Lucy, please, just no overnight guests. Its not a hotel, and your brotherinlaws sister has her own flat in Oxford, even if its just a stones throw away, Lucy swiped the waterspotted glasses, watching the light dance on the cracks. The damp circles irritated her as much as the looming visit from Simons relatives.
Lucy, whats the drama? Simon sighed, rubbing his nose without looking up from his laptop. Poppys coming with her mum on a quick stopover; mums got a cardiology appointment, and Poppys just tagging along. We cant send them back on the night train, can we?
Quick stopover, sure. Last time they said quick and ended up staying a week while Poppy hunted for winter boots all over London because, you know, we have better choices. I fed, watered and entertained them while you were at work.
I promise this time will be different. One evening: dinner, a nights sleep, breakfast, and theyre off. Cut us some slack, its family.
Lucy exhaled. In Simons world the word family was a holy shield, absolving any sin. Yet his younger sister Poppy and his mother Margaret seemed to treat it like a freeforall. They werent criminals, just uncouthso blunt that, as the locals say, it was worse than theft.
Lucy ran the logistics department of a major firm, earned a decent salary, and prided herself on order and quality. Her wardrobe was her museum: silks, cashmere, designer bagsall tended like a gardener with prized orchids. And that very wardrobe was Poppys red rag to a bull.
A knock came at six precisely. On the doorstep stood Margaret with a bag of greasy, deepfried pasties (the sort that gave Lucy heartburn on sight) and Poppy, who stared Lucy from head to toe with a hungry glint.
Oh, Lucy dear, hello! Poppy breezed in, shoes still on, planting a kiss on Lucys cheek. Whats with the fancy dress? New? Expensive, I bet?
Hey, Poppy. Just a cosy home dress. Come in, Lucy forced a smile, feeling Poppys hands graze the fabric like a nosy inspector.
Cozy, huh? Poppy snorted, shrugging off her jacket. Pure cotton with embroidery. Thats half my salary. Lucky you, Simon spoils you.
I work too, Poppy, Lucy reminded, hanging the jacket in the coat closet.
Come on, you work. Simons not exactly earning pennies either. Mum, hand me the bag, Ill take it to the kitchen.
The evening unfolded in classic sitcom fashion. Margaret immediately began rearranging spice jars for convenience, while Simon, thrilled to have his family under one roof, poured tea and listened to his mothers endless anecdotes about neighbours, pressurecooking, and buckwheat prices.
Lucy kept her composure, topping up plates and counting the hours until theyd leave. Tension rose when the conversation turned to Aunt Zinas upcoming birthday.
Girls, I dont even know what to wear, Poppy complained, stuffing a forkful of cake into her mouth. Ive put on weight this winter; nothing fits. And the restaurant will be full of fancy folkI dont want to look ridiculous.
She fixed her gaze on Lucy. Lucy took a sip of tea and stayed silent, recognizing the look that meant, Give me a hand.
Lucy, you have a mountain of clothes. Could I borrow something for the weekend? Were almost the same size well, almost. Remember that blue sequined thing you never wear?
No, Poppy, were different sizes. Im a size 14, youre a size 18. And you know my rule: I never lend my clothes. Its a principle.
Great, principles, Poppy rolled her eyes. Just say it. My sisterinlaws got a rag thats gathering dust, I want to try it on once. Id even take it to the dry cleaners afterwards!
Poppy, why do you need someone elses dress? Simon intervened gently, noticing Lucys knuckles whitening. We could buy you a new one; Ill transfer some money.
What money? Margaret chortled. Why spend cash when the wardrobes overflowing? Lucy, youve got more dresses than a department store. Hand one over, and the girl will be happy. Were family, not strangers.
Margaret, thats enough, Lucy cut in, her voice a shade sharper than intended. My clothes are mine. I dont take what isnt yours, and I dont give what is mine. Lets change the subject, please.
The rest of dinner drifted in strained silence. Margaret pursed her lips, Poppy avoided Lucys eyes, and Simon shuffled his gaze between them, unwilling to spark another fight.
