Return the Key to Our Flat
Your father and I have made up our minds said Margaret, placing her hand over her sons. Were selling the cottage. Well give you £40,000 for a deposit, and enough is enough with you two flitting from one rented place to another.
Andrew froze, his teacup halfway to his lips. His wife, Emily, stopped chewing, the fork with apple tart hovering in the air.
Mum, are you serious? Andrew set down his cup gently. The cottage? You spend every summer there…
Well cope. John, tell them.
His father, whod been stirring jam absently, looked up.
Your mothers right. That cottages seen forty years. The roof leaks, fence is rotting, nothing but bother really. You two cant keep living here and there.
Dad, well save up ourselves Andrew shook his head. Might be two, maybe three years more…
Three years! Margaret threw up her hands. Three years shuffling around with a baby on the way? Emily, you agree with me, dont you?
Emily glanced uncertainly at her husband and then at her mother-in-law.
Mrs. Smith, thats so much money. We cant just…
You can Margaret cut her off. Weve spoken to the estate agent. First viewings Saturday.
Andrew opened his mouth, but Margaret pressed on.
Love, were not getting any younger. Your fathers been battling blood pressure for years; next year Ill be sixty. What do we need the cottage for? Grow tomatoes? I can buy all the veg I like at the market. And our grandkids deserve a proper home. Their own, you know?
A silence fell. Emily squeezed Andrews hand under the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he always did when lost for words.
Mum… Well pay you back. Little by little, every penny.
Oh, dont be silly John waved his spoon. Paid back or not, what matters is the little ones having somewhere safe to crawl about.
Six weeks later, the cottage was sold. Margaret herself sorted the paperwork, counted every note, and transferred £40,000 to her son. Three months on, Andrew and Emily moved into a two-bedroom flat on Lavender Grove new build, ninth floor, windows looking out on the park.
The housewarming was bustling about fifteen, between them all. Emilys parents brought plates, her friends piled them with towels, Andrews colleagues chipped in for a coffee machine. Margaret wandered the rooms, tapped the walls, peered at the wardrobes, shook her head whether pleased or critical, none could tell. Later in the evening, as the guests scattered, Margaret caught Andrew in the hallway.
Drew, just a quick word.
She drew him aside, closer to the door.
Hand me the spare key.
Andrew blinked, unsure.
What key?
To the flat. Just in case Margarets voice lowered We helped you, you know. What if something happens and we cant get in? And besides, decent people always give parents a key.
Andrew shifted uncomfortably. His face gave him away: he wanted to protest, but the words wouldnt come, or perhaps he didnt dare.
Mum, well, its just… Emily…
What about Emily? Shes against it? Margaret narrowed her eyes. We paid for your flat, and she objects to a key?
No, I didnt mean…
Then hand it over, stop dithering.
Andrew fished the keyring from his jeans, slipped off a new, shiny one.
Here.
Margaret took it, twirled it between her fingers, and slotted it on her own ring, between the house and garage keys. The soft clink of metal.
Thats a good boy she gave his cheek a gentle pat. Come on, lets have some cake before its all gone.
The evening ended well.
…Margaret was turning over the fabric, examining the pillowcase seams with care. Velvet a cheerful mustard shade, just right for Emilys grey sofa. Shed bought a second one in terracotta. In her minds eye, it was perfect: pillows at each end, the knitted throw shed spied last week draped between.
On the bus, Margaret hugged the shopping bag to her chest. Past the window, gardens and childrens swings flickered, parked cars dotted the verge. Lavender Grove her stop.
The entrance reeked of fresh paint, the decorators only just done. She rode the lift to the ninth floor, sifted through her keys and found the right one. The lock clicked softly, and the door swung open without protest.
Silence. Nobody home.
Margaret slipped off her shoes and walked through to the lounge. As shed thought: the sofa, plain and lonely. She unwrapped the pillows, set them at the corners, stepped back. Spot on. The room looked transformed.
Of course, dust on the shelf caught her eye. And a mug, left dirty in the windowsill. Margaret sighed but didnt touch anything. Not her place. Not yet.
That evening, the phone rang just after nine.
Mum, did you pop in today?
Andrews voice was strained, thick.
Yes, I did. Have you seen the new pillows? Arent they lovely?
Mum… a pause. Next time, could you warn us? Emily came home and things were moved, these pillows appeared…
Appeared? Margaret snorted. They were £30 each, Ill have you know. And tell your Emily theres too much dust about in your flat. Dirty mugs everywhere. I checked the fridge as well half empty. Are you two starving? Didnt give you all that money for you to live like students.
