The Flat That Stole Our Peace
“Emily! Em, where are you?” Arthur Bennett’s voice carried from the living room. “Come through! Important news!”
“Coming, love!” Emily Bennett dried her hands on her apron. “What’s happened? Is the house on fire?”
“Better than that! Miles better!” Arthur sprang up as she entered, grasping her elbows. “You remember Billson, my old boss? Retired last year?”
“Course I do. Why?” Emily felt wary. Arthur’s excitement often meant complications.
“He rang! He’s selling his three-bed flat in Leeds city centre! Offered it to us for a song, Em! Says he’ll take half price ’cause I helped him out once – got his nephew that job in sales, remember?”
Emily sank into the armchair, thoughts swirling like autumn leaves.
“Arthur, what flat? We haven’t that sort of money!”
“Here’s the clever bit!” Arthur perched on the armrest, talking fast. “Billson says partial payments! Small amounts monthly! He’s moving to Dorset with his daughter. Em, think! We’ve squeezed into this two-bed forever!”
“Arthur, wait…” Emily rubbed her temples. “Why d’we need three bedrooms? Kids are grown with their own places. This suits us fine!”
“Why?!” Arthur paced. “Grandchildren will visit! What if we need carers later? Or get a live-in nurse?”
Emily watched Arthur. Thirty years married, still dreaming big. Forever chasing happiness just around the corner.
“How much?” she asked cautiously.
“First instalment’s modest – three thousand quid. Then five hundred monthly.”
“Three thousand?!” Emily near choked on her tea. “Arthur Bennett, have you lost the plot? Where’d we find that?”
“Thought it through!” Arthur took her hands. “Remember Gran’s silver service? Appraised at four grand last year! Sell it – payment sorted!”
Emily snatched her hands away. “The silver? That’s heirloom! Gran gifted it on her deathbed!”
“So? She’d want us happy! We’ll live proper – big flat, city centre!”
“What if we can’t manage payments? Illness? Job loss?”
“Won’t happen!” Arthur waved dismissively. “Em, this is our chance! Once in a lifetime!”
Emily went to the window. Rain streaked the glass like her muddled thoughts.
“Arthur… have you asked the kids? What’ll Sarah say?”
“They’ll be chuffed! Imagine Sarah’s face! James will be proud – parents in posh Leeds!”
Sarah, their eldest, was a tired primary teacher. James lived in Manchester since his gap year, rarely calling. Would they celebrate? Emily doubted it.
“Maybe… we should think a bit longer?” she suggested, back turned. “Sleep on it…”
“Sleep?” Arthur flung his hands up. “Billson flies to Dorset tomorrow! Decide now or it’s gone!”
“Why us?” Emily turned abruptly. Arthur fiddled with the tablecloth.
“Arthur? Full truth?”
“Obviously! Hid nothing!”
“You’re holding something back.”
Arthur sighed. “Alright. Small snag. Place needs… sprucing up. Serious spruce.”
“How serious?”
“Well… plumbing, wiring. Perhaps flooring. Definitely wallpaper…”
“Arthur!” Emily slumped. “That’s thousands more!”
“But we’ll live like royalty!” Arthur’s eyes shone bright. “High ceilings! Crown moulding! Proper old-fashioned charm!”
Emily saw the same hopeful glint from thirty years ago. She’d believed him then – married him, raised kids, scrimped, saved. He’d always dreamed bigger.
“Alright,” she conceded. “One condition. We view it first. Get quotes. Talk to the kids. Then decide.”
“Naturally!” Arthur beamed. “Booked viewing tomorrow!”
Emily lay awake. One hand, a bigger flat in Leeds sounded grand. But their little two-bed felt like home – warm with memories.
Next morning, the building had grand staircases and tall windows. But Billson opened the door. Emily gasped.
“Had a flood, did we?” she asked, eyeing water stains.
“Top floor’s pipes sulk sometimes,” Billson admitted weakly. “Dries out fine.”
Peeling wallpaper. Squeaking floors. Kitchen tap dangling. Lovely view of the park… through a cracked pane.
“Arthur,” Emily whispered. “It’s a wreck.”
“But potential!” Arthur nudged her. “Crown moulding!”
Billson hurried them: other buyers interested, decide now. Arthur paced nervously.
“We’ll take it!” he declared suddenly. “Em, we’re having it!”
“But—”
“Done! Billson, draft the papers!”
That evening, Arthur sipped tea, planning renovations. Emily stayed quiet.
“Big room: master suite. Middle: lounge with fireplace. Small one: my study! Bookshelves, computer…”
“Renovation funds?” Emily asked.
“Bit by bit! Room at a time!”
“What if payments fail?”
“Won’t! I’ll take weekend building work!”
Arthur sold the silver service next day. Emily rang Sarah while cleaning.
“Mum, why a flat?” Sarah sounded baffled. “Your place is lovely!”
“Dad decided. Thinks it’s better.”
“But can you afford it? You moan about pensions! Did Dad sell Gran’s silver?!”
“Afraid so.”
“Mum, that’s madness! He always promised it’d stay in family!”
Arthur returned triumphant. “Sold! Four grand even!”
“Arthur, re-think? Sarah’s against it…”
“What does Sarah know?” Arthur scoffed. “She’ll thank us later!”
Papers signed. Billson vanished to Dorset. Keys in hand, their money pit awaited.
Trouble started immediately. The building had fortnightly boiler shutdowns. Ancient pipes meant lukewarm radiators. Upstairs neighbours overflowed baths constantly.
“Manageable,” Arthur insisted. “Just need extra funds.”
Savings vanished on plumbing. They borrowed for plasterboard. Arthur’s weekend jobs barely covered paint.
“Could sell this place?” Arthur suggested one evening.
“And live where? The Leeds flat’s unlivable!”
Sparks flew – proper shouting matches, slammed doors. Tears. First time in years. Arthur accused Emily of lacking faith. Emily yelled about rash decisions.
“I worked my fingers to the bone! Raised kids, pinched pennies! You gambled it!”
“I wanted better!”
“Better? Sarah barely speaks since the silver went! James won’t ring back!”
James was curt when Emily called: “Sort your own mess, Mum.”
Six months later. The flat slowly improved but funds drained. Arthur grew gaunt. Emily turned quiet.
“Arthur,” she pleaded one rainy evening. “Sell that flat. Come home. Enough strain.”
“Sell? We owe Billson! Who’d buy our unfinished disaster?”
“Then what?”
“Don’t know,” Arthur whispered. “Just don’t know.”
They sat in their old lounge. Rain mirrored that first conversation. Now Emily felt hollow.
“Y’know,” she murmured, “we were happy here. Kids growing. Plans made… Why’d we need more?”
Arthur held her. “Sorry, Em. Ruined everything.”
“Not everything.” But inside, emptiness yawned. Silver gone, kids distant. Happiness dissolved like sugar in tea.
They moved to Leeds next month. Too exhausting maintaining two places. Spacious. Bright. But bitterly cold – a space,
They’d traded their little box of happiness for a great echoing emptiness.
