Give Us the Spare Key to Your Flat
We made up our minds long ago Margaret placed her hand gently on top of her sons. Were selling our cottage. Well give you £50,000 as a deposit so you can finally stop drifting between rented bedsits.
Edward paused halfway through sipping his tea. His wife, Emily, stopped chewing; her fork, with a piece of Victoria sponge, hung in midair.
Mum, are you serious? Edward carefully set down his tea cup. The cottage? But you spend every summer there
Well manage. Henry, tell them.
His father, whod spent the afternoon absentmindedly swirling jam on his plate, lifted his eyes.
Your mothers right. That cottage’s nearly fifty years old, roof leaks, fences rotten. Its more trouble than its worth. And you two deserve a proper place to live.
Dad, well save up ourselves, Edward shook his head. Another year or two, three at most
Three years! Margaret tossed her hands. Three more years in rented rooms, and the baby nearly due? Emily, surely you agree?
Emily shot her husband a desperate look, then glanced at her mother-in-law.
Mrs. Smith, thats a tremendous amount of money. We cant just…
You can, Margaret said, voice firm. It isnt up for debate. Ive spoken with the estate agent already, viewings start Saturday.
Edward started to reply, but Margaret cut him off.
Son, were not getting any younger. Your fathers blood pressures been dreadful these past few years and Ill be sixty next spring. Why keep the cottage just to plant tomatoes I can easily buy at the market? Our grandchildren ought to grow up in a proper home their own, do you see?
Silence filled the room. Under the table, Emily squeezed her husbands hand. Edward pinched the bridge of his nose his old habit when he didnt know what to say.
Mum… well pay it all back. Little by little, youll get every penny.
Dont fuss over that, Henry waved him away. Whether you pay us back or not, what matters is those grandchildren having space to crawl about.
Six weeks later, the cottage was sold. Margaret handled the paperwork herself, counted out the money, and transferred £50,000 straight to her son. Within three months, Edward and Emily moved into a two-bedroom flat on Lilac Avenue a new build, ninth floor, windows looking out over the park.
Fifteen people crowded into their flatwarming. Emilys parents delivered boxes of crockery; friends gifted towels; Edwards colleagues banded together for a coffee machine. Margaret wandered the rooms, touching the walls, peeking into cupboards, nodding who could tell if she was pleased or pondering.
Late in the evening, once the guests had dispersed, Margaret caught her son in the hallway.
Ted, a quick word.
She guided him towards the front door, out of earshot of others.
Hand over the spare key.
Edward looked a bit confused.
What key?
The flats spare. Just in case, Margarets voice dropped to a whisper. After all, we helped you out, you know. What if something happens and we cant get in? And, really… sensible people always give parents a key, dont they?
Edward shuffled his feet awkwardly. The look on his face said he wanted to object, but the words wouldnt come, or he simply didnt dare.
Mum, its just… Emily
What, Emilys not keen? Margaret narrowed her eyes. We buy you a flat and she says no to a spare key?
No, thats not what I
Then just hand it over, dont be silly.
Edward dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out the keys, loosened one shiny and new.
Here.
Margaret took it, turned it thoughtfully in her fingers, then slipped it onto her own keyring between her house and shed keys. A little metallic chime rang out.
There we go, clever lad, she said, patting his cheek. Lets have some cake before its all gone.
The evening went marvellously.
…Margaret scrutinised the fabric in her hands, running her fingers over a cushion and checking the seams. The velvet felt delightful, the mustard hue warm and inviting it would look perfect with Emilys grey sofa. She picked out a second, deep terracotta. In her minds eye, she already pictured the cushions set in the corners, with that knitted throw shed seen last week in town.
On the bus, Margaret clutched her shopping bag to her chest. Outside, the city streets slipped by: back gardens, childrens swings, parked cars. Lilac Avenue, her stop.
The entrance still smelt of fresh paint the builders had only just finished the repairs. She rode up to the ninth floor, rummaged for her keys, found the right one. The lock clicked open, and the door swung silently.
Stillness. Not a soul in.
Margaret slipped off her shoes and crossed into the lounge. As expected: dull, bare sofa. She unpacked the cushions, arranged them, stepped back to inspect. Perfect. The whole room looked transformed.
Although the dust on the shelf caught her eye. And there was an unwashed mug in the window. Margaret tutted to herself, but left it be. Not her place. At least, not yet.
