Youll take over the mortgage. You have to help! We raised you and bought you a flat, my mum said.
Oh, youve become such a stranger Mum poured the tea, weaving between the cooker and the table, following the same path she always had. You come round once a month, and thats if Im luckyand you only stay two hours at best.
Dad sat in front of the TV. Hed turned the volume down but hadnt switched it off. Footballers ran across the screen; he pretended not to listen but still glanced over when they replayed the goals.
Im working, Mum I cupped the mug in both hands to warm my fingers. I’m at work nearly every day until nine. By the time I get here and back, its nearly midnight.
Everyone works. Doesnt mean you forget your family.
It was getting dark outside. The kitchen was lit only by the lamp over the table, leaving the corners in shadow. There was a cabbage pie on the tableMum always baked one when I visited.
The funny thing is, Ive hated boiled cabbage since I was a child. Still, I never managed to tell her.
Its lovely, I lied, taking a sip of tea.
She smiled, pleased with herself.
Then she sat across from me and placed her hands on the tableher old signal for important conversation. Shed done the same thing when I got saddled with my first mortgage, and when shed convinced me to break things off with someone she deemed not right for me.
Your sister rang me yesterday, she said.
Hows she getting on?
Shes tired halls are noisy sharing a room with others. She says she cant study, tries the library, but sometimes there arent any seats. Sometimes she just sits in the corridor on the windowsill
I nodded. I could see where this was going.
Mum always approached things from a distanceslowly, drip by drip, until she reached the point.
I feel so sorry for her she sighed. Shes trying, working hard, on a scholarship but the conditions are terrible.
I know shes written to me, too.
Mum went quiet, then lowered her head as if about to confide a secret.
Me and your father have been talking she lowered her voice. She needs a place of her own. Even something small, just a studio or something. Her own corner, where she can study in peace, get a proper nights sleep. She cant go on like this
I gripped my mug harder.
What do you mean, a place?
Not a big flat, she waved her hand dismissively. A small studio flat. You get cheap ones. Well find something. About three hundred thousand pounds, thereabouts.
I stared straight at her.
And how do you see that working?
She glanced at Dad. He cleared his throat and turned the TV down further.
We went to the bank, she sighed. Spoke to one adviser, then another they said weve no chance. We’re too old, incomes too low. No one will approve us for a mortgage.
Then she said exactly what Id been expecting:
But youll be approved. Youve got a good salary, youve been paying your mortgage for six years without a single missed payment. Flawless record. A second mortgagetheyll give it to you, no trouble. Well help with the payments just until your sister gets on her feet. Once she starts working, shell take it over herself.
Something inside me tightened, like all the air had been sucked from the room.
Well help.
Id heard that exact promise six years ago. Same table, same lamp, same pie.
Mum Im barely getting by as it is
Oh, come off it. Youve got your own place, a steady job. What more do you want?
I have a place, but no life, I said quietly. For six years Ive been on this hamster wheelwork late every day, sometimes weekends, just to make ends meet. Im twenty-eight, and I cant even go on a proper dateeither Im too tired or too skint. My mates are all married with kids, and here I am, alone and exhausted.
She looked at me as if I were being dramatic.
You always did exaggerate.
Mum, another mortgage I cant get on my own two feet as it is.
She pressed her lips together, worrying at the tablecloth as though the problem were hidden in the threads instead of in her words.
We helped you, didnt we? Sold your nans cottage for your deposit. Were your family, not strangers.
Id reached my limit.
Mum that was my share of the inheritance.
Her face changed.
What do you mean, your share?! Its all family money. We did it for you. We ran round the solicitors and the banks!
You used my money and for six years you keep telling me how much youve done for me.
Dad finally turned away from the TV. His stare was heavy.
So, whatyoure keeping score now? Have your parents become strangers?
Im not keeping score Im just telling the truth.
He slapped his palm on the tablesoftly, but enough to make a chill run down my spine.
The truth is, we bought you that flat and now you wont help your own sister. Shes your flesh and blood, in case youve forgotten.
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to speak calmly.
You didnt buy me a flat. The mortgage is in my name. You used my inheritance. The first couple of years, you helped with the odd ten or fifteen grandthen you stopped. Ive been paying it alone for six years. And now you want me to take on another mortgage as well.
Well pay for it, my mother said with the patience of someone explaining to a child. You dont have to do anything, just sign for it.
And me when will I ever be able to stand on my own?
Silence.
Even the TV fell quietthe adverts had started. Dad turned his back on me again.
Mum looked at me as though Id said something shameful.
Im going, I said, picking up my bag.
Wait just sit with us a bit longer she said, trying to persuade me. Talk to us, properly
Im tired, Mum.
I left without looking back.
The pie went untouched.
On the landing, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes.
My phone buzzeda mate checking in.
Whereve you been? Werent we meant to meet up?
I was at my parents
How did it go?
I paused for a second.
Awful. They want me to take out another mortgage. For my sister.
What?! You havent finished paying off the first one!
