The Single Girl’s Calendar

by Erin Green

  ‘Here we are…’ Rita broke her train of thought as she returned holding two steaming mugs. ‘Drink, baby?’

  ‘Bina!’ called Toby, without looking up from his brick pile.

  Esmé cradled her mug as Rita put hers down by the couch and returned to the kitchen for Toby’s Ribena.

  ‘Here.’ She returned instantly, offering Toby a large bottle of purple squash.

  ‘Ta!’

  Esmé watched as the child slugged the bottle backwards and guzzled non-stop until bubbles appeared inside the bottle.

  Rita settled on the couch and picked up her mug.

  ‘So, what brings you over here?’ she asked warmly.

  ‘Rita… you can tell me to go to hell, but… I know about Russ.’

  Rita stopped drinking and stared.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And I wanted to say that if there is anything I can do to help the situation then I would be more than happy to babysit… to give you guys more chance to get back on track.’

  Rita slowly nodded.

  Toby suddenly began to splutter.

  ‘Careful. Don’t choke yourself,’ said his mum, launching from the couch to pat his back. Toby jolted back and forth with her force, his eyes watering with the shock. ‘He does that all the time, little gutsy, aren’t you?’

  Toby slung the nearly empty bottle aside and continued to play.

  ‘As I was saying, if it’s a night out at the pictures, a table for two… I really don’t mind looking after him.’

  ‘That’s so lovely of you… though I don’t know how Russ would feel about it.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your offer. I was wrong to drop Toby on you the other weekend when the guys were away but I was desperate. My mum was suddenly rushed into hospital. So, thank you, Russ did say that I shouldn’t have done it. The thing is, I’m just not sure Russ is ready for all the fuss that goes along with… us.’ Rita looked at Toby who was busily bashing bricks together.

  ‘I see…’ said Esmé, slightly baffled. ‘I just wanted to help, that’s all. I can’t imagine it’s easy.’

  Her suggestion had fallen flat, much like her conversation with Russ. What was wrong with these people? She felt foolish for having offered. If she’d been a single mum who was trying to get back with the father, Esmé imagined that she’d have jumped for joy at such an offer. Instead Rita sat sipping coffee and staring into space.

  Within the drinking of a coffee, the visit was over. Esmé received a warm snotty kiss from Toby and a swift hug from Rita before the door of flat number thirty-two was rapidly closed.

  Esmé called the lift to the fourteenth floor.

  What a wasted journey. Esmé couldn’t imagine being as laid back as Rita. And as for Russ, taking it easy… not certain… the man should be glad of a second chance to be a family.

  Esmé entered the lift and pressed the ground floor button, the doors closed as her mind whizzed with thoughts, then she remembered the pool of urine in the corner. She stared in dismay as the trickle worked its way towards her new boots and wished the lift would descend at break neck speed.

  She felt disheartened. She had followed her task of the day and the positive energy had failed to materialise. She hadn’t meddled, forced the issue or interfered and yet, she’d clearly failed.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Day 27: Seek a thrill

  The minibus arrived at the hospital steps at seven o’clock, as arranged. It was a typical hire vehicle plus driver affair, an aged fella with slicked back hair and nicotine stained fingers.

  ‘Morning, minibus for eight people?’ he asked, climbing from his seat.

  ‘Morning mate, are you ready for us?’ replied Asa, taking the lead role of organiser and driver’s buddy.

  ‘Ey, I am… quicker we’re gone the sooner we’re back,’ said the driver, as he flung open the side door. The traffic was obviously more important than a teenager’s dream day out.

  Esmé had stood for fifteen minutes amidst a jumble of holdalls, blankets and first aid kits piled around her feet, acting as the official mini-bus look out. A deep-seated thrill rumbled in her stomach, a mixture of dread and excitement.

  Was it morally right to tie a poorly… dying teenager to a high wire and hurtle him head first down a mountain side? Esmé cringed. Right or wrong, it was Stig’s request.

  ‘Oy Esmé, are you standing there all day or are you going to load some kit?’ called Asa, as he beckoned her towards the rear doors to start loading their bags.

