Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 22, 2009 17:42:48 GMT -5
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: G
Genre: Alternate-Universe/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Esmé and Fernald share a romantic afternoon together.
Author’s Note: A VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU to the ever fabulous and always smashing Jenny for providing me with some very necessary background information for this fic. I’m not British (well, except for the one-eighth I got from my great-grandmother), and so I would have had absolutely nothing to go on otherwise.
Fernald Widdershins had spent a substantial fraction of the night gently rocking his precious darling in his arms. It was the only way he knew of to comfort her after she awoke from one of her nightmares, which she had suffered from ever since they’d fled from San Francisco two months earlier. In that time, the idea that Esmé Salinger was no longer under the control of a man who’d literally kept her a prisoner for seven long years had finally sunk it. Unfortunately, so had the possibility that Count Olaf would eventually discover her whereabouts. She hated to think what would happen if he ever found out that his former girlfriend was living with his previous accomplice in a small flat in Beckenham, England. It was this very thought that haunted Esmé during her waking hours, and consumed her mind as she slept.
There was no denying that Esmé was a sight for sore eyes. And Fernald’s eyes were very sore after having been woken by her soft cries at two in the morning. He was standing in the entranceway of the parlor of their flat, watching her with considerable adoration. She was seated on the padded window-seat, her small hand pressed against the glass as the late morning sunlight shone through. It wasn’t difficult to tell that Esmé was admiring the garden Fernald had recently planted outside, and he smiled to himself. All he had ever wanted to see her be was happy, and she would be if only she would put the past behind her. The night before after she had gone to bed, he had sat in the kitchen and poured through the yellow pages for a therapist who might be able to help her. Fernald hadn’t a job yet, only because Esmé cried herself into a fit if he so much as announced he was going around the corner for milk. It pained him tremendously to witness the woman he loved so dearly fall so completely apart, and he was willing to do anything if it meant her perpetual happiness.
Since their departure from the United States, Esmé had steadily been gaining back the weight she’d lost following her heartbreaking abortion. Fernald could see it in the sweet softness of her face whenever she smiled, and in the way her newfound hips swayed back and forth every time she walked. She didn’t seem resentful of the fact that she now had curves again, and had even giggled the night before when he’d tickled her belly affectionately.
It was after eleven, and Esmé was not yet dressed. She was garbed in the white baby-doll nightgown that Fernald had purchased for her in one of the city’s finest intimates shops a few days after their arrival. She had fallen asleep sometime around four in the morning, at which point he had left her briefly to go make coffee. He had returned to find her sleeping peacefully on her backside, her top having ridden up to just below her chest. She had looked so unthinkably sweet with her dark hair splayed out behind her on the pillow, her round hips and soft belly fully exposed. He hadn’t the heart to wake her, but had taken the initiative of covering her back up to keep her from catching cold.
Not wanting to startle Esmé— who had become so skittish in the last few months —Fernald rapped his knuckles against the wall. The sound caused the young woman to turn her head, and the corners of her pale lips turned up into a cordial smile.
“Good morning, love,” Fernald said, and crossed the room to the window. He seated himself beside Esmé, and handed her one of the two steaming cups of coffee he was holding. She responded by curling both arms around his neck and pressing her full lips to his thinner ones. “Did you sleep well?”
Taking a small sip from her mug, Esmé nodded. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”
“Ssshhh.” Fernald pushed a pair of fingers against her mouth to quiet her, and to his amusement she kissed them. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Esmé.”
Esmé didn’t look as though she quite agreed, and turned her attention back in the direction of the garden. “The roses you planted are very pretty. It’ll be nice not to have to watch them die.”
Fernald couldn’t help but be touched by her words. She had always liked it when he brought her flowers, but there was no denying the heartbreak on her face when they finally started to wilt. At least with the garden, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was break her heart, which Olaf must have done a hundred times over, and every one of those times was intentional.
“I thought we could head out to Bromley this afternoon,” Fernald said. “We still need to purchase a suitable vehicle, and you could do with some more new clothes.”
He had put that last part as delicately as he could. Just two months earlier Esmé had been a size four, and he had reason to suspect she was now much closer to an eight. Since her separation from Olaf, she had stopped eating like a bird and more like a human being. Fernald was gravely concerned on what Esmé’s feelings on her new figure would be once they hit the shops, but felt a strong assurance that as long as he was with her then things would be fine.
“Don’t worry about me,” Esmé said, and refocused her gaze on Fernald. “I’ll do fine with what I have. Besides, it’s very unfair to rely on you so financially when you don’t even have a job yet.”
Esmé’s words clearly pinpointed the fact that she held herself accountable for their current situation. Still, more than half of their savings was money she had made at her previous job as a bank-teller, and they had enough to go on for another couple of months at least. Fernald had planned to start looking for work just as soon as they‘d gotten settled, but Esmé’s condition had changed all that. Because her nightmares kept them both awake until the early hours of morning, it would be impossible for either of them to hold down a proper job for very long. A nightshift position someplace was clearly out of the question: not only because of Esmé’s nightmares, but because Fernald feared that someone would break into the flat and do his little sweetheart harm.
Fernald supposed that their only other option would be to simply conserve their savings. They would buy only what they needed, until Esmé’s condition improved and they could get their lives back on track. He certainly wasn’t going to force her to work if she didn’t want to. Though he did feel that a nice little position in an office or a bank someplace would restore the level of confidence that Olaf had shattered within her.
“You let me worry about that,” said Fernald, who would not have minded taking care of Esmé provided he could find a respectable job.
