The Single Girls Calendar by Erin Green is published by Aria Fiction on 1 February 2018, in ebook format.

Today, to celebrate publication, Aria Fiction have allowed me to share this extract with you.

The MacDonald Burlington hotel looked nothing like Esmé imagined. Esmé envisaged that her arrival at the grand establishment would be on a warm summer’s day in June. Where she’d step from a glistening horse drawn carriage, in a beautiful bridal gown and glide through the entrance hall upon the arm of her new husband. They’d smile inanely and be met by the sweet smell of honeysuckle and delicate white roses amidst a cloud of gypsophila.

Instead, she stood alone, at ten minutes to ten, on a dark chilly March night staring up at the intricate masonry of the hotel façade, where sculptured ladies with pert breasts and scanty togas frowned at her from a great height. Esmé grimaced. She’d heard enough excuses from Andrew regarding pert breasts and cheap decoration.

Behind her, New Street railway station hummed with the busy footfall of travellers despite the late hour.

‘When did an impromptu hotel stay become part of my Thursday night plan?’ she muttered, as she dragged her overnight case towards the marbled lobby.

According to her schedule, she and Andrew should have consumed the champagne, dined on cordon bleu food and now be making the most of clean sheets and mood lighting. Instead, she was standing before the impressive reception desk booking a two night stay which felt awkward but necessary. Esmé watched the kindly features of the pretty receptionist prepare her plastic room key.

How many young women with red raw eyes and a hurriedly packed case had the uniformed blonde checked in this evening?

Having refused a morning paper, an early morning call and a continental breakfast in bed, Esmé handed over a suitable credit card and haphazardly scrawled her signature.

She stood in silence, appreciative of the receptionist’s swift and precise booking routine, plus the speed with which she relayed the serving times for breakfast and ironically, bade her a cheerful ‘good night’.

Room 325 was unlike the room Esmé had planned to sleep in tonight. Kicking off her shoes, she flopped onto the double bed, ruining the arrangement of decorative satin pillows.

A large abstract painting hung above the bed. An image of orange and blue swirls forming huge arcs of colour upon a square canvas.

‘That’s what my brain feels like,’ muttered Esmé, twisting her head from left to right to make sense of the image.

Her argument with Andrew replayed in her head, word for word.

‘How could you, after all we’ve gone through together?’

Silence. His dark eyes had darted around the room avoiding her direct gaze.

‘I trusted you. I gave you everything and you repay me like this!’ Esmé had flung her arms around emphasising the ‘everything’ element, making sure he was following her rant.

Silence. He’d loosened his tie, then stood dishevelled after a long day at work. Esmé could make out the tiny shaving nick on his chin that must have occurred after she’d left for work this morning. In her mind’s eye, she could see him grabbing toilet tissue and applying a torn corner. He’d have been agitated, sworn and eaten his breakfast whilst bare chested, hoping the tiny cut would dry and scab before chancing his white shirt collar near it. She knew him that well. Or did she?

‘Who is she?’

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