The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  Esmé was mesmerised.

  Throughout the performance, Esmé’s emotions were snagged by previously unheard lyrics and jolted by the power of the one woman’s voice that flew around the rafters and lighting frames of the auditorium.

  ‘And now, my final song… I don’t always play it because I try to let you think I’m strong but I’m not, so take it easy on me,’ announced the singer, as her fingers drifted along the piano keys and a tsunami of tears spilt down Esmé’s cheeks.

  The song quickly finished, the audience rose to their feet to applaud and cheer. Esmé was making a mental note to download the back catalogue songs when the auditorium lights came on faster than she was expecting, revealing her tears.

  ‘Here,’ said Asa, handing her a tissue.

  Esmé didn’t try to cover up her reaction. She dabbed at her face as he watched.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Just being a soppy mare.’

  ‘You’re allowed,’ he laughed.

  ‘Her lyrics hit home, don’t they?’

  The audience flowed towards the exits quicker than kids at the school gates. Esmé and Asa sat in silence and watched them leave.

  ‘Sorry, I’m such a sop to have cried but…’

  Asa’s eyes skittered about her face as she tried, but failed, to explain.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say… one minute I was listening, enjoying the music and then the next minute a wave of emotion took over.’

  ‘That happens sometimes… and usually when you least expect it.’

  ‘Not to me, it doesn’t.’

  Esmé checked her mascara in her vanity mirror and took a deep breath.

  ‘I feel such a fool.’

  ‘Well don’t.’

  Esmé pulled a face.

  ‘Seriously, something made a connection and you reacted emotionally – that’s what happens in here,’ he swept a hand casually towards the now empty seats of the auditorium. ‘That’s what music does, it evokes sensations and feelings that we’re not conscious of having and delivers them to the surface to be aired… in public, but hey, what’s it matter? The main thing is that you enjoyed it.’ He fell silent.

  ‘Do you do this often?’

  ‘Sporadically really… I don’t visit for months, then other times I’ll come back to see the same performance, if I can get a ticket, on consecutive nights.’

  Esmé laughed.

  ‘Now, I know you’re pulling my leg!’ she laughed, clutching her sides. ‘Why see the same thing over and over?’

  Asa slowly shook his head.

  ‘I’m not joking. If I enjoyed something, why not return to enjoy it again? There are days when I come here filled with resentment and hatred for the world outside and yet, within a few hours I’m OK… my emotions are calmed and something inside re-ignites… it might sound a bit wampy to you but it’s true.’

  Esmé stifled a laugh; his expression intensified, his eyes were lost to another world.

  ‘Tonight, I was in a perfectly good mood, loving life, finding my feet after Andrew and getting on with life…’

  ‘But are you, really?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Asa gave a shrug.

  ‘I’m not so sure. I think your ‘finding your feet’ seems more like a knee jerk reaction, almost manufactured… like your shopping list of life.’ He stood and collected their empty plastic glasses. ‘Come on, there’s something I want to show you.’

  Esmé picked up her handbag and followed.

  When would others accept what she said? She’d taken control of her life in recent weeks and her actions were far from knee jerk reactions – they were her decisions following Andrew’s confession. And, how many more times was Asa going to belittle her aspirations with the shopping list label?

  Asa took her hand and dragged her down the spiral staircase in a hurried manner, Esmé stumbled in his wake, grateful that he was one step ahead in case she fell. The crowds had cleared, leaving just a few people milling around the foyer.

  What was the rush?

  On reaching the final step, Asa stopped abruptly and stared across the foyer.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just look,’ he said pointing towards a large painting in reds, oranges and yellows hanging on the far wall. ‘I love this painting. Come and take a look.’

  He tugged at her hand with an urgency. Esmé read the plaque beneath ‘The Mahler Experience’ by Norman Perryman, 23rd November 1993.

  ‘Look at it, then,’ whispered Asa, lifting her chin. ‘What do you see?’

