This is our flat, Im the landlady too, said my sons girlfriend as she stepped into the hallway.
Mom, why are you barging into my room without knocking? Andy burst out of the bedroom, a scowl on his face.
Its not a knock, its my flat! Margaret Thompson set the basket of freshly washed laundry on the floor. I just brought the laundry in, thats all.
You could have taken it from the bathroom yourself.
I could have, but I didnt. Its been sitting there for two days.
Andy huffed, slammed the door and disappeared back to his room.
Margaret sighed, padded into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Lately Andys been on edge, snapping at everything a change from the calm boy he used to be.
She was fiftyseven, spent her whole life caring for him. Her husband walked out when Andy was five, and she never remarried, juggling two jobs to make sure he never wanted for anything. Hed gone to a good school, then university, and now had a solid job at a construction firm.
The threebedroom flat was Margarets name on the lease shed inherited it from her parents before the divorce. She, Andy and the flat shared the space: each had a bedroom, the third was the living room.
She set out the cups, grabbed a packet of biscuits and, just as she was about to sit down, Andy popped back in, looking a lot calmer.
Sorry, Mum, I lost my temper.
No worries. Have a seat, lets have some tea.
He slipped into the chair opposite her, lifted his cup.
Mum, I need to talk to you.
She could hear the seriousness in his voice.
Go on.
I want Imogen to move in with me. With us.
Margaret froze, the cup halfway to her lips.
Imogen? Your girlfriend?
Yes. Weve been together six months, you know that.
I do. But you want her to live here Andy, are you planning to get married?
Not yet, he looked away. We just want to live together, see if we click.
And where would she stay? Your bedroom?
Yeah.
Andy, thats a bit cramped. Im living here, you two are still… young.
Mum, Im thirty, its about time I sort my personal life out.
Im not against your love life, Margaret set her cup down. But I think you need a separate place. Rent a flat, for example.
Why rent when we already have a threebedroom flat? Theres room for everyone.
Think about it, love. Im used to things running a certain way. A new girl in the house…
Shes not a stranger! Shes my girlfriend!
To me shes a stranger, Margaret said firmly. Ive only seen her three times, we barely know each other.
Then youll get to know her when she moves in.
No, Im sorry, Im against it.
Andy sprang up.
You know what, Mum? Im fed up asking your permission for every little thing. Im an adult!
In my flat youll still have to ask.
In *your* flat, he smirked. You keep reminding me Im a tenant, not a son.
Margaret felt a lump rise in her throat.
Andy, I didnt mean.
Enough, well talk later.
He stormed back to his room. Margaret stayed at the kitchen table, staring out the window, feeling a weight settle in her chest. She didnt want to fight with her son, but she also didnt want a stranger moving into her home.
That evening she rang her sister Lucy.
Lucy, Ive got a problem. Andy wants his girlfriend to move in with us.
To the flat? Lucy asked.
Yes. Im against it, and hes upset.
Lucy was quiet for a moment.
Did you think he was an adult now? He does need a love life.
I get that, but cant they rent somewhere?
Rents pricey now. Youve got a big flat, plenty of space.
Are you taking his side?
Im on no ones side. I just think this will happen sooner or later. He wont stay single forever.
Margaret hung up, feeling a little betrayed even by her own sister.
A few days passed with an awkward silence between mother and son. Andy came home late, ate dinner in silence and retreated to his room. Margaret was hurt by the coldness but pride kept her from being the first to reach out.
One Friday evening Andy walked in with a woman he hadnt introduced.
Mum, meet Imogen. Shes staying over.
Margaret froze in the hallway. Imogen gave a shy smile.
Hello, Mrs. Thompson.
Hello.
The girl slipped past Andy, the door closed behind her. Margaret stood there, stunned. Hed just brought her home without warning.
She felt a sting of anger. How could he do that?
The next morning she rose early, as usual, headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Half an hour later Andy and Imogen appeared.
Morning, Imogen said cheerfully.
Morning, Margaret replied, a little flatly.
They all sat down, Margaret poured tea and set out toast. They ate in silence.
Mrs. Thompson, your flat is really cosy, Imogen remarked.
Thanks.
Andy told me youve lived here a long time.
My familys owned it since I was a child.
A brief, awkward pause followed. Andy was glued to his phone, not joining the conversation.
Im off to work, Margaret said, even though her shift didnt start for another two hours. She left the flat, wandering the streets to kill time.
She returned late evening to find the flat quiet, Andy glued to the TV in the lounge.