  Within ten minutes, they had the group’s belongings neatly stacked inside the confines of the storage area.

  ‘Where’s Stig?’ she asked Asa, once the other medical helpers had drifted away.

  ‘Don’t you worry, he’s in fine spirits… he’ll be here any minute.’

  Within five minutes, the cheery smile of Stig arrived by special delivery of a wheelchair and a brisk nurse.

  ‘Park here, please,’ ordered Stig, pointing beside Asa.

  ‘Yes, your highness,’ laughed the nurse, swivelling the chair around. ‘Have a nice day and come back in one piece.’

  ‘We’ll try to,’ laughed Asa, high fiving Stig.

  ‘If not you can patch me together again,’ shouted Stig to the retreating blue uniform, before speaking to Asa. ‘Hey man, how’s it hanging?’

  ‘You up for this adventure?’ asked Asa, as he scrutinised Stig’s features.

  The teenager pouted in a determined fashion.

  Esmé watched the brief exchange.

  She was thrilled to be asked to accompany them as a helper for the day but deep down was unsure what was required of her.

  ‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’ Asa had asked when they’d visited Grace in hospital.

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  ‘Good. Sounds like you’re zip wiring then.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  Asa had explained the premise behind ‘Make a wish days’ and the zip wire was Stig’s one wish.

  It sounded amazing apart from the nagging uncertainty of such a thrill being safe enough for a young man whose delicate body was wracked with pain and suffering.

  ‘OK folks, climb in, buckle up and we’ll leave,’ shouted the plump driver.

  ‘Stig, say goodbye to your parents,’ said Asa, smiling at a solemn middle aged couple standing a distance away from the minibus.

  ‘See ya!’ shouted Stig, waving from his wheelchair, before whispering. ‘They’re still mad at me for choosing this. My mum hoped I’d opt for an afternoon with dolphins.’

  ‘Are they still mad at me for agreeing?’ asked Asa, as he waved and smirked.

  ‘Oh yeah, but then they get your motives, they just don’t get mine,’ said Stig as he propelled himself towards the minibus’s side door.

  ‘You lifting?’

  ‘If you’re asking!’ joked Asa.

  Asa’s arms snaked beneath and around the teenager’s frail body and hoisted him high above the wheelchair and onto the bench-like padded seat. After a quick argument about whose seat belt strap was whose, the lad was safely secured by the far window.

  ‘Esmé, you next?’

  ‘You can go in the middle,’ she said, zipping her fleece. ‘He’ll be more comfortable having you cracking cool jokes and pulling his leg than my tedious efforts.’

  Asa climbed in and untangled his seatbelt.

  Esmé glanced towards the rear of the minibus, where three medical staff, accompanying them in case of an emergency, hurriedly loaded supplies whilst Stig was occupied and oblivious.

  Esmé climbed in and immediately retrieved and opened her large bag of Skittles.

  ‘You on a day trip, love,’ called Stig, leaning round Asa’s body to view her.

  ‘Yes, thanks, I’ll start the singing off in a few minutes so get your vocal chords warmed up,’ she answered, matching his jovial spirit.

  The minibus journey was as comfortable as could be expected given the age of the shock absorber
s and rusty suspension. Within a few hours, Esmé’s back ached and her thighs were numb from her swinging feet not touching the floor but her voice was in fine form. After seven renditions of ‘Ten Green Bottles’, endless rounds of ‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’ and a dubious football chant, which Esmé was sure Stig’s mother wouldn’t approve of, but which Asa sang heartily, the mini-bus drew to a halt near Bethesda, North Wales.

  The medical crew and helpers piled out, as Asa gently lifted Stig from the vehicle into his wheelchair.

  The mist was low, the rolling hills high and Stig’s excitement levels were entering the stratosphere.

  Whoosh!

  All eyes lifted skywards as two bodies suspended in nylon cradles came zipping overhead in bright orange jumpsuits.

  ‘OMG!’ shrieked one medical helper, introduced as Tara. ‘Is that what you’re going to do?’

  ‘You got it!’ cried Stig, his pinched face beaming with delight. ‘Wow! Look how fast they go, Asa!’

  ‘Faster than five miles an hour, hey?’

