Stay out of my house! Right now! Vicky barked, arms folded across her chest, her voice sharp as a kettle whistling on a cold morning.
Whats gotten into you? Poppy asked, looking baffled. You invited me, didnt you? You asked me to crash at your flat while.
I changed my mind! Vicky cut her off. Pack your stuff and get out!
Poppy glanced helplessly at the small suitcase perched on the sofa. Shed only arrived three hours ago, barely had time to set her shoes down.
Vicky, at least tell me why, Poppy tried to stay calm, though her voice trembled like a cat on a hot tin roof.
Nothing happened. I just dont need you here. I thought I could handle your presence, but I cant. Pack it up. Ill call a cab for you, fine.
Poppy shuffled over to the sofa and hauled the suitcase. Her hands felt clumsy, her throat a knot of dread. The sisters hadnt seen each other since mums funeral two years ago. Then, out of the blue, Vickys warm invitation, a cosy chat, a promise of help and now she was being shown the door without a word of explanation.
Ill be quick, Poppy whispered, fighting back tears.
Vicky tapped her fingers anxiously against the doorframe, watching Poppy pull out the few belongings shed managed to squeeze into the bag. The only giveaway of Vickys tension were the dark circles under her eyes.
Poppy paused at the doorway, studying Vickys face. They were practically twins the same hazel eyes, the same high cheekbones, the same stubborn chin. Yet now Vicky seemed a stranger.
Goodbye, Poppy said, stepping over the threshold.
Goodbye, Vicky echoed, slamming the door.
Down the stairs, Poppy replayed their last phone call from a week earlier.
Poppy, darling, come over, Vickys voice had been unusually gentle. Stay with me while your flat gets refurbished. Its high time we patched things up, dont you think?
Are you sure? Poppy had asked cautiously. After everything thats happened
Come on! Were sisters. Yes, weve had a few spats, but lets bury the hatchet. Come this Saturday, Ill meet you.
Now, standing on the street with her suitcase, Poppy tried to make sense of those three frantic hours. Vicky had welcomed her with tea and biscuits, asked about life, then suddenly slipped into another room to take a call. When she returned, it was as if someone had swapped her for a different person.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Vicky: The cab will be here in seven minutes. Wait by the entrance.
Poppy sighed, stepped out into a drizzle that felt more like a polite British apology. She set her bag down, pulled out her phone and started brainstorming her next move.
The only obvious option was Paul a former schoolmate theyd been chatting with lately. He lived alone in a modest twobed flat and would surely let her crash for a few days while she sorted things out.
Hello, Paul? Poppy said when he answered. Ive got a bit of a mess here
Paul listened, didnt ask any awkward questions, and simply gave her his address.
Dont worry, Ill be there, he said, his calm voice a tiny lifeline.
In the cab, Poppy finally let the tears flow. The sting of betrayal was a bitter aftertaste. What had she done to deserve this? Had the old grievance over mums house dug a deeper trench than shed imagined?
She remembered the fight after mums death: Vicky wanted to sell the family flat and split the money, while Poppy insisted on keeping the place every wall held a memory. In the end, Poppy bought Vickys share, went into debt, and held onto the house. Perhaps Vicky still nursed a grudge about that.
The cab pulled up outside Pauls building. Poppy handed over a modest fare of about twelve pounds and stepped out. Paul was waiting at the lobby, a friendly grin on his face.
Dont that grimace, love, he said, taking the bag from her. Well sort this out.
His flat was warm and homely. He brewed tea, fetched biscuits, and listened to Poppys saga.
Something feels off, Paul mused after she finished. Vicky didnt just call you over for a cuppa. Something else must have happened while you were there.
It was nothing special, Poppy shrugged. We had tea, chatted about her job, her recent seaside holiday then she got a call, went into another room, came back looking angry.
Did she say why she went into that room? Paul asked.
Poppy thought. She spoke quietly. When she came back she started asking how long I planned to stay, even though wed already discussed a twoweek stint while my flat is being redone.
Whos doing the work? Paul pressed.
The crew Vicky recommended supposedly friends of her exhusband, good and cheap, Poppy said with a wry smile. I trusted them, never actually set foot in the flat since they started a week ago.
Pauls brow furrowed. Shall we check?
Its already late
Thats why. If everythings fine well go back. If not, at least well know.
Half an hour later they were standing outside Poppys flat. She felt a knot tighten as they approached. From behind the door came muffled voices and the scrape of furniture.
Theres someone in there, Poppy whispered, frozen.
Paul took the keys, swung the door open. Boxes and bags cluttered the hallway. In the living room, amid the chaos, Vicky was trying to explain something to two burly movers who were hauling a wardrobe.
Whats going on? Poppy gasped, eyes wide.
Vicky jumped, surprise flashing to annoyance.
Poppy? What are you doing here?
Exactly my question! Whats happening in my flat?
Vicky adjusted her hair, a nervous twitch.
I can explain
I hope you can, Poppy crossed her arms, just as Vicky had done earlier.
