The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘What?’ she snapped, after several minutes had passed. ‘You keep staring at me… I want to know why?’

  ‘I don’t… and no reason.’ Russ raised both hands in a questioning style.

  ‘So, watch the film and stop staring,’ demanded Esmé, slightly annoyed that her generous offer hadn’t been snapped up.

  You’d think he’d be grateful for the offer. In their position, I’d have jumped at the chance to go for a nice meal, have a dance and come home knowing someone sensible was looking after their boy. But no, instead he simply glared.

  Russ’s staring continued until the next commercial break. Dam jumped up.

  ‘Time for the loo, don’t pinch my seat,’ he yelled, on leaving the lounge.

  Russ jumped up too, surprising Esmé.

  ‘When did you see me?’

  ‘Thursday in the park.’

  ‘With Rita?’

  ‘Yes,’ beamed Esmé, eager to repeat her offer.

  Russ gave a huge sigh.

  ‘We… sometimes we meet up… oh shit!’

  ‘I get it, no one else knows?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. I haven’t said… you know what it’s like, early days and all that… so I’d prefer it if you don’t…’ He placed a finger to his lips.

  ‘Absolutely, the pressure must be quite intense – I should think both families would be encouraging it for Toby’s sake.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, something like that… but if you wouldn’t mind, I… we would really appreciate it.’

  The pounding of feet down the stairs indicated Dam’s swift return.

  ‘There and back with time to spare,’ he laughed, slumping into his armchair.

  Russ gave Esmé a fleeting glance, and she smiled in reply. His secret was safe, he’d probably needed time to mature and grow up. He must have missed out on a lot of Toby’s young life simply by not being there. Esmé vowed she wouldn’t ruin what they’d begun to rebuild. Hopefully they could start afresh as a family unit and prepare for their own happy ever after.

  How funny that both men were keeping secrets.

  Esmé smugly watched them return their focus to the film. A sense of pride ignited, Esmé could keep secrets better than anyone she knew.

  *

  Esmé heard Asa’s boots pounding down the staircase on his way to work. She leapt up from cutting out a skirt pattern on the floor of the dining room and dashed to the doorway.

  ‘Asa… I managed to make a few beanies. I only had two colours, sorry if you wanted others,’ apologised Esmé, handing over a pile of carefully stacked beanies in navy blue and crimson.

  ‘These are great… seriously, the guys will be chuffed,’ beamed Asa. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  Esmé shook her head.

  ‘Seriously, name your price?’

  ‘I was experimenting really, with the new machine and the technique – so you’ve done me a favour.’

  Asa looked surprised.

  ‘Thank you, I really can’t thank you enough for these,’ he lifted the pile as he spoke. Esmé heard a softness in his voice and a glint appeared in his eye.

  ‘And, I’m sorry about last night… the water and everything,’ said Esmé, as she blushed, ‘I really did enjoy the concert, I’ve downloaded some of her songs today… the drink… it made me a little too boisterous, that’s not my usual style.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ he said, adding, ‘Stay clear of the lager next time – I don’t think it’s your drink.’

  Esmé laughed at the memory.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Day 25: Attend a sporting event

  Esmé felt self-conscious walking arm in arm with Grace, amidst a crowd of racing punters all dressed in their sturdy jackets and jeans. She searched the masses but could spot very few women or children amongst the race track crowd.

  ‘Not many ladies, are here,’ said Grace, looking around too.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking, but we’ll be fine, Grace.’

  ‘I’m sure we will be once you’ve figured out where to place our bets. I’m feeling lucky today.’

  Esmé smiled. The delight on Grace’s face when she’d nipped round this morning to ask if she fancied a day out was a picture.

  This morning, Esmé had kept her eyes firmly shut whilst she selected from the remaining eight tasks lined up on her mantelpiece. It wasn’t purely her ‘don’t cheat, won’t cheat’ attitude, but her defiance on losing an hour’s sleep due to changing the clocks to British Summer Time.

