October 2011
Esme had known Nathaniel as far back as she could remember. Her father, a dour widower, had always avoided eye, or any other sort of contact with their neighbour. This endowed Nathaniel with a mystique which drew Esme like a magnet.
As soon as she could walk, she went on tip-toe to align her eye with the missing knot in the fence. Nathaniel with his wild grey hair and beard, stooping over the veg. patch, scratching about the earth was endlessly fascinating. There must be some point to all the scratching, but it eluded little Esme.
She spied on him for several weeks whenever she was in the garden. He was always there scraping and scratching away. Then one day he wasn't. She moved her body around so she could see most of his garden, but there was no-one. She was absolutely desolate and was about to give up when she heard a deep, soft voice, 'Hello, little spy.'
Esme raised her head slowly and saw a giant Nathaniel looking down over the fence at her. She had never seen him standing up before, and he was very tall.
'Ello . . . me Esme.' she declared boldly and completely unfazed.
'I'm Nathaniel.' he replied.
A child can see right inside others and she knew he was good. They became friends. When her father came out into the garden, which was once in a blue moon, and asked who Esme was talking to, 'Birdies.' she replied without a blink of her wide blue eyes.
A child can tell if someone doesn't like them, or their friend for that matter.
As the years rolled by, Nathaniel and Esme's conversations were much improved by her ability to climb the apple tree. She was able to sit on the bough quite comfortably, with a clear view of Nathaniel in his veg. patch, while chatting away for hours.
Esme was eighteen when she came home from work to find a strange woman sitting on the sofa next to her father. He jumped up rather guiltily, she thought, and introduced Mrs Peabody.
She was small, rotund and had a face rather like a prune, but not such a nice colour. Her hair was dark with grey roots and it was dragged up on top of her head in a sort of bun. Perhaps, Esme thought idly, she couldn't afford a face lift.
Mrs Peabody clucked about her like an old hen, but Esme re-trained her child instinct and knew Mrs Peabody was bad. They became enemies.
Over the next weeks and months, when the inevitable wedding took place, Esme moped in the garden and poured out her woes to Nathaniel. He groaned and grunted in all the right places. A month later her father died. He has a weak heart, a fact completely unknown to Esme, but evidently well known to the former Mrs Peabody, now Mrs Daley, who dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, not to stem the tears, but to hide the glint.
The will was read and Esme was not surprised to learn that her father had changed his will and everything was left to his new wife. Mr Rudge said there were some complications about Mr Daley's ownership of the house, but he would iron these out in a couple of weeks.
The grieving widow whispered to Esme, 'That should give you enough time to get out of my house and my life!'
Esme went straight out to the back garden when she got home. 'Home not for much longer.' she thought. Nathaniel wasn't there, he was always outside at this time of day, why couldn't he be there when she needed him most? She felt almost resentful, then she started to feel uneasy and ran to his front door. She hammered and called . . . all in vain. When the ambulance came, it was too late – he was gone.
Esme found herself in the same solicitor's office, summoned for the reading of 'the last will and testament of Nathaniel Crudgington' according to the letter. She felt ashamed. She hadn't even known his surname.
Mr Rudge cleared his throat, 'Ha-hem. I have asked Mrs Daley here today as this also concerns her.'
Esme's heart sank, which surprised her. She didn't seem to feel anything since her dear friend had gone.
'It seems that Mr Crudgington owned the whole plot, including the two houses. He allowed his daughter, her husband and child, which of course is you, Esme, to live in one of them. The whole plot, including the houses, are to pass to Mr Crudgington's granddaughter, Esme.'
Esme blinked several times, unable to speak, but at last understanding why she had felt such a connection to dear Nathaniel.
Mrs Daley was gasping like a goldfish deprived of water. Mr Rudge looked at her, 'I am so sorry, Mrs Daley, for the earlier mix up, but Mr Daley's affairs were left in quite a muddle. I'm sure he didn't mean to mislead us in any way.'
He turned to Esme, 'How long would you think was reasonable to enable your stepmother to find alternative accommodation?'
Esme faced her and found her voice, 'Shall we say two weeks?'