Esme learns her lesson by Cole Beauchamp and Sumitra Singam
A finger on the lips, a rubbing of the brow, a curling of the lip even at the threshold. This is the snip-snip rhythm Esme finds at Nana’s now that Grampa is gone. No more slip-slop of sun cream and hat and shoes. Just the chop-chop of cucumbers and carrots, soldiered in military lines for a snack; the shooing outdoors on a summer day.
On the wall, their wedding photo, Nana unrecognisable in her smiling, unwrinkled glory, Grampa bearing the discomfort of his suit and necktie like a man mid-hanging.
Nana catches the ghost of Esme’s fingers on the photo and exiles her like the criminal she is. Nana says she’s told her and she’s told her but Esme’s a little girl who never learned her manners.
Nana sees Esme’s grubby wake but has no eyes for spectral Grampa in his chair. He’s rocking and he’s winking and he’s there. Nana can’t take comfort in the musky smell of baccy when Esme hides away in the sedan.
Sitting at the wheel, Esme is queen of her domain. Grampa says he must give way to royalty and settles into the passenger seat.
“Nana said I’m naughty. She smacked my hand.” Esme can still hear the slap, still feel the sting.
“Cruel and unusual.”
Pipe smoke fills the air. It eases her bruised feelings, unclenches her jaw.
“How about we go on an adventure?”
Esme feels a fizzing in her belly at the light of mischief in his eyes. “Can we go to where you really are?”
“Well that might take some doing.” He takes the pipe out of his mouth and taps it on his knee. “Do you know where she keeps the keys, Esme?”
She nods.
“Run in and fetch them, quick.”
Esme is stealth, shoeless and creeping. She returns, triumphant. “She didn’t notice a thing!”
He shows her the gear stick, the brake, the accelerator. “Put the key in the ignition and turn.”
Esme does as she is told. She has learned that much. She thrills to the growl of the engine, can just about reach the pedals.
Cole Beauchamp and Sumitra Singam met on an online writing course and became friends over WhatsApp despite their incompatible time zones (UK/Australia). Neither of them live in their country of birth. Their late night/early morning convos on WhatsApp run the gamut, from infertility and menopause to growing pineapples in England to rejection bingo. They wish they could invent a time machine and go back to 2002 when they both lived in London, so they could have real-life chats over chai. They are both widely published, including a collaborative piece with Icebreaker Lit. and hope to produce many more stories together now they have met in real life and sung a few karaoke duets.
