**Traitors**
«Aunt Polly here taught your little Alfie to play cards!» Granny Polly announced cheerfully.
«Why?» asked an exhausted Marianne, fresh from workAlfie had only just turned six.
«Well, you know how it is!» Granny explained. «Hell visit someone, theyll sit down for a game, and hell join in! All part of being sociable!»
You could hardly blame hershed been raised in the thick of post-war Britain, where a round of whist or dominoes passed for top-tier entertainment. And this was back in the 70s, long before video games and smartphones. So, deal em out and play on!
Granny Polly had come to babysit her great-grandson, little Archie, barely a year old. Alfie, who loathed nursery, hovered nearby. The boy was fiercely independentlatchkey kid, packed lunch in a thermos, the whole bit. Perfectly normal back then. Nowadays, some parents cant even pry their grown men off the teat.
The neighbourhood wasnt half bad, eithera cosy little square of council flats, with a ping-pong table and a decent playground complete with swings and a sandpit. There was even a shop called «Bright & Light,» which, despite its name, inexplicably sold furniture alongside lampshades.
Now, furnitures heavy. And unloading it did *not* bring out the best in the delivery men.
So, the local kids often came home armed with new vocabularywords starting with B, S, even the odd F. *Mum, what does mean?* These became known as «Bright & Light words.»
But it was a small price to pay for the biggest perk: parents never had to worry about their kids outside. The burly blokes unloading sofas kept an eye on them anyway!
Marianne had married firstswept off her feet by a uni mate, a baby on the way. Her mother-in-law, who worked at a creche, took little Alfie during the week so Marianne could finish med school. After that, both she and her husband became GPsback when the NHS still assigned you a post.
Pretty Lucy didnt marry till twenty-fivepractically ancient by those standards.
The sisters were night and day: quick, wiry, dark-haired Marianne versus slow, curvy, fair Lucy. But both were stunnerslike salt and pepper, two halves of a whole.
People often eyed them and asked, *Same dad, then?*
«Not likely!» the sisters would snapthough they got on like a house on fire.
Their dad had died years ago. Mum had long since remarried and moved out, leaving the flat to her grown girls. Whenever pressed about paternity, shed dodge: *Why dyou care? Course theyve the same dad! The very same!*
Till twenty-four, Lucy led men on a merry danceher heart still snoozing, though she had her flings. She met her future husband, Peter, at a mates party a few years after school. He was a friend of her classmates neighbour.
She even agreed to a date. Came back fuming.
«You wont *believe* how dull he is!» Lucy huffed. «Guess what he asked me?»
«What?» Marianne held her breathmustve been awful if Lucy was this cross.
«*Did I wear thermals!* Can you *imagine*?» She shuddered. «Ugh, so *practical*!»
The poor sodthree years older and smittenhad simply fretted over her catching cold. It was freezing out, and everyone wore thermal knickers back then. Harmless concern, really. But youth is ruthless. So, tender-hearted Pete got the bootalong with his advice.
He reappeared seven years later. By then, Lucy had flirted her way through half of London but was still single, living in the same two-bed with Mariannes family. Suddenly, suitors had dried up. New Years Eve drove it homeshe spent it with Mariannes lot. No invites.
Then Marianne found a needle tucked in her sisters bedsheet. Someone had hexed her!
Lucy had loads of mates crashing overthe flat was near the Tube, dead handy for work.
The needle was yanked out, and bamLucy bumped into Pete. *Fate.* No arguing with that.
And when he asked*again*if shed worn thermals? Sweet, not dull! She said yes.
Pete, now a maths PhD, moved in promptly, marking his arrival with a posh new kettle and a sofa.
«But weve *got* a kettle,» Marianne said.
«This ones *yours*,» Pete explained. «*That* ones *ours*.»
First squabble: Petes kettle was fancier.
His parents were loaded, toounlike Mariannes husband, whom Mum called *that scrounger* behind his back. Plans were made to swap the two-bed for two one-beds (with a top-upno way otherwise). Petes folks would chip in.
Time passed. Archie arrived. Lucy went back to work, and crafty Pete roped in Granny Polly for babysitting.
One day, Marianne came home earlyfeverish. Probably caught it off Johnny or a patient. Her rounds got handed off (*Get well soon, Dr. Smith!*).
The flat was dark. Probably napping.
Turns out, it was a proper sick bayLucy off with Archie, Johnny feverish, Alfie home as always.
Keys jingled, the door creakedodd noises inside. *Please let the kids be alright.*
Still in her coat, Marianne peeked in. There, in the fading light, six-year-old Alfie was teaching drooling Archie to play snap»for society.»
«Wheres Dad?» Marianne asked.
«Dad and Aunt Lucy are *doing laundry* in the bathroom!» Alfie chirped, then to Archie (clutching one cardall he could hold): «Your goflip it!»
Ah, Granny Pollys legacy bore fruit.
«How longve they been at it?» Mariannes heart thudded.
«Big hand was on six, now its on nine!»
*Fifteen minutes. He never takes that long with me.*
She felt properly ill. *So thats why she wont move out, the* Lucy had thrown up daft excuseswrong door, too far from the Tube. Now she knew.
*Does Pete know? Doubt it. His parents wouldve tanned her hide. Yet theyre happy to pay the top-upclueless!*
Still coated, Marianne planted herself outside the bathroom. Soon, flushed Johnny and Lucy slunk out, stunned.
«Youre meant to be on call! Whatre you doing here?»
«Came to help with the *laundry*in case you struggled!» Marianne smiled. «Finished spin cycle, by the looks. Ready to hang?»
«Its not what you think!» Johnny blurted. What *could* he say?
«Fine,» Marianne said. «Show me the laundry. Maybe youll wriggle out yet!»
*Go on, geniusthink fast! Say you hallucinated from fever, and Lucy was cooling you with wet flannels! No backup plan, really?*
They just gaped. Itd all been going *so* well
«Out, both of you.» Lucy scooped up Archie (still gripping his card) and fled. Johnny sent Alfie out to playstill lightthen grovelled: *A moment of madness, love! I only love you! She came onto me!*
*The Italian Job* quotes flew. But ice-queen Marianne wasnt biting. Turns out, this wasnt their first rodeo.
Johnny»feverish» at 37.1°Cgot booted. Lucy was ghosted.
Marianne never told Pete. If she did, hed divorce Lucy, trapping them together in that two-bed indefinitely.
Instead, Lucy jumped at the first flat swaptwo one-beds, top-up paid.
Divorced Marianne landed a tiny council flatpostage-stamp kitchen, bathroom you could sneeze across. But it was *hers*.
Johnny crawled back to his parents, clawing for sympathy. No dice.
One evening, Marianne returned from her new clinic. QuietAlfie playing.
Her clever boy, content alone (though he missed Archie).
There he sat, cross-legged. Propped against a chair legs: his giant teddy. Cards fanned before itAlfie teaching Mr. Bear to play «for society.»
Then, softly: *Crikey, Teddy, whyd you lead with trumps?*
Hello, Granny Polly. And cheers to the *Bright & Light* ladshope youre not hiccuping. We miss you.
