The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘No worries, Dam and Russ are watching the box… your Kane was here a while back,’ he said, unabashed by his lack of clothing.

  ‘I saw him, he’s upstairs sulking.’

  Jonah continued to make his drink. Esmé tried to hide her flustered face in the fridge as she opened the door and attempted to look interested in the cheese, yogurt and egg box laden shelving.

  Andrew had never looked so desirable in his boxers. Though he always wore the loosely fitting cotton grandad style ones. But even if he had purchased skin tight shorts, would his thighs have ever looked so plump, firm, soooo…?

  ‘Are you cooking?’ asked Jonah, stirring his coffee.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Something nice?’

  ‘Possibly,’ came her muffled reply, not wishing to remove her face from the fridge in case her eye level was inappropriate with him standing so close.

  ‘Any chance of making a bit extra and bringing it through to the lounge – I could cook for you in return one night?’

  Hmmmm, now there’s an offer. It made sense to double up and share, once in a while.

  Esmé reversed carefully from the fridge, beaming with delight and happy to oblige.

  ‘Deal! Are you allergic to anything?’ she asked as he retreated towards the kitchen door.

  ‘Do I look like the sensitive sort?’ he said, turning to face her and waving his free hand up and down his body.

  Esmé cheeks burned intensely.

  ‘No but…’

  I’d hate to ruin that beautiful physique and bring him out in a rash.

  Eagerly taking ingredients from her shelf, she began creating a culinary delight worthy of impressing him. Though the prospect of him suffering from a rash and asking her to smother or dab such a perfect body with calamine lotion three times a day would be her idea of heaven.

  Esmé checked herself. Less than a week after leaving Andrew and her thoughts were drifting elsewhere already. Really? In reality she wouldn’t know what to do with such a physique if Jonah did give her the come on. Andrew had a decent body but he wouldn’t fall into the Adonis category.

  Within half an hour she had a culinary delight of pesto and pasta dished up into two deep bowls, with a sprig of parsley to garnish. Chunks of garlic bread graced the side salad.

  ‘Here you go,’ announced Esmé, carrying his laden tray into the lounge. ‘I hope you’re hungry, Jonah.’ Esmé looked around the occupants of the lounge: Dam, Russ and Kane all agog from their seated positions.

  ‘Jonah’s gone,’ said Dam casually from the sofa.

  ‘What?’ screeched Esmé, scouring the room.

  ‘Smells good,’ said Kane, lifting himself out of the armchair. ‘I think he said he was hooking up with some woman.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  Russ gave an apologetic smile.

  Great! What a waste of my time. And my food. Esmé stood grasping the tray handles, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

  ‘So, who’s hungry?’

  ‘I ate at my mum’s,’ said Dam apologetically, turning his attention back to the football match.

  Russ shook his head.

  ‘Sorry, I ate before I came home.’

  ‘Can I have next dibs before it gets chucked?’

  Esmé was too angry to argue or force feed either of them, so she handed the tray to her brother.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Kane, greedily tucking into the pasta. His latest silent phase was obviously over, again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Day 7: Create, make or bake

  The working week continued much as it had begun with a stream of florists and their arrangements parading through the office as if a royal wedding was imminent.

  ‘When is this going to stop?’ asked Marianne, peering through the flower arrangements adorning her paperwork piles.

  Esmé shook her head.

  ‘When he finally gets the message that I am not coming back – flowers or no flowers.’

  ‘I think it’s cute,’ said Penny, absentmindedly, while doodling a ladybird on her notepad.

  ‘Cute? Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes, he’s trying, which is more than some men do,’ she added.

  ‘I’d have much preferred it if he tried harder to stay clothed and with his body parts away from his work colleague, but hey, this….’ Esmé waved her arms around at the numerous flower arrangements that her colleagues had refused to take home, ‘is just so cute!’

  Marianne hid behind her computer; a storm was brewing.

