You’ll Give the Flat to Your Sister? Dream On! — You really are something else! — exclaimed Mrs. Allen Thompson. — Love you too, Mum! — Yulia replied softly. Here’s what it takes to become a “disappointment” to your mother: sometimes, absolutely nothing. All you need is to refuse to help your mother’s favourite daughter — because, let’s be honest, every British family has someone who gets a bigger share of the love… And of course, that someone was not Yulia. It had been this way ever since Alice was born: She’s younger, let her have it! The younger one needs it more — her room must be cosier, closer, better — pick your reason. And so the older sister always gave way. Because she loved her silly little sister! Why silly? Because Alice, bless her, never could do a thing on her own: she always needed help from their parents — or from Yulia. If that’s not being helpless, what is? And everyone would scramble to help at the drop of a hat. Or “scuttle,” as Old Granny Olive used to say. Unlike the rest of the family, Granny Olive’s favourite was always the older granddaughter. She believed the girl’s parents were running her ragged. And they always insisted the younger sister was far prettier — a real doll, unlike you! Yes, Mum actually once said that out loud. Honestly, darling, there’s just nothing to love about you! And this despite the fact that Yulia was a model student and never caused any bother. Meanwhile, Alice, at fifteen, still needed her sugar stirred into her tea… Yulia cherished her visits to Granny Olive: she felt welcome and cosy there. That’s how it always is when someone genuinely cares for you. Granny Olive lived in a large two-bedroom flat her husband — Granddad Peter — had gotten decades ago for his years at the Ford factory. Their son Arthur — Yulia’s father — grew up there and then brought his new wife, Ally, to live with his mum. Eventually, they got a mortgage and moved out. The flat was brimming with treasures — as Granny Olive called her possessions. Or “old junk,” as Ally, her daughter-in-law, liked to say. The air smelled of books and warm spices, and everywhere were hand-crocheted doilies made by Granny Olive herself. Every appliance was ancient but reliable, as the old lady would say: “Things were made properly in my day!” “We should really bin all this clutter!” Ally would complain on visits. “Wouldn’t cleaning be easier?” “I manage perfectly well,” Granny Olive would counter. “This is my life! I don’t tell you how to run yours, do I? So don’t tell me how to run mine! You live how you like — but live your own life! I’ve got plenty of complaints about you too, you know! But I’ll live my own!” At that, Ally would purse her lips and fall silent. Granny Olive always triumphed in these exchanges, and Yulia secretly cheered her on. Her mum, not so much… Granny Olive, wise as she was, never meddled in her daughter-in-law’s way of doing things. Nor did she turn Yulia against her mother, even though she saw how unfair Arthur and Ally’s parenting could be. One day, Granny Olive bravely broached the subject with Arthur: “Why are you running your daughter so ragged? All you do is dump Alice on her!” But her son shot back a curt: “We’ll decide what’s best, Mum!” Translation: Stay out of it. And so she did. Years passed; the sisters — five years apart — grew up. By twenty-two, pretty Alice had snagged a husband. Yulia, at twenty-seven – bright, witty, and not at all unattractive – somehow never managed to win anyone’s heart. She had her brains, her charm, but when it came to boyfriends — always a dead end. Then Granny Olive quietly passed in her sleep: a golden goodbye. That much was expected. But what no one foresaw was this: Granny left her flat to Yulia. Only to Yulia. Just the elder granddaughter! Arthur and Ally were gobsmacked: what do you mean, the favourite child gets nothing? Not a chance! After all, Alice had a husband, children (by now she’d had twins), but they were renting a tiny flat. Yulia had neither a pet nor a child. What did she need a flat for? She could just keep living at home with mum and dad. What was the problem? “You’ll share with Alice, right? Or better yet — give her the flat! Come on, be generous! It’s almost Christmas — what could be a better present?” That would be the decent and fair thing to do. Here’s the plan: the whole family gathers at Granny Olive’s place on New Year’s Eve, and you, Yulia, stand up and say, “I’ve decided the flat should rightfully go to Alice!” Who else but her? What an inspired idea Arthur and Ally had! A right royal gesture, indeed. For Alice, at any rate. As for Yulia – once again, she’d get the short straw: all the work, none of the thanks. Take it or leave it, sweetheart! Ally began plotting: The flat must be cleared of unwanted junk for New Year’s Eve! (In her opinion, everything in the place was junk.) Her main grudge was against the doilies… All of this would have to be handled by the elder daughter — who else? Yulia had to prepare cosy beds (it was only decided to spend New Year’s there because Ally said so), put on a splendid dinner too. Ally meticulously planned the menu and notified Yulia in advance: “And don’t forget the caviar — Alice loves caviar!” And gifts, of course. Yulia always