Lucy, hi! Make room for your guest, my sister said, nudging her suitcase into the hall with her foot.
It was Saturday, just past noon, and I was enjoying a rare moment of not thinking about anything important when the doorbell rang.
Twice. Then three more times. Then a long, insistent buzz.
Alex, without taking his eyes off the television, muttered,
Someones rather persistent.
Standing outside was Nina, my younger sister. She had two enormous suitcases, a shoulder bag, and the sort of look only someone whos made a life-changing decision and feels jolly pleased about it could have.
Lucy, hi! Make room for your guest, she said, pushing the first suitcase into our hallway with the decisiveness of someone whod rehearsed all her life.
I moved aside, entirely out of habit. After forty years of sisterhood, its as if your body knows what to do before your mind catches up.
How long are you planning on staying? I asked, eyeing her second suitcase.
She took off her coat and, of course, hung it right on my peg over my raincoat. Glancing around with the keen eye of a foreman inspecting a building site, she declared,
Im here for good, Lucy. Im moving in. This flats roomy, three bedrooms, only the two of you here. So ones spare. Seems sensible, doesnt it?
I just stared at her for a moment. Shed decided, apparently.
Alex, back in the lounge, subtly turned up the TV volume.
Nina, wait. Are you being serious?
As serious as can be, Nina was already halfway down the hallway, poking her nose into every room. Ooh, this onell do. Bright, and facing the garden nice and quiet.
That room was for guests, with an old sofa, my sewing machine, and three boxes full of things I never quite found time to sort.
Nina I caught up with her at the doorway. We havent even discussed this.
Discuss what? she arched her eyebrow, the picture of innocence. Were family, Lucy. Family shares everything. Mum brought us up that way. You remember.
And for a moment I thought it was best not to bring Mum into this.
On the other side of the wall, the television droned on about next weeks weather. Alex seemed intent on memorising every forecast.
Meanwhile, Nina cracked open her suitcase.
She settled in with determination as if reclaiming something rightfully hers.
First, she moved the bed. The headboard by the window wouldnt do at all Drafts, Lucy! I never could, not with my neck. Next, my sewing machine got shoved into the corner. Whys this even here? You dont sew, do you? Well then. And I just watched in silence.
By dinner, Ninas fluffy slippers enormous ones with bobbles, just like youd buy at a sweltering market stall had appeared in the hallway. Next to them, my plain shoes looked like a librarian standing beside a circus bear.
Alex ate in silence, staring into his soup as if it were hiding a profound secret.
Good soup, he remarked.
Fair to middling, Nina replied. She added, matter-of-fact: Alex, do you have a fan? My rooms stifling.
Alex glanced up. He looked at Nina, then at me.
Ill see if I can find one, he said.
I took a deep, inward sigh. It felt as if something twisted right down by my heels.
By the third day, Nina was tackling the fridge.
But not merely opening and peering inside she was conducting an investigation, as if the fridge were a rare specimen.
Lucy, your milks off.
I know, meant to chuck it yesterday.
Why do you always buy three blocks of butter at once? They just clog up the shelf.
Nina, its my fridge.
So what? Im not a stranger, am I?
That was her catchphrase, an all-purpose skeleton key. I must have heard it five times a day. I often wondered what would happen if I were honest: No, Nina, sometimes you are a stranger. But I never said it.
By now, she was thoroughly at home.
Shed worked out exactly when Alex went to his wood carving group and when he returned. She knew what time my favourite series came on and right then, every night, shed stride in with a mug of tea, eager for a chat. About life, about neighbours she no longer had, about the weather, about how young people were going off the rails, and endlessly about politics.
I nodded along, one eye on the telly, thinking my own drama might not be any smaller than the heroines onscreen.
Mornings found Nina up before everyone else.
I used to think she was a night owl but oh no, shes a lark. A lark with a schedule. By six, the kitchen was rattling with pans; the frying pan was hissing; and Ninas voice cheerily rang out:
Alex, you want eggs? Lucy, with or without tomatoes? Theres some cheddar in the fridge, a bit dry but I grated it up! Waste not, want not!