  ‘Kissing me by moonlight was cute. Sharing a bag of chips on a blustery beach on Bank Holiday Monday was cute and my dream of him proposing would have been cute whether it had been beneath the Eiffel tower or in the foyer of Birmingham library, but nah! I got the discovery of a lost earring and an office that looks like an Interflora convention!’ The tears had been threatening to erupt all day and finally they came.

  ‘Oh dear, sit yourself down and we’ll get you a coffee,’ ushered Penny, aiming for damage limitation to Esmé’s mascara.

  ‘I can’t look around this office without having a flashback… the two of them naked in our bedroom!’ wailed Esmé, snatching the box of tissues offered by Penny before frantically dabbing her eyes. ‘And you think… you think this is cute, I think this is… harassment!’

  Penny swallowed the guilty lump in her throat.

  ‘You’ve got a point.’ Penny looked around, it was a little overwhelming. ‘I’ve got a plan, let’s call a taxi and send this lot to the City hospital?’

  Esmé cried a little more.

  ‘I’ve already phoned. They won’t accept flowers… an issue with health and safety,’ sniffed Esmé, blowing her nose.

  ‘How ridiculous, some old bugger could well be cheered up by looking at these blooms.’

  ‘I took Grace, our neighbour, two arrangements yesterday. They swamped her lounge, even she was surprised by the combined size of them. “Who’d have thought that flower arrangements could take up more space than my Christmas tree?” Seriously ladies, that’s what she said.’

  ‘I bet it smelt lovely in her lounge though,’ said Penny soothingly.

  ‘It did but there’s a chance she’ll develop hay fever before the vase water needs changing.’

  ‘Oh Esmé, dry your eyes… you need to stay positive, lovey,’ came Marianne’s voice from amongst the foliage.

  *

  ‘Have I told you about my calendar?’ said Esmé, dabbing her eyes. Penny and Marianne stared back with blank expressions. ‘Well Carys, you know Carys, don’t you?’

  ‘The one whose boyfriend cheated?’ asked Penny, offering round her packet of bourbons.

  ‘Dooh, that could be a multitude of us,’ jibed Esmé.

  ‘Afro ringlets? Beautiful skin?’ said Marianne, as she dunked her biscuit in her coffee.

  ‘Yep, the one. Well, she bought me a single girl’s calendar – total tat of course, a five pound job from the book shop but…’ Esmé continued to explain that every day she had woken, dressed and then opened the tiny door for her task of the day. ‘There’s chocolate, too.’

  Marianne laughed.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Honestly Marianne… I think it has helped me. I know yesterday was a tearful day but I’ve been more together than I thought I would be. I thought about phoning in sick on Monday and self-certifying myself for the entire week. I didn’t think I could face coming in each day and yet…’

  ‘And yet you’re here,’ said Penny, her face beaming. ‘Positive mental attitude, that’s what it’s down to.’

  ‘And that’s down to the calendar?’ asked Marianne, turning to Penny.

  ‘I think so,’ said Esmé, nibbling her biscuit.

  ‘Me too. I remember when I broke up with a long-term boyfriend years ago I didn’t get out of bed for a week… now, if I’d just had a small incentive such as a daily task, who knows.’

  ‘The daily task is to survive the break up – end of,’ sa
id Marianne, adding. ‘You don’t need a calendar to do that.’

  ‘You’re being too harsh,’ said Penny, shaking her head. ‘Have you never had your heart broken?’

  ‘Yes, plenty of times but I’ve never needed a cheap fix…’

  ‘I do.’ Esmé jumped in to defend her calendar. ‘Strange things have occurred on certain days. relating to my set task.’

  ‘Really?’ said Penny, who shuffled her seat nearer to listen.

  ‘Falling in line with that day’s task… how weird is that?’

  ‘Really?’ said Marianne, her tone dripping in sarcasm. ‘Or have you looked for it?’

  ‘Day five was Monday… right?’

  Both her colleagues nodded.

  ‘A financial make-over was my task of the day. During my bus ride to work, I listed my expenditure, plus changes I needed to make with standing orders and direct debits when I visited the bank,’ said Esmé, knowing she was about to go against company ethics with what she was about to say. ‘Stylo gave me a pay rise.’

