My Flat Is Up for Let
Natalie Sarah Ortonnow Gromley, after her husbandhad always thought the scariest thing in life was when the good things start quietly, almost unnoticed, and then, just as softly but unavoidably, begin to end. Like flowers on the windowsill: you water them, they seem fine. Then you look one day and the leaves have turned yellow, and its too late.
She noticed the smell on the landing before she even reached her door.
Thick, heavy, sweet and powdery. “English Rose”. That scent, unmistakable: the very one that always filled the air in Mrs Valerie Parkers flat whenever Natalie visited. The aroma clung to clothes, to hair, to memory.
Natalie paused at her own front door, keys in hand.
Four in the afternoon. Shed left work early today; Mrs Sylvia Turner from Accounts said Natalie looked distinctly pale and sent her home. A dull, pressing headache had haunted her since morning, like someone slowly tightening a ring around her temples. All she wanted was a painkiller and a nap under her blanket.
But the smell told another story.
She opened the door.
In the hallway were three large cardboard boxes, ones youd get when buying a fridge”FRIGEMO” stamped across in bold. One box already taped shut. The other two, filled with something and covered with newspaper.
From the kitchen, came the sound of clinking crockery, a gentle rustle, and muttering.
***
“Valerie,” Natalie said, not taking a step further. “Whats going on?”
The noises stopped. Then her mother-in-law appeared in the kitchen doorwaya sturdy, competent-looking woman of fifty-seven, wearing a home pinny over a pale grey suit. Hair swept back, Marigolds on her hands. Businesslike, with a hint of the ceremonial.
“Nat dear!” Valerie greeted her, using the voice nurses reserve for gently delivering bad news “in your best interests”. “Youre early. Not feeling well?”
“Whats happening here?” Natalie still didnt move from the threshold.
“Dont get worked up,” Valerie peeled off one glove, then the other, folding them neatly. “Im doing this for you, for you and Jamie. Come, sit down, Ill explain everything.”
“Im fine standing. Go on, explain.”
Valeries eyes narrowed for a split secondthe look of someone used to obedience. Senior nurse at the GPs on High Street, twenty-three years experience. Over the years shed grown used to her word being law.
“Alright,” she gestured to the kitchen, invitingly. “At least come in, dont just stand there. Let me make you a cup of tea.”
“No need for tea. Whats in the boxes?”
Valerie sighed, as if pained by unreasonable demands.
“Crockery. Saucepans, some frying pans. Ive wrapped the crystal glasses separately, dont worry. The dinner plates can stay here, well leave them for the tenants.”
Natalie registered the phrase, every word. “Leave for the tenants.” It passed through her and settled somewhere near her diaphragm.
“What tenants?” she asked, voice even.
“I found tenants,” Valerie announced, as if bearing good news. “Nice young couple, with a little lad, maybe five. He works in construction, shes home with the child. Checked them thoroughly. Theyre moving in on Friday.”
“Friday?” Natalie echoed. “Thats in three days.”
“Three days, yes. Ive already sorted out the deposit. Theyre paying first and last month upfront.”
Natalie set her bag down on the side table, unzipped her coat and hung it up. Every action cost her dear, her headache relentless. Now, cold crept into her hands, despite the flat being warm.
“Valerie,” she said at last, “Did you discuss this with Jamie?”
“Of course. We talked about it, dont you remember? Three months ago, when Jamie lost his bonus. It was me who suggestedlet the flat, come and stay with me, youll save money. Perfectly reasonable.”
“We never agreed,” Natalie shook her head. “I said I didnt want to.”
“You said youd think about it,” Valerie corrected gently.
“No. I said Im not happy about it. Jamie told me not to push it, so I kept quiet. Thats not agreement.”
Valerie folded her arms. The gesture was familiarhow she stood when shed made up her mind and nothing would change it.
“Nat, youre a clever girl. You can add up. Lets look at the figuresthe mortgage, what does that take each month?”
“Thats not your concern.”
“Nat.”
“No,” Natalie managed, voice steady, not raised. “Its not your business. Our finances are not your business.”
A silence fell in the hallway. Street noise drifted faintly through the kitchen window. Below, on Cromwell Road, a tram rattled past.
“Youre, of course, entitled to your opinion,” Valerie said finally, hints of steel in her voice, usually disguised by everyday fussing. “But family isnt just you. Its Jamie too. And Jamie agrees.”
“Ill call Jamie,” Natalie said, taking out her phone.
***
Jamie answered on the third ring. The hum of his factory, distant voices in the background.
