A Family Gathering—Everyone’s Welcome, No Barriers to Join

A Family Gathering No Boundaries Required

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Oh for goodness sake Sarah carefully picked up a shard of what had once been a Wedgwood vase and, unable to throw it away just yet, set it on the windowsill. Aunt Linda, I’m sorry, she muttered into the empty room.

The flat still smelled of shampoo, champagne and oddly, oranges, though no one had peeled any mandarins last night. A sparkly plastic wreath lay tangled on the carpet behind the sofa. Under the coffee table, she discovered a silk scarf inscribed Hen Do of Dreams, tied in a jaunty bow.

And wedged shyly under the radiator: a solitary rubber glove, dyed pink, its ribbon bow battered and droopy. It looked as if it had tried to escape from the revelry and gotten stuck.

Wearing a crumpled dressing gown with a sad, unravelled belt tassel, Sarah shuffled through the living room, bin bag in hand. Every step sounded out with the rustle of sweet wrappers.

A stained wine glass lounged on the windowsill, marooned in a puddle of dried Merlot. Three plastic straws with glittery stars poked out of the flower vase. Up along the wall trailed a garland of paper hearts; one bore a distinct bite mark.

The kitchen awaited an entire battlefield in itself.

On the table sat half a towering cake, forlorn and leaning. The icing slumped like a melted snowman, wonky candles stuck in its side reading 3 and 8though what they celebrated last night wasnt anyones birthday, but a simple girls get-together.

Lipstick-stained glasses shivered nervously in the sink. Plates crusty with dried hummus perched nearby. And over a chair, scattered tarot cards: half face up, half down, as if predictions had fizzled into nothing.

***

Without thinking, Sarah turned over a cardKing of Diamonds, eyeing her with weary authority. Yesterday, the women had forecasted weddings, house moves, mysterious foreign lovers. Theyd whispered, then burst out cackling, rinsing each prophecy with sparkling rosé.

She stooped for a stray sequin and, on instinct, tugged out something soft from beneath the sofa: a lacy stocking, elastic snappeda remnant of last nights impromptu dance show. Sarah rolled her eyes and slipped off to the bedroom, where at least peace reigned.

The bedroom looked almost orderly. If, that is, one overlooked the three pillows on the floor and the duvet bunched in a shape resembling a giant snail. As she straightened her pillow, something pink peeked outa folded sheet of paper.

A sinking feeling.

Was it another forgotten note from some Tom from the pub to one of Alices mates? Nothe handwriting was instantly familiar: large, looping letters, with every o ringed into a miniature balloon.

Youre the best hostess in the world! Alice x

Sarah lingered on the exclamation mark. It seemed to quiver at the end of the sentence. She let out a wry smile. Best hostesswith a broken vase, sequins now sprouting from the shower so that each morning was a sparkly firework show.

How many times have I saidnever again she muttered, perching on the edge of the bed.

***

Something squelched unpleasantly beneath her foot.

Sarah jerked back. Removing her slipper, she found a pristine tangerine tucked neatly inside, its skin glossy, almost polished. Tethered to it with an elastic band, a scrap of paper: For a sweeter life.

Yesterday, she and the girls had laughed about this toast. Today, the tangerine felt more like a dig.

Her phone hummed on the bedside table: Alice (Our Hurricane).

Of course, Sarah said to no one, and answered, clearing her throat. Hello?

Saz! Alices voice boomed over a raucous background, as if the party simply shifted venues overnight. You are a legend, truly! The girls haven’t stopped raving. Even Sophie-the-nail-queen is still here. Were just dying at how you scared off the spirit in the wardrobe!

Someone whooped in the background, then shouted: Tell Sarah, Ill only ever have my babies at hers from now on! and the laughter redoubled.

Thank you, Saz, Alice added, more softly. Youyou know. With you, its always like home.

Sarah eyed the tangerine in her slipper.

