Lucy was practically singing with happinesswho could blame her? At long last, she had her own flat, a place utterly hers, free from the tyranny of a landlord whod flick off the lights at eleven oclock sharp, hover over her shoulder, and turn the gas hob off right in the middle of boiling a pot. No more bans on using a hairdryer or straighteners for fear theyd get tangled up in something. Baths werent allowed, only a short shower, once a day and you had to choose: morning or evening. It didnt matter what you picked; Mrs. Crabtree would still stand outside, rapping at the door, telling you to mind the water.
For an entire year, I watched Lucy suffer under Mrs. Crabtrees so-called mentorship. As soon as Lucy turned eighteen, she persuaded her parents to let her live in the halls at her college. That turned out to be its own sort of trial: bedbugs and cockroaches were an inconvenience, but coming back to find your frying pan (with your chips sizzling inside) pinched while youd ducked outthat was something else. The housemates, with their constant stream of boyfriends, took it up another notch. She made it through the year, but when her dad visited and saw the state the place was in, he didnt let her spend another night there. For the next five years, Lucy rented a room from sweet old Mrs. Dodds.
Mrs. Dodds was dear, a little eccentric, but kind. After her degree, Lucy kept living with Mrs. Dodds, scrimping and saving for a deposither dream was to buy a flat, even a tiny one, just to call it her own. While other girls her age were darting off to dates, splashing out on trendy clothes and the newest bags, Lucy was stacking up her savings. Even Mrs. Dodds would tell her to give herself a break. Still, Lucy remained stubbornly set on her dream.
One day, her parents came to visit. Her dad, clearly nervous, told her theyd decided to helphe, Mum, and Great Aunt Martha. Now, Aunt Martha was Dads distant relation. Shed never married, spent her life teaching at the local primary, and had carried on working there until she was eighty-five. She was strict and had fallen out with most of the family over the years. Only Lucys dad could get through to her, really. She adored Lucys mum too, whod also been a teacher.
One time, when Mum and Dad dropped groceries off, Aunt Martha asked Dad for help finding a care home. He didnt say much then, just went with Mum to check out the place Martha suggested. Without saying a word, they made up the guest room in their house for her. After all, your daughter lives in another city, they reasonedand Martha, despite her age, was sharp as a tack. She told Dad not to wring his hands over it. I know what Im like. I could ruin the good opinion you lot have built up about me. But Dad and Mum wouldnt have any of it. It would give them peace of mind, less worry about her being alone. And when they went away, Aunt Martha could watch the cat and the parrot, Mr. Pickles, instead of them having to pawn the pets off on neighbours.
Martha was hesitant, but she agreed, feeling a certain joy at not being quite so alone in the world. She lived several years among loved ones, soaking up their affection, before passing away peacefullyleaving everything to her nephew, Lucys dad.
She gave Lucy herself the family necklace, a piece that had been passed down to her and carefully guarded through lean times. Lucy took it with happiness and warmth, always admiring it and remembering Martha fondly.
With Aunt Marthas old flat now up for sale, her dad suggested they sell it and buy Lucy her very own place in the city where she had settled. You love it there, after all, he said. And just like that, Lucy finally had her own two-bedroom flat. The lady whod lived there before assured her she was leaving behind good vibes, and Lucy, brimming with excitement, launched straight into redecorating. Her dad and mum often came to help, pitching in with paintbrushes and flat-pack furniture. Lucy would come up with ever wilder design ideas, and Dad would patiently bring them to life. The place was transformed so dramatically that Mum decided to overhaul their home as well. Lucy vowed to handle the design for her.
Lucy gradually came to love her new town. At work, she became friends with Emilya fellow teacher. Emily would often pop round to Lucys, and over tea theyd swap stories. One afternoon, Lucy shared how, as a child, she and her neighbour Jess would sneak up to the rooftop of their old seven-story block and sunbathe. Emily grinned, Fancy that! Why dont we
They both laughed but remembered: As long as no one locks us up there! Once, the caretaker at our blockold Mr. Evanswas a bit deaf. He closed the roof entrance, locked it up while we were up there. No amount of our shouting got through to him. We had to wait until Dad came home from work and somehow sensed something was up.
Emily asked sympathetically, Did you get in trouble?
Lucy shrugged. Not really. Dad always spoiled me, covered for me with Mum. He was the easygoing one. Mum was strict. Most of my mischiefs she still doesnt know about.
You were lucky,” Emily sighed. “My childhood stunts earned me a right telling-off. Hey, maybe we could ask the caretaker for the key, just be upfront.
Good idealets give it a go.
