Chapter 1

“Alright, Mum, I’ve compiled the grocery list for the week,” Jack said, his red hair a fiery halo in the morning light. “I want you to pop over to Sainsbury’s in the next two days and get a proper porridge, some Weetabix, Jammie Dodgers, Digestives, Rich Tea biscuits, a few loaves of Hovis, some Warburtons, and a dozen eggs. Don’t forget the milk, we need gold top and semi-skimmed, and some yoghurt, the kind with the fruit on the bottom. And can you get some grapes, the red kind, not the green? Also, pick up some Wensleydale cheese, a block of cheddar, and some crackers. We’re running low on cereal, so grab some Coco Pops, Rice Krispies, and some Alpen. Oh, and get some more bread sauce, we’re having roast chicken on Sunday. And don’t forget the veggies, we need some carrots, peas, and some spuds. I’ve made a list, compiled the totals, as well as the menu for the next three days.”

My Mum futzed around the kitchen in her housecoat and slippers. She’s an attractive woman if you go for tavern slappers. She’s got more boobs than brains, I’d say, but she means well. She’s been raising us on her own for years since our Dad skipped out. Mum was listening to Jack rattle off instructions while scraping up some breakfast for the four of us.

The kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of fresh tea brewing. I didn’t care for tea, but Jack and my Mum did.

“Yes, Jack, thank you!! You are so helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you, dear. How much do you think it will all cost?”

Mum treats Jack like he’s Prince Charming, her golden boy who can do no wrong. While Joy and I get tap water slapped down without so much as a word, she’ll ask him, “Milk in your tea, love?” every single time—like she doesn’t already know he takes it black. The whole thing’s ridiculous, really. She’s polite with him in a way she never is with us, like rolling out the red carpet is just part of her job. And Jack? He knows it. Plays his part perfectly, charming her socks off while keeping that air of authority like he’s the King of the House. Meanwhile, we’re the court jesters, here to amuse her or annoy her, depending on her mood. I’ve never even seen her frown at him—not properly. Not like she does with us. He’s Mum’s golden boy, and we’re just ... extras.

Mum definitely has some ideas about the role of sons and daughters in the house – and despite his being younger than both of us – he’s been the one to sort out the pantry, the meal planning, we’d never even been asked -not that we wanted that kind of responsibility.

My little brother Jack is mommy’s golden boy – can do no wrong. He’s the baby of the family, but Mum props him up like he’s the smartest and most responsible – which by some accounts he might be. “I’d say around £120, maybe £150. I’ll come with you on the bus, and we’ll sort it out!”

“Thank you, Jack!”

“The cupboard isn’t bare, but we’ve not had a proper breakfast in some time.”

My mom nodded without even so much as looking at me and my sister Joy. Joy was half-asleep, with her elbows on our small kitchen table. We’ve lived in this wee flat in South Godstone, just outside of London for about eight years now.

It gets smaller and smaller every year, and privacy is at a premium. My sister and I share a small room upstairs, and my mom has the other. Jack sleeps in a smaller room under the stairwell.

Downstairs, we’ve only got the kitchen for dining with a door outside to a so-called garden. It’s barely three meters of broken boards for fencing, to grow weeds, and store Jack’s old rusted 10-speed.

We’ve got a living room with old hand-me-down furniture that was in fashion when Queen Elizabeth was my age. It smells like old England in there – brown canvas coverings and faux-chocolate wood coffee tables. We’ve got a telly, but it barely gets channels, and almost none of us watch it.

Most of our daily lives at home revolve around this tiny kitchen, as the center of our world. It’s where we sit to talk and congregate. My sister and brother are too old to go out and play in the woods, and we’ve fuck all to do in Godstone. There are a few taverns, a few shoppes, a gas station and a church.

Most of the boys around the area are proper turds, or wannabe gangsters, so I spend most of my time at home with this lot.

“You’re right of course, Jack. Now, let’s have a look at the menu for today. What did you have in mind?” Mum asked sweetly.

Joy mouthed the words behind my Mum’s back, imitating her for my amusement. I giggled.

