The Single Girl’s Calendar by Erin Green (21)

The thunder of feet on the staircase woke Esmé early on Sunday morning. She heaved her bedding over her head and tried to return to her slumber. The image of an eight legged fiend filled her mind.

‘Errr,’ she jumped, as she felt something touch her left foot. Whipping back the duvet just to be sure, a dash of cold air ensured she was fully awake. ‘So much for a Sunday lie-in.’

She plodded to the mantelpiece to collect her single girl’s calendar.

I never completed yesterday’s task! Fancy failing on day ten having been so good every other day?

Only last night, she had thanked Carys for such an intriguing present. Carys had phoned to say she and her younger sister, Jenny, were going to the cinema, did Esmé wish to join them? Esmé had jumped at the invite, having made no plans of her own.

‘You can’t spend a Saturday night home alone…’ said Carys. ‘I predict you’ll end up watching Casualty while downing a bottle of vino and bed before half ten.’

‘What’s wrong with Casualty?’ asked Esmé, when they met in the cinema’s foyer.

‘Single woman’s cheesy tv,’ explained Carys. ‘The actors are super fit but the storyline’s total mush.’

‘That covers half the tv I watch anyway… so?’

‘Change, my dear girl… it’ll be good for you,’ giggled Jenny, her dark eyes sparkling like her older sister’s.

‘The last ten days have been nothing but change… one step at a time, yeah?’ Esmé had joked before giving Carys a quick update on the week’s events, especially the flower deliveries and their subsequent disposal of them.

‘Pretty busy then… yet another way of getting over a break-up,’ soothed Carys, after Esmé’s detailed summary. ‘And now, time for a bit of Firth and Bridget.’

‘Always a good shout. Come on!’ Jenny had ushered them briskly towards screen five, laden with popcorn and candyfloss.

Esmé returned to her bed clutching her calendar. She re-opened day ten, not such fun without the tiny slab of chocolate, to re-read yesterday’s task: list three future dreams.

What were her dreams? Nothing came to mind. She used to know – Esmé held up three fingers and counted.

‘To get engaged, to get married and to have my own family in a few years,’ she said aloud to the empty bedroom.

Simple but ruined. She needed Andrew to succeed at each one. Esmé folded her arms in disgust. How can one person mess it up for someone else on such a grand scale?

The three things she’d wanted most in the world he’d now wiped from her reach. What new dreams had she to replace them? None.

Esmé didn’t wish to be richer, thinner, fitter, more fashionable, more intelligent, more out-going, less frightened of spiders, more charitable, less reflective… she smiled at the irony.

She still wanted to be engaged, married and planning a family – had she specified Andrew’s family? No. She wanted a guy who a, wouldn’t cheat b, would commit to her and c, commit to their future family. Simple. Though not so simple when you’re starting all over again.

She could feel the hollowness growing deep inside.

Leave well alone before the memories make you cry. This isn’t the way to start a Sunday morning. Sunday morning is supposed to be a joyful, bright part of the week.

Esmé jumped from her bed, pulled the covers straight and headed to the wardrobe and grabbed a colourful tee-shirt and her favourite jeans.

Within ten minutes, she felt a whole load better, vowing to leave yesterday’s task until later but instead to focus on today. She took the calendar from the bed clothes and searched for day eleven, a mouthful of chocolate was guaranteed to brighten her mood, she read the task.

Esmé looked down at her outfit.

Did she need to spring clean her wardrobe? She’d never followed fashion trends but was comfy and ticked the boxes of clean, tidy and presentable. Did anyone she know, apart from Jonah, consciously choose a particular fashion style? Penny shared her clean and tidy category, Marianne was older, yet stylish in a classy way. Carys and Jenny had definite styles or was it simply cultural expectations which determined their colourful appearance and choices?

Esmé opened the wardrobe doors wide. Despite still needing to collect most of her clothes from the apartment she stared at the foundation of her possessions: tee-shirts in a rainbow of colours that had complimented her old auburn hair, jeans and a variety of boots: some heeled, some flat, with round or square toes.