At first, the caretaker, Mr. Simmons, said he couldnt, what with health and safety and all, and if the management found out, hed be in hot water. But after some convincing about how responsible they were, he relentedJust no mucking around, alright?
So the girls spent half their Saturday lounging on the roof. They even returned a few times, always getting the key from Mr. Simmons.
One day, as they were packing up to head home, Lucy thought she heard a door creak but figured it was nothing. As they tiptoed round the corner, there sat a smartly dressed elderly woman, nibbling a sandwich beside a pipe.
Excuse me, who are you? they both asked at once.
The lady managed a smile through her nerves. Me? Im… Im Mrs. Harrington.
Lucy realised she recognised her. Waitare you the previous owner of my flat?
Mrs. Harrington blushed. Yes, youre the sweet girl who bought it. Im terribly sorry
And to my surprise, Mrs. Harrington started to cry. She told us her tale: shed raised her son, Nick, alone after her husband ran offa common story. Nick had been a sickly child; shed poured her whole life into him and never remarried. He did welluniversity, then a Masters. A good job, too, but no luck with women.
About five years ago, Nick brought home Angela. Angela was down-to-earth, immediately pitching in with family chores, looking after Nick attentively. Mrs. Harrington felt she could finally live for herself. Nick had already bought a big flat ages ago but lived at home for convenience. When the couple eventually moved out, Mrs. Harrington began her own, quiet life.
Then came the grandchildrena little boy, an infant the next year, and a little girl the year after that. After the youngest was born, Nick and Angela suggested she sell her own place, since she lived with them now anyway. That’s how Mrs. Harrington ended up in what she described as a tiny corner of hell.
Angela planned to return to work and the childrenwell, they became Mrs. Harringtons full-time job. Suddenly, Mrs. Harringtons health gave way; high blood pressure, said the doctors, and she was told to rest. Rest! In a house with three unruly little ones?
Angela didnt want Grandma interferingshe just wanted food made, clothes changed if necessary, occasional story time, outings to the park, and the house kept up ready for when Nick and Angela walked in from work. Strictly no disciplining, no teaching, thank you very much. After all this, Mrs. Harringtons only free time was once the washing up was done, and the little ones tucked into bed.
Nick would brush off any complaints. Come on, Mum, movement is life! hed say. You do all this so well! The kids are with someone they love, we can work harder and earn more. Were living as one happy family. Isnt that something?
It all pushed Mrs. Harrington to the brink. When Nick and Angela took a seaside holiday without her, leaving her alone with the grandkids, she thought she might not survive it. I love my grandchildren to bits, she said, but I was so worn out. So, I fibbedtold Nick I was going to a friends cottage for the weekend. Instead, I spent my days wandering the city, going to museums and exhibitions. At night, Id sit by the river on a bench.
Emily asked, But where did you sleep?
Mrs. Harrington smiled. I didntsummer nights, you see. Today, I found myself wandering past my old building. I went up, saw the roof was open, and remembered Nick hiding up here as a boy. I almost spent the night here, to be honest.
We were a bit horrified and quickly convinced Mrs. Harrington to join me at my flat for tea.
Oh, Lucy, what a wonderful job youve done with the place, she marveled. How I regret agreeing to Nick and Angela. Dont get me wrong…
Tell you what, I said, pop round any time.
Oh, I couldntwouldnt want to be a bother.
Dont be daft! Emily butted in. Hang on, may I ask what happened to the money from selling your flat?
I introduced Emily as a good solicitor, hoping Mrs. Harrington wouldn’t mind her bluntness.
Of course, she replied. Nick said hed put half in my name with interest and half in his.
Emily mused, You could buy a one-bedroom flat with thatthink about it.
Well help decorate! I added, with a spark of excitement.
Mrs. Harrington hesitated, but eventually, with Emilys help, she found a small flat in her old building within a month. No one really knows what was said when Emily paid Nick a business-like visit at his office, but after a lot of awkwardness, he agreed it was for the best. Angela, on the other hand, was miffed and cut off contact with her mother-in-law. Eventually, the grandchildren sorted out a system of staying over with Grandma in turns. Angela even came around, a little, after nursery spaces were found for the childrenwhich they loved.
Mrs. Harrington and I visited each other often, sometimes venturing out to galleries and exhibitions. Over tea one afternoon, Emily said, When Im old, Ill stay in my own place, no matter what anyone says. Im not going to end up wandering the streets all night!
Quite right, I agreed. Thats my plan too.
So, as I finish this entry, Im grateful: for my haven, for family and friends who stand by me, and for the lesson that independencehard-won though it may beis truly worth every effort. Never give up on your own bit of happiness, and look after those who carried you along the way.
Sending a warm hug to all who read these words.
