by Erin Green
‘I vote we hire a cleaner then… you’re obviously not up to the job even with an entire weekend to complete the task,’ laughed Jonah. ‘The floor tiles are still dirty.’
‘Kane?’ Asa nodded towards Esmé, ‘Would you?’
‘Come on, Esmé, tell me what’s happened… non-stop party time, hey?’
Asa darted up the second staircase and switched off the device. Silence descended for the first time since Saturday night.
‘Esmé!’ Asa leant over the banister, calling downstairs ‘You’ve done an excellent job of eradicating dirt on the landing, full marks!’
*
Esmé held her breath as Jonah went about unpacking.
Any minute now he’d notice the empty tank.
It took two hours, several rounds of coffee and the first half of a film before Jonah poked his head around the lounge door to enquire if Dam was still around?
‘He went to see his parents, why?’ asked Russ, looking up from the action movie.
‘Nothing.’
Three sets of eyes turned as Jonah’s nonchalant tone died.
‘Doesn’t sound like nothing to me,’ added Asa.
‘I’ve mislaid something, that’s all.’
‘Anything of value?’ asked Russ.
Esmé sank lower in her seat.
Jonah pulled a face.
‘Kind of, though maybe not to everyone.’
‘I think you have some explaining to do, son,’ said Asa.
‘I explain to no one, surely you know that.’
‘The tarantula… you lied!
‘Oh shit!’ muttered Jonah. ‘Look I can explain… it wasn’t fair for you lot to force me to hand her over…’
‘Jonah, you git!’ snapped Russ, glancing from Asa to Esmé. ‘Seriously, all this time? You know she has a phobia.’
‘Sod off, Russ, you’re one to talk about coming clean.’
Esmé watched as Russ’s face froze in terror.
‘Fuck you, Jonah. If you’d sink that low, then do it.’
‘Alright… thought not,’ sniggered Jonah, seeing the fear in his mate’s face.
‘Enough!’ shouted Asa, ‘You boys need to calm it or take it outside… I think she’s had enough this weekend.’
Esmé stared from one male to another trying to glean information.
Jonah left the lounge and slammed the door.
‘Esmé, ignore him. It’s emotional blackmail to make you suffer,’ said Russ.
‘I owe you an apology too, Russ. I was a little off with Rita when she collected Toby this morning…’
Asa stared at Russ.
‘Well… yes… that may be, but she shouldn’t have behaved as she did,’ answered Russ, staring at the tv. ‘I’ll mention it when I see her.’
‘But it must have been an emergency otherwise she’d…’
‘Anything to add, Asa?’ said Russ, his gaze fixed to the plasma screen.
‘I think… that Jonah is right. We shouldn’t comment on things we know little about.’
‘Good dodge there,’ laughed Russ.
Esmé sat looking from one to the other as they spoke.
Were they having a laugh at her expense? Or was there something else?
*
Esmé felt awful all Sunday afternoon. At six o’clock, having been reassured by the other guys that Jonah really was to blame, she selected today’s task from the uncompleted ones lined up on her mantelpiece.
Day 18: Clear your conscience
Esmé eyed the task knowing she’d feel better afterwards. Something good had to come out of an entire weekend.
She found a piece of paper. Dated and addressed it.
7 Montague Road,
Edgbaston,
Birmingham.
Dear Jonah,
I am so sorry for killing your pet spider… I just wanted to say…
Esmé stopped, the words didn’t flow. And so far, were also untrue. She wasn’t sorry for killing it, she was glad it was liquidized by the powerful vacuum. He shouldn’t have lied.
How can I clear my conscience – when I don’t feel guilty?
She took a second look at the tasks lined up on the mantelpiece – ‘Plan and host a dinner party’ caught her eye. She’d need to organise, prepare and shop but that would be better than writing Jonah a fake apology letter. It would say ‘sorry’ to Jonah and ‘thank you’ to the others for being so supportive. And, given the recent vibe between the guys – a dinner might improve the house dynamics as the surfing weekend obviously hadn’t managed to.
