5November
Today the family gathering at my motherinlaws house turned into a showdown I never expected. Simon, my husband Davids brother, arrived with a grin and a loosened belt, shouting for the herring under a coat of beetroot. He praised his mothers cooking, then jabbed at my sisterinlaw Sarah, saying she could only manage shopbought dumplings. Sarah glared at him, but said nothing, only clanged her fork against the plate. The usual Sundaylunch chaos filled the tiny flat: clatter of cutlery, the television murmuring in the background, and the lingering smell of roast.
I nudged the salad bowl toward David, careful not to elbow him. He stared at his bread as if it were a confession, the guilty look I know all too well the one he wears when he forgets the internet bill or scratches the car bumper by accident.
Simon, already piling a massive serving of salad on his plate, announced without pausing: Weve talked with Mom and Sarah and decided a full renovation is overdue. The threebed flat were living in now is falling apartleaking pipes, sparking wiring, and old wallpaper still hanging from the previous owners. The work crew starts next Monday.
I swallowed a sip of compote, feeling the liquid catch in my throat. That sounds like a hefty project, I replied politely, but it will cost a bundle. Congratulations, I suppose.
Exactly! Simon exclaimed, waving his fork. Well be ripping down walls, pouring new floors. Its impossible to live there with kids, dust and cement everywhere. So we thought wed stay with you for a while.
David patted my back, trying to soothe my choking, while the room fell into an uneasy silence broken only by Simons chewing.
I wiped my lips with a napkin and looked straight at Sarah. You mean stay in *our* flat? The twobed we already squeeze into with David?
No, not yours, Simon shrugged as if swatting away a fly. You have that old onebed flat on Maple Avenue, the one Grandma left you. Its empty, right? Well move in there for three or four months while the main place is cleared out.
I placed the napkin down slowly. That flat on Maple Avenue is my own, inherited from my grandmother in a derelict state. For three years I scraped every spare pound into renovating it myself on weekends pulling down old newspapers from the walls, painting, sanding the parquet, installing new lighting. A week ago I finally finished, bought a new sofa, hung curtains, and was ready to rent it out to settle the car loan.
Simon, I said, my voice turning cold, that flat isnt empty. Ive already advertised it and viewings are scheduled for Tuesday.
Oh, youll cancel those, wont you? interjected Nancy, my motherinlaw, adding sugar to the conversation. Family asks, not strangers. Money isnt the problemyou cant earn it all, but a brothers brother is family. Where would they go with two kids, a train station?
Whats the point of a train station? I asked, bewildered. Theres shortterm housing everywhere. The rental market is huge.
Youve seen the prices! Sarah, who had been silent, finally snapped. People on the outskirts are asking £300 a week for a shoddy room! And we still have to buy building materials, pay the crew. Our budget is already stretched to the penny. We cant afford rent when the flat is sitting idle!
Davids face went pale. Olivia, they just asked I said wed discuss it. I didnt promise anything. Its a tricky situation the kids need a good school zone, the area is convenient. Maybe we could let them stay? Theyre not strangers.
My heart thumped. Theyd already plotted behind my back, earmarked my property, and now expected me to hand it over like a side dish.
Fine, I said, sitting up straight. The flat is for rent. I need the £250 monthly payment to finish my car loan. If you, Simon, are willing to pay market rate, Ill give you a family discountbut I wont compromise my mortgage.
Simon stopped chewing, eyes wide with indignation. Youre taking money from your own brother? No conscience? Were doing a massive renovation! We need help, not your rent demands!
I have to pay my loan. My bank cares not for your plaster, I replied.
Nancy banged a ladle against the pot. How shameful, Olivia! I took you in as a daughter, and youre greedy! Sarah and Simon have two children, your nieces and nephews! They need comfort, and youre clinging to your little flat. What will happen to it? They’ll live and then move on.
My little flat, I shot back, has fresh designer work, new appliances, a white sofa. Remember last New Year at your place? The TV was smashed, the hallway wallpaper painted over. Who paid for that? No one theyre kids. I wont let them move into a place I poured my soul and a thousand pounds into.
Simon sprang up. David, did you hear that? Your wife is putting furniture above blood! Who are you, a man or a child? Say something!
David looked helpless. Olivia, maybe maybe theyll be careful. Sarah will watch. Its hard to say no; Mum will be upset.
I stood, grabbed my handbag, and said, Im not comfortable sleeping on the ceiling, David. Deciding what to do with my own property is perfectly fine for me. This conversation is over. My flat isnt a charity. Thank you for the lunch, Nancy it was lovely, but Ive lost my appetite.
I left the flat amid Nancys angry shouts and Sarahs muttering. David rushed after me, pleading, Olivia, wait! Dont be so sudden! Theyre hurt!
Let them be hurt, I snapped. David, get in the car, or stay here and argue that Im a monster.
The drive home was silent; Davids breath was shallow, mine boiled. Later, after the anger settled a bit, David tried again.
We could draw up a contractif anything breaks, theyll replace it.
I laughed, a bitter sound. David, what contract? Your brother cant even repay the £5000 he borrowed for a birthday two years ago. Hell say forgot. Heres a renovation, new appliances. Theyll wreck the place in a week, then claim were family, we have no money. No. Thats final.
The next week turned into a cold war. Nancy called daily, crying, threatening heart attacks, shaming me. Sarah sent nasty messages about greedy Londoners, though she herself had lived in the capital for ten years. Simon simply ignored us, hoping David would bend his stubborn wife.
