The House at the End of Hope Street - By Menna van Praag Page 0,15

find something else delicious for my lips. Do you find this true?”

Alba shrugs, unwilling to discuss such intimate subjects with a virtual stranger.

Leaning against the fridge, Carmen sizes Alba up. She finds herself drawn to the diminutive young woman in a rather maternal way, wanting to take care of her, wanting to liberate her. But how? And then it comes to her. Music will do it, of this she is certain. Music will quiet her mind. Music will touch her heart. Music will set her soul free. More than anything else, Carmen understands the power of music. She knows exactly how it can transform a mood, a moment, a life.

Sensing an imminent social invitation in the offing, Alba stands. “Well, I think I better . . .”

“You must come to The Archer, the bar where I work,” Carmen says, confirming Alba’s suspicion. “Tomorrow a singer does a show there, you will love to see her, I am sure.”

Alba picks Tractarians up off the table. “I don’t really like music.” She steps toward the door. “Or singing. Anyway, better go, you know . . .” And she hurries out of the kitchen, leaving a bemused Carmen behind.

“Not like music?” She frowns. “Who does not like music?”

—

Greer sits at the kitchen table munching an apple and flicking through the classifieds, having found a copy of the Cambridge Evening News outside her bedroom door. She’s wearing her Katharine Hepburn costume: flared tweed trousers, matching waistcoat and crisp cotton shirt. The clothes imbue her with a strength she really needs right now. Every day she searches the Internet for auditions and opportunities, on a computer that materialized in her bedroom a week ago, but has so far failed to find anything promising. It’s all adverts or amateur dramatics, and frankly she’d almost rather be a waitress than do am-dram or adverts. Such efforts were fine in her twenties while she was just starting out, and okay in her thirties, but would be a bit bloody embarrassing in her forties. As a young, aspiring actress she’d always felt sorry for old, and still aspiring, actors who’d dress up as a carrot or a pantomime dame just to remain on-stage.

As she reads, Greer considers how lucky she is to have found this house. Without it she’d be sleeping at the YMCA or in the spare room of her mother’s flat in Bristol. She shudders at the thought and wonders if she can persuade Peggy to let her stay longer in exchange for extensive cooking and cleaning duties. Greer turns the page to read each career offering. Cleaner. Night porter. Postman. Waiter. Checkout assistant. Au pair. She isn’t quite sure what she’s supposed to be looking for. Is it any job at all, just to get started, or one she actually wants? In which case, she has no idea what that might be.

On the stove a pot of blueberry porridge bubbles, and the smell of coffee still lingers. Every now and then Greer senses something moving behind her, but when she turns, all she sees is the stove, the cupboards, the walls lined with photographs of unknown women. If she didn’t know better, Greer would swear someone is stirring her porridge, because every time she gets up to check, it hasn’t stuck to the bottom of the pan.

The kitchen door bangs open and Greer glances up from the newspaper to see Carmen. “Bom dia.” She walks to the stove. “You looking very gorgeous.” She lifts the lid off Greer’s porridge, sniffs it, then continues to the fridge and rummages around inside before extracting another chocolate bar. She munches enthusiastically while Greer watches.

“So.” Carmen licks her lips. “Peggy tell me you want a job.”

“Yes, I need something if I want to keep eating, and all that,” Greer admits. “I’m not sure what yet, but I’m checking . . .”

“What you like?” Carmen sits at the table. “What you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Greer twirls the apple core between her fingers. Lady Macbeth, she thinks. Juliet, Ophelia, Titania, Viola, Beatrice. That last female, the heroine of Much Ado About Nothing, is her absolute favorite and she’d give anything to play her. But, apart from five nights at university as Viola in Twelfth Night she’s never had the opportunity to step into the shoes of any of these women. However Greer isn’t about to confess her hopes and disappointments to Carmen. Nobody, not even her mother, sees this side of Greer. One of the perks of being an actress