“Nat, hi, is something wrong? Youre home early.”
“Jamie, your mother is packing our flat. Shes found tenants. Says theyre moving in on Friday.”
Pause. Heartbeat. Another.
“Nat, I wanted to tell you myself…”
“You knew?”
“Mum called last night, said shed found someone. I thought youd both have a chat…”
“Jamie.” Natalie leaned back against the hallway wall. “You knew and said nothing? I come home to find boxes half-packed. What do you think that means?”
“Nat, I know youre upset…”
“Come home.”
“Ive a meeting at six…”
“Jamie.” Her voice was low and steady, like water pooled behind a dam. “Come home now.”
He arrived at half past five. By then, Natalie sat in the kitchen with cold tea. Valerie stayed in the lounge, busying herself with the china cabinet, rearranging the porcelain figurines shed brought from Richmond and put up “to make it cosy”.
Jamie was tall, fair-haired, with a slightly guilty look hed lately worn as standard. He worked as a project engineer in an industrial plant out near Bexley, commuting by train and change, always tired. Natalie understood; usually she let things go. But not today.
“Nat,” he started as he entered the kitchen.
“Sit.”
He sat opposite. She lifted her cup, set it back down.
“Explain to me,” she said, “how a decision about our home could be made without me.”
“There was no decision,” he brightened, as if grasping at a loophole. “Mum just found a possible deal. I thought youd”
“I’ve spoken to her. She’s packing up saucepans. Is that ‘a possible deal’?”
“Nat, you dont understand our situation…”
“Explain.”
“Well, the bonus is gone. Thats a month and a half now. Were in the red every monthmortgage, council tax, food. Im still paying the car loan. Were struggling, Nat.”
Natalie listened. It was all true. They were counting pennies more carefully, but it wasnt disaster. She had a steady job at “Alpha-Accounts”; they were managing.
“I suggested cutting back,” she said. “Skip the New Year trip. Pause the gym membership. Remember?”
“I do.”
“That would have sufficed.”
“Mum thinks not.”
“And you?”
He was silent. The silence said more than words.
“Jamie,” Natalie leaned forward a little. “Whose flat is this?”
“Well, Nat…”
“No. Answer me straight. Whose flat is it?”
“Officially, its in your name, but were a family”
“Its not ‘officially’ mine. My dad gave me this flat. Three months before our wedding. Its minein law, in writing. Neither you nor your mum can let it out without my signed consent. Thats a criminal offencedo you know that?”
Jamie looked up. She saw he hadnt thought of it.
“Nat, you wouldnt go to the police over your own husband…”
“Its not about the police, Jamie. Its about you letting your mother rule over things that dont belong to her. And keeping quiet. Why?”
Footsteps from the next room. Valerie appeared in the kitchen doorway. Natalie had expected it.
“Jamie,” his mum said, “youre home. Good. Talk to Natalie, explain that its sensible. She clearly doesnt see the whole picture.”
“Mum, give us a minute,” said Jamie.
“Give what? The tenants need an answer. Good people arent going to wait around. If we say no, they’ll find another place, and we won’t get a deal like this again.”
“Valerie,” Natalie started, “my answer is no. I wont be letting out my flat. Were not moving in with you. That’s final.”
Her mother-in-law stared at her for a long moment, then turned to Jamie.
“Jamie. You heard?”
“Mum… maybe shes right…”
“Jamie.” Her tone sharpened. “Ive spent three days arranging this. The viewing is set for tomorrow. Is it all going to fall apart because shes being stubborn?”
“Not her stubbornness,” Jamie almost whispered, “its just… Nat, can you explain?”
Natalie stood up. Put her mug in the sink. Then turned round.
“The viewing isnt happening. No tenants are moving in on Friday. If you bring them, Valerie, I will explain personally why they cant stay. Goodnight.”
She walked into their bedroom and quietly closed the door.
***
The night was restless. Jamie came to bed at nearly eleven. They lay at opposite edges, backs turned, listening to the others breathing. Even, slowpretending, maybe. Natalie couldnt sleep.
Her dad used to tell her: “Natalie, when you want to solve a problemstep back and look at it from afar. Close up, its always scarier than it actually is.”
Hed passed away four years ago. He left her the flatnot as an asset, but as protection. Natalie had always known it. Hed known she was his only child, with her mum living down in Salisbury; he knew his daughter needed an anchor.
The anchor now stood in boxes.
No. The boxes were real, yes. But the anchor wasnt crockery. The anchor was documents, in a blue plastic folder, tucked in the cabinet since shed moved innever shifted. Land Registry title deed. Deed of gift. All stamped and signed.