Either way, she could cook a wholesome meal tomorrow night, they hadn’t sat down as an entire group since the house meeting.
Esmé pushed Jonah’s letter aside. So, how could she clear her conscience? She gulped, as a tsunami of guilt was remembered. She had a niggling conscience about one thing, she could definitely write an apology letter and clear herself of that awful deed. She’d send it to the address she remembered, just a few streets from her parents’. If the family had moved, then so be it, she’d still written and sent the apology.
7 Montague Road,
Edgbaston
Birmingham.
March 2018
Dear Maxine,
You probably don’t remember me but I used to sit next to you in year five during Mrs Salter’s English class in primary school. It’s OK, if you don’t remember, I’m not offended. But I remember you. You were the girl that always had fresh plaits, tied with coloured ribbons, every school day. I noticed. I noticed how my plaits were messy and untidy with strands poking out and wispy bits sticking out but yours, yours were perfect.
I’m sorry if I was mean to you. I was jealous. Your plaits signified the time and attention spent each morning combing, dividing and plaiting your beautiful blonde locks. I imagined your mum to be very organised and mumsy doing your hair each morning. Whereas my mum was simply too busy keeping our heads above water to re-plait my hair every day. It was washed on a Sunday, plaited on a Monday, slept in for the Tuesday. Re-plaited on the Wednesday and maintained until Friday. Hence the wispy bits that stuck out. My mum simply wasn’t a plaiting hair mum, I know that now.
You’re probably wondering why you’ve received this letter, it isn’t a crank one asking for money. But forgiveness. I’d like to ask for forgiveness for the last day of term in year five. You might not remember it, though something tells me you will. We’d been allowed to bring our favourite toy into school. So, amongst the Kerplunks and the Buckaroos was the electronic Simon game you played with your friends. Why did they make us do that? The class was always bored stiff by break time. Anyway, I watched you, stared at you, pretended to be you with your beautiful plaited hair and your Tommy Cooper golf game and… I snapped. I couldn’t help myself. It’s the closest thing I’ve come to an out of body experience, seriously. I felt as if I was floating on the ceiling, viewing myself playing Kerplunk by pulling plastic straws from the canister. I watched myself stand, walk to the plastic trays and retrieve a pair of scissors. Not the safety scissors.
I walked sensibly, I didn’t run while holding the blade as Mrs Salter had taught us. I don’t know what came over me but the touch of your hair was so tempting – that’s one thing I do remember. Cutting through the chunk of your plait was like a Queen cutting through a twisted rope to open a shopping centre.
You screamed non-stop for forty minutes. I remember your mother collected you from the head teacher’s office, where she’d given you a Spangle sweet to calm you down. I watched from the medical room, as you walked along the drive holding your mum’s hand, your plait trailing from the other. I didn’t receive a Spangle from the head teacher.
I know that nearly twenty years have passed, but I don’t ever remember saying sorry… I’m not sure if you understand but now, as an adult I understand the pain and upset I caused you.
Truly sorry,
Esmé Peel x
‘Are you for real?’ laughed Russ, handing back the letter to Esmé.
�
��Yeah, why not?’
‘Because she’ll think you’re a crackpot for sending it. All kids do stuff like that – it’s expected.’
‘That may be so, but that incident has haunted me and on occasions has kept me awake at night so I feel it is time to say sorry.’
‘Is that the worst thing you’ve ever done?’
‘Apart from the spider incident, yes.’
Russ laughed.
‘Send it if you want but don’t blame me if your name gets bandied around on Facebook with a load of nasty comments. You’re asking for trouble sending that.’
‘You’re supposed to be supportive, helping me to gain independence and closure not laughing your tits off at my letter of apology.’
‘Esmé… no one cares what happened when we were kids. You’d be better off not sending it and tell yourself that she forgave you a long time ago.’
‘But did she?’
‘Probably.’