Yeah, she replied. Always like home

Right, Ill stop bothering you! Rest up, Queen Sarah! and the line went dead.

***

Sarah slipped off her glasses and laid them beside Alices note. In the wardrobe mirror, she glimpsed a woman of fifty, face drawn but with eyes unexpectedly youthful and green, hair clumsily piled up andinevitablyglitter catching the light, determined and curly.

The phone came to life again, softer, the lilting tone of a video call. Tanyaher daughter.

Sarah sighed, ran her hand through her hair, but that stubborn sequin remained.

Yes, love? She accepted, Tanya’s tousled fringe and a mug of coffee materialising on screen.

Mum! Tanya squinted, peering closer. Knew it. Sequins on the catagain?

On me, Sarah corrected, The cats hidden herself since last nights tarot dancing. Probably burrowed in the airing cupboard

She filled her daughter in.

Mum, Tanya smirked, then her tone softened, gentle and exasperated at once. Do you hear yourself? The cats cowering, the Wedgwoods in bits, youve got tangerines in your slippers Cant you say no to Alice?

Sarah heard both care and irritation run through her daughters words, like twin pendulums.

Shes you know shes struggling, Sarah said automatically.

And arent you? Tanya cut in gently. When was the last time you had a rest, instead of hosting?

Sarah looked at the pink glove by the radiator, the note from Alice, and the vacant flat flooded with echoes of last nights laughter.

I dont know, she admitted. Feels like Ive hidden under the stairs with the cat.

Tanya gave a little snort.

Mum, I love you. But really. Next time, why dont you and I just have teano fortune-telling, no sequins.

The screen flickered, froze a moment, then revived. A pause hung there, unsaid.

Well see, Sarah replied.

But for the first time in ages, that well see didnt sound like an automatic of course, Aliceit sounded like the start of something else.

***

The first time Alice popped round to Sarahs just because was at the start of spring, snow still seeping at the kerb but Sarahs windowsill already lined with fledgling green shoots.

Sarah, open up! I come in peace! Her voice rang through the door before shed even knocked. And with pie!

Sarah opened the door and stepped asideAlice swept in, a cloud of vanilla-heavy perfume and crisp air, an enormous pie dish in tow.

Homemade cabbage pie, just like Gran used to do, remember? Alice beamed, marching straight to the kitchen without managing to get her shoes off. Honestly, this hallwaylike a magazine shoot!

Sarah gave a modest smile, adjusting her scarf on the peg. Her two-bed council flat was her quiet pride: curtains matched to wallpaper, mums handmade throw, a kitchen decked with white cabinets and wooden tops, windowsills brimming with plants.

Really cosy, everyone always said. But to Sarah, it felt like morea real accomplishment.

Come in, coat off, Sarah said, taking the pie. Blimey, it could anchor a boat.

Like my life, Alice joked, but her eyes sparkled. Listen, Sarah, I’ve been thinking My place’s walls are closing in, my kitchens barely the size of a loo, and the blokes above scream, the drillers downstairs never stop. But here

She twirled full-circle in Sarahs kitchen-lounge, arms wide.

Youve got space! Air! Its a crime to be alone in here. Lets have a get-together? Just us, plus my two girls. You’ll love them!

The words a crime to sit alone caught Sarah like a pinprick.

She remembered the evenings spent knitting alone on this sofa, telly mumbling in the background, Tanya out. Relatives only remembered her at Christmas.

A get-together? she repeated. Wellwhy not. Theres pie, after all, she winked, forcing a breezy tone.

Alices eyebrow shot up.

Youre serious? I brought pie as a bribe, thought Id have to nag she laughed. Brilliant! Saturday, then? No big event, think of it asa trial run for a hen night.

Sarah set the pie in the oven for a quick warm-up. Saturday felt infinitely far off, like an idea, not a plan.

All right, she agreed. Ill whip something up.

Sarah, youre a treasure! Alice bear-hugged her until Sarahs ribs ached. No wonder they call us almost-sisters.

