Life After Forty Read Free Page B

that we’re making rings.”
    Dorothea wanted to say more, but she was laughing so hard she was crying.
    “You’re silly.”
    Ines shook her head with amusement and handed me a beer.
    “She’s just exhausted. These artistic types aren’t used to hard work.”
    Dorothea was a costume designer; she worked in television and also painted. Sweeping her dark locks and the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, she put on a hurt expression.
    “Eight Billys, three of which I did with a blister. Not to mention the chest of drawers, desk, and kitchen table.”
    “The kitchen table came ready-made!”
    “Well, I put a tablecloth on it at least.”
    She roared with laughter again.
    Her silliness was catching. We sat for a while amongst the boxes of books just giggling and drinking beer. Eventually Ines got up, dropped the empty bottles into the box, and reached for her drill.
    “Back to work; we’re not done yet. It’s six o’clock and I’ve got to go in two hours.”
    Dorothea held her side, breathing heavily.
    “Christine, just do as I said and have a quick clean-up here—then it’ll all be good.”
    Laughing softly, she followed Ines and helped to hold the curtain rails while she fixed them in place.
     
     
    We’d met that morning at my new apartment. My furniture and moving boxes had arrived the day before. Along with Ines, I’d helped with the unloading, lugged everything inside, and then had promptly burst into floods of tears. So Ines had decided that the unpacking, drilling, and screwing could wait until the next morning. Dorothea, who had jumped to offer her help, arrived in the best of moods and could hardly wait to get going. Ines brought her toolbox and oversaw the proceedings, gave directions, crossed things off her list, and screwed and drilled with dedication and no signs of tiring. By midday the kitchen, office, and bedroom were almost finished.
    Ines and Dorothea had built things piece by piece and screwed everything together while I unpacked box after box and arranged everything.
    Georg came too, laden with trays of rolls and cakes and a crate of beer.
    “I couldn’t make it sooner, I’m afraid. Is there anything I can still do to help?”
    We all laughed. Georg was a journalist. According to Ines, his ability to work with his hands was limited to plugging his laptop in. And sometimes he couldn’t even manage that! She stared at him for a while and decided that he could cope with breaking down the empty moving boxes and bringing them up to the loft.
    “I’m sure you can manage that without breaking anything or hurting yourself.”
    Her sarcasm was like water off a duck’s back.
    “Without me you’d be starving and thirsty. I’m perfectly capable of folding and carrying, and besides, you all love me really.”
    He stayed in spite of all the teasing, and Ines gave him job after job to do. Within half an hour he had held lamps, unpacked books, made coffee, and hugged me compassionately at least twenty times. Then he had to go. For the last two hours we worked on under Ines’s command, and then we drank our last beer around the dining table. Ines stretched and looked around with satisfaction.
    “You can sleep properly in your own bed, your kitchen’s ready, all the lamps are up, and the bathroom’s cleaned. The only thing left is the rest of your unpacking and a few odds and ends. But there’s plenty of time for all that. Aren’t we wonderful?”
    Dorothea looked at me with her big eyes and stroked her hand over the wooden table.
    “But still no tablecloth.” She giggled. “My darlings, I’m so done in, I’m getting all silly again. I’d love to have another beer with you, but I have to go to bed. I’ve got a broadcast tomorrow morning at eight.”
    It was eight o’clock in the evening. We’d been at it for almost twelve hours.
    “Will you be okay?” asked Dorothea.
    “Of course.”
    I was looking forward to being alone.
    “I’ll do a little more unpacking and then