Strangers in Our Flat Katya was the first to unlock the door and froze on the threshold. The sound of a television drifted from inside, voices echoed from the kitchen, and a strange scent hung in the air. Behind her, Max almost dropped his suitcase out of shock. “Quiet,” she whispered, stretching out her arm. “Someone’s in there.” On their favourite beige sofa sprawled two strangers. A man in tracksuit bottoms was flicking through channels, while a plump woman sat knitting. The coffee table was littered with cups, plates coated in crumbs, and various medications. “Excuse me, who are you?” Katya’s voice trembled. The unfamiliar pair turned, unbothered. “Oh, you’ve arrived,” the woman didn’t even put her knitting down. “We’re Linda’s family. She gave us the keys, said you weren’t home.” Max went pale. “Who’s Linda?” “Your mum,” the man finally stood up. “We’re from Sheffield, here with Mikey for a check-up. She put us up here, said you wouldn’t mind.” Katya slowly made her way to the kitchen. At the hob stood a teenager of about fifteen, frying sausages. The fridge was crammed with someone else’s groceries, a mountain of dirty dishes rising from the table. “And who are you?” she breathed. “Mikey,” the lad turned. “What? Aren’t we allowed to eat? Grandma Linda said it’d be fine.” She returned to the hallway, where Max was already pulling out his phone. “Mum, what are you doing?” His voice was quiet but angry. A cheery voice rang out down the line. “Maxie, you’re back? How was your trip? Listen, I gave the keys to Sylvia and her husband John—came up from Sheffield with Mikey for the hospital. Thought, well, you’re away, flat’s empty, so why not let them stay? Only for a week!” “Mum, did you even ask us?” “What for? You weren’t there. Look, just tell them I’m responsible, make sure they tidy up after themselves.” Katya grabbed the phone. “Linda, are you actually serious? You let strangers into our home?” “Strangers? Katya, she’s my cousin Sylvia! We shared a bed as kids, for heaven’s sake.” “I don’t care who you shared a bed with. This is our flat!” “Don’t get yourself worked up, Katya, love. It’s family. They’re good people, they won’t break anything. And the boy’s not well, they needed help. Or are you that selfish?” Her husband took the phone back. “Mum, you’ll be here to collect them in an hour. All of them.” “Maxie, they’re meant to stay ’til Thursday! Mikey’s got tests and appointments. They even booked a hotel, but I helped them save the money.” “Mum. One hour. Otherwise I’m calling the police.” He hung up. Katya sank onto an ottoman in the hall, covering her face with her hands. The suitcases stood untouched, the television hummed from the living room, sausages sizzled in the kitchen. Two hours earlier, during the flight home, they’d been picturing this moment—finally, home after holiday. Now she sat in her own flat like an uninvited guest. “We’ll pack,” the woman from the living room appeared in the hall, shamefaced. “Linda thought you’d be fine with it. We’d have called, but didn’t have your number. She offered, we said yes. We thought we’d be here a week, get Mikey sorted.” Max stood by the window, silent. Katya saw the tension in his back—the same as always, when he was angry at his mum but didn’t know what to say. “Where’s our cat?” she suddenly remembered. “What cat?” “Marmalade. Ginger. We left the keys for him.” “I don’t know,” Sylvia shrugged. “We haven’t seen him.” Katya rushed to search. She found the cat crouched under the bed, eyes huge, fur on end. When she tried to coax him out, he hissed and flattened his ears. “Marmalade, darling,” she lay on the floor. “It’s only me. You’re safe now.” He eyed her warily. The room smelled unfamiliar. Someone else’s tablets sat on her bedside table. The duvet was made up all wrong. Someone’s slippers lay on the floor. Max knelt beside her. “I’m sorry.” “For what? You didn’t know.” “For Mum. For her being like this.” “She genuinely thinks she’s right.” “She’s always like this,” he seethed. “Remember when we first moved here, she’d just show up without warning? I thought I’d made it clear it wasn’t on, but apparently not.” Voices carried from the hall—Mother-in-law had arrived. Katya stood, straightened her hair, and went out. Linda stood in the doorway, indignant. “Max, have you lost your mind?” “Mum, sit down,” her son indicated the kitchen. “What do you mean, ‘sit’? Sylvia, John—pack up, they’re making us leave. We’ll go to mine.” “Mum, I said, sit.” Linda finally noticed her son’s face and fell silent. The three of them headed to the kitchen, Mikey finishing his sausages. “Mum,” Max sat opposite. “Tell me, how