She nodded, though it was unambiguous from the look reflected in her bright blue eyes that she was worried about their future. She hated the thought of Fernald feeling obligated to stay home with her all of the time. Her guilt was fueled by the fact that she didn’t make it any easier on him by throwing a tantrum whenever it had been suggested that she stay alone by herself in the flat for a brief time. Esmé had taken to trailing after Fernald like a puppy, and it was estimated that it wouldn’t be long before his patience for her neediness began to wear.
That afternoon, Fernald and Esmé took the bus into Bromley. He suggested that their first stop be at the shopping center to buy her some new garments, but she insisted that it be at the car dealership. Not wanting to disappoint his darling, he was quick to give in, smiling at the way she snuggled up to him in their seat on the bus.
When they arrived at the dealership, the salesman showed them a variety of vehicles within their price range. Unfortunately, none of the cars appeared as though they were in very good condition. To make matters worse, the salesman had not stopped looking at Esmé in a way that bothered Fernald immensely. In the end, he calmly explained to the salesman that what he had shown them were not the sort of vehicles they were looking for. Before the salesman left, he’d made sure to click his tongue and wink at Esmé. At that point, Fernald had taken her by the hand and led her away before he could break the other man’s face.
“I’m sorry we were unable to find a proper vehicle,” Fernald apologized once he and Esmé were back on the bus.
Esmé nodded, though her body language indicated that she wasn’t all that disappointed. “It’s alright,” she said. “That salesman made the experience rather difficult, anyway.”
Rather than letting her know how much the salesman had bothered him, Fernald patted Esmé’s hand. “The next time we go shopping for a car, let’s look someplace else.”
“There’s always the personals.”
Fernald failed to see how this could possibly make him feel any more at ease, but he didn’t say so. The worst was behind them now, and he was determined to enjoy the rest of the day with his girlfriend.
“Have you eaten?” Fernald asked, right before the bus pulled up to the curb in front of the shopping center.
Esmé shook her head, and then tugged uncomfortably at her blouse. It was one of the ones Olaf had bought her, and so it was a little ill-fitting. Fernald could tell from where the young woman’s pale stomach curved slightly over the waistband of her skirt. Had they not been in such a public place, he would have reached over and tickled her just to see her smile.
“I’ve gotten so fat,” Esmé said in a voice that only Fernald could hear. “If Olaf saw me now, he would— never mind. I’m sorry.”
Esmé’s gaze lowered sadly to her lap, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to shield the source of her embarrassment. Fernald put his arm around her and kissed the top of her silky head, the tips of his fingers gently stroking the soft skin of her hand. She responded by leaning her face into his shoulder, her once pale cheeks now a healthy shade of pink.
“I think you’re absolutely breathtaking,” Fernald said, as the doors of the bus opened and the passengers began to pile off. “Your weight is right where it should be now, and so is your appetite. You aren’t fainting anymore because you aren’t skipping meals, and your face has that same remarkable glow it did when I first met you.”
He kept his arm around Esmé as they rose, letting go of her only so that they could make their way down the isle to the exit.
It pained Fernald to pass by some of the more well-to-do shops and watch Esmé’s face light up with excitement as she stared in wonderment at the pretty garments in the front windows. He would have given nearly anything to be able to buy her a baby-blue blouse or a pink pinstripe brazier and panty set.
They eventually came to a boutique whose items were just as fancy as the ones in the other shops, but which also happened to be much less expensive. Esmé managed to find two knee-length skirts (black and gray), one pair of black slacks, a fuzzy white sweater, and two blouses (one pink and the other lavender). Because the total cost of the items had come to less than what they’d anticipated, Fernald even offered to buy Esmé a pair of pumps she’d been eyeing in the window at one of the more expensive shops. When she refused, he simply told her to consider it his birthday present to her.
Before they left the boutique, Esmé decided to go back into the changing room and put on one of her new outfits. She had been yanking awkwardly at her blouse all afternoon, and although Fernald found the sight of it adorable, the thought of her being uncomfortable was not something he could let go on.
He waited patiently outside the changing room, anticipating the thought of how Esmé would look in whatever new outfit she chose to sport. She had refused to allow Fernald to peek into the changing room at her the first time around. However, she had assured him that it had nothing to do with her being embarrassed, but rather that she wanted him to be surprised.
The door of the changing room soon opened, and Esmé emerged. She was wearing her pink blouse over her gray skirt, with the pair of black pumps that Fernald had purchased for her. Her hands were folded together in the center of her chest, and her face turned scarlet as he looked her up and down.
“Do I look O.K.?” Esmé asked unsurely.
It took a moment for the question to register to Fernald, and when it did he couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaped him. This caused the redness in Esmé’s face to become even more noticeable, which only added to her charm. Fernald couldn’t help himself, and wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed her tightly, but not too tightly; just enough so that she chirped happily, the sound significant to a baby chick.
“I guess that’s a yes, then,” Esmé said as Fernald loosened his arms from around her. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s more than that,” he highlighted. “You look beautiful, Esmé— absolutely sensational. You’re like a diamond in the rough.”
Esmé giggled, and leaned forward to press her lips to Fernald’s. “Thank you, Fernald. Not just for this afternoon, but for everything you’ve done for me. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t— who knows if I’d still be here?”
Fernald did his best not to dwell on the possibility of what might have occurred had Olaf caught them together that night at the tower behind his house. Sometimes, though, it was impossible not to consider such things, and Fernald knew that was what troubled Esmé most of all. There was always a chance that Olaf would find them, and Fernald was determined to be prepared if and when that did happen.
