Esmé slept with her mobile phone clutched in her hand. A scattering of spent tissues lay scrunched up on her duvet, alongside discarded screw caps and five empty liquor bottles from the hotel’s mini bar. Esmé hadn’t had a good night.
A film reel of last night’s events played on a continuous loop every time she closed her eyes. Esmé was hoping that a vital scene would change and a different ending would magically occur. Sadly, it didn’t. The sequence was simple: left work, made the bed, found the earring and then all hell broke out. Repeat unchanged.
Esmé lifted her shoulders, flipped the plump pillow onto the cold side and lay back.
Had Andrew slept well? Had he slept alone? Or had Sadie reunited her lost earring with its rightful twin?
‘Enough. He isn’t worth it,’ she muttered, as she pummelled the pillow into shape.
It’s not as if they’d never discussed infidelity. When his best mate, Steve, forgave his fiancée, they’d agreed reconciliation would never work in the Nixon/Peel relationship. How could they trust each other again? When his sister, Sarah, became pregnant by her old flame, Terry, they couldn’t fathom how Simon, her husband, could entertain the idea of raising the boy as his own. And as for Bridie at work, when Nick walked out after just three weeks of marriage – did the woman have no self-respect as she begged him to come home? Esmé and Andrew had agreed. They couldn’t face the social humiliation, the niggling doubts, the constant questioning or secret checking of pockets and purses for early signs of another torrid affair. They’d agreed calmly and maturely – you cheat, it’s over.
And yet, he’d cheated. And, in their bed.
Esmé gathered her collection of empties and screw caps, ignoring the wave of guilt associated with the price of them. She could have bought a decent bottle of champagne for the price of those miniatures.
Her stomach growled.
Had she eaten anything last night?
Esmé pinched herself, hard. Ouch! Yep, she wasn’t asleep. The nightmare had actually happened.
In her head, Esmé could see their kitchen calendar hanging beside their fridge. Today was the date she’d circled with gusto the moment the cellophane was removed. Her hands had eagerly flipped each page and finally, on reaching March, she’d grabbed a pen from the junk drawer. A red loopy circle had signified all her hopes and dreams. Who’d have thought she’d been counting down to a disaster!
By seven o’clock, Esmé could hear from New Street that the city was beginning to wake: the litter pickers with their yellow dustcarts and commercial waste collection crews were bantering between themselves.
Work? Urgh! Would it be entirely wrong for Esmé to attend the office and delete today from her holiday allocation? But the thought of disappointing the smiles that would instantly adorn Marianne and Penny’s faces was enough to make her cry again. They would be so excited for her today, it would be all they’d talk about come coffee break.
Please don’t text asking if we’re strolling along Vyse Street, thought Esmé, as she grabbed her mobile and checked for text messages: nothing. Not even from Andrew.
Esmé flung back the duvet, she threw the empties in the bin and rummaged in her overnight case for her jeans and a sweater. She dressed as quickly as possible in an attempt to beat the mass of Andrew related thoughts that sloshed around in her mind. The quicker she buttoned her jeans, zipped her boots and pulled a sweater on, the more chance there was that her brain could be fooled into normality. Like forcing a delete and reboot on her computer at work?
Having dressed, washed and applied a small amount of make-up, she took the hotel key from the dresser and headed out in search of breakfast.
*
Esmé walked along New Street, where many of the shops’ metal shutters remained closed and locked, as the staff commuted towards the city centre. Esmé had the empty streets to herself, fresh and clean, like a blank page on which to wander until the rest of the world caught up and awoke to Friday morning.
The early sun was shining, the sky was clear blue and yet the world was very different compared to yesterday morning. Yesterday, Esmé was a woman in love. Today, she was in limbo. Neither committed to a relationship nor single.
Beyoncé’s ‘Single ladies’ song ran about her head. It was now so obvious; Andrew hadn’t liked her enough to put a ring on it. A lump grew in her throat.
Esmé checked her mobile again – still no text, no apology, no call.
What was she supposed to do now? Start again? Reinvent herself at twenty-nine? Or return to the life she had before Andrew? A singleton, wining and dining with friends, with yoga and boxercise classes on alternate nights. Esmé couldn’t remember her last day as a singleton. What had happened to the life she’d once loved? When had the group of girlfriends disappeared? The visits to the cinema for popcorn and late night chats? When had they stopped phoning? How long had it been since she had painted the town red on a girls’ night out with old school friends such as Charlotte, Fiona and Deb? They were probably living the lives they’d all dreamt of living filled with weddings and babies.
