For over a decade now, I havent uttered a single word to my parents or my older sister. It took me ages to realise I was the unloved daughterhardly the title youd wish for yourself. The family philosophy seemed to run along the lines of all for one, none for the other, and I assure you, I was very much the other.
Lets start back when I was seventeen. Im Emily, our unfortunate heroine. My beloved elder sister, Charlotte, managed to get herself pregnant and married in swift succession. Was there a scandal? You bet. Were our parents bothered? Not at all. When I turned eighteen, my parentsat the pinnacle of their youthful wealthdecided to present Charlotte with a brand-new, two-bedroom flat in the heart of Manchester. They even had it repainted and decked out with furniture from the fanciest showroom in town.
Meanwhile, I cobbled together some courage one afternoon and asked, Could I have a flat as well? My parents shooed me away like a bothersome pigeon. Youre still at university, Emily. Well discuss it once youre settled down with a husband, they said, as though the wedding bells were prerequisite for property ownership.
A few years whisked by. I finished my English studies at Leeds with a shiny degree at twenty-twogranted, not quite ready for marriage but more than ready to move out. By that time though, the family fortunes had taken a nosedive. Dads business, once as sturdy as Big Ben, now ticked more like a pound shop clock. When I dared to revisit the flat conversation, they responded, Once weve shuffled off this mortal coil, this three-bedroom flat will be yours. Its even better than Charlottes! Until then, well all stay togetherafter all, someones got to look after us in our twilight years.
Of course, I immediately spotted several snags. As an heir, Charlotte would also have a claim. More importantly, how could I trust their ever-shifting promises? I approached them: Shall we get it all in writing? Maybe put the flat in my name, to avoid any drama with Charlotte? Shes got her own placewhy would she want mine as well? Deep down, though, I knew that in this family, one could never have too many properties.
Thinking back, its almost impressive how quickly I picked up on my parents clear preference for Charlotte. Years before, when her husband ran into some money trouble, Mum and Dad practically emptied their bank accounts to helpdespite having barely two shillings to rub together by then. I never got so much as a spare fiver.
Fast forward ten years: were still estranged. The whole conversation about official paperwork offended my parentshow dare I suggest something so cold and formal? They refused outright. That was the final straw. I decided to rent a flat of my ownone with squeaky floors and a particularly judgmental cat next door. In all this time, my parents havent so much as sent a text, let alone a Christmas card. So now, I make do with my independenceand a freezer stuffed with ready meals for one.
