Parents my flat, me a rental? No, love, you get the rental, and I get my freedom!
And here a wardrobe would fit perfectly against that wall, says Margaret Archer dreamily, sweeping her eyes over the sittingroom. We just need to move the armchair; its uncomfortable anyway. Where will you put it, Zoe?
Zoe blinks. She doesnt realise at first that the woman isnt a TV interiordesigner but her motherinlaw, and that here is Zoes own flat the one she bought with her own savings after twentyeight years of freelancing, endless projects, skimping on coffee and on herself.
Ill probably wear it on my head, Zoe answers slowly, rising from the sofa. I didnt catch that. Are you moving in?
Oh, were just talking, Margaret replies with a smile that carries more triumph than warmth. My husband Dennis and I just looked around. Whats the problem? A spacious flat, designer décor. The rented place is cramped, and after Pavels foolish crash hes buried in debts he cant settle. You understand family is family.
The word family slips from Margarets mouth as if Zoe isnt automatically part of that category.
Youre clever, Zoe, youve got an income, you wont fall through. Were old where will we scrabble around in rented corners?
Youre both sixtyfive, Zoe snaps. Youre not even retirees, youre active longevity. Crossword puzzles, weekend trips to the country. What does my flat have to do with that?
Margaret bites her lip, puffs her cheeks in irritation and pulls out her favourite weapon.
By the way, I gave you that husband. Hes the one who supported you when you were in hospital with your anemia. And now his brother is in trouble you turn your back?
When his brother crashed the family car into a lamp post with a stranger in the passenger seat, Zoe manages to keep her voice steady, no one called to ask if we should move in with you while Pavel patches up his moral and credit wounds.
Zoe, Dennis chimes in from the kitchen, pretending to be busy. Were just talking. Parents arent making demands.
Zoe walks to the door and whispers:
While you argue, I live. In my flat. The one you seem intent on turning into a boarding house for the saintly Pavel. That wont happen.
She inhales, holds back a scream, and retreats to the bedroom.
For three days Dennis and she barely speak. He pops in with offers like, Did you need anything from the shop? or Dont forget Mums birthday on Saturday? She nods politely or pretends not to hear. A thick, sticky silence hangs in the flat, not the calm kind but the kind where every wall holds a grudge.
Saturday arrives.
Zoe, Dennis looks out the window as if ready to jump, I know its hard for you. But our parents have no other way out. The bank has a mortgage on Dads name. The flat is on the market. In a month theyll be on the streets, and you
What?
Youre strong. Youll figure something out. We could stay in a shortterm rental for a couple of months, then sort something else.
She first wants to smash a frying pan over his head, then hug him, but finally just asks:
So I have to leave my own home because your parents cant handle their own children again?
Thats not it. You just have more options.
I have more brains. I didnt spread them across strangers cars like your brother, and I didnt let his wife move in without the owners OK, Zoe sneers. Want a tip, Dennis?
What?
Pack your things. And get out with them.
Dennis freezes, the first time in their whole life together. He sees no husband, no protector, just a shadow.
Im not leaving, he breathes. This is my home too.
Bought with my money.
But were family, Zoe. Isnt family about sacrifice?
Sacrifice is when youre asked, not when its forced on you. Do you know the difference between a victim and a fool? The victim still has a choice.
She doesnt scream or cry. She pulls her suitcasehis suitcaseinto the hallway.
You can go wherever you like. Rent a studio, crash at mums, even sleep on your brothers roof. This flat stays mine. You and your greathearted mother can forget the way out.
He walks out, emptyhanded, eyes like a beaten dog, and says as he leaves:
Youll regret this. No one lives alone forever.
She watches him go, thinking: Im not alone. I have myself. You, on the other hand, dont even know who you are with.
That evening a knock sounds at the door. Zoe opens it to find her friend Sally shoving herself in.
Whats wrong with you? Sally hugs her with one arm. Just last week you told me, Sally, hes not that bad. And now?
Zoe pours herself a glass of red wine.
Now hes like his motheralways with a chest of drawers and plans for my bedroom.
Sally bursts out laughing.
You knew his mum was a shrew. Why did you get involved?
He seemed sane.
Seemed is the key word. Zoe, maybe we should head south? Youve got forced leave anyway.
No, Ill stay here. In my flat. With a glass of wine. And when that chest of drawers shows up, Ill hurl it from the balconythird floor style.