I bet I don’t even have their mobile numbers anymore, thought Esmé, sadly. Who’d have thought seven years on I’d be walking the streets purely to fill my time.
Esmé strolled the length of the pedestrian area, crossed the new tram line and went partway up the sloping gangway that leads to the Grand Central shopping area. And stopped.
I can’t hold this together for a minute longer. I need to speak to Carys.
Taking her mobile, she stood against the metal railings and called her best friend.
‘It’s me.’
‘And?’ came the bubbly yet drowsy voice of Carys.
‘We’re finished – he cheated on me. What am I going to do?’ Esmé’s voice broke and tears flowed.
*
‘I feel like my two year guarantee has expired and he’s exchanged me for a newer model – much like the first sofa we purchased together from PlushSofasAtDiscountLand.com,’ said Esmé, spooning froth from her skinny latte. ‘He loved it at first sight but soon used the returns voucher in preference for the four-seater model.’
‘Esmé, are you serious?’ asked Carys, her dark eyes staring intensely over the rim of her tea cup. Her ebony complexion shone after having dashed into the city for lunch after Esmé’s earlier crisis call.
‘Yeah, the new sofa was being delivered as the store’s removal guys were collecting the one they dropped off three days earlier. And now, he’s exercised his consumer rights with lovers, too.’
‘No, I mean about it being over between you two?’ asked Carys.
Esmé balked at the question.
‘How can it not be? We’ve just done seven years of promising each other a future and he wrecks it with a…’
‘Mindless shag?’
Esmé paused.
‘That’s the worst of it. I don’t think it was… he didn’t make a single excuse, he simply stood and took everything that I threw at him. Carys, I don’t think it was a mindless anything… from what he said… he was totally aware of what he was doing and how it would affect us. I’ve gone from soon to be fiancée to ex-lover in less than twenty-four hours!’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Maybe he’s wanted out for a while. Played his hand and chanced his luck that I’d do as we’d always promised… threatened… without a fuss or a fight if either of us strayed.’
‘Is there no way back from this?’
Esmé shook her head, her bottom lip protruded.
Carys reached for Esmé’s hand and gently squeezed it.
‘So, what have you done all morning?’
‘Apart from visit cafes, I’ve walked around the city, stared in shop windows and had a meltdown when I found myself in the crime section at Waterstones…’ Esmé coughed as a wave of nausea lifted to her throat. ‘I felt fine until then. How many times has that store saved my skin with his birthday presents or stocking fillers? Not anymore. Those days are gone.’
‘In that case, I have just the thing,’ announced Carys, releasing Esmé’s hand before rummaging in the plastic bag beneath her chair. ‘Don’t laugh, but this actually helped me through the break-up with Myles.’
‘I thought I helped you get through that.’
Carys raised her head mid-rummage, her corkscrew curls bouncing as she disagreed.
‘Nope! You know nothing about break-ups, Esmé. Seriously, your relationship has been so long-term you haven’t a clue. But this…’ Carys lifted a pink boxed object onto the table top. ‘This might help.’
‘What the hell?’ said Esmé, staring at the advent calendar styled object with its tiny perforated doors.
‘It’s 100 per cent tack and it only cost a fiver but—’
‘Carys?’
‘Hear me out, Esmé… it’s worth a laugh if nothing else.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Esmé, lifting the calendar to read the blurb on the reverse.
Want a sassy new way to overcome a break-up? Or simply an opportunity to focus on your life? The Single Girl’s Calendar is made for you! Behind every door is a task that will help you focus on you, and you only! A whole month of pampering, mindfulness activities, caring and sharing ideas which in just four short weeks will have you feeling on top of the world! An insightful way to put a spring back into your step as a strong, independent woman!
‘Are you serious?’
Carys nodded.
‘It felt like a guilty secret when I did it.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Believe me, I didn’t tell anyone. This was my daily fix – a daily dose of chocolate plus a focussed task which helped to take my mind off Myles and our break-up. Go on, open door one and see what today’s task is.’