The almost hung strangely in the air, but Sarah swallowed it with a bite of future pie.

***

That Easter was at Sarahs too, courtesyas alwaysof Alice.

Sarahs place is the real thing! she exclaimed to anyone whod listen. Her simnel cakes a picture, and her eggs are straight from a magazine. And her cat supervises like royalty.

In truth, Sarahs cata striped tabby named Muffinlooked more the worn-out security guard than regal, but royalty had a ring to it.

Alice swept in, trailed by three friends.

Sarah, used to quiet family meals, felt a bit lost as a boisterous redhead in a neon mac, a tall brunette in a leather jacket and a petite, roaringly-laughing honey-blonde all tumbled into her hallway.

Thats Emma, thats Claire, thats Sophie, Alice waved as if presenting awards. Girlsthis is the famous Sarah, the one with the homely touch and a feast on the go.

With mounting panic, Sarah scrambled to get her guests settled, offering slippers, pointing out pegs for coats. In her head she talliedenough seats, two simnel cakes, a dozen eggs. Plus salads, and beef for gravitas.

It wasnt enough. Mid-conversation about the proper marzipan topping, Alice whipped out her phone.

Oh! Our Katie and Julia are nearby! Ill message them. You dont mind do you, Sarah? Theyll bring their own eggs, promise!

Sarah opened her mouth to object, but the oven ticked an urgent complaint just then, and she darted off to check the cakes. When she returned, Alices phone was down, her smile wide:

All good, theyll be here in half an hour!

***

Within an hour, the party was a full-on market fair.

The girls argued over whose dough was proper home-baked, whose childhood was spent by a real farmhouse Aga. Emma, in a moment of passion, took her spoon and sent a loop of chocolate glaze sailing in a perfect arclanding squarely on Sarahs white tablecloth.

Oh! Emma froze, guilty. Umfor luck?

Alice howled with laughter; the rest followed suit. Sarah automatically dabbed at the stainit had already sunk in.

Never mind, she shrugged. Itll wash.

And just then, Sarah caught Alices eyea look so warm and grateful it felt as if shed rescued not just a tablecloth, but someones world.

By evening, the windowsill was rainbowed with eggs, the wall sported a tissue-paper wreath everyone had helped make, a stray pair of sandals lay under the table. Alice raised a glass of port, grandly declared:

Girls! I officially declare that Sarahs is where the real festivities happen!

Polite applause followed. Sarah blushedinside, that real festivities thudded oddly near her ribs. As if her quietly neat kitchen and sofa were suddenly a stage for something big.

***

As a child, it was the other way round. Back then, the real party was always at Alices.

Alice was the ringleadervivacious, noisy, always a little cheeky, but magnetic for it.

Everyone in their block gathered outside her door. Alice would host fashion shows in her mums dressing gown, set up secret clubs under the stairs. Even the old ladies called her our dazzling one.

Sarah was the neat, invisible one. Home on time, library books returned unsmudged, shoes wiped to a shine.

Sarah, youre our star pupil, Aunt LindaAlices mum and Sarahs own mothers sisterwould say. Keep an eye on Alice, maybe shell follow suit.

Teen years drew them apart. Alice was home early with disco tales, Sarah went to college, part-time, then full. Later, she worked in accounting, living a steady life. The cousins barely crossed pathsexcept for family dos, when everyone squeezed round the same table.

And then Aunt Linda died. The funeral, the wake, tired faces and ancient grudges surfacing. That night, Sarah and Alice sat in the kitchen till three, soothing sorrow with syrupy tea.

I feel like my home died with her, Alice said then, staring into her cup. I dont know how to function without her.

Sarah, four years orphaned her own mum, replied softly:

You juststart again. Not better or worse. Just different.

Calls became more frequent. At first, dull businesswho kept what, sorting the will. Then, just checking in, sharing nonsense.

In time, Alice sucked Sarah into her life like a whirlpool snaring a floating leaf.