Jack grinned, his confident personality shining through. “Well, Mum, for lunch, I was thinking we could have some sandwiches and crisps. Maybe some sausage rolls and a few scotch eggs. And for tea, we could have some toast and jam, and maybe some biscuits. And for dinner, we could have a nice roast beef with some roast potatoes and veggies.”

“Oh, that would be very nice, would you girls like that?” Mum asked my sister and me.

We didn’t have a chance to say fuck all, when Jack continued with what he had to say.

“On Sunday, we could have a big roast chicken with some roast potatoes and veggies. And for lunch, we could have some leftovers from today, maybe some cold meat and pickles. And for tea, we could have some cake and a few sandwiches. And for dinner, we could have a nice roast pork with some apple sauce and roast potatoes.”

My Mum smiled like a silly git. “That sounds like a lovely menu, Jack. You’re so clever and helpful, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“How come Jack gets to pick what we are having to eat?” I asked in frustration.

“We’ve been over this, Soph!” my mom reminded me. I knew perfectly well what was decided about three months ago. I still didn’t agree with it. “Jack wanted some additional responsibility around the flat. I have trouble keeping up with the pantry, and so he agreed to take an inventory of what we need and prepare a shopping list. He did so well at it, that he comes with me to the Sainsbury’s to look for discounts.”

“Yeah, I know,” I scrunched my nose and grimaced. “I still don’t see why that makes him the King of deciding all the meals?”

“That’s because Mum keeps forgetting what we had yesterday and making the same boring meal. I said I’d create the menus in advance!”

“Why can’t we have a go at it?” I asked to have a try at managing the cupboard and pantry.

“Don’t include me in this,” my sister frowned. My older sister’s been going through that Goth-Chav phase, she’s been going through it now for over 15 years.

“No need, Jack has it!” Mum declared as she poured herself a steaming cup of British tea with milk, she asked Jack, “How do you take your tea this morning, dear?” like this was a perfectly normal topic of conversation.

“Just milk, please, Mum,” Jack replied, looking like the cat who’d got the cream.

Mum added a splash of milk to Jack’s tea, then turned to us. She automatically poured us water without asking our preference.

Joy and I exchanged a skeptical glance but said nothing as Mum filled two glasses with water from the tap. Godstone water isn’t that bad – if you like terrible tap water.

I’m not the rebellious type—that’s my big sister. Well, sort of. Joy dresses like she’s a Goth bitch, all lace and leather and scowls, but she’s a pussycat without claws. She talks a big game, and sure, she can cut you to the quick with that sharp tongue of hers. But the truth is, she’s not the tough-as-nails club-kid punk rocker she lets on to be. Underneath it all, she’s a Mum’s girl, just like me. We were both just raised to do what she tells us.

My Mum has always been considerate, and she’s generous to a fault on some things. However, she can also be strict, such as with the water over tea thing she mentioned. Jack always had his drawings hung on the fridge, while mine were considered “nice”. Mum doesn’t enforce bedtime, but when we were little – Jack always got to stay up a wee bit longer than us girls.

We used to take baths together until our pubes started to come in, and by that time, Jack was taking his first so the hot water wouldn’t be all gone for him. It’s always been that way, so I didn’t question as much. Today, I decided to question why she didn’t even ask my sister and if we wanted a proper cuppa.

“Mum, why do you never ask us if we want tea?” I asked. I’d never been asked if I wanted tea – I’ve had the stuff before, and I don’t particularly care for it. My Mum’s never offered it to my sister or I as long as I can recall.

“Tea’s a bit of a ritual, isn’t it? Something you earn when you’ve got enough going on to need a moment’s peace. Jack does so much around here, bless him,” Mum said good-naturedly. “You’ve never raised a fuss about it before, Sophie!”

“I am just asking, it seems like a double standard,” I said. My sister raised her head and said she doesn’t care for tea. Jack smiled and sipped his tea.

“Tap water’s always been good enough for you, girls, and you’ve never complained before. I was raised in Blackpool in the North, and my family was dirt poor. Tea is a luxury not a need and we were lucky just to have our needs met. Young girls did without tea, so the adults and older boys could have some – but if you are truly fussed, I’ll put the teabag Jack, and I used back in the pot, and you can let it steep longer. That should do the trick.”

