**Thursday, 12th June**
Will I have to spend my whole life proving I’m not at fault for anything?
Emily was watching telly while her husband, James, was glued to his laptop when Mum rang.
“What’s wrong, Mum?” Emily asked warily, muting the telly.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just wanted to chat.”
But Mum never called without reason.
“Come on, out with it. Has Lily done something again?”
Mum sighed.
“She’s been on and on about coming to stay with you. Says she wants to go to uni. She barely scrapes by in school—all she cares about is going out. What uni? We’ve got a perfectly good college and nursing school here. Won’t even consider them,” Mum sighed again.
“James and I live in a one-bed flat. I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Emily replied.
“I know. But I’m worried she’ll just run off to you. Thought I’d warn you. Maybe you can talk her out of it? She won’t listen to me anymore. Completely out of control.”
“Mum, she won’t listen to me either. Once she gets an idea in her head, that’s it. You know how she is. I’ll try Uncle Jonathan—maybe he’ll take her in.”
“Do speak to him. Though, he’s got his own family now. Bit awkward.”
“Why awkward? She’s his daughter. Alright, I’ll ring him and call you back.” Emily hung up.
“Was that your mum?” James glanced up from his screen.
“Yeah. Lily wants to move in—thinks she’s off to uni.”
“So? If she gets in, she’ll get halls.” He turned back to his laptop.
“Uni’s not happening—there’s a college here too. Doubt she’d even get in there. She just wants to get married, that’s all. I’ll ring her dad, make him take responsibility. Bloody well should—she’s his kid.” Emily chewed her lip.
*No, Jonathan’s the only way. James is handsome—that’s why I married him. And Lily? She’d try anything. She couldn’t take her eyes off him at the wedding.*
Emily and Lily had different fathers. Emily’s dad had drowned when she was six—gone fishing with his mates, had a few pints, tangled his line in a snag. Tried to free it, drunk, and never resurfaced. His friends were too far gone to help in time.
Young, pretty Mum was left alone with Emily. She kept suitors at arm’s length until Emily was in Year 5, when a handsome new maths teacher started at her school. Rumour was, he’d left London after a bad breakup.
He became Emily’s form tutor. Met Mum at parents’ evening and fell for her straight away. Started coming round, helping Emily with homework—not just maths. Soon, she was top of the class, though whispers followed.
Then Mum got pregnant. She refused to marry him at first, but Jonathan talked her round. Emily called him “Uncle Jonathan” even after the wedding. When Lily was born, Emily became the responsible one—proud of it. Mum trusted her to run errands, push the pram, even babysit.
They made it two years. Then Jonathan got offered a teaching post at a grammar school in Manchester. No surprise—he was brilliant, pupils adored him.
Mum refused to go. Never said why, but Emily, older now, understood. Mum was embarrassed he was younger. Scared he’d leave her in a big city, so she let him go first.
Jonathan moved; they stayed. He paid child support for Lily after the divorce, even slipped Emily some extra—knew money was tight.
The sisters couldn’t have been more different. Emily was studious, driven. Aced her A-levels, breezed into uni.
Lily? Couldn’t care less. Knew she was pretty and played it for all it was worth.
At uni, Emily once bumped into Jonathan in a shopping centre—with his wife and young son. He asked after Mum and Lily, genuinely happy to see her. Gave her his number, told her to call if she needed anything.
She visited twice when skint, but his wife’s cold stares made her stop. He never rang.
The day after Mum’s call, Emily rang Jonathan.
“Emily!” He sounded pleased. “How are you? How’s your mum?”
“Married now. Working. All good. Actually, I’m calling about Lily.”
She felt him tense, silent, waiting.
“Mum rang yesterday. Said Lily wants to come here for uni. James and I don’t have space. Thought she might stay with you?”
“I’ll talk to Olivia, my wife, and ring you back. Which uni’s she applying to?”
“Honestly? No idea. Doubt she’ll get in. If she does, halls—if not, she’ll slink back to Mum’s.”
“Right. And you? Kids yet?”
“No. Thanks.” She was relieved he’d agreed so easily.
Three weeks later, Lily turned up with her diploma.
“You’re staying with your dad. I’ve spoken to him—he’s expecting you.”
“Who asked you?” Lily snapped. “I’m not going. I’m staying here.”
“Where? The kitchen?”
“What? I’ll manage. Or are you scared for James? Too old for me. Although…” She smirked.
Emily fought down panic.
“We’ll submit your applications tomorrow. Where are you applying?”
“Please. I’m not a child.”
“Fine. Term doesn’t start for weeks. No lazing about. Apply, then go home ’til enrolment. No arguments. Now, let’s go to your dad’s.”
Olivia, Jonathan’s wife, made no effort to hide her dislike. Two days later, Lily was back with Mum. But late July, she reappeared.
“Why aren’t you at your dad’s?” Emily asked coldly.
“He’s on holiday—Spain,” Lily chirped.
Gritting her teeth, Emily let her stay. Couldn’t turn her own sister out. The heatwave made the flat stifling—fans did nothing. Lily strutted about in tiny shorts and a crop top, no bra. Emily bit her tongue, stealing glances at James. He didn’t seem to notice.
*Results come out next week. Then she’s gone.*
Next morning, Emily’s boss sent her to London—urgent contracts to sign. She didn’t want to leave James alone with Lily, but what choice did she have?
James shut his laptop at 1 a.m. No sign of Lily. He rang—no answer. An hour later, drunken giggles and club music crackled down the line.
“You coming home? Do you know what time it is?”
“What, Dad? Worried?” Lily cackled.
“Your sister will freak. Where are you?”
“Ooooh, coming to rescue me? Club X…”
“Which club?!”
“Back off, I—” The line went dead.
James threw on trainers and ran. First club he checked—there she was, swaying against some greasy-haired bloke with glazed eyes. When James tried to pull her away, the guy squared up.
“Easy, grandad.”
“Want trouble? One call to the Met—she’s underage.” James thumbed 999. The guy vanished.
Lily giggled all the way home, thrilled James had “fought” for her. He dumped her in the shower.
“Wash up. You look like a—”
“You’re a cop!” She shrieked, pounding the door. He leaned against it until water ran.
At 4 a.m., he collapsed into bed.
He overslept, blamed Lily silently, and bolted for work.
Mid-morning, Emily rang.
“Can’t talk, in a meet—”
“James, I never thought you’d—” Her scream cut through.
He stepped outside. “What? I don’t—”
“*Good*? You slept with my sister!”
“What? No—!”
“I’m coming home.” She hung up. A text followed—a photo of him shirtless on the sofa, Lily grinning beside him.
*Bloody hell. Soap villain tactics.*
Emily rang again.
“Well?”
“I’ll kill your sister.”
She ranted; he cut in: “I’m innocent. We’ll talk at home.”
Lily’s phone was off.
Back at the flat, Emily pounced.
“Where is she?”
“Dunno. She was asleep when I left. Probably realised she’s screwed.”
“Then what’s *this*?” She shoved the photo at him.
“Staged. I passed out—she took it. She was off her face last night with some junkie. I dragged her home. Now she’s making me pay. You can’t *serJames pulled her close, whispering, “I choose you every day—believe that,” and finally, Emily let herself trust him again.