  Esmé stood before the giant painting, her eyes flitting around the image of a tiny figure dressed in black, arms raised, emitting a swirl of white energy like a spirit or soul lifting towards the audience.

  ‘That’s where we’ve just been, isn’t it?’ Esmé pointed behind them towards the auditorium.

  Asa nodded.

  ‘Does it depict what happens when music…’ Esmé’s voice broke, she struggled to continue her sentence. ‘… conductor… and musicians… the spirit swirls around the audience?’

  Esmé lowered her head wiping a tear on her sleeve.

  ‘It’s a specific Mahler concert actually but basically yes, touching the audience with a passion or energy to create a moment of pleasure… hey, don’t cry.’ His arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

  ‘That’s what’s just happened to me. I couldn’t help myself, it just came out and now this has made me cry too.’

  ‘The painting has its own story… much like the music.’

  ‘Did you know I’d react like this?’

  Asa gave a nod.

  ‘How?’

  Asa released her shoulder and shuffled from side to side, his mouth opened several times to speak but then he thought the better of it.

  ‘Can I be honest?’

  Esmé nodded, her eyes flitting between the painting and Asa’s features.

  ‘You seem so erratic… the things you do, your behaviour… one minute hosting dinner parties, the next jacking your job in and then…’ Asa paused. ‘Your night with Jonah. I get it, it’s a basic human instinct when there’s a physical attraction but seriously, what are you doing?’

  Esmé continued to stare.

  ‘And your behaviour’s normal?’

  Asa shrugged.

  ‘I embrace life and the experiences available to me… whereas you seem so pent up, chasing specific things which you hope will make you happy – it’s back to that shopping list of life again…’

  ‘Can you stop calling it that please?’

  ‘OK, I’ll stop. But I think you need to start being you, being more open to the world around you and definitely, more honest.’

  ‘I am honest.’

  ‘You’re not. You pretend or cover up your flaws, uncertainties and insecurities all the time. Look at earlier with the lager – you hadn’t a clue but instead of admitting that, you had to save face and pretend you’re an expert. You’re not, you’re just someone who thinks you ought to know everything. And life’s not like that, life’s better when you are honest and embrace what’s in front of you… I think tonight’s outburst of tears is because you allowed yourself to be honest about the music – it struck a chord with you and you allowed it to – you let it.’

  ‘I’m not dishonest.’

  ‘Your life is a huge game of pretend… and it shouldn’t be. Just be you.’

  Esmé dried her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘Sorry, if it sounds brutal… but life’s too short to pretend!’

  Esmé stared at the painting, her gaze followed the swirl of yellow, and white haze twirled around the upper galleries of the auditorium.

  ‘Do you think it touches us all in the same way?’

  ‘I doubt it. Subconsciously we probably interpret what we see and hear into what we need and understand at the time.’

  ‘Wow! You’re deep.’

  ‘At times,’ laughed Asa. ‘Come on, l
et’s go and find a bar and get a drink.’

  Esmé lingered in front of the painting for a moment longer, before she followed Asa out onto Broad Street.

  *

  It was just after one in the morning when Asa led Esmé from the bar, insisting that they go home after she’d downed several Jack D doubles and offered to sing to the entire bar whilst standing on the pool table.

  ‘You just don’t want me to have fun, do you?’ she shouted as he led her along Broad Street towards Centenary Square.

  ‘Believe me, I want everyone to have fun but you are heading for disaster come the morning because I don’t think your head wants this much fun with alcohol!’

  ‘Spoil sport,’ chuntered Esmé, as she linked her arm into the crook of his. ‘And you said I wasn’t honest and now look at me, as honest as the day I was born…’

  ‘Really? Such a change in one night,’ muttered Asa, stabilising a drunken Esmé as she traipsed towards the Square. ‘Let’s hope it continues into tomorrow.’

  ‘I bet you a tenner that it does!’

  ‘I don’t do bets.’

  ‘I bet you you will with me. Live a little, Asa.’

