The Spare Room

On Saturday morning, Dean rang the bell of his sister’s flat. Amy opened the door. She had yellow paint on her face, and her hair was in an old scarf. The corridor smelled of paint. “You look tired,” Dean said. “What did you do?”

“I painted the spare room,” Amy said. “I started at seven o’clock. Our cousin Alice is coming tonight. She needs a quiet place to study, so I wanted the room to be nice.” Dean looked at the wall. “Did you work alone?” “Yes. My neighbour gave me his ladder, but he went out an hour ago.”

Dean took off his jacket and picked up a brush. Amy sat on a box and drank some water. “I moved the furniture this week too,” she said. “My back hurts. I didn’t sleep well because I was worried about the paint. Is it going to dry in time?”

“You did too much,” Dean said. “When did you plan this?” “Last month, when Alice wrote to me.” At noon, the second wall was ready. Then Amy’s phone rang. “I called you ten times!” Alice said. “My train is early, and I’m outside.” Amy looked at the wet walls and laughed.

Ten minutes later, Alice came in with her suitcase. She saw the yellow walls and Dean’s dirty hands. “Did you work all day for me?” she asked. “Yes, since seven,” Amy said, “and we are not finished.” Alice put down her suitcase and took a brush. “Then I can help.”