I took a sip of the lukewarm tap water, grimacing slightly as I swallowed. “So that’s it, then? Girls just get their needs met, and boys get their needs and wants because they’re so special?” I was trying not to sound bitter.

I don’t know why I even asked these questions – the answers always been the same – something -something that boys are different than girls and if you don’t like it than tough titty- too bad, so sad.

It was still fun sometimes to have a poke about her old-fashioned ideas.

You might wonder why my sister and I do what Mum tells us without question. Well, we don’t. Not always. Joy and I have been known to sneak out or find ways to bend the rules. But when Mum ropes us into her schemes—babysitting the neighbor’s screaming kids, selling Avon door-to-door, or signing us all up for some mad cabbage soup diet—we go along with it. Chores, though? She doesn’t bother. Says we’re “more trouble than we’re worth” when it comes to housework. She’d rather do it herself than hunt us down, explain what needs cleaning, and then check to make sure we haven’t half-arsed it, which we always have. “By the time I’ve fetched you lot and made you redo it properly,” she says, “I could’ve done it twice over.”

So, the house stays standing—just barely—and my sister do what she asks when it matters. I was also raised to just have an unwavering belief that what Mum says goes – and we can say no, we can scream, bargain, reason, or yell into the wind – she’s gonna have it her way when it comes to us.

Because, let’s be honest, if she ever did kick us out, we’d probably deserve it. Not that she would. It’s love, really. Or guilt. Either way, when Mum asks Joy, and I end up doing whether we like it or not. Simple as.

“Tea and milk is fancy, Sophie. It might not seem it to you, but when you’re the one stretching every pound to make ends meet, those little extras matter. I’m doing the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and ironing, and your brother’s sorting and organizing, helping with the shopping, and even managing some of the bills. Between us, we’ve earned a spot of tea now and then. You girls DO have your needs met – wants are another thing all together. I’d go broke trying to care for the wants of a teenage girls, let alone two!”

“Jack’s got a hold of the bank account now does he?” Joy suddenly perked up and wanted to interject into the conversation.

Mum sighed, setting her teacup down. “Don’t be daft, Joy. He’s not holding the purse strings—he just keeps track of what’s coming in and out, so I don’t have to. You think I’ve got time to juggle receipts on top of everything else?”

Jack preened like a good boy, and my mom took another sip of tea. She changed the subject “Sophie Ann, Why are you wearing that wretched hoodie and sweatpants, to hide your figure, it’s a nice day out! You should be wearing something that will show off your figure and maybe attract a boy? You haven’t been out in ages!”

“What about me Mum, should I take off me black lace top and jeans and walk around the house in nothing but my knickers and stockings?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” my Mum said as she cleared away the breakfast table.

“Let me guess, we’ve got to strip off our kits at the door and let Jack decide whether we can put on fresh undies or wear the ones we’ve had on for three days?” Joy said sarcastically.

“Not quite,” my mom’s answer made me nervous. “Jack wants to take some pictures of us, and I told him it would be a good idea”

I felt a surge of alarm at this. “Pictures? Like porn?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

My brother Jack frowned defensively. “No, not porn!” he said defensively. “I am not selling it online!”

My sister Joy waved her hands up in the air, looking just as outraged as I felt. “But we’ve got to take our kit completely off?” she exclaimed. “Now, I’ve heard it all.”

“Look, Jack brought it up, but I think it’s a good idea and it’s not up for debate, it’s always been a dream of mine, girls. I’ve always wanted to run around me own house naked, and get snaps done!”

“No, you told me this was your fantasy a few days ago when we were talking!” Jack clarified.

Mum shot my brother a look of chagrin and blushed, “Fine, I may have mentioned since I was a lass growing up in Blackpool, I’d always wanted to be a Page 3 model – fair enough. This is as close to page three as this fat old lady is going to come, and I am not doing it alone, so off with your kits! I don’t want to hear another word about it! You’ve nothing to do anyway!”

I wondered how the topic of nude photography and fantasies had ever come up between Mum and Jack. It wasn’t something I’d think would come up naturally in conversation – I’d have never dreamed of having that talk with my Mum!

