Joe changed into third gear, thinking what a successful viewing that had been. The young couple had loved the two-up, two-down and he was sure they would put in an offer. They said it was perfect for them and their little boy. Joe loved the sense of fulfilment when he matched someone to a house and helped them move on to the next stage of their lives. Ironic, considering he couldn’t.
The bare branches of the trees resembled long, thin fingers stretching out into the ashen afternoon sky. The privet hedges lining the fields were still green, but the colour was dulled and dark. He drove down the long winding road on the outskirts of town and saw Esme running. Her beautiful red hair, scraped back in a ponytail, bobbed behind her, her eyes focused on the ground. Even in sweaty running clothes she looked amazing. Something in him stirred and reminded him of Clara. She’d been sporty. Though she had blonde hair, like all lithe Australian women you saw on TV shows, and blue eyes that matched the colour of the clear stretch of sea near their house. Her limbs had turned a deep golden brown within a week of them moving to Australia and for three years they’d been happy, but then, things had started to change. Joe’s heart sped up as he thought of her again. When he’d flown back after the break-up he was broken, but he’d hoped that being at home would help him get over it.
He concentrated on the road, on the music playing from the radio – anything to break his mind from the path it was going down. The path it always went down. He recited the first few lines from the new song the DJ had introduced and the cold sweat started to abate. Joe glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Esme running back towards the cottage. She was braver than he was. She’d been dealt a rough hand but wasn’t crying and feeling sorry for herself all the time. She was keeping her head high and tackling life head on, trying to make a new future. He wished that, somehow, he could too.
Even his photography obsession wasn’t helping. He loved taking photographs of the world around him. The way light and dark played together, creating shadows, capturing a perfect moment or place, especially places unspoilt by man, like Parkin Wood. But his tendency to sulk had stopped him going out again.
Clara always said his sulking was his worst trait. He’d tried to pull himself out of it, but it was no use. Nothing seemed to help. Deep down he feared it was more than mere sulking but didn’t know how to tackle it. His parents didn’t either. Neither did his friends. And because he gave the world an image of a smiling Joe who seemed to be coping, everyone thought things were okay, or at least, pretended they were. His mother had suggested counselling a few times, but Joe knew it wouldn’t help until he felt ready to talk. Sitting in a room with a sympathetic therapist charging him goodness knows what an hour while they sat in silence would only have made him worse. It still would. He was waiting for the day to come when he could sit down and describe how he felt, but that day hadn’t arrived yet.
Joe took one last look in the rear-view mirror at Esme and pressed the brake, pausing at the junction. Checking the road three times, his hands gripping the wheel and his mouth dry with anxiety, he continued on his way. But then he felt a strange urge to turn his car around and go and see Esme. Why, he wasn’t sure. As a new tenant he should probably see how she was settling in, especially as the place had no central heating. He’d give her time to get back and sorted out first, but he would definitely call in later, on his way home, just to see how she was.
When closing time approached, Joe couldn’t wait to drive out to the cottage. Even as the rain battered the window of the car and he flicked the wipers up faster, his mood was lifting. He pulled up outside and noticed there was nothing coming out of the chimney. Surely she’d learned to light the fire? She’d been in for a couple of days and it had been freezing all this week – literally. It had actually hit below zero last night. How the hell was she keeping warm?
After huddling down out of the rain and giving a firm knock, Esme opened the door and he realised exactly how she was managing to keep from freezing – she was wearing about twenty layers of clothes and seemed three times bigger than she actually was. She was even wearing a hat and gloves. A grin broke out on his face and the tightness lifted from his features. It felt like a long time since he’d experienced such a weightlessness. ‘Hi.’
‘Don’t laugh,’ Esme said sternly, but a smile was lifting the corners of her mouth too.
‘What? I’m not laughing.’
‘Yes, you are. Or at least you’re trying not to.’
He rubbed his chin as if it would help hide his grin. ‘I take it you haven’t learned to light the fire yet?’
Esme’s eyes flicked down. ‘No.’
‘Do you want me to show you?’ Without speaking she opened the door wider and let him in. It was arctic in the old cottage and the orange glow from a tiny ancient four-bar fire looked dangerous rather than warming. ‘Geez, it’s absolutely freezing in here.’
‘Is it?’ she said, nonchalantly. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ A teasing smile brightened her eyes. ‘Do you want tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
Joe went over and surveyed the fireplace. Esme had cleaned it out but left it bare. ‘So, shall I teach you to light a fire then?’
