Eloise had invited her sister to stay, then kicked her out.
«Go on, leave my flat—right now!» Emily stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her voice sharp with irritation.
«Pardon me? What’s your problem?» Lucy stared at her, bewildered. «You were the one who asked me to come over, even offered a bed until my…»
«I’ve changed my mind,» Emily interrupted. «Clear your stuff and get out.»
Lucy gaped at her suitcase by the couch. She’d arrived just three hours ago—hadn’t even unpacked.
«Emily, at least explain what this is about,» Lucy said, her voice quivering despite her attempt to stay calm.
«There’s nothing to explain,» Emily said, tapping her phone. «You’re not wanted here. I thought I could handle your presence, but I was wrong. I’ll hail you a taxi.»
Lucy slumped toward the couch, her fingers barely cooperating as they trembled. They hadn’t seen each other in two years—since Mum’s funeral. A sudden phone call from Emily, warm words, an invitation to visit… And now this abrupt rejection, no reasoning given.
«I’ll be quick,» she whispered, blinking back tears.
Emily drummed her fingers on the doorframe, watching as Lucy gathered belongings. Her face was a mask, but the twitch in her jaw betrayed her tension. The sisters shared the same sharp cheekbones and stubborn chin, yet Emily now seemed a complete stranger.
«Goodbye,» Lucy said at the threshold.
«Good riddance,» Emily snapped, slamming the door.
By the time Lucy reached the ground floor, her mind replayed their last conversation. A week ago, Emily’s voice had been unusually gentle: «Come over, Liecy. The flat’s a bit run-down, but we can sort it out. It’s been too long…»
Now, outside in the drizzle, Lucy texted Paul. Her old friend, now a barrister in London, had always been there. He’d surely take her in for a night.
«In my flat?» Paul replied. «Straight ahead, third house on the left.»
In the Uber, Lucy finally let the tears flow. Why this? Had Emily’s resentment over the inheritance resale—when Lucy bought her out to preserve Mum’s old home—never faded?
By 9 PM, they were in Paul’s sitting room, tea brewed. «Do you think she’s got it in for me?» Lucy asked.
«It’s more like she’s in denial. Why else bring you to the house, then ditch you? She said you were here for a *renovation*, right?»
«Oh, that. Emma, her ex’s cousin, recommended a firm for ‘cosmetic fixes’.»
Paul winced. «And you haven’t checked in on the work?»
«I trusted Emma. Days 18, to be precise.»
«Then let’s pop in,» Paul said. «I’ve a funny feeling about this.»
An hour later, at Lucy’s flat, the hallways echoed with voices and furniture shifting. Inside, Emily haggled with two lads hauling her teak bookshelf.
«Stop dead, Lucy,» Paul muttered, keys in hand.
«Emily?» Lucy breathed. «What the bloody hell are you doing here?»
«I—I mean we’re not friends anymore,» Emily stammered, dropping her hairbrush. «And I needed a place to crash after the split, and…»
«When did you *plan* this?» Lucy snapped. «Invited me with the ‘renos’, then vanished when I arrived? This is *my* flat, not your Airbnb!»
Emily slumped. «I thought maybe staying together could… mend things between us.»
«Mend? You’ve bartered for a friend’s home, lied about renovations, and now you expect me to *get it*?»
«It’s not like that—»
«You’ve *always* resented me. I kept the house. I *engulfed* you, didn’t I? Well, guess what? This ends *now*.»
«Lucy, let’s find a middle ground,» Paul interjected.
«No. She’s got six minutes to grab her stuff, then out. Or the police.»
Emily’s glare was venomous, but Lucy’s resolve didn’t falter. With a grudging scowl, Emily started packing, muttering about “this not being the end.”
By midnight, she was gone. Lucy curled on the floor, Paul’s hand on her shoulder. «She’s in a rough patch,» he said. «No excuse for the O2 Arena levels of betrayal, but…»
«Maybe.» Lucy sighed. «But I’m tired of her guilt-tripping me over things I don’t owe her.»
«Next time, vet your saviours,» Paul said with a wry smile. «Let’s watch Downton Abbey.»
A week later, the phone buzzed. Emily. Lucy hesitated, then answered.
«Lucy, I… I drank too much last night,» Emily said. «Looked up old photos and… Well, I’m sorry I behaved like a tosser.»
«Possibly. But it’s going to take more than ‘I’m sorry’ to bridge this divide.»
«Fair enough. I’ll leave you be.»
Lucy disconnected, then checked her phone. Paul again: *“National Picture House tomorrow? Slate’s review of Casablanca says it’s ‘a triumph’.”*
A bit of a cheek, but she replied: *“Sounds smashing.”*
After all, life could do without the drama. And maybe, one day, sisters could be more than a broken bond.
But today? Today, she’d take tea with Paul and a lack of drama.