Five homes in the family, and yet we have to rent
I slip through the halls of this strange reality, so accustomed to the situation that nothing astonishes me anymore. Let me unravel how it came to be that, while there are five homes scattered amongst our families, my husband and I remain tenants of a tiny flat.
His parents nest comfortably in their own house and preside over two other flats tucked away in various nooks of London, letting them out to strangers for tidy sums. Smiling, they tell us that all they’ve acquired was earned by their own hands, so we should carve out the same stone path for ourselves. They seem oblivious to the way things once werehow in years gone by, council flats might rain down from the government, or a steady job at the mill could get you a place to call home. But now, with the price of a roof ever climbing, it’s nearly impossible to save enough while still paying rent.
My own mum and dad, truth be told, aren’t much different from my in-laws. When my grandmother passed, she left her flat to me, but I was just a schoolgirl then, so my parents chose to let it out until I came of age. Now I’m grown, standing in the doorstep of adulthood, but they’ve grown fond of the monthly pounds trickling in, so they’ve locked the door to me ever returning.
For a handful of years now, my husband and I inhabit a minuscule one-bedroom in some anonymous side streetthe sort of place that swallows our entire income. Sometimes, coins are so scarce there’s barely enough for bread. I drift through maternity leave now, and my pay cheque was never much to begin with. Before our child arrived, we just about managed to keep our heads above water. My husband labours as hard as any man canworking two jobs at once. But to earn well these days, you must wave certificates and degrees; he has none. Straight out of school, he donned a soldiers boots, and then we found each other, so the academic days fled.
The most maddening part? My mother rings me nearly every week seeking advice on some frock or new jumper, weighing me down with worries, while I scramble for money to buy vitamins or a bag of apples. Shes forever telling us we must stand on our own two feet. She insists that we ought to support her and Dad, since their sights are set on travelling the globe and sampling every luxury.
I find it baffling, both sets of parents: owning nearly everything under the sun but refusing to help their own children. I don’t expect them to go hungry for our sake, but when theres ample room to be generous, why do they lock their hearts? It leaves me bewildered, and I vow in the fog of morning that my children will want for nothingIll give them all I have and more.
Friends gather round us, soothing with words like one day, youll inherit it all, as if riches will tumble down from the clouded heights. But honestly, Im so bruised by it all that I want none of it. Let them take those houses with them into the great unknown.