Wheres Imogen? she asked.
She went home.
Margaret warmed up a dinner for herself. Andy stood in the doorway.
Mum, we need to talk. Properly.
Im listening.
I know its uncomfortable for you, but Imogen means a lot to me. I want us to live together.
Andy, Im not against her, Margaret sighed. Im just scared.
Scared of what?
That everything will change, that Ill become unnecessary in my own home.
You wont be. This is still your flat.
Its my flat now, and later itll be hers too, when we get married.
Dont say that.
Just think about it. Maybe I should get my own place.
Andy nodded. I can help with the rent if you need.
Thanks, love.
They sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea as the streetlights flickered on outside. Margaret felt a mix of relief and lingering tension.
A week later Imogen moved in with two suitcases and a box of makeup. Margaret greeted them warmly, helped carry things in.
Thanks, Mrs. Thompson, Imogen said, smiling. Ill try not to be a bother.
No problem, make yourselves at home.
At first everything was calm. Imogen was polite, kept to her room, cooked separate meals, cleaned up after herself. But soon the little things started piling up.
Margaret noticed the bathroom shelf now crammed with new perfume bottles and lotion tubes, taking over the space shed always used.
Andy, could you ask Imogen to move some of her cosmetics? Theres no room to turn around in the bathroom.
She needs somewhere to store them, Andy replied.
Maybe her room?
Theres no space there either.
Then the bathroom?
Andy grimaced. Ill speak to her.
The cosmetics didnt disappear; more arrived.
Later Margaret found the kitchen cupboards rearranged heavy pots on the top shelf, light ones down low.
Imogen, did you move this? she asked, trying to stay calm.
Yes, I thought itd be more logical.
It was fine the way it was.
Its more practical now, isnt it?
Margaret just shook her head and put everything back where it belonged. Imogen later did the same, and a silent battle of shelfarranging began.
Andy, can you talk to her? Margaret pleaded.
What does it matter where things go? Andy shrugged.
It matters to me! Im used to this layout.
Imogen also wants things convenient.
Its my kitchen!
Its now a shared kitchen, Andy said, and that was that.
Imogen gradually claimed more of the flat her magazines on the sofa, her shoes by the hall, her bags on the balcony. Margaret felt herself being pushed out of her own home, but she kept her mouth shut, not wanting another fight with her son.
One afternoon she came home to find two unfamiliar women sitting at the kitchen table, giggling over coffee.
Who are they? Margaret asked Imogen.
My friends. Were rehearsing a dance routine, need the space.
Could you have given us a headsup?
Why? This is our shared flat, Im a coowner too.
Those words hit Margaret like a slap. She stood in the doorway, stunned, unable to reply.
Later that night Andy knocked on her bedroom door.
We need to talk, urgently.
Whats happened?
Ill explain in the kitchen.
In the hallway Margaret heard Imogens friends laughing. She followed Andy down, feeling the weight of the situation.
Your girlfriend brought friends over without asking, Margaret said, voice trembling.
And what? Its my flat too, isnt it? Andy retorted.
Its my flat! Im the landlady!
Andy sighed, Youre being jealous, Mum.
Jealous? Im not jealous! I just want respect in my own home!
Then respect others as well.
He left, and Margaret stayed, tears threatening.
The next morning she called Lucy again.
I told you this would be a nightmare.
You said thered be enough space for everyone.
I meant physically, not psychologically.
What should I do?
Talk to her. Explain whats bothering you.
She wont listen!
Then go through Andy. Hell mediate.
But Andy was clearly siding with Imogen, leaving Margaret feeling abandoned.
A few days later Imogen showed up in short shorts, blasting music, hogging the bathroom for an hour. Margaret endured it, but the tension kept building.
The breaking point came on a Saturday when Margaret was rolling out pastry dough on the kitchen table. Imogen walked in.
Can I use the table? I need to put my laptop on it.
Im busy, cant you wait?
Its urgent.
Use the bedroom.
The bedrooms where Andy sleeps. I dont want to wake him.
Im baking a cake. I need that table.
Its my table, I decide what happens on it!
Imogen crossed her arms.
Weve already agreed this is a shared flat, so the table is shared too.
No, its my flat, Im the landlady, Im the only one who decides!
Its yours now, but when we get married the flat will be ours too.
What?! Margarets face went pale.
Youll have to move out then, Imogen snapped.
What do you mean, move out?
Imogen: Andy let me stay, not you.
Andy rushed in.
Whats going on?