Giving the young woman in his arms an encouraging smile, Fernald kissed her on the nose. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I saw a lovely little bistro on the other side of the complex, and I thought we could stop there before heading home.”
“That sounds lovely,” Esmé said. “But can we afford it?”
Fernald was well aware that it would be in their best (financial) interests to just head back to the flat and make them tuna fish sandwiches for dinner like he had been every night that week. But he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Esmé lose all of her beautiful curves, and to go back to being so skinny that she could hardly walk two paces without feeling lightheaded.
That was all it took for Fernald to reach a decision, and he placed his large hands on Esmé’s small shoulders. “Esmé,” he said. “Tonight, we’re going out to dinner.”
The restaurant they dined at was a relatively private, quiet area with not many customers. Fernald and Esmé had been shown to a private booth with a window, and were sitting across from one another. While he had ordered a steak and mashed potatoes, she was content with vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. He was pleased to see that she had eaten everything on her plate and in her bowl. When she hiccupped and she went to cover her mouth with her hand, he couldn’t help but comment.
“We haven’t dined out together like this since our departure from San Francisco,” Fernald said as he finished dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “It’s nice to see you eat something other than salad for a change.”
“I’ve been trying very hard,” Esmé told him, “not to fall back into my old routine. Even though it’s sometimes difficult for me not to step on a scale or to look critically at myself in the mirror.”
Fernald smiled, and reached across the table for her hand. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Because I can’t imagine what it would do to me— to us —if you did.”
“I won’t then, Fernald. I promise.”
“Esmé?”
“Hmm?”
“You look lovely tonight,” Fernald said. “Not just in your new clothes, but lately. Ever since we left the United States, you seemed to have… you’ve blossomed, sweetheart. If you know what I mean.”
Esmé’s mouth fell open a little, and her slim fingers unraveled from around Fernald’s. Suddenly, he was terrified that he had accidentally insulted her, and his hand hovered briefly in midair before he lowered it to his lap. He couldn’t tell, of course, but Esmé’s own hand was now resting on her belly.
“Esmé,” Fernald said. “If I’ve offended—”
“Fernald,” she interrupted quietly, and he noticed that her eyes had drifted down to her empty plate. “Do you remember that evening in the tower, when we…” As her words trailed off into silence, the heat rushed into her cheeks.
“How could I not? It was the first time in which we…” It was now Fernald’s turn to blush, and Esmé had to stop herself from leaning across the table and kissing him.
“Yes,” she agreed, and continued to avoid his eyes. “Fernald, there’s something you ought to know… something I’ve been waiting all day to tell you.”
“What is it, love?”
Letting out a shaky breath, Esmé at last forced herself to lift her head and meet her boyfriend’s gentle brown eyes. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, her voice squeaking on the second syllable. “The baby is yours— I know because it’s been six weeks since we… and almost three months since Olaf and I… Fernald, I want to keep it. I know we haven’t much money, but I couldn’t bear the thought of another termination. So please don’t…”
Esmé let out a tiny sob, and Fernald saw her double over in the booth. At first, he was afraid she might be sick. When he rounded the table, he saw that she had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
“You actually believe I would force you to have an abortion?” Fernald asked, making sure to keep his voice low. “After all the pain you endured the first time around?” He was positively horrified that Esmé would even think such a thing after what she’d gone through with her first abortion; and after all he had done for her during that time.
Esmé shook her head. “No,” she sobbed. “Maybe. I don’t know!” She sniffed, and then pressed herself into a corner of the booth. It was as if she was terrified Fernald might hurt her or their unborn baby, an idea that made his anger rise. “I’m sorry, Fernald.”
Of course, he knew that it wasn’t Esmé’s fault she felt this way. He placed that blame solely on Count Olaf, and Fernald clenched his fists in hatred for the man who was now millions of miles away from them.
As Esmé continued to cry her silent tears, Fernald looked around to see if anyone might be watching. He didn’t spot anyone, and then slid into the booth beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she let out a tiny sob.
“Are you… mad at me?” she asked.
“No, love,” he said. “Of course not.”
Esmé sniffed again, and Fernald snatched a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. He handed her the napkin, waiting patiently as she blew her nose. When she’d finished, she laid her head against his shoulder and he put his arm around her.
Fernald waited a few minutes for Esmé to calm down, before suggesting that they pay the bill and then head home. She reached into her purse and retrieved five one-dollar bills, which she placed underneath her half-empty water glass.
As they made their way out of the restaurant, Fernald made sure to keep a firm hold on Esmé’s hand, lest he lose sight of her in the crowds of people sweeping by them. Even though she was twenty, he couldn’t help but picture her as the same shy, frail girl he’d first met seven years earlier. She would always be his Little Esmé, no matter how old she got. And now she was carrying his child. Their child. Fernald hoped this pregnancy would create a barrier between the one Olaf had so selfishly forced her into terminating.
“I hope it’s a girl,” Esmé said, and Fernald stopped to stare at her. Her eyes were focused on her feet, but the smile on her face was evident. “I’ve always wanted a little girl.”
“Me, too,” Fernald replied. As he said that, he was unable not to think of his six-year-old half-sister, Fiona, who resided in the city of London with his father and stepmother. Fernald made a mental note to take Esmé up for a visit and introduce her one day soon.
