“You’ve got problems, little sisterthis isnt your flat.”
My aunt, my mothers sister, never had children, but she had a splendid three-bedroom flat in the heart of London and a host of serious health troubles. Her late husband had been a collector, so her home resembled a museum more than a residence.
My younger sister, Tabitha, had a layabout husband and two children. They lived in a cramped rented room in a student hall. When Tabitha heard about our aunts failing health, she rushed to her side at oncenot out of concern, but to whinge about her own wretched lot in life.
Let me be clearour aunt was a sharp-tongued woman, never one to mince words, and perfectly capable of putting someone in their place. For years, shed invited me and my husband to live with her, even promising to leave us the flat.
We had our own place and refused her “generous offer,” though we still brought her groceries and medicines now and then, and I cleaned for her out of duty, not for the square footage. After that visit, Tabitha and her brood moved in within days.
Tabitha and I never got onshed always envied me. I had a hardworking, loving husband, a brilliant son, a good job, a steady income, and my own home. She only ever called when she needed to borrow moneyand, with her terrible memory, never paid a penny back.
After my second pregnancy, I had little time for Auntie, though my husband still dropped off parcels of treats. When my baby was six months old, I finally visited. At the door, I heard shoutingTabithas voice, shrill as a tea kettle:
“Until you sign that deed, youre not getting a scrap of food! Crawl back inside and stay in the doghouse tonight!”
I rang the bell. When Tabitha saw me, she barred the door, sneering, “Dont even think about coming inthis flats ours now!”
I only got inside by threatening to call the police. Auntie had aged a decade since Id last seen her. Tears welled in her eyes when she spotted me.
“Whyre you crying? Go on, tell her how well we treat you!” Tabitha snapped. “Look, she couldnt even be bothered to bring the baby!”
Aunties room held nothing but a bedher wardrobe was gone, her things piled on the floor. The flat had been stripped of all collectables, even her fine jewellery. It was obviousTabitha and her husband were living off what theyd pawned.
I excused myself to the loo and texted my husband: *We need to rescue Auntie. She cant stay here.* Returning, I chatted brightly about my year, squeezing Aunties hand and winking when I mentioned the baby. She understoodher gaze flickered with gratitude.
Tabitha tried dragging me out, while her husband kept asking if I wasnt overstaying*Didnt my baby miss me?* My husband arrived an hour later with a constable in tow. Tabitha stalled at the door until I said, “Oh, thats just my husband.”
The officer was an unpleasant surprise for them. I ushered him to Aunties side. “Heres your victimI heard them denying her food. Theyve sold everythingfurniture, gold, even her late husbands treasures.”
Over Tabithas wailing, the constable asked, “Do you wish to press charges?”
Tabitha got off lightly, but her husband spent two years in prison. My mother took them indespite having disowned them years priorand blamed me for the scandal, cutting me from her will. But Auntie, in thanks, left me the flat.
Now, we visit her as before, with a nurse hired for her care. I cant fathom what she endured under Tabithas roof!