Sally laughs, then goes quiet.
What if he comes back?
Zoe watches the wine swirl, replaying the week in her mind.
Then Ill buy a drill and smash the coded lock that only I know.
Saturday, exactly tena.m., Zoe is about to make tea, when a courier from CityMart rings the bell, expecting a blender. She opens the door and freezes.
Standing there is Margaret Archer, suitcase in hand, with PavelDenniss brotherskinny in tracksuits, his face a mix of misery and a hope for a free ride. Beside them is their father, the short, balding Pavel Senior, looking like a pensioner whos been worn out since the late80s.
Good morning, Margaret says as if theyre meeting for tea. Well be short. Just a couple of months while the flat sells.
Zoe says nothing; she has no words left.
Zoe, interjects Pavel Senior, sorry, the situations out of our hands. My sisterinlaw promised to let us stay, but the flats under renovation. Dennis said you wouldnt mind us moving in.
Dennis? Zoe finally finds her voice. Did he say that before or after I threw him out?
You fought? Margaret asks, already stepping inside. We just want a peaceful solution. Dont be angry. Were family.
Family in someone elses flat, flashes through Zoes mind.
Pavel drags his suitcase in, reeking of cigarettes and a garage.
Dont haul it through the doorway, Margaret snaps. Bad luck.
Bad luck is when youre let into a flat, not when you occupy it, Zoe mutters, unheard.
They settle on the sofa; Pavel plops his feet on the coffee table. Pavel Senior inspects the balcony.
Can we smoke here?
You can keep quiet, Zoe replies. And leave quickly.
Margaret unpacks jars of pickles, a bag of buckwheat, and baking tins.
I brought some home comforts so you dont have to fuss. Well live togetherhumanely. I love order, and I have a light hand. Everything grows!
You mean potatoes in the bathroom? Zoe retorts. Or a cactus in a pot? I remember.
No sarcasm, Zoe. Times are hard. You and Dennis need to stick together. Im a mother. I care.
You cared when you forced borscht on us every Sunday even after I asked you not to. You cared when you tried to push me into a new job because teachers have stability. And you certainly cared when you turned up at my door with suitcases unannounced. Thats an invasion, Margaret. Are you waging war?
Pavel chimes in:
Zoe, you know weve got nowhere else. My brother said youre reasonable.
He was wrong. So are you.
Zoe dials Dennis; he answers on the third ring.
Hi. Im in a meeting
Right, meeting. My familys here with suitcases. Your brother, your mum, your dad. Did you tell them Im fine with this?
A long silence stretches like chewing gum on a shoe.
I thought youd sort it out. Youre not cruel. You have a big heart
Yeah, and now theres a big hole. Thats it. Youre free of me and the flat. Good luck. And watch out for your mothers light hand on the shelves.
She hangs up.
By evening Margaret settles in.
Zoe, we thought we could use the bedroom, you stay in the lounge?
No.
Youre alone, were three.
Exactly. Three for one is what Ive been waiting for all my life. Butno.
Youre selfish, Margaret says. A woman should be gentle.
A man should find his own place if hes an adult, or marry a woman with a flat, like my husband.
Youve become spoiled, the motherinlaw snaps. People your age dont live alone.
And you live on other peoples dime. Funny, isnt it?
Monday morning Zoe heads to work thinking only of getting revenge before its too late.
At the reception a security guard, Nina, stops her.
Zoe, a young man came by saying he was from the housing committee. He wanted your number. I didnt give it.
Which committee?
No idea. He was cute, with a backpack. In the backpack a plastic chest of drawers! Can you imagine?
Zoes brain clicks.
Plastic chest of drawers. Margaret Archer. A sign.
That evening she visits her downstairs neighbour, Mrs. Olivia Peters, the evergrumpy pensioner.
Olivia, if you hear shouting, the smell of borscht, call the constable. My relatives are invading.
Invading? Olivia nods. Ill help.
Next morning Zoe summons the constable. He arrives, looking like a tired caretaker.
Good day, he says, eyeing the papers. Theres a claim youre illegally residing here.
How is that illegal? Margaret hisses.
Are you the owner? he asks, scanning the documents.
No but shes my daughterinlaw! Zoe replies, sliding over the paperwork.
Margaret turns as white as a sheet. Pavel hides in the bath. Pavel Senior coughs.
