Give me the key to our flat
Weve come to a decision, your father and I, Margaret laid her hand gently on her sons. Were selling the cottage. Well give you £40,000 for a deposit its high time you stopped bouncing between rental places.
Andrew froze, cup suspended halfway to his mouth. His wife Emily, sitting beside him, paused chewing, forkful of sponge cake held mid-air.
Mum, what are you on about? Andrew set his cup down cautiously. The cottage? You go there every summer
Well manage. John, tell them, love.
His father, up until now obsessively stirring jam into his tea, looked up.
Your mums right. That cottages seen forty summers the roofs leaking, fence rotten. Its nothing but trouble. You two have nowhere permanent to live.
Dad, well save up ourselves, Andrew shook his head. Two, three more years, tops…
Three years! Margaret threw up her hands. Three years renting with a baby nearly here? Emily, surely you agree!
Emilys eyes darted anxiously between her husband and mother-in-law.
Mrs. Bennett, its a huge sum of money. We cant possibly
You can, Margaret cut in, her voice steely. Thats final. Weve already spoken to the agent viewings Saturday.
Andrew started to protest but Margaret silenced him with a look.
Son. Were not getting any younger. Your dads been struggling with his blood pressure, Ill be sixty next year. What do we want with that cottage? Grow tomatoes? I can buy them at the market. Our grandchildren deserve a proper home. Their own, you see?
Silence fell. Emily squeezed Andrews hand under the table. He rubbed his nose the way he always did when lost for words.
Mum Well pay it all back. Slowly, but every penny, I promise.
Oh, enough, John waved the idea away. Pay it back, dont pay it back what matters is the little ones have somewhere safe to crawl.
Six weeks later, the cottage was sold. Margaret handled everything herself: the paperwork, counting the money, transferring £40,000 into her sons account. Three months after that Andrew and Emily moved into a two-bedroom flat on Lilac Boulevard new build, ninth floor, large windows looking over the park.
The housewarming filled the place fifteen guests squeezed in. Emilys parents brought crockery, friends gifted towels, Andrews colleagues chipped in for a coffee machine. Margaret wandered from room to room, stroking walls, peering into cupboards, nodding slowly, whether in approval or critique it was hard to tell.
Towards evening, after most guests had scattered, Margaret caught Andrew in the hallway.
Andy, a quick word.
She pulled him close to the door, away from prying ears.
I need the key.
It took Andrew a moment.
What key?
The spare for the flat. Just in case. Margaret lowered her voice. Weve helped you out, you understand. If anything happened and we couldnt get in Well, really, proper people always give their parents a key.
Andrew shifted awkwardly, stammering with words he couldnt quite voice.
Mum, honestly Emily
What about Emily? Shes against it? Margarets eyes narrowed. We bought you this place, and shes against giving us a key?
No, I didnt mean
Then give it over. Dont fuss.
Andrew rummaged in his jeans, pulled out his keyring, removed the new, still shiny spare and handed it to her.
There.
Margaret turned it over in her fingers, slipped it carefully onto her bunch between the house key and the garage. Metal clinked softly.
Good lad, she patted his cheek. Lets get some cake before its all gone.
The night felt a success.
Margaret inspected the fabric, turning the cushion over to check the seams. Velvet slid warm beneath her fingers, the mustard shade cosy, perfect for Emilys grey sofa. She took a second in terracotta. In her minds eye, she saw both cushions at either end, the knitted throw shed spotted last week draped between.
On the bus, Margaret hugged the bag on her lap. The window flashed past garden gates, playgrounds, parked cars. Lilac Boulevard her stop. The communal stairwell still smelled of fresh paint from the recent refurb. She climbed to the ninth floor, thumbed her keys, found the right one. The lock clicked quietly; the door swung open.
Empty silence.
She slipped off her shoes and walked into the lounge. As expected: sofa bare, dull. She unwrapped the cushions, placed them meticulously, stepped back to judge. Perfect, much brighter.
But dust on the shelf caught her eye. And a mug, unwashed on the windowsill. Margaret shook her head but didnt touch a thing. Not her place. Not yet.
That evening, the phone rang at nine.
Mum, did you pop round today?
Andrews voice was strained, tight.
Yes, love. Dropped off some cushions did you see? Gorgeous, arent they?