He was just about to make the suggestion that they start walking again in order to catch the seven-forty-five bus back to Beckenham, when something across the way caught his eye. It was a large, circular booth, with the words ‘Shakeabout Milkshakes’ painted above the entrance alongside a grinning cow’s face. Fernald hadn’t thought of Shakeabout in a number of years, not since right before his father had shipped him off to the V.F.D. Training School. His mother hadn’t been happy about that, and he remembered how his parents had quarreled endlessly over it right up until the day he’d left.
By now, Esmé’s gaze had drifted to where Fernald’s eyes were currently focusing. “What is it?” she asked.
“Come over here with me,” he told her. “I want to show you something.”
“But the bus—”
“We’ll catch a later one.”
Esmé nodded, and allowed Fernald to escort her over to the booth. As they wandered inside and over to the counter, she saw that it doubled as a display case. Inside were all sorts of ingredients, including Hershey bars and cookies, bananas and strawberries, M&Ms and gummy bears, as well as a variety of sauces.
“I used to come here with my mother when I was a boy,” Fernald explained to Esmé. “Every time I received good marks in school, she would take me here as a special treat.” He pointed to the display case. “See? What happens is they’ll ask you what sort of milkshake you’d like, and you can choose from these ingredients here.” He chuckled. “I once made a banana cookie chocolate bar gummy bear milkshake. Of course, I realized that was a mistake a few hours later when my stomach started hurting.”
Esmé laughed softly into Fernald’s shoulder. He put his arm around her, just a woman in a white and red uniform appeared before them behind the counter.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Would you like one?” Fernald asked Esmé. She nodded eagerly, and he turned to the woman. “We’ll take two milkshakes: one medium chocolate, and one small…”
“Strawberry,” Esmé piped up, and felt her cheeks flush at the revelation of her accent.
Ever since her arrival in the United Kingdom, Esmé had received more than a few stares from people due to her American accent. She had always had very impressive social skills, but there was something about being observed by hundreds of eyes at once that made her uncomfortable. She fully understood that it wasn’t any different from the amazement she’d felt the first time she and Fernald had met. He had been living in the United States close to a year by then, and so she supposed he had grown accustomed to the stares he received every time he opened his mouth.
The woman’s eyes snapped away from Fernald’s, and settled on Esmé’s face. “Oh!” the woman exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you to be American.”
Esmé nodded shyly, and watched along with Fernald as the woman went about preparing their milkshakes. Esmé had gotten the same reaction from the waiter at the restaurant earlier, and had afterward vowed to let Fernald do all the speaking for her. But in her moment of excitement, she had forgotten all about being embarrassed, which she expected was a good thing.
Sensing Esmé’s self-consciousness, Fernald led her over to a little table by the window. They sat down across from one another, and he took her hands in his.
“All British people comment on American accents,” Fernald explained. “It isn’t anything for you to be ashamed of.”
Esmé smiled knowingly, before lifting one of his hands to her cheek. His palm was rough and calloused, but she would not have preferred it any other way. Though Olaf’s hands had had a similar feeling, Fernald’s nails didn’t tend to nick Esmé every time he stroked her cheek or tickled her. Unlike Olaf had done, Fernald always made her feel safe and loved. What was more, Esmé was finding herself longing less and less for the man who had made the last seven years of her life a total misery.
And now she was going to have a baby.
She hummed softly to herself, kissing the backs of Fernald’s fingers as she did so.
Eventually, the woman announced that their milkshakes were ready. Esmé gave a little whine of protest as Fernald wriggled his hand out of her grasp, but pressed a finger to the tip of her nose before getting up.
He paid the woman and returned to the table with the milkshakes. As he settled back into his chair, he handed Esmé the small cup and kept the larger for himself.
“We’ll have to make sure and come here at least once a week,” Fernald said as he stirred his straw around in his milkshake a little. “If we’re going to have a baby, then I want to make sure both of you receive proper nourishment.”
Esmé smiled as she removed the straw from inside the milkshake and placed it on the napkin next to her. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a large gulp. When she lowered it, Fernald saw that the remnants of the milkshake were sticking to her lips. He laughed, and Esmé blushed.
“What would you say,” Fernald began, “if I went out and started looking for a job next week?”
To his surprise, Esmé looked thoughtful. “I think it sounds like a good idea,” she said. “After all, we can’t expect to live off our saving forever, can we? Not with the baby and everything.” She paused. “And I’ll look, too.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re going to have enough to worry about with the baby coming,” Fernald said. “I’m going to contact my stepmother, and see if she’d be willing to come over and stay with you during the days while I’m gone. I also have a little sister, Fiona— she’s six, and very bright. I think you’ll like her.”
“What about your parents?” Esmé asked. “Will they like me? What are their views on getting pregnant before marriage?”
Fernald stretched his arm across the table and squeezed Esmé’s hand. “They aren’t going to judge you, Esmé,” he assured. “They’re going to love you. And of course we’re going to get married, and certainly before the baby comes. I just wanted to wait a bit, until I found a steady job and we had a way of paying for the wedding.” He smiled. “Though by that time, you may already have begun to show a little.”
“I don’t mind, Fernald. At last, we’re going to be married and have a baby— our baby.” Esmé let go of his hand so that she could lay both of hers lovingly over her abdomen. “I’ve never been so happy.”
Esmé waited a moment and then raised her head. As she did, Fernald had no trouble identifying the tears of joy in her eyes. In all the years he had known her, he had not once seen her smile in which it hadn’t been accompanied by fear or tension.
But now, as Esmé gazed back at Fernald from across the table, all he could see was his darling’s contentment.
