Two fluffy dressing gowns hang on the door; one light blue, one burnt orange, arms intertwined, mingling like lovers in an embrace. Their owners are currently curled around each other, still asleep.
In the bathroom, a purple toothbrush and a red toothbrush co-exist in harmony next to the array of jars and lotions with SPF, for wrinkles and fine lines. No dentures yet, not for a long time.
The dressing table boasts their perfumes L'eau Pure and Nigritella; existing side by side, distinctly different but still in harmony. Just like the way they work together.
In the kitchen, a jar of marmite and a jar of peanut butter nestle together on the shelf, each one loved by one and loathed by the other. Nevertheless, the owners sit at the same table most mornings and smother their toast with it, smiling sleepily over hot strong coffee straight from the cafetiere.
Best of all are the matching mugs for that coffee. Green striped and red striped, dotted with sunflowers. Hers and hers mugs, the joke of AAU. Once they'd got going, they'd become quite the couple.
Two women of a certain age should be sensible in Marks & Spencer's cardies but these two wanted a steady supply of alcohol and heady Sapphic sex. And who could blame them? It was about time they got what they wanted.
It was the house of hers and hers.
