Katie Ginger - Cooking Up Christmas

Glancing towards Joe as he strode to his car, Esme gave herself a mental shake. Today she had to try and look forward, look to the future. And there was always something fun about nosing around other people’s houses. This excitement, mixed with her nerves at being in such close proximity to Joe, knotted her stomach as she climbed into his waiting car.

*

Joe watched Esme yank the green beanie hat down onto her head and wondered what on earth she was doing back in boring old Sandchester. Usually couples looking for holiday homes viewed everything together – quite nauseating. All the lovey-doveycuddliness as they ‘ummed’ and ‘awwed’ over period features or places that were within easy reach of the motorways or train station. Perhaps her other half was one of those uber-busy, suited and booted, successful types. A doctor saving lives, or a surgeon elbow-deep in brains curing epilepsy. Maybe he was a scientist building space rockets, or perhaps creating a vaccine for space flu. Whatever he did, Joe bet it was essential or pioneering, or life-saving. Something epic that made his being an estate agent seem normal and boring. There wasn’t a ring on her finger, though. No big shiny diamond or wedding band, so they hadn’t got that far yet. Not that it was any of his business, he reminded himself.

Keeping his eyes on the path avoiding the puddles, he unlocked the car. He’d forgotten how pretty Esme was. In fact, she was even prettier now than she had been back then. In her teens she’d been gangly — all arms and legs that didn’t seem to work properly. She’d been clumsy, he remembered with a smile. Now she was much more in proportion, had grown into herself. ‘So, how’s life?’ he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Esme hesitated. ‘Oh, you know … fine.’

The radio kicked out a Christmas song and Esme shivered. Joe reached over and turned the heater on. From the pause, he guessed she didn’t want to talk about it to him which he could understand. He was a stranger.

‘What about you?’ she asked, staring out the window. ‘What have you been up to since school?’

His mind flew to Clara and a sharp pain shot into his heart. ‘The usual stuff,’ he replied, ensuring his voice was level and calm. ‘Uni, a bit of travelling. I went to Australia for a while.’ That was it. That was all he could manage. Before she asked anymore questions, he said, ‘So you want to see the seafront property first? It’s great, but it’s not super-huge. With the budget you’ve got, I’m afraid you won’t get lots and lots of space.’

‘That’s okay. I just need a decent-sized kitchen, that’s all.’ Her voice carried a slightly resigned tone. Joe glanced at her. She had a pretty profile and the mass of red curls were poking out from under her green beanie hat, emphasising the beautiful deep colour of her hair.

‘So you still love cooking and all that sort of stuff?’

‘Yep, I do.’ Esme smiled. ‘Cooking always makes me feel better.

‘You were the only one who paid attention in home economics.’

‘I don’t know why you lot hated it so much.’

He shrugged. ‘We were 15 and knew about microwavable burgers. To us, there was no point in cooking anything else.’

Esme laughed. ‘I suppose not. Though microwavable burgers are super-gross.’

‘They really are,’ he said, laughing too. ‘I have no idea why I ate them. It was like meat-flavoured cardboard in actual cardboard.’

As they sped through the town, from the corner of his eye, Joe saw her watch out of the window. ‘The town hasn’t changed much, has it? Esme asked, glancing towards him.

Apart from some new-build housing developments, it hadn’t. The streets were lined with boring bungalows and quiet suburban cul-de-sacs. A few new coffee shops had opened up on the high street but that was about all. It wasn’t a match for Oxford Street. On the radio the DJ announced another Christmas song. Some people had already started decorating. and here and there large inflatable Santas loomed out of front gardens or from behind hedges. He thought it was a bit early, personally.

Joe drove along the seafront, following the sea to the far end of town and pulled up in front of a beautiful Georgian house that had been divided into flats. Esme climbed out of the car and stood back to admire the large black front door and sash windows. ‘All you have to do is cross the road and you’re right on the beach,’ said Joe. The grey clouds had followed them from the town centre and a light rain began to fall. He pulled out the keys and opened the main door. ‘It’s the top flat.’

Esme climbed the stairs two at a time, almost beating him to the top and he was hopeful she’d like it. He found the front door keys and led them inside. They walked down a small hall, so small in fact, they nearly had to go sideways like a crab, emerging into a tiny sitting room, off which was an even smaller kitchen. Esme’s face clouded. Joe knew that look but gave her a moment to look around. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, when she came back into the sitting room after checking out the rest of the flat, but he could already guess the answer; her eyes weren’t sparkling as they had outside.

‘I don’t think the kitchen area is quite big enough for what I need.’

‘What do you need it for exactly?’ asked Joe, looking confused. He’d assumed this was some kind of weekend or holiday flat where even the most ardent of bakers would lay off the self-catering.

‘I’ll be doing a lot of cooking. So I need some decent workspace.’

‘Right.’ Joe nodded. That was weird. Most people did the minimum amount of cooking in their holiday homes, preferring to eat out. But then Esme had always been different. Looking around, the cooker was squeezed into a corner, the fridge stuck out and there were only three cupboards and a tiny bit of workspace. They’d called it a galley kitchen in the details but even that was pushing it. ‘Are you going to be here a lot then?’

Esme looked down at the floor, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m, umm, I’m having a bit of a change of direction.’

That didn’t sound too good, but he didn’t want to pry. ‘Oh, okay.’

She was walking around the tiny kitchen opening and closing the cupboard doors. ‘I, umm, I left my job in London and then … then my boyfriend and I broke up, so I’m back here for a bit. I’m trying to make a new start.’

Joe raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t imagined it was anything so bad and was even more surprised that she’d told him so openly. Then he remembered that she’d always been honest and outspoken at school. ‘Sorry. That’s really tough.’

Esme scratched her head underneath her hat. Her eyes were so sad and her pale skin resembled porcelain. A part of him wanted to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone in her heartbreak, but he couldn’t get the words out. ‘Which one would you like to try next then? I’m guessing this is a no-go?’

Esme gave a polite smile. ‘If this were bigger, it’d be perfect. I’d love to live by the sea.’

‘The only thing I’ve got like this that’s larger is double the price.’

Esme frowned. ‘I know I’ve got limited options.’

‘What about the flat in Palmerston Road? The one above the pizza shop?’ He tried to sound cheerful but was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her thing.

‘I have to be honest, I’m not keen on the pizza place.’

‘It’s not actually in a pizza shop,’ replied Joe, smiling.

‘Above it, then. I bet it smells of greasy pizza all the time,’ Esme said, aimlessly walking to and fro.

‘It doesn’t. It’s quite nice inside. It’ll just get a bit noisy when the pubs kick out. It’s the best pizza place in town.’