did you possibly think it was okay to let someone into our place without asking?” “I was trying to help! Sylvia rang, crying about Mikey. They had to come to London and had nowhere to stay. I thought, well, your flat’s empty.” “Mum, it’s not your flat.” “Not mine? I’ve got keys!” “Keys for feeding the cat. Not for running a bed and breakfast.” “Max, honestly—this is family! Sylvia’s my cousin—lifelong. John’s a good man, hard-working. Mikey’s not well, they needed help. You’d just put them out on the street?” Katya poured herself some water, hands shaking. “Linda, you didn’t ask us.” “What for? You weren’t here!” “That’s exactly why you *should* have asked,” Max raised his voice. “We have phones! You could’ve called, texted, checked. We’d have decided.” “And what would you have decided? Said no?” “Maybe, or let them for a few days, but with our own ground rules. But then we’d have known. It’s called respect.” Linda stood. “That’s always the way. I do my best, try to help, and it gets thrown in my face. Sylvia, let’s pack up, go to mine.” “Mum, you live in a one-bed. You said you’d never fit four people.” “We’ll manage. Better than staying with ingrates.” Katya put her glass down. “Linda, stop. You know perfectly well what you did was wrong. Or you’d have rung us first.” Her mother-in-law froze. “You knew we’d say no. That’s why you didn’t ask—so you could just drop it on us. You figured we’d find people already living here, wouldn’t be able to chuck them out. We’d just have to cope, right?” “I meant well.” “No. You wanted it your way. That’s different.” Linda looked genuinely lost for words for the first time. “But Sylvia was crying. Mikey was suffering. I felt so sorry for them.” “And we understand,” Max said softly. “But you can’t just make decisions about what’s not yours. Imagine if I went to your flat while you were away and invited my mates to stay—without asking. How would you feel?” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” They sat in silence. In the living room, people began packing. Sylvia cried quietly, John folded things into bags. Mikey stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at his feet. “Sorry,” the boy mumbled. “I thought it was alright. Grandma said so.” Katya looked at him—a normal, scared, apologetic kid. Not his fault the adults couldn’t talk frankly. “It’s not your fault,” she said tiredly. “Go help your mum and dad.” Linda dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I truly thought it would be fine. It never crossed my mind to ask. You’re my children, I always did everything for you—I thought you’d feel the same.” “We’re not children, Mum. We’re thirty. We have our own lives.” “I understand.” Linda got up. “Do you want the keys back?” “We do,” Katya nodded. “Sorry, but trust has been broken.” “I see.” Sylvia and her family hurried to pack, apologising with awkward sincerity as they left. Linda promised to put them up somehow. Max closed the door behind them and leaned against it. Together, they wandered the flat. They’d need to change the sheets, clear the fridge, wash up. Signs of other people were everywhere—forgotten things, shifted furniture, dirty dishes. Marmalade still wouldn’t come out from under the bed. “Do you think she understands?” Katya asked, opening the kitchen window. “I don’t know. I hope so.” “And if not?” “Then we’ll have to be firmer. I’m not letting her walk over us again.” She put her arms around him. They stood in the midst of someone else’s chaos, in their own home, and said nothing. “You know what really hurts?” Katya drew away. “Our cat. The only reason we left them keys was for him. Meanwhile, he’s been hiding, starving, through all this circus.” “Do you reckon they fed him?” “Doesn’t look like it. Bowl’s empty, water’s filthy. Don’t think they even noticed him.” Max crouched by the bed. “Marmalade, mate, I’m sorry. No more keys for Granny.” The cat cautiously poked his nose out, then slowly emerged, rubbing around his owner’s legs. Katya brought him food, and he wolfed it down as if he hadn’t eaten all week. They got to work—tossing foreign groceries, changing sheets, washing dishes. Marmalade dozed on the windowsill, finally curled up. The flat gradually became theirs again. That evening, Linda called, her voice quiet and remorseful. “Max, I’ve been thinking. You were right. I’m sorry.” “Thanks, Mum.” “Katya mad at me?” He looked at his wife. She nodded. “She is. But she’ll forgive you. In time.” After that, they sat for ages in silence, drinking tea in the kitchen. Dusk fell outside. The flat was clean now, quiet, theirs again. Their holiday had come to an abrupt, brutal end.