Day 16: Break an annoying habit
‘I haven’t got any annoying habits, have I?’ asked Esmé, making her morning tea.
Dam gave her a sideways glance as he collected his cereal bowl from the cupboard.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing… apart from you have!’ he laughed, emptying half a box of cornflakes into his bowl and adding milk.
‘Excuse me, what about you?’
‘I’ve got loads… I annoy myself half the time.’
‘You spray that poison hairspray every morning so the house is filled with that nausea gas… it sticks to your throat,’ offered Asa, drinking his coffee at the table. ‘And, you act like a sheep following what others do rather than thinking for yourself.’
‘I don’t!’ Esmé swung round, knocking her mug over and sloshing the contents over the sideboard.
‘Plus, you never wipe up after yourself in the kitchen,’ continued Asa, smirking.
Esmé grabbed a cloth from the sink and began to wipe.
‘And you snore!’
Esmé and Dam stopped what they were doing and stared at Asa.
‘No. I. Do. Not!’ shrieked Esmé, wide eyed as she choked on her first sip of tea.
‘How would you know, mate?’ asked Dam, his spoon suspended mid-mouthful.
‘She does. You can hear her through the wall, Dam. Every night since she arrived she’s snored,’ said Asa, giving her a grin.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Morning,’ chimed Jonah, entering the room and looking around at the three intense faces. ‘Boy, what’s happening here?’
‘I’ve just informed Esmé that she snores,’ said Asa. ‘She’s calling me a liar.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘I believe you just did.’
‘You kind of did, Esmé.’
‘Seriously, you snore?’ Jonah pulled a face. ‘Wow!’
Esmé’s face turned scarlet with embarrassment.
‘I do not snore, Jonah.’
‘How would you know, really?’ said Jonah, helping himself to breakfast.
‘Precisely!’ said Asa, getting up from the table to put his dirty crockery into the dishwasher.
‘Jonah, he’s pulling my leg, saying it purely to rattle me.’
‘Seriously, I’m not.’
‘I once slept with a girl who snored, never again… what an awful night that was,’ muttered Jonah, searching for a teaspoon. ‘I kept having to ask her to turn over onto her side…’
Asa pulled a face at Esmé.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing.’
‘What does what mean?’ asked Jonah, turning round to look at the other three.
‘Him pulling faces,’ said Esmé.
‘Boy, have you gone red,’ said Jonah.
‘Jonah, I nearly got out of bed the other night to knock on her door purely to ask her to roll over,’ laughed Asa, enjoying her embarrassment.
‘You can’t sleep on your back if you snore,’ explained Jonah to Esmé.
‘I don’t sleep on my back! I can do any position.’
A moment of silence occurred. Esmé looked at each male, their faces flickered with wry smiles.
‘See you all, have a nice day!’ called Asa, heading for the door.
‘Asa!’ Esmé followed him.
‘What?’ he turned in the doorway.
‘I don’t snore, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say I do, OK?’
‘OK. But ya do!’
The kitchen door closed.
‘He’s doing it to wind me up.’
‘It worked then,’ said Dam, as he finished his cereal and cleared his dirty bowl away.
‘He can probably hear it through the wall,’ offered Jonah, slurping his coffee.
Esmé took a deep sigh, brightened her face and turned to Jonah.
‘For the last time, I do not snore… that arse is saying it purely to tease me.’
‘Oh right, I get it,’ muttered Jonah.
‘Get what?’
‘You and him… you know?’ Jonah waved a hand casually between Esmé and the closed kitchen door.
‘No! That wasn’t it! Heaven forbid!’
Jonah looked up from his breakfast and smirked.
‘It’s not difficult – you’re easy to wind up.’
‘On that note, I’m out of here. Seriously, I came down to enjoy a peaceful breakfast and this is what I get…’ said Esmé, throwing half of her tea in the sink. She put the dirty mug in the washing up bowl and headed for the door. ‘Bye.’
‘That’s another…’ said Dam.
‘What?’
‘Another annoying habit… never washing your mug up or putting it in the dish washer.’
‘Oh, shoot me down!’ called Esmé, leaving the morning room.
*
Esmé spent her lunchbreak surfing the internet for sewing patterns for a flared skirt.
‘It’s all a bit boho, isn’t it?’ asked Marianne, joining her at the computer screen.
‘Maybe, but I was thinking the other night, I loved crafting and making things as a child. Just like reading, I don’t know when that actually stopped.’
‘Probably when you discovered boys,’ added Penny from the other side of the office, chomping her salad.
‘Hmmm not really, I made my own prom dress. I think it was when I came here to work.’
