‘dear-John-God-rest-his-soul’. And well she might. He left her over two million dollars and no children to share it with. After a short period of mourning, Aunt Shirley blonded her greying hair and dedicated herself to spending the lot. I’m sure it’s what dear-John-God-rest-his-soul would have wanted, she explained prettily as she watched the roulette wheel spin. Fortunately for Linsey, however, Aunt Shirley died of food poisoning after eating some dodgy oysters in Marrakech, leaving her niece with a very nice house, a red MGB and a comfortable number of blue-chip shares.
Two weeks after their dinner, it was to this house that Linsey welcomed Amy as they extracted the harp from Amy’s battered Corolla. If she winced a little at the drink bottles, fast-food cartons, magazines, tissues and indeterminate articles of clothing strewn carelessly around the small car, Linsey was hardly aware of it, so pleased was she to play benefactor.
‘You can use this,’ she said, opening the door to a small well-lit room, sparsely furnished with two ladder-backed chairs, a small table and a music stand. She was particularly pleased with the music stand, which she’d found at a local antiques market. She smiled at Amy and her wide-armed gesture seemed to take in the whole house. ‘I hope this is suitable. You’re welcome to come at any time.’
Amy was delighted, of course, and took Linsey at her word. Linsey often came into the small music room and stood quietly by the door as Amy played. She looked so graceful and serious as she stroked and plucked the strings, and Linsey gratefully drank in the serenity that seemed to enfold both music and musician. Often, though, she would find Amy just sitting, hands folded in her lap, looking dreamily out onto the garden.
‘Play some more,’ Linsey would say, and receive a smile of surpassing sweetness as Amy obediently returned to her music.
It wasn’t long before Amy began to stay the night, and gradually evidence of her claim on the house appeared in scattered items of clothing, sheet music, makeup, and long blonde hairs in the bathroom. Grumbling a little, Linsey would restore the house to its normal order, but each time Amy returned, chaos followed. It was only in comparison to Linsey’s pathological neatness that such a strong word as ‘chaos’ could be used to describe Amy’s cheerful mess. But one day, when a stressed Linsey flung this word (and a good many others) at the untidy Amy, it provided not only the cause of their first quarrel but, oddly enough, the catalyst for Amy to move in permanently. Following her impatient outburst, Linsey watched in horror as her lover’s blue eyes filled with tears and her sensuous mouth trembled.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy with an air of dignified grievance. ‘I’ll just get my harp and music. I won’t bother you again.’
Appalled at the thought of losing her, Linsey petted and cajoled, wept and apologised, until Amy allowed her to kiss away the tears and lead her to the bedroom.
Lying in the quiet embrace that follows passion, Linsey turned and looked at her lover. ‘Don’t go tomorrow,’ she said simply. ‘Stay with me. I love you.’
Amy kissed the tense mouth and delicately traced its perimeter with her finger. ‘I love you too, Linny. I have to go tomorrow, but if you really want me, I’ll be back. As soon as I can, I promise. I just need to organise my things.’
It took nearly two weeks, but Linsey finally found herself being introduced to the Sinclair family as Amy’s housemate.
‘Linsey’s a bit scared, living alone in such a big house,’ Amy explained. ‘The rent’s very cheap and I can practise my harp as often as I want.’ She hugged her doubtful father. Her mother, usually undemonstrative, squeezed Amy’s shoulder as she helped her load the last box into the car.
‘You can always come home if it doesn’t work out,’ she said. ‘Although she seems like a nice young woman. Here, I made you some almond biscuits. You always say they’re your favourite.’
Amy hugged her mother as she took the biscuit tin. She noticed it was the one with Edinburgh Castle on the lid. She and her brothers used to make up stories about that castle. Her mother had already given her some towels and sheets (single-bed), but the tin and the biscuits came laden with obligation and love. She ate all the biscuits herself; it would have felt like a betrayal to share them with Linsey.