I didn’t bother to put up much of a resistance; when my Mum got some wild idea, she was usually all-in and by that I mean she would buy the t-shirt, get the bumper sticker and make her entire life about whatever new idea she had for about three days maximum and then never talk about it again.

It was usually something to do with a quick-rich idea to sell something door-to-door, charity, volunteering down at the church, a new fad diet – nothing about getting naked or fantasies.

Our place was littered with old boxes of Amway, or cartons of some “Goji Berry” what was supposed to be the super fruit that will cure cancer and make your skin is pure as driven snow, tucked away by the bin, in the pantry and closets from previous crusades she suddenly had a fervor to pursue.

The only common thread to all of them was my Mum was never satisfied to do it alone – she’d always say “Right, Joy and Sophie, we’re gonna start doing Zen Meditation now, and you are doing it with me! It’s going to purify your thoughts and your mind! Now light this incense!” or “I’ve got six boxes of chocolate to sell by Monday to make our money back, Sophie you take Lagersham and see what you can sell door to door, and Joy take the other three boxes to the Petrol station and see if you can sell them to the cars filling up! Let’s go, Chop! Chop!”

This was no different.

“There is no point thinking you are going to be sitting on your lazy bums like a couple of magpies laughing about my big fat tummy and ass hopping about getting my snaps taken! We’ll do it together, we’ll make some fun memories and have a laugh together!” she promised.

Oh, sounded like a laugh riot, alright! I’d rather be selling stale candy up and down the street on a Saturday morning, but this was what she wanted, and there was no surprise that no wasn’t going to be an option for us.

“Any modeling we do – we are doing together! The four of us!” Mum insisted that’s the way it was going to be – and there was no changing it -we’d do it together or not at all.

Only thing is, there were only three of us who were going to be naked, and that seemed unfair to me. My Mum had a different idea of fair when it came to boys and girls though, so it was also not entirely surprising to me.

Mum just kept on talking, like she was trying to calm us down. “We’ve one bathroom, you’ve all seen each other’s bare bottoms,” she said, as she dished out some toast with scrambled eggs and baked beans. I wasn’t really thinking about food at the moment. “This would be artistic, right Jack?”

“It depends on the model, I’ve got shoots planned up until lunch, we’ll do a few warm ups first, and move on to eventually pics just like the paintings you see in galleries,” Jack said, his tone calm but clearly trying to sell the idea.

Joy scoffed, folding her arms. “Oh yeah, because the Louvre’s just full of family snaps in the buff. How are you going to flatter Mum’s big buffalo butt, and massive boobs?”

You’ll look your best, Joy. Trust me—I wouldn’t let you look anything less than perfect. You’ll see when it’s done.”

Oh, I know I’ll look my best—because I’ll be shoving that camera right up your bum.” My big sister flashed a grin of cheeky defiance, and leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with a smirk that dared Jack to say otherwise.

Mum shot her a sharp look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Joy. This is something we’re doing this afternoon. What else have you got on your busy social calendar?”

I had a feeling we were going to end up doing this anyway. My Mum has a way of not taking no for an answer when she makes up her mind. She often volunteers me and my sister to volunteer at the church or babysit her friend’s kids. Usually, doesn’t even ask. It’s just “Right, Sophie, I need you to go down to Mrs. Carlyle’s house tonight around 5pm and watch their kids til 9pm, be a dear!”

You can argue, you can yell, you can bargain, you can cry, I’ve done them all – you’d be better off yelling into the wind during a storm to get it to change its direction. Now, with my brother Jack -it’s different. Then my Mum is all “Would you like milk with your crumpet? Oh, best not bother Jack! He’s got some studying to do!”

She’s always had that double standard. The interesting thing about it is that she’s always found it easy to send me off to the vicar, or some charity to wash dogs or cars – but when it comes to housework for her it’s quite the opposite.

Then she’ll say it’s too much fuss to bother telling us what to do, only to come around after and check to see we didn’t do it proper, and then go round us up to do it all over again the correct way – so she’ll complain and bluster, but end up not making us do much at all around the house.

