My husband inherited a small flat in the heart of London from his aunt many years ago. It wasnt much to look atrather cramped and badly in need of refurbishmentbut it had its charms, being so close to everything. At the time, we were living comfortably in a spacious three-bedroom house just outside the city, more than adequate for our growing family.
We have three children: our eldest, Alice, is now nineteen and attending university; our older son, Henry, is twelve; our youngest, Oliver, is just five. Each child has enough space, but as the years passed, the question of what to do with the London flat came up more often.
One chilly evening, over tea, my husband and I fell into a heated discussion. I suggested that we could let Alice use the London flat. She was of an age where she might want her independenceperhaps even preparing for marriage in a year or two. My husband, however, thought this grossly unfair to her brothers. He argued that the best course would be to sell the flat and divide the proceeds evenly among the children. I found this notion rather short-sighted; after all, by the time the boys were old enough to make use of their inheritance, the money might not go farperhaps just enough for a second-hand car, and certainly not for a home of their own in a city as costly as London.
I tried to explain, A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. If we offered Alice a roof over her head now, we could still find some way to assist the boys when the time came, perhaps through savings or other means.
My husband grew anxious that giving Alice the flat would sow discord among the siblings, leaving a bitter legacy of resentment. Yet I felt confident the children would work things out; after all, the boys are still too young to grasp the finer points of inheritance, and we have time yet to make provisions for them.
Weve told Alice nothing of these deliberations. There seems little point, as the flat is currently in such a sorry state that no one could possibly live there, and at the moment, we lack the funds for even the most basic renovations.
Looking back on these conversations, I still wonder who was in the rightmyself or my husband? Is it stubbornness for me to persist, or should I see reason and side with him? Or might there be another solution altogether, one that neither of us has considered? Perhaps there are those reading who see a path we have not yet discovered.