Mum, please, just ring ahead next time? So we know…
Oh Andrew Margaret rolled her eyes, though he couldnt see. Right, Id best go, your fathers calling.
She hung up before he could reply.
A week later Margaret brought over new bed linen, decent quality satin. Emily was home, though in the shower Margaret heard the water running. She left the parcel on the bed and quietly let herself out. No note why need one?
Three days on a set of saucepans. Their Chinese set was battered, the coating flaking shamefully.
On Saturday, Andrew and Emily came for dinner. They sat at the table eating dumplings, passing comments on the weather and the upstairs neighbours renovations. Everything civil, polite, dull.
Emily set down her fork.
Mrs. Smith…
Yes?
Could we ask… Emily hesitated, eyed her husband if you could call ahead before you come round? Just so we know.
Margaret dabbed her lips slowly with a napkin.
Emily. Your father and I gave you forty grand. Forty. Thousand. Ive every right to come as I please. Its our flat too in a way.
Mum, Andrew tried to cut in.
What now? Am I wrong?
No one spoke. John poked at his dumpling, making abundantly clear he wasnt involved.
Thank you for dinner Emily stood up. Drew, we should head off.
They left hastily, with awkward, twisted smiles. Margaret closed the door behind them, returned to the kitchen to clear the table. Something drew her to the window, just as the young pair walked out of the building.
The window was ajar. Emilys voice floated up, sharp and hurt:
…either we pay off this debt or Im leaving. I cant do this anymore.
Margaret froze, plate in hand.
Debt? What debt?
Down below, Andrew replied, but his words were lost. The car door slammed, the engine fired up.
Margaret set the plate gently in the sink.
No. She didnt like this at all.
…Margaret twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the door nearly bumping into Andrew, standing in the hallway as if hed been waiting for her. Emily glanced from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.
Oh, youre home Margaret faltered a moment, but quickly steadied herself. I brought you
Mum, wait.
Something in his voice made her fall silent. Andrew fetched a white envelope from his jacket hung on the peg, thick and weighty.
I want to give you something back.
Margaret took it automatically and looked inside her knees turned wobbly.
Money. Lots of it.
Whats this?
Forty thousand Emily stepped up beside her husband. We took out a loan.
You… Margaret looked up. Are you mad? What loan, why?
Because we dont want to feel beholden Emily didnt avert her gaze, calm and clear. Mrs. Smith, were tired. Tired of visits and checks and you coming and rearranging things as you please.
I didnt! I brought pillows! Linen! Saucepan sets!
Mum Andrew set his hand gently on Emilys shoulder Were changing the locks. Tomorrow the locksmiths coming.
Margaret blinked. Once, twice. It took her a moment to grasp what hed said.
The locks?
Yes. You wont have the key anymore.
The air hung thick and heavy. Margaret stared back and forth at her son and daughter-in-law. Her throat felt tight, her cheeks burned.
You… You… she swallowed. Youre petty. Petty and ungrateful. We sold the cottage for you! And now youll treat me like a thief, throw me out of your home!
Were not throwing you out Emily stood firm. Were just asking you to leave.
Margaret clutched her keys in her pocket, her fingers numb.
Andrew, love. Will you really let her speak to me like that?
Andrew dropped his head, silent. At last he looked his mother in the eye.
Mum. We made this choice together.
Without another word, Margaret turned and left.
All the way home she rehearsed what shed say when Andrew phoned with apologies tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. Hed come round, see hed gone too far.
A week passed. The phone stayed silent.
Several times Margaret reached for it, but always put it back down. No. Let them come first. Let them ask forgiveness. She was a mother. She hadnt meant any harm.
A month on, John gently asked at supper if theyd made peace. Margaret barely shrugged, changed the subject.
Two months she stopped jumping at the phone ringing.
Three months she understood.
Her son wouldnt call. Not tomorrow, not next week. Not ever.
Margaret sat alone in her kitchen, her keys in her hand. The house key, the garage. In between, the one that had once opened a flat on Lavender Grove.
Shed wanted to help. She really had. Pillows, saucepans, linen it was kindness, wasnt it? Wasnt that what parents did? Help their children, children grateful, everyone happy.
But somewhere along the way, something broke. No matter how she turned over old visits and conversations, Margaret couldnt quite see where.
Maybe she didnt want to.
It was too late to fix it now.