The next morning Lucy left for work early; the guests were still asleep. Simon took a day off to escort his mother to appointments, leaving the house to himself.
Ill be back around seven, Lucy told him as she slipped on her shoes. Please make sure they dont move anything in the bedroom. You know I hate that.
Youre paranoid, Simon laughed, planting a kiss on her cheek. Who cares about the bedroom? Theyll have breakfast, well head to the clinic, a walk, then the station. Youll be back before anyones even noticed.
Lucy walked out, but a nervous knot gnawed at her all day. She knew Poppy would interpret her earlier refusal not as a firm no but as a challenge.
Work dragged on. By three p.m. a migraine slammed into Lucy, rainbowcoloured halos spinning before her eyes. The tablets didnt help.
Evelyn, you look pale, her deputy noted. Go home, well finish the report.
Lucy didnt argue. She needed quiet darkness, so she called a taxi.
Outside her thirdfloor flat the lights were on in every room despite the bright daylight. Odd, she thought, remembering Simons promise of a quiet evening.
She slipped inside, the air sweet with cheap perfume and hairspray. Music and laughter thumped from somewhere deep in the flat.
She tiptoed to the hallway, shoes off, following the giggles into the bedroom. The door was ajar.
Mom, is this real? Poppys voice squealed with delight. Look at me! The dress fits! And the colour
Darling, youre gorgeous! Margaret cooed. Italian silk, not that cheap Chinese stuff.
Lucy pushed the door open.
What greeted her looked like a scene from a lowbudget soap opera, only funnier. In the centre of her bedroom, before a fulllength mirror, stood Poppy in the midnightemerald silk gown Lucy had bought in Milan two years ago for a New Years galacosting a small fortune and worn only once.
The dress was split down the side, the seam giving way as Poppys fuller figure forced the narrow cutintheback silhouette. The zipper had torn halfway, exposing lace underwear, while the fabric around the hips strained as if about to snap.
On Poppys feet were Lucys beloved beige pumps, now clamped on in a way that made her toes stick out like a fishs fins. The neatly made bed was a mess of other items: a cashmere sweater, two blouses, scarves, jewellery boxes. Margaret sat in a chair, holding Lucys designer handbag, inspecting its contents with relish.
What on earth is happening? Lucys voice, low at first, thundered in the sudden silence.
Poppy shrieked, the dress ripping further with a wet tearing sound.
Oh she froze, eyes wide in the mirrors reflection.
Margaret dropped her lipstick, which rolled across the polished floor.
Lucy? Why are you up so early? Simon said youd be back by seven she began, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing.
Lucy entered, fury cold and measured, pushing aside the migraine.
Take it off, she commanded, staring straight at Poppy.
Its not what you thinkI was just trying it on we werent going to keep itSimon said it was fine! Poppy stammered, hands fumbling at the stuck zipper. It wont come off!
The zipper is jammed! Lucy snapped. Youve torn a dress worth about £2,000. Do you understand?
£2,000? Its just a seam! Margaret interjected, rising. We can have it stitched. She just wanted to feel pretty. Your husbands barely making ends meet, love.
Margaret, put the bag down and leave the room, Lucy said, not turning. Or Ill call the police and treat this as a burglary.
Youre scared of the police? Margarets face flushed. Were guests!
Youre not guests when you trample through someone elses bedroom, Lucy retorted. Out!
Margaret muttered curses and fled down the corridor. Lucy stood alone with Poppy, who now huddled, head tucked into her shoulders, cheeks pink with embarrassment.
Turn around, Lucy ordered.
She examined the zipper. The pull tab was jammed in the lining, the fabric ripped clean through. The dress was ruined.
Ill have to cut it, Lucy said calmly.
No! You cant! Im Poppy tried to scramble, but the toosmall pumps gave her no grip and she teetered.
Either I cut the dress to free you, or you walk home in that torn mess. Your choice, Lucy said.
Just then Simon burst through the bedroom door, a cake box in hand, smiling brightly.
Whats all this? Poppy, why are you in Lucys dress? he asked, bewildered.
Simon! Shes trying to kill me! Shes got scissors! I was just trying it on and now shes shouting about the police! Poppy wailed, stumbling toward him.
