Take Me Back, Please
Mum, you really dont have to Simon never finished the sentence.
Emily Grant slowly shook her head, fingers tracing the worn armrest of her old chair. The flat carried her perfume and the scent of dried lavender she kept in every room. But those smells would fade soon enough.
Im not doing this for you, she said quietly. Its for Michael. The lad needs a real home, not some rented shoebox where the landlord could boot you out at a moments notice. No matter what happens with you and Charlotte, son, the flat must go to Michael. Thats what I want.
Charlotte stood by the window, her hand resting on their sons shoulder. Michael squirmed, not quite sure why the grown-ups spoke in such hushed, careful tones.
Thanks, Simon croaked. Honestly, Mum. Thank you.
Emily dismissed his gratitude with a wave. Her gaze softened as it fell on Michael.
Come here, sweetheart.
Michael crossed the room and let his grandmother pull him in for a hug. Her hands trembled slightly as she cupped his cheeks.
You know, Mikey, youre the best thing thats happened to me. Got my eyes. My stubbornness. My atrocious taste in music.
Granny Michael muttered, embarrassed but pleased.
This flat is yours, Emily said, suddenly serious. Itll be in your dads name for now, since youre not eighteen. You are the reason Im passing it down while I still can. Were family, Michael. I want to do right by you.
Two months later, Emily Grant simply stopped breathing.
The three-bedroom flat seemed to swallow them whole. Every weekend, Simon stripped floral wallpaper, scrubbed ancient stains, and fitted new light fixtures. Charlotte endlessly rearranged possessions, finding space among Emilys remaining furniture.
Meanwhile, Michael darted from room to room, delighted by the open spaces. At last, he had his own bedroom, with walls he could plaster with posters without asking anyones permission.
Dad, can I put my desk by the window?
Put it wherever you like, mate. Its your room.
Simon watched his son line up figurines along the window sill. Thanks to his mum, the family finally had a proper home. He ought to feel happy and grateful.
In reality, the walls squeezed him. Routine, predictability, the days blurring into each other. Wake up. Work. Home. Dinner. TV. Sleep. On and on, till the bitter end.
The coffee shop next to his office became Simons little refuge. He started popping in after work, postponing his journey home by half an hour, then an hour. The barista already knew his usual. A little table by the window was unofficially his.
Thats where he met her.
She laughed at something on her phoneloud and uninhibited. Her laughter drowned out the hum of the café. Simon looked up from his laptop, she caught his eye, and instead of looking away, arched a brow.
Sorry, she said, with no hint of apology. My mate sent me the worst joke Ive ever heard. Fancy a laugh?
Simon shouldve declined, finished his spreadsheet, headed home to his wife and son.
Go on then, he said.
Her name was Lisa. She worked at a marketing agency, hated her job, adored silly puns. Lisa was vibrant, dazzling, real.
Youre sinking, she told him at their third meeting.
Im not sinking. My lifes alright.
Are you happy, though?
Three weeks later, they woke up in the same bed.
Simon told Charlotte the truth that very night.
He watched Charlottes face as the meaning slowly hit her.
You slept with another woman, she repeated, slowly.
Yes.
Simon stayed silent; any words would only make it worse.
Charlotte lobbed a towel at hima feeble gesture that only fueled her outrage. It hit his chest and dropped to the floor.
You betrayed usfor some young thing? Fourteen years, Simon. Fourteen years of marriage and suddenly youre bored?
Its not about boredom.
Then what? Charlotte shouted. Explain it, since apparently Im too thick to understand why my husband decided to burn down everything we built!
Simon rubbed his face.
Im suffocating with you, Charlotte. Every day, the same. Work, house, dinner, bed. I needed to feel something different. Something alive, something real.
Something alive, Charlotte echoed, a laugh escaping, tears already streaking her cheeks. I gave you a son! Spent my youth on you! And you needed to feel alive?
From the hallway came the gentle click of a door. Michael had woken up and now hid in his room. Simon felt physically hollow just imagining what his son mightve overheard.
Fine. Charlotte wiped her face, smearing mascara everywhere. Fine, Simon. Want to go? Well get divorced. I wont keep you. But lets talk about the flat. Your mother wanted Michael to have it. She said so right to his face
The flat stays with me.