Alex shuffled in, wearing the expression of a man newly woken and unable to describe exactly why it bothered him. He ate his eggs, politely murmured, Thank you.
And I stood in my dressing gown at the kitchen door, looking at the scene.
Shes making breakfast for my husband. In my kitchen.
And I think that was the morning a quiet click sounded somewhere inside me.
I poured myself a coffee, sat by the window, and called my daughter.
Amelia, are you busy?
No, Mum, whats up?
Please come by. I need to talk.
Amelia arrived Sunday, just in time for lunch, bearing a cake. She placed it on the table, hugged me, and whispered,
Come on, tell me everything.
And I did. The suitcases. Her fluffy slippers. The sewing machine now exiled to the corner. The cheese (bit dry, but grated cant waste it!). The eggs for breakfast.
Amelia listened, barely interrupting, only occasionally raising her brows high above her fringe.
Mum. Is she paying rent at least? For food? Bills?
She says she will.
Says or does?
I hesitated.
Says.
She glanced toward the corridor, toward the spare rooms closed door.
That was when Nina emerged, and upon seeing Amelia, brightened in the joyful, open way of someone with nothing to hide.
Amelia! Good for you, making the trip! Lucy, wheres the sugar? The bowls run out.
In the cupboard, I managed.
Mind if I take it?
Go ahead.
Nina spooned some into her coffee, stirred, sipped, nodded approvingly to herself.
Amelia watched her with that steady calm that only surfaces when decisions are made before anyone speaks.
Aunt Nina, she began, when did you sell your flat?
A pointed pause.
How did you know? Nina set her mug down.
Aunt Gwen dropped it into conversation. She phoned, happened to mention it.
Nina looked at me. I stared out the window.
So what if I did? Ninas tone turned defensive, just familiar, like someone caught but certain theyre still in the right. I have money. Just waiting for the right move. Property markets a mess no point rushing. Ill stay, save up a bit more, then sort it all out.
And how long is a bit? Amelia wasnt letting up.
Oh, a year. Maybe two. Well see.
I turned from the window.
Nina, I said, calm and even. You sold your flat, and moved in with us so you wouldnt have to spend your money. Is that right?
Lucy, dont put it like that.
Is it right?
Were family, Nina said, fingering her last lockpick.
But for once it didnt work.
Amelia and her family are moving into that room. Ive invited them. Theyll be here next Saturday.
Nina stared at Amelia, who calmly sipped her tea and avoided her gaze.
When did you arrange that? Nina started.
I arranged it, I said.
That wasnt entirely true. Amelia had her own place and wasnt moving in. But I looked so peaceful, Nina seemed unsure.
She was quiet for a while. Then she straightened her dressing gown.
Understood, she said. Short and to the point.
And went to her room.
For two days, Nina packed.
Taking her time, methodically, just as when she arrived. At first just crinkling carrier bags, then the sound of hangers clinking, then a bit of dragging furniture maybe putting the bed back by the window. I didnt go in. Neither did Alex.
On Wednesday morning, Nina walked into the kitchen with both suitcases, set them by the door.
Im off to Tamaras, she announced. Shes been asking for a visit for ages.
All right, I said.
You could ring sometimes.
I will.
Nina grabbed a case.
Lucy, she said at the door, not turning around. Youve changed.
I paused for just a second.
Yes, I answered. I suppose I have.
The door shut.
I stood in the hall for a moment. Looked at the empty peg where her coat used to hang. The floor where her fluffy bobbled slippers no longer lived. It felt roomier.
I walked to the spare room. Opened a window.
Then, with deliberate satisfaction, pushed the sewing machine back to its spot by the window.
That evening, Amelia called.
Well? Is she gone?
Shes gone.
And you?
I thought a moment.
Im good, I said. Really good.
Dusk fell, the familiar clatter of Alex washing up drifted from the kitchen, and it was, in every meaningful way, wonderfully, beautifully normal.