  ‘As I said, I don’t bet.’

  ‘Phhh, now who’s being pent up? Closed in and the other stuff you said…’ giggled Esmé, as she unhooked their arms and pointed wildly at him. ‘Pent up emotion… that’s the thing with you men.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really… whereas me… I’m free, easy and fluid just like the musical spirit spiralling in that painting.’

  ‘Touching everyone’s spirit and soul… wow, such an achievement and there was I thinking you’d organise your sewing tonight of all nights – how wrong I was.’

  Esmé stopped walking, turned round and stared at the man walking towards her.

  ‘You think I’m boring, don’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You said my life was empty… but I’ll show you, Asa Henson… I’ll show you.’

  With her final words Esmé dashed off towards the water feature in front of the city library.

  ‘Esmé, come back, don’t be stupid… you’ll hurt…’ She had climbed onto the edging wall and dropped into the icy water before he’d finished his warning. Asa approached steadily as she waded ankle deep in the shallow water. ‘Esmé, will you please get out of the water?’

  ‘See, I can be spontaneous. I can be fluid and open and honest… you’re not the only one!’

  ‘Esmé, you are going to slip and then we’ll need an ambulance.’

  ‘Join me!’

  ‘No. Now please get out before you fall over.’

  Esmé raced around in the water kicking and splashing, arcs of water swirled about her stomping feet. Asa stood patiently at the side and watched.

  ‘Look at me, I’m the new Floozy in the Jacuzzi,’ screamed Esmé, at the top of her lungs.

  ‘Highly original… given that the original is only a stone’s throw away and is now surrounded by plants,’ shouted Asa, over the sound of dashing water.

  Esmé stormed across the water feature towards him, stopped short and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.

  ‘Asa, you might think you know all the answers to everything, you might think you know me inside and out but you have me wrong, really you do. After the other night, you think I’m being led astray by others, manipulated into doing things I don’t really want to do… but guess what?’ Esmé lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I did want to, honestly I did.’

  Asa shook his head.

  ‘See, I can do anything that comes into my head.’

  ‘Go on then, do something amazing that will surprise me.’

  ‘OK.’ Esmé dropped her hands from his shoulders, took several steps backwards and then charged at him, grabbed his leather jacket and dragged him over the low wall into the water alongside her. Asa hastily grabbed for his phone and wallet to hold them up out of the water.

  ‘What the hell, Esmé… I thought…’

  ‘See, you didn’t expect that, now did you? Be honest.’

  Asa clambered to his feet, he was seething in temper.

  ‘And neither are you expecting this…’ Esmé took his face in both her hands and passionately kissed him.

  Asa pulled away as if electrocuted and pushed her hands away.

  ‘See, I’m not as boring as you think!’ said Esmé, breathlessly.

  ‘I never said you were boring. I said you weren’t honest… and maybe that was a tad too honest of me.’

  ‘Oh Asa, a girl can never be too honest, surely?’

  ‘We’ll see what you think about that in the morning.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Day 24: Make a promise

  ‘Esmé, there’s a woman at the front door who wants to speak to you,’ said Dam, interrupting her knitting machine session in the dining room. ‘She looks pretty frail.’

  Esmé plodded past him to the hallway.

  ‘Hello, how can I help you?’ asked Esmé, viewing the elderly woman in a beige mac and sturdy boots.

  ‘Esmé Peel?’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

  ‘My husband opened this letter.’ The woman retrieved a torn envelope from her handbag.

  ‘I sent that to Maxine West a few days ago. I just wanted to say…’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  Esmé’s hands flew to her mouth as the words hit her like a thunder bolt.

  ‘She died five years ago, an overdose.’

  ‘I am so very sorry… I didn’t know, Mrs West. I presumed—’

  ‘Your generation all presume that you’ll outlive my generation but sadly, not my girl… she was too sensitive for this world… so she’s better in the next.’ The woman’s eyes became teary as she spoke.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, really I am. I’ve thought about her so often over the years and always felt guilty for the way I’d cut her hair in school and…’

  ‘I remember the incident, she was so upset that I was called to collect her.’

