My Flats To Let
Natalie Sarah Orfordnow Gromley, after marriagehad always believed the scariest thing in life was when the good bits started quietly, almost imperceptibly, and then faded away just as silently but inevitably. Like the houseplants on her windowsill: you water them, they stand, you carry on. Then, one day, you notice the leaves have yellowed and theres really no way back.
She caught the smell even before shed reached her front door.
Heavy, cloyingly sweet, powdered. Red Londonthat unmistakable perfume her mother-in-law always wore. Natalie could have picked it out of a police line-up: that scent saturated everything in Mrs Gromleys flat, clinging to clothes, hair, and memory like a clingy aunt at Christmas.
Natalie paused, key in hand, outside her own door.
It was four oclock. Shed left work early; Oksana from payroll had declared her too pale to carry on, and ushered her home. Her head thumped relentlessly, as if someone was tightening an invisible hula hoop around her temples. All Natalie wanted was a painkiller and to crawl under a blanket.
But the smell suggested something else was afoot.
She unlocked the door.
In the hallway were three cardboard boxesenormous onesonce containing fridges, each marked MAYCO. One already had tape sealing it; the other two were half-filled and shrouded with yesterdays Times.
From the kitchen came sounds: clinking cutlery, somebody bustling, muttering under her breath.
***
Mrs Gromley, said Natalie, not budging from the door. Care to explain whats going on?
The muttering stopped abruptly. Then, in the kitchen doorway, appeared her mother-in-law, a solid, well-cushioned woman of 57 in a neat housecoat tied firmly over her suit. Hair scraped back, marigolds at the ready. The air about her was both business-like and faintly ceremonial.
Natalie, love! Mrs Gromley adopted the grave tone GPs use when prescribing something grimbut in your best interests. Youre home early. Feeling all right?
Whats going on? Natalie kept position.
No need to get in a state, replied Mrs Gromley, peeling off her gloves and folding them just so. Im only doing this for you and little James. Sit, and Ill explain.
Ill stand. Start explaining.
A narrow-eyed squint from Mrs Gromleythe look of a lifelong boss: head ward sister at St Annes on Purley Road, with twenty-three years of service and an iron-clad belief her word was less suggestion, more instruction.
Fine, fine, she waved an arm, ushering Natalie toward the kitchen. At least dont stand in the corridor. Ill put the kettle on.
Dont bother. Whats in those boxes?
Mrs Gromley sighed like a woman persecuted by the insufferable fussiness of those around her.
Crockery. Some of my best saucepans, a few frying pans. I wrapped the crystal in bubble wrap, dont fret. Ive left the basic plates for the tenants.
Natalie heard the phrase in full clarity. For the tenants. She listened as the syllables passed through her and settled somewhere deep in her chest, sharp as a pin.
What tenants? She kept her voice level.
Ive found you tenants, Mrs Gromley said, as though announcing shed procured gold leaf. A lovely couple. Young, with a little boy of about five. Hes in construction, shes on maternity. Good sorts. I vetted them. Theyre moving in this Friday.
Friday, Natalie repeated. Thats three days from now.
It is, yes. Ive already sorted the depositfirst and last months rent in advance.
Natalie, moving as if underwater, set her bag on the hall table. Unzipped her coat. Hung it carefully. Each motion required effortthe thumping in her head relentless, an unseasonal chill stiffening her fingers, though the flat was warm.
Mrs Gromley, she finally managed. Did you discuss any of this with James?
Of course. We decided together, or have you forgotten? Three months ago, when James had the pay cut. We agreed: let out the flat, the two of you stay with me, save up for a bit. Sensible.
We didnt agree, Natalie shook her head. I said I wasnt happy.
You said youd think about it, Mrs Gromley corrected, soft as syrup.
No. I said no. James asked me not to make a scene, so I kept quiet. That isnt the same as agreeing.
Mrs Gromley crossed her armsa stance as familiar as rainy Mondays. The pose of someone who held a position unshakably and didnt need your approval.
Natalie, youre a clever girl. You do numbers. Lets add it up: your mortgage costshow much each month?
Thats none of your business.
Natalie
No, she said, quietly. Our finances? Not your decision. Not your business.
A silence fell in the hallway, punctuated only by the distant hum of the street through the kitchen window. Somewhere a number 38 bus trundled down Clapham High Street.