gave the best gifts! She usually got a Christmas bonus, which she never spent on herself… But who else was meant to do all this? “Alice has the twins, and I’m working, you know! Not to mention, my pay’s far less than yours. What would you spend on, anyway?” So, help the family! — she grumbled to Yulia, as if it were all blindingly obvious. Year after year, since Yulia started working, this had been the routine: every Christmas and New Year, Yulia sorted everything. The family simply developed that Pavlovian response: Yulia will deal with it! What else does she have to do? But for the first time ever, Yulia realised two things: first, she didn’t want to give Alice the flat Granny left her. And second, she didn’t want to host the family for New Year’s — or handle the holiday at all. It wasn’t about the money, though hosting everyone would cost a pretty penny. She was just tired. Enough was enough. No more free dinners for her forever-entitled relatives. Besides, for the first time, things were changing for her personally: a charming colleague, Oleg, had started showing real interest. They’d already gone out on a few dates. Oleg suggested they spend the holidays together — just the two of them. With a little more than a month to go before New Year’s, Yulia finally took action. She consulted her best friend, whose friend was an estate agent. Soon, Granny Olive’s two-bedroom flat was sold, replaced with a cosy one-bed with a large kitchen right by the Tube: newly renovated, even the kitchen cupboards were left by the previous owners! She used some of the proceeds for new furniture; the rest she placed in the bank. On moving, she packed only her books — she couldn’t bear to throw them away. The rest was sold for a song to antique enthusiasts: Granny really did have a treasure trove. A week before Christmas, her new flat was ready. On the 30th, Yulia left home for good. Her family thought Yulia would be at Granny’s flat — prepping the feast and making the beds for their arrival! “Have you put up the tree?” Mum asked. “All decorated!” Yulia replied — and it was true: she and Oleg had done it the night before. “You got nice champagne?” Mrs. Thompson pressed. “Pretty sure!” (Oleg was bringing that too.) “And the beds are all made up?” “Of course, Mum!” Yulia replied. After all, that night was about to mark far more than New Year for her… “Excellent! We’ll be there by eight! Everything ready when we arrive — so we can see in the New Year straightaway!” It sounded like a threat. And Yulia knew she’d finally done the right thing. Then things played out just as in that viral internet joke: “We’re on our way! Where to? To our place, of course…” At 8pm, the whole family rolled up to Granny Olive’s old flat. Expecting a laid table, gifts, warmth and comfort: Yulia would have prepared everything, just as always. And in the middle of the celebrations, the eldest daughter would announce — with suitable ceremony — that she was giving the flat to Alice! A little round of applause, perhaps! But fate had other ideas. Maybe it was magnetic storms, or an asteroid, or perhaps — at long last — planet Earth actually slipped off its heavenly axis. Serves them right. Because their key didn’t fit. (They kept Mum’s old key, just in case.) And then, when they rang and knocked, a gruff, tipsy, bearded man answered the door. Not alone — with him was a huge, shaggy, muddy dog. The man looked like he was dressed for fancy dress: maybe Yulia had booked entertainers? How thoughtful! But the dog? He wore a sailor top and black vintage boxer shorts — thin legs sticking out, feet crammed into felt boots from another era. “What do you want?” the man grunted, adding: “Touch that bell again and I’ll break your hand!” “Who are you, then?” Alice’s husband whispered. “I’m the new tenant — sans overcoat!” the man quipped, slurring slightly, laughing at his own joke. “Apologies for my attire: left my tux in the cleaners — didn’t get it back for Christmas!” Busy time of year, apparently — everyone rushing to get their tux cleaned. And they say the economy is terrible. “But where’s Yulia?” Mum asked, voice quavering. “Hoo-iz Yulia?” the man repeated, uncertainly. “A young woman, about this tall—” Dad mime-drew her outline in the air. “Oh! Her! She’s long gone.” “Long gone?” Dad spluttered. “What do you mean, gone? This is her flat!” “Gone as in gone! She said, ‘I’m off to a new life, Mr. — time to move on!’ So that’s me, the new landlord in the flesh — lovely meeting you all!” The man tipped his head and shambled his felt-booted feet. “Ah, and she told me to say — ‘Happy New Year to the lot of you!’ You’re the relatives, right? So, yes: hello from Yulia! That’s all. Job done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my celebration continues. My advice? Hurry home — you don’t want to miss midnight, dear family! So hop to it! Even Columbo here agrees!” The dog gave a short bark. “Oh, and — happy new year, by the way!” the man burst out, before shutting the door firmly. — You really are something else! — Mrs. Allen Thompson said again, when she phoned Yulia. — Love you too, Mum! — Yulia replied quietly and hung up. She really was off to a new life — one that already promised to be a world better than the old.