What, were family and supposed to live in parallel universes? Alice protested. No way! Im coming round to yours, and you to mine.

Sarah, for reasons she couldnt pinpoint, rarely visited Alice. There was always work, Tanya, or plain tiredness. Alice, though, kept coming round.

***

Sarahs place became a household rule.

Girls, obviously its at Sarahs, Alice would announce into the phone, flicking through her diary. Cant cram into mine. My kitchens a broom cupboard; hers is an Instagram dream!

Wheres Christmas? people asked.

At Sarahs! The fairy lights go the whole way round, and her trifles like a work of art.

Easter? Sarahs.

Sophies birthday? At Sarahs, of course. You can set the cake up just so.

A random midweek wine night? Where else, girls? Sarahs. Its cosy and youre always well fed.

At first, Sarah was flattered.

Her modest home was suddenly the magnet for other peoples lives. She adored picking out napkins, plotting canapés, testing new online recipes. She got a thrill when Alices friends marvelled at her white crockery and gushed:

Sarah, your place is straight out of a magazine!

But over time, things closed in. The guests stopped being just Alices domain.

Hi Sarah! Its Claireyou remember me from the other night? Me and Emma were thinking of dropping in for a bitgot some news, and Alice cant make it, shes at the salon. Are you in?

One evening, when her doorbell rang for the third time that week, Sarah answered to find someone instantly recognisable.

Nadine. An old friend of Alicesone who, years ago, had wrongly accused Sarah of spreading rumours, causing a scene in front of everyone. Since then, theyd politely avoided each other.

Oh, hi, Nadine said uneasily, fidgeting with her hair. Alice said it was at yours, could I come early to help out?

Sarah froze, old shame crawling from her toes to throat. She wanted to say, Alice was mistaken, Im not expecting anyone. Instead, something made her step back.

Come in, she said. Tea?

Her teatowel squirmed in her hands like a rope.

***

Her first act of rebellion was laughable, nearly childish.

If you want to ruin the fun, buy rubbish biscuits, she told herself one day.

Normally, she treated the girls to crunchy, ever-so-slightly sweetened biscuits from the bakery round the corner. This time, she strode past, straight into the supermarket, grabbed the cheapest packetthe blue-wrapped ones that always crumbled before tea-time.

Let them seeits not all restaurant standards here, she grumbled, emptying them into a bowl.

Predictably, the party was a blast. Alices friends crunched bland biscuits with grins, swapped happy gossip, brought cheese, olives, Alice produced her signature tomatoes under a blanket snack.

Mid-way, Sophie, giggling, left her giant plastic necklace on the doorknoba souvenir she forgot in her laughter. Next morning, Sarah found it swaying from her neat white door. As she went to put it in the lost property bag, the bell rang again.

Sarah! Alice breezed in before invitation. Ohlook! She spotted the necklace, erupted in laughter, Its always a party at yours, even on the doors!

Sarah started to protestIts not a party, its a mess. But Alices joy was so unfiltered, she just sighed.

A party

And the party didnt want to go home.

***

There was a special sort of chaos to that so-called fortune-telling hen-do Alice had declared.

All right, girls, tonight we gaze into our futures, shed messaged the group chatSarah quietly included. Sarah, youre our oracle. Even your kettle whispers secrets.

Sarah eyed her old, lime-scaled kettle suspiciously. An oracle, really?

One guestEmmaarrived with props: tarot deck, thick glass candle, a little ornate mirror.

This isnt just a get-together, she announced. Its a séance. Well call on the spirits.

Sarah snorted.

What spirits, Emma? The spirit of leftover stew?

Definitely not stew! Alice huffed. Relax, its just a game.

They switched off the lights, lit candles. Shadows stretched gold across the room. Muffin, usually glued to the radiator, crouched warily on the windowsill, tail fluffed.

Emma laid out the cards, angled the mirror to reflect their faces.