Your mothers trying to kick me out, Imogen said, eyes wide.
I’m kicking her out! Margaret shouted, breathless. She said the flat will be hers soon!
Andy looked at Imogen.
Did you really say that?
I was just stating a fact, she shrugged. Its obvious the flat will eventually be yours by inheritance.
Imogen, thats inappropriate.
Why? Were adults.
Its my mothers home! As long as shes alive, no one talks about inheritance!
Imogen smirked. Sorry, Mrs. Thompson.
Margaret wiped her tears. Youve already offended me enough.
Andy tried to calm things down. Mum, please, no ultimatums.
Im serious. I cant keep living with someone who thinks she owns the place.
Andy looked torn. What do you want, Mum? You or her?
Margaret retreated to her room, slammed the door, sat on the bed, hugging herself as the tears fell. Shed spent her whole life for Andy, raised him alone, worked herself to the bone. Now he was forced to choose between her and a girl hed known only six months.
From the next room came muffled voices. Andy and Imogen were talking, then everything went quiet.
A soft knock on the door.
Mum, its me. Can I come in?
Come in.
Andy entered, sat on the edge of the bed.
Imogen is packing. Shell leave today.
Really? Margaret asked, heart pounding.
Yes. I talked to her, explained why her behaviour was wrong.
Did she agree?
It took a while, but shes going.
Thank you, Andy. I didnt want to fight you.
I know. Im sorry it got so messy.
Do you love her? Andy asked quietly.
Im not sure, he admitted. I thought I did, but now I see shes selfish.
Maybe shes just young.
I guess youth isnt an excuse for rudeness.
He stood, helped her with the last suitcase. The front door closed, the flat fell silent.
Margaret glanced at the unfinished cake on the table.
Its ruined, she sighed.
Itll be fine. Next time youll bake again.
Andy took her hand.
Im sorry I was selfish.
No, I was too. I reacted too harshly.
Maybe you should think about getting your own place? Margaret suggested gently. Youre an adult, you need your own space.
Andy nodded. Ill look into it. Maybe rent a flat.
Ill help with the deposit if you need.
Thanks, Mum.
They sipped tea together as the streetlights flickered on. The tension eased a little, though both knew the peace was temporary. Andy would eventually meet someone else, maybe get married, and the question of the flat would arise again.
What are you thinking about? Andy asked.
Just life.
Itll be alright. Ill find a place of my own, but Ill still visit you.
Visit, right. Ill keep baking.
Sounds perfect.
The next morning Andy left for work, and Margaret stayed alone, tidying up after Imogen clearing away the extra cosmetics, putting the kitchenware back where it belonged, taking the boxes from the balcony. The flat felt like hers again, but the feeling was bittersweet.
Later that evening Lucy called.
Hows it going?
Imogens gone.
Completely?
Yes. We argued, Andy asked her to leave.
How do you feel?
We won, but I feel empty.
You know shell probably come back eventually, right?
I get it, shell leave when were ready.
Maybe you should have tried to endure a bit longer?
I cant stand how she talked about inheritance.
Perhaps you could have talked to her one more time?
Well see.
Margaret thought back to the first months after moving in together shed been distant, never really tried to befriend Imogen.
Maybe I was too cold, she whispered to herself. But its too late now.
Lucy suggested, Give her a call, try to sort things out.
Margaret hesitated.
It would be selfish to keep her away, but I need peace.
She eventually dialed Imogens number.
Hello? Imogen sounded wary.
Its Margaret. Can we meet?
There was a pause.
Why?
Id like to apologise. I was harsh.
What for?
I didnt give you a chance, I feared losing Andy.
Imogens voice softened.
Im sorry too. I was rude, especially about the flat.
Can we start fresh? Margaret asked.
Im not sure yet, Imogen admitted. I need time.
They agreed to meet at a café the next day.
Margaret arrived early, ordered tea, watched the street. Ten minutes later Imogen walked in, looking tired but sincere.
Good morning.
Morning, Margaret replied, gesturing to a seat.
They talked, Margaret confessed her fears, Imogen admitted her defensive behaviour.
Id like to try again, if youre willing, Imogen said.
I do, on the condition we both respect each others space.
Imogen nodded.
Lets keep in touch, see how it goes.
They left the café hopeful.
Over the next few weeks Andy seemed withdrawn, but Margaret keptAs the evening settled, we each slipped into our own little corner of the flat, sharing a quiet tea and the understanding that love, patience, and a bit of humour would keep the house feeling like home.
