“My House, My Rules”
“Gran, did you eat my cheese scones again?” Emily stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding an empty packet.
“I thought they were for everyone,” I began.
“Everyone? I bought them specifically for Lily! Shes allergic to everything else!”
James walked in, dishevelled from his night shift.
“Mum, how many times? We agreedthe left shelf is ours!”
The left shelf. Now, in my own fridge, there are “their” shelves and “our” shelves. A year and a half ago, they moved in “temporarily”just until they found a place. Temporary turned into a permanent nightmare.
“Gran, wheres my backpack?” Oliver darted around the flat.
“Grandad, have you seen my doll?” Lily tugged at my husbands sleeve.
Robert hid behind his newspaper on the balconythe only place left to escape in his own home.
“Thats it!” Emily suddenly shouted. “I cant take it anymore! James, either we move out, or Im taking the kids to my mums!”
“And go where?” James snapped. “Rent a place for eight hundred quid a month? Weve got the car loan!”
“Then sell the car!”
“Are you mad? How will I get to work?”
The children started crying. I tried to comfort them, but Emily snatched Lily from my arms.
“Dont bother! Well manage!”
I retreated to my bedroom. The front door slammedJames had stormed out. Then came the sound of children crying, Emily shouting.
In my flat. My home, where Robert and I had lived for thirty years.
That evening, everyone pretended nothing had happened. We ate dinner in silence. The kids poked at their plates with forks. Emily pointedly ignored James.
“Dad, pass the salt,” James muttered.
Robert silently handed it over. Hed been quiet latelytired of other peoples arguments in his own house.
After dinner, James stayed in the kitchen.
“Mum, sorry about earlier. Emilys just stressed.”
“I understand.”
“No, you dont!” he burst out. “You dont know how it feels to be thirty-five and still living with your parents! To feel like a failure!”
“Son”
“Dont. I know its hard for you too. But weve got nowhere else to go.”
I stayed silent. What could I say?
That night, I lay awake. Robert tossed and turned beside me. In the living roomnow the kidsLily whimpered as Emily rocked her.
In the morning, a crash woke me. Oliver had dropped a plate in the kitchen.
“Never mind,” I said, sweeping up the pieces.
“Mumll be cross,” he whispered.
“We wont tell her.”
He hugged mesmall, warm, mine. For the grandchildren, Id tolerate anything. But for how long?
A week later, James came home from work oddly pensive but not gloomy.
“Mum, Dad, we need to talk.”
We sat at the kitchen table. Emily was putting the kids to bed.
“Ive decided. Im taking a mortgage. Buying a house.”
“What?” My heart clenched. “A mortgage? Thats so much money!”
“Theres no other way. Were all going mad here.”
“But twenty years of repayments!” Robert spoke up for the first time in ages.
“Ill manage. Found a place a few streets over. Small, but ours.”
“A few streets away?” I repeated.
“Yeah. So you can still see the kids. And we can help if you need us.”
I studied my son. When had he grown up? When had the boy who couldnt find his socks become this man?
“Does Emily know?”
“Not yet. Wanted to talk to you first.”
Robert stood and clapped James on the shoulder.
“Youre doing the right thing. A man should have his own home.”
James exhaledhe must have feared our reaction.
That evening, he spoke to Emily. I heard her cryingwhether from joy or fear, I couldnt tell.
The mortgage paperwork, house viewings, and stress passed in a blur. Emily swung between excitement and panic.
“Margaret, what if we cant manage? What if James loses his job?”
“Youll manage. Youre young, strong.”
“But twenty years!”
“But itll be yours.”
Moving day arrived. Removal men lugged boxes. The kids dashed between housesours and theirs, just five minutes apart.
“Gran, Ive got my own room now!” Lily dragged me upstairs to see.
A tiny attic room, but hers.
“Lovely! Once youve decorated, itll be perfect!”
That evening, we sat in their new home. Cramped, but the air was differentEmily laughed, James joked, the kids showed off their space.
“Mum, Im sorry,” James said suddenly. “For this past year and a half.”
“Dont be silly! Were family!”
“Exactly. But family should live apart.”
Robert raised a glass.
“To the new house! And to visitingnot livingunder each others feet!”
Wed waited so long. Emily hugged me.
“Thank you for putting up with us.”
“Oh, stop it!”
But she was right. We had. And wed survived.
The first night back in our empty flat was eerily quiet.
“Robert, listen!”
“What?”
“Its so quiet!”
He laughed. “Finally!”
Next morning, no one clattered in the kitchen. I drank my tea in peace, skimmed the news.
A knock at the door.
“Gran, can I come in?” Oliver stood with his schoolbag.
“Of course! Does Mum know?”
“She said go to Gransits quieter for homework!”
There it was. Now the grandchildren visitedthey didnt live on top of us.
We settled at the table. I helped with maths. An hour later, Lily burst in.
“Gran, Mums making pancakes! She says come over!”
We went. Emily smiled at the stove.
“Thought wed celebrate! First pancakes in the new house!”
We squeezed around their little tablecramped but cosy. And crucially, wed all go home after.
“Margaret, could the kids stay with you this weekend? James and I want to look at wallpaper in town.”
“Of course! Happily!”
And I meant itbecause now, it wasnt an obligation but a joy.
A month later, James popped in after work.
“Mum, can I borrow the ladder? Need to put up curtain rods.”
“Take it! In the shed!”
Robert went to help, returning pleased.
“Theyre doing well. Making it their own.”
Emily brought over a pie.
“Made it from your recipe! Try it!”
I did. Delicious. She beamed.
“You know, I never liked cooking before. Now its my kitchen, my rules!”
There it wasthe key word. Hers.
That evening, my friend called.
“Margaret, fancy coffee tomorrow at yours?”
“Love to!”
And I didnt worry about disturbing Emily or the kids making noise. My house, my guests.
James changed before our eyes. No longer complaining, he became a proper homeownerfixing the roof, painting the fence, planting vegetables.
“Tomatoes next!” he boasted. “Homegrown!”
Emily softened toocalm, content. When she visited now, she chatted rather than bristled.
“Margaret, could you teach me your roast recipe? James keeps mentioning it!”
I did. We stood side by side in my kitchenwhere I was still the one in charge.
The kids flitted between houseshomework at ours, meals at theirs, sleepovers here and there.
“Gran, can we watch cartoons at yours?” Oliver hugged me.
“Of course! Whatever you like!”
And I didnt fret about Emily disapproving. My house, my rules, my grandchildren visiting.
Once, Emily arrived in tears.
“Mum!”the first time shed called me that”James fell down the stairs! I think hes broken his leg!”
We rushed over. Robert called an ambulance. I minded the kids while Emily went to the hospital.
They returned that eveningJames on crutches, leg in plaster.
“Fracture,” he said grimly. “At least a month off work.”
“Never mind! At least youre alright!”
The next weeks were hard. No work meant no money. The mortgage loomed.
“Maybe we should move back?” Emily ventured.
“No!” James refused outright. “Well manage!”
And they did. We helped with groceries, childcare. But they stayed in their own home.
“You know,” Emily said once, “even like this, its better being in our own place. Whats yours is yours.”
She was right. A thousand times right.
James recovered, returned to work. His first pay, he brought
