Monica had decided, with more determination than sense, to move miles away from her parents to a completely different city. There, she dutifully went about getting herself a proper education. After graduating, she met a chap named Richard, and before you could say afternoon tea, they were hitched. Her sister, Harriet, however, stayed back at home with Mum and Dad. Harriet had already managed to get herself married and divorced twice (a feat, even by British standards). She did, however, emerge from the whole saga with two sons.
Monica and Richard lived in a cramped flat that hed inherited from his Nan. In those early days, they could barely scrape together enough pounds for a decent supper, especially with a baby to look after. But over time, things improved. They managed to squirrel away some savings and bought themselves a rather respectable two-bedroom flat. After a spot of DIY and a lot of muttered complaints about wallpaper patterns, they decided to let it out.
Time marched on, as it does. Their daughter, Lucy, grew up and announced she wanted to attend nursing school. Monica and Richard agreed theyd give Lucy the rented flat the moment she decided to walk down the aisle.
Meanwhile, Harriets daughter, Sophie, started at university. Naturally, this sparked a family chorusHarriet and Monicas parents began nudging Monica about whether Sophie could possibly crash at the flat they were renting out. Monica, suffering from a chronic inability to say no to her sister, agreed.
Sophie studied diligently, then took a part-time job in a local café making questionable cappuccinos. Soon enough, some bloke proposed after only six months of datingand, as if that wasnt enough excitement, Sophie announced she was expecting a baby. Monica, feeling rather put upon, had a word with Harriet: if Sophie was planning to start her own family, perhaps she needed her own place to live. The happy couple promised theyd find somewhere soon.
A month later, Sophie rang Monica up (at least three times in one day) and begged for a bit more time, swearing up and down theyd move out right after the wedding. Meanwhile, Monicas own daughter Lucy had also found herself a boyfriend but, with Sophie pregnant, no one had the heart to boot them out.
The wedding took placewhite dress, wobbly relatives, excessively beige buffet. Sophie gave birth soon after. Monica, never much for confrontation, politely told the family the time had come: the flat belonged to Lucy, who was soon to be married herself. Yet Sophie always seemed to find a new excuseno decent rentals about, the baby had the sniffles, the stars were simply not aligned. Eventually, Sophie stopped answering the door and switched her phone number. Not to be outdone, even Monicas husband Richard dropped by to sort things, only for Harriet to accuse him of causing Sophie to lose her milk supply.
At their wits end, Monica and Richard finally chucked them out, and no one could say it wasn’t a scene worthy of EastEnders. The family then refused to speak to Monica for two whole years, periodically muttering in family WhatsApp groups and over soggy biscuits about how heartless one must be to throw their own niece and a newborn out onto the cobblestones.