‘When did you learn to light a fire?’ she asked, filling a teapot with actual tea leaves. Joe didn’t even own a teapot; he simply threw teabags into a mug and added the water. He should have known Esme would do things properly.
‘I was always bunking off school, remember? My mates and I used to go to Parkin Wood and hide up there. We’d light a fire in the winter to keep warm. My mum used to do her nut when I came home stinking of smoke.’
Esme shook her head disapprovingly. ‘Well, I didn’t think you’d learned in the Boy Scouts, you know.’
‘Ha, ha! Do you know where the wood store is?’
Esme nodded and brought over the teapot, a strainer, cups and some biscuits she’d made. He took a bite. They were delicious. So much better than anything he’d ever bought, even from Marks and Spencer.
‘I found it when I was exploring the other day. It’s really lovely around here. I’d forgotten how much space there is and how nice it is to be surrounded by fields.’
‘Well, after this I’ll go and grab some and show you how to light the fire. It’s quite simple when you know what you’re doing. These biscuits are delicious.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied, pouring the tea through the drainer, then removing it and adding milk. She passed a cup to Joe.
‘Do you have any newspaper?’
‘There’s millions over there.’ She pointed to a pile in the back corner. ‘I found them in the spare room. Why anyone would keep that much newspaper I have no idea.’
‘Maybe they knew we needed them for the fire?’
She grinned. ‘Maybe. That was very thoughtful of them.’
A silence descended and Joe glanced around the cottage. It wasn’t especially different, but there was something homely about it now. Esme’s presence was bringing it to life. Then he pushed the thought away and reminded himself any tenant would have brought it to life, filling it with knick-knacks and personal things. ‘Are you settling in okay?’ he asked to get the conversation moving again.
‘Yeah, I think so. It’s a lovely little cottage. Central heating would be nice though.’
He popped his half-empty cup on the table having necked it to try and warm up. It had been the tastiest cup of tea he’d ever had. ‘You’ll feel better when we get the fire working. Come on.’
Esme stood and he gestured for her to lead the way to the wood store at the back of the house. Luckily there was still a lot left. Grabbing some logs and handing a couple to Esme they hurried back inside as the icy wind whipped around the cottage and the rain grew fierce. ‘Can you get some paper, please? And some matches.’
Esme went to the kitchen and Joe lay the logs down on the hearth then shook off his coat. Esme came over with the newspaper and knelt beside him, handing him the sheets. Each time he’d scrunch one up and place it down, then he added some kindling and stacked the logs on top. From the corner of his eye he could see Esme’s head craning, watching how he built the fire. The smell of her coconut conditioner filled his nostrils and he felt an overwhelming urge to touch the silky strands of her hair. He turned slightly away, forcing the idea out and busying his hands by folding a sheet of newspaper to make a taper.
‘Why are you doing that?’ asked Esme.
‘Well, you don’t want to shove your face into the fire to light it so best to make a nice long taper and not burn your eyebrows off. You might want to get some firelighters too.’
‘Oh, okay.’
Before long the fire was roaring away and the room was losing its glacial feel. Esme pulled down two cushions from the old sofa and they sat on them next to the fire as it crackled and roared into life. Joe began to feel his fingers and toes again. Esme even turned off the terrifying and useless four-bar fire and began removing some of the jumpers until she was down to just two big sweatshirts.
‘This feels amazing,’ she said, her eyes twinkling in the glow from the flames. ‘You know what we need, don’t you?’
‘What?’ he asked, smiling at her excited tone.
‘Hot chocolate!’
Joe laughed as she leapt up and went off to the kitchen. ‘What are we, five?’
‘Don’t be grumpy! Everyone loves hot chocolate.’
‘Do you have marshmallows?’ he asked, warming to the idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk a hot chocolate.
‘No, but I do have a secret recipe you’re going to love.’
Joe watched as Esme moved around the kitchen finding bars of dark and milk chocolate, cocoa powder and milk, and measuring things out. She began melting it all together in a saucepan and he watched her face as she stirred. Her brow furrowed a little as she concentrated but then her features relaxed as she tasted it. Could he ask what she was thinking about or was it too intrusive, to intimate even? He wasn’t ready to be intimate with anyone, not emotionally. He turned away and added another log to the fire. Esme sat down next to him again and handed him his chocolate. Joe sipped and it was the most amazing thing he’d ever tasted.
‘This is one of my favourite recipes. My grandma used to make these for me and Alice every Friday in winter as an end of the week treat.’
