Esme had spent the day making Christmas presents for her friends and family, trying to save money. She’d bought something for Daniel – a drum kit – which Alice would hate, but it would make them all laugh, and Esme had made foodie gifts for the rest of them. She loved making presents like that. It felt so much more personal than grabbing something off a shelf along with ten other people. You could really tailor things to an individual’s tastes. If they liked something sweet you could make them chocolates, if they liked savoury things you could make them chilli-fried nuts. Or you could make booze, which was always a hit with Mark.
Hunching forwards and wrapping presents was beginning to give her a crick in her neck, so Esme stood and stretched before making lunch. Settling down again, holding a hot bowl of soup in a tea towel, she snuggled down on the sofa to reply to the comments on her blog. Most were asking for alternative ingredients and there were more kind things from Penny85. She’d even started some great conversations with the rest of the commenters. Her little blog was beginning to build a community, and a lot of it was down to Penny85. Looking back, Penny85 had commented on every post and every video. Always in an encouraging and friendly way. This time she was asking where she could get harissa paste from.
Esme spooned the homemade vegetable soup into her mouth, trying not to dribble it over her keyboard and responded, saying which aisle it was usually in at the supermarket. Her own local supermarket didn’t have it so she suggested some alternatives. Within seconds Penny85 had responded again. She’d scoured her local store but couldn’t find it. She asked if a wholefoods shop like Pepperson’s would have it?
Esme went to type but something Penny had said caused her to hesitate. Pepperson’s was a specialist shop in town, not a chain store found on every high street. There weren’t any more of them as far as Esme was aware. After a quick search online her suspicions were confirmed – there weren’t any other shops with the same name. It must mean that Penny was local. Esme chewed the inside of her cheek. Could she ask her or would that be prying? Esme sat back and tapped her lip with her spoon. Something in Penny’s posts made Esme want to know her better. She’d always been so supportive and kind and if she was local, Esme would love to meet her. Perhaps if she was local, she already knew Esme or her family?
Esme decided to risk it and ask, and typed the question before she could change her mind. For a while there was no answer and Esme worried she’d gone too far or that Penny would think it weird and creepy and Esme had scared her off. Had she crossed some invisible line? Some law of internet etiquette she didn’t know about? Esme replied to some of the other comments to keep herself occupied but kept glancing back to Penny’s.
An hour later, Penny replied confirming that she was from the same town. As soon as the reply popped up, Esme read and scoured her mind for anyone she knew called Penny. She had no idea how old Penny was and had presumed the 85 was her age. If it was the year she was born, she could be a friend from school. Regardless, Esme still wanted to meet her and thank her for being so supportive. Penny may not realise it, but she meant a lot to Esme.
Esme swallowed down her nerves and asked the question, reading aloud as she typed. ‘Penny85, thank you so much for all the support you’ve given me on the blog. As we’re from the same town, would you like to meet up after Christmas? I’d love to buy you a coffee and a cake!’ She waited for a reply but yet again the response didn’t come straight away. Keeping herself busy, Esme tried to keep her eyes from the screen until after another hour the answer came that she’d love to.
It was a short response and less effusive than her other posts. When nothing more was added, Esme worried that Penny had felt pressured into meeting. Whether she did or she didn’t, there wasn’t anything Esme could do about it now. But Esme planned to take her to the new café at the old end of the high street, the one with all the books and homemade chocolate brownies. It would be her treat.
Just as she cleared away her lunch and returned to wrapping gifts, listening to Christmas songs on her laptop, a knock at the door made her start. After their meeting in the pub yesterday, she hadn’t expected to see Joe. Normally when a bloke had an emotional moment they disappeared for a while – that’s what Leo had always done. ‘Hey,’ Esme said with a smile, glad he was there.
‘Hi. I … umm.’ He scratched the back of his head, then thrust both hands into his jeans pockets. ‘I just wanted to ask if you fancied coming to a Christmas Eve party with me tomorrow night?’
‘With you?’ repeated Esme, wanting to check she’d heard right. She hadn’t planned on going out but here Joe was, asking her, and he looked so nervous and vulnerable, her heart gave a double beat. She wanted to say yes but was she ready to? Was he? His jaw was covered in thin, dark stubble but there was something different about him this afternoon. His face seemed younger and less worn down. And when he followed his question with a shy lopsided grin, her muscles pulsed. There couldn’t be any harm, could there? She hadn’t seen the brunette the last time they were at the pub and he hadn’t mentioned her at all. They must have finished. She liked Joe’s company and as she’d said to herself many times before, if she could help him, she would. Maybe he just didn’t want to be on his own and was asking her as a friend, or to stop her being lonely. ‘That sounds fun,’ she said at last. ‘Where’s the party?’
Joe’s terrified face relaxed. ‘It’s a friend of mine. He owns a new wine bar in town. It’s only just opened. It’ll be fun. And besides, no one should be on their own on Christmas Eve.’