‘Earning a wage and having spare cash?’ said Marianne. ‘I remember you used to wear a little burgundy skirt with stitch detail on the waistband – I remember asking you where you bought it?’
‘I made that. Wow, where did that go? I loved that skirt.’
‘I loved it too,’ said Marianne.
‘I don’t remember it, but even so, why go back to making your own clothes. It’s so easy to buy.’
‘My calendar task was to start a new hobby so I bought myself a sewing machine last night on the way home from work.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Penny.
‘Two of the guys helped me to get that and a knitting machine back to our house before half six. Second hand, but both in good nick.’
‘I bet Stella McCartney’s quaking in her boots,’ laughed Penny.
‘Oy, don’t knock it, at least she’s trying to do something with her life. What are me and you doing, hey?’ said Marianne, over the top of Esmé’s head to Penny. ‘Seriously, I work here, go home, clean, cook and scrub before I do the same again the next day.’
‘Just joking,’ muttered Penny into her plastic food box.
‘My life has evened out to a whole load of routines… That’s it as you get older, life becomes routine…’
‘So, change it,’ said Penny.
‘Aren’t you sick of it?’ asked Marianne.
‘I haven’t got a minute to myself to think about it, between Keith, the two kids and the house I don’t get time to myself, let alone time to worry about routines. I do what I do in the time available to me so I can do the next job. That’s it. My life. Wife and mother.’
Esmé looked up at her colleagues.
‘Ladies, really… is this necessary?’
‘We’re not arguing, lovey. We’re just saying how it is once you get to our age, so mind you try and make the most of the things you want to before you turn into us!’
‘Or you, Marianne. I’m quite happy with my lot.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Penny.
‘Maybe you are, you’ve got the children to look after but me and our Jimmy – we’re comfortable but…’ Marianne’s voice faded.
Penny and Esmé watched as she returned to her desk.
‘I don’t know, maybe it’s my age… I’ve been here fifteen years and what am I actually doing?’
‘You need telling now? I suspected you never understood the training,’ laughed Penny, pulling a face.
‘No. I know what I’m doing but in the grand scheme of things spending eight hours a day organising orders for the warehouse is hardly riveting, is it? I could be doing so much more.’
‘Do it then, Marianne. Sounds like you need a calendar like hers,’ said Penny, pointing to Esmé. ‘A stuck-in-a-rut calendar – which you knocked the other day as pure mumbo jumbo.’
‘It’s been great so far, if I think back just two weeks – how much has changed because of that calendar.’
‘Phuh!’ snorted Marianne. ‘Things have changed because you have been open minded, that’s why.’
‘Do you think? Yes, Carys’s gift has made me face each day and make changes. The house move, my hair, my new wardrobe… all those things came via the calendar.’
‘No disrespect, but she’d probably still have been snivelling into her breakfast whilst living at her parent’s,’ added Penny. ‘Which is what we all did after a break-up.’
‘Maybe Carys can buy me a married woman’s calendar?’ laughed Marianne. ‘I’ll just pretend to be married.’
‘Or the mid-life crisis calendar, more like,’ said Penny.
‘Either way, fingers crossed, Esmé won’t be here to clock up fifteen years like we have.’
Esmé peered from behind her computer screen at her colleagues.
This was going to be a long afternoon.
*
Esmé offered to make the tea on the hour every hour purely to escape the unusual ‘vibe’ in the office. She knew they hadn’t fallen out but the tension might not clear until a fresh work day began. On her fourth trip with the tea tray, her mobile rang.
An unknown number illuminated the screen.
Leaning against the canteen’s sink unit, with a dripping tap as a background irritation, Esmé took the call.
‘Hi, is that Esmé?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Greg… you gave me your number last night.’
He had rung. He’d actually done what he’d promised.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine thanks, we’re having a busy day here so it’ll probably be a late finish… so, I was wondering if you were free tonight for dinner. I’ll totally understand if you’re busy, it is short notice but I thought I’d ask.’
Esmé stopped herself from answering straight away.
What were the dating rules? Wasn’t he supposed to wait? Wasn’t she supposed to make out she was ultra-busy and make a date for the weekend?
‘That would be fine,’ she said, quickly adding. ‘I can switch plans, no problem. Busy weekend and all that.’
Should I have said that? If tonight goes well he may want to see me again over the weekend.
‘Great stuff. Shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll pick you up and we’ll catch a bite to eat… Chinese, Italian – what’s your favourite?’
‘Italian.’
‘OK. So, your address is?’
Esmé quickly gave him the details and after a swift goodbye, Greg was gone.