He sipped and the hot, velvety chocolate slid down his throat. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most hot chocolates were. It was rich and intense and delicious, coating his throat with a silky warmth, warming him from the inside. ‘So, how are you settling in?’
‘Better now,’ Esme replied, nodding at the fire. ‘But it’s quite nice here. I like it.’
‘Don’t you miss London?’
A flicker of regret passed over her face, followed by a look of longing. She clearly did, but all she said was, ‘Sometimes. How do you like being an estate agent? I have to be honest, it wasn’t the career move I thought you’d make.’
‘What did you think I’d end up doing?’ He took another sip of the delicious hot chocolate. Against the light from the orange flames, Esme looked like a Renaissance painting, even in her baggy sweatshirt. Her red hair was illuminated and her pale skin stood out against the depth of its colour. Joe flicked his eyes away, worried that the emotion mounting in his chest would become too much if he kept looking at her. Just as he did, her eyes met his for a second.
‘I don’t know, really.’ She shrugged and let out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know what I thought. When we were teenagers, the world seemed so big and like we could do anything we wanted. Reality isn’t like that though, is it?’
Joe gave a slow shake of the head. She’d had a kicking just like him and he could see the hurt on her face, still fresh, still painful. His had been hanging around for ages now; he was unable to shift it from his soul. They said time heals all wounds but it hadn’t for him. It hadn’t lessened the load he carried or reduced its burden. Esme’s strength at trying to move forward already was astounding. ‘Reality sucks, doesn’t it?’
‘So, is there no one special in your life?’ Esme asked. Her tone was light and he knew it was a genuine and normal question. Strangely, even though his feelings were always heightened at this time of year, her asking didn’t fill him with the same fear it normally did and he felt his brain answer before his heart could stop it.
‘There was someone. I met an Australian girl a long time ago and moved out to Oz to be with her.’ He paused. ‘But it didn’t work out.’ Joe cleared his throat as a wave of sentiment engulfed him, so strong it nearly choked him. He hadn’t planned on saying anymore, but the words kept coming. ‘It, umm, it all went wrong and I ended up back here with no job or … anything, really.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Esme. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’
Joe watched her, wondering if she was being sarcastic. She probably still saw him as the bad boy from school, still trying to be cool, but then he saw the tenderness of her expression. ‘It does,’ he replied, nodding. Then he laughed, self-consciously. For the first time in a long time, a surge of real emotion grabbed him and he wanted to reach over and kiss her. Not for the fleeting moment of reprieve it could offer, but to connect with someone – her – Esme – on a deeper level. Connect with who she was on the inside. It was a feeling that scared him, not enough to make him run away, but enough that he felt a sudden need to lighten the mood and hide back in the shadows of his mind. ‘Anyway, I quite like being an estate agent. It’s more fun than you’d think.’
The conversation moved on as he spoke about Mr Rigby and some of the people he’d worked with over the years and Esme chatted about her work on different television shows. She was funny and had a quick, dry wit. He noticed though, that she often kept the conversation away from her personal life and, ever professional, she didn’t name the celebrity chefs she talked about unless she was saying nice things. After what felt like five minutes, he checked his watch and was surprised to see almost two hours had passed and it was nearly eight o’clock. ‘I’d better get going, Esme. Thanks for the hot chocolate. It was amazing.’
She gave a cheerful smile. ‘You’re welcome. Thanks for checking on me and helping me light the fire.’
Joe shrugged his coat up onto his shoulders. ‘No worries. If you need a hand again, just shout. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t think so, actually.’ Esme looked around as if checking to see if she had.
‘Well, here.’ He dug in his pocket and handed her a business card with his mobile number on. ‘Ring anytime, okay.’
‘Okay.’ She took the card in her long slender fingers and Joe made his way towards the door.
‘Goodnight, Esme.’
‘Night, Joe.’
As Joe walked back to his car, the cold night air biting at the back of his neck and cheeks as he pulled up his collar, he turned to the pretty cottage and watched the smoke from the chimney curl into the sky. He smiled to himself, pleased that he’d been able to help Esme, and safe in the knowledge she’d be much more comfortable now. But the feelings that had stirred in his heart were worrying – terrifying even, now he thought on them again. He wasn’t ready. And as he’d feared, the guilt that washed over him caused his fingers to tremble as he turned the key in the ignition. Taking a deep breath, he put the car in gear and concentrated on the road, hoping that the moment would pass, but knowing deep down it wouldn’t. The black hole from which he could never fully crawl out was beckoning him in again and he was powerless to resist it.