Rating: G
Genre: Alternate-Universe/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Esmé and Fernald share a romantic afternoon together.
Author’s Note: A VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU to the ever fabulous and always smashing Jenny for providing me with some very necessary background information for this fic. I’m not British (well, except for the one-eighth I got from my great-grandmother), and so I would have had absolutely nothing to go on otherwise.
***
Fernald Widdershins had spent a substantial fraction of the night gently rocking his precious darling in his arms. It was the only way he knew of to comfort her after she awoke from one of her nightmares, which she had suffered from ever since they’d fled from San Francisco two months earlier. In that time, the idea that Esmé Salinger was no longer under the control of a man who’d literally kept her a prisoner for seven long years had finally sunk it. Unfortunately, so had the possibility that Count Olaf would eventually discover her whereabouts. She hated to think what would happen if he ever found out that his former girlfriend was living with his previous accomplice in a small flat in Beckenham, England. It was this very thought that haunted Esmé during her waking hours, and consumed her mind as she slept.
There was no denying that Esmé was a sight for sore eyes. And Fernald’s eyes were very sore after having been woken by her soft cries at two in the morning. He was standing in the entranceway of the parlor of their flat, watching her with considerable adoration. She was seated on the padded window-seat, her small hand pressed against the glass as the late morning sunlight shone through. It wasn’t difficult to tell that Esmé was admiring the garden Fernald had recently planted outside, and he smiled to himself. All he had ever wanted to see her be was happy, and she would be if only she would put the past behind her. The night before after she had gone to bed, he had sat in the kitchen and poured through the yellow pages for a therapist who might be able to help her. Fernald hadn’t a job yet, only because Esmé cried herself into a fit if he so much as announced he was going around the corner for milk. It pained him tremendously to witness the woman he loved so dearly fall so completely apart, and he was willing to do anything if it meant her perpetual happiness.
Since their departure from the United States, Esmé had steadily been gaining back the weight she’d lost following her heartbreaking abortion. Fernald could see it in the sweet softness of her face whenever she smiled, and in the way her newfound hips swayed back and forth every time she walked. She didn’t seem resentful of the fact that she now had curves again, and had even giggled the night before when he’d tickled her belly affectionately.
It was after eleven, and Esmé was not yet dressed. She was garbed in the white baby-doll nightgown that Fernald had purchased for her in one of the city’s finest intimates shops a few days after their arrival. She had fallen asleep sometime around four in the morning, at which point he had left her briefly to go make coffee. He had returned to find her sleeping peacefully on her backside, her top having ridden up to just below her chest. She had looked so unthinkably sweet with her dark hair splayed out behind her on the pillow, her round hips and soft belly fully exposed. He hadn’t the heart to wake her, but had taken the initiative of covering her back up to keep her from catching cold.
Not wanting to startle Esmé— who had become so skittish in the last few months —Fernald rapped his knuckles against the wall. The sound caused the young woman to turn her head, and the corners of her pale lips turned up into a cordial smile.
“Good morning, love,” Fernald said, and crossed the room to the window. He seated himself beside Esmé, and handed her one of the two steaming cups of coffee he was holding. She responded by curling both arms around his neck and pressing her full lips to his thinner ones. “Did you sleep well?”
Taking a small sip from her mug, Esmé nodded. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”
“Ssshhh.” Fernald pushed a pair of fingers against her mouth to quiet her, and to his amusement she kissed them. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Esmé.”
Esmé didn’t look as though she quite agreed, and turned her attention back in the direction of the garden. “The roses you planted are very pretty. It’ll be nice not to have to watch them die.”
Fernald couldn’t help but be touched by her words. She had always liked it when he brought her flowers, but there was no denying the heartbreak on her face when they finally started to wilt. At least with the garden, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was break her heart, which Olaf must have done a hundred times over, and every one of those times was intentional.
“I thought we could head out to Bromley this afternoon,” Fernald said. “We still need to purchase a suitable vehicle, and you could do with some more new clothes.”
He had put that last part as delicately as he could. Just two months earlier Esmé had been a size four, and he had reason to suspect she was now much closer to an eight. Since her separation from Olaf, she had stopped eating like a bird and more like a human being. Fernald was gravely concerned on what Esmé’s feelings on her new figure would be once they hit the shops, but felt a strong assurance that as long as he was with her then things would be fine.
“Don’t worry about me,” Esmé said, and refocused her gaze on Fernald. “I’ll do fine with what I have. Besides, it’s very unfair to rely on you so financially when you don’t even have a job yet.”
Esmé’s words clearly pinpointed the fact that she held herself accountable for their current situation. Still, more than half of their savings was money she had made at her previous job as a bank-teller, and they had enough to go on for another couple of months at least. Fernald had planned to start looking for work just as soon as they‘d gotten settled, but Esmé’s condition had changed all that. Because her nightmares kept them both awake until the early hours of morning, it would be impossible for either of them to hold down a proper job for very long. A nightshift position someplace was clearly out of the question: not only because of Esmé’s nightmares, but because Fernald feared that someone would break into the flat and do his little sweetheart harm.
Fernald supposed that their only other option would be to simply conserve their savings. They would buy only what they needed, until Esmé’s condition improved and they could get their lives back on track. He certainly wasn’t going to force her to work if she didn’t want to. Though he did feel that a nice little position in an office or a bank someplace would restore the level of confidence that Olaf had shattered within her.
“You let me worry about that,” said Fernald, who would not have minded taking care of Esmé provided he could find a respectable job.