  This particular task was one she was dreading, Esmé didn’t particularly like sport. Yes, she’d won an egg and spoon race, aged five, and a drunken space hopper assault course challenge, aged twenty, but Esmé wasn’t into participating in or spectating at, sporting events. So, she’d required numerous suggestions from her housemates during breakfast for a decision to be made.

  ‘Get yourself up to Villa Park, you’ll love it in the Holte End,’ said Russ. ‘Your brother will never forgive you but I wouldn’t let that stop you.’

  ‘I own a Villa hat, which could be useful,’ laughed Esmé, not sure that being a stadium virgin attending alone was an ideal choice.

  ‘Wrestling might be on at the Barclaycard arena,’ offered Dam. ‘Or you could go ice-skating.’

  ‘Seriously?’ jibed Russ.

  ‘Stop laughing… it’s a sport,’ explained Dam. ‘I’d like to hear you say it isn’t to the guys that skate at Silver Blades.’

  ‘Or skiing at the SnowDome at Tamworth?’ added Russ, ignoring Dam’s comment.

  Perry Barr was only a few miles away, so the greyhounds won with the added bonus that it was an afternoon event which was ideal for Grace.

  ‘I thought there’d be more families given the 1 p.m. opening time,’ said Esmé, helping Grace into one of the few remaining seats at the track side. Esmé settled herself onto a hard plastic seat and flicked through the glossy programme.

  ‘I’ll be betting by numbers,’ said Esmé ‘I can afford to lose two pounds on each race and nothing more.’

  ‘Fair play to you, but I’ll be choosing names,’ replied Grace, peering at her own programme, her biro in hand, marking her card like a professional gambler.

  Within ten minutes, Esmé had chosen dog numbers four, four, five, three and two while Grace had circled dogs called Chicken Legs Galore, Blue Rinse, She’s a Winner, Rolling, Rolling, Rolling and an unlikely winner in Last One Home.

  ‘You’ll be OK staying here, if I go and place the bets?’ asked Esmé, clutching both lots of betting money.

  ‘I’ll be fine, you worry too much,’ said Grace, waving her racing programme. ‘On the way back bring a couple of drinks.’

  ‘Hot beverage or alcoholic?’

  ‘A nice G&T would hit the mark,’ Grace said with a glint in her eye.

  ‘Noted.’ Esmé left the elderly lady seated contentedly, her handbag on her lap, staring at the huge track in front of her.

  Esmé felt like a track pro thanks to the sweet gent at the betting counter. She’d simply blurted numbers at him and he’d produced two separate betting slips.

  ‘Here you go, Grace. A double G&T with a nugget of ice,’ said Esmé, side stepping along the row of plastic seats carrying two large plastic glasses.

  ‘Doubles, ooh, I’ll be singing ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ in no time,’ laughed Grace, taking her drink and adding. ‘I’ll pay for the taxi home.’

  ‘Cheers!’

  ‘Cheers, Esmé.’

  Esmé explained that she’d passed the indoor seating area on the way to the betting office and it was crammed with noisy groups and young families.

  ‘We’re the bravehearts out here at the track side then,’ laughed Grace before she added. ‘Me and our Jack used to go to Hall Green all the time when we were first married. We always sat at the track side with a cup of Bovril.’

  Esmé listened as Grace reminisced for just a short time about the laughs they had and the many years they were married.

  ‘It must be love
ly being settled,’ said Esmé, more to herself than Grace.

  ‘Oh, it is my lovely, but you’ll see… your turn will come.’

  ‘Doubt it… I’ve been foolish,’ complained Esmé, before explaining about her disastrous few days.

  ‘That’s the difference between a boy, a man and…’ Grace paused for effect, ‘… a gentleman!’

  ‘There’s my problem… I can’t spot the boys from the men, plus I don’t know any gentlemen,’ laughed Esmé.

  ‘Hmmm, I wouldn’t say that,’ muttered Grace, sipping her G&T just as the greyhounds and their handlers filed out for the first race.

  *

  The stuffed rabbit sped past on its rail as the clamour of six dogs lunged after it. A high-speed chase, over in minutes, with little reward. Esmé couldn’t help but smile at the uncanny comparison to her late night antics with Jonah on Tuesday night.