She knew that tomorrow, Valerie would bring the tenants. Knew it as certainly as she knew shed get up and put the kettle on. Her mother-in-law was not one for empty threats. It was both her best strength and biggest flawshe didnt know how to retreat.
Natalie did.
But only when it made sense.
Here it didnt.
Jamie fidgeted quietly next to her. Natalie didnt turn. Neither did he. Two people with a years history behind thema home theyd decorated together, their first Christmas tree, two keys to one door.
She thought: love isnt just being happy, on happy days. Love is choice. Here he was, staying silent. What did that mean?
She didnt know.
It was scarier than any box.
***
Natalie got up at seven, as usual. Jamie was still asleep. She made coffee, drinking it by the window. Outside, a cold March drizzle streaked the glass. South Wimbledon in the grey: old snow, wet pavements, trees by the tube like black wires.
Her headache had faded. A blessing.
She opened the cabinet and took out the blue folder. Placed it on the table. Checked the documents inside: Land Registry, in her name, blue stamp. Deed of gift from her father, stamped by the solicitor. Date: twenty-eighth February, two years past. Owner: Orton, Natalie Sarah. All intact.
She closed the folder and put it back.
At half past nine, her mum from Salisbury called. Natalie hesitated before answering, not from unwillingness, but fearif she started talking, her voice might falter.
“Hello love, how are you?”
“Im alright, Mum.”
“You dont sound it…”
“Its fine.”
Pause.
“Jamie rang last night,” said her mother. “Told me things are a bit strained with your mother-in-law.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“He called you?”
“Yes. Hes very unsettled. Says he doesnt know what to do.”
“Mum, he needs to decide whose side hes on.”
“Natalie,” her mum was quiet for a moment. “Hes not a bad man. But hes had thirty years under her. It doesnt change quickly.”
“I know.”
“You holding up?”
“I am.”
“If you need me, Ill come. Just say.”
Natalie felt a lump in her throat. She cleared it.
“No need, Mum. I can handle it.”
“Alright. Just remember: the flat is yours. Thats not up for debate.”
“I know.”
She ended the call. Jamie appeared at ten, poured himself coffee. She stood by the window, book in hand, though not really reading.
“Nat,” he started.
“Yes?”
“Mum phonedshell be here with the tenants about twelve, for the viewing.”
“I heard you yesterday.”
“Maybe just talk with them? You might like them… Theyre decent people”
She turned.
“Jamie. Are you actually asking me to let strangers rent my flat on terms that were set without so much as mentioning it to me?”
“I just Mum put a lot into this…”
“Jamie,” Natalie said softly, not angry, “Listen to yourself. Not you put in effort, not we agreed, but Mum put in. Is this her flat? Her decision?”
He set his mug down, rubbing his forehead.
“I dont know how to get out of this without upsetting her.”
“And upsetting me is alright?”
He didnt answer.
Natalie returned to her book. She couldnt readthe words swambut needed to keep her hands busy.
***
They arrived at half twelve. The intercom buzzed. Vals bright, bossy voice; the lift creaked.
Jamie stood by the balcony, staring out. Natalie waited on the sofa. The blue folder was in the cabinet.
Doorbell.
Jamie started towards it.
“Stay there,” Natalie said.
He stopped, a muddled lookconfused, relieved, something else.
The bell rang again.
Natalie rose, headed for the hallway, opened the door.
Valerie stood in her Sunday bestgrey buttons, her occasion coat. With her came a couple, late twenties, early thirties. The husband in a jacket, the wife in a red puffer, holding the hand of a five-year-old boy in a hat with bear ears. The boy stared solemnly at Natalie.
“Nat dear,” Valerie swept in, uninvited. “Meet Max and Laura. Lovely family. Max in building, Laura at home just now with Mikey.”
“Hello,” Laura offered nervously, “Sorry to just turn up…”
“Thats alright.” Natalies voice was calm. “Come in.”
She stepped aside. The boy kept staring, grave as ever.
“Jamie here?” Valerie asked, not looking round.
“In the lounge.”
“Good. Now Max, let me give you the grand tour. The lounge has morning and evening sunreally handy. Tube at South Wimbledon is just five minutes…”
She strode ahead as if in her own house, explaining the ceiling heights, the electrics. Natalie trailed after.
In the lounge, Jamie stood by the doors. He nodded, awkward. Didnt meet her gaze.
