Written to the prompt S is for Stand
The Same Every Time
I turned my car towards the hotel with some trepidation, to be honest, even though I knew exactly what was going to happen.
I didn’t want to go there at all, and if I thought I could have got away with it I’d have gone straight past and ignored her, but I knew she’d have her beady eye out for me, and there’d be all sort of repercussions if I failed to turn up. So, as usual, in spite of me telling myself ‘I’m not doing this again’, it would be me and my sister facing each other across a table, her asking for money and me explaining why she can’t have it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stony broke, but I do have a mortgage to pay, and council tax, and utility bills, not to mention school fees. Yes, I did get a small inheritance, but that was swallowed up by repairs to the house.
I don’t know how much more of it I can stand. I ought to call a halt to it all – tell her I’ve had enough.
It’s the hotel bit that gets me. Why she can’t come round to my house, I’ve no idea. It’s not like she never comes near – I know she does – I’ve seen her pass by, for heaven’s sake, but she never so much as looks at my place. Obviously doesn’t want to be seen hanging around in my part of town. Bigger and better places to go.
She’s waiting for me, like a lioness about to pounce on its prey.
‘How much this time?’ I ask wearily.
‘Two thousand pounds,’ she says, and she doesn’t even wince as she says it.
‘Two grand! Are you out of your mind? I haven’t got two grand to spare! What do you want two grand for?’
She hands me a small card. ‘Read for yourself.’
I read. Mayfair. With a hotel. Rent £2000.
© Carol Carman 2026
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