She nodded, though it was unambiguous from the look reflected in her bright blue eyes that she was worried about their future. She hated the thought of Fernald feeling obligated to stay home with her all of the time. Her guilt was fueled by the fact that she didn’t make it any easier on him by throwing a tantrum whenever it had been suggested that she stay alone by herself in the flat for a brief time. Esmé had taken to trailing after Fernald like a puppy, and it was estimated that it wouldn’t be long before his patience for her neediness began to wear.
***
That afternoon, Fernald and Esmé took the bus into Bromley. He suggested that their first stop be at the shopping center to buy her some new garments, but she insisted that it be at the car dealership. Not wanting to disappoint his darling, he was quick to give in, smiling at the way she snuggled up to him in their seat on the bus.
When they arrived at the dealership, the salesman showed them a variety of vehicles within their price range. Unfortunately, none of the cars appeared as though they were in very good condition. To make matters worse, the salesman had not stopped looking at Esmé in a way that bothered Fernald immensely. In the end, he calmly explained to the salesman that what he had shown them were not the sort of vehicles they were looking for. Before the salesman left, he’d made sure to click his tongue and wink at Esmé. At that point, Fernald had taken her by the hand and led her away before he could break the other man’s face.
“I’m sorry we were unable to find a proper vehicle,” Fernald apologized once he and Esmé were back on the bus.
Esmé nodded, though her body language indicated that she wasn’t all that disappointed. “It’s alright,” she said. “That salesman made the experience rather difficult, anyway.”
Rather than letting her know how much the salesman had bothered him, Fernald patted Esmé’s hand. “The next time we go shopping for a car, let’s look someplace else.”
“There’s always the personals.”
Fernald failed to see how this could possibly make him feel any more at ease, but he didn’t say so. The worst was behind them now, and he was determined to enjoy the rest of the day with his girlfriend.
“Have you eaten?” Fernald asked, right before the bus pulled up to the curb in front of the shopping center.
Esmé shook her head, and then tugged uncomfortably at her blouse. It was one of the ones Olaf had bought her, and so it was a little ill-fitting. Fernald could tell from where the young woman’s pale stomach curved slightly over the waistband of her skirt. Had they not been in such a public place, he would have reached over and tickled her just to see her smile.
“I’ve gotten so fat,” Esmé said in a voice that only Fernald could hear. “If Olaf saw me now, he would— never mind. I’m sorry.”
Esmé’s gaze lowered sadly to her lap, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to shield the source of her embarrassment. Fernald put his arm around her and kissed the top of her silky head, the tips of his fingers gently stroking the soft skin of her hand. She responded by leaning her face into his shoulder, her once pale cheeks now a healthy shade of pink.
“I think you’re absolutely breathtaking,” Fernald said, as the doors of the bus opened and the passengers began to pile off. “Your weight is right where it should be now, and so is your appetite. You aren’t fainting anymore because you aren’t skipping meals, and your face has that same remarkable glow it did when I first met you.”
He kept his arm around Esmé as they rose, letting go of her only so that they could make their way down the isle to the exit.
It pained Fernald to pass by some of the more well-to-do shops and watch Esmé’s face light up with excitement as she stared in wonderment at the pretty garments in the front windows. He would have given nearly anything to be able to buy her a baby-blue blouse or a pink pinstripe brazier and panty set.
They eventually came to a boutique whose items were just as fancy as the ones in the other shops, but which also happened to be much less expensive. Esmé managed to find two knee-length skirts (black and gray), one pair of black slacks, a fuzzy white sweater, and two blouses (one pink and the other lavender). Because the total cost of the items had come to less than what they’d anticipated, Fernald even offered to buy Esmé a pair of pumps she’d been eyeing in the window at one of the more expensive shops. When she refused, he simply told her to consider it his birthday present to her.
Before they left the boutique, Esmé decided to go back into the changing room and put on one of her new outfits. She had been yanking awkwardly at her blouse all afternoon, and although Fernald found the sight of it adorable, the thought of her being uncomfortable was not something he could let go on.
He waited patiently outside the changing room, anticipating the thought of how Esmé would look in whatever new outfit she chose to sport. She had refused to allow Fernald to peek into the changing room at her the first time around. However, she had assured him that it had nothing to do with her being embarrassed, but rather that she wanted him to be surprised.
The door of the changing room soon opened, and Esmé emerged. She was wearing her pink blouse over her gray skirt, with the pair of black pumps that Fernald had purchased for her. Her hands were folded together in the center of her chest, and her face turned scarlet as he looked her up and down.
“Do I look O.K.?” Esmé asked unsurely.
It took a moment for the question to register to Fernald, and when it did he couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaped him. This caused the redness in Esmé’s face to become even more noticeable, which only added to her charm. Fernald couldn’t help himself, and wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed her tightly, but not too tightly; just enough so that she chirped happily, the sound significant to a baby chick.
“I guess that’s a yes, then,” Esmé said as Fernald loosened his arms from around her. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s more than that,” he highlighted. “You look beautiful, Esmé— absolutely sensational. You’re like a diamond in the rough.”
Esmé giggled, and leaned forward to press her lips to Fernald’s. “Thank you, Fernald. Not just for this afternoon, but for everything you’ve done for me. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t— who knows if I’d still be here?”
Fernald did his best not to dwell on the possibility of what might have occurred had Olaf caught them together that night at the tower behind his house. Sometimes, though, it was impossible not to consider such things, and Fernald knew that was what troubled Esmé most of all. There was always a chance that Olaf would find them, and Fernald was determined to be prepared if and when that did happen.
