“Stand by your sister in her time of need,” their mother reminded them after the divorce.
“Dont you want to help your sister? Shes struggling after the divorce,” scolded Mum.
The two sisters sat around the kitchen table at their mothers house, enduring the lecture.
“Your Jack is nothing but a spoiled brat!” declared Mrs. Whitmore bluntly. “He works temp jobs but barely brings home a penny!”
“Mum, three thousand pounds a month isnt enough?” snapped the younger sister, Poppy.
“I couldnt care less. The point is, he should be able to provide for you,” Mum retorted, lips pursed.
“He does,” muttered Poppy, rolling her eyes.
“Couldve fooled me! Just yesterday, you borrowed two hundred quid from me,” Mrs. Whitmore shot back. “If he cant even feed you, divorce him! Find someone better. Honestly, the mans a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”
“Mum, thats too far,” interjected Emily, the older sister, finally speaking up in Poppys defence.
“Im just telling it like it is! Hes ginger, for heavens sake, and he talks like hes got a mouthful of marbles,” huffed Mrs. Whitmore, waving a hand dismissively. “Poppy, love, you can do better. Cut your losses before its too late.”
“Mum, Jacks brilliant with his hands. And looks arent everything,” Emily argued, watching their mother press Poppy further. “If moneys all you care about, hes got a flat, a car, and he adores her. Isnt that enough?”
Mrs. Whitmore glared at her eldest, as if shed just suggested eating crisps with a fork.
“Youre nearly forty and still single, so spare us the advice,” she snapped, shooing Emily away. “At your age, beggars cant be choosers!”
Poppy sat silently, eyes darting between them like she was watching a tennis match.
“Youre easily impresseda poky little flat and a beat-up Ford Fiesta? Hardly anything to write home about!” scoffed their mother.
“Poppy, what do you think?” Emily pressed. “Have you even got an opinion?”
“Dunno maybe Mums right,” Poppy mumbled, wavering. “He did say I should look for a job the other day”
“See!” Mrs. Whitmore crossed her arms triumphantly. “Were already at this stage. Its only going downhill from here!”
“And why shouldnt Poppy work? Most people cant just laze about. Im surprised Jack didnt push her sooner,” Emily countered.
“Why are you defending him?” Mum narrowed her eyes.
“Because Im worried youll bully her into ruining her own life,” Emily said evenly.
“Not your business!” Mrs. Whitmore barked. “You hand out advice, but Poppy deserves more. If Jack really loved her, hed move mountains to keep her happy. Instead, hes got no looks, no moneywhats the point?”
Poppys mouth fell open, hypnotised by her mothers words.
Soon enough, the pressure worked. Poppy started nitpicking at Jack.
“You happy with your salary?” she asked him one evening.
“Its fine. Why?”
“Im not,” she said, shaking her head. “You should find something better.”
“Better? I like my job,” he replied casually, though his smile faltered.
“Well, I dont! Tiny flat, shabby little car nothing to show off to the neighbours.”
Jack blinked. “Funny, it never bothered you before. What changed?”
“Nothing. I just see things clearly now. Love blinded me,” Poppy said, chin raised.
“Right,” he muttered, hoping that was the end of it.
But with Mrs. Whitmores voice in her ear, Poppy kept nagging.
“Listen, your whingings doing my head in,” Jack finally snapped. “Ive heard you, but I cant magic money out of thin air!”
“I want a husband who progresses, not one whos stuck in a rut,” she said coldly.
“Well, sorry to disappoint!” Jack shot back, heading to the bedroom. “Pack your bags.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Poppy gaped.
“Wherever theres a posh flat and a flash car,” he said flatly. “Wouldnt want you wasting your life with a deadbeat like me. Im sure youll find some bloke who can shower you in gold. I cant.”
Mrs. Whitmore was the first to hear Jack had kicked Poppy out.
“The absolute nerve! Whod have thought hed go that far? Shouldve never married him,” she fumed, cursing her son-in-law.
“I just wanted him to do better,” Poppy sniffled.
“Honestly, what did you expect from a man like that? Dont worry, youll meet someone richer, and Jack will come crawling back,” Mrs. Whitmore reassured her.
Homeless and husbandless, Poppy moved back into her old childhood room.
“Whats your plan now?” Emily asked during a visit, summoned by their mother.
“Dunno,” Poppy said, glued to her phone.
“Thought about you know, getting a job?” Emily hinted gently.
“No point. Ill just find a richer bloke than Jack,” Poppy declared.
“Leave her alone!” Mrs. Whitmore cut in. “She needs rest after what shes been through.”
For nearly two months, Mum bankrolled Poppys sofa-bound existenceuntil the money ran thin.
One evening, Emily arrived after work, thinking there was an emergency.
“Dont you want to help your sister?” Mum demanded.
“With what?”
“Financially! Were struggling,” Mum huffed.
“Who told Poppy to divorce Jack in the first place?” Emily shot back. “Without your meddling, shed still be fine.”
“How dare you!” Mrs. Whitmore clutched her chest. “Jacks a useless coward! He couldnt handle a woman like Poppy, so he ran. Get out! I wont have you here, criticising us instead of helping!”
Poppy stormed in, glaring at Emily.
“Youre defending the man who threw me out?”
“You did this to yourself! Stop listening to Mum”
“Oh, like youre the expert?” Poppy sneered. “Miss Spinster at forty?”
Emily sighed, shaking her head as she headed for the door. Shed had enough.
And so had they.
