Ann comes to call
My sister Ann came round to see me tonight. She’s 15 minutes older than me and thinks that gives her the right to tell me what to do with my life. Most of the time I let her get away with it, it’s easier than arguing.
First thing she says, as soon as I open the door is, “Why haven’t you called me? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” My answer to that, of course, is, “You haven’t rung me either,” but she takes no notice. Then I tell her to sit down while I make a drink but, being Ann, she has to follow me into the kitchen. She’s in there quicker than an ambulance on an emergency (she’s a paramedic.) “Bit of a mess,” she says looking round, “How can you live in this tip?” I turn my back on her and switch on the kettle. As the kettle starts making the whooshing noise that means the water’s boiling, I hear her opening cupboards asking, “Where’s the biscuits?” Before I have chance to say, “Top cupboard, on the left,” she’s opening the middle drawer. I mean, who looks for biscuits in a drawer? Everyone knows you keep biscuits in the cupboard.
She pulls out the bundle of unopened mail and waves it in the air. “What’s these?” she asks. “Nothing,” I say, trying to take them off her. She pushes her face towards mine and says, “What are they? Love letters?” I grab her arm at the elbow and force it to bend, so I can take the envelopes from her. I hold them behind my back, dodging her grabbing hands. My heart’s beating so hard I can hear it and I feel like I’m going to faint. “Keeping secrets,” she says, “Keeping secrets from your only sister?” “I don’t need to tell you everything,” I reply, my voice wobbling about all over the place.
She goes quiet then. She knows she’s gone too far. The kettle clicks off and she goes over to finish making the coffee. I go into the bedroom, close the door behind me and look round for a good hiding place. I don’t want Ann saying she’s going to the bathroom and doing a quick search round my room. She can be like that sometimes. In the end, I push the bundle of mail into the suitcase on top of the wardrobe and click the padlock shut. I’m not sure where the key is but I’m in no rush to open those envelopes anyway.
Back in the lounge, she looks at me curiously. “That’s not like you, getting letters and not opening them. You’re usually the first to the door when the postman comes; I’ve even seen you get excited about junk mail.” “They’re nothing,” I say, “Just ads and things. I’m going to buy a shredder and get rid of them. Data protection and all that.” She waits a minute, her face crinkled up and her mind ticking over. “How do you know what they are if you haven’t opened them? There’s something suspicious going on. Maybe I should talk to Mum.” “Ann,” I shout, “For God’s sake, I’m 35. Don’t start threatening me with Mum. You wouldn’t like it if I did that to you. Let’s talk about something else.”
There’s a long silence. I can’t think of anything else to say and I’m at the point of thinking I’ll switch Coronation Street on when she pipes up with, “Are you working this weekend?” “No,” I reply, “I'm on a late tomorrow, then a split on Tuesday.” “Do you fancy a girly weekend in London?"she asks, "Go down there on Friday and come back Monday morning?” “What brought that on?” I ask. “Remember Sarah I used to work with?” she says, “She’s just moved down there and she’s feeling a bit lonely. We could go shopping or clubbing or just chill out in her new apartment. She tells me it’s pretty special.”
It sounds good to me but, “I’m broke,” I tell her, “I can’t afford it.” “Course you can,” she says, “It’s only money.” I’m about to say I definitely can’t go but then I remember I haven’t played poker in a while. That must have saved me a fortune. Not only that, I haven’t had a treat in ages. “OK,” I say, “Let’s do it.”
First thing she says, as soon as I open the door is, “Why haven’t you called me? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” My answer to that, of course, is, “You haven’t rung me either,” but she takes no notice. Then I tell her to sit down while I make a drink but, being Ann, she has to follow me into the kitchen. She’s in there quicker than an ambulance on an emergency (she’s a paramedic.) “Bit of a mess,” she says looking round, “How can you live in this tip?” I turn my back on her and switch on the kettle. As the kettle starts making the whooshing noise that means the water’s boiling, I hear her opening cupboards asking, “Where’s the biscuits?” Before I have chance to say, “Top cupboard, on the left,” she’s opening the middle drawer. I mean, who looks for biscuits in a drawer? Everyone knows you keep biscuits in the cupboard.
She pulls out the bundle of unopened mail and waves it in the air. “What’s these?” she asks. “Nothing,” I say, trying to take them off her. She pushes her face towards mine and says, “What are they? Love letters?” I grab her arm at the elbow and force it to bend, so I can take the envelopes from her. I hold them behind my back, dodging her grabbing hands. My heart’s beating so hard I can hear it and I feel like I’m going to faint. “Keeping secrets,” she says, “Keeping secrets from your only sister?” “I don’t need to tell you everything,” I reply, my voice wobbling about all over the place.
She goes quiet then. She knows she’s gone too far. The kettle clicks off and she goes over to finish making the coffee. I go into the bedroom, close the door behind me and look round for a good hiding place. I don’t want Ann saying she’s going to the bathroom and doing a quick search round my room. She can be like that sometimes. In the end, I push the bundle of mail into the suitcase on top of the wardrobe and click the padlock shut. I’m not sure where the key is but I’m in no rush to open those envelopes anyway.
Back in the lounge, she looks at me curiously. “That’s not like you, getting letters and not opening them. You’re usually the first to the door when the postman comes; I’ve even seen you get excited about junk mail.” “They’re nothing,” I say, “Just ads and things. I’m going to buy a shredder and get rid of them. Data protection and all that.” She waits a minute, her face crinkled up and her mind ticking over. “How do you know what they are if you haven’t opened them? There’s something suspicious going on. Maybe I should talk to Mum.” “Ann,” I shout, “For God’s sake, I’m 35. Don’t start threatening me with Mum. You wouldn’t like it if I did that to you. Let’s talk about something else.”
There’s a long silence. I can’t think of anything else to say and I’m at the point of thinking I’ll switch Coronation Street on when she pipes up with, “Are you working this weekend?” “No,” I reply, “I'm on a late tomorrow, then a split on Tuesday.” “Do you fancy a girly weekend in London?"she asks, "Go down there on Friday and come back Monday morning?” “What brought that on?” I ask. “Remember Sarah I used to work with?” she says, “She’s just moved down there and she’s feeling a bit lonely. We could go shopping or clubbing or just chill out in her new apartment. She tells me it’s pretty special.”
It sounds good to me but, “I’m broke,” I tell her, “I can’t afford it.” “Course you can,” she says, “It’s only money.” I’m about to say I definitely can’t go but then I remember I haven’t played poker in a while. That must have saved me a fortune. Not only that, I haven’t had a treat in ages. “OK,” I say, “Let’s do it.”
posted by Smooth Blue at 12:26 AM
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