So, listen to this wild storyyou wont believe it.
«Guess what? I taught your little Tommy how to play cards!» Granny Polly announced proudly.
«Why on earth would you do that?» sighed exhausted Marianne, fresh off her shiftTommy had only just turned six.
«Well, imagine thishe goes to a party, and everyones playing cards! Now he can join in. You know, for socialising!» Granny explained.
Honestly, you could understand hershed been raised in post-war Britain, where a good game of cards or dominoes was practically a national pastime. And this wasnt now, mind youthis was back in the 70s. So, of course, it was all about whist and rummy!
Granny Polly was babysitting her great-grandson, little Alfie, while Tommy, who *hated* nursery, buzzed around. That boy was fiercely independentlatchkey kid, thermos of soup for lunch, the whole lot. Back then, it was normal. Nowadays, some folks wont cut the apron strings till their kids hit forty.
The estate wasnt half bad, eithercosy, tucked between four blocks of flats. They even had a ping-pong table and a decent playground with swings and a sandpit.
Oh, and one of the buildings had a shop called *Bright Lights*, which mostly sold lampshades and sconces but, for some reason, also had a furniture section.
Now, furnitures heavy, right? And unloading it wasnt exactly a happy job.
So, the kids often came home with *colourful* new vocabularywords starting with B, S, even the occasional F. *Mum, what does?*
Those got nicknamed *»lightbulb words»*short, sharp, and illuminating.
But honestly, it was a small downside compared to the big upsideyou could let your kids play outside without worry. The delivery blokes even kept an eye on them!
Marianne had married firstfell hard for a bloke from her uni group and got pregnant. Luckily, her mother-in-law, who worked at a nursery, took little Tommy during the week so Marianne could finish med school.
After that, both she and her husband became GPsback when they still had job placements.
Pretty Lizzie, though? She didnt marry till twenty-fivepractically ancient by those standards.
The sisters couldnt have been more differentquick, slim, dark-haired Marianne was the polar opposite of slow, curvy, fair Lizzie.
But both were stunning. Like, black and whitetotal opposites, but somehow they fit.
People always asked, *»You sure youve got the same dad?»*
«*Not sure at all!*» theyd snap back, even though they were thick as thieves.
Their dad had died years ago, and their mum had long since moved on, leaving the flat to her grown-up girls. Shed dodge the question with a vague, *»Whys it matter? Of course hes your dad! The *only* one!»*
Till twenty-four, Lizzie had men wrapped round her little fingerher heart wasnt in it, though she had her flings.
Then she met her future husband at a mates party a few years after schoolhe was a friend of her old classmate, Alex.
Lizzie even agreed to a date with Peter. Came back *fuming*.
«You *wont* believe what he asked me,» she huffed.
«What?» Marianne braced herselfmustve been *bad* if Lizzie was this worked up.
*»If I was wearing thermal knickers!»* Lizzie shuddered. *»Ugh, how mundane!»*
Yeah, the guythree years older, totally smittenhad just been worried shed catch cold. Everyone wore thermals back then, and it was freezing!
But youth is ruthless. So, sensitive Peter got dumpedalong with the knickers.
He only reappeared *seven years later*. By then, Lizzie had played the field but was still single, living in the same two-bed flat with Mariannes family.
Suddenly, all her suitors had vanished. Hit her after New Yearsshed spent it at home with Mariannes lot because *no one* had invited her out.
Then Marianne found a needle hidden in her sisters quilt. *Bad news*. Someone had put a curse on hera love jinx or worse!
Lizzie had loads of mates who often stayed overthe flat was right by the Tube, perfect for uni then work.
They pulled out the needle, and *bam*Lizzie bumped into Peter. *Fate*, right?
This time, when he asked about thermals, she *melted*. *»Hes so thoughtful!»* And just like that, she married him.
Peter, now a maths PhD, moved straight in, marking his arrival with a fancy new kettle and sofa.
«But we *have* a kettle?» Marianne frowned.
«Thats *yours*,» he said. *»This* is *ours*.»*
First real tensionPeters kettle was *way* nicer.
Turns out his parents were loadedunlike Mariannes husband, Dave, whom their mum called *»that pauper»* behind his back.
The plan was to swap the two-bed for two one-beds, with Peters parents chipping in.
Time passed, Alfie was born, Lizzie went back to work, and clever Peter roped *his* granGranny Pollyinto babysitting.
One day, Marianne came home early with a feverprobably caught it from Dave or a patient.
The flat was dark. *Must all be asleep.*
NopeLizzie was off sick with Alfie, Dave was poorly too (slight temp), and Tommy? Always home.
Marianne tiptoed in, keys still in handthen froze. *Weird noises.*
She bolted to the living room. There, in the dim light, sat six-year-old Tommy and drooling Alfie*playing cards*. Tommy was teaching him whist *»for socialising»*.
«Wheres Dad?» Marianne asked.
«Oh, Dad and Aunt Lizzie are *doing laundry* in the bathroom!» Tommy chirped, then turned back to Alfiewho could barely hold one card*»Your turn, mate!»*
Granny Pollys lessons had *bloomed*.
«How long?» Mariannes voice shook.
«Big hand was on six, now its on nine!»
*Fifteen minutes.* With her, Dave *never* took that long.
Her stomach dropped. *So this is why she wont move out.* Lizzie had thrown out every excuse*»Wrong door,» «Too far from the Tube.»* Now she knew.
Did Peter *know*? Nah. His parents wouldve tanned Lizzies hide. They were even *paying extra* for the new placeclueless.
Still in her coat, Marianne planted herself outside the bathroom.
Out came flushed Dave and Lizzie, *gobsmacked*.
«Youre supposed to be at work!»
«Came to help with the *laundry*,» Marianne said sweetly. *»Mustve really wrung it out, judging by the speed!»*
«Its not what you think!» Dave stammered.
«Prove it. Show me the laundry.»
*Come on, geniusthink fast!* Maybe *»I had a fever, Lizzie was cooling me down!»*
But no. They just *stood* there. No backup plan.
«Both of you*out*,» Marianne said. Lizzie grabbed Alfie (still clutching his card) and fled.
Dave sent Tommy outsidestill light outthen tried the *»It was a mistake, I love *you*!»* routine.
But Marianne was ice. *»Doing laundry»* had been a *regular* thing.
Result? Dave*»severely ill»* with a *37.1°C temp*got booted. Lizzie was now *persona non grata*.
Marianne never told Peter. If she did, hed divorce Lizzietrapping them *both* in that two-bed *indefinitely*.
Instead, Lizzie took the first flat swap: two one-beds, extra cash.
So, post-divorce Marianne ended up in a *tiny* council flatfour-metre kitchen, *»glorified cupboard»* bathroom. But it was *hers*.
Dave? Back to his parents, begging for forgiveness. *Denied.*
One evening, Marianne came home to silenceTommy playing alone.
There he was, cross-legged, teaching his *teddy bear* to play cards *»for socialising.»*
Then she heard him coo, *»Come on, Teddy, whyd you lead with spades?»*
*Cheers, Granny Polly. And the lads at *Bright Lights*hope youre not feeling left out.*