Ah, there it was, she thought. with a slight sinking feeling she tried to ignore. Just as friends. ‘That sounds great,’ she replied, remaining cheerful but disappointment bit at her.
Joe smiled and nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven then, if that’s all right?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Slowly, he edged away, still grinning and Esme closed the door behind him. She felt 15 again. Joe, the school bad boy who all the girls fancied, had asked her out, like she’d imagined so many times when she was younger. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly a date, and maybe it was only so neither one of them would be on their own, but still, she went back to wrapping presents with a grin pulling at her face.
Esme spent the next day dancing around her cottage. She couldn’t help it; she was excited to go out with Joe. They’d got on so well when he came to take the pictures, and that night he had met her friends. Every time they’d been together it had felt so easy and natural but special somehow. She couldn’t deny it anymore, she fancied him. Not in the teenage crush way she had at school. Well, not totally. He was still completely gorgeous. But knowing now how much he’d been hurting just made her want to ease that pain.
Then Esme started to panic. Her mind still ran back to thoughts of Leo at every available opportunity. Playing over all the times they’d been happy and in love. It was hard to let that go. And what if she made a fool of herself? She hadn’t been out with anyone new who hadn’t seen her at her worst – drunk, hungover, ill and grumpy – for such a long time. What if she couldn’t make conversation? What if she had something in her teeth from dinner? What if the zipper on her dress broke halfway through the night? Everything was fitting a bit more snugly than it had before. Joe was very handsome – what if someone turned up who was prettier than her, cleverer than her, more successful than her? It wouldn’t be hard to achieve those things, thought Esme dismally and, in an instant, her excitable mood faded to a dreary dullness where nothing was right. Esme gave herself a mental shake. Mark always said, ‘Fake it till you make it’ and that was exactly what she’d do. Though she wasn’t feeling confident, she’d pretend to.
As the afternoon light became watery and pale, she poured a glass of wine and went upstairs for a long hot bath. Before long she was dressed in her favourite little black dress, tights and black heeled boots. She added a deep red purse and pink lipgloss. With a flick of eyeliner and two coats of mascara she was ready to go, her curls tamed, elegant and chic.
When Esme opened the door to Joe half an hour later, she couldn’t believe her eyes. He looked sharp in a black suit, bright white shirt and long, thin black tie. She felt her cheeks lift as she smiled, unable to contain it. Joe’s eyes glanced over her body, probably surprised to see in her something other than dirty jeans and baggy jumpers, and with unbrushed hair. She hoped he liked what he saw. ‘Wow. You look amazing.’
‘Thanks.’ Her confidence lifted a little. ‘I was worried it’d be a bit much.’
‘No. No. You look great.’ They stood in silence for a second until he pointed at his car. ‘Shall we make a move?’
Esme nodded and climbed in quickly, shivering in the cold. Having grown used to multiple layers of clothes on all parts of her body, her elegant jacket and scarf didn’t offer much protection against the chill of the night. Joe turned up the heater and began the drive into town.
‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?’ Esme asked. It wasn’t the most exciting question to start the evening, but she couldn’t exactly begin with, ‘Have you got over your dead ex-girlfriend and total heartbreak yet?’
‘I kind of am this year.’ They fell back into a moment’s silence as Joe concentrated on the road. He glanced at her from time to time and Esme pulled down her skirt, nervous it was too short. ‘Are you enjoying being in the cottage?’ he asked as they left the pitch-black winding country lanes behind and drove along the streets of Sandchester lit by streetlamps and houses.
Esme brightened. ‘Definitely. I do like it there. It’s scruffy, and sweet, and crazy. Bloody cold, even with the fire, but I like it.’ She had grown to like it in its mad way but whether this was her future or just a stepping stone to something else, she still wasn’t sure. Since being blacklisted by a couple of agencies, she’d been researching other career options that still used her food tech skills; at night, when that eerie silence descended, London still called to her. She still missed the hustle and bustle of the city, and of course, her friends.
Joe pulled up in the car park and ran to open the door for Esme, like a gentleman. They walked down the steep high street to the wine bar chatting about Joe’s work and some of the new houses that were coming onto the market. Esme spoke of her recipes and how the blog was beginning to flourish a little. It was already busy when they entered the bar, but it was a pleasant change from the pub, especially as there was far less chance of her parents being there. Esme could only imagine what Carol would say at seeing her a) tarted up for a change and b) there with Joe. After the whole Christmas tree episode, it didn’t bear thinking about. A bright full moon shone in through the large glass windows on one side and a glitzy bar ran along the other. Subtle lighting gave an elegant feel and groups chatted merrily to each other.
Joe met his friend with a firm handshake and introduced Esme. Then the owner showed them to their table where a bottle of champagne in a cooler full of ice waited for them. Joe poured, his hand shaking a little. Esme hoped everything was okay and that it wasn’t anything to do with memories of Clara. ‘So, the blog’s going well?’ he asked, passing her a glass.