Exactly. They say the bank will give me another loan because Ive always paid on time. They think theyll help until my sister gets herself sorted
Thats a trap, she said. Classic. Youll end up paying. All of it.
I squeezed my phone.
I know
She told me about relatives whod been caught the same waypressured to sign, promised itd be fine, and nearly lost their home.
Finally she said, Youre allowed to say no. Its not selfishsometimes its the only way to survive.
I sat on a bench outside the flats and just breathed.
For the first time in ages, I just sat there. Ten minutes. Not running anywhere.
Numbers went round my head.
The first mortgagea set amount every month, for nine more years.
If I took another double that.
Id be left with hardly anything for food.
Id be working just to pay my debts.
Not to live.
Three days later, Mum turned up at my flat without warning.
Early morning, while I was getting ready for work.
Ive brought you some cakes, she said, smiling. Can we please just talk, calmly, without your father here?
I let her in.
Put the kettle on.
Left the cakes on the side, unopened.
She sat and began: I couldnt sleep all night you have to understand me. Your sisters young. Shes not independent. But youre strong. Youre reliable.
I looked at her and for the first time said what Id never had the courage to say.
Mum Im not strong. I just dont have a choice.
She waved her hand.
Youve got everything. A flat. A stable job. Your sister has nothing.
At that, I pulled out a notebook.
Opened the page where I had added everything up down to the last penny.
Lookmy pay, mortgage, bills, food, transport. Theres almost nothing left. If I fall ill or something breaks, its game over.
Mum brushed the notebook aside as if it were a bothersome fly.
Youre just putting that down on paper. Real lifes different. Things have a way of working out.
That way is my life, Mum. Six years. Six years without a break. No new clothes. No nothing. My friends go on holidays, and I work overtime during my annual leave to make a buffer.
She raised her voice.
We promised wed pay!
You said that last time too.
Her eyes flashed.
So youre blaming me?!
No. Im just telling the truth.
She jumped from her chair.
We raised you! Educated you! Bought you a place to live!
Im not saying you didnt raise me. Im saying I just cant do any more.
She said coldly, Cant or wont?
And then, for the first time, I looked her straight in the eye, unflinching.
I dont want to.
She went silent.
Her face turned blotchy red.
Right, I see So your sisters nothing to you now? We mean nothing. Fine. Remember that.
She grabbed her bag and stormed out.
The door slammed so hard the mirror in the hallway rattled.
I stayed in the kitchen.
The cakes sat on the table, unwanted, still boxed up, as if they were a bribe.
That evening, I messaged my sister:
Hey. Can I come see you on Saturday?
She answered quickly:
Yes! Come over!
And off I went.
I wanted to see for myself the awful situation Mum kept describing.
The halls were well, basic.
Cramped. Yes.
Noisy. Sometimes.
But tidy. Organised.
My sister certainly wasnt a victim.
She hugged me, laughing: Why didnt you warn me you were coming? I wouldve tidied up!
I looked aroundseveral beds, some shelves, one table. Her photos on the wall, plus a string of fairy lights. She was making it as homely as she could.
We sat and talked.
Then I asked her, Did you talk to Mum about this flat?
She looked surprised.
Yeah but I thought theyd sort it. Not you
They cant. They want me to take it out.
Her expression changed.
Waita secondarent you still paying your own mortgage?
Yeah.
How much is your payment?
I told her.
She gasped.
I had no idea Mum never said it was that hard for you
And then, my sister set me free:
Im not asking for anything. Honestly. Im fine here. Ive got mates. Been seeing someone, actually. If I need helpIll get a part-time job and handle it myself.
I looked at her and I didnt know whether to laugh or cry.
All that time, Id been made to believe she was helpless
But she was just a convenient excuse.
On the way home, I stared out the train window, and for the first time, I didnt feel guilty.
My sister would be fine.
Shes not a child.
Shes not powerless.
And as for me I was done paying for other peoples decisions.
I called my mum.
I saw my sister.
And?! Did you see how shes living?!
Mum shes not suffering. Shes alright. She doesnt want me to do anything.
Mum sniffed, Shes a child. She doesnt understand! Too proud to complain, thats what it is!
I made myself clear, Mum Im not taking out the mortgage.
Her voice went cold, unfamiliar.
So you dont trust your parents? We said wed pay!
You said that before.
Stop repeating yourself!
Im not. I just dont want to destroy myself.
Then she started shouting:
That I was ungrateful
That I was a traitor
That family stuck together no matter what
That one day Id need help and would remember this
She hung up.
Dad stopped answering my calls as well.
My texts went unanswered.
Silence descended.
And I was alone.
I cried.
Yes.
A lot.
Cried from pain, not guilt.
Because when they say:
Youre with us or against us
That isnt love.
Thats control.
And in the middle of the night, in the dark, I finally realised:
Sometimes, saying no
Isnt betrayal.
Sometimes no is the only way to save yourself.
Because life is long.
And if I have to live it
Ill live mine,
Not someone elses, not the version written by my parents.
Do you think a child owes their parents forevereven if it destroys them?