You have the right to an opinion, of course, Mrs Gromley allowed, her voice suddenly steely beneath the usual patina of kind concern. But a family isnt just you. Its James as well. And James has agreed.
Ill phone him, said Natalie, taking out her mobile.
***
James answered on the third ring. Factory noise thrummed in the background.
Natalie? Whats up? Home early?
James, your mothers packing our flat. Shes found tenants. Apparently, theyre moving in on Friday.
A heartbeat passed, then another.
Natalie, I wanted to tell you
So you knew?
Mum rang last night and said she had someone. I thought youd, you know, talk it out
James. Natalie leaned against the wall. You knew and didnt say. I come home to find boxes everywheredo you know what that means?
Natalie, I know youre upset
Come home.
Ive got a six oclock meeting
James. Her voice was quiet, controlled, deadly calm. Come. Home. Now.
He arrived by half five. By then, Natalie was in the kitchen with a lukewarm mug of tea. Mrs Gromley busied herself in the sitting room, rearranging her collection of china figurinesbrought from Woodford last Christmas and displayed for atmosphere.
James was tall and fair, with that perpetually apologetic look men get after a lifetime spent second-guessing both their mother and their wife. He was a project engineer at the Ford plant in Dagenham, taking the train with one change and coming back knackered every night. Natalie understood, usually. But today, she wasnt offering sympathy discounts.
Natalie he started at the kitchen door.
Sit down.
He obeyed. She set her mug aside.
So, she said, explain to me how a decision about our flat happened without me?
No decision was made, James brightened a little, like spotting an argument loophole. Mum just found a possibility. I thought youd
I have spoken to her. Shes packing saucepans. Is that your idea of a possibility?
You dont understand, Nat
Explain.
Well, my bonus was cut. Weeks ago. Weve been in the red every month since: mortgage, utilities, food. My car loan. Were barely coping, Natalie.
She listened. It was all true. Theyd been more careful with money, but it hardly spelled disaster. Natalies job with Alpha Accounts was solid. They were, at worst, muddling through.
I suggested we slim down spending, she said. No holidays at New Year. Cancel the gym for now. Remember?
I remember.
Thatd be enough.
Mum doesnt think so.
And do you?
His silence answered for him.
James, Natalie leaned in. Whose flat is this?
Technically its in your name but, you know, were married
Its not technically. My dad gave it to me, three months before our wedding. Legally. Mine, on paper and in practice. Neither you nor your mum have any right to let it without my written say-so. Thats illegaldid you know?
James looked up, clearly not having considered this before.
Natalie, you wouldnt shop your own husband, would you?
Its not about that. Its about you letting your mum run riot with whats not hers. And keeping quiet. Why?
From the next room, footsteps approached. Mrs Gromley appeared in the kitchen doorwayjust as expected.
James, youre back. Good. Maybe you can make Natalie see sense. She doesnt understand the situation.
Mum, not now
Not now! Mrs Gromley sailed into the kitchen and parked herself at the window. The tenants need an answer, you know. They wont hang around. If we say no, theyll go elsewhere and well not see the like again.
Mrs Gromley, said Natalie. My answer is no. Im not letting the flat. Were not moving in with you. Thats my final word.
Mrs Gromley stared at her for a long moment, then turned on her son.
James. You heard?
Mum, maybe shes right
James! The word cracked the air. I spent three days arranging this, viewings and all. Youd really ruin everything because shes stubborn?
Its not her stubbornness, James murmured, itsNatalie, explain
Natalie got up, put her mug in the sink, and turned round.
There will be no viewing tomorrow, she said. No tenants on Friday. If you bring them here, Ill explain to them myself why they wont be moving in. Good night.
She walked to the bedroom and closed the door. Did not slam, just closed.
***
It was a dreadful night. James came to bed just before eleven, each of them lying at opposite endsnot touching. Natalie listened to his steady, possibly-faked breathing. She lay awake, thinking.
Her father always told her, Natalie, if you want to solve a problem, try looking at it from a distance. Up close, its always scarier.
Her father had passed away four years ago. Hed left her the flatnot as a possession, but as protection. Natalie always saw it like that. He knew she was alone; he knew her mother was in Oxford. He knew his daughter needed an anchor.
Her anchor was currently boxed up.