  ‘And have you spoken to him since?’ asked Grace, marking her card with a winning dog thanks to Chicken Legs Galore.

  ‘I can’t face him just yet… no doubt he’s chasing another woman by now.’

  ‘No, not Jonah! Asa!’

  ‘Briefly. He became stern and deep about it saying I was trying to hang out with the cool kid – as if he knows everything. After all, who in their right mind would sit waiting—’

  Grace held up a commanding hand.

  ‘Shush now, I won’t have a bad word said about that one… he’s worth ten of Jonah.’

  ‘No Grace, you’re wrong there… He’s like Jekyll and Hyde. His mood swings are horrendous. One minute he’s arrogant, moody and preaching at you… then on Friday night, he surprised me by taking me to a concert… though he still did a bit of preaching…’

  Grace peered at her.

  Esmé stopped talking.

  ‘You are blind, young lady. Seriously you are. Wake up and smell the coffee, before it’s too late.’

  Esmé looked away. Couldn’t anyone else see how Asa treated her?

  ‘Look, the dogs are lining up for the second race,’ said Esmé, faffing with her race programme, eager to change the subject.

  ‘I bet they are…’ chuckled Grace. ‘And not just here at the race track!’

  *

  Two hours sped past. Grace collected another two wins on the second and fourth races with Blue Rinse and Rolling, Rolling, Rolling, while Esmé snatched a photo finish on the third race thanks to dog number five.

  ‘I’ll just nip to the little girls’ room before the fifth race starts,’ said Grace, hoisting her handbag on to her forearm.

  ‘Do you want me to come along?’ asked Esmé, standing to let her pass, not wishing to intrude but wary of her frailty.

  ‘No, you stay here. I’ll be fine, stretch my legs a bit…’

  Esmé watched as her delicate frame slowly disappeared into the crowd of race goers. It must be lovely to be so spritely at her age and still have a sense of humour, not like her own grandparents who had definitely lost their place in the world as they grew older.

  Esmé read the glossy race programme, trying to feign interest in the adverts.

  ‘Hi.’

  Esmé looked up to find Gregory standing in front of her, his expression sheepish and his eyes pleading.

  ‘Oh, it’s you! Well, better late than never,’ said Esmé curtly, as her memory transported her back to Friday night at 8:33p.m. and the realisation that she’d been stood up.

  ‘Look, I’m so sorry… please let me explain…’

  ‘Gregory, give me two reasons why I should?’ said Esmé adding, ‘in fact… perhaps you could stand over there…’ Her arm indicated a few feet away to her left. ‘for about thirty minutes, and then I’ll speak to you if I can be bothered.’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey, look, it was rude of me. I should have called and I expected you to be annoyed but…’

  ‘Sorry, there’s no excuse. You had my contact details, you phoned me at work to make the arrangements so what stopped you phoning on the night or even afterwards?’

  ‘My dad suffered a heart attack that afternoon, he got rushed to hospital and so… I was called from work and well… I didn’t get a chance to call and so you thought…’

  Esmé stared in horror. His face did look gaunt, his sparkling blue eyes not so alive.

  ‘Honest, I went into autopilot and before I knew it I was driving my mum home at ten and I remembered I’d made arrangements.’

  ‘Oh.’ A wave of guilt flooded Esmé’s throat. He hadn’t stood her up. He hadn’t changed his mind. He’d simply been a devoted son doing the right thing by his parents while all the time she’d bad mouthed him and vowed never to use the Personal Shopper service again.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s home and on the mend, it’ll be a long road and the doctors warned us that he needs to take better care of himself.’

  A silence grew between them, both shifted and shuffled in awkwardness.

  ‘I called you every rotten name I could think of,’ said Esmé, meekly.

  ‘I thought you might, I felt the voodoo needles enter my spleen,’ he half laughed. ‘I am truly sorry. I just wanted to come over and explain.’

  ‘Thank you… I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions when it was a family emergency but…’

  ‘Excuse me, are you Esmé?’ interrupted a young female steward in a yellow fluorescent vest.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know a lady called Grace?’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Esmé flew into a panic as the steward explained that Grace had had a fall.

