Youll take over the mortgage. You have to help! said my mother, her words floating through the air like bubbles. We raised you, we bought you this flat.
She poured tea, drifting between the cooker and the table as if following the grooves of an old record. Youre like a stranger lately. Once a month, two hours at best.
My father sat in front of the telly, sound barely audible. Footballers scurried across the screen; he pretended not to notice but kept watching the slow-motion replays of goals.
Mum, I work nearly every day until nine. By the time I get here and back, its gone midnight.
Everyone works. You dont forget your family.
Outside, dusk was gathering. Only the lamp above the table lit the kitchen, leaving corners blurred into shadow. There was a cabbage pie waiting on the table; she always baked it for my visits.
Funny thingever since childhood, Ive loathed boiled cabbage.
But I never figured out how to say that.
Tastes lovely, I lied, sipping my tea.
She smiled, pleased.
Then, she sat across from me, folding her hands in that way she always did to summon important conversations. It was the same posture she took when convincing me to take my first mortgage, and when persuading me not to date someone unsuitable.
Your sister called yesterday, she said.
Hows she doing?
Tired noisy halls, cramped room with others. Says she cant study, goes to the library but there arent always seats. Sometimes just sits by the windowledge in the corridor
I nodded. I could sense where this was sailing.
Mum always poured her stories drop by drop, circling the topic until it welled up at my feet.
I do worry for her, she sighed. Shes trying hard, gets by on her grant, but her living conditions are dreadful.
I know she messaged me.
She paused, lowered her voice as if sharing a secret in church.
Your dad and I have discussed She needs her own place. Just a small studio. Somewhere to sleep properly, to study in peace. She cant go on like this
I clutched my mug tighter.
What do you mean, her own place?
Not a big flat Mum waved her hand as if dusting away my concern. A little studio. Theyre aroundthree hundred thousand pounds will do.
I stared at her.
And how exactly do you plan to manage that?
She shot a glance at dad, who coughed and muted the telly.
We went to the bank, she exhaled. Spoke to one chap then another No luck. Too old, income too low. They wont approve us.
And then she spoke the words Id known were coming: But they’ll approve you. You have a good salary. Youve paid your mortgage for six yearsnever a missed payment. Perfect credit. Second mortgagetheyll give it to you, no bother. Well help, until your sister gets on her feet. Then shell work and pay her share.
Inside me, something shrunk, as if all the air had been sucked from the room.
Well help.
Those same words, six years ago, at the same table, under the same lamp, with the same pie.
Mum Im barely getting by as it is
Oh, enough. Youve got your place, your job. What else do you want?
I have a flat but I have no life, I replied softly. Six years Ive run like a hamsterlate nights at work, sometimes weekends, never enough money. Im twenty-eight, still cant manage a proper dateno energy, no funds. Friends are married, with kids. Im alone and always exhausted.
Mum looked at me as if I were making a drama out of nothing.
You do love to exaggerate.
Mum, how can I take on a second mortgage? I can barely stand on my own now.
She pursed her lips, smoothing the tablecloth, as though straightening it might scrub away my words.
We helped you sold grandmas cottage for your deposit. Were not strangers.
And I couldn’t hold it any longer.
Mum that was my share of the inheritance.
Her face shifted.
What your share? Its all family! We did everything for youchased forms, dealt with the banks!
You put my money inand for six years, kept telling me how you helped.
Dad finally looked away from the TV and his gaze pressed upon me, heavy.
Are you keeping score now? Are your parents strangers to you?
Im not keeping score. Im telling the truth.
He rapped the table with his handnot hard, but enough to send a chill through me.
The truth is, we bought you a flat, now you wont help your own sister. Shes your family, in case youve forgotten.
I swallowed a lump, forcing myself to sound calm.
You didnt buy me a home. The mortgage is in my name. You used my inheritance. First two years, you helped out now and againten thousand, fifteen. Then you stopped. Ive paid every month for six years. And now you want me to take on ANOTHER mortgage.
Well pay! Mum repeated, gently, as if soothing a child. You just need to get it.
And when when do I get my chance to breathe?
Silence.
The telly fell quiet with an advert. Dad turned his back on me again.
Mum looked at me, as if Id said something shameful.
Im off, I said, grabbing my bag.
Waitstay a bit talk like a proper person
Im tired, Mum.
I left without turning back.
The pie sat untouched.
On the stairwell, I leaned against the wall, eyes closed.
My phone buzzeda friend.
Whereve you disappeared to? Werent we supposed to meet?
I was at my parents
Howd it go?
A pause.
Awful. They want me to take out another mortgage for my sister.
What? But you havent paid off the first one!