No, not the dishes. The real anchor was legal. Her blue folder in the sideboardland registry, deed of gift, all filled out with proper English bureaucracy and stamps.
She knew, as surely as she knew shed make coffee in the morning, that Mrs Gromley would turn up with the tenants. Her mother-in-law never wasted her breath and, for better or worse, never backed down.
Natalie only backed down when she saw sense in it.
And here, there was none.
Beside her, James shifted. She kept still. He didnt turn either. And so they lay: two people with a one-year history, joint bathroom renovations, a Christmas tree theyd bought themselvesawkwardly, for the first time everand two keys to the same door.
Love, Natalie thought, is not about nice in nice times. Its about choice. Here he was, beside her, and he said nothing. What did that mean?
She honestly wasnt sure.
That was more unnerving than the boxes.
***
Natalie woke at seven, as usual, despite everything. James was asleep. She made coffee and stood at the window, mug in hand. Outside the flat, South London in mid-March was depressingly grimsnow that wasnt quite snow, sickly light, pavements wet, trees along the high street as cheerless as tax forms.
Her head had cleared. That was something.
Opening the sideboard, she found the blue folder, laid it on the table, flicked through the paperwork. Land Register extract, with that blue stamp; the deed of gift, properly notarised, dated only last year. Owner: Natalie Sarah Orford. All present and correct.
She closed the file and put it back.
At half-nine her mother rang from Oxford. Natalie took a while to answernot because she wanted to avoid, but because she was sure her voice would betray her.
Darling, are you all right?
Im fine, Mum.
You dont sound fine
Its nothing.
Pause.
James called me last night, her mum said quietly. Said somethings up with your mother-in-law.
Natalie closed her eyes.
He rang you?
Yes. Hes worried. Says he doesnt know what to do.
He needs to decide whose side hes on.
Natalie, her mother said quietly. Hes not a bad man. He justhes been with her thirty years. That takes time to change.
I know.
Are you holding up?
I am.
If you want me to come, just say.
Natalie felt her throat tighten. She coughed.
No need, Mum. Ill manage.
All right, love. Just remember: the flat is yours. Thats not up for debate.
I know.
She hung up. James shuffled in at ten, poured his own coffee silently. She stood at the window, book open but unread.
Natalie he began.
Yes?
Mum says shes dropping by about noon, with the tenants. For the viewing.
I heard you yesterday.
Maybe just speak to them? Talk it through? You might like them
She turned from the window.
James. Are you honestly trying to convince me to let my flat, to people Ive never met, on terms discussed behind my back?
I just Mum has tried so hard.
James, Natalie said, softly. Listen to yourself: Mum triednot we agreed. Her house? Her call?
He put down the mug and rubbed his forehead.
I just dont know how we get out of this without hurting her.
And hurting mes fine?
He had no answer.
Natalie went back to her book. Not that she took in a wordthe lines blurredbut she needed something to grip.
***
They arrived at half twelve.
Natalie heard the buzzer. Mrs Gromleys voice, brisk and proprietorial, floated up from downstairs. Then the rickety whine of the lift.
James lingered by the balcony window, staring outside. Natalie sat on the sofa. The blue folder waited in the sideboard.
A knock at the door.
James moved to get up.
Stay put, said Natalie.
He paused, then sank back with a cocktail of relief and regret.
Another knock.
Natalie got up, crossed the hall, and opened the door.
Mrs Gromley, in her Sunday-best navy coat, bustled in, not waiting for an invitation. Behind her, a young couple: he, zipped up in a sensible waterproof, she, in a bright red puffer; holding the hand of a serious-faced five-year-old with a bobble hat featuring bear ears. The boy eyed Natalie gravely.
Natalie, love! Here we are, Mrs Gromley declared. This is Michael and Louise. Lovely family. Michaels in building, Louise at home with little Toby.
Hello, Louise said shyly. Sorry for dropping in unannounced
No worries, Natalie replied evenly. Come in.
They filed inside. Toby continued to eye her with sombre suspicion.
Is James here? Mrs Gromley asked, glancing around as if it were her own place.
In the living room.
Perfect. Michael, come, let me show you around. The lounge has double aspectvery handyand the Tubes a minutes walk, honestly, youre right in Balham
She thundered through the flat, discussing ceiling height and great electrics. Natalie trailed in her wake.