Probably wasn’t good enough at three in the morning when Esmé woke feeling that beautiful twisted plait with its pink satin ribbon between her hands and the scissors cutting through it in chunks.
‘The guilt still niggles at me.’
‘Fair play to you, are we talking about Maxine West?’
‘Yeah, she used to live near our street.’
‘While you’re at it, could you mention that I’m sorry about the one night stand we had about six years ago after Jonah’s birthday party. I really meant to stay all night but I couldn’t sleep afterwards. I knew the whole morning routine would be as awkward as hell so thought it best to nip out with the dawn chorus. Cheers!’
Esmé stood open mouthed as Russ dashed along the landing to his own floor.
‘Cheers, Esmé. I owe you one.’
Chapter Thirty
Day 19: Host a dinner party
Esmé ran around the dining room table lighting the candles, her heart pounding ten to the dozen. Five starters of warm goat’s cheese tartlets were ready and awaiting her guests. She’d checked that each place setting had the necessary cutlery and glasses – she was aiming for a sophisticated evening, with wholesome food and good conversation.
She checked her appearance in the oval mirror above the mantelpiece. She’d grown used to her new hair style and colour, but the asymmetrical fringe still baffled her. Wearing the second of her new outfits suggested by Minnie, a dusky green dress with a chain belt detail, Esmé felt good, confident in fact.
The cooker timer sounded in the kitchen, announcing that the beef bourguignon would be cooked to perfection. Having prepped and set the slow cooker before work, she had arrived home to the delicious aroma. Her mustard mash and green beans would be tasty accompaniments.
Esmé donned the padded oven gloves, removed the heavy dish from the slow cooker and stared at the kitchen clock.
‘Where are they?’
She’d given them all strict instructions to be home for seven o’clock and now, at ten minutes past, she had starters cooling on the table and a main course ready cooked but no dinner guests.
‘That smells good,’ said Russ, entering the kitchen and nosing over her shoulder at the offerings before he rummaged under the sink unit.
‘I’m pleased, I did say I’d cook tonight.’
‘Oh.’ Russ stopped, looked up pretty sheepishly and winced. ‘Sorry… didn’t I mention I was heading out with a date?’
‘No, you bloody well didn’t… Russ! I did say last night.’
‘Look, save me some and I’ll warm it in the microwave when I get back.’
‘Couldn’t she join us for a bite to eat?’
‘Nope!’
‘Russ? This was my way of saying thank you for letting me move in,’ adding. ‘And for being so supportive about killing his pet.’
‘Sorry,’ he said grabbing a small tin of polish and brushing the front of his shoes. ‘First date and all that… you know what it’s like?’
‘Ha ha, I was stood up on my return to dating so no, I don’t know.’
‘Until I know her a little better… we won’t be doing friends and family introductions.’
‘You’ve let me down big style,’ said Esmé, stirring cornflour into the cooking dish to thicken the sauce.
‘I’m sure Jonah will scoff the lot and as for your brother… that cooking pot wouldn’t hold enough for his gut.’
Esmé collected the potatoes from the stove and began draining, ready to mash.
‘Where’s Dam?’
‘His mum’s.’
Esmé whipped around, her potato masher held high.
‘Tonight, of all nights?’
‘He always eats at his parents on a Monday.’
‘I specifically asked him last night. What’s the point of him even having a room – he only sleeps and showers here?’
Russ shrugged, finished polishing his shoes and put the tin away.
‘Ask him, not me.’
‘Ask me what?’ called Jonah, entering the kitchen, dressed in faded jeans and a white shirt. ‘How much would a replacement Chilean Rose cost?’
‘Not you, Dam.’ Esmé blushed, her guilt hadn’t diminished during the day.
‘He’s always at his parents’, so good luck with that task.’
‘Exactly. Why pay rent when you can live at your parents and get fed each night?’
‘He’s pretty spoilt actually… though with six sisters he needs to be,’ added Jonah, who pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and sniffed at the cooking pot which Esmé was guarding.
