Written for a competition run by 'Artificium'.
'Esme'
The room was full of sunlight and Esme thought it was glorious.
In another room – the kitchen she guessed – came voices, but they weren’t speaking in the ordinary way. They were quiet, sotto voce, maybe afraid to intrude. Esme felt a little guilty and wanted to shout out, ‘Don’t mind me. Talk as you like.’ But she didn’t, it would have been rude. Light green roller blinds were pulled half-way down the window panes of the conservatory, to reduce the heat. It was still warm but Esme didn’t mind. She had a cup of tea and a comfy seat, some sort of wicker softened with an array of green and white floral cushions. And she could still see out into the garden, where small birds skittered among blazing azalea bushes. It was a lovely house. She remembered looking around as she walked through from the front door. Not too large, a family house, comfortable and lived-in. A few modern touches. She thought she could see that some of the furniture probably came from that flat-pack place, affordably stylish. No one stood on ceremony here, the house was for using, not for show. Susan appeared, with cake. ‘You’ll like this,’ she said, putting it down on a glass topped wicker table in front of Esme. ‘Carrot cake, made it this morning.’ Esme wondered why Susan was so sure she would like it, when she herself was very sure that she wouldn’t. ‘That’s very sweet of you dear but I’m quite full thank you, after that lovely lunch.’ Susan smiled and sat in one of the other chairs, looking at her watch as she lowered. She seemed on edge, wouldn’t sit comfortably among the cushions, as if she wasn’t in her own home. So Esme helped out a bit. ‘You’ve got a lovely home. The green in here is very … ‘ She trailed off a little, getting distracted by the flowers outside. Then she remembered her tea, and sipped at it with a mischievous smile, as if it was somebody else’s. Susan smiled too, ‘Thanks mum, it’s been like this for some time …’ She looked around her and Esme could see there was no enjoyment behind the smile. It made her look old, and she wasn’t. Not twenty-one yet. This reminded Esme of something. ‘Where’s that boy you used to bring home, with the blond hair? I liked him, he used to call me Essie.’ Esme roared, making Susan jump up and rescue the tea cup and saucer from her mother’s wavering grip. Esme clapped her hands and sung ‘Essie, Essie!’ ‘He’ll be home soon mum. He’s leaving work early to see you before you have to go back …’ ‘Work? No, he can’t be more than … what … fifteen? Too good for you of course, with your backside and flat feet. I’m surprised he keeps coming back.’ Esme then remembered that earlier this woman was talking to someone in the other room. ‘Who were you talking to, in there?’ She gestured with her hand, not pointing or flung out, just hanging there in the general direction of the other room. ‘It’s Alice mum, home from school. She’s in sixth form, remember?’ ‘Well, why won’t she come and see me? She can tuck in here, next to me.’ Esme indicated a gap on her chair, a space that Alice would have squeezed herself into once. ‘Hang on, I’ve got some pocket money here, she can get some sweets.’ ‘She came in earlier, remember …?’ Esme reached down for her bag. In it she found a notebook adorned with a thick, flowery cover. Inside this were drawings and poems, clippings and photos, all stuck to the pages and decorated with scraps of patterned paper and fabric, and the odd button or bow, even a shoelace. The cover had been titled, “To Nan, some memories of me, with all my love, Alice” Esme spent a few minutes looking through it. She was emotionless, except to be impressed by its construction, the care someone had taken over it. 'This is lovely. Someone will love this.’ Esme’s eyes felt sore, and she sighed. She wanted her bed. And she wanted this strange woman to go away and bring Susan back, she’s got school in the morning. In the silence that followed Esme was far away. She wasn’t aware of it of course, didn’t recognise it, not even when she was back again, wondering where she was and how Susan got so old. Sometimes she did remember, being away, being somewhere else, but they were the worst times, because then she knew that something was missing. |