Oh, youll never guess what happened! So, Granny Polly was over the moon one day”Guess what? Ive taught your little Alfie to play cards!”
Tired Millie, just back from her shift at the hospital, blinked. “What? Hes only six!”
“Well, what if he visits someone and theyre playing cards?” Granny Polly reasoned. “Hell fit right in! Good for socialising, innit?”
You could see her pointshed grown up in the post-war years, when a round of whist or dominoes was the height of entertainment. And this wasnt now, mind you, but back in the 70s. So, off they went, teaching him snap and rummy!
Granny Polly was babysitting her great-grandson, little Tommy, just a year old. Alfie, who hated nursery, was always underfoot. Back then, kids were left to their own deviceslatchkey kids with a thermos of soup for lunch. These days, parents fuss till their grown-ups are forty!
Their estate wasnt half bad, eithera cosy square of blocks with a ping-pong table and a decent playground, sandpit and all. There was even a shop called “Bright Ideas,” which sold lampshades and, for some reason, sofas. Heavy sofas. Which meant delivery men cursing up a storm.
So, the kids often came home with new *colourful* vocabulary. “Mum, what does *bloody* mean?”
Still, it had its perksyou could let your kids play outside without worry. The blokes unloading furniture even kept an eye on them!
Millie had married firstfell hard for a bloke from her uni group and got pregnant. Her mother-in-law, who worked at a nursery, took little Alfie during the week so Millie could finish med school. After, they both became GPsback when placements were still a thing.
Her sister, pretty Lizzie, didnt marry till twenty-fivepractically spinster status back then!
The sisters were night and dayMillie was quick, slim, and dark-haired, while Lizzie was slower, curvy, and fair. But both were stunnerslike salt and pepper, opposites that just fit.
People often asked if they had the same dad.
“Not likely!” theyd snap, though they were thick as thieves.
Their dad had passed, and their mum had moved on, leaving the flat to the girls. Shed dodge the question with a laugh”Why dyou care? Course its the same bloke!”
Till twenty-four, Lizzie had lads wrapped round her fingerher heart still asleep, though she had her flings. Then she met Peter at a mates party. He was nice enough, but she came home fuming.
“You wont *believe* what he asked me!”
“What?!” Millie braced for something scandalous.
“*Did I wear thermals?!*” Lizzie shuddered. “How *common*!”
Poor Peter, three years older and smitten, had just fretted over her catching cold. But youth is harshso Peter, and his sensible knickers, got the boot.
Seven years later, after Lizzie had burned through every bloke in town, Peter reappeared. By then, she was still single, living in the same cramped flat with Millies family.
New Years Eve was the wake-up callno one had invited her out. Then Millie found a needle tucked in her bedsheet. Someone had hexed her, clear as day!
Lizzies mates often stayed overthe flat was dead handy for the Tube. But after yanking the needle out, Lizzie *ran into Peter*. Fate, right?
This time, his “Wear your thermals?” got a swoon”So *thoughtful*!” She married him quickhe was a maths PhD by then.
Peter moved in, marking his arrival with a posh new kettle and sofa.
“But weve already got a kettle!” Millie said.
“This ones *yours*,” Peter said. “Thats *ours*.”
First spat? His kettle was *much* nicer.
His parents were loaded, toounlike Millies husband, Jack, whom her mum called “that scrounger” behind his back. Plans were made to swap the flat for two one-beds, with Peters parents chipping in.
Time passed, Tommy arrived, and Lizzie went back to work. Peter “volunteered” Granny Polly for babysitting.
One day, Millie came home earlyfeverish, probably from patients or Jack.
The flat was darknapping, she assumed. But inside, it was a sickbayLizzie off with Tommy, Jack poorly, and Alfie home as usual.
Then she heard odd noises. *Please, not the kids.*
Still in her coat, she peeked inAlfie and Tommy sat on the rug, cards in hand. Alfie was teaching his baby brother *snap*.
“Wheres Dad?”
“Dad and Auntie Lizzie are *doing laundry* in the bathroom!” Alfie said, then to Tommy, “Your turncover me!”
Granny Pollys lessons had *bloomed*.
“How long?” Millies voice shook.
“Big hand was on six, now its on nine!”
*Fifteen minutes.* Jack never lasted that long with *her*.
Her stomach dropped. *So thats why she wont move out.* Lizzies excuses”bad door,” “too far from the Tube”were rubbish.
Did Peter know? Nah. His parents wouldve tanned his hide. They were even *paying* for the swapclueless.
Millie waited outside the bathroom. Out came Jack and Lizzie, flushed and startled.
“Youre supposed to be on calls!”
“Thought Id help with the *laundry*,” Millie said sweetly. “Done already? Hang it up, then.”
“Its not what you think!” Jack stammered.
“Prove it. Show me the laundry.”
*Come on, think of something!* Maybe hed hallucinated from fever, and Lizzie was cooling him with wet towels?
But they just stood there, slack-jawed. No backup plan.
“Get out. Both of you.”
Lizzie grabbed Tommy and bolted. Jack sent Alfie out to play and grovelled”It was a mistake! I love *you*! She came onto *me*!”
Millie, frozen, didnt buy it. This wasnt a one-off.
Turns out, Jack and Lizzie had been “doing laundry” *a lot*.
Result? Jack”deathly ill” with a 37.2°C fevergot the boot. Lizzie was barely spoken to.
Millie didnt tell Peter. If he divorced Lizzie, theyd be stuck sharing the flat forever.
Instead, Lizzie jumped at the first offertwo one-beds, with a top-up.
So, divorced Millie landed in a tiny council flatfour-metre kitchen and a “wet room” (posh for *cupboard with a toilet*). But it was *hers*.
Jack crawled back to his parents, begging forgiveness. No dice.
One evening, Millie came home to silence. Alfie was playing alonehe missed Tommy, but he was resilient.
There he sat, cards fanned out before his teddy.
“Alright, Teddy, you plonker, whyd you lead with a *spade*?”
*Cheers, Granny Polly. And hi to the “colourful” furniture ladsmiss us much?*
