One Ordinary Day, I Saw My Smiling Sister in a Shop, Walking Hand-in-Hand with a Distinguished Man—And They Both Wore Wedding Bands

Author Walton MerrittReading 4 minViews 3

So the other day, I saw my sister in a shop, looking ever so pleased, arm in arm with a distinguished-looking gentleman, both of them wearing wedding rings.

Emma had an identical twin called Charlotte. Honestly, from the moment they were born, they were joined at the hipbest friends in every sense. They played together, shared all their secrets, and even got into trouble as a pair. Whenever one needed backing up, the other would jump right in. Mum used to dress them in the exact same outfits, and even as adults, they loved looking alikethey actually wore that twin thing as a badge of honour.

The girls had a pretty modest upbringing. Their parents never made much; it was very average. When Emma headed off to uni, Charlotte wanted to follow but just couldnt swing it. She was guttednot only her, but their parents as well. Both parents stretched themselves to cover Emmas tuition so both girls would have a proper education. Charlotte, though, felt mortified, like the finances were always a bit too tight for her, and she hated being the reason for any money worries. Shed get properly embarrassed. Try as she might, she just couldnt squeeze more out of the family budget for herself.

One evening at dinner, their granafter a few too many glasses of winegot a bit loose-tongued and spilled a massive family secret. Apparently, back when their parents had the twins, theyd actually considered giving up the younger one, worried they couldnt cope with both. The younger, it turned out, was Charlotte.

Charlotte was completely shaken. She found the whole thing impossibly unfair. No amount of comfort helpedshe just kept thinking she was less loved. Out of pure spite, she decided to get back at her parents. She marched down to Emmas university and grabbed her papers, basically putting all her own plans on ice.

From then on, she started blaming Emma for everything. She convinced herself that, if Emma hadnt been there, shed have been the only one, the most cherished, the apple of everyones eye. After that night, things with the twins just werent the same. They drifted, living pretty much separate lives from that point.

Emma eventually met a lovely man, got married, and had a little boy. The sisters barely saw each other. The only time they bumped into each other was at the parents house, and Charlottewell, she was chilly as ever, quick to nitpick and even make snide remarks about Emmas appearance.

Their next encounter was a pure accident, right in the middle of a shopping centre. Charlotte looked absolutely glamorous, arm in arm with a well-to-do gentleman who just radiated status. Emma assumed it was her husband. She rushed over for a hug, but Charlotte took a literal step back and acted like they were strangers. Emma felt seriously awkwardstood there frozen while her sister breezed out and climbed into this ridiculously expensive car.

They had to see each other again, eventually, at the parents house. This time, Charlotte outright attacked Emmas appearanceshe said Emma looked slovenly, and even went so far as to say she was an embarrassment.

Bit harsh, but if Im honest, there was a smidge of truth. Emma always rocked her wild curls, skipped make-up, and didnt mind wearing comfy clothes. Charlotte, on the other hand, was all about make-up, kept her hair perfectly styled, wore contacts instead of glasses, and had plenty of cash for beauty treatments.

Emma was really hurtshe couldnt believe her own twin, who once used to be her best mate, could turn so horrible. How had things gone so wrong between them?

Their mum ended up pulling Emma aside and begged her to just let Charlotte find her own happiness. She asked Emma, for everyones sake, to stay away from Charlotte and not stir things up.

So, from that moment, if Emma wanted to visit her parents, she had to ring ahead or wait for an invite, just to make absolutely sure she wouldnt bump into Charlotte. Funny how one careless comment from years back could end up flipping their whole family upside down.