  Penny and Marianne exchanged a glance.

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘See, told you… now, how did that happen on the day it needed to happen?’

  ‘I thought you had a telling off about being late,’ said Marianne.

  ‘I did… but then the conversation led onto my new haircut, she mentioned a crisis and I explained that a lot had happened over the weekend and… one thing led to another and bingo, I walked out with a pay rise,’ explained Esmé to the open mouthed pair. ‘So, explain that?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Marianne.

  ‘What else?’ asked Penny.

  ‘Yesterday, day six, accept an invitation.’

  ‘You refused ours for a drink after work,’ laughed Penny. ‘So, you failed that day.’

  ‘I did, but my next door neighbour invited me in for coffee and cake and I accepted her offer as I was locked out,’ said Esmé, her face beaming with triumph at proving her wrong.

  ‘What’s today then?’ asked Marianne, draining her coffee mug.

  ‘Day seven: create, make or bake… which I feel I did yesterday as I cooked Jonah an evening meal last night.’

  ‘Ohhhhh la la!’ sang Marianne, waving her empty coffee mug. ‘Tell us more.’

  ‘Yeah, sadly he didn’t eat it, but still… I made it.’

  ‘Technically, you’re a day ahead of yourself,’ said Penny, collecting the coffee mugs. ‘I say anything that helps you in the first few weeks is a bonus – don’t listen to what she said.’

  ‘I just don’t buy the positive attitude, mumbo jumbo stuff, calendar or no calendar,’ said Marianne, as she wheeled her office chair back to her desk. ‘In life, you have no choice but to face the tough stuff.’

  *

  Esmé’s desk phone rang.

  ‘Hello, Esmé speaking.’

  ‘Katrina here, could you come downstairs please?’ came the receptionist’s tinny voice.

  ‘Not more flowers?’ Esmé hung up. ‘This arrangement must be too big to carry up the bloody stairs.’

  ‘Where are we going to put it?’ cried Penny, looking around at the flower arrangements crowding the office.

  ‘I might leave it in reception, Katrina can enjoy it,’ said Esmé.

  This was beyond a joke now, Andrew needed to stop, respect her decision and move on.

  Maybe Carys could buy him a single guy’s calendar?

  Esmé smiled at her own joke as she approached the glass doors leading to the main reception. There was no flower delivery guy. No humungous flower arrangement. Just Katrina seated behind her pristine desk, an expanse of tiled floor and a young woman seated on one of the hard back chairs.

  Esmé presented herself at reception as requested.

  ‘Yep, what’s up?’

  Katrina’s eyes widened and her lips pursed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a young lady to see you…’ Katrina nodded in the direction of the seated woman.

  Esmé froze. There was only one woman that she wouldn’t recognise but who might wish to speak to her.

  ‘Sadie!’ Esmé turned to face the pale, slim young woman.

  She stood up, albeit rather nervously, before speaking.

  ‘Could I have a word?’ she stepped forward, dressed in a pretty printed frock, pleated and preened, accompanied by pale ballet pumps and a blonde ponytail. Esmé took in the peaches and cream image in one glance. Where was Sexy Sadie?

  Really, who’d have thought it? Andrew had fallen for the angelic, sweetheart look. Not what she’d expected.

  ‘Not really. I think you and him have caused enough damage, but thank you for dropping by. Please show yourself out.’ Esmé turned to leave the reception area but the woman’s outstretched hand brushed her forearm. ‘Please don’t touch me.’

  ‘I just wanted to say…’

  ‘That you’re so sorry for shagging my boyfriend while I was busy earning a crust… is that it?’

  Sadie shrugged.

  ‘No, not that? Or do you simply want to have a good look at me, see how we compare in appearance – was that it? Well, now you’ve had a good gawp you can leave.’ Esmé suddenly regretted wearing her favourite top to work, it was slightly faded and had seen better days.

  ‘I just thought we could talk… woman to woman.’

  Esmé turned to Katrina, who was now open mouthed, her heavily painted face frozen in horror.

  ‘Is this a wind up?’

