The House

The drive to her house isn't very long, which is good because my brain won't give me anything to say. I have learned that she, Jean, lives away from the town because she loves the quiet and stillness of the lake she can see from her bedroom window. Otis, her son, now lives in London and she says it will be nice not being in the house alone for a while. She apologises as the car comes to a stop.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound presumptuous."

I just smile. I wonder what she means. Is she inviting me to stay for longer than the night? She turns the key and removes it from the ignition. The rain is coming down in waves, each one seemingly heavier than the last.

"I'll help you with your bags."

We both hurry when we get out of the car, an unspoken agreement to get into the house as quickly as possible. She takes the majority of my bags before I can argue, effortlessly throwing them over her shoulders. She locks the boot and makes her way through the gate and towards the house. I take a moment to peer up through the rain at the house and am taken aback. It is huge and red with white beams. The triangular angles of the roof laced like snow on a mountain. Jean pushes through the blue door and holds it open for me. I step inside, grateful to be out of the storm.

As soon as the door closes behind me quiet blankets over the house. I understand what she means about living here. We are closed off from the rest of the world in the dark hallway and she flicks a light switch. She pauses to hang her coat and scarf up next to me, leaning over me as she does. I hold my breath, suddenly intimidated by the closeness. I, too take my thick denim jacket off and hang it up. The sodden blue looks scruffy beside hers, a burnt orange woollen kind of trench coat. Her scarf hangs loosely over the adjacent hook, the light silk decorated with thin stripes, navy and orange, only a few shades lighter than her coat.

She is gone when I turn back around and I scramble to grab the remainder of my bags from the floor. I tentatively wander through double French doors, passing oak furniture with dangling plants balanced on the surfaces. Art is hung in mismatched frames on the yellow walls and the house holds a sense of creative chaos. I find her ahead of me in the living room, waiting for me with my luggage at her feet. She looks much smaller now under the high ceilings. Her navy jumpsuit falling flatteringly from her slight frame. She kicks of her wedges and gestures with her head for me to follow her up the stairs.

My boots tread heavily on the steps and I wince, wondering whether I should have taken my shoes off too. She opens the door to what I assume to be her son's previous bedroom. A single bed lies under a small window, lit up by the hallway light. She turns on a lamp and a warm glow lights up the wood panelled walls. The bookcase has a few books scattered across it and the shelves have a few ornaments on them, but otherwise it seems quite empty. She walks in ahead of me and places my bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. I follow suit, dropping the rest and stand there awkwardly, looking around the small space.

"Sorry, I know it isn't much."

I realise that I might have seemed disappointed and I'm quick to reassure her.
"Not at all, your house is beautiful! Thank you."

She smiles at me, put at ease by my genuine tone.

"There's a shower across the hall if you want to warm and freshen up. Towel in there, too. Just drop your clothes in the laundry basket and I'll sort them for you."

With her feet bare, standing a few inches shorter than me, she doesn't seem like a stranger anymore. I smile widely at her, hoping my gratitude shows on my face.

"Thank you again. So much." I say, just to be sure she knows I appreciate it.

I pad down the stairs after my shower, my feet in the thickest socks I own. She's curled herself up on the sofa with a blanket over her lap. The room smells of incense and burnt matches. Some candles are flickering on small side tables and the room is lit dimly by large lamps in the corners. The side of Jean's face is blushing in the light of one lamp next to her. With her head buried in a book I don't realise she's aware of my presence.

"Feeling better?" She says softly, not lifting her head from the page she's on.

"Much, much better." I breathe.
The shower seems to have made me feel more comfortable and I don't wait for an invitation to sit next to her. The sofa droops in the middle and I dip, ending up much closer to her than I had initially intended to be. The edge of my thigh tugs at the blanket draped over her and she pulls it from under me, flicking it to stretch over my lap, still not peeling her eyes from the words in front of her. After a few minutes of surprisingly pleasant silence, she closes the book with a gentle clap and looks up at me.

"Hungry?"

She cocks an eyebrow over her glasses and I realise I've barely eaten today.

"Actually, yeah, I suppose I am."

She lifts herself up from the sofa and glides into the kitchen. I'm much colder without her there and I pull my knees up to my chest, my feet planted on the cushion under me. Looking over the half wall I see her moving gracefully around the counters, pulling pans out of the cupboards, opening and closing the fridge. I don't know what she's making but I'm mesmerised as she turns on the radio and quietly hums along to the music. I only take me eyes off of her when she swings back into the room.

"I hope you like pasta?" She smiles with her eyes, presenting me with a large bowl.

It looks delicious. Cheesy pasta with various herbs and vegetables thrown in, reflecting the organised chaos of her home. A huge hunk of crusty bread, buttered to every edge gets my stomach rumbling and I dig in, crossing my legs on the sofa.

I don't remember falling asleep but it must have had something to do with my full stomach and the hushed sound coming from the TV. I go to sit up but a weight on my shoulder halts my movements. Slowly turning I see Jean's head resting against me, her arms folded over her chest. I take a moment to take her in completely. From her bare feet crossed on the rug to her mouth, just slightly open. For some reason this makes me smile. I check my watch. It's quarter past midnight. A couple of lamps are still on but the main source of light is the flickering screen across the room. Although I'm content to sit here like this for a while I remember her telling me she had work the following morning and I feel a responsibility to let her go to bed. I clear my throat quietly and subtly roll my shoulders back. Jean's mouth closes and her eyes flutter open. She groans and her brows furrow together, obviously not ready to have woken up just yet. She takes her head off my shoulder and I feel cold again.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep." She murmurs, stretching her legs out and pointing her toes.

"It's okay, I did too." I smile softly at her and sit forward, feeling like I was sat a little too close to her. Although this does seem pretty redundant since she was sleeping on me only moments ago. I stand up and collect our bowls from the side tables, heading to the kitchen to clean them. Jean puts her hand on my forearm to still me.

"They can wait until tomorrow." She's standing by the time she finishes and is taking the bowls from my hands. "You must be exhausted." I am really, and the cold has made my whole body ache. I itch to be horizontal.

She makes her way around the room, flicking off the lights. I'm not sure why but I don't even shift, I'm just watching her move.

"Are you coming?" She tilts her head and I shake mine as if to escape the trance I've found myself in. I must be tired.

I traipse up the stairs behind her, wondering what it is that has me so spellbound by her. When we reach the top of the stairs we turn to move in opposite directions and I turn back to face her once in the doorway to my bedroom for the evening.

"Goodnight, Jean."

"Goodnight." She beams at me and I close the door, stifling a smile of my own.