Ask the universe your questions, she whispered.

Sarah perched on the sofas edge, feeling like an outsider at her own party. The questionsabout love, money, travelfloated round her without ever touching.

Just then, as if on cue, the lights began to flicker. One bulb, then the other. Then, with a loud clonkthe electricity went entirely.

Oh! someone yelped.

Its a sign! Emma gasped. The girls squealed, delighted.

Sarah reached to fumble for her phones flashlight, but just then, a dark, furry streak shot across her feet. Muffin, spooked by shadows and noise, bolted from the room and vanished into the bedroom, the cupboard door banging shut behind her.

Definitely a sign, Sarah croaked. Someones had enough of spirits.

Five minutes later, the lights came back. Some lad in the building was welding and had tripped the fuse. But Muffin spent another day-in hiding; Sarah only heard scratches, forlorn meows from the laundry shelves.

When at last Muffin crept outa bit grimy and affrontedSarah stroked her back and murmured,

So what do you think, Muff? Should we hide together next time?

The cat just flicked her ears, heading to the kitchen, where a stray sequin still caught the light.

***

Sarah didnt pluck up courage straight away.

At first, she just sat at the kitchen table, staring at a blank message screencursor winking like a nervous tick.

Her fingers typed: Alice, next time have it at yours. She deleted it.

Tried again:

Alice, I cant do this anymore

Alice, no more parties at mine for a while.

Alice, Im sick of guests, honestly.

Every version sounded either too soft or too harsh. Phrases like Sarah, you know what she’s like, Youre always so kind, Its no trouble, is it?crowded her mind.

Sarah took a deep breath, put her phone down, and faced her bedroom mirror. The light above flickered, scattering shadows across her face. She picked up her brush. Instead of tidying herself up, she looked herself dead-on and said,

Alice, next time, it’s at yours.

Her voice wobbled, a fraying guitar string. She grimaced.

No explanations, rang Tanyas voice in her mind. Youre allowed to say it.

Sarah stood straighter, squared her shoulders as if about to step on stage.

Alice, she tried again, Im glad we gather together. But Im tired of always hosting. Next time, have it at yours.

But midway, her tone slipped back to apologising.

No buts, she scolded herself. Youre not a complaints department.

She returned to her phone, typed slowly:

Alice, Im honestly exhausted. Next time lets do it at yours, okay? I need a break from hosting.

Her finger hovered over Send. Her chest tightenedwhat if she lost her, or was called boring again?

She sent it and put the phone aside.

Now, for a real conversation, she whispered.

She rehearsed it at the mirror, again and again.

Alice, its my home, and its just too much for me

Alice, I love you, but Im not your event venue

Alice, lets talk boundaries.

Every time she uttered boundaries, her voice grew thinner, a lump in her throat. She saw, not a fearsome hostess, but a woman only just learning to say nolike rolling a foreign word between nervous teeth.

But after the third or fifth repetition, something in her eyes shifted. Not anger or exhaustion, but resolve. Soft, but there.

Right, she said to her morning reflection. Lets visit her, not host her. Visit.

***

Sarah set out for Alices place unannounced.

If she can turn up at mine with pie and an army of girls without asking if Im in, Sarah mused, then so can I. Not as a hostess, but a guest. A witness.

Alices building was classic council stocktall ceilings, peeling paint in the stairs, postboxes stuffed with leaflets. Sarah once loved the history vibe. Now, it just smelled damp and stale.

No lift. Up she went, clinging to chipped banisters. The third landing offered a mix: cheap air-freshener, and neglected soup.

Alices door was unmistakableoff-kilter faux-laurel wreath and a wooden plaque: A Miracle Lives Here. It used to seem charming; now it lookedchildish, a bit sad.

She knocked. Nothing. Pushed the bell. A tired, strained ring. Eventually, shuffling inside, footsteps. A raspy, sleep-filled voice:

Who is it?

Its me. Sarah.

