The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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On April Fool’s Day it was Angelina’s twenty-first birthday. I thought it was a suitable day to propose. Angelina thought I was joking. I wasn’t. We had been sharing a house with no arguments or disputes for six months, even if today we finally admitted to each other that we had been lying for months. Both of us had inklings that all we had told each other wasn’t wholly true, but now we were in love, we wanted to clear the air and reveal the truth.
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It had started on a Wednesday early afternoon during the previous September. I belong to an amateur operatic group. We had a problem. We were going to do a production of Rossini’s La Cenerentola mainly because it didn’t need a female chorus. There were three female roles — Angelina as La Cenerentola, and the two ugly sisters.
Our women’s chorus would be competing in a regional contest for choirs and would be away from the production. We had three strong women for the roles, and enough men for the male roles and the chorus.
I was to take the part of Dandini, the Prince’s valet.
But three weeks before the production our main singer, the Angelina, had to go with her husband to a three-year posting in Dubai. We had no one available who could contemplate such a role. All our passable singers would be with the choir, and even if they had been available, they just weren’t good enough.
Despite our straightened finances we were considering whether we could hire a professional person for the role. We would discuss our options on Friday evening.
I was walking through the City Centre on the way to the house I was living in while contractors were renovating my main residence, when I heard a woman singing in the street. Her voice had a luminous quality and there was a small crowd around her. There was a large, wheeled suitcase behind her.
She was singing some operatic arias, backed by a Bluetooth speaker run from her mobile phone. I stopped to listen. I was entranced for ten minutes until she stopped and gathered up the money that had been thrown into a small carboard box in front of her. That box read ‘Homeless. Please help.’
I walked forward as the crowd dispersed and put a five-pound note in the box. She looked up and me and said, ‘Thank you.’
“Can you sing ‘Non Piu Mesta’?” I asked.
“Yes, but I haven’t got the backing track for that. I’d have to do it A Capella. Do you want it from Non Piu, or from ‘Nacqui all’affanno’?
“I’d be delighted with either,” I said.
She sang from ‘Nacqui all’affanno’. I was almost speechless. Even without the orchestra or chorus her performance was stunning, and I was her sole audience.
“That was amazing,” I said as I put a twenty-pound note in her box.
She did a curtsey.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“Have you eaten recently?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“I’d like to buy you a meal and talk to you, please?”
“Talk? That’s all?”
“And a meal.”
“McDonald’s is over there.”
“If that’s what you want but there are many other restaurants nearby.”
“Thank you, but McDonalds will do.”
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Over the meal we talked. She had been evicted from a student house she had shared with two other women this morning. The landlord, who had three student properties, had died three months earlier and his heirs had decided to sell the houses. Her two friends had managed to find space with other students but until she got her deposit back, in about a month’s time, she couldn’t afford anywhere else. Her parents might have been able to help but they were visiting her elder brother and his family in Canada. She might be able to sofa surf for that month but since so many students had lost their rented properties at once, that could be awkward.
I told her about our production of La Cenerentola and how we had lost the principal. Would she consider it?
“Perhaps,” she said, “but my homelessness is more important.”
“I can understand that. But I could have a solution. The house I’m living in is only fifty yards away and has two unused bedrooms, each with an internal bolt because it had been a student house until the end of last academic year. You could have a bedroom at least until you could get your deposit back and sort yourself out.”
“But I don’t know who you are,” she said.
I produced my business card and gave it to her.
“Tony Atkins? Property developer? And what’s that?”
“JP. Justice of the Peace”
“You’re very young to be a JP, Tony.”
“I’m the youngest locally and have been one for just over a year.”
“I think I can trust a JP, even if you are young.”
“OK. What is your name?”
She laughed.
“Angelina. I’m Angelina Foster, a student at the university studying Geography and child psychology. I hope to be a teacher eventually. My name is why I knew La Cenerentola. I’ve been singing it for years. I took that part in a university production in my first year.”
“I saw that production as did our director. That’s why we chose it. But I didn’t recognise you.”
“I’m not surprised. I was wearing two blonde wigs and had a very pale make-up. As you can see, I’m not blonde.”
