Charlotte and I have always been thick as thieves since we were little life only managed to make us closer. She moved to London for university, settled in nicely, landed a job, and rented a flat. Despite the miles between us, we never lost touch. Shed come back for the holidays, and our phones were constantly catching up over tea and gossip. At twenty, I got married and had a daughter. About a year ago, my husband and I made the bold move to London ourselves, and, by sheer serendipity, ended up renting a place in the same neighbourhood as Charlotte.
Charlotte, now twenty-seven, had somehow managed to stay single all this time, which genuinely baffled me because shes got that charming English rose look going for her. But not long ago, she dropped the news: she was finally seeing someone. I was absolutely over the moon, pestering her to introduce me to the man in question. She just smiled slyly and said it wasnt time yet.
About a month later, the fateful meet-up was planned. Her new beau, Peter, moved in with her, and her sister invited my husband and me round for a cup of tea. The first sight of Peter nearly made me spill my Earl Grey. He looked at least forty, sporting a face that told tales of one too many pints at the local pub. His hair was askew, his clothes were a bit scruffy he could have been mistaken for someone auditioning for a role as a street poet or perhaps just someone whod misplaced his razor and his ambition. My husband and I shared the sort of silent, wide-eyed glances only married people can master. It came to light later that Peter was unemployed and had just scraped through secondary school, leaving before his GCSEs.
I simply couldnt fathom why my clever, radiant, and well-educated sister had landed herself with him. I tried to broach the subject gently, but she exploded, telling me to mind my own business and stop interfering with her life. She even said she wanted a baby with him, which left me completely gobsmacked. The thought of her having a child with someone like Peter was enough to make me choke on my scone. No matter how many times I tried to rationalise her choice, it just didnt add up even accounting for everyones wildly different tastes.