Which, all in all is a fair deal. I’ll be honest – It’s not that I am a prude at all about my body. I’ve skinny dipped at parties, I’ve been with my share of boys, I’ve even sent a few nudies on Snapchat and Instagram.

It’s that I am flat chested and self-conscious about it – and I could see not only Jack having a field day, but the pictures getting out to his friends. I wear padded bras all the time -and let’s just say the difference is quite a bit remarkable.

I don’t like to be confrontational, and If my big sister couldn’t bluster her way out of it, what chance did I have? I tried my luck anyway.

I swallowed hard, staring at the plate of toast and beans. “And if we say no? What happens then?”

My Mum stood up, removed her house coat, revealing her big nylon panties, thigh high flesh toned pantyhose and huge white brassiere. “You can say no, but Jack’s trying to do something special, and we’re going to support him. Right, Tops off, Ladies! No more arguments.”

“Mum!” I protested while Jack grinned like the Cheshire cat. He’d managed to talk her into going completely starkers – this was mad!

Mum reached behind her back and couldn’t get the clasp on her old-fashioned Berlei bra – the kind that shapes your tits like two great torpedoes ready to fire off during the great war. “Jack, do you mind being a dear?” She bent down and turned around for him to undo her clasp.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Joy pounded the table. “We’ve got to strip off completely. What about just wearing bra and panties?” Joy stood up at the breakfast table.

“Are you really doing this, Joy?” I asked my big sister if she’d even go as far as bra and panties. If we both sat down in solidarity, our Mum would have to take us seriously. The part that I left out was I hadn’t worn panties – so stripping down was going to be a bit humiliating anyway. I am sure I’d get some funny looks from my mum.

“What choice have we got, Sophie?” Joy replied, as she removed her black jacket, revealing her pink tank top underneath. Joy was clearly not wearing a bra because her nips poked through the material. “I kind of want to see if Mum loses her patience with golden boy when he tries to take pictures of our nippers!”

“Oh now, a nipper is nothing special, everybody’s got one, and if Jack wants to take a picture of me old pooh hole, I’d be flattered he thought it was special enough to have a look – and so should you,” My Mum chided my older sister, but once Joy had her pink tank top off and stood there just in jeans and Doc Martens in the kitchen, Mum changed her tune altogether.

“That’s the spirit, Joy! Come on now, Sophie. You too! Chop chop!” Mum unsnapped her 1950s-style brassiere, and it was like two boulders colliding. Her massive tits sagged over her belly. “One good thing about being top-heavy—it keeps men’s eyes off your stomach!” she giggled, bending over as she wriggled out of her oversized knickers.

“Ya sure you won’t lose your appetite seeing me in the buff, Jack?” Mum asked with a coy glance over her shoulder. Her short blonde hair, ragged and tied back, made it clear she didn’t often splash out on a proper haircut. If I had to compare her to an actress, I’d say she’s a dead ringer for Sheridan Smith. Most people outside the UK wouldn’t know her, but I’d seen plenty of reruns of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps and saw Janet and thought, That’s my Mum!

Mum frequently quoted Janet’s iconic line from the show: “I love ‘things that go bleep bleep,’ Cheeky Vimto, cigarettes, Coronation Street, and rich tea biscuits.” It was her to a tee. It was a good show while it lasted. I’ve seen every episode! My favorite episode was the first one I ever saw called Spunk.

Donna’s waiting for Gaz to call her, but when he doesn’t, she marches over to see him, and they decide to have loads of uncommitted sex. Only, it all goes tits-up when Gaz ends up at Sunday lunch with Donna’s mum, Flo, and her flirty sister, Katie—he’s so out of his depth it’s hilarious! Meanwhile, Jonny tries to be meaner to my Janet, ‘cause Gaz reckons it’ll spice up their relationship, but of course, it all goes horribly wrong. Jonny ends up missing, Janet gets furious, smashes Gaz’s nose with a telly remote, and then they all end up in hospital. Turns out Jonny was concussed by some old lady he was trying to help cross the road. Oh, and Janet punches Jonny for showing Gaz naughty Polaroids of her in a nurse’s outfit!