Youll have to take on the mortgage. Youre obliged to help! my mother said. We brought you up and we bought you a home.
Oh, how you change, acting like a stranger Mum poured tea, fussing between the cooker and the table along the same old route. You only come round once a month, and only for a couple of hours at that.
My father sat in his armchair, fixed on the television. Hed lowered the volume, though not turned it off. Footballers sprinted across the screen; he pretended not to listen, but glanced up at the goals when they replayed.
I have to work, Mum I cupped the mug in both hands, trying to warm my chilled fingers. Most days Im at the office till nine. By the time I get here and then get home again its nearly midnight.
Everyone works. Family isnt something you forget. She sighed.
Outside, dusk pressed against the windows. The only light in the kitchen came from the bulb above the table, leaving the corners in gloom. There was a cabbage pie on the tableMum always made it when I visited.
The funny thing is, Ive hated boiled cabbage since I was little.
But somehow, I never learnt how to tell her.
Its lovely, I lied, sipping my tea.
She smiled, pleased.
Then she sat across from me, hands flat on the tableshe always did this for the serious talks. Like when theyd lumbered me with my first mortgage. Like when theyd persuaded me to end things with the man who wasnt right for me.
Your sister rang last night, she said.
How is she?
Tired staying in halls, its noisy shes sharing a room with two others. Says its impossible to study, and the librarys always packed. Sometimes she has to work on the window ledge in the corridor
I nodded. I could see where this was heading.
Mum always approached things from a distance, drip by drip, until she finally arrived at what she really wanted to say.
Its hard for her Mum sighed. She does her best, works so hard, and shes on a student grant but the conditions are dreadful.
I know, I replied quietly. Shes written to me.
She fell silent, then leaned in as if she was about to share some secret.
Your father and I have been talking Her voice grew softer. She needs her own place. A little one. Even a studio flatsomewhere she can have her own space, study in peace, and actually sleep. She cant go on like this
I tightened my grip on my mug.
What do you mean by her own place?
Oh, not a full-size flat or anything Mum waved her hand. A tiny studio. Theyre out there, and we could find something. About £80,000 or so
I looked her straight in the eye.
And how exactly do you think youll manage that?
Mum glanced at Dad. He coughed slightly and turned the TV down even more.
Weve spoken to the bank, she said at last, defeated. To this adviser and that one Theres no chance. Were too old, our incomes too low they wont approve us.
And then she said what I already knew was coming:
But theyll approve you. Youve got a good salary, youve paid your mortgage for six years nownot a single late payment. Spotless record. A second mortgage? Theyll have no problem lending to you. Well help out with payments until your sister finds her feet. Once she gets a job, shell pay her own way.
Inside, I felt something sinka familiar suffocating pressure.
Well help out.
That was exactly what Id heard six years ago. At the same table. Under the same light. With the same pie.
Mum Im barely managing even now
Oh, come off it. Youve got a home, youve got a job. What more do you want?
Yes, I have a home but no life, I whispered. Six years on a treadmillworking late every day, sometimes weekends, just to make ends meet. Im twenty-eight and I cant even go out on a proper dateeither Im too tired or Im skint. My friends are married with children Im alone, always exhausted.
Mum looked at me as if I was being melodramatic.
You always make a drama out of things.
Mum, a second mortgage I havent even managed to sort myself out yet.
She pursed her lips and began smoothing the tablecloth, as if the real issue lay in its creases rather than her words.
We did help you, you know sold Grans cottage for your deposit. Were not strangers.
Finally, I couldnt hold back anymore.
Mum that was my share of the inheritance.
Her face hardened.
What do you mean, your share? Its all family. Everything we do, we do for you. We dealt with all the paperwork and banks!
You used my money and for six years Ive heard how you helped me.
Dad finally turned from the TV. His gaze weighed heavy on me.
So, whatare you keeping tabs now? Are we strangers to you too?
Im not keeping tabs, Dad. Im telling the truth.
He smacked his palm lightly on the tablebut it was enough to send a chill through me.
The truth is, we bought you a flat, and now you wont help your own sister. Shes your flesh and blood, if youve forgotten.
A lump formed in my throat but I forced myself to stay calm.
You didnt buy me a flat. The mortgage is in my name. You put my inheritance towards the deposit. For the first two years, you chipped in here and therelow thousands, sometimes less. Then you stopped. For the last six years, Ive done it alone. And now you want me to take on another mortgage.
Well pay! said Mum, with patient reassurance, as if I were a child. You dont have to do anything except sign.
And me? When do I finally get to live?
Silence.
Even the TV had gone quietan ad break. Dad turned his back on me.
Mum looked at me as if Id said something shameful.
Im off, I said, grabbing my bag.
Wait stay a bit longer, she pleaded. Lets talklike decent people
Im tired, Mum.
I left without looking back.
The pie sat untouched.
Out on the landing I leant against the wall and closed my eyes.
My phone vibrateda friend.
