Relationships
Hot Milk
GiaB ‘Dear Genie’ prompt #2: forgiveness
Esme and I had been friends for over five decades.
We met in our thirties. We’d both married young, had the sprogs, then divorced the men. Mine had gotten far too cozy with the neighbor, so I sent him packing. Esme’s husband, well, his only crime was being dull as dishwater. The firecracker that Esme was, it was no surprise they didn’t last.
We were unruly spinsters from thereon in. The years passed with heeled feet kicked up high as we danced, tipsy laughter from too much gin and not enough tonic, and the odd scandal here and there. Two women unafraid of what is still a man’s world, we were inseparable.
It didn’t seem like five minutes, however, before we were applying for bus passes and senior discounts. Skin sagged, and liver spots appeared overnight. Eventually, our offspring decided we should go into a home.
We kicked up a fine fuss at that. But nothing could deter them, not even the threat of being written out of our wills and the local dog shelter getting everything. We were forced to admit defeat, although there was one thing we’d never back down on.
Wherever we went, we were to stay together.
Esme and I had spent the majority of our lives spurning romance and various offers of remarriage — we had no interest in men.
Therefore, you can imagine my shock when I fell in love with one of the residents in the home.
Stanley was two years younger, with a twinkle in his eye that told me that he had plenty of go in him yet. He was always neat as a pin, right down to his furry grey eyebrows which I suspected he trimmed to make them perfectly symmetrical. He was witty, and not adverse to a prank or two, which appealed to my riotous nature.
I told Esme. Her eyes glittered and she banged the side of her walking frame.
“You cougar!” she cackled.
She spent the afternoon teasing me, but I didn’t care. I was eighteen again, coquettish and in love for the first time.
So, when I saw them together that night, I was flabbergasted. Thanks to the salty cod we’d had for dinner, I’d woken up around midnight desperate for a drink of water. Whilst filling a cup in my en suite, I heard a slow tap-tap-tap on the landing outside my bedroom, accompanied by a lover’s giggle.
I padded over to the door and squinted through the peephole. I may not have had my glasses on, but I’d recognize that walking frame and those perfectly symmetrical eyebrows anywhere.
The feeling of betrayal burned in me. The next day, I refused to speak to Esme. At first, she was perplexed but she soon figured out that I’d discovered them. I ignored her apologies. We were officially un-friended.
There came a night where I couldn’t sleep. After a while, I decided to go down to the kitchen and make myself a comforting mug of hot milk.
Gripping the oak banister, I was about to descend the stairs when once again I heard a tap-tap-tap. It was Esme, crossing the landing towards me.
“Making yourself a hot milk? Me too. I can’t sleep for love nor money.”
The fact she knew me so well wounded me further. I pursed my lips and pretended she wasn’t there.
“Come on, Flo. Please forgive me. You can’t stay mad at me forever.”
My silence told her I could.
“You’ve given me the silent treatment for weeks now. Don’t you think I’ve paid the price for what I did?”
When I didn’t reply, she shook her head and wobbled her walking frame over to the chair lift at the top of the staircase. Esme had struggled with stairs for years, and would need to use the communal frame tucked off to the side once she’d reached the bottom.
I saw her discard her aid, and prepare to plop down on the automatic seat. I saw the friend I’d shared over half my life with, and the old woman who’d thrown it all away.
I saw my hand, knuckles stiff and fingers bent, reach out. It didn’t take much really, just one little push.
As she lay at the bottom of the stairs, I held tightly onto the banister and leaned forwards to look at her broken body.
“Now you’ve paid the price, Esme. I forgive you.”