“As you see,” Valerie said, “this rooms about twenty square metres; the bedroom a bit less. Kitchens small but very functional. New oven, Nat bought it only last year…”
Max nodded, looking round. Laura clung to her sons hand. Natalie stood by the cabinet.
“Rent-wise,” Valerie began, “I said £1,600 a month”
“Stop a moment.”
Natalies calm voice cut through. She opened the cabinet, took out the blue folder. All eyes turned to her.
“Max, Laura,” she said, “before you make a decision, Id like you to see something.”
She extracted two documents, crossed the room.
“This is the Land Registry document. Dated two weeks ago. See whos listed as Owner?”
Laura took the paper, read, looked up.
“Natalie Sarah Orton,” she read aloud.
“Thats my maiden name. Thats me.” Natalie held up the second paper. “And this is the deed of gift. My dad gave me this flat two years ago, a few months before our wedding. I am the sole ownermy husband isnt on any deeds, Valerie Parker has no claim, legal or otherwise.”
Laura passed the papers to her husband, slow.
“Nat…” Valerie began, “Dont be daft”
“Max,” Natalie didnt look at her mother-in-law. “Legally, a landlord needs the owners written consent. Any lease must be signed by the owner. I havent agreed anything. Not verbally, not in writing. So if you move in, it would be unlawful. I need you to be aware of that.”
Max looked from papers to Natalie. The boy whispered something to his mother. Laura stooped to listen.
“We had no idea,” said Laura. “We thought the owner was fine with it…”
“Youre looking at the owner,” said Natalie, “and shes not fine with it.”
A long silence.
“Right,” Max cleared his throat, “In that case Sorry to trouble you.”
He handed back the documents. Natalie took them.
“Wait!” Valerie stepped forward. Her voice had an edge, not nurse-like anymore, the real Valerie emerging. “Max, dont leave please. Its a mix upIll explain”
“Valerie,” Jamie said, quietly.
Everyone looked at him.
He stood by the window, hands in pockets, face sad but resolute.
“Mum,” he said, “theyre right. They should go.”
Valeries eyes widened.
“What?”
“Theyre going. This is Nats flat. I shouldve said so before.”
The silence was thick, suffocating.
Laura took her sons hand. Max nodded soberly. They left the room. The door thudded behind them.
Three remained.
***
Valerie stared hard at Jamie. Natalie stood, blue folder still in hand, and waited.
“Jamie,” Valeries voice dropped, and it was the quiet that chilled. “Do you know what youve just done?”
“I do, Mum.”
“You took her side over mine.”
“I took the side of whats right.”
“Whats right,” Valerie echoed, tasting the word then spitting it. “Right. So Im wrong?”
“In this case, yes, Mum.”
“I did everything for you. Alone. Your father left when you were six. I worked two jobs, denied myself everything…”
“I know, Mum.”
“You know! And all I ever wanted was for you to be alright! I found these people, arranged everything, sorted it all out”
“You sorted it without asking,” Jamie replied. “Not asking the owner.”
“Owner,” Valerie faced Natalie. “Owner. Thats what I am now. Youre husband and wife. Family. It should be joint.”
“Valerie,” Natalie remained calm. “Im willing to discuss money with my husband, in our family. But not on terms made without me.”
“On terms! Do you even hear yourself? I was only trying to help!”
“I hear you. I believe you wanted to help. Unasked help, though, isnt help. Its interference.”
“Interference!” Valerie threw up her hands, now addressing Jamie alone. That was obviousNatalie could see that communication from now on would pass through Jamie, not her. “Jamie, you hear? Thats what she thinks of me. I interfere. After everything”
“Mum.”
“No.” She raised a finger. “Choose. Either you listen to your mother, who raised you, or you stay with a woman who calls me an interfering busybody. Decide.”
Natalie didnt move. She watched Jamie, who stood in the middle of their loungeone with the wonky bookcase theyd argued over, the curtains theyd laughed about, their wedding photo in its white frame.
He looked at his mother.
“Im staying,” he said softly.
Valerie didnt understand right away.
“What?”
“Im staying. Here. With Nat.” He swallowed. “Mum, I love you. But you cant do this. You cant.”
“Cant?”
“Cant. Not turn up without calling. Not pack other peoples things. Not make arrangements about tenants without asking the owner. I should have told you before. That was my mistake too.”
Valerie stood. Then slowly, deliberately, she put her coat on, button by button, took her bag.
“Youll regret this,” she murmured. Not as a threat, but as a sad prediction.
“Maybe,” Jamie replied. “But its the right thing.”
