My boyfriend and I had been renting a room from an old lady for the past eight months, in a sleepy terraced house on the edge of Leeds.
We all shared a fridge, but her shelves were always empty. The only thing ever sitting there was a small saucepan filled with porridge made with water. The only soap was for washing clothes, and her cooking oil was the cheapest, smelliest kind from the discount shops. Shoes in the hallway were patched up countless times. The whole place seemed to wear poverty like a second skin.
Our landlady never meddled in our lives. From morning to night, she would wander the city, collecting empty cans and putting up posters for lost pets. Every Sunday, shed have her own kind of feast: bruised fruit from the market, piled on a cracked plate.
She made me ache with sympathy. But when a visitor called on her, it brought me close to tears at the worlds cruelty.
Have you got the money ready? asked a sharp-faced woman, maybe forty-five, who let herself in with a key.
Yes, love. Here you go, our landlady replied, passing over a small stack of notes.
Its not enough, Mum. Ill bring Phoebe round tomorrow, the visitor snapped.
Whose clothes are these? Youve got people staying?
I rent out a roomhow else am I to survive? I give you every penny of my pension, the old lady stammered.
Well, lets see these tenants, then. People say youre harbouring con artists, the woman declared and opened the door to our room, barrelling in like cavalry.
Who have we got in here, then?
Such a brazen invasion of our paid-for space left me stupefied.
Woman, close the door behind you! I cried.
And who do you think you are, telling me what to do? This is my house! she sneered. I want my rent direct, not through her. Heres my phone and bank accountpay up, or Ill chuck you out! When did you last pay for this?
Daughter, leave her alone, please, our landlady pleaded. I paid off the electricity bill, or wed have been cut off I cant live without light. She was on the verge of tears.
Dont you dare take rent from them again. They can pay me. Thats all Ive got to say. Phoebe will be with me tomorrow.
The woman stormed out, and our landlady sank onto a creaky chair in the corridor and wept. I went to the dear woman, hugged her gently, and tried to comfort her.
Come now, dont cry. Well sort things out.
Please, make me a cup of tea, she asked, blinking away tears.
She never drank tea as we do; her cup was always filled with an infusion of dried raspberry and blackcurrant leaves, which hung in little bundles above the cooker.
Clasping her mug, she started to confide in me.
I raised my daughter on my own. My husband left one morning and never came backI poured all my heart and soul into bringing her up. She grew restless, arrogant, always chasing after men. Found herself a husband at thirty-five and made me a grandmother. But the mans tight as a drum. So I started slipping them my pension to help them out.
But now, helpings never enough. She takes my whole pension, and if I dont pass it over, I cant see my granddaughter. I hoped renting this room would mean I could at least eat properly, but she wants that too. What did I raise her for?
She broke down again, tears trickling into her strange tea. My heart ached for her.
Now she wants to move me outsell this house and dump me in some dingy bedsit on the outskirts. Or maybe shell leave me homeless. Shes started to say so. And if I refuse, shell use my granddaughter to blackmail me. Id even sell my house just to see that little girl of mine.
My boyfriend, Sam, came home from universityhes in his fourth year studying law. I explained everything, and asked what could be done, how we could possibly help her?
Together, we spoke to neighboursfolks whod heard the daughter shout for money. We told them what had happened and gathered some witnesses. Next, we helped her write to the court, asking for arrangement orders so Granny could see her granddaughter.
We also suggested she get letters from her doctor, just in case her daughter made wild claims.
And we won. Granny now sees her granddaughter legally, every other Saturday for three hours. No more threats, no more pension for blackmail. Suddenly, she bought herself some bacon; fresh fruit filled her kitchen again. We help her with odd jobspainting window frames or stripping off ancient wallpaper, small things, but shes grateful.
In thanks, she refuses to take our rent now. But we always make sure she does, even if we have to sneak it to her when shes not looking.
How could someone treat their own mum like that? To snatch her meagre pension, ignoring what she eats, never caring for the woman who raised her? Such obvious ingratitude is heartbreaking.
Love your parentstheyre the reason you exist at all.