Simon stared at Lucy, then at the gaping hole in the dress, the scattered accessories, and Margarets lingering gaze on his wifes bag.
Simon, your sisterinlaw forced my dress, tore it, broke the zipper, and trampled my things while my mother rummaged through my bag. Im giving them ten minutes to leave, Lucy said, arms crossed.
Maybe we could? Simon began, trying to mediate.
Look at the dress, Simon, Lucy said, pointing. See the rip, the stains, the broken zipper? See the chaos on the bed? This isnt a misunderstanding.
Simon lifted his eyes to Poppy. Why did you do it?
Its just a rag! Poppy snapped. Were rich, well buy another! Youre siding with me now, brother? My mother is on the brink of a heart attack, and youre polishing shoes!
Simon, sighing, said, Take it off.
What?
Take the dress off. Now.
It wont come off! Lucy snarled. Shes stuck. Get the scissors.
The rescue operation lasted five minutes, accompanied by Margarets melodramatic wails and Poppys whimpering protests. Lucy snipped the silk along the back, each cut feeling like a tiny stab to the heart, until the dress fell in a crumpled heap of expensive rubbish.
Poppy was left in her own soggy underwear and tights, hastily pulling on her own clothes and muttering, Youll rot in mothballs, you posh snob.
In fifteen minutes the flat was empty. Simon arranged a taxi for Poppy to the station, slipped her a few pounds (Lucy saw but said nothing), and returned to the living room, which now sat in oppressive silence. The ruined dress lay on the coffee table as a tangible piece of evidence.
Simon sat beside Lucy, hesitating to hug her.
Im sorry, he finally said.
For what? Lucy asked without turning.
For not listening to you. For bringing them here. For letting this happen.
You cant control who they are, Lucy replied. But you can control whos in our house. I never want them back, Simon. Not for an hour, not for a minute.
I understand.
You dont, Lucy snapped, turning to him. Its not a whim. Its a breach of every boundary. Your sister invaded my personal space. The dress wasnt about moneythough it cost as much as a carbut about respect. She thinks she can take whatever she wants because youre her brother, and your mother encourages it. If you ever suggest another visit, Ill file for divorce. Seriously.
Simon looked at the dress, then at Lucy, seeing the resolve in her eyes. I promise. No more visits. If I need to see my mother, Ill go to her. She wont step foot in our home again.
And one more thing, Lucy added, rising. Were changing the locks tomorrow. Your mother still has a spare key you gave her just in case a year ago. I need to be sure that just in case never becomes anytime.
Simon nodded. Ill call a locksmith first thing.
Lucy picked up the shredded gown.
What will you do with it? Simon asked.
Ill throw it away. Its tainted. Even if it could be mended, I couldnt wear it.
She tossed the silk into a bin, the plastic bag rustling as hopes for peaceful family relations went with it. Relief washed over her.
A week later Lucys phone exploded with messages from Poppyfirst insults, then accusations about her mothers health, then demands for compensation. Lucy blocked each number, one after another.
That evening Simon came home, looking thoughtful.
Mother called, he said over dinner. Poppy found a copy of the dress online, a cheap Chinese knockoff, and wants me to buy it as an apology for you almost cutting her with scissors.
Lucy laughed, a genuine, loud laugh.
And what did you say?
I told her I dont have a sister. I have a woman who owes me £2,000 for ruined property. Until she pays up, we have nothing to discuss.
Lucy looked at him, surprised and proud.
You really said that?
Absolutely. Ive been tolerating it for too long. I thought people were just a bit jealous, but after seeing them mess about in our bedroom, rummaging through my bag, I got scared. I was scared of who Id let into our home. You were rightsimple can be worse than theft.
Lucy hugged him tightly.
Thanks.
By the way, Ive changed the locks. I told the concierge to turn anyone away, even if they claim to be the Pope.
Life slowly slipped back into a normal rhythm. Lucy bought a new dressbetter than the old onebut now she always locks the bedroom door, just in case. Simons relatives remain where they belong: on the blockedcall list and in the past, no longer wielding any power over their present.
