In the dim glow of the sitting room, Granny Ethel announced with glee, *»Ive taught your little Alfie how to play cards!»*
*»Why on earth?»* sighed Marion, just home from her shift at the hospital. Alfie had only just turned six.
*»Well, imagine!»* Granny Ethel clapped her hands. *»When he visits, and they all sit down for a gamehell join right in! Good for society, isnt it?»*
You could hardly blame her. Shed been raised in post-war Britain, where a hand of whist or a round of dominoes counted as fine entertainment. This wasnt now, but the sluggish 70sso bring on the snap and the patience!
Granny Ethel was there to mind baby Archie while Marion worked. Alfie, who despised nursery, hovered nearby. The boy was fiercely independentlatchkey kid, thermos in his satchel. Perfectly normal back then. Nowadays, they cant pry them off the teat till theyre forty.
The estate was decent enougha cosy quadrangle of red-brick flats, with a ping-pong table and a passable playground, swings and all.
Then there was *»The Lamp Shop,»* inexplicably selling furniture alongside chandeliers. Heavy furniture. Unloading it put the delivery men in foul moods.
So the children often brought home *»lamplight words»*new vocabulary, colourful and sharp. *Mum, what does bloody mean?*
But the trade-off was worth it. You could let your kids play outside without fearthe surly movers even kept an eye on them.
Marion had married first, swept off her feet by a classmate. When Archie came, her mother-in-law, a nursery worker, took him weekdaysletting Marion finish med school. Both she and her husband became GPs. Back then, they still had placements.
Lovely Lizzie didnt marry till twenty-fivepractically ancient by then.
The sisters were night and day. Quick, slight, dark-haired Marion was the opposite of slow, plump, fair Lizzie. But both were strikingyin and yang, two halves of a whole.
People often asked, *»Are you sure youve got the same dad?»*
*»Not sure at all!»* theyd snap, though they were thick as thieves.
Dad had died years ago. Mum had long since remarried, leaving the flat to her grown girls. Shed dodge the question with a laugh*»Why dyou care? Of course its the same man!»*
Till twenty-four, Lizzie led men on a merry dance. Her heart slept, though she had her flings.
She met Peter at a mates partya friend of her old schoolmate, Simon. She even agreed to a date. Came back fuming.
*»Hes so dull!»* Lizzie huffed. *»Guess what he asked me?»*
*»What?»* Marion braced herself.
*»If Id worn my thermals! Can you believe it?»* She wrinkled her nose. *»So prosaic!»*
The poor sod, three years older and smitten, had only been concerned. It was freezingeveryone wore fleece-lined knickers then. But youth is harsh. Sensitive Peter was rejected, thermals and all.
He reappeared seven years later. By then, Lizzies admirers had dried up. She was still in the old flat with Marions family.
After New Yearsspent alone, uninvitedMarion found a needle in her sisters quilt. Someone had hexed her.
Lizzies friends often stayed overthe flat was handy for the Tube. The needle was tossed. Then, as if by fate, she bumped into Peter.
This time, his *»Did you wear your thermals?»* was endearing. *»So thoughtful!»* Lizzie sighed. She married himnow a maths PhDsoon after.
Peter moved in, marking his arrival with a new enamel kettle and a sofa.
*»But weve got a kettle?»* Marion frowned.
*»Thats yours,»* said the mathematician. *»This ones ours.»*
First rift: Peters kettle was better. His parents were well-off toounlike Marions husband, *»that wastrel,»* as Mum called him.
They planned to swap the flat for two smaller oneswith Peters parents help.
Time passed. Baby Archie arrived. Lizzie went back to workGranny Ethel was *»recruited»* to mind him.
One evening, Marion came home early, feverishprobably caught it from patients.
The flat was dark. A sick bayLizzie off with Archie, her husband feverish too. Alfie, as ever, was home.
Marion crept inside. Odd noises.
In the dim light, six-year-old Alfie and drooling Archie sat on the rug, cards in handAlfie teaching his brother *»for society.»*
*»Wheres Dad?»* Marion asked.
*»In the bath with Auntie Lizziedoing laundry!»* Alfie chirped, then turned to Archie. *»Your goflip!»*
Granny Ethels lessons had borne fruit.
*»How long?»* Marions voice wavered.
*»Big hand was on six, now its on nine!»*
Fifteen minutes. With her, he never lasted half that.
She felt ill. So *this* was why Lizzie dodged moving out*the cow!*
Outside the bathroom, Marion waited.
Out they stumbled, flushed and startled.
*»Youre meant to be on call!»*
*»Came to help with the laundry,»* Marion said coldly. *»Done already? Hang it up, then.»*
*»Its not what you think!»* her husband spluttered.
*»Fine. Show me the laundry. Maybe theres an excuse.»*
Think, man! Say you were deliriousthat Lizzie was cooling your brow!
They stood dumb. No alibi.
*»Get out. Both.»*
Lizzie fled with Archie. Marion sent Alfie outsidestill lightand faced her husband.
*»It was a mistake!»* he pleaded. *»I love you! She came onto me!»*
*Diamonds Are Forever* had been out for years. Every line was a meme.
Marion, ice-cold, wasnt buying it. This wasnt a slip. It was routine.
Later, she learned *»laundry»* was a regular event. Neat, that.
Her *»severely ill»* husband (37.1°C) was kicked out. Lizzie was cut off.
Marion told Peter nothing. If he knew, hed divorce Lizzietrapping them together in the flat.
Instead, Lizzie took the first flat offeredtwo shoeboxes, with a top-up.
Divorced Marion got a cramped council placefour-foot kitchen, *»wet room»* loo. But it was hers.
Her ex crawled back to his parents, clawing for reconciliation. No luck.
One evening, Marion returned to silence. Alfie sat on the rug, cards fanned before his teddy.
*»Mister Bear,»* he murmured fondly, *»whyd you lead with clubs, you daft sod?»*
Hello, Granny Ethel. And cheers to the *»lamplight lads»* at the furniture shop. Alfie glanced up, innocent as dawn. *»He cheats, Mum. Always plays trump too soon.»*
Marion laugheda real one, sharp and suddenand sat beside him. *»Show me his hand.»*
Outside, the lamp shop delivery men were arguing over a bent sofa leg, voices thick with the kind of oaths that once scandalised playgrounds.
She dealt herself in.