  Gregory and his explanation disappeared in an instant as she was hastily led from the plastic seats towards the race track toilets. The female steward explained how the wet tiles by the wash basin may have caused her to slip.

  Within twenty minutes, the ambulance crew had arrived, assessed Grace and were carrying her out of the ladies’ toilets on a stretcher wrapped in a NHS blanket. Esmé walked alongside the stretcher, holding Grace’s hand.

  *

  The hospital corridor was busy, a stream of nurses traipsed back and forth, their squeaky shoes signalling their approach. It seemed rude to ignore them but she couldn’t continue to look up and smile at each one.

  Esmé sat flicking through the tatty magazines scattered on a table instead. Nothing could focus her mind, all she could think about was the frail old lady lying in a hospital bed a short distance away. She’d offered to stay during the examination but the nurses had asked her to wait outside for a few minutes while they assessed Grace and sorted out some nightwear for her.

  That was thirty minutes ago. Nobody had spoken to her since.

  Have they forgotten me? Or should I ask the next nurse where to go?

  Esmé looked at her mobile phone for the umpteenth time: 18:15.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to ease her frayed nerves. This wasn’t the day she’d hoped for. A pleasant day out had turned into a nightmare. What if Grace died? What if she never fully recovered from the fall and this was the beginning of her end?

  ‘Any news?’

  Her eyes snapped open on recognising his voice.

  ‘Asa! Am I glad to see you!’

  ‘There’s a phrase I don’t hear every day.’

  ‘It’s Grace, I took her for a day out and she fell over in the toilets.’

  ‘I know, Dam called.’

  ‘Are you still on duty?’ asked Esmé, looking at his jeans and tee-shirt combo.

  ‘Yes, but on a break so I have a few minutes to spare…’

  Surely, he should wear a uniform of some description whether he was a porter, kitchen staff or a cleaner.

  ‘Haven’t you a uniform?’

  ‘Not really, not for my role. Have they assessed her?’

  ‘Yes, but they have forgotten to come back to me.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Ages.’

  ‘Longer than twenty minutes?’

  ‘Far longer!’

  The bare side of Asa’s face pales.
>
  ‘Is that not good?’

  ‘Time will tell. I’ll go and enquire.’

  Great, I’ll wait for a little longer, shall I? Why was everyone wearing a uniform except for Asa?

  *

  Within no time, Asa re-appeared at the far end of the corridor and beckoned for Esmé to follow.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  Asa shook his head.

  ‘Not quite, she’s broken her leg in two places.’

  Esmé’s hands flew to her mouth.

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘Potentially, they think she needs surgery but she’s suffering from shock mainly…’

  ‘Shock?’

  Asa gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘Yes, shock, that’s why it’s taken so long to come back to you – they want to stabilise her first,’ he said, leading her along a corridor. ‘Would you like to see her?’

  Esmé nodded as her tears began to flow.

  ‘What are you crying for?’

  ‘I can’t help it, to think I took her for a day out and this happened… I caused this!’

  ‘Stop it! Dry your eyes, she can do without seeing you upset.’

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She never had a tissue when she needed one.

  Asa led the way through a warren of corridors, his head not moving to read the signage above each corridor. Esmé gave up trying to figure out the route.

  ‘You know this place well,’ she commented, trotting behind him.

  ‘Like the back of my hand.’

  ‘Doesn’t it get to you working amongst all this sickness and ill health?’

  ‘No, why, would it you?’

  ‘Every day? Yes.’

  ‘Really?’ He whipped round and stared at her.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m being honest. I much prefer to be surrounded by fabric and wool or even go back to paper and pencils… than death.’

  ‘Not everyone dies. Anyway, I see it as life. I’m surrounded by life here and the desperate attempt by some to hang onto that in whatever manner they can…’

  Esmé stopped short.

  ‘Funny, I’ve never thought of it like that.’

  ‘Hmmm, maybe you should – here we are.’

  Asa pushed open the double doors to reveal a small ward of neatly made beds, each with an occupant. Esmé instantly spotted Grace lying in the corner bed, with a nurse arranging her blankets.