Jane had been sitting quietly reading in the living room for the last hour or so. Outside the weather was horrendous. The hurricane that the weather forecasters had been threatening for the past few days had finally hit with a vengeance. The rain was lashing against the huge picture window with the whole force of the storm that had carried it there. Glancing up for a moment from her book she could see the younger trees bending almost horizontal under the force of the winds whilst the older oak was firmly standing its ground, allowing the wind to whip its branches back and forward, giving up the weaker ones to gravity.
Pulling the fleece up around her knees Jane curled her free fingers around the mug of hot coffee she had just made for herself. The book she was reading was part of a series about a group of aspiring and successful artists and friends in the music industry. This one was the third in the series following the ups and downs of a repatriated singer from Catalonia. It had had Jane gripped from the first page.
Entrenched in the story Jane was almost oblivious to anything around her, but little by little she became aware of music playing somewhere else in the house. ‘Strange’ was her immediate thought as there was no-one else home that afternoon. As soon as she concentrated on the music it disappeared, but once she had got back into the story in her book she could vaguely hear the strains of the lilting and gentle melody again.
Putting her book down Jane got up from the sofa intent on finding out where the sound was coming from. She wasn’t sure where to start so headed for the kitchen first. It seemed an unlikely place to start, but she wondered if perhaps she had left the radio on low and that might have been what she had heard. Opening the door to the kitchen, she could hear the wind whistling around outside, but she couldn’t hear any music. She crossed the floor to the worktop where the radio was, and checked to see if she had left it on, only to find it was in fact unplugged, so no way could that be the source of the music she had heard.
Leaving the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind her she decided to check the study next. She though that perhaps the computer had been left on and was the source of the music. She opened the door to the study slowly to see if she could hear anything. From a quick glance at the computer in the corner she could tell that it wasn’t turned on. Her search had drawn another blank.
Back in the hallway she strained her ears to see if she could detect any music coming from anywhere, but could hear nothing. Deciding that her search was a fruitless waste of her time, when she could be enjoying the world of her friends in the book, che returned to the living room and the sofa.
Outside the storm was still blowing wildly. she climbed back on the sofa,pulled the fleece up round her again and picked up her book. In a few moments she was back in the story and annoyingly once again she heard the distant melody coming from somewhere else in the house.
It hadn’t sounded like the music was coming from upstairs but that was the only place left for it to possibly be. They had only been living in the house for a few months and Jane was still finding out about its little peculiarities. She wondered if this music playing might be one of them.
Setting her book back down on the coffee table she stood up once more to see if she could find the source of the music. Passing through the hallway and past the front door, where she could hear the wind howling outside even more strongly she quickly slipped up the stairs to the upper floor. As she stood on the upper landing she as sure she could hear the music coming from her bedroom.
For a moment she stood in the same place, just outside the bedroom door wondering what on earth could be going on. There wasn’t even a radio alarm, radio or anything that could be a source of the music in there. Taking a deep breath she grabbed the handle and pushed the door open quickly.
What she saw made her burst into laughter. Her husband was sitting on the edge of the bed, soaked through to the skin, his hair scarecrow-like, fiddling with the apps on his mobile phone. He must have come home from work early and crept past her as she was deep in her story in the living room.
“Bloody thing,” he said as he looked up. “I dropped it in a puddle on the way in and now it keeps playing burst of music on and off.”
Jane simply stood in the doorway laughing.
“What?” her husband asked. “What?”