On Tuesday I showed the flat to a young coupleIT consultantswho loved the bright interior, fast broadband, and the lack of floral wallpaper. They signed the tenancy immediately, paid the deposit and first months rent. I breathed a sigh of relief; now I had concrete proof: The flat is let, people are living in it.
Wednesday night, returning from work, I found the hallway littered with two huge checkered bags, and David and Simon lounging in the kitchen with a halfempty bottle of whisky.
Look whos arrived, the lady of the copper mountain! Simon slurred, already merry. Were celebrating a fresh start.
I stared at David, his eyes guilty yet emboldened by the alcohol. We talked Simon explained the situation. The crew starts demolition tomorrow; they have nowhere to stay. I gave him the spare keys I kept in the nightstand. Theyll just drop off some things, stay with you for a couple of days while they sort the place out. Ill pay any penalty later.
What keys? I asked, voice trembling.
The spare set to your flat, the ones hidden in the cupboard. Dont be angry. Theyll just bring furniture, then move on. I told them youd handle the tenants, cancel the deal, Ill cover the penalty later.
I glared at Simon, who was smirking in his chair. Give me the keys back.
I wont, he laughed. Theyre already with Sarah. Shes off to clean, hang curtains, make the place look presentable. The flat is a mess, you know, white everything, the kids
What? Sarah is in my flat now? I felt my blood run hot.
Exactly. Weve already moved a few boxes. David helped.
I turned to David. You moved their stuff into my flat, knowing Id already let it to tenants? Knowing theyre due to move in tomorrow morning?
David tried to grab my hand; I pulled away. Theyll find another place. Its my brothers family, after all.
I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking, and dialed the police.
Hello, police? I need to report an unlawful entry. I have the title deeds, the keys were stolen. My address is 12 Maple Avenue, Manchester I said, eyes never leaving David.
Simon choked on his whisky. David leapt up, chair toppled over. What are you doing? Who are you calling? This is Sarah!
I dont care who it is, I replied into the handset, Im coming with a locksmith. Evict the intruders.
I hung up and stared at the two men. You have thirty minutes to call Sarah, tell her to clear out before I arrive with the police. If shes still there when they get here, Ill press charges for burglary and theft of keys. And you, David
I paused, looking at the man Id shared five years with. He seemed a stranger, weak and pitiable.
Pack your things. You can go back to your mum, your brother, the stationanywhere. You no longer live in my flat.
David shouted, Olivia, have you lost your mind? Youre destroying a family over concrete! Ill smash your face!
Try it, I stepped toward him. The fury in me made even a sturdy Simon step back. Ill sue you. My lawyers will turn your life into a nightmare. Call your wife now.
Simon snarled into his phone, Sarah? This is chaos! Ive called the police. Get out of there. I had no idea she was
I slipped out of the kitchen, threw on my coat, and headed for the lift. David lunged, grabbing my sleeve. Olivia, forgive me! I was drunk! Cancel the police, please! Dont disgrace us!
You disgraced yourself, David. You stole my keys and gave them to strangers who dont care about me. You betrayed me, I said, slamming the door behind me.
At the flat on Maple Avenue, a police car was already waiting. Sarah sat on the steps, two children scrambling around, knocking over a flowerpot. She screamed into her phone, Your wife is a monster! Ill curse her! Were out here!
I approached the officers, showed my passport and the Land Registry extract I always keep on my phone. Thanks for coming. The occupants have left, but Id like you to check the premises for any damage.
Inside, the damage was obvious: my new white curtains torn, a dark smudge on the sofa where someone had stepped in shoes, crumbs and sticky soda rings on the kitchen table. A young lieutenant asked, Were these your relatives?
No, I replied firmly. Theyre trespassers.
That evening I changed the locks, called an emergency locksmith and paid the triple rate, but I finally slept peacefully, knowing no key would ever open my door again.
The next morning the new tenants called. I explained the brief family incident and offered a discount on the first month for the stained sofa (luckily it was cleanable). They were understanding and moved in.
David tried to return, sleeping in his car under my windows, sending endless bouquets and apologies. Nancy called, wailing that Id broken a mothers heart and left her grandchildren roofless. Simon sent a threatening text about the world being round, but after I forwarded his message to a solicitor friend, he fell silent.
A month later I filed for divorce. In court David looked gaunt and older.
Olivia, cant we just get everything back? he whispered as we waited for the clerk. All because of the flat its absurd.
It isnt about the flat, I said, looking past him. Its about boundaries you couldnt protect, about using family as a shield for your own debts. Thats not absurdits a diagnosis of our relationship.
He tried to sway me with pity about his brothers unfinished renovation and skyhigh rents, but I answered, Their life, their problems. Mine is separate. I want people who respect me.
The judge split the assets quickly: I kept the flat on Maple Avenue and my car; David walked away with his mothers support and his brothers lingering issues. The flat stayed mine, the rent arriving on time, the lock changed, and the house finally felt mine again.
Six months later I sat in a café with a friend, sipping cappuccino, laughing.
Guess what, she said, your ex is still grinding away on that loan he took for the renovation, which never got finished. He lives in a cramped flat, still arguing with his sister. Sarah moved back to her mum, took the kids. And David stays with his mum, hearing every day how bad I was
I smiled, stirring the foam. I dont even feel sorry for them. When I drive past that flat on Maple Avenue, I see the lights on, the plants on the sill, happy tenants. I think, what luck that I didnt stay silent, what luck that I chose myself.
I checked my phonerent for the flat had just been deposited, right on schedule.
To us, the clever and resilient! my friend raised her cup.
And to good locks, I laughed, clinking cups.