She knew she had a selection of other clothes in the apartment but honestly, for the majority of the time, Esmé was happy as she was.

She could wear a pink tutu, Doctor Martin’s and a wet suit – but would it make her a more interesting person? She doubted it.

Wow, she’d struggled with these tasks. The first week was easy but yesterday’s lowered her mood and today’s had made her feel like a dowdy frump. What’s wrong with clean, tidy and presentable? Wasn’t changing her hair style enough?

Esmé was having none of it, this wasn’t the way she’d hoped her Sunday would start, so she left her room and began the day afresh.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Esmé, as she entered the morning room to find her brother eating cereal. ‘You don’t pay rent, you don’t have a room and yet you’re here all the time.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Kane, with his mouth full.

Esmé snapped the switch on the kettle.

‘It feels like it,’ she muttered, taking a mug from the draining board. ‘Seriously, you had the chance to live here, and you blew it.’

‘You jumped in my grave by waving your cash around, isn’t that right, Dam?’

‘Sibling argument – please leave me out of it,’ chuntered Dam into his toast and pâté. ‘I have enough when I visit my parents.’

‘And another thing… you can start paying towards the food you keep scoffing when you do come around… you ate all the biscuits last time and my last piece of bread!’

Kane pulled a face at his sister, mimicking her mood.

‘Woo, little Miss Arsey today, are we?’

‘No, Little Miss Not-Putting-Up-With-Brothers any more, that’s who!’

‘Pity, I had planned to put in a good word with Jonah for you!’

‘You arse!’

‘I thought you’d given Asa that pet name, not me?’

‘Seriously, you are a total waste of space, waste of a heartbeat, waste of standing space, an oxygen thief and waste of a skin!’ Esmé stirred her coffee and swiftly left the room.

‘Woo, what’s up with her?’ asked Kane.

Dam simply shrugged.

Esmé stood in the hallway, coffee mug in hand. She wanted to cry.

What had just happened? Why did it bug her so much that Kane was here?

‘Are you OK?’

Esmé turned to see Kane slip through the kitchen doorway. ‘You seem a bit…’ He pulled a grotesque face.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that… It’s me, I suppose, I’m all over the place.’

‘Come here.’

Esmé put her coffee on the bottom step as Kane wrapped his arms around her shoulders and bear hugged her mighty tight.

‘I get it. You’re allowed to feel this way… just don’t let it get the better of you, that’s all.’

Esmé cradled her head under his chin and wobbled it from side to side, a trick she’d done since his teenage growth spurts.

‘I know. I’ve had a good week considering. I’ve coped well but this morning I feel like… Blar!’

‘Maybe it’s catching up with you… you’ve kept yourself busy and now, Sunday morning, the blues kick in.’

‘Maybe.’ Esmé thought about The Single Girl’s Calendar, had yesterday’s task been too much to deal with so soon after the break-up? Or was the idea of spring cleaning her clothes that hard to take? ‘Do you think my clothes need updating?’

‘You’re asking me?’ scoffed Kane, releasing his hold.

‘I’d say yes,’ said Jonah coming down the stairs. ‘And your platinum hair needs toning down, too.’

‘I wasn’t asking you! And what’s wrong with my hair?’

Jonah pulled a face.

‘I only had it done a week ago… Tristan said…’ Her words fade, Tristan had mentioned a return visit, hadn’t he?

‘Bleach blonde just isn’t now, whereas vibrant reds, mmmmm irresistible!’ Jonah smoothed his long blond hair over his shoulder. ‘What I wouldn’t give to spend some time with a red haired lover…’

‘You think everyone’s image needs updating,’ laughed Kane.

‘I’ll ignore that remark, Kane. Esmé, you’re a woman, I think you need to start dressing like one.’

‘Excuse me! I think you’ll find us women can please ourselves with what we wear and when.’