Vicky glanced at the movers, who hesitated. Boys, a break, please, she said, and they shuffled out.
Im waiting, Poppy reminded.
Vicky let out a heavy sigh and sank onto the sofa.
Im divorcing Ian. He threw me out of our place and Ive got nowhere to go. I thought I could crash here until I sort something out.
So you lured me out with that bogus renovation story just to move in yourself? Poppys voice cracked with disbelief.
Its not quite that, Vicky said, eyes downcast. I really wanted to make peace, thought we could live together for a bit, rebuild things but then I realised I couldnt. Too much baggage between us.
So you basically tried to steal my flat? Poppys hands trembled.
Id have explained later! I just had nowhere else to go. Your friends doing the work could have let you stay
Theres no work going on! Poppy snapped.
Right, Vicky smirked. I made it up to get you to come. I thought I could convince you to hand over the flat temporarily, but youre too stubborn.
My stubborn? Youre the one twisting the truth and trying to evict me from my own home! Poppy shouted. What on earth happened to you, Vicky?
Vickys face twisted with fury. Youve always been mums favourite, getting everything handed to you on a silver platter! And now the flat too If wed sold it years ago I could have bought my own place and not been at Ians mercy all this time!
So this is about the old money fight, isnt it? Poppy said quietly. You never forgave me for refusing to sell mums flat. I paid you your share, albeit late!
Its not the money! Vicky yelled. Its that you never cared about my feelings! You only ever thought of yourself!
Thats not true, Poppy shook her head. Ive always looked out for you, even now. Im giving you a chance to make this right.
What do you mean? Vicky asked warily.
You have two choices. Either you pack your things right now and leave my flat, or I call the police and file a report for illegal entry.
Paul, who had been watching the sisters like a silent referee, stepped forward. Poppy, maybe theres a compromise? Youre sisters, after all
No, Poppy replied firmly. No compromises. Im exhausted by your manipulations. Vicky, decide go or Ill involve the police.
Vicky stared at her with hatred, but Poppys steady gaze made her lower her shoulders.
Fine. Ill go. Dont think this is over, Vicky snapped, gathering her things.
An hour later the door slammed shut. Poppy slumped onto the sofa, feeling drained.
Want to stay here with me? Paul asked gently, sitting beside her.
If you dont mind, she said, grateful for the company. I could use a friend.
Of course, he said, taking her hand. I think Vickys going through a rough patch divorce, no roof over her head. It doesnt excuse her behaviour, but it explains a bit.
Perhaps, Poppy sighed. Im just tired of the endless cycle. She always acts like Ive had it easy, when its not.
She fell silent, gathering her thoughts.
When mum died, it was a nightmare for me. We were close, but instead of supporting each other we drifted apart. She was the first to push for selling the flat, as if it were the most important thing. For me that house is the last thread tying me to mum.
I get it, Paul squeezed her hand. Grief shows up in strange ways. Maybe for Vicky its a way to dodge painful memories.
Maybe, Poppy agreed. But lying, tricking me out of my home thats too much. Im not sure I can forgive her this time.
Give yourself time, Paul advised. And her too. When the anger cools, maybe youll both be able to talk properly.
Perhaps, Poppy murmured. First I need to sort out my own feelings.
They sat quietly, the evening darkening outside. The flat, still echoing Vickys brief presence, grew still. Poppy thought how odd life was a sister once so dear now felt like an adversary, while an old schoolmate proved more reliable than blood.
Thanks, Paul, she said finally. I dont know what Id have done without you today.
Anytime, he smiled. Actually, I was thinking maybe we could go to the cinema this weekend or just take a walk in the park?
Poppys eyes lit up. Id love that.
A week later Poppys phone buzzed Vickys name on the screen. Her finger hovered over the hangup button, but she answered.
Hello? Vickys voice sounded tentative. Poppy, we need to talk.
About what? Poppys tone was cool.
I I wanted to apologise. What I did was wrong. Im really sorry.
Poppy stayed silent, unsure how to reply.
Im in a tough spot, but that doesnt excuse my actions. I shouldnt have treated you like that.
You shouldnt have, Poppy agreed.
I know youre angry, and you have every right to be, Vickys voice quivered. I just hope one day you can forgive me. We are sisters, after all.
Poppy exhaled deeply. I dont know, Vicky. I need time.
Of course, Vicky said quickly. I understand. Just know I truly regret it.
After the call, Poppy stared out the window, contemplating everything. Vicky, for all her flaws, was still her only remaining close family after mums passing. Perhaps, with time, forgiveness might be possible just not now. She needed to heal her own wounds and learn to trust again.
Her phone buzzed again a message from Paul: How about a walk in HydePark tomorrow? Supposed to be lovely weather.
Poppy smiled and typed back: Looking forward to it.
Life marched on, rain or shine. Maybe one day Poppy and Vicky would rebuild their bond, but for now the priority was to cherish those who truly stood by her in the storm and to let go of toxic ties, even if they were bound by blood.