‘Six?’ queried Esmé, putting the strained green beans into a serving dish.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s seven,’ corrected Russ.
‘Either way, I’d move out,’ muttered Jonah, adding. ‘Are you serving or not?’
‘I am when…’ her sentence faded. Dam was out, Russ was going out, Kane was nowhere to be seen and Asa must be at work.
What a waste of time and a failed effort to be generous to her housemates.
Esmé stared at Jonah’s eager eyes.
Dinner for two, it is then.
‘Jonah, are you coming through or not?’ she moaned, carrying two steaming dishes from the kitchen towards the dining room.
‘Are we eating posh tonight?’ asked Jonah, collecting the beef bourguignon pot en-route. ‘I’d have dressed for dinner had I known.’
*
The candle light threw elongated shadows around the dining room.
‘That was nice,’ said Jonah, seated opposite her with his elbows on the table, dipping a hunk of bread into the ceramic cooking pot.
Esmé watched with disdain.
He chomped the dipped bread like a ravenous dog.
‘What?’
‘I was just thinking; my mother is desperate for me to settle down with one of your species. I honestly can’t see it happening.’
‘Why?’
‘Now, there’s a question.’
‘Go on, shoot.’
‘Men seem to be so alien and yet, I’ve spent a lifetime watching and chasing them only to realise I’ve learnt very little in the process… does it feel that way for you guys?’
‘Nope. I know loads about women… more than they know about themselves.’
‘Get lost!’
‘Seriously… I do.’
Esmé eyed him. His stature oozed confidence simply by breathing. His golden hair flowed down his back, his clear blue eyes were steady in their gaze. His looks were dangerous when accompanied by candle light and dinner for two.
He’s bluffing. This is ego talk.
‘Tell me, then.’
‘I learnt pretty early on that the majority of women have low self-esteem so I’m always onto a winner when I ladle out the flattery… some believe me straight away – which makes things very easy. Others take a little more convincing, but over a few dates they soon come round to my way of thinking. It might take a date or two but the results are the same.’
‘The results?’
‘Sex.’
Jonah dipped another hunk of bread in and chomped.
‘It works every time. The older ladies are grateful for attention from any man, the young ones are flattered by my attention.’
She shook her head. She knew many intelligent, worldly wise and level headed women.
‘You can shake your head as much as you like… I know what works.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Jonah’s eyes widened.
‘Oh boy, I know.’
‘Such as?’
Jonah smiled.
‘See, you’re interested now.’
Esmé blushed. If he’d known how interested and for how many years he’d have bragged non-stop from the highest building.
‘No. I’m not.’
‘You want to know all my tricks with the ladies… sadly, I can’t tell you.’
‘Wow, that’s my life ruined!’ joked Esmé, hoping to cover her own embarrassment.
Jonah gave a wink.
‘Uhhh!’
‘If you play your cards right, you might get first-hand knowledge…’
‘Er er! No thanks. I’ve had enough of men to last me an entire lifetime. Seven years ploughed into Andrew, a no-show dinner date and…’
She paused. Should she say? All evening her knowledge of the dining incident with Melissa had felt like a winning royal flush clutched in a sweaty palm. To come clean now and play her hand felt slightly deceitful.
‘And what?’ he asked, staring at her.
‘I dined at the Italian Emporium the other week—’
‘Did you?’ he sat up and back, his hands stopped dunking bread in the sauce.
Esmé smiled.
‘OK, don’t judge me.’
‘I’m not but do you seriously think that’s the right way to live your life?’
Jonah shrugged.
‘It was good while it lasted… yeah, we got busted but, hey!’
‘Living amongst you lot is enough to put a girl off for life, do you know that?’
‘On a date, were you?’
‘No, but that’s another conversation. Don’t you feel bad for the husband?’
‘Phuh! Melissa wanted fun. Melissa got her fun.’
‘What if it’s ended their marriage, don’t you care?’