James, hovering near the balcony, nodded at the guests, conspicuously awkward. He avoided Natalies eyes.
Look, see here! Mrs Gromley gestured. Massive sitting room, decent bedroom, well-appointed kitchen. Ovens new, thanks to Natalie. Practical.
Michael nodded, inspecting the windowsills. Louise clung to Toby. Natalie stood by the sideboard.
About the rent, Mrs Gromley started, I mentioned £1,400
If I may, said Natalie, voice poised. She opened the sideboard and retrieved the blue folder.
They all turned to her.
Michael, Louise, she said, before you make any decisions, Id like to show you something.
She handed Louise a piece of paper. This is the Land Registry. Issued last Friday. If you look at owner
Louise scanned it. Natalie Sarah Orford, she read aloud.
My maiden name. Thats me. Natalie held up a second document. This is the deed of gift; my father gave me this place last year. I am sole owner. My husbands name is nowhere. Mrs Gromley has no legal ties to the flat.
Louise, eyes wide, handed Michael the sheet.
Natalie, now youre just being silly Mrs Gromley barged in.
Michael, Natalie continued, ignoring her. Renting a property requires the owners written agreementa proper contract with their signature. I have not agreed. No verbal contracts either. If you sign anything with someone else and move in, it wont be legal. Im letting you know.
Michael looked from the papers to Natalie. Toby pulled at his mums sleeve, whispering something. Louise bent down to his level.
We didnt realise, Louise said, We were told the owner agreed
The owner is standing in front of you. The owner does not agree.
A long pause.
Well Michael cleared his throat, thats clear. Sorry for the bother.
He handed the papers back. Natalie took them.
Wait! Mrs Gromley snapped. The air lost all trace of kindly ward sister now; she sounded like the school matron who confiscated your harmless chewing gum. Michael, please, this is all a mix-up. Ill straighten it.
Mrs Gromley James spoke up abruptly.
All eyes swiveled toward him.
He stood, hands in pockets, staring at his mother. He looked drawn, but resolute.
Mum. Let them go. Theyre right.
Mrs Gromley stared.
What?
Theyre leaving. Natalie owns the flat. I I should have been firmer.
A silence as heavy as three-day-old bathwater.
Louise collected Tobys hand. Michael nodded to Nataliebrief, businesslike. They left. The door thunked closed.
The three of them remained.
***
Mrs Gromley glared at her son for a full minute. Natalie stood there with the blue folder, waiting.
James, Mrs Gromley finally said, cold enough to chill the room. Do you know what youve just done?
Yes, Mum.
Youve picked her over me.
I picked whats right.
Right? She spat the word like a bad oyster. So Im wrong?
In this case, yes.
Ive given you everything. Raised you alone after your father leftsix years old, you were! Double shifts! I never asked for anything
Mum, I know
Know?! Her pitch rose, not quite a shriek but getting there. I only ever wanted you both to do well! I found those tenants, I worked it all out
Without asking, said James. Without asking the owner.
Owner, Mrs Gromley echoed, turning to Natalie. So thats what we are now. Owner. Well, youre man and wife, youre a familyits supposed to be shared.
Mrs Gromley, Natalie said. Im happy to talk finances. With James. Just usnot in response to ultimatums I was never even told about.
Ultimatums! She flapped her hands in the air. You hear this? I was trying to help!
I believe you. But unasked-for help isnt help. Its interference.
Interference! She turned, no longer addressing Natalie, but aiming everything at her son. Natalie might as well have been the toaster. James. Are you listening? She calls it interference. After everything I
Mum
No. She chopped the air. No, you decide. Either you listen to the mother who raised you, or you side with the woman who says I interfere. Choose.
Natalie didnt move. She watched James, standing there between the floral curtains theyd picked out togetherargued over, really, until arriving at a compromise. The wobbly bookshelf hed put up, slightly wonky but good enough. Their wedding photo in a cheap white frame.
He looked at his mum.
Im staying, he said quietly.
What?
Im staying. Here. With Natalie. I love you, Mum. I do. But you cant just do things like this. You cant.
Cant?
Cant. You cant turn up unexpected, you cant pack someones things, you cant organise tenants without asking the owner. I should have told you sooner. Thats on me.
Mrs Gromley stood there. Then slowly did up her coat, button by button. Took her bag.
Youll regret this, she said, not threatening, just tired.
