Paid Back
Listen, Liz I need to talk to you about something, I said, lingering awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The way Lizs brow furrowed told me she knew this wasnt going to be easy. My sister, Emily, just called. Shes had a row with Mum and Dad and left home. Shes got nowhere to stay. Maybe she could crash with us for a bit? Just until she gets herself sorted?
Liz set aside her phone, the work group chat still open. I knew shed met Emily my younger sister, twenty-three, also an interior designer only a handful of times, always at Sunday roasts at Mums. Emily was quiet, the type to linger in a corner, absentmindedly pushing her peas around her plate with a fork.
What happened with your folks? Liz asked.
Oh, the usual, I sighed, finally taking a seat opposite her at the table. Mum wants her to join the family firm steady job, reliable paycheque. But Emilys set on doing actual design work, not just admin. They got into it, one thing led to another
Liz massaged the bridge of her nose. The flat was hers before we got married, a three-bed near Ealing, with the sort of renovation only someone with her vision could pull off. Our bedroom, her home office, and the third room unused, standing empty.
How long are we talking? she asked.
Month or two, max. Just until she finds work.
I watched her, reading every thought thats five years of marriage for you.
Alright, she can come, Liz nodded. That rooms gathering dust anyway. Just let her know, Im up to my neck in projects and home almost constantly. If she finds me muttering about grout colours, tell her not to panic.
I grinned, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. Cheers. Ill tell her.
Two days later, the doorbell rang. Liz opened it and hesitated; there was Emily, pale and tired, a single sports bag over her shoulder no suitcase, no carrier bags, only a laptop peeking out from her bag.
Hi, Emily mumbled, stepping over the threshold as if expecting to be booted straight back out. Thanks for letting me stay. Honestly, its just for a bit.
Come on in, Liz replied, gesturing down the hallway. Your rooms at the end. Sofa beds made up, linens are fresh.
Emily shuffled past, clutching her bag as though it was a life raft. Liz watched her go, noting the thin shoulders, ponytail, the defeated way she moved. Just twenty-three, yet she looked utterly battered.
At dinner, Emily barely touched her food, nudging bits of chicken around while I filled the silence with stories from work. Then, she suddenly looked up at Liz.
Liz, could I ask you something?
Go ahead.
I was thinking while Im here, maybe I could help you out? Not for pay, just as an assistant, maybe. To get a bit of experience before I land a job. I know Ive only got a degree and no portfolio, but I pick things up quick. Promise.
Liz studied her the red-ringed eyes, the nervous fingers pulling at her napkin.
You realise most of the works grunt stuff, right? Measuring, running round tile shops, nothing glamorous.
I know, Emily nodded eagerly. Any experience is good. Ill do whatever you need.
Liz actually had a ton of errands piled up, the sort that never seem urgent enough to make the daily list: a showroom run for a catalogue, site photos, sorting samples in her office.
Alright, lets give it a go, she said.
Emily smiled for the first time all evening. Just a tentative twitch at the corners of her lips.
Thank you. I wont let you down.
I squeezed Lizs hand under the table and thought maybe this will work out. Emily would get the experience, and Liz could offload some busywork. Win-win.
The first month flew by. Liz settled into the new rhythm; those little tasks that used to pile up now vanished from her list. Emily dashed about picking up samples, handling emails, sorting brochures. Deadlines were met, projects stayed on track Liz mentioned more than once that taking Emily on was the best idea shed had all year.
Then, things started unravelling.
First to go was Mrs Saunders a client whod wanted a new kitchen for her flat. She sent a curt text: Liz, thanks for your work, but Ive found someone else. Cheaper. Liz shrugged, blaming the cost-of-living crisis. A week later, Tom, who was planning a new lounge, just stopped replying no explanation. A few days after that, it was Jennifer, with whom Liz had nearly finished plans for a childrens room.
There was still enough work, but the pattern made Liz uneasy. She replayed recent jobs in her head were her prices too high? Her projections too slow? Shed toss and turn at night, hunting for answers.
Meanwhile, Emily spent all her time in her room, glued to her laptop, hammering away at something even when Liz had no tasks for her. When asked, Emily merely said she was updating her CV or sorting her portfolio.