Mum a pause. Just let us know next time, alright? Emily came home to moved things, cushions she doesnt recognise
Doesnt recognise? Margaret snorted. Theyre £30 each, Ill have you know. And tell your Emily its a bit grubby in there. Dust everywhere, dirty mugs. The fridge half-empty. Are you two starving yourselves? I didnt give you money so you could live like students.
Mum, just ring next time, please. Before you
Oh Andy, Margaret rolled her eyes, though he couldnt see it. Right, your dads calling me.
She hung up before he could reply.
A week later, Margaret dropped off a luxury satin bedding set. Emily was at home, but in the shower Margaret could hear the water running. She left the parcel on the bed and slipped away without a note. No need; theyd know who it was from.
Three days after that saucepans. The ones the young couple had were some dreadful Chinese things with peeling coating. Unbearable.
Come Saturday, Andrew and Emily came to dinner. They sat round the table, nibbling British beef pies, discussing the rain and the noisy upstairs neighbours. All polite but distant.
Emily put down her fork.
Mrs. Bennett?
Yes, love?
Would you mind phoning before you drop in? Just so were aware.
Margaret dabbed her lips slowly.
Sweetheart, your father and I gave you £40,000. Thats forty. Thousand. So I have every right to come around when I like. This is our flat as much as yours.
Mum Andrew tried to interject.
What mum? Am I wrong?
Silence. John speared a pie, eyes fixed on his plate, keeping out of it.
Thanks for dinner, Emily stood. Andy, lets go.
They grabbed their things in a flurry. Their goodbyes were stilted, painfully forced. Margaret watched them go, returned to clearing up. Something made her step to the window just as the couple left the building.
The window was ajar. Emilys sharp voice travelled up, clear as day:
either we pay this off or were done. I cant go on like this.
Margaret froze, plate in hand.
Pay off what? What was she talking about?
Andrew replied but she couldnt catch the words. Car doors banged, engine roared.
Margaret slowly placed the plate in the sink.
No. She did not like this one bit.
Margaret twisted the key in the lock, nudged the door and almost collided with Andrew. He stood, waiting in the hall. Emily appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands.
Oh, youre in. I brought
Mum, wait.
Something in Andrews tone stopped her short. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope white, thick, heavy.
I need to return something.
Margaret took it reflexively, peered inside her knees went weak.
Money. A lot.
Whats this?
Its the £40,000, Emily came to stand by her husband. We took out a loan.
You Margaret stared. Are you mad? Why? What for?
So we dont have to owe you, Emily met her gaze, steady and clear. Mrs Bennett, were exhausted. By the visits. The checks. You dropping by, moving our things. We cant do it anymore.
I didnt snoop! I brought cushions! Duvets! Pots!
Mum, Andrew placed a hand on Emilys shoulder. Were changing the locks tomorrow.
Margaret blinked, taking a moment to process.
The locks?
Yes. You wont have a key anymore.
The silence suffocated. Margaret glanced from her son to her daughter-in-law and back again, throat tight, cheeks burning.
You you she swallowed. Youre petty. Ungrateful. We sold our cottage for you! And now youre throwing me out like some thief.
Were not, Emily held firm. Were just asking for privacy.
Margaret squeezed her keyring in her pocket until her fingers tingled.
Andy, son, youre really going to let her speak to me like that?
Andrew looked down, paused. Then bravely met her eyes.
Mum. We decided together.
Margaret spun on her heel and left no goodbyes.
All the way home, she rehearsed what shed say when Andrew rang to apologise. Tomorrow, maybe the next day hed regret it, hed see sense.
But a week passed. The phone stayed silent.
Margaret came close to dialling several times, but always put the receiver down. No. Let them come first. Let them ask for forgiveness. She was the mother, after all. She meant well.
A month on, John asked carefully over dinner if things had patched up. Margaret just shrugged, changed the subject.
Two months later shed stopped jumping at each call.
Three months, and it was clear.
Her son wouldnt call. Not tomorrow, or next week, or ever.
Margaret sat in her kitchen, staring at the bunch of keys home, garage, and the one that used to open the flat on Lilac Boulevard.
Shed wanted to help. She truly had. Cushions, pots, bedding that was care, wasnt it? Didnt it always work out that way? Parents help; children are grateful; everyone is happy.
But somewhere along the way, something broke. And no matter how she turned memories over the talks, the visits she couldnt find where.
Maybe she didnt want to know.
It was too late to fix it now.