Giving the young woman in his arms an encouraging smile, Fernald kissed her on the nose. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I saw a lovely little bistro on the other side of the complex, and I thought we could stop there before heading home.”
“That sounds lovely,” Esmé said. “But can we afford it?”
Fernald was well aware that it would be in their best (financial) interests to just head back to the flat and make them tuna fish sandwiches for dinner like he had been every night that week. But he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Esmé lose all of her beautiful curves, and to go back to being so skinny that she could hardly walk two paces without feeling lightheaded.
That was all it took for Fernald to reach a decision, and he placed his large hands on Esmé’s small shoulders. “Esmé,” he said. “Tonight, we’re going out to dinner.”
***
The restaurant they dined at was a relatively private, quiet area with not many customers. Fernald and Esmé had been shown to a private booth with a window, and were sitting across from one another. While he had ordered a steak and mashed potatoes, she was content with vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. He was pleased to see that she had eaten everything on her plate and in her bowl. When she hiccupped and she went to cover her mouth with her hand, he couldn’t help but comment.
“We haven’t dined out together like this since our departure from San Francisco,” Fernald said as he finished dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “It’s nice to see you eat something other than salad for a change.”
“I’ve been trying very hard,” Esmé told him, “not to fall back into my old routine. Even though it’s sometimes difficult for me not to step on a scale or to look critically at myself in the mirror.”
Fernald smiled, and reached across the table for her hand. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Because I can’t imagine what it would do to me— to us —if you did.”
“I won’t then, Fernald. I promise.”
“Esmé?”
“Hmm?”
“You look lovely tonight,” Fernald said. “Not just in your new clothes, but lately. Ever since we left the United States, you seemed to have… you’ve blossomed, sweetheart. If you know what I mean.”
Esmé’s mouth fell open a little, and her slim fingers unraveled from around Fernald’s. Suddenly, he was terrified that he had accidentally insulted her, and his hand hovered briefly in midair before he lowered it to his lap. He couldn’t tell, of course, but Esmé’s own hand was now resting on her belly.
“Esmé,” Fernald said. “If I’ve offended—”
“Fernald,” she interrupted quietly, and he noticed that her eyes had drifted down to her empty plate. “Do you remember that evening in the tower, when we…” As her words trailed off into silence, the heat rushed into her cheeks.
“How could I not? It was the first time in which we…” It was now Fernald’s turn to blush, and Esmé had to stop herself from leaning across the table and kissing him.
“Yes,” she agreed, and continued to avoid his eyes. “Fernald, there’s something you ought to know… something I’ve been waiting all day to tell you.”
“What is it, love?”
Letting out a shaky breath, Esmé at last forced herself to lift her head and meet her boyfriend’s gentle brown eyes. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, her voice squeaking on the second syllable. “The baby is yours— I know because it’s been six weeks since we… and almost three months since Olaf and I… Fernald, I want to keep it. I know we haven’t much money, but I couldn’t bear the thought of another termination. So please don’t…”
Esmé let out a tiny sob, and Fernald saw her double over in the booth. At first, he was afraid she might be sick. When he rounded the table, he saw that she had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
“You actually believe I would force you to have an abortion?” Fernald asked, making sure to keep his voice low. “After all the pain you endured the first time around?” He was positively horrified that Esmé would even think such a thing after what she’d gone through with her first abortion; and after all he had done for her during that time.
Esmé shook her head. “No,” she sobbed. “Maybe. I don’t know!” She sniffed, and then pressed herself into a corner of the booth. It was as if she was terrified Fernald might hurt her or their unborn baby, an idea that made his anger rise. “I’m sorry, Fernald.”
Of course, he knew that it wasn’t Esmé’s fault she felt this way. He placed that blame solely on Count Olaf, and Fernald clenched his fists in hatred for the man who was now millions of miles away from them.
As Esmé continued to cry her silent tears, Fernald looked around to see if anyone might be watching. He didn’t spot anyone, and then slid into the booth beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she let out a tiny sob.
“Are you… mad at me?” she asked.
“No, love,” he said. “Of course not.”
Esmé sniffed again, and Fernald snatched a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. He handed her the napkin, waiting patiently as she blew her nose. When she’d finished, she laid her head against his shoulder and he put his arm around her.
Fernald waited a few minutes for Esmé to calm down, before suggesting that they pay the bill and then head home. She reached into her purse and retrieved five one-dollar bills, which she placed underneath her half-empty water glass.
As they made their way out of the restaurant, Fernald made sure to keep a firm hold on Esmé’s hand, lest he lose sight of her in the crowds of people sweeping by them. Even though she was twenty, he couldn’t help but picture her as the same shy, frail girl he’d first met seven years earlier. She would always be his Little Esmé, no matter how old she got. And now she was carrying his child. Their child. Fernald hoped this pregnancy would create a barrier between the one Olaf had so selfishly forced her into terminating.
“I hope it’s a girl,” Esmé said, and Fernald stopped to stare at her. Her eyes were focused on her feet, but the smile on her face was evident. “I’ve always wanted a little girl.”
“Me, too,” Fernald replied. As he said that, he was unable not to think of his six-year-old half-sister, Fiona, who resided in the city of London with his father and stepmother. Fernald made a mental note to take Esmé up for a visit and introduce her one day soon.
