13May
I woke up feeling the weight of another evenings argument pressing against my chest. The flat I bought with twentyeight years of freelance sweat, saved coffees and cheap takeaways, now feels like a battlefield. My motherinlaw, Margaret Hargreaves, stood in the living room, eyes drifting over the cheap sofa and the halffilled bookshelf.
Wouldnt it be nicer if a proper wardrobe stood where that wall unit is? she said, sighing dreamily. Just get rid of that armchair its uncomfortable anyway. Where will you put it, Jenny?
I blinked. It took a moment for the reality to sink in: this wasnt a TV décor show; she was my motherinlaw, and here was my flat the one Id saved for with every penny from my freelance gigs. The thought that she thought it was hers made me grind my teeth.
Maybe Ill just wear it on my head, I replied slowly, rising from the couch. I didnt catch thatare you moving in?
She smiled, a smile that felt more like a triumph than warmth. Were only talking, she said. Dennis and I just looked around. The place is spacious, designerfinished. The rented flat is too cramped, and Paulyour husbandstill cant pay off the debts from his reckless crash. You know how family is supposed to be.
She said family as though I didnt belong to that category.
Youre clever, Jenny, you have your own income, you wont be left out. Were old where are we supposed to crawl around in rented corners? she pressed.
Your age is sixtyfive, I said bluntly. Youre not retirees, youre enjoying an active senior lifecrosswords, trips to the cottage. What does my flat have to do with you?
Margaret pursed her lips, then pulled out her favourite weapon. I gave you the man you married. Hes the one who supported you through your hospital visits for that chronic anemia. And now his brothers in troubleare you turning your back on him?
When his brother smashed a lamppost in Dads car with his wife in the passenger seat, I managed to keep my voice even, no one called to ask if we should move in with you while Paul patches up his moral and financial wounds.
Dennis, who had been pretending to be busy at the kitchen table, chimed in, Were just talking. The parents arent making demands.
I walked to the door, voice low: While youre talking, Im living in my own flatthe one you seem intent on turning into a hostel named after Saint Paul. That wont happen.
I breathed out, trying not to scream, and retreated to the bedroom.
For three days Dennis and I spoke only in halfhearted gesturesDo you need anything from the shop? or Dont forget Mums birthday on Saturday. I nodded politely, but a thick, sticky silence settled over the flat, a silence that hid resentment in every wall.
Saturday arrived, and Dennis looked out the window as if ready to jump. I know its hard for you, Jenny, but the parents have no other choice. The bank has put a charge on Dads name. The flat is already on the market. In a month theyll be on the street. And you?
What?
Youre strong, youll find a place. We could stay in a rented spot for a couple of months, then figure something out.
I wanted to hurl a frying pan at him, then hug him, but finally I asked, So I have to leave my own home because your parents cant handle their own children again?
Its not like that, he said. You just have more options.
My brain isnt a piece of junk you can toss around like your brothers car, I snapped. I wont let my husbands sister move in without my sayso. Want a tip, Dennis? Pack your things and leave.
He frozefor the first time in our years togetherunable to answer. In his face I saw not a husband, but a vague shadow.
I wont go, he whispered. This is still my homebought with my money.
But were family, Jenny. Isnt family about sacrifice?
Sacrifice is when youre asked to give up, not when youre forced into it. Do you know the difference between a victim and a fool? The victim still chooses.
I didnt scream or cry. I hauled my own suitcasehis suitcaseinto the hallway. You can go wherever you like, rent a onebed flat, crash at Mums, even sleep on your brothers roof. This flat stays mine. You, your mother, and her sideboard can forget the way back.
He left, eyes like a beaten dog, and muttered, Youll regret this. No one lives alone forever.
I watched him go and thought: Im not alone; I have myself. He, on the other hand, has no idea who he truly is.
Later that evening a knock sounded. I opened the door to find my old friend Sally, arms winding around me. Whats with you, love? Just last week you told me Paul wasnt so bad. Now what?
I poured a glass of red wine. Now hes just like his motherfull of cupboards and plans for my bedroom.
Sally laughed. You knew his mum was a fury. Why did you get involved?
I thought he was sane.
Sanekey word. Want to head south? Youve got a forced holiday now.