Youre winding yourself up, I told Liz one evening, wrapping my arm around her. Its just a slow patch. Happens every winter. Things will pick up, promise.
Liz wanted to believe me she really did.
Then, a message popped up from Mr Atkinson. Wed already signed a contract with him for a country house design big job, decent money, months of work.
Liz, Im terribly sorry, but I have to cancel our agreement, the message read.
Liz slumped onto the edge of our bed, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles went white, and replied quickly:
Mr Atkinson, please whats happened? Did I do something wrong? Be honest, I need to know.
He replied straight away:
No, youve done nothing wrong. Only, another designer contacted me, offering the same services for half the price. Im a practical man, Im sure you understand.
Another designer? Liz frowned, fingers tapping across the glass. Could you send me their contact? Im curious whos undercutting the market like that.
Of course. Ill forward their details.
The message arrived a minute later. Liz stared at the screen in disbelief it was Emilys number.
Liz rose, heart thundering in her chest, and strode down the hallway. She pushed open Emilys door without knocking.
Emily looked up from the sofa, laptop perched on her knees, slight surprise on her face.
Liz? Something up?
Liz silently showed her the screen.
Care to explain this?
Emily glanced at the phone, then at Liz. Her face changed the meek sadness vanished, replaced by something cold and almost mocking.
Yeah. So?
Liz stepped forward.
What do you mean, so? I let you into my house, gave you work, shared my experience and youve been poaching my clients? Is this how you say thank you?
Emily snapped the laptop shut and got up, arms folded, all signs of the timid girl gone. Liz was now facing a self-assured woman with narrowed eyes and a stubborn jaw.
I didnt do anything wrong. I offered clients a better deal. Thats competition, Liz. Its business. If you want clients, you have to fight for them, not wait for a queue at the door.
Fight for them? Liz was struggling to keep her voice steady. You targeted my clients! The ones I found, ones Ive already agreed with!
So what? Emily shrugged. Youve got it all your own flat, a husband, an established business. What am I supposed to do? Sit and wait for years for someone to notice me?
Lizs face flushed.
I spent months hunting for my first clients. MONTHS! Wandering building sites, handing out cards, doing jobs for next to nothing just to boost my portfolio. And you just snatch my client list and steal work thats already lined up?
Oh, dont make out youre some sort of martyr, Emily scoffed. You live comfortably in your fancy three-bed and think the whole world owes you?
Liz gripped the phone till her fingers hurt. Now, anger and clarity replaced the sting of betrayal.
Pack your things. Leave. Tonight.
Emily shrank back, apparently not expecting me to step in so sharply.
What? Where am I supposed to go?
Wherever you like. Back to Mum and Dad, to a mates, to the station its not my problem anymore. Youre not welcome here.
This is my brothers home! Emily insisted, chin lifted. Youre only putting me out because of him!
This flat belongs to me, Liz said icily. Mine, bought before we married. Youre here because I allowed it. So grab your bag and go.
Emily grabbed her phone, trying desperately to ring me. Liz left her to it, quietly closing the door.
I got home just before eight. I could hear the rustle of my jacket, my shoes thumping on the hallway floor and Emilys hurried tones, already giving me her version of events.
I stepped into the corridor and leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Emily stood before me, tear-streaked, hands flying about franticly.
Shes throwing me out, Andy! Straight onto the street! I havent done anything, just tried to find a job!
Liz appeared, holding up her phone. Read this. Shes been poaching my clients contracts signed, all of it and undercutting me. Mrs Saunders, Tom, Jennifer, and now Atkinson.
I read the messages silently. Emily hovered, biting her lip.
Emily, I said slowly, meeting her gaze, is that true?
Its just its business, Andy. Everyone does it.
I wanted to help you, my voice was heavy, sad. Asked Liz to let you stay, give you a chance. And this is how you repay us?
But I
Pack up. Youre going back to Mum and Dad.
Emily burst into tears.
Andy, please! They wont have me back, not after everything.
They will, I said, turning away. You cant stay here now.
I watched as Emily cried, shoulders shuddering, clutching my sleeve and mumbling through her sobs. I felt nothing but weariness. No sympathy, no sorrow just emptiness and relief that, at last, everything had fallen into place.
