“Close Quarters, But No Offence”
“Emily, don’t make a fuss—just squeeze in a bit. She’s your sister, after all,” Mum’s voice was steely, leaving no room for argument.
“Mum, what do you mean ‘squeeze in’? This is our flat, mine and Anthony’s! Where are we supposed to put her?” Emily struggled to keep her temper in check.
“Oh, so she’s supposed to live in that filthy student dorm? We can’t afford rent—have you seen the prices? That’s settled then: Lily’s moving in with you. It’ll ease my mind knowing she’s looked after.”
“Mum, that wasn’t the deal!”
“It is now. Family helps family.”
“Family? Seriously? Remember when—”
“Enough. I’ve no time for this. I’ll book the tickets and let you know.”
The call ended abruptly. Emily stood frozen in the kitchen, gripping her phone as if it held answers. She was stunned by her mother’s audacity—though, really, why was she surprised?
Emily had always been the less loved child. When Mum remarried and had Lily, six-year-old Emily was forced to grow up overnight.
“You’re the big sister now—you help with the baby,” Mum would say. Chores piled up: vacuuming, mopping, nappy changes, grocery runs, entertaining Lily, and later, learning to cook. The stepfather left soon after Lily was born, leaving the three of them behind.
Mum adored Lily, spoiling her rotten. The best sweets went to Lily, the new clothes, the café orders—whatever Lily wanted. Films, outings, even dinners revolved around her whims. Lily grew up coddled, never lifting a finger.
She’d toss clothes around, never tidy, and whine:
“Jess’s parents got her the new iPhone—I want one too!”
“What’s for dinner? Leftovers again? Let’s just order pizza!”
“Where are my jeans? Emily, you didn’t wash them? I’m supposed to? I don’t know how—why should I?”
“Clean? No, I’ve got a headache. You do it.”
Mum never argued. When Emily protested, she’d hear:
“Lily’s growing up without a father—it’s hard for her.”
“So did I, Mum!”
“I know. But you’re strong. Lily’s delicate, like a flower. She needs more care.”
Mum spent her entire salary on Lily’s whims, even taking out loans. When Emily needed new trainers or a coat, Mum would snap, telling her to check sales or buy second-hand. She never asked how Emily was doing in school or life.
Exhausted by the injustice, Emily vowed to escape. She studied relentlessly, aced her exams, and took odd jobs—handing out flyers, writing articles, courier work. Every pound went into a tin hidden on her wardrobe shelf.
One day, after a gruelling shift in the cold, she came home to find the tin empty.
“Lily! Did you take my money?”
“What money?” Lily mumbled through a mouthful of crisps.
“From my tin!”
“Oh, that? Yeah, I took it. Had to pay for my new clothes and trainers. And pizza.”
“Are you mad? That was my savings! Who said you could—?”
“Chill, it was just loose change. Can’t you spare some for your sister?”
Emily locked herself in her room and cried.
When Mum got home, she scolded Emily:
“How dare you begrudge Lily? So she took a bit of money—big deal!”
“Mum, she blew it on pizza and clothes!”
“Tsk. Family shares, Emily. You should be ashamed!”
“And her? Stealing’s fine?”
“She’s a child! You’re the adult—act like it.”
Emily aced her A-levels and got into a top uni. Student halls were a relief—finally, freedom. She studied, worked part-time, and saved. Mum only called for Lily’s birthdays: “Don’t forget to text.”
After graduation, she landed a good job. Mum started calling more, hinting at money. Emily sent small amounts, but she and Anthony were saving for a house.
They married quietly, bought a one-bed flat. Mum and Lily didn’t come:
“Oh, Em, it’s just a registry office thing. No dress? Hardly a wedding. Plus, train fares are steep.”
“Mum, this matters to me. You always say ‘family’.”
“Can’t. Taking Lily to a spa. Tight budget.”
Two years later, Mum declared Lily was moving in for uni. No discussion. Emily resisted, but guilt gnawed at her—what if Lily had nowhere else?
Anthony agreed—temporarily.
Lily arrived with a sneer:
“Ugh, this area’s grim. Couldn’t find somewhere closer to town?”
“Hello,” Emily said flatly. “Wash up, then dinner.”
“Your flat’s tiny. Like a shoebox.”
“Feel free to rent a palace.”
“Give me the cash and I will. Anyway, you’ll help out.”
“You’re on the airbed. Closet shelf for your things.”
“The floor? Some hospitality.”
“Not this time, Lil. No space—I warned you.”
Lily’s stay was a nightmare. Messy, lazy, never pitching in. Bills soared—she wasted water, left lights on, never chipped in for food. Mum only cared if Lily was fed and warm.
One morning, Anthony asked:
“Em, did you take the cash from the box? I hadn’t banked it yet.”
“What cash?”
“Nearly three grand. Three months’ mortgage.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. She stormed in:
“Lily! Did you take it?”
“What? I was sleeping!”
“The money. Where is it?”
“Oh, that? Yeah, I took it. Money should work, not sit there.”
“On what?”
“A proper phone. Sick of this rubbish one.”
“You stole it!”
“Borrowed! Family helps family, right?”
Shaking, Emily called Mum:
“She took our mortgage money!”
Mum sighed. “Well, she’s young—wants nice things. You should help.”
Emily hung up. That was the last time they spoke. That evening, she packed Lily’s bags and left them in the hall:
“Get out. And don’t call me again.”
Lily begged, but Emily slammed the door so hard the walls shook.
Then she laughed—with relief. Free at last from the family that never valued her.
Molly
Molly was a whirlwind—scrappy, messy, and impossible. Her mother tried to tame her, but often failed.
All girls were neat—except Molly.
Each morning, Mum plaited her wild hair, weaving in bright ribbons, making her look sly as a fox. Crisp dress, ironed pinafore, lace-trimmed socks. Perfect collar, stitched under Mum’s watch. Polished shoes. A picture-perfect girl.
By home-time? Socks crumpled, cuffs stained, knees dotted with burrs, hair a frizzy nest—ribbons askew, tangled with twigs.
Grease smeared her pinafore—she’d tucked a sausage roll in it at lunch.
Mr. Thompson, the maths teacher, sniffed it out, tossed it, and Molly wailed:
“Don’t waste food! You taught us that!”
The class erupted. Just last week, he’d read them a story about hunger—now this? His authority crumbled.
Molly got a note: “Disrupted lesson with sausage rolls!!! (1/10)”
After Mum’s scolding, hand-washing her clothes, and a time-out, Molly vowed never to argue again. But obey? Never. Grown-ups lied—simple as that.
That sausage roll set her path—stubborn and independent.
Mum said her dad died a hero.
“In war?” Molly’s eyes brimmed.
“Not… exactly.”
“He dove into a nosedive,” Gran cut in.
Gran knew the truth—he’d run off with a dancer. But why break Molly’s heart? Let her think him brave.
Molly, so like him, charged ahead—headstrong, unyielding, free.