Exactly. They reckon the bank will give it to me because I pay on time. Theyll help pay until my sister gets a job
Its a trap, she said. Pure and simple. Youll be paying it all yourself. Forever.
I gripped the phone.
I know
She told me then about her own relativeshow they tried something similar: wanted a signature, promised itll be alrightand nearly lost their home.
She finished with, You have every right to say no. Thats not selfishness. Its survival.
I sat on a bench outside my block and breathed. For the first time in ages, I sat just sofor ten minutesnot rushing.
Numbers spun in my head.
First mortgageX per month.
Nine years left.
A second mortgagedouble that.
Id have just enough for bread and little else.
Id be living to pay, not paid to live.
Three days later, Mum turned up unannounced.
Morning, early, as I was getting ready for work.
I brought you pastries, she smiled. Want to talk. Just us.
I let her in, put the kettle on.
The pastries remained boxed.
She took a seat.
I havent slept all night You must understand. Your sisters still young. Cant fend for herself. But youre strong. We can rely on you.
I watched her and said the thing Id never dared:
Mum Im not strong. I just have no choice.
She waved her hand.
Youve got everything. A flat, a job. Your sister has nothing.
I pulled out my notebook, opened to the page where every penny was counted.
Lookmy salary, the mortgage, bills, food, travel. Almost nothing left over. If I get sick or something breaks, Im done.
Mum swatted away the notebook, as if batting a fly.
Youre putting numbers on paper. Lifes not like that. Youll find a way, you always do.
That way is my life. Six years I havent had a break, no new clothes, nothing. My friends go to the seaside, I work extra shifts to build a buffer when I take time off.
She raised her voice.
We promised wed help!
So did you last time.
Her eyes flashed.
Youre blaming me?!
No. Telling the truth.
She jumped up.
We raised you! Paid for your schooling! Got you a flat!
Im not denying that. Im saying I cant anymore.
Mum spoke with a chill:
Cant or wont?
And for the first time, I held her gaze and said,
I wont.
Silence.
Then her face coloured in mottled red.
So thats it Your sisters a stranger, we mean nothing. Fine. Remember this.
She snatched up her bag and swept out.
The door slammed so hard the hall mirror rattled.
I remained in the kitchen.
The pastries sat on the tableunwanted, boxed, like a bribe.
That evening I messaged my sister:
Hey. Can I visit Saturday? Sound okay?
She answered right away:
Brilliant! Come round!
So I went.
I wanted to see with my own eyes the horror Mum talked of.
The halls were ordinary.
Cramped. Yes.
Noisy, sometimes.
But clean, tidy.
And my sister didnt look the least bit like a victim.
She hugged me, laughing.
You never said you were coming! Id have tidied up!
I looked aboutbeds, cupboards, a table. Photos, string of fairy lights. She made it cosy.
We sat, we talked.
And then I asked,
Did Mum talk to you about the flat?
She looked surprised.
Yes but I thought theyd sort it out. Not you
They cant. They want me to do it.
Her face changed.
Hang on are you still paying your own mortgage?
Yes.
How much is it?
I told her.
She gaped.
I had no idea Mum never said you were struggling.
And then she said the thing that set me free.
Im not asking for anything. Really. Im doing fine. Ive got mates. Even met a bloke recently. Its all good fun. If I need to, Ill get a part-time job and take care of myself.
I looked at her, wondering whether to laugh or cry.
All these years, Id been made to believe she was helpless
But shed just been a convenient excuse.
On the train home, I peered through the window and, for the first time, felt no guilt.
My sister would be alright.
Shes not a child.
Not helpless.
And I I wouldnt pay for anyone elses decisions anymore.
I rang Mum.
I visited my sister.
And?! Did you see how she lives?!
Mum shes fine. Not suffering. Shes not asking for anything.
Mum snorted.
Shes a child. What does she know!? Shes too proud to complain!
I said, clear and calm:
Mum Im not taking the mortgage.
Her voice turned cold, unfamiliar.
So you dont trust your parents? We said wed pay!
You said that before.
Stop repeating that!
Im not. I just dont want to destroy myself.
She started shouting
That I was ungrateful
A traitor
That family never abandons their own
One day, Id need help and remember this.
She hung up.
Dad wouldnt answer either.
Messages left on read.
A heavy silence fell.
I was alone.
I cried.
Yes.
A lot.
I cried out of hurt, not guilt.
Because when someone says
Youre either with us, or against us
it isnt love.
Its control.
And in the dark, at night, I understood:
Sometimes, to say no isnt betrayal.
Sometimes, no is the only salvation.
Because life is long.
And if I have to live it
Ill live my own,
not a script my parents wrote.
And what do you thinkis a child forever obliged to pay back their parents, even if it undoes them?