She walked to the door. Natalie didnt move. The lock snapped, the door closedand this time, sharply.
Then silence.
***
They stayed there, Natalie by the cabinet, Jamie by the balcony. The folder still in her hands. One of the boxes, sealed, stood in the corner; the others in the hall.
Out the window, the March drizzle hadn’t stopped.
Natalie placed the folder back. Sat on the sofa. He lingered, then joined hernot too close.
“Nat,” he said.
“Wait,” she replied.
They sat in silence. Natalie stared at the crooked bookshelf, Jamie at his hands.
“I should have said no straight away, when she called,” he finally admitted. “Said, Mum, its not for you to decide. I didnt.”
“Why not?”
He was quiet for a long time.
“I cant refuse her. Never have. If you say no, she doesnt arguejust looks at you like youve broken her heart. Its easier to just nod than to bear that look.”
“I know,” Natalie said quietly. “But youre not six anymore.”
“I know,” he nodded. “And today? Im not even sure it was rightno, I know it was. But… shes my mum.”
“Shell always be your mum.”
“Now shell sulk for ages.”
“Probably.”
“And itll be hard.”
“Yes,” Natalie didnt offer false cheer. “Probably will.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“What now?”
“I dont know,” Natalie admitted. “We need to talk this through. Not todayonce the dust settles: about money, how well cope. Thats a separate talk, and Im ready.”
“And Mum?”
“Thats another talk. For later.”
After a moment, he asked, “Are you angry?”
Natalie considerednot to find the polite answer, but to understand herself.
“Im tired,” she said. “I was angry this morning. Now Im just worn out.”
“Nat, I…”
“Jamie,” she turned to him, “You did the right thing. Today. But today is just today. You get that?”
He did; she could see it in his eyes.
“I do.”
“Good.”
She looked again at their wonky bookcase, at the photo in the white frame, at the taped-up box.
“Shall we unpack?” she asked.
“Yeah. Lets.”
***
They unpacked quietly, each at a box. Natalie unwrapped pans, placing them back on the shelves. Jamie gently extricated the crystal glasses from their bubble wrap.
The flat still reeked of other peoples perfume”English Rose” clung stubbornly. Natalie opened the window, letting in a rush of cold, clean air.
The little boy in the bear hat would be nearly home by now. Gazing out the bus window, oblivious to the chaos hed stumbled into.
Natalie remembered what her mum had said: “Hes been thirty years with her; it doesnt change quickly.” It was true. Jamie had just said “no.” For the first time.
It didnt mean everything was solved. It didnt mean things would be easy. But it was something.
She set down the last saucepan. Collected up the newspaper wrapping, threw it away.
“Want a coffee?” Jamie called from the kitchen.
“Go on.”
He put the kettle on. Natalie picked up the photo in the white frame. They both looked a bit dazedher in a dress that wasnt quite the right shade, him in the tie hed slipped off by midnight. Both genuinely smiling.
A year had passed.
She put the photo back.
The smells of fresh coffee drifted from the kitchenproper, comforting.
She joined him. He poured hers in a mug, set it on the table. Sat down opposite.
Outside, the drizzle kept up.
They drank coffee in silence. Heavy silence, yes, but not empty. There was still plenty to say. Natalie felt itlike the coldness shed sensed that morning.
But for now, words werent needed.
For now, just coffee. An open window, a slightly skewed bookcase full of their books in the next room.
And a blue folder in its rightful place.
***
Youd like to think the hardest bit is now over. It would be a pretty ending. But Natalie, five years at Alpha-Accounts, knew: the balance rarely totals straight away. The numbers rarely match first goyou have to hunt for the error and wait for things to add up.
Its the same, she thinks, in a family.
Valerie will ring. Tomorrow, or next week. Shes not the kind who leaves forever, but the kind who leaves and waits for you to come after her.
Jamie will be torn. Natalie knows this, as clear as anything.
Moneythe lost bonus, the mortgagenone of it has gone away.
A talk lies ahead. Long, honest conversation theyre still learning to have. Maybe today was a start.
She didnt know.
Jamie set down his mug.
“Nat,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Im glad you didnt leavewhen I was being daft. You stayed, and you you did it right.”
She looked at him.
“I couldnt leave,” she said simply. “This is my home.”
He nodded.
“Ours,” he said.
She was quiet a moment.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Ours.”
Outside, the wind eased. The drizzle grew lighter. The sky over Cromwell Road felt a little less bleaknot sunny, but brighter.
Natalie drank up the last of her coffee, though it had gone cold.