The officer nods.
You have an hour to pack, or well treat this as a squat.
An hour later they leave in silence, no goodbyes.
Margaret throws a parting threat:
Youll learn what loneliness feels like.
Zoe closes the door, sits on the floor and laughs.
Loneliness is living with people who dont hear you. Here the quiet is only broken when the kettle whistles on my command. She stands, walks to her bedroom, and notices a small plastic drawer in the corner, with a note:
To remind you well be back. Love, M.A.
A week passes. The flat is spotless, like a freshly sterilised operating theatre. Zoe enjoys the satisfaction of shutting doors behind her. In the evenings she sips tea in silence, no Pavel on the sofa, no smell of boiled giblets.
Sometimes she catches herself listening to the stairwell, especially on Saturdays, when neighbours whisper that Margaret has moved in with a distant cousin in Birley. The cousins balcony has no windows and a cat with a murderous stare.
She keeps the plastic drawer in the cupboardjust because.
On a Saturday at seven p.m., as Zoe washes glasses for the sake of order, a knock comes.
It isnt them. Not again with the court, the chefs, or another temporary relative. She opens the door.
Dennis stands in new jeans, a bouquet of chrysanthemums like a funeral arrangement, his mother in a furtrimmed coat behind him, face taut as if dragged to a psychiatrist. Beside them a blonde woman with a round belly and dolllike lashes holds a pot of soup.
Zoe exhales.
New show? Or did you decide to introduce someone?
Zoe, Dennis starts, this is Olivia. Were together now, and shes expecting
Whatso fast? Zoe smirks. It hasnt even been a month since you were banished.
Weve known each other for ages, Olivia interjects, just never found the right moment to tell you.
Oh, now that the times right, spill everything. All the way to the last match.
Margaret stands silent, her face a brick wall, only her lips twitch.
Dennis rubs his neck.
Weve been together since last November. I didnt want to break the marriage I thought we might still have something but then you when you threw me out, it became clear
I didnt throw you out. I saved myself. What do you want now?
We want Dennis begins, to sell the flat.
Silence.
Zoe laughs, the kind of laugh you give to con artists at a train station.
Sell this flat? My flat?
But its in both our names he says. We bought it together.
Then we divorced. I bought out your share. Transfer on the app, remember? I have the receipt. You can ask a solicitor, or your new friend if she studied law.
Olivia bites her lip.
We thought youd share fairly.
Of course, Zoe says. Heres a spoon, heres a bowl. Ill share the borscht.
She snatches the pot from Olivias hands, carries it to the hallway, and slams the door, locking it on both bolts.
From the other side Margarets voice echoes:
Zoe, youll regret this! When old age comes youll be alone!
Better alone than with you and your borscht, Zoe retorts.
A week later a court summons arrives, contesting the share purchase. Plaintiff: Dennis Parker.
Zoe sits at the kitchen table, opens the cupboard. The plastic drawer sits like a monument to absurdity. She pulls out the note:
Well be back. Love, M.A.
Oh, youre back, Zoe says. Not for long.
She gathers a folder of bank transfers, the receipt, chat screenshots, photos of Dennis with Olivia from a year ago.
Then the phone rings.
Hello, is this Lara Benson? This is Evelyn Carter. Remember you said youd help if I ever sold? Yes, the time has come. Im sellingnot to you, but to the bank. Mortgage it. Tomorrow, officially.
The hearing lasts twenty minutes. Zoe calmly lays the documents on the desk and says:
I sold the flat yesterday. Here are the papers. The buyer is the bank.
The judge looks at the paperwork, then at Dennis.
Mr. Parker, your claim is dismissed. No grounds to contest. You should be grateful a woman like this ever lived under the same roof.
Zoe doesnt smile; she simply stands.
As she exits, Dennis catches up.
You realize youve left us all homeless?
No, Dennis. You left yourselves. I just closed the door. Outside.
Margaret Archer stands in the courtroom corridor, watching Zoe walk away, then turns and says softly:
You won. Dont get too pleased. We were your family.
Zoe pauses.
We were. But family isnt the people who share a pot. Its the people who share responsibility.
She walks out.
Three months later she lives in a new flat, small but hers. A sign above the shelf reads No entry without invitation. In the corner sits the same plastic drawer, a reminder. She leaves it there. Some things cant be forgotten, but they can be tucked away and the door shut.