Im staying put. In my flat. With a glass of wine. When her sideboard shows up, Ill throw it off the balcony from the third floor myself.
Sally giggled, then fell silent. And if he comes back?
I stared at the wine, replaying the week. Then Ill buy a drill and smash the coded lock Im the only one who knows.
Saturday at ten oclock, just as I was making tea and steeling myself for a day without men, relatives, or their furniture fantasies, there was another knock. I imagined a delivery from Tesco, maybe a blender.
I opened the door and froze. Margaret Hargreaves stood there, suitcase in hand, with PaulDenniss brotherleaning behind her, thin, in tracksuits, his face a mix of misery and hungry hope. Beside them, their father, Paul Hargreaves Sr., short, balding, looking like a pensioner whose life went offtrack in 87.
Good morning, Margaret said, as if wed arranged a tea. Well only be here a few months while the flat sells.
I said nothing; I simply stared.
Jenny, Paul Sr. interjected, sorry about the situationout of our hands. Your aunt and I have agreed, shell let us stay for a bit, but the flat is under renovation. Dennis said you wouldnt mind us staying.
Dennis? I finally found my voice. Did he say that before or after I kicked him out?
Did you have a fight? Margaret asked, stepping over the threshold. We just want a peaceful solution. Dont be angry. Were family.
Family in someone elses flat, I thought.
Paul began hoisting his suitcase, the smell of cigarettes and an old garage clinging to him.
Dont carry it over the threshold, Margaret snapped. Bad luck.
Its a bad omen to move in before youre invited, I whispered, though no one seemed to hear.
They settled. Paul flopped onto the sofa, his feet on the coffee table. Paul Sr. inspected the balcony. Can we smoke here?
Here we can stay silent, I retorted. And leave quickly.
Margaret unpacked a jar of pickles, a bag of bulgur, and some cake tins. I brought a few things so you dont have to worry. Well live togetherhumanely. I love order, and my hand is light. Everything grows!
This about potatoes in the bathroom? I snapped. Or a cactus in a teapot? I remember.
Jenny, no sarcasm, she pleaded. Times are hard for everyone. You and Dennis should stick together. Im a mother. It matters to me.
You cared when you forced borscht on us every Sunday despite my pleas not to come. You cared when you suggested I change jobs 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?
Paul chimed in, Jenny, you know we have nowhere else. Your brother said youre understanding.
My brother was wrong. So are you, I said, dialing Denniss number. He answered after three rings.
Hey, 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, uncomfortable silence hung, like chewing gum stuck to a shoe.
I thought youd sort it out. Youre not cruel; you have a big heart
Okay, theres a huge hole now. Youre freeof me, of this flat. Good luck elsewhere. Remember, your mums light hand loves the pantry shelves.
I hung up.
By evening Margaret suggested, Could we stay in the bedroom? You use the lounge?
No.
Im alone, you three are together.
Exactly. Three for onethats the nightmare Ive been waiting for my whole life. Butno.
Youre selfish, she said. A woman should be gentle.
A man should rent his own place if hes an adult. Or marry a woman with a flat, like my husband did.
Youre greedy, she snapped. At your age people dont live alone.
At your age you live off someone elses money. Funny, isnt it?
Monday morning I headed to work with one thought: smoke them all before its too late.
At reception a security guard, Nina, stopped me. Jenny, a young man came by saying he was from the housing commission. He asked for your number. I didnt give it.
Which commission?
Dont ask. He was handsome, had a backpackinside was a plastic sideboard! Can you imagine?
A plastic sideboard. Margaret. A sign.
That evening I knocked on neighbour Olives door, the perpetually disgruntled pensioner downstairs. Olive, if you hear shouting, a whiff of borscht, call the police. Relatives of my exhusband want to move in.
Bastards, she grunted. Ill help.
The next morning I summoned a constable. He arrived, looking like a tired council worker. Good afternoon, maam. Theres a report youre living in the flat illegally.
Illegal? Margaret shrieked.
Are you the owner? he asked, flipping through papers.
No but this is my daughterinlaw!
Its already exdaughterinlaw, I replied, sliding the documents across the desk.