Charlotte froze.
What did you say?
The paperworks in my name, Simon couldnt meet her eyes. Legally, its mine. You and Michael will have to find somewhere else.
Youre kicking your own son out, Charlotte whispered, stunned. Your own child. The boy your mum left this flat for.
Im not kicking anyone out. Youll have time to find somewhere. Ill help with the first months rent, or whatever, but
Youre a monster, Charlotte gripped the counter. Youre no man, no fathernothing. Your mother would be disgusted if she saw what youve become.
Next morning, Charlotte packed up their things while Michael sat on his bed, staring at the walls hed only just covered with posters. He wouldnt look at his dad. Didnt say a word. Just followed his mum out the door.
Their divorce finalised after three months. Simon sent child supportnothing lavish, just enough to keep the judge happy. Every Sunday, he called Michael. Every Sunday, the call was ignored. Messages went unanswered. Birthday gifts were accepted without so much as a thank you.
Eventually, Simon stopped trying. The lads angry, he told himself. Hell grow up and realise that grown-ups sometimes have to make tough choices.
Lisa moved in two weeks after Charlotte left. She filled the flat with candles, decorative cushions, and music blaring at all hours. She cooked elaborate, expensive meals and insisted on weekend shopping sprees. Next to her, Simon felt young, reckless and exhilaratingly free.
Half a year later, Simons bank account was down to forty-seven quid.
Hotels, restaurants, spontaneous shopping tripsLisa twirled out of dressing rooms in frocks worth more than his monthly food budget. All lovely, he thought, right up until he noticed the account was empty.
We need to talk about money, Simon told Lisa that evening.
Later, darling, later. Im off for drinks with the girls.
She kissed his cheek, grabbed her new handbagbought last monthand disappeared.
That night, Lisa didnt come home.
Come morning, she announced their relationship was going nowhere. He bored her, she said, and she felt suffocated. Lisa swept up her belongings and vanished as lightly as shed arrived.
For two weeks, Simon wallowed in self-pity. He wandered the empty flat in yesterdays clothes, let dirty dishes pile up, and never opened the blinds. Everyone had left him, he grumbled to himself. His son didnt want to talk. His wife took everything good and walked out. And Lisathe dazzling, carefree Lisagone the moment the money dried up.
By the third week, self-pity morphed into something desperate. Simon showered, shaved, put on the cleanest shirt he could find, and crossed London to the address Charlotte had listed in court.
The building was old but tidy. A post-war block with fresh paint and a working lift. Charlotte let him in without asking why.
Michael, she called over her shoulder, your dads here.
Simon stepped into a narrow hall, surveying the modest space his family now called home. Two rooms, not three. Small corridor, tiny kitchen.
But the place breathed warmth and life.
Michael stood in the doorway. The boy had grown; his face had shed much of its softness. His eyes, fixed on Simon, held no affection at all.
Michael, I know youre upset with me, Simon began. But I realise I failed. I messed up. Now I want to make it right. We can be a family again. Us three. Your room is waiting, Michael!
Charlotte leaned against the wall, looking at him with complete indifference.
People change, Simon persisted, addressing them both. Ive had time to thinkI understand what I lost. I get it now.
You didnt lose anything, Michael snapped. You made your choice. You picked Lisa, not us.
Its not that simple, mate
Dont call me that. Michael stepped forward. You kicked us out of Grans flat. Our home. You chose her, you got rid of us.
Michael, please
And what if we believe you? What happens next? You meet someone else and suddenly we’re boring? Toss us out like bin bags again?
Simon tried to defend himself:
That will never happen. I promise, Ive changed.
Michael shook his head slowly.
I dont need a dad like you, he said quietly.
He turned and retreated to his room. Simon looked to Charlotte, desperate for a shred of support.
Charlotte, talk to him. Tell him Ive learned, I see things clearly now.
She shook her head.
I wouldnt forgive you either, Simon. Not even if you begged. Not because you cheated. Not even because you threw us out. But because you only came back when she dumped you. When you had no one left.
Simon barely remembered stumbling onto the landing. He couldnt recall the journey home.
Simon stayed alone in his three-bedroom flat. His mum believed a family would live here. But there was no one left. Hed pushed away everyone who loved him. And now, nothing could be fixed. It was too late.
