The Girls - Flash Fiction

Usually she came in from work and sat with us while we ate, but this one night Mum walked in and immediately cleared the table. We sniggered when she said the ‘girls’ were coming over.  Girls? Marion, Clare, and Lillian were at least Mum’s age, and Mrs Williamson had long grey hair, and a weak bladder. Mum frowned at us. 
        ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.       
        ‘Nothing Mum,’ we cried in unison.
        ‘Well in that case take these into the kitchen, and start the washing up.’
My sister and I took the plates off her and did as we were told, otherwise she’d tell Dad and then we would be in trouble.
        Dad was working away so Mum had invited the ‘girls’ over to play cards. After that the ‘girls’ came over at least once a week, more if they could get babysitters, not Mrs Williamson of course, she was too old to need the services of a babysitter, she had a grandchild!   
        We were happy that the ‘girls’ were coming because Mum said we could go into the front room, and the front room was where the TV was. 
        Mrs Williamson came in and patted us both on the head,
       ‘Such pretty little girls Jane,’ she said, ‘You must be very proud.’
Mrs Williamson’s husband had died, and she only had a son. Mum said he was a git because he’d moved to Scotland, and Mrs Williamson was all alone. So Mrs Williamson frequently came to our house, and left a puddle on our settee.
        Lillian was very glamorous despite being large, all the women on our street were large, except mum; mum was skinny but that was because she went to work. Lillian had brought a jug of beer from the pub. Mum got the glasses out of the kitchen and put them on the table. My sister smiled at me, ‘if we’re lucky,’ she said, ‘when we clear the glasses up later there’ll be some in the bottom for us to taste.’ 
        Clare had big teeth and made funny noises when she laughed. She lived next door. My sister and I took the mickey out of her when she wasn’t around. Mum heard us once and made us stay in. After that we were careful to make sure that Mum was nowhere in sight. 
        Marion had made us a strawberry mousse each. She gave them to us in dirty dishes that smelled funny. As soon as she was settled in her chair we sneaked into the kitchen and wash them down the sink. 
        My sister and I sat watching the TV but we could only think about the beer, wondering what it would taste like. Finally the ‘girls’ left, and we raced to get the glasses, they were empty bar some yucky lipstick stains.  
        ‘Come and get a drink you two,’ Mum called.
        Snatching the glass of milk, my sister sat down in a huff, but quickly jumped up. 
        ‘Mum, Mrs Williamson’s done it again,’ she squealed, pointing to the wet patch on the back of her nightdress.