The dream unfurled like a damp newspaper left in the rain, its edges curling with unspoken resentments.
“Bloomin’ huge flat your mum and dad got you,” the brother’s wife muttered, running a French-manicured finger along the marble countertop. The words stuck in her throat like an unswallowed pill.
“Can you even believe it, Emily? Sophie’s parents bought her a flat!” Harriet’s voice crackled through the phone, shrill as a kettle left too long on the boil. She twisted a strand of her professionally highlighted hair around one finger, the gold bangle on her wrist clinking against the receiver.
What a massive flat your parents bought you, she thought bitterly, eyes scanning her sister-in-law’s new place. Her nails gleamedshell pink, freshly donea small luxury she refused to sacrifice even with her modest salary. “Not just any flat, mind you. A three-bed in one of those posh new developments! ‘Willow Oaks,’ you know the one? Fountains in the courtyard, concierge service, underground parkingthe works!”
“Lovely for her,” Emily replied evenly. “She’s a sweet girl. Deserves it.”
“Deserves it?” Harriet froze mid-step in her rented one-bed, the IKEA curtains fluttering behind hercheap, but tasteful. “How, exactly? By still living off Mummy and Daddy at twenty-eight? Earning peanuts at that little museum job?”
“Harry, come off it”
“No, listen!” Harriet yanked open the faux-silk drapes, revealing the cracked pavement of their council estate. “My Olivertheir own son, mindworks himself to the bone. Senior analyst at a proper firm! And we’re still stuck in this shoebox. The flat above us leaks every time it rains, and the landlord won’t lift a finger!”
“Have you asked his parents? Maybe they dont realise how tight things are.”
Harriet hesitated, studying her reflection in the grimy windowpane. At thirty-three, she looked impeccabletoned from spin classes, blowout fresh, lips lined in Chanel. No one would guess her blazer came from a charity shop.
“WeI mean, Itried. At Oliver’s birthday last month. His mum made that Victoria sponge everyone went on about. I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely to host in our own place someday?’ She just smiled and passed round more tea.”
“And what does Oliver say?”
“Oliver!” Harriet scoffed. “Know what he told me last night? ‘Darling, lets get Sophie a houseplant tomorrow. So chuffed shes got her own place at last!'”
“Well, thats nice, that he and his sister”
“Nice?” Harriet cut in. “His sisters got a three-bed in a gated complex, and hes over the moon! You shouldve seen it when we viewed it. Ninety square metres, floor-to-ceiling windows! My entire bedroom fits inside her en suite!”
“Harry,” Emilys voice sharpened. “Youre winding yourself up. Maybe dont”
“No, Em,” Harriet hissed. “Im saying it all at the housewarming tomorrow. Let them see what its like when favourites are picked. Ill ask right in front of everyonewhy does one child get handed the world while the other gets sod all?”
“Harriet! Dont! Youll start a row!”
“Im done keeping quiet! Five years weve lived like paupers. For my birthday, his mum gave me a bloody handbag. A handbag! And her daughter gets a flat!” Harriet smoothed her hair, the heat of injustice tightening her chest. “Oliver earns decently, but it all vanishesrent, my upkeep. Ive got to look the part, havent I? Cant turn up to his work dos looking like some charity case.”
The key turned in the lock.
“Thats Olliequick, Ill ring tomorrow. Tell you how it goes.”
She hung up just as Oliver walked intall, tousle-haired, his stubble golden under the hallway light. Exhausted, but smiling.
“Hey, love. Grabbed dinner. Sorry its latemeeting ran over. Got your favourite, those almond croissants from Waitrose.”
“Lovely,” Harriet pecked his cheek, eyeing the supermarket bag. “How was your day?”
“Brilliant! You know, Im proper chuffed for Soph. She scrimped for years, and Mum and Dad helped her over the line!” Oliver unpacked groceries, oblivious.
Harriet bit her tongue. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, the charade ends.
The next morning, she spent two hours preeningfoundation buffed, lashes lifted, the cream Diane von Fürstenberg wrap dress (eighty percent off in the Harvey Nichols sale) clinging just so.
“Harry, well be late!” Oliver called from the kitchen. “Soph asked us to come early. Needs help shifting furniture.”
“Coming,” Harriet trilled, spritzing her wrists with Jo Malone. “Cant your sister manage a few bookshelves on her own?”
Oliver appeared in the doorway, frowning.
“Harry, whyd you say that? She just needs a hand.”
“Of course,” Harriet pressed her lips together, gloss sticky. “Why lift a finger when big brothers there to fetch and carry?”
“Whats got into you?” Oliver cupped her shoulders. “Youre wound up.”
In the mirror, their eyes methis warm hazel, hers icy blue. For a second, guilt flickered. Then she remembered Sophies vaulted ceilings.