  ‘I honestly regret it so much. And now she’s not alive for me to say sorry well… I feel…’

  ‘I wanted to drop by and tell you. It wouldn’t be proper for us to ignore your apology and let you think she’d read it. Maxine never held a grudge, ever. So, don’t feel bad about it.

  Silence fell between them.

  Esmé could see the grief etched upon the woman’s face.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  A soft smile appeared upon her powdered cheeks.

  ‘I’d love one.’

  ‘Here let me take your wet coat,’ offered Esmé, unpeeling the lady from her dripping mac. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen, it’s much warmer in there.’

  Esmé made tea, ate biscuits and reminisced with Mrs West in the quiet confines of the kitchen.

  ‘Did Maxine get married or settle down?’

  ‘No, she was always a home bird. She never ventured far. We didn’t hold her back but I always knew she wouldn’t see old bones, if you get my drift. I just didn’t expect her to give in like she did.’

  ‘Have you any other children?’

  ‘Just my Maxine.’

  The words lingered as Esmé drank her tea. Of all the treasured children in her class, the smart ones, the naughty ones, Maxine West had always stood out as being cherished. A lump came to Esmé’s throat.

  How could I be jealous of a girl whose parents had to cram as much as they could into such a small window of time?

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ whispered Esmé, as she wiped her eyes on a kitchen towel.

  ‘I always knew I wouldn’t have her for long,’ Mrs West continued. ‘It was shorter than most mothers have and much greater than others ever know.’

  Esmé watched as she sipped her tea.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘We want for nothing, lovey. Derek, my husband, he keeps busy in his shed, whereas I focus on my charity work. It does me good and has kept me active.’
<
br />   ‘Where at?’

  ‘I work in a St Giles’ charity shop a few mornings a week. We take most household goods and quality clothing. If you were interested in donating.’

  Esmé sat listening as Mrs West recalled the generosity of others, the gifts offered and the joy of a bargain for new owners.

  Within the hour, they’d finished their tea and goodbyes were being said.

  ‘I promise I’ll drop by the charity shop… I have one or two bags of clothing that might be useful,’ vowed Esmé, as she waved from the doorstep.

  *

  Long after Mrs West had left, Esmé still had a heavy heart so she joined Dam and Russ in the lounge as they watched an action film. It wasn’t her ideal way to spend a Saturday afternoon but it was better than being alone with morbid thoughts about life.

  Her days could be short lived, thought Esmé, as gun fire sounded from the plasma screen. Maybe she should make more effort to live a little.

  Esmé cringed as Asa’s phrase zipped through her mind.

  ‘Russ, would you like me to baby sit one evening?’ asked Esmé, as the commercials interrupted the film.

  ‘Erm, no thanks,’ he said, looking up from his sprawled position on the sofa.

  ‘I’m serious, I just thought you could go on a proper date. It’d be nice.’

  ‘You seeing someone?’ asked Dam, glancing from one to the other.

  ‘Nope,’ said Russ, as his head shook vehemently from side to side.

  Dam wound his finger around by the side of his head.

  ‘Crazy wench alert.’

  Russ nodded, his eyes big and wide.

  Esmé stared at Dam, narked that he should be so cruel when he also had a secret that she hadn’t spilt.

  ‘Russ, I saw you.’

  Russ sat up.

  ‘Yes, I saw you the other day…’ Now it was Esmé’s turn to make big, wide eyes.

  ‘You’re seeing someone!’ said Dam to his friend.

  ‘No, I’m not. She’s delusional.’

  ‘I’m not, I saw you sitting on the bench.’

  Dam watched the brief exchange, but given Russ’s blank expression, soon settled back down as the film restarted after the commercials.

  Esmé pulled a face at Russ, who lay back on the couch, though his steady gaze remained on Esmé and hers remained on him.