Maybe. But Im doing whats right.
She left. The front door shut with considerably more force than necessary.
Silence lingered.
***
They ended up in the sitting roomJames by the window, Natalie by the sideboard, blue folder still in hand. One box, sealed, squatted in the corner. The others waited in the hall.
It was still snow-misting outside.
Natalie slipped the folder back on the shelf. She went to the sofa and sat. After a pause, James joined her, not too close.
Natalie, he started.
Wait.
They sat, speechless. Natalie counted the books on the slanting shelf. James stared at his hands.
I should have said no straight away, he blurted. When she rang last night. I should have. But I didnt.
Why not?
He was silent a long while.
Ive never known how. Not ever. If you say no, she doesnt shout, just looks at youas if youve betrayed her. Ive never been able to take it. Its easier to agree.
I know, Natalie replied softly. I see that. But James, youre not a little boy anymore.
I know. I know I did the right thing today. I think so. Shes still my mother though.
Shell always be your mother.
Shell probably sulk for ages.
Probably.
And itll feel horrible.
It probably will, said Natalie. No false comfort.
He nodded, rubbing his forehead.
What do we do now?
I dont know, Natalie replied. We talk. Not today. Later, once its all calmed downabout money, everything. Thats a chat for another time. But Im ready to have it.
And Mum?
Thats another talk. But that ones yours.
He paused. Are you angry?
Natalie genuinely thought about it, searching her feelings for a real answer.
Im tired, she said. I was furious this morning. But not now.
Natalie, I
James. She looked at him. You did the right thing today. That matters. But today is only a start. Understand?
He nodded. She saw it in his eyes.
Good.
Natalie let her gaze wander back to the bookshelf, the lopsided one, the white-framed photo, the half-sealed box in the corner.
Shall we unpack? she asked.
Yeah. Lets unpack.
***
They unpacked in silence, one box each. Natalie peeled newsprint off the pans, returned them to the cupboard. James, more careful than usual, handled the crystal.
The flat still smelt of foreign perfumeRed London didnt air out quickly. Natalie opened a window; March chill instantly refreshed the room.
That little boy with the bear-ear hat was probably already in a cab home, peering out the windowno idea hed simply passed through the eye of someone elses family drama.
Natalie thought of her mothers words: Hes lived with her thirty years. It takes time. True enoughchange is slow. Today James had said no. For the first time.
No guarantee itd always be this way.
No guarantee things would henceforth be simple.
But it was a start.
She stacked the last saucepan. Folded the newspaper. Tossed it in the bin.
Coffee? James offered.
Yes, please.
He disappeared into the kitchen. Natalie picked up their wedding photo. They looked a bit flusteredher dress was never quite the right colour, his tie came off after the speechesbut they were smiling. Properly smiling.
A whole year, already.
She set the frame back.
Fresh coffee drifted in from the kitchenher own, their own.
Natalie went in. James put a mug in front of her, then sat down too.
Outside, the sleet persisted.
They sipped in silence. It was a heavy quiet, but it wasnt empty. It was full of things yet unsaidplenty. Natalie felt it almost as sharply as the morning chill.
But there was no need for words just then.
What mattered was coffee, an open window, a slightly wonky bookcase in the next room.
A blue folder, back in its proper place.
***
Youd like to think the worst is over. That would be a neat ending. But Natalie had spent five years in Alpha Accounts and knew balances never settle right away. Figures take timethey never add up at the first go.
Family was much the same.
Mrs Gromley would ring. Sooner or later. Shes not the sort to walk away forevershe walks away and waits to be followed.
James would be torn. Natalie could see that as plainly as the rent statement.
Money worries. Bonuses lost. Mortgages. All of it still there.
There were conversations loominglong, honest chats theyd not quite learned to have. But perhaps, after today, they were closer.
She didnt know.
James set down his mug.
Natalie, he said.
Yes?
Im glad you didnt walk out when I was talking utter rubbish. You stayed, and did the right thing.
Natalie looked at him.
I couldnt have done anything else, she said simply. This is my home.
He nodded.
Ours, he said quietly.
She was silent a moment.
Yes, ours, she said at last.
Outside, the wind eased. The sleet stopped scratching at the window. The sky beyond Balham was still greymaybe marginally less so.
Natalie picked up her mug. The coffee was cold but she finished it anyway.