The Nuisance Next Door “Don’t you dare touch my spectacles!” shrieked my ex-friend. “Mind your own eyes! Think I don’t see who you’re ogling?” “Are you actually jealous?” wondered Tamara Brown. “Now I see who’s caught your fancy! I know what I’ll get you for Christmas—a lip-zipping machine!” “Why not keep it for yourself?” retorted Lynda. “Or maybe there’s no machine that could handle those lips of yours? Think I don’t see?” Old Mrs. Tamara swung her legs off the battered bed and made her way to her home altar to read her morning prayer. She wouldn’t have called herself particularly religious: there was definitely something out there, someone calling the shots. But who? That was anyone’s guess. This driving power went by many names: fate, the universe, and of course, the Good Lord! Yes, a kindly old gentleman with a white beard and a halo, sitting on his cloud and keeping an eye on everyone here on Earth. Besides, Tamara was deep into her autumn years, approaching seventy. And at that age, best not to quarrel with the Almighty. After all, if He doesn’t exist, believers lose nothing. But if He does, unbelievers lose everything. At the end of her morning prayers, Tamara always added a few words of her own—why not? Ritual complete, and her soul at ease—it was time to face another day. Tamara Brown’s life was troubled by two things. And no, not the usual suspects—roads and fools—no, those problems were old news. Hers were: her neighbour Lynda, and her own grandchildren. With the grandkids, fair enough: today’s youth can be a pain. But at least they had parents—let them deal with it! But Lynda was an entirely different breed of headache: a neighbour who could get on anyone’s last nerve. Only in films do catfights between old dames look sweet; in reality, it’s something else entirely. Especially when you’re being picked on for no rhyme or reason. And then there was her old mate, Peter “Moped Pete”. His full Sunday name was Peter Ernest Champion. (It’s a real surname!) His nickname was easy enough to figure out: in his youth, Pete Champion—what a combo—was mad about his moped. Or, as cheeky young Pete used to call it, his “mopeddy”. The name stuck, and long after Pete’s rusty old moped gathered dust in the shed, the nickname clung to him—ah, the joys of country life! They used to be close friends: “Mopeddy” and his wife Nina, Tamara and her husband. But their partners had long since taken up residence in the local cemetery. Still, Tamara kept up with Mopeddy, having known him since school, and a better friend than Pete was hard to find. Back in their schooldays, they were an inseparable trio: Tamara, Pete, and Lynda—just pure old-fashioned friendship, without a hint of anything else. They went everywhere together: Pete in the middle, the two ladies on each arm, like a teacup with two handles. There are special cups like that—so they never slip from your grasp! Over the years, the friendship changed. Or rather, it ended—thanks mainly to Lynda, who first grew cold, then outright hostile after her husband’s passing. It was like that cartoon: I’ve started noticing, it’s as if someone’s swapped her out… Something in Lynda broke. She’d grown mean and spiteful—maybe it happens to some. Ladies can be like that. Gents too. And there was plenty to envy. First, despite her age, Tamara stayed trim while Lynda had grown… let’s say, well-rounded. “Madam, where shall we find your waist?” Not flattering by comparison. Second, their mutual school friend recently favoured quick-witted Tamara with more attention than Lynda. They’d share conspiratorial laughs and seemed practically glued at the head. With Lynda, conversation was terse and chilly. Besides, Pete popped by Tamara’s much more often, rarely needing much encouragement. Well, maybe she wasn’t as clever as witty Tamara—or as funny! Pete always loved a good laugh. There’s a fine old English idiom for Lynda’s new behaviour: nit-picking. She’d become a champion of petty grievances. First, she complained the loo in Tamara’s garden smelled awful. — “Your loo’s ponging again!” called Lynda. — “It’s stood there for years—you only just noticed?” said Tamara, biting back with, “Ah yes—your cataract surgery was free! You get what you pay for!” — “Don’t you dare touch my spectacles!” screamed her former friend. “You look after your own eyes! Think I don’t see who you’re staring at?” —“Are you jealous or something?” asked Tamara. “Well, I know just what to get you for Christmas: a lip-zipping machine!” —“Keep it for yourself!” Lynda fired back. “Or maybe nothing could fix those lips! Think I don’t see?” And on, and on… Pete suggested filling in the outside loo and having one built in the house. Tamara’s children helped fund it, and the family friend Pete did the digging. Problem solved—or so one would hope. But no! It was the pear tree branches next—supposedly damaged by Tamara’s grandchildren. —“They must’ve thought it was ours!” Tamara tried to explain. Though she wasn’t convinced—nothing looked robbed to her. “Look, your hens peck through my veg patch, and I never complain!” —“Chickens are stupid creatures—nothing but egg-layers,” shot back Lynda. “Grandma, you ought to mind the grandchildren, not giggle with gents all day!” So it went. The grandkids got a scolding; pear season came and went; and then Lynda found “damage” to the branches. —“Where? Show me!” asked Tamara. She couldn’t see a thing, but Lynda jabbed a knobbly finger vaguely in their direction. Old Peter, always diplomatic, suggested lopping off the branches that hung over Tamara’s fence. —“She’ll only shout again!” sighed Tamara. —“Wanna bet?” grinned Pete. “I’ll back you up!” Just as predicted, Lynda huffed but stayed silent as Pete did the sawing. Peace? Not quite. Tamara soon had her own vexation: Lynda’s new breed of chickens were tearing up her veg patch. She politely asked Lynda to keep them in check. Lynda just sneered, “What are you gonna do about it?” Now, Tamara was too kind for drastic measures—like roasting an offending hen. Instead, clever Pete suggested the latest online hack: plant a few eggs on the veg patch overnight, then collect them in the morning as proof. It worked: the next morning, Lynda’s jaw dropped as Tamara collected a bowlful of “garden-fresh eggs”. The hens never reappeared. Maybe now they could be friends again? Not a chance. Now the neighbour complained about the smoke and smell from Tamara’s summer kitchen. —“Since when do you notice? Never bothered you before. Maybe the whiff of roast beef bothers me too! Ever think of that, Miss Vegetarian?” At last, Tamara’s patience snapped. Lynda, quite simply, “had gone off the rails”—another wonderful English phrase. Over tea with Pete, Tamara joked, “Maybe she should be sent off for scientific research—she’ll end up devouring me whole!” —”She’d choke on you! And I’d never let it happen,” Pete reassured her. “But I’ve got a better idea!” A few days later, Tamara heard Pete calling out: “Tammy, Tammy, come outside!” There he was, beaming, on his newly mended vintage moped—Pete and his Mopeddy! —“You know why I’ve been so glum?” he grinned. “My moped’s been broken all this time!” —“Hop on, beautiful, let’s go for a ride! Let’s relive our youth!” And hop on she did! After all, old age has now been officially abolished by Parliament: everyone’s an active pensioner at 65+! Tamara rode off, quite literally, into her new life. Soon, she became Mrs. Champion herself: Peter Ernest Champion popped the question! Old puzzle pieces fell into place, and Tamara moved in with her husband. And Lynda? Well, she stayed behind—a lonely, chubby, bitter old biddy. Now, if that’s not a reason for a new bout of jealousy, what is? With no one left to squabble with, Lynda had to stew alone, her toxic sniping bottled up inside. No more sparring partners… So hang on tight, Tammy, and don’t step out of the house! Who knows what else the village will bring? Life here is a soap opera set to music. All that fuss about the loo for nothing…