  ‘You bet. I’ll race you down, no problem.’

  ‘Are you going down too?’ asked Esmé.

  ‘Of course, we’ll go side by side, hey Stig – you and me?’

  ‘Sure man… who is going with Esmé?’

  ‘Me?’ Esmé screeched, looking amongst the group. ‘Excuse me, I’m not doing that for no one. I’m here to watch.’

  The group of faces turned and stared.

  ‘I’ve news for you, you are!’ whispered Asa, throwing a casual arm around her shoulder. ‘Now buck your ideas up, don’t be scared but the lad wants us all to do it.’

  Esmé’s worst fear had come true.

  ‘I can’t do that, I’m only here as a helper.’

  ‘And this is your payment.’

  ‘I don’t need paying, thanks – I’m doing it purely to be useful.’

  ‘Think of the thrill, woman,’ laughed Asa, releasing his hooked arm.

  ‘It’ll be the fastest you ever move,’ called Stig, his body doubled in laughter.

  Esmé looked from Asa and back to another female helper, who seemed as shocked as she was.

  ‘No one said,’ muttered Esmé, knowing she’d have never agreed to help if this little plan had been mentioned. Was this her punishment for sleeping with Jonah?

  Asa shrugged.

  ‘Best foot forward, me thinks, live a little, Esmé.’

  ‘I’ll give you ‘live a little’, if you keep on with that bloody saying,’ muttered Esmé, swallowing her pride.

  *

  They emptied the minibus, registered at the reception and were given a booking time before Esmé could catch up with the plans.

  The Stig Six were ushered from one prefab shed to another to collect bright orange jumpsuits and endure the undignified ritual involving looped harness strapping being hoicked and tightened about their groins by an instructor, creating a puffy arrangement like an adult nappy.

  ‘You’ve been Tangoed,’ called Stig, as Asa knelt before him doing up his front zipper.

  ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ laughed Tara, as she pranced about.

  The group stood and stared, no one dared answer her.

  Great. Esmé was sure hers looked worse.

  Esmé watched Asa and the instructor assist Stig with his strapping. Stig’s tiny frame was overwhelmed by orange material and the strapping gave the impression of a desperate turkey trussed up in a fancy dress costume. The instructor tugged and tugged to get the child size strapping small enough, the force of his movements causing Stig’s body to move violently.

  ‘Grab a helmet and line up please,’ called the instructor. ‘We’ll adjust and fit each one.’

  Esmé joined the queue, butterflies dive bombing in her stomach.

  What the hell was she doing here?

  She stepped forward for the instructor to position and fit her safety helmet by twisting the appropriate dials.

  ‘Don’t look so frightened, love, you’ll come to no harm,’ he joked as Esmé walked off, the rigid plastic strapping biting the underneath of her throat.

  ‘Asa, tell her to change her face…’ called Stig, as he pointed at Esmé.

  ‘Esmé, a request from Stig… change your face – you look like a bulldog chewing a thistle.’

  ‘Ha, bloody ha, Stig! And you look like a Cadbury’s chocolate orange gone very wrong in that jump suit, but hey, I’ll forgive ya!’ she called back, desperate to avoid the fear that was growing in her belly.

  ‘Asa, she’s history, isn’t she?’ said Stig.

  ‘Sure thing, mate, sure thing!’

  *

  Esmé looked out at the thick steel cable which was slung between their platform and another platform a few hundred feet away. A drop of around fifty feet was below her.

  ‘Could you lie down into a press up position please?’ asked the young woman, her pierced eyebrows and lip distracting Esmé from her instructions.

  ‘Press up?’

  ‘Like we just demonstrated…’

  Esmé stared around the group.

  What demonstration? The Stig Six group had just arrived at this platform by foot… no one had performed a demo, not that Esmé was aware of.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, Esmé,’ shouted Asa, stepping forward from the group. ‘Like this.’

  Esmé watched as Asa went to the front of the platform, peered over the edge, crouched down, placed his hands flat to the steel grid-work and stretched his body backwards. His palms and boots supported his outstretched body.

  How could orange jump suits look good on certain body types?

