The Spencer flat buzzed with ritualistic energy as the children prepared dinner. It was a sacred, unchanging rhythm in their home. Matthew and Ethan laid out the tablecloth, while Ruby aligned the cutlery with near-ceremonial precision. Andee and Mary flitted back and forth with glasses, handing them to Ruby, who placed them just so atop the crisp linen napkins.

At exactly 6:30, Mr. Spencer arrived with the tea tray - a pot of loose-leaf tea brewing, cups arranged neatly on fine china. The family took their seats. Hands folded, heads bowed, they offered a prayer of thanks before the meal began.

Mrs. Spencer watched with quiet pride as her children complimented the food, the room warm with chatter and laughter. No one in the Spencer household said "I love you," but no one needed to. Devotion was baked into dinner, stitched into every routine.

The parents worked from home as machinists, sewing handles for handbags late into the night. Their children folded leather before bed, softening the creases so the fabric would flow through the sewing machines with ease. It was difficult work, but it was theirs.

Outside, the 1960s howled with change: revolution in fashion, in music, in politics. Women's roles were shifting. Mr. Spencer saw an opportunity. Inspired by Mary Quant and the psychedelic movement, he explored handbags crafted from shiny plastic in candy colors. Their first big leap came with Ariana Kyriacou - a young, inventive Greek designer Mrs. Spencer met at the Barbican College of Fashion and Design. Ariana's vision brought together plastic, leather, and fabric in a way that caught the attention of high-end clients and High Street stores alike.

And it worked.

Spizt and Specks became a name whispered in fashion circles and shouted from boutique windows. Ariana's line rivaled the now-iconic Gucci Jackie bag, turning heads and redefining trends. The Spencer home grew into a full-blown workshop - leather stacked high, vinyl gleaming under yellow light, the hum of machines continuing long after dinner.

One evening, as the family settled in for their 6:30 tradition, Mr. Spencer surprised them all.

"Mother and I have some good news," he announced, puffing gently on his pipe - something he never did at the table. A sure sign of something big. "The business has done very well," he said with a pause, casting a glance around the room before continuing. "Last Sunday, Mother and I bought a house in Hornsey."

The children gasped. Only Baby Thomas continued to giggle, his fire truck tumbling off the table like punctuation. Matthew retrieved it silently, but his eyes flicked to Andee. Her lip quivered.

"Moving?" she asked, voice trembling. "But what about school? My friends? Lydia? Where's Hornsey, even?"

"It's the perfect time," Mrs. Spencer said gently. "You'll be starting high school. I've already spoken with Mrs. Hammond - she recommended a school that suits you."

"You spoke to her without telling me?"

"Do shut up, Andee," Ruby cut in. "It's not all about you." She turned to her parents with polished calm. "It's fine. We understand."

And with that, the balance shifted.

Ruby, with her sharp wit and quick tongue, saw only opportunity. She imagined herself beside her father, perhaps even in his seat one day. She resented Andee's emotions and saw them as weakness - though she couldn't always explain why.

Andee, softhearted and observant, felt blindsided. She had carved out a small world with her friends. The thought of starting anew was terrifying. She didn't fight back - she never could. Especially not against Ruby.

Matthew, fifteen and noble beyond his years, watched the drama unfold and gave Andee a wink of comfort. He loved both sisters, but he wasn't blind. Ruby was often the source of tension. He admired Andee's gentle nature and worried that someday, when she finally reached her breaking point, it would be seismic.

Ethan, the middle child, wore indifference like a mask. But behind his lazy grin, he nursed deep resentment. He knew Ruby played the family like a piano - his parents seemingly unaware. He felt for Andee, recognizing her as Ruby's favorite target, and wondered how long it would go on.

Then there was Mary - quiet, unnoticed, thoughtful. The girl with ink-stained fingers and a silent mind full of poetry. And Baby Thomas, the household's anchor of innocence, untouched by rivalry, delighted by fire trucks and mashed peas.

The move to Hornsey happened quickly. But for Andee, it shattered the delicate safety she'd built for herself. Her laughter dulled. Her silences grew. The siblings drifted out of orbit, caught in roles they hadn't chosen.

In the reshuffling of the household, Ruby and Matthew stepped into the spotlight. There was an unspoken tension between them - Ruby hungry for a future she saw as rightfully hers; Matthew uncertain, calm, but perhaps too indifferent to seize what she so desperately wanted.

And Andee - watching it all from the edges - felt the first tremors of something deeper rumbling beneath the surface.