4 Rooms in a Semi-Detached House by Madeleine Swann

Author:Madeleine Swann [Swann, Madeleine]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

8

They landed on a soft pile of cushions in an Art Deco Parisian salon. It was cool, quiet and the floor was covered in cushions of exotic colors; deep purples, blues, reds and golds. A window was half-open, and white net curtains billowed in the breeze. On the opposite wall to the cupboard which served as their exit two cubist paintings ran from floor to ceiling, one of a man and one of a woman. A beautiful woman played soft jazz on a piano in the corner while a man and woman, their hosts Chet and Lilly, sat very straight in wicker chairs at the back. Chet wore a tuxedo while Lilly wore a knee length blue dress and matching head band with a long string of pearls around her neck. Lying in the middle, spread eagled and looking as though they had been there long enough to melt into the ground, was a mother and daughter Aisha vaguely recognized from the corner shop. A red-faced teenage boy held a messy piece of paper tightly and glared at them. “Sh-shall I start again?”

“No!” said Chet and Lilly a little too loudly.

“Uh, that is to say . . .” Lilly summoned a delicate smile. “. . . that is to say, you've found such a rhythm that we wouldn't want to destroy it.”

“Okay.” He looked down again at the crumpled paper. “Thanks mum for my hunchback, bending under the weight of your oppression. Thanks mum . . .”

Aisha's stomach did the familiar drop she experienced when witnessing something embarrassing. She couldn't even look at Sam.

“Will you ever be satisfied? Only when my knees buckle beneath hate filled words spat between sausage rolls.” Half a second of meaningful silence followed before Chet and Lilly applauded enthusiastically.

“Well done,” said Lilly. “Such . . . raw talent.”

“Thank you.” The young man bowed and exited through the cubist on the left.

“We should look around,” whispered Sam.

“I don’t know.” Aisha’s muscles throbbed, and now that she'd laid down she wasn't sure she could get up again right away. She didn't dare tell Sam.

“Come on . . .”

“Ssh,” said Chet. “The next poem is about to begin.”

“Oh God, I can’t listen to any more,” said Sam.

Aisha felt not for the first time that she'd been caught doing something horribly wrong. She didn't tell Sam she'd once loved nothing more than to lie on these very cushions, before all the troubles, and listen to poetry, even poetry she didn't particularly enjoy. She imagined Sam had lots of rules that went with the kind of art she liked, maybe even people too, and that Aisha would get all of them wrong. Aisha didn't have rules, she just liked being around it.

“Maybe we ought to listen for a minute. We might notice something during the reading.”

“We can’t just lie here.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to do. Maybe someone will give us a clue.” Aisha needed to think and arguing with Sam was not helping. By now all eyes were on the pair and the mother tutted loudly.

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