Cooking Up Christmas. Katie Ginger

going to get the stuff tomorrow; I think Eric’s helping. I’m so sorry, honey. It might just be a guilty conscience, but you know what Mark’s like. He’s got second sight when it comes to this sort of thing. He doesn’t normally get signs wrong.’

      Esme nodded, but forgot to speak, her mind frozen. Like a fool she’d believed Leo when he said he thought they’d become more like friends and had sat here defending him to her mum and sister. Esme had hated the idea of their relationship ending but could accept it if growing apart was the reason. It felt more respectful somehow for them to have simply changed over time. But this? Cheating? This was just nasty.

      ‘Esme?’

      ‘Can I speak to you later, Helena? I’m with Alice right now.’

      ‘Yeah, of course. I’m so sorry, honey. We all love you and he’s a shit. Say hi to Alice for me.’ Esme hung up and told Alice.

      ‘That dirty rotten bastard,’ Alice shouted, then glanced over her shoulder to check Daniel hadn’t come into the kitchen. ‘He must have been seeing her behind your back for ages. You don’t just move someone in a day after you’ve chucked your current girlfriend unless something has been going on for a while. He must have had it all planned. What an absolute …’ She trailed away seeing Esme’s face.

      A sharp pain shot though her temples and her head ached. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. At least it was still beating, she reminded herself. Even with all this. It was broken, but beating. Alice took Esme’s hands in hers and looked her straight in the eye.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Ezzy. But we’ll make this work, I promise. All of us together. We’ll make this work. And soon this’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.’

      Esme placed her hand on top of Alice’s, sniffing back tears. ‘I love you, sis. But we’d better remove all the sharp objects before we tell Mum.’ Alice nodded and quickly hid the knife block behind the bread bin.

      As expected, Carol went off like a rocket and when later that day Esme told her dad, he pursed his lips in outrage, which was quite a lot from him. That night, in the little box room at her parents’ house, in her old single bed, Esme cried and cried until she could hardly breathe. A pile of tissues lay on the floor beside her and were scattered over the duvet. Her old Nirvana posters stared at her, Kurt Cobain’s eyes making her feel watched and judged. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, in the still, quiet house, in the still, quiet cul-de-sac, Esme fell asleep, wondering how she’d gone from living her best life to being at the bottom of the scrap heap without a hope in hells chance of climbing back up to the top.

       Chapter 4

      Sandchester

      Joe scratched the back of his head, checked around for customers, and gave the photocopier a swift kick. The damn thing was playing up again and had been for ages. If the paper wasn’t getting stuck, it decided it had run out of toner and he had to get down on his hands and knees and wiggle different bits about until the annoying red light stopped flashing. It wasn’t that he knew what he was doing. It was just that being the youngest of the office staff by a good twenty years, it was supposed he knew more about technology than the rest of them. He didn’t.

      Fridays at the estate agents were always quiet for some reason. Maybe people didn’t want the hassle of tidying their houses and making them presentable for viewings, and those who were buying left all the looking for Saturdays, when they could do so without worrying about taking time off work. Either way, he was fed up. He’d completed all the admin he had to do, and the four games of solitaire he’d just played on his computer had done nothing to alleviate his boredom.

      The photocopier spluttered into life and kicked out the paper he had been waiting for, as well as a few extra sheets for good measure. He took them and ran a finger round the collar of his shirt. He was sweating. In November. The radiators were on full blast and old Mr Rigby, who owned the business, insisted on having a couple of heaters on as well. It was only about eight degrees outside, but it was as hot as Dubai in here – a place he would definitely rather be right now.

      Even though he’d been back for a long time, he was still getting used to working nine to five back in England. After moving to Australia with his girlfriend, Clara, he’d worked a normal working week. But with long lunch hours, swims before work, and barbecues on the beach after, it had made the slog of the daily grind so much easier to bear. He stared out of the window at the threatening grey sky and pouring rain, and sighed. The landline on his desk rang and he hurried over to answer it. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

      ‘Hi, Joe?’ said a singsong female voice.

      ‘Hi, how can I help?’ He didn’t recognise the voice.

      ‘It’s Annabelle.’

      ‘Annabelle?’

      ‘Yes, Annabelle.’ She sounded annoyed now. ‘We met in the pub the other night and then we … we went back to yours.’

      ‘Oh yes. I remember.’ He did, just about. He’d made sure they hadn’t swapped numbers, he didn’t want to lead her on, but if she’d found the work number and rung that, she clearly wanted more than he could give. He realised he’d been quiet for a while and glanced up to see Mr Rigby smiling at him. Keeping his voice professional, he asked, ‘What can I help you with?’

      ‘I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime?’

      ‘Yeah, um, no, thanks.’ There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. ‘What I mean is …’ He leaned down behind his desk, pretending to look for something in the bottom drawer. He didn’t want the whole office to hear him and brushing off a lady could be quite difficult sometimes. He knew that from experience. Joe kept his voice low. ‘The other night was great, but I’m not looking for anything more right now. Nothing serious.’ It was a bit of a corny line but he’d used it before and it had worked fairly well. Plus he meant it. He wasn’t leading anyone on. He wouldn’t do that. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping it would work again now. Annabelle said nothing and he could feel the anger emanating from her and travelling over the air waves.

      ‘Oh. Okay.’ Her voice was curt and clipped. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?’

      ‘Yeah, okay. Bye.’

      She hung up and Joe sat up from behind his desk. Calls like that were the worst part of one-night stands. The fact that they weren’t fulfilling didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to be fulfilled. He couldn’t anymore. Sometimes, like with Amy – no, Annabelle – he felt bad for a while, but he never promised them anything more. He wasn’t a complete bastard. Joe was adjusting his tie when the office phone on his desk rang again. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

      ‘Hi? Is that Joe Holloway?’

      He didn’t recognise the female voice on the other end of the line, and his brow wrinkled. He hoped this wasn’t another one-night stand wanting more. Before Annabelle, his last one had been a few months ago, so it would be odd her calling now. Why did he do this to himself? It never helped and it just caused more trouble. If they were going to start phoning him at work, he could lose his job. ‘Yes, this is Joe. How can I help?’

      ‘It’s Alice Potts. I’m looking for some properties for my sister, Esme.’

      ‘Alice?’

      Oh God, was this Annabelle calling back pretending to be a customer? Trust him to pick a psycho. He gazed at the rain battering against the large glass windows and pictured her suddenly standing there, wielding a knife. Joe shuddered but tried to remain professional. Mr Rigby was typing slowly with two fingers and hadn’t seemed to notice.

      ‘Alice and Sean Potts. You helped my husband and I find our first house.’ Alice laughed. ‘You’d know me better as Alice