her sulking brother, ‘would like to inform you that your mother’s house is filled with fresh flowers sent from Andrew and that she and your father would like you to go round and collect what you will, as soon as possible.’

  Esmé leant against the wooden door frame, folding her arms.

  ‘Tell my stupid ass brother the answer is no. Andrew can do his fancy deliveries as much as he wishes but I am not changing my mind based on him flashing his cash. Tell Kane, to tell my mother, she can give the flower arrangements to anyone in her neighbourhood for all I care. Thank you, Russ.’

  ‘No problem. Kane, your sister said…’

&nbs
p; ‘I heard her. Now, tell her that…’

  ‘Kane, sod off – either talk to me or don’t… you spoke perfectly well only the other day, now you return to this. I’ve had a long hard day with similar flower arrangements being sent to the office – just deal with it.’

  ‘Russ, tell her that I’m still mad at her for ruining my plans. And Mum said—’

  ‘Bugger what Mum said, she knows enough people to give them away to, the W.I., the doctors surgery, the dental practice – I don’t care who, OK?’

  ‘Russ, tell my sister that…’

  Esmé didn’t hear the remainder of the sentence, she shut the door on the crazy world of men and flowers, switched her iPhone volume to high and enjoyed drowning out her brother’s whinging.

  ‘Now that feels like home,’ she laughed, stripping off her work clothes and donning her comfies. As she removed her make-up and freed herself of the stress of the day, she wondered what Grace was doing?

  Esmé hoped she wasn’t too lonely, that simply wouldn’t do.

  *

  ‘What are you doing there?’ asked Esmé, jumping back in fright having found Kane sitting outside her bedroom door.

  ‘Waiting.’

  ‘If you think I care about your sorry ass messages from Mum or your money worries then you’re wrong. Now please, can you move aside so I can step out of my room without tripping?’

  Kane reluctantly moved his long legs but continued to stare at the navy carpet.

  Esmé walked to the top of the staircase and looked back.

  ‘Kind of childish, don’t you think?’

  ‘You are, jumping into my place… you can go home now you’ve had your fun.’

  She peered through the banister’s wooden spindles at her brother.

  ‘Nah, the fun is only just starting for me, big bro,’ and with a devious chuckle Esmé flew down the staircase, heading for the kitchen.

  Her mood had definitely lifted since her chat with Grace. She burst through the kitchen door to find Jonah standing in his underwear making a drink. He was decent but none-the-less, tight, white boxer shorts left little to the imagination.

  ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t think… I didn’t mean to intrude…’ her eyes finally settled on his face, having sneaked a peek at the rippled torso, broad shoulders and footballer thighs.

  Esmé blushed as her heartbeat accelerated.