Margaret turned as white as a sheet. Paul hid in the bathroom. Paul Sr. gagged.
The officer nodded. You have an hour to clear out, or well treat this as unlawful occupation.
We left in silence, no goodbyes, just the rustle of the door.
Margaret hissed, Youll understand how lonely it feels later.
I closed the door, sat on the floor and laughed. Loneliness is living with people who dont hear you. Now the house is quiet, and the kettle only boils when I decide.
I got up, entered the bedroom, and saw a small plastic sideboard in the corner with a note: So you rememberwell be back. Love, M.H.
A week later the flat gleamed like a freshly sterilised operating theatre. Id learned to lock doors with a quiet satisfaction. Evening tea was my companion, no Paul on the sofa, no lingering smell of boiled entrails.
Sometimes I caught myself listening to the stairwell, especially on Saturdays, when neighbours whispered that Margaret had moved in with a distant cousin in Birley. There was a balcony without double glazing and a cat with a murderous stare.
I kept the sideboard in the cupboardjust in case. A reminder that some things you cant forget, only tuck away.
Saturday, seven oclock, I was polishing glasses for nothing more than order when a knock sounded. I braced myself, hoping it wasnt another legal summons.
Dennis stood there, jeans fresh, a bouquet of chrysanthemums like a funeral wreath. Behind him his mother, wrapped in a furcollared coat, face taut as if forced onto a psychiatric ward. Beside them a blonde woman, roundbodied, lashes like a dolls, carrying a pot of borscht.
I exhaled. New drama? Or are you just introducing me?
This is Olivia, Dennis began. Were together now. Shes expecting
Whatso fast? I smiled dryly. Its barely a month since you were banished.
We met ages ago, Olivia interjected, just never found the right moment to tell you.
Oh, now that the moments right, spill it all, I said, as if addressing a courtroom.
Margaret stood, stonefaced, lips twitching.
Dennis rubbed his neck. Olivia and I have been together since last November. I didnt want to break the marriage I thought maybe we still had a chance but when you threw me out, it became clear
I didnt throw you out. I saved myself. What do you want now?
We want to sell the flat, he started.
Silence.
I laughed, the kind of laugh you hear from a con artist at a train station. Sell this? My flat? The one we bought together?
But its in both our names, he protested. We bought it as a married couple.
And we divorced. I bought out your share. Remember the bank transfer? I have the receipt. You can ask a solicitor, or perhaps your new friend who studied law?
Olivia bit her lip. We thought youd share
Sure, I said, handing her a spoon. Heres a bowl. Ill share the borscht.
I carried the pot outside, set it on the mat, and slammed the door, locking both bolts.
Margarets voice floated from the hallway: Jenny, youll regret this! When old age comes, youll be alone!
Better alone than with you and your borscht, I shouted back.
The court summons arrived the following week. The claim: contesting the sale of my share. Plaintiff: Dennis Peters.
I sat at the kitchen table, opened the cupboard, and found the plastic sideboard with its note: Well be back. Love, M.H. I smirked. Come back, youll only stay a short while.
I gathered my paperworkbank statements, the receipt, emails, photos of Dennis and Olivia from last yearand placed them neatly on the desk.
A call came. Hello, MsKemp? This is Laura from the property firm. Remember you said youd help if I ever wanted to sell? The time has come. I can arrange a purchase through the bank, mortgage, everything tomorrow.
The hearing lasted twenty minutes. I placed the documents before the judge, who glanced at Dennis, then at me.
MrPeters, the claim is dismissed. No grounds for contest. You should be grateful a woman of this calibre even lived with you.
I didnt smile; I simply rose. As I left, Dennis lunged after me.
You realize youve left us all homeless? he hissed.
No, Dennis. You evicted yourselves. I just closed the door.
Margaret lingered in the courtroom corridor, eyes downcast. When she saw me, she turned away, then whispered, You won, but dont celebrate. We were your family.
I paused. Family isnt the people who share a pot. Its the people who share responsibility.
Three months later I live in a modest new flat of my own. On the wall hangs a sign: No entry without invitation. In the corner sits the tiny plastic sideboard, a quiet reminder.
Some things you cant erase, only set aside. And sometimes thats enough.