Long pause, locks scraping; finally, the door hesitantly opened.

Alice peered out, hiding behind the door like a shield, tracksuit sagging at the knees, one woolly sock on, one clenched in hand. Hair askew, her eyes puffy.

Sarah? You didnt warn me?

And you always warn me? Sarah asked evenly.

Alice blinked, then moved aside, letting her in.

The flats emptiness hit firstnot the décor, but the feeling. That thrum under the skin.

The hallway offered no welcomeno mat, no shoe-rack. A mop propped against the wall, crushed trainers, one errant heel. A dried stain from some long-forgotten spill.

Sarah stepped further in and her heart gave a tiny jolt.

A sagging sofa, the faded green all but rubbed away, heaped with clothesdresses, jeans, t-shirts, all jumbled together.

Wine bottles, energy drink cans, a magazine with its cover torn off. On a stool: an open laptop, overflowing ashtray.

Two mugs on the floorone toppled and glued to the linoleum by an ancient coffee ring. The other balanced precariously on the rug, dregs of coffee and tobacco motes floating atop.

Tired coffee, Sarah thought, recalling her daughter’s phraseabandoned brews left while their owners flitted off to bigger things.

No flowers on the silljust takeaway cups, an empty crisp bag, and a shriveled lemon in the radiators embrace.

Sarah felt her insides knot.

This wasnt just untidiness. It was a life leaked into cornerstoo much for anyone to notice, or care.

***

Dont look at me like that, Alice said suddenly, catching her eye. I havent cleaned sincewellsince everything.

Since what? Sarah asked quietly.

Since Mum, work, all this She gestured to the bottles. Since life, basically.

Alice retreated to the kitchen, Sarah surveying the tiny room. One table, one chair, an old fridge pockmarked with worn-out magnets. Sink brimming with old plates. A frying pan, grey potato slices stuck to it. In the corner, a bulging rubbish bag, tied but still inside.

I meant to call you, Alice said from the kitchen, washing up a kettle that hadnt seen cleaning in weeks. Butits all a mess.

Sarah stood, arms hugged to her sides, memories crowding: her own neat kitchen, the cake, sequins, jokes. This other world, where laughter stayed somewhere else, and only dirt and silence remained.

Suddenly it was plainSarahs flat wasnt just handy for Alice. It was the only haven from a home she no longer recognised.

Did you come to check up on me? Alice called, voice unusually brittle, Or to lecture me?

Both, I think, Sarah admitted. Maybe thats what this is.

***

I Alice slumped onto a chair, legs almost giving way. I thought you were still cross.

Tears were shimmering nownot giggles, but the kind you tried hard to swallow.

I am, Sarah said, honestly. Im sick of always hosting. Last night was too much.

She dropped her bag on the table, not bothering to shift the cans and crumbs.

But also she took a shaky breath. I wanted to understand.

Alice wiped her nose, leaving mascara trails.

Understand what? she croaked.

Whythis. And why my homes turned into your living room extension.

Alice barked a laugh, rusty at the edges.

Because your place is a real home, she said. Minethis is just a stage set.

It began to pour out, a dam cracked open.

I dont feel at home here, Sarah. Not since mumafter all the arguments and division These walls arent mine. Feels like Im squatting. My stuffs here, but homes missing. Do you get that?

Sarah thought back to those post-bereavement months, when even her own kitchen felt cold, until shed hung new curtains and nudged the furniture around.

And at yourseverything slots in. The throws perfect, cups gleam, the cat dozes on the sill. You pad round your kitchen knowing where everything lives. You Alice met her eyes, You actually seem to know how to be in charge of your own life.

She let out a shaky laugh.

With you, for once Im not scared. Or lonely.

Sarah felt warmth trace through her, somewhere beneath her ribssympathy, an echo of familiarity.

And I thought you enjoyed the circus, Alice shook her head, Because youre so good at throwing it together.

She twisted her hands.