He was just about to make the suggestion that they start walking again in order to catch the seven-forty-five bus back to Beckenham, when something across the way caught his eye. It was a large, circular booth, with the words ‘Shakeabout Milkshakes’ painted above the entrance alongside a grinning cow’s face. Fernald hadn’t thought of Shakeabout in a number of years, not since right before his father had shipped him off to the V.F.D. Training School. His mother hadn’t been happy about that, and he remembered how his parents had quarreled endlessly over it right up until the day he’d left.
By now, Esmé’s gaze had drifted to where Fernald’s eyes were currently focusing. “What is it?” she asked.
“Come over here with me,” he told her. “I want to show you something.”
“But the bus—”
“We’ll catch a later one.”
Esmé nodded, and allowed Fernald to escort her over to the booth. As they wandered inside and over to the counter, she saw that it doubled as a display case. Inside were all sorts of ingredients, including Hershey bars and cookies, bananas and strawberries, M&Ms and gummy bears, as well as a variety of sauces.
“I used to come here with my mother when I was a boy,” Fernald explained to Esmé. “Every time I received good marks in school, she would take me here as a special treat.” He pointed to the display case. “See? What happens is they’ll ask you what sort of milkshake you’d like, and you can choose from these ingredients here.” He chuckled. “I once made a banana cookie chocolate bar gummy bear milkshake. Of course, I realized that was a mistake a few hours later when my stomach started hurting.”
Esmé laughed softly into Fernald’s shoulder. He put his arm around her, just a woman in a white and red uniform appeared before them behind the counter.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Would you like one?” Fernald asked Esmé. She nodded eagerly, and he turned to the woman. “We’ll take two milkshakes: one medium chocolate, and one small…”
“Strawberry,” Esmé piped up, and felt her cheeks flush at the revelation of her accent.
Ever since her arrival in the United Kingdom, Esmé had received more than a few stares from people due to her American accent. She had always had very impressive social skills, but there was something about being observed by hundreds of eyes at once that made her uncomfortable. She fully understood that it wasn’t any different from the amazement she’d felt the first time she and Fernald had met. He had been living in the United States close to a year by then, and so she supposed he had grown accustomed to the stares he received every time he opened his mouth.
The woman’s eyes snapped away from Fernald’s, and settled on Esmé’s face. “Oh!” the woman exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you to be American.”
Esmé nodded shyly, and watched along with Fernald as the woman went about preparing their milkshakes. Esmé had gotten the same reaction from the waiter at the restaurant earlier, and had afterward vowed to let Fernald do all the speaking for her. But in her moment of excitement, she had forgotten all about being embarrassed, which she expected was a good thing.
Sensing Esmé’s self-consciousness, Fernald led her over to a little table by the window. They sat down across from one another, and he took her hands in his.
“All British people comment on American accents,” Fernald explained. “It isn’t anything for you to be ashamed of.”
Esmé smiled knowingly, before lifting one of his hands to her cheek. His palm was rough and calloused, but she would not have preferred it any other way. Though Olaf’s hands had had a similar feeling, Fernald’s nails didn’t tend to nick Esmé every time he stroked her cheek or tickled her. Unlike Olaf had done, Fernald always made her feel safe and loved. What was more, Esmé was finding herself longing less and less for the man who had made the last seven years of her life a total misery.
And now she was going to have a baby.
She hummed softly to herself, kissing the backs of Fernald’s fingers as she did so.
Eventually, the woman announced that their milkshakes were ready. Esmé gave a little whine of protest as Fernald wriggled his hand out of her grasp, but pressed a finger to the tip of her nose before getting up.
He paid the woman and returned to the table with the milkshakes. As he settled back into his chair, he handed Esmé the small cup and kept the larger for himself.
“We’ll have to make sure and come here at least once a week,” Fernald said as he stirred his straw around in his milkshake a little. “If we’re going to have a baby, then I want to make sure both of you receive proper nourishment.”
Esmé smiled as she removed the straw from inside the milkshake and placed it on the napkin next to her. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a large gulp. When she lowered it, Fernald saw that the remnants of the milkshake were sticking to her lips. He laughed, and Esmé blushed.
“What would you say,” Fernald began, “if I went out and started looking for a job next week?”
To his surprise, Esmé looked thoughtful. “I think it sounds like a good idea,” she said. “After all, we can’t expect to live off our saving forever, can we? Not with the baby and everything.” She paused. “And I’ll look, too.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re going to have enough to worry about with the baby coming,” Fernald said. “I’m going to contact my stepmother, and see if she’d be willing to come over and stay with you during the days while I’m gone. I also have a little sister, Fiona— she’s six, and very bright. I think you’ll like her.”
“What about your parents?” Esmé asked. “Will they like me? What are their views on getting pregnant before marriage?”
Fernald stretched his arm across the table and squeezed Esmé’s hand. “They aren’t going to judge you, Esmé,” he assured. “They’re going to love you. And of course we’re going to get married, and certainly before the baby comes. I just wanted to wait a bit, until I found a steady job and we had a way of paying for the wedding.” He smiled. “Though by that time, you may already have begun to show a little.”
“I don’t mind, Fernald. At last, we’re going to be married and have a baby— our baby.” Esmé let go of his hand so that she could lay both of hers lovingly over her abdomen. “I’ve never been so happy.”
Esmé waited a moment and then raised her head. As she did, Fernald had no trouble identifying the tears of joy in her eyes. In all the years he had known her, he had not once seen her smile in which it hadn’t been accompanied by fear or tension.
But now, as Esmé gazed back at Fernald from across the table, all he could see was his darling’s contentment.
~The End~