You really are something else! exclaimed Angela.

I love you too, Mum, replied Emily softly.

Its funny what you have to do to become the villain in your mother’s eyes. Sometimes, nothing at all.

Just refuse to help the other, favoured daughter. Because in every family theres always someone who gets the lions share of love.

And that someone was never Emily.

Itd been that way from the very start, ever since Alice was born. Let her have ityou’re older! Itll be more comfortable for her. She needs it more. She deserves it. Emily was always told to step aside.

And Emily did, because she adored her scatterbrained little sister.

Why scatterbrained? Because Alice couldnt do a thing on her own: she always needed help, from their parents or from Emily.

If thats not scatterbrained, what is?

And promptly, everyone would rush to help. Or rush, as Nana Olive, their elderly grandmother, would say. Unlike everyone else, Nana favoured her older granddaughter.

She believed the poor girl had been run ragged by her hopelessly unfair parents.

And then came the endless comparisons. The younger one is so much prettier. Such a dollnot like you! Angela had once said so right to Emilys face, and she made it clear: Theres simply nothing to love about you, plain as you are.

And all this, despite the fact that Emily excelled at school and never caused any bother. Alice didnt even make her own tea until she was fifteen.

Emily loved staying with her grandmother; it was always warm and welcoming there. Thats what its like when youre truly valued in a home.

Olive lived in a spacious two-bedroom flat that her late husband, Peter, had got from the council back in his factory-working days.

Thats where their son, Tom, dad to the girls, was born and raised. Tom later moved his new wife Angela into the family flat.

Eventually, they took out a mortgage on a new place and moved out.

Nanas flat was stuffed with what she called her treasures. Angela called it old junk, unable to stand a single ornament.

The rooms smelled of books and spices. Doilies and hand-knitted bits of lace adorned every surface.

All the appliances were ancient, but as Nana would point out, Things were built to last back then!

We should just toss all this dust! Angela would grumble on every visit. Youd find it much easier to clean!

Its not as if its difficult now, Nana shot back. And anyway, its my life. I dont pester you, do I? Let me be!

Live your own life your way. I have my own complaints! So lets just leave it at that.

Angela could only purse her lips and fall silent. She knew there was no arguing with wise old Olive.

Emily always felt a flush of prideit was clear Nana had won that round.

But Angela never liked being bested.

Olive was a clever woman; she never interfered in her daughter-in-laws affairs. And though she clearly saw the unfairness in Tom and Angelas behaviour, she never turned Emily against them.

Once, Olive tried speaking with Tom: Why are you making life so miserable for the poor girl? She never gets any freedom, you always dump Alice on her!

Tom shut the conversation down with a brisk, Well sort out whats best for us ourselves!

Which meant: stay out of it, Mum. So Olive stayed out.

The years rolled on. With just five years between them, the sisters soon grew up. At twenty-two, pretty Alice snapped up a husband. At twenty-seven, clever Emily, for all her smarts, never managed to snag a suitor.

She had intelligence, wit, and wasnt unattractive, but for some reason, nothing worked out with the men who crossed her path.

Then Nana Olive passed, peacefully in her sleepa gentle farewell.

It wasnt a complete surprise. What did come as a surprise was the will: Nana left everything to Emily. Only to Emily.

Yes, to her eldest granddaughter! Tom and Angela were stunned. How could this be? The beloved Alice left empty-handed? Unthinkable!

Alice had a husband, and already had twins, but they all squeezed into a poky rented flat.

Emily, meanwhile, had neither cat nor child. Why would she need a flat? Let her just carry on living with Mum and Dadsurely shes not struggling?

Youre going to share the inheritance with your sister, right? Or better yet, give her the flat! You should, reallyconsider it an early Christmas present! they pressed her.

That would be the right, fair thing! The whole familys gathering at the old flat on New Years Eve. Just stand up and declare that youre gifting the flat to Alice. Who else should have it?

It was, admittedly, a fantastic ideaif you were Alice. For Emily, it was more of the same: give and get nothing back, as always.

Angela mulled over the plan, spinning ever more intricate details in her mind as the big day drew close.

Before New Years, the family had to get the flat sortedclear out all of Nanas junk! In Angelas eyes, it was all destined for the tip. She had a special aversion to those knitted doilies

It was, of course, Emilys task to clear it out. Who else?

Good sleeping arrangements had to be sorted. New Years would be celebrated at NanasAngela had already decided!

And a proper feast had to be preparedno half measures. Angela drew up the menu and ran through it with Emily. Dont forget the salmon roeAlice adores it!

And of course, gifts for everyone. Emily always gave the best. She usually got a Christmas bonus at work, which she never spent on herself.

Well, youre not married, you dont have children, and my job pays less, you know! What else do you have to spend your money on?