“Im fine,” she lied. “Lets go. Wouldnt want to keep Princess Sophie waiting.”
The development gleamedglass towers, manicured hedges, a uniformed doorman tipping his hat. Harriets stomach knotted as they crossed the marble lobby.
“Two concierges,” Oliver marvelled in the lift. “And valet parking. Smart, eh?”
“Dead smart,” Harriet ground out.
Sophie greeted them at the doorwillowy, her auburn hair in a messy bun, wearing faded jeans and a Breton top. Not the image of a property mogul, Harriet noted bitterly.
“Ollie! Harry!” Sophie hugged them. “So glad youre here!”
“Thrilled,” Harriet forced a smile, stepping into the vast foyer. The scent of new paint and money hung thick.
“Mind the mess,” Sophie laughed, gesturing at neatly stacked boxes.
Harriets heel clicked against the herringbone floor. “Your entryways bigger than our loo. Must be nice, all this space.”
“Oh, theres even a walk-in!” Sophie gestured to a closet. “Though God knows what Ill put in it.”
“Dont worry,” Harriets smile didnt reach her eyes. “Youll fill it. Now that youve got room for lifes little luxuries.”
Oliver shot her a look. She ignored it.
“Come see!” Sophie led them through. “Living rooms herelook at the light! And the balcony!”
“Stunning,” Harriet breathed, taking in the skyline. “Whats the going rate for paradise these days?”
“Harry!” Oliver warned.
“What?” She fluttered her lashes. “Just curious. Maybe well luck out one day land a place like this.”
Sophie faltered, cheeks pink. “Harry, you know Mum and Dad saved their whole lives”
“Ah yes,” Harriet cut in. “They saved, and somehow youre the one holding the deeds. Funny, that.”
Silence. Sophie fiddled with her shirt cuff. Olivers jaw tightened.
“Harry, a word.” He steered her onto the balcony, shutting the glass door firmly.
“Care to explain?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Harriet shrugged. “Just saying what everyones thinking. Tell me, Soph, doesnt it strike you as odd? Your parents buy you a palace, while their son rents a cupboard?”
“Stop it,” Oliver growled.
But Harriet was unstoppable. She paced the balcony, heels tapping like a countdown.
“Five years weve scraped by. Five! And you waltz into this” she gestured at the penthouse view. “For what? Being Daddys little girl?”
“Enough!” Oliver grabbed her elbow.
“Dont touch me!” She wrenched free. “Sophie needs to hear this”
“Soph, sorry,” Oliver cut in. “Back in a tick.”
He hauled Harriet outside, the door snapping shut behind them.
“What the hell was that?” he hissed.
“Truth.” Harriet folded her arms. “That chandelier alone costs more than our rent!”
“You dont know the half of it,” Oliver rubbed his temples.
“Enlighten me.”
“Mum and Dad offered me a flat three years ago.”
Harriet froze.
“I turned it down,” he said flatly. “Told them Soph needed it more. Shes got her whole life ahead. Id earn my own way.”
“Youwhat?” Her perfect complexion paled. “Why didnt you tell me?”
“Would you have understood?” Olivers laugh was bitter. “After that little scene? Clearly not.”
“But were married! You dont make those choices alone!”
“Discuss what? That my sister lived in a houseshare on a curators salary? That she saved every penny while you blew ours on facials?”
Harriet recoiled. “I have to maintain standards! Youre in management!”
“Standards?” Oliver scoffed. “Sophies worn the same coat for three winters. Never complains.”
“Oh, Saint Sophie!” Harriets voice turned shrill. “So modest, so pure! And Im the greedy witch, is that it?”
Inside, the doorbell rang. Guests arrivedlaughter, clinking glasses. Sophie, red-eyed, played hostess.
“This isnt about the flat,” Oliver said quietly. “Its about who you are. The woman I married could find joy in little things. You? You just tally other peoples blessings.”
Harriets phone buzzeda taxi, five minutes away. She glanced through the glass. Olivers parents huddled together, casting worried looks their way.
“Remember our first date?” Olivers voice softened. “That pub by the Thames? You laughed at my terrible jokes. Didnt care that Id spilled cider on my shirt.”
“Oliver”
“Somewhere along the way, you vanished.” He met her eyes. “I kept hoping youd come back. Today proved you wont.”
The realisation hit like a bucket of cold water.
“Youre leaving me.” It wasnt a question.
“I already have.”
Inside, Sophie accepted a bouquet, forcing a smile. Their mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
Harriet straightened her dress. “Ill call a cab.”
Oliver didnt stop her.
The lift descended silently. In the mirrored walls, her reflection multiplieda hundred Harriets, all perfectly polished, all hollow.
Outside, drizzling rain smudged her mascara. For the first time in years, she didnt reach for her compact. Some stains, she supposed, couldnt be blotted away.