  ‘Are you watching?’ Asa’s voice interrupted her thought.

  ‘She’s definitely looking, mate,’ called Stig, as a titter of giggles ignited amongst the group.

  ‘Stig!’

  Esmé stared intently at Asa’s hands to demonstrate her full concentration.

  She watched as the instructor collected the rear sections of Asa’s body harness strapping and clipped him to a suspended metal runner hanging from the wire cable.

  Asa’s body was lifted up, his fingertips hardly touching the metal ledge while his feet were lifted and positioned against a length of black strapping pulled from the rear of his harness.

  He swung like a peg bag on a washing line.

  ‘See? Now, Esmé, get down in a press up position on the other launch pad,’ said Asa.

  Esmé stared in horror as all eyes turned to look at her.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Er yeah, we’ll go down side by side,’ said Asa.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Esmé!’

  Esmé followed the routine demonstrated so beautifully by Asa. The instructor performed the attachment routine at her rear and finally, her body was attached to the cable washing line.

  Beneath and before her lay an expanse of scrub land, mature trees, rocky footpaths and groups of orange jumpsuits hiking up the hill towards the platforms.

  ‘Now listen, as you near the metal strut in the distance, put your arms out by your sides like an aeroplane and it will help to slow you down, OK?’

  A second instructor completed his safety check on both harnesses, clips and runner hooks. ‘Perfect!’

  ‘Excuse me…’

  ‘Esmé, shhhh now!’ called Asa, his arms held straight by his harnessed sides.

  ‘But I can’t…’ Esmé glanced sideways towards her flying partner.

  ‘You can. In thirty seconds, it will all be over,’ laughed Asa.

  ‘Ready, steady, go!’

  Esmé felt her safety clip removed and whoosh! The rush of air took her breath away. Her body launched forwards and down, flying above the scrub land. Asa waved as he overtook her mid-flight.

  On approaching the platform an instructor grabbed the cable with his giant hook and stopped her flying action in one move.

  Within seconds, Esmé had followed the instructions given and was standing, knees knocking, back on terra firma.

  She’d done it. She’d
actually done it. Less than thirty seconds, as Asa had said. A wave of emotion lifted from her boots, up through her orange jump suit and snagged somewhere below her throat.

  ‘Love, you OK?’ said the instructor, looking concerned.

  ‘She’s fine, mate,’ called Asa, as he offered her his arm. ‘Esmé!’

  Asa’s fingers wrapped around hers and a spark of electricity flared.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Exactly, but still give me your hand.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re actually green – you look far from fine.’

  ‘But I did it.’

  ‘You certainly did.’

  ‘I nearly bailed out at the top.’

  ‘But you didn’t… full marks to you.’

  *

  They stood a distance away from the landing platform, and there was a whooshing sound overhead as two more of their small group zipped along the wire.

  ‘Is it Stig?’ asked Esmé, as she peeled herself from Asa’s protective grasp.

  ‘Yep, look at his face.’

  Stig had the broadest smile, his face was alight and alive.

  ‘Didn’t he want to come down alongside you?’ asked Esmé apologetically. ‘I ruined the running order.’

  ‘Oh well, he can do next time.’

  ‘What we’re doing that again?’

  Asa stared at her.

  ‘That was the practise wire… the real one is up there.’ Asa pointed to a huge mountain away in the distance. ‘You didn’t think that little stunt was his wish come true, did you?’

  ‘No, I… just… I thought that… you never said.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Esmé. You don’t think these instructors take someone up there without testing their nerve on a smaller set-up first?’

  Esmé stared at the mountain.

  ‘How high is it?’

  ‘Just under five hundred metres and the zip wire is a mile long.’

  ‘Are you serious? I’ve got to do that all over again? That…’ she pointed to the practise platform. ‘Was bad enough.’

  ‘Live a little, Esmé. You only have to lie there and watch the view come towards you,’ laughed Asa. ‘Now hush, here comes Stig… you’d better grow a backbone double quick.’

  ‘Asa!’ called Stig. ‘Wasn’t that the best?’

  ‘Certainly was… but now for the biggy,’ shouted Asa, helping him down from the landing platform.