‘Yeah, really good, I think. Some people think I’m a bit unprofessional, but others like it. I’ve had some sweet messages from someone called Penny85. She’s been really supportive right from the start and I found out she’s local. I’m going to meet her to say thank you.’
Joe’s face flickered with concern and Esme worried he thought it was a bad idea, but then he said. ‘You’re not unprofessional, you’re just not boring, like most TV presenters.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘How are things with you?’
Joe lifted his eyes and met her gaze. ‘Do you know, for the first time in a long while, things are going okay.’ He shook his head as if not believing his own words. ‘I took your advice and called Clara’s mum. I’d tried before but she didn’t want to speak to me. But then this time we had a great chat and cleared the air. I apologised for not making it to the funeral, and she apologised for not asking me, and she let me know they didn’t blame me.’ He took a sip of his drink like his mouth was dry, the words zapping him of his energy. ‘Not that it was an apology they needed to make, but it meant a lot. I’ll never forget Clara, but ringing her parents, speaking to them and knowing they don’t blame me, like I blamed myself, I feel like a giant weight’s been lifted. I can’t remember the last time Christmas felt exciting. I’m not dreading it, which is great.’
‘That’s fantastic.’ Esme smiled. Did that mean he was ready to move on? Maybe with her? She shook the thought away. She wasn’t even sure that was what she wanted right now. And her future might still lie in London, not here. ‘That was really brave of you.’
A gentle blush touched his cheeks as he grinned. ‘Shall we get some food to soak up this booze? I’ve got a feeling there could be a lot of drinks tonight. It seems we both have things to celebrate.’
*
Though it wasn’t really a date, it was turning out to be one the best nights of her life. They talked endlessly during dinner with no uncomfortable silences and afterwards, Joe asked her to dance to the cheesy Christmas songs playing. There was hardly enough room for all the people shifting and moving on the dance floor, and more than once Esme bumped into someone, turning to apologise to be met with a huge grin. Joe was a pretty good dancer and when his hand went to the small of her back Esme had a sudden flashback to Leo and the night she’d called Sasha. The night she’d changed her future forever. But the gentle pressure of Joe’s strong hand sent a tingle down her spine. The air was heavy with the smell of perfume and alcohol, and carried the buzz of excitement that work was finished and Christmas nearly here. The couples surrounding them laughed and kissed, and she turned to Joe.
Her heart had been a broken clock and now something had clicked and the cogs had started working again. Had Alice been right that everything happened for a reason? Was this going to be the best thing that had ever happened to her? Being in Joe’s arms felt right. Was this the man she was supposed to be with? As they swayed in time to the music, their bodies coming closer together, she could feel his torso press against hers and her heart began to pound. If she looked up at him, would he kiss her? Did he want it as much as she did right now? Risking a look, she tilted her head upwards, and his dipped. His mouth was coming closer to hers and she shut her eyes, her body tingling with anticipation. Then a voice called his name and Esme looked up to see Joe’s raised head watching as the dark-haired woman he’d been with in the pub ran up to him. Esme backed away, and Joe’s hand fell from the small of her back as the other woman flung her arms over his shoulders.
‘Joe! Where’ve you been? You’ve been ignoring me.’ She kissed him on the cheek then turned to Esme who, startled by how pretty she was close up, studied her shoes. ‘What are you doing here? You’re not being naughty, are you? Anyway, I need to see you. Can you meet me after Christmas?’
All at once Esme’s confidence, not to mention her belief in Joe, was cut down. He hadn’t changed. Lola was right, some men never grew up. She’d been taken in by the vulnerability of a man she had imagined. Joe’s eyes darted from Esme to the brunette and back again, his cheeks red with embarrassment at being caught out and, Esme hoped, shame.
‘Esme, this is—’
‘Excuse me,’ Esme said as she clenched her jaw and rushed to the door. Did he think he could use her then cast her off, just like Leo had? Like he did with his one-night stands? Well, she wasn’t going to stand for this. She wasn’t going to stand there and be humiliated.
Over her shoulder she heard Joe say, ‘Just wait there a second, angel.’
What? He was calling her his ‘angel’ when Esme hadn’t even left the building? She was only a few yards away! The palms of her hands were sweaty as, outraged, she made her way to the front door and out into the street. The cold night air hit her face, taking her breath away. Stupidly, she’d left her jacket and scarf back at the bar. Never mind. She hadn’t liked them much anyway and wouldn’t want to wear them again after tonight. A taxi sat ready and waiting in the taxi rank a few metres away.
‘Esme? Esme, wait.’ Joe’s voice carried on the wind but she didn’t look back, just ran on towards a taxi. Pulling open the door and jumping in, she tried hard to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill down her face. She’d thought her heart was beginning to rebuild itself again. That slowly, piece by piece it was mending and her with it. She’d allowed Joe to inch his way inside and now, instead of helping her heal, like she’d helped him, he’d battered it, tearing it in half again.