The crisp London air clung to Emilys coat as she paused in the hallway, her fingers tightening around her still-warm phone. The text from her manager glowed on the screenher annual bonus had cleared. Three voicemails from her best friend Charlotte buzzed in her pocket, their long-planned fortnight in Spain hanging in the balance.
What? The word scraped her throat raw.
Her mother didnt turn from the Aga where Sunday roast browned. Giggles trickled from the tellySophie, her younger sister, sprawled across the sofa watching *Love Island*, the glow of the screen painting her face orange.
You heard. Sophie and that bloke of hers whats-his-name Her mother waved a wooden spoon, Oliver, decided to lease a flat near Canary Wharf. The landlord wants six months rent upfront. Wheres she meant to get that sort of money? Your bonus solves it.
Not a question. Never a question in this house.
Emily hung her Burberry trench with deliberate careeach movement measured, the way shed learned to steady herself these twenty-eight years.
Mum, Id earmarked that money, she began, Charlotte and I were going to
Oh, Charlotte again. Her mother clucked, sliding Yorkshire puddings onto a rack. Always whisking you off somewhere. Nearly thirty and still jaunting about with your uni mates. When will you settle down?
Sophie waltzed ina carbon copy of their mother, save for the fresh tattoo peeking beneath her cashmere sleeve. She plucked a yoghurt from the fridge and leaned against the island, smirking.
Em, dont look so grim! You got the bonus, yeah? Brilliant. She licked the spoon. Ollie found this gorgeous place yesterdaytwo beds, private garden, landladys lovely. Only she insists on six months or nothing.
Emily studied her sister. Where she was all sharp edgesdark chignon, pencil skirtsSophie was golden. Honey-blonde waves, rosebud mouth, that effortless glow of someone whod never punched a time clock.
Why cant Oliver cover it? Emily kept her voice level. Hes twenty-six. His familys loaded.
Sophie rolled her eyes. Theyre restructuring the firm, its temporary. Besides, hell pay us back. Couples support each other.
*We* should support each other, Emily stressed. Not expect your sister to bankroll your life.
Oh, dont be such a shrew. Sophie hooked an arm through hers. Youve years for holidays. We *need* this flat now. You get that, yeah? Ollie and I want to test the waters.
Their mother snorted. Test the waters, my foot. Proper weddings what you need.
Mum, nobody does that anymore, Sophie drawled. Right, Em?
Emily said nothing. Four years at the consultancy, twelve-hour days, weekends sacrificed for Q1 reports. Her last proper break? A rainy weekend in Brighton two summers back.
And Sophie? Three jobs since uniPR intern, boutique salesgirl, now freelance influencer while dabbling in candle-making. Oliver floated between his fathers hedge fund and vague plans for a craft beer start-up.
Emily. Her mothers tone iced over. Dont be selfish. Family comes first.
*Selfish?* The word lashed. She, who covered half the mortgage while Sophie blew her wages on Selfridges hauls and bottomless brunches?
I booked leave, Mum, she said quietly. Two weeks. Saved a year for it.
Holiday! Her mother slammed the oven door. When your sisters building her future? Youve always put yourself first.
Sophie batted her lashes. Em, *please*. Ill repay you. Once my Etsy shop takes off.
When? Emily snapped. Its been three years of taking off.
Not everyones a workaholic like you, their mother cut in. Sophies meant for motherhood. Homely. Warm.
Emilys nails bit her palms.
Sophie snatched her phone, scrolling through Mallorca resort photos. Blimey, five-star? Couldve done Butlins and saved a mint.
I wanted nice, Emily said. For once.
And youll have it, her mother nodded. Once Sophies sorted. Priorities, darling.
*Later.* Always *later.*
How much? Emily asked, already defeated.
Sophie beamed. Eight grand! Six months in zone twoabsolute steal!
Emily stiffened. Her entire bonus.
Sophie, I
Emily. Her mother turned, steel in her gaze. You wont say no. I didnt raise you to.
The doorbell chimed. Sophie squealed. Ollies here! Mum, lay an extra plate. Em, joining us?
Emily shook her head. Ill be in my room.
Upstairs, she stared at her childhood wallpaperfaded ponies, yellowed GCSE certificates. Five texts from Charlotte lit her screen:
*Bonus come through? Swimsuits on sale at & Other Stories!*
*Found this insane beach clubneed to book NOW.*
*Hello???*
*Sophie again, isnt it? Whens it your turn, Em?*
Laughter floated upSophies tinkling peals, Olivers braying chuckle, the clink of their mothers best Wedgwood.
*Cant go,* Emily typed.
*WHAT. WHY.*
*Family stuff.*
*Your sister. Again. Emily, bloody stop.*
She didnt reply. The room pressed insame single bed, same creaky IKEA desk. Only the MacBook was new, the one shed worked midnight pitches on.
She grabbed her coat.
Out? Her mother called from the dining room.
Walk. Heads pounding.
Dont forget to transfer Sophies money tomorrow.
The Thames glittered as Emily trudged along the South Bank. Her phone buzzedCharlotte, relentless:
*Seriously, you cant martyr yourself forever.*
*You said youd move out this year. Whats stopping you?*
*ANSWER ME.*
She stopped. Skyscrapers towered across the river, their windows blazing with other lives, other choices.
*Booking the flights,* she typed.
*????? Thought you couldnt go???*
*Let them sort their own mess.*
The cold air burned her lungs. Something unclenched insidelike shrugging off a lead apron.
*Really? No take-backs?* Charlotte replied.
*Really. Tickets tonight.*
Right there on the bench, fingers numb, she punched in her details. Two seats, Palma de Mallorca, departing Friday.
The flat was dark when she returned. Sophies bedroom hummed with Ed Sheeran. Their mothers snores rumbled down the hall.
Morning brought clattering pans and her mothers voice: Transfer Sophies funds. Shes signing the lease today.
What funds? Emily reached for the cafetière.
Your bonus. The alert came last night.
Emily froze.
Youwhat?
Joint account, darling. For household things.
The account shed opened years ago for groceries, for emergencies. Not for surveillance.
Mum, that moneys gone, she said slowly.
Gone how?
Flights. With Charlotte.
The silence couldve iced over hell.
Undo it, her mother whispered. Now. Sophies counting on you.
Im not cancelling.
Her mothers face whitened. Who *are* you? Youve always been the responsible one.
No, Mum. Emily set down her mug. I was the *convenient* one. The one who worked, paid, kept quiet. Sophie floats because you and I keep bailing her.
Sophie stumbled in, silk pyjamas rumpled. Whyre you shouting?
Your sister chose booze-ups over your future, their mother spat.
Sophie gaped. But Ollie and I already packed!
Youre twenty-three, Emily said. Get a proper job. Pay your own way.
Easy for you! Sophie shrilled. Im *creative*! I cant be chained to some desk!
But youll chain *me* to your debts?
ENOUGH! Their mother slammed the counter. How *dare* you?
How dare *you*? Emilys voice cracked. Track my pay? Dictate my life?
Her mother pointed to the door. Leave. If thats how you see family, get out.
Emily looked between themtheir matching flared nostrils, identically wounded pride.
Fine, she said. After my holiday.
Spain was salt and sangria and Charlotte dragging