Angelia had short-cropped dark brown hair and a tan.
“And the singing, Angelina?”
“I had considered being a professional opera singer. My grandmother was. But it is very difficult unless you are exceptional, to make a living at it. I know I am good, but ordinary good, not one of the few virtuosos. I could perhaps do musicals and some semi-professional performances. I’d never be good enough for the Royal Opera House except perhaps as one of the poorly paid chorus. Competition even for them is fierce.”
“Let’s go to my house and see what you think.”
The house is a small three-bedroom terrace house with the front door opening straight onto the pavement of a busy road. The front door opens into the main living room. Angelina put her suitcase down and noticed the upright piano. We walked through to the Kitchen/Breakfast room.
“This looks new,” Angelina said.
“It is, as is the bathroom, the wiring, the roof etc. My grandfather was having it renovated to be a student let again but he died just after the end of last year’s academic year, and everything stopped. When his will was sorted out it became my house. I needed somewhere to live, and this is now mine.”
“You own it outright, Tony?”
“Yes. He left it to me, and his car. He had divided most of his property between me and his other grandchildren seven years ago to avoid inheritance tax so technically this has been mine for the last seven years, but I moved in three months ago.”
“It see69+*ms to be a nice little house. What’s it like upstairs?”
“We’ll go and look. The disadvantage of this house is its location. You cannot park a car outside and the traffic is present all day and night. But it is close to the town centre and the university.”
“It is. Much closer than most of my friends’ places.”
I showed Angelina my bedroom at the front of the house. It is the largest room but an ensuite had been installed. The second bedroom wasn’t much smaller but only had a washbasin. The family bathroom was at the top of the stairs and the small third bedroom was beyond it.
In the third bedroom I said:
“Angelina? This could be your study room. The house has full fibre internet and there is an ethernet point in here and in all the other rooms as well — except the bathrooms.”
“Full fibre? Is that very fast?”
“About ten times faster than standard internet.”
“That would be even better than at the university. They have full fibre to the campus but with so many users it slows down. I like this house but…”
“But?”
“Tony, what are your conditions for letting me stay here?”
“Let’s go to the kitchen, have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you.”
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“Angelina? I’m offering you your own bedroom, another room for your study, and a share of the house. In exchange?”
“In exchange?”
“Only two things. First, you come with me to our operatic society meeting on Friday evening and take an audition for the part of La Cenerentola…”
“I’m OK with that. Second?”
“If you pass the audition, which I’m sure you will, you take the role in our production. That’s it. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else? What about rent?”
“None. You stay here rent-free.”
“Rent free? For how long?”
“Until you find somewhere else, or to the end of your final year.”
“To the end of my final year? I’ve got two and a half terms to go. Won’t there be increased costs for you?”
“Not really. I could claim a quarter of my council tax for being a single occupant, but I have already paid this year in full. For such a small house on a busy road I’m in the lowest band. A quarter of a small amount isn’t much, and I’ve already paid. I would be a hassle to get a rebate.”
“OK, Tony. Provisionally I accept but I have a condition for you too.”
“Which is?”
“The university are staging La Cenerentola again in the Spring term. But we are short of a Dandini. Could you audition for that?”
“With you as La Cenerentola?”
Angelina nodded.
“Yes. I will.”
Angelina kissed me on the cheek.
“Tony, on those conditions I’m your tenant. Can I unpack now?”
Half an hour later we were sitting in the kitchen discussing what to eat this evening. Eventually I persuaded Angelia to go with me to a restaurant. I booked a table for two online.
Over the meal we talked about La Cenerentola and the difficulties of my role and hers. She asked if we could use the piano before Friday evening for practice. Of course, I agreed.
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We had coffee back at the house and then spent too long singing. I was enjoying Angelia’s voice. It was exquisite. She seemed to like my voice too. We finally went to bed about midnight with arias from La Cenerentola still as earworms.
Over breakfast we had a discussion about food. I didn’t have enough for two of us. She had lectures until two o’clock and then she would be back at the house within five minutes, and I would drive to a large supermarket. We could have walked but I thought we would have too much shopping to carry.