  ‘Totally legit, she walked in and asked for you, by name,’ said Katrina, her head-set suspended before her gaping mouth.

  ‘Does Andrew know you’re here?’

  Sadie shook her head.

  ‘Did he ask you to come here?’

  Another head shake.

  ‘So, what the hell have we to discuss?’

  ‘Look, I wanted to explain… so you know that it wasn’t your fault…’

  ‘Too bloody right, it wasn’t my fault… I’ve been faithful to my partner, unlike him and… you! Do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, you were free and single to chase whoever you wanted and yet, you chose my man?’

  ‘It just happened,’ said Sadie, fiddling with her handbag.

  Was this really happening?

  ‘Affairs don’t just happen. One of you, both of you, needed to want it, chase it, flirt after it before something actually occurred. Simply working alongside people doesn’t mean that something will automatically happen and you fall into bed.’ Esmé stopped as Sadie’s pretty brow creased.

  ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘You, him, you work together.’

  ‘No,’ said Sadie, her voice a bare whisper. ‘I live in the same block, apartment two on the ground floor.’

  Esmé stepped backwards, shocked by the discovery of another lie.

  ‘You don’t work at the airport?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He said that you and him… oh, never mind, it makes no difference… He can lie his ass off for all I care.’ Esmé recalled the gourmet food boss confirming ‘Delivered at 9 15 p.m. as instructed… the lady signed for it’. So, it was Sadie! Andrew had called her up from downstairs – how bloody convenient.

  ‘We met…’

  ‘I don’t care, do you hear me. I don’t want to know about the lying, cheating scumbag and you, all prim and proper in your cotton dress looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth… you are welcome to him! You deserve each other. And, I hope in seven years’ time when you’re nearing the point of commitment, that he does exactly the same on you!’

  Sadie’s mouth opened and closed without a word being said.

  ‘And finally, thanks for bringing my private life into the office… I really do appreciate it but I think Katrina would rather work in peace. And I would prefer to get on with my job rather than creating a scene down here!’

  ‘I came to say I was sorry… last time we spoke, he wanted you back.’


  ‘He can go to hell!’ shouted Esmé, as she stormed through the glass double doors and made her way up the stairs to her office.

  Day seven create, make or bake – surely, creating a scene at work wasn’t meant to be the task of the day?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Day 8: Take yourself to dinner

  Esmé had phoned the restaurant first thing that morning.

  ‘Just to confirm, madam – that’s a table for one at eight o’clock in the name of Peel, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, please. Could I request a quiet table, please?’

  ‘Madam is very welcome.’

  Esmé looked around the candle lit restaurant and wondered which of the staff she had spoken to. She had the warmest of welcomes from the maitre’d who escorted her through the busy restaurant and made sure she was happy with her quiet table, table ten, before fetching her a large vodka and orange, plus a jug of chilled water. Her waiter was equally as attentive and approachable when she ordered from their large leather menu. And as for the nimble waiter who briskly worked the tables alongside hers, he had to be doubling as an actor or a model with such dark smouldering looks.

  ‘Is there anything I can get for madam?’ asked the nimble waiter, stopping at table ten as he whizzed by.

  ‘No, thank you… the mussels are perfect,’ smiled Esmé, unsure how to receive such solicitous attention.

  ‘Excellent news.’ His smile reached his eyes before he headed back to the kitchen.

  Esmé felt a contented glow ignite deep within, she was proud of herself for being open minded and taking herself to dinner. Technically, she’d taken herself on a date, and so far, so good! Why should she be denied fine dining simply because she was not accompanied by a male?

  It felt good to sit alone, amongst a scattering of strangers at nearby tables busy discussing their own lives and issues, and eat her dish of piled mussels without interruption.

  She couldn’t say what she’d been frightened of. In the taxi, her stomach had flipped with nerves from the house into the city. When seated, cradling her large vodka and orange, she had to consciously slow down each breath for fear of hyper-ventilating.

  It felt good to take her time, do as she pleased, linger over her starter rather than eating at the pace of her companion. For once, she felt very grown up.