‘You can, but seriously,’ he waved a hand up and down indicating her clothing. ‘You’ve worn something similar every day you’ve been here… where’s your panache? Your finesse? Your vavavoom?’

‘Jonah!’ cried Esmé, laughing.

‘Only saying, you asked for his opinion so why not take mine? Treat yourself to a personal shopper for the afternoon – they’ll work wonders for your wardrobe,’ said Jonah, heading towards the kitchen.

‘Has that tarantula gone?’ asked Esmé, calling after his retreating frame.

‘Yep, I returned it yesterday actually… thanks to you and your hysterics!’

‘Thank you! It’s not my fault I have a phobia.’

The kitchen door swung shut.

‘A personal shopper’s not a bad suggestion…’

‘Well, it’s your bank balance,’ muttered Kane, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Call me, if you need me.’

‘I will.’ Esmé collected her coffee mug from the stairs and watched him pull on his trainers by the front door. ‘Kane, thank you.’

He looked up from tying his laces.

‘I get it, seven years is a long time… you must have thought these days were over.’

‘I did.’

*

‘Aren’t you taking the rest of your clothes?’ asked Andrew, as Esmé slid closed the doors of their fitted wardrobes.

‘Not at the moment,’ she said, as Jonah’s suggestion churned over in her mind. She could turf the remainder of her jeans, sweater tops, hoodies and faded tee-shirts into several black bin liners but what if she failed to be impressed when out shopping. How many times had she returned empty handed from her favourite store? She’d kick herself for throwing out decent quality clothing. If nothing else she could leave these clothes here, replace the items and then donate these things to charity.

‘Good, I don’t mind,’ said Andrew, seated on the edge of their double bed watching proceedings.

‘Sorry, I know… that wasn’t easy.’

‘So, don’t do it.’

Esmé paused.

‘I have no choice. We aren’t the same people as we once were. I can’t pretend it hasn’t happened.’

She turned away and busied herself emptying the top drawer of her dressing table into a cardboard box. She could feel his eyes on her back, drinking in her every move, but she couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes.

‘Have you told your parents?’ she asked, casually.

‘Yep, and my brother and both sisters – they all know I messed up. They all know you’ve moved out, I even explained how and why.’

Esmé folded the flaps on the box and set about filling another with her cosmetics.

‘You didn’t have to go that far but thank you for being honest… I didn’t relish the thought of bumping into them in the city and having to defend myself.’

‘My mother was gutted, if you want to know. Said she couldn’t believe I’d acted so foolishly and that I deserved everything that I had coming to me. My father didn’t say much, but he never does, does he?’

‘Not usually.’ Esmé carried on packing in silence, working her way through the drawers.

Who’d have thought that Diana Nixon would have sided with her? They’d got along well but still, Andrew was the apple of her eye. That was a turn up for the books.

‘Are you heading straight back?’ asked Andrew, breaking into her thoughts.

‘Yep, my dad’s outside waiting with his friend’s van.

‘Oh.’

‘I said he could come inside but he didn’t want to intrude, you know how it is?’

‘OK.’

Within fifteen minutes, Esmé had packed the majority of her possessions from their bedroom and the few that remained in the bathroom. Andrew helped her to carry the bulging bin liners and boxes down the stairs towards the entrance where the white transit was parked.

‘I’ll leave these here, if your dad’s not too keen on speaking,’ muttered Andrew.

‘Thanks. Well, bye, sorry for interrupting your Sunday afternoon but… I needed…’ her throat closed up with a wave of sadness.

Why had this happened to them? Why wasn’t today about Sunday roasts and choosing a design for wedding invitations. Instead, Esmé was frozen to the spot amidst a sea of bin liners, desperately trying to say a cheery goodbye to an ex-boyfriend whose pain was etched on his face.

Andrew gave her a clunky hug that was roughly and hastily delivered, before he traipsed back up the stairs to apartment nine.

Opening the entrance doorway, Esmé beckoned to her dad as she dropped the first of her bags outside on the block paving.