I thought you loved the action. That you hated being alone. I didnt see this she nodded at the scattered mugs, didnt want to. I just honed in on your place, the only bit that felt like before Mum.

Sarah swallowed.

And so? she asked quietly. You didnt notice mine turning into chaos too?

Alice hid her face in her hands.

Im scared of being alone, Sarah. Genuinely. This flat, alone, at night, I hear Mums voice. Her standards, her why cant you do better I put on music, call people, run to yoursbecause thats when I feel at home.

Sarah sat across the table, the vastness of her prepared mirror speech blunting into a simpler truth.

Alice, she said, gently but firmly, Im sorry things are so lonely. AndIm glad you feel you can call my house a refuge. But

She placed her hands purposely on the table.

I cant be everyones safety net anymore.

Alices gaze fell. Sarah let out a soft breath.

Why dont we give something else a try? she said.

***

Whatlike what? Alice sniffled.

For starters Sarah looked round, not every party at mine.

She glanced at the tired coffee mug, the upturned sofa, the rubbish sack.

We start, she said, by making home somewhere youre not ashamed of.

Alice gave a watery laugh.

Ive been ashamed for ages, she admitted.

Lets fix it here, then, Sarah stood. If we keep using mine for all your crowds, this place will stayvoid. And its too much for me.

Bracing herself against the chair, Sarah looked right at Alice.

How about this she said. We take turns. Once at mine, once at yours. Not huge groups. A few close ones. Not every week either, just once a month.

You seriously meanbring people into this? Alice gestured at her flat.

I mean, lets stop making my flat the only option, Sarah replied. Lets make yours a real place for it, too.

She offered a softer smile.

Lets start small. Not with guests. With us.

Alice frowned.

For example?

Sarah rolled up her sleeves.

For example she said, we take out this rubbish, do the mugs, wipe the tableand fry some pancakes. Just us. No guests, no sequins, no séances. You and me.

Pancakes? Alice hiccup-laughed, but a familiar spark glinted in her eye. I do better drop scones.

Drop scones it is.

***

They began.

Awkward at first. Sarah fetched a bin bag, tied up the rubbish, set it by the door. Alice self-consciously gathered mugs. Sarah ran hot water, found a sponge.

I wasnt born with a tidy sofa, she said mildly. Mum taught me, life reminded me. Youjust found different ways to cope.

Alice washed in silence, with focus.

The kitchen soon bloomed with frying butter. Alice, busy now, looked like the girl from their old estatethe one who staged fashion parades. Only now, her showpieces were crumbling walls and burnt bits of potato.

Soon, they sat with their tea, eating the first scalding drop scones with jam, when the doorbell rang.

Now what? Alice jumped.

Sarah peeked outand smiled.

It’s family, she called.

Tanya waited, rucksack slung, grocery bag in hand.

Drawn by the smell, she grinned sheepishly. Tried to text, Mum, no reply, so I popped by.

Alice, flustered, ran a hand through her hair.

Come in, said Sarah. Were having a test run of our new plan.

Tanya stepped in, took in the flat, the table, the two women.

Oh, she said, Auntie Alicetheres glitter at yours now too.

Glitter? Where? Alice asked blankly.

Look up, Tanya smirked.

They did. Lodged on the lampshade, sparkling defiantly, was a familiar silver starhitched there from Alices clothes.

Sarah started to laugh.

There we are, she said. Now the glitter is on both sides. Not just mine.

As long as its with everyones agreement, Tanya winked.

Sarah felt a quiet, necessary shift uncoil inside her. She still carried some annoyance for Alice, still felt wary of future hen-dos. But now she too held a choice. And so did Alice.

The three sat round a little table, eating drop scones off one big plate, giggling whenever flour dusted Alices nose.

And in that laughter, it did not feel like anyone was trespassing. It felt, for the first time, like a proper, honest celebration. Not because of some hostess of the year trophy, but just because it was Sarah, Alice, and Tanyaall together.