The Spare Room

On Saturday morning, Dean rang the bell of his sister’s flat and waited. When Amy finally opened the door, he hardly recognised her. There was yellow paint on her cheek, her hair was tied up in an old scarf, and the whole corridor smelled of fresh paint. “You look exhausted,” he said. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been painting the spare room since seven o’clock,” Amy said. “Our cousin Alice is coming to stay tonight. She’s been looking for a quiet place to study for weeks, so I wanted the room to be perfect.” Dean looked at the half-finished wall. “Have you been working on your own all morning?” “Yes. My neighbour has been lending 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’ve been moving furniture all week as well,” she admitted. “That’s why my back hurts. I haven’t been sleeping well either, because I’ve been worrying about whether the paint would dry in time.”

“You’ve been doing too much,” Dean said. “How long have you been planning this?” “Since Alice wrote to me last month.” By noon, the second wall was finished. Then Amy’s phone rang. “I’ve been trying to call you for an hour!” Alice said. “My train arrived early, and I’m outside.” Amy looked at the wet walls and the boxes in the corridor, and she laughed.

Ten minutes later, Alice walked in with her suitcase. She noticed the smell of paint, the yellow walls and Dean’s dirty hands. “Have you both been working all day for me?” she asked. “Since seven,” Amy said, “and we haven’t finished.” Alice put down her suitcase, picked up a brush and smiled. “Then let me help.”