Where did you disappear to? Werent we meeting up?
I was at my parents
How was it?
I hesitated a beat.
Horrible. They want me to take on another mortgage. For my sister.
But you havent even finished your first!
Exactly. They say the bank will lend to me because Ive always paid on time. Theyll pay until my sisters sorted
Thats a trap, she said bluntly. Trust me, youll end up paying every penny.
I clenched my phone.
I know
She told me about her own relativeshow theyd been promised it would all be fine if they just signed, how in the end they nearly lost their home.
And then she said:
Youre allowed to say no. Thats not selfishness. Thats survival.
I sat on a bench outside the estate and, for the first time in ages, just breathed. For ten whole minutes I did nothing at all.
Numbers swirled in my head.
The first mortgageso much per month.
Nine more years to go.
If I took on another, Id barely have money left for groceries.
Id work just to pay bills.
Not to live.
Three days later, Mum arrived unannounced.
Early morning. I was just about to leave for work.
I brought you some pastries, she smiled. Lets talk calmly. Without your father.
I let her in. Set the kettle to boil.
Left the pastries unopened.
She started straight away:
I havent slept all night Youve got to understand me. Your sisters young. Shes not independent. Youre strong. We can rely on you.
I looked at her and said what Id never dared to say:
Mum Im not strong. I just dont have a choice.
She waved this away.
You have everything. A flat. A job. Your sister has nothing.
Right then I pulled out my notebook.
Opened it to the page where Id calculated every last penny.
Look here. Wages. The mortgage. Utility bills. Food. Travel expenses. Theres almost nothing left over. If I get ill or something breaksthats it.
Mum flicked the notebook aside like it was a bothersome fly.
Thats all numbers on paper. Life works differently. You always manage somehow.
That somehow is my life. Six years running. No holidays. No new clothes. My friends go to Spain for the holidaysI use my leave to do extra shifts, just to build a buffer.
She raised her voice.
We promised wed pay!
You made promises last time.
Her eyes flashed.
Youre throwing that in my face?!
No. Im just telling the truth.
She shot up from her chair.
We raised you! Educated you! Sorted out your home!
Im not saying you didnt. Im saying I cant do more.
Her voice became ice.
Cant or wont?
For the first time, I looked her right in the eyes, refusing to look away.
I wont.
Silence. Her face flushed red with anger.
So thats how it is. Your sister is nothing to you; we mean nothing. Fine. Remember that.
She snatched her bag and stormed out.
The door banged so hard the hallway mirror rattled.
I was left standing in the kitchen.
The pastries sat on the tableunwanted, unopened, as if they belonged to the whole charade.
That evening, I messaged my sister:
Hey. Can I visit you on Saturday? Does that work?
She replied straightaway:
Brilliant! Come over!
So I did.
I wanted to see for myself this misery Mum had spoken of.
The hall of residence was ordinary.
Cramped? Yes.
Noisy? Sometimes.
But it was clean. Tidy.
And my sister didnt look like a victim.
She gave me a hug, laughing:
If Id known you were coming this early, Id have tidied up!
I looked round: a few beds, wardrobes, a table. Photos and fairy lights on the wall. She was making it her own.
We sat and chatted.
Then I asked her:
Have you spoken to Mum about the flat?
She looked puzzled.
Yes But I thought theyd get it. I didnt mean you
They cant. They want me to.
Her face fell.
But youre still paying your own mortgage
Yes.
How much are your repayments?
I told her.
She gasped.
I had no idea Mum never said it was so tough for you
And then my sister said the words that set me free:
Im not insisting. Honestly. Im fine. Ive got friends. Actually Ive just met this bloke recently. Lifes good. If it ever gets too much, Ill get a job and sort myself out.
I stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
All this time, theyd made out she was helpless
She was just a convenient excuse.
On the train home, I gazed out the window and, for the first time, felt no guilt.
My sister will manage.
She isnt a child.
She isnt powerless.
And me I refuse to pay for someone elses decisions anymore.
I rang Mum.
I went to see my sister.
Well? Did you see how she lives?!
Mum shes not suffering. Shes happy. Shes not asking.
Mum snorted.
Shes just a child. Shes too proud to complain!
And then I said it, clear and clean:
Mum Im not taking on the mortgage.
Her voice became cold, almost unrecognisable.
So you dont trust your own parents? We said wed pay!
You said that before.
Oh, give it a rest, will you?
Im just not willing to ruin myself.
She started shouting:
That I was ungrateful.
A traitor.
That family never abandons family.
That one day Id need help and regret this.
She hung up on me.
Dad didnt answer either.
No replies to texts.
And then, silence.
I was alone.
I cried.
Yes.
A lot.
But they were tears of pain, not guilt.
Because thisyoure either with us, or against usthat isnt love.
Its control.
And in the darkness that night, it finally dawned on me:
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 my own
not a script written for me by my parents.
What do you thinkdoes a child owe their parents a lifetimes payback, even when it destroys them?