So, help out your family, why dont you? Angela laid all of this on her daughter with a hint of outrage in her voice: You could at least have thought of it yourself!

This had become routine over the yearsEmily organised every celebration since she started working. Previously, it was all in the parents flat, but it was still Emily doing the hard work.

People had become conditioned: Oh, Emily will sort itwhat else does she have to do?

But for the first time, Emily realised she didnt want to give her inheritance to her sister. And she didnt want to host another family bash.

It wasnt even about the costthough it would be a tidy sum. She was simply weary of being taken for granted. She was done.

For years shed played her part. No more. The free canteen just closed for good.

And besides, for the first time ever, romance was budding in her own life. A friendly colleague, Oliver, had started showing real interest, and theyd already been on a couple of dates.

He hinted hed quite like to ring in the New Year with herand not just the New Year

There was just over a month until Christmas. Emily decided to take charge and, after some advice from her best friend and a recommended estate agent, made a bold move.

She sold Nanas two-bedroom flat and, with the proceeds, bought a modern one-bedroom not far from a tube station, with a spacious kitchen and no need for renovationsthe previous owners even left the kitchen suite!

With the change, she bought a few bits of furniture and tucked a little away in the bank.

When she moved, Emily took only her beloved booksshe couldnt bear to abandon them. Vintage collectors carted away the rest for a token sum: they couldnt believe their luck, Nana had quite the collection.

A week before New Years, Emilys new flat was all set. On the evening of the 30th, she quietly left her parents house for her own new place.

Her family assumed she was off to Nanas flat, ready to prep the festive dinner and make beds for the guests.

Have you put up the Christmas tree? Angela asked.

I have! replied Emily truthfullyshe and Oliver had decorated it together the day before.

And have you got decent champagne? her mother persisted.

I think so!Oliver had promised to bring a bottle.

And youve made up beds for everyone?

Of course, Mum! Yes, Emily had sorted out the beddingfor herself and Oliver, because this night was going to mean more than just New Years celebrations

Right, well be around by eight! Make sure everythings ready for when we arrivewe want to see out the old year right!

It sounded more like a threat. Emily knew shed made the right decision.

From here, things played out like an urban legend. Were on our way to yours! Well, head home instead

At eight sharp the whole jolly gang rolled up at Nanas flat, where a festive table, gifts and beds should have been waitingall courtesy of Emily, and somehow everyone else comfortably accommodated.

This was how the family planned to see in the new year.

And at the climax, Emily was supposed to grandly declare the flat belonged to Alice! Maybe even get a little round of applausehow generous!

But fate had other plans. Maybe a magnetic storm. Maybe an asteroid passed by. Maybe, just maybe, the world had spun off its axis. Nothing else explains what happened.

Because their keys no longer worked in the door. They tried again, to no avail.

And then, when they buzzed in frustration, a large, bearded man opened the doorlooking a bit worse for wear, and, oddly, accompanied by a huge, shabby dog.

He looked like someone from a Christmas pantomime. Maybe Emily had hired entertainment! Brilliant! But why the dog?

The man sported a stripy vest and ancient black boxer shorts, somehow rescued from the last century. Thin legs stuck out into woollen socks.

What dyou want here? he growled, then added, If you press that bell again, Ill rip your hand off!

And who are you, exactly? Alices husband managed.

Me? Im the new tenantwithout a winter coat! the man joked, mangling his words, and chuckled. Pardon the get-upI was hoping to collect my tux from the dry cleaners, but they didnt manage to finish it before New Year! Everyones off to parties, you know. And they say times are hard!

And wheres Emily? Angela demanded.

Whos Emily? the man replied suspiciously.

Our daughterthe tall, clever one, Tom tried to help.

Oh! Her! Shes scarpered.

What do you mean, scarpered? Where would she go from her own flat? Tom spluttered, incredulous.

Gone for good. And mind your mouth, or Ill rip your tongue out! (ripping things seemed to be this chaps favourite threat). Anyhow, your Emilys moved out.

Where? the family chorused.

Off to a new lifeher words, not mine! Said shes leaving for better things. Im the new owner nownice to meet you. The man gave a mock bow, shuffling in his socks, then went on: Ah, yesshe told me to pass along her regards!

Youre her family, right? Well thenhappy New Year from Emily! Thats what she said. There you are!

Well, Ive done my bitpassing on the greeting. Now, lets not keep youyoud better hurry home or youll miss Big Bens chimes. Come on, get a move on! Even my dog, Sherlock, agrees!

The dog barked in agreement.

Oh, silly me, the man added. I almost forgot: Happy New Year to you all!

With that, the new owner shut the door in their faces

You really are something else! Angela repeated when Emily picked up her call.

I love you too, Mum, replied Emily softly and hung up. She really had left for a new lifeone that promised to be far better than the old.