That night, the phone rang just after nine.
Mum, did you pop round here?
Edwards tone was strained, wary.
Well yes. Did you see the new cushions? Arent they handsome?
Mum… a pause. Itd be nice if you warned us. Emily arrived home and everything was moved about these new cushions and all
New cushions? They cost thirty pounds each, Ill have you know. And do tell Emily, its not very tidy in here, is it? Dust everywhere, dirty mugs, and the fridges half empty. Dont tell me youre starving? I didnt give you all that money for you to live like students.
Mum, just call ahead next time, yes? Just ring…
Oh Ted, Margaret rolled her eyes, though he couldnt see. Never mind, your fathers calling me.
She hung up before he could answer.
Next week, Margaret brought over a set of good quality cotton bedding. Emily was at home but in the shower Margaret left the bag on the bed and slipped off quietly, no note necessary. After all, theyd know it was from her.
Three days later a new set of saucepans. The sorts the youngsters had were dreadful, cheap metal, flaking already.
Saturday evening, Edward and Emily came round for supper. Over plates of homemade dumplings, they chatted about the weather and the neighbours renovation upstairs. It was all perfectly civil polite, if a little dull.
Emily put down her fork.
Mrs. Smith
Yes?
Would you mind. Emily hesitated, glanced at Edward. Could you phone before you visit? Just so were aware.
Margaret dabbed her lips with her napkin.
Emily, we gave you fifty thousand pounds. Fifty thousand. I have every right to come by as I please. Its our flat too, in a manner of speaking.
Mum, Edward tried to interject.
What, Ted? Am I wrong?
No one answered. Henry picked aimlessly at his dumpling, clearly wanting no part.
Thank you for dinner, Emily stood. Ted, time we headed home.
They gathered themselves quickly, all nervous hands. Their farewells felt awkward, brittle. Margaret closed the door behind them, returned to the kitchen something drew her to the window just as the pair stepped out onto the street below.
The window was ajar. Emilys voice, sharp and clear, floated up:
either we settle this debt or we split up. I cant live like this anymore.
Margaret froze, dish in hand.
What debt? What did she mean?
Below, Edward murmured something she couldnt make out. The car door slammed, the engine growled.
Margaret placed the plate gently into the sink.
No. She didnt like this one bit.
Margaret turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door, and nearly collided with Edward in the hallway. He seemed to be waiting. Emily poked her head from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.
Oh, youre home Margaret faltered, but quickly recovered. I just brought you
Mum, wait.
Something in her sons voice silenced her. Edward reached into the inside pocket of his jacket on the hook, pulled out an envelope white, thick, not empty.
Im here to return something to you.
Margaret took it absentmindedly. Inside so much money she wobbled on her feet.
What is?
Fifty thousand pounds, Emily stepped alongside her husband. We took out a loan.
You? Margaret looked at them, aghast. A loan? Why?
Because we dont want to be beholden, Emily met her gaze squarely, steady and firm. Were tired. Of the drop-ins. The inspections. You barging in and rifling through our things whenever you please.
I wasnt rifling! I brought cushions! Bedding! Saucepans!
Mum, Edward gently placed his hand on Emilys shoulder. Were changing the locks. The locksmith comes tomorrow.
Margaret blinked. Again. The meaning slowly sank in.
Changing the locks?
Yes. You wont have a key any longer.
A hot, heavy silence filled the small hallway. Margaret darted her eyes between her son and daughter-in-law. Her throat tightened, cheeks burning.
You you she swallowed. Youre petty. Petty and ungrateful. We sold our cottage! For you! And now you treat me like some sneak thief kicking me out of our own home!
Were not kicking you out, Emily stood firm. Were just asking you to leave.
Margaret clutched her own keys inside her pocket. Her fingers were numb.
Edward, my love. Are you really going to let her speak to me this way?
Edward dropped his gaze, paused, then finally looked her in the eye.
Mum. This is something we decided together.
Margaret spun on her heel and left without a goodbye.
All the way home Margaret rehearsed what shed say when Edward rang to apologise tomorrow, perhaps the day after. Surely hed come to his senses, realise hed overreacted.
A week passed. The phone remained silent.
Margaret often thought to dial his number herself, but each time put the handset down. No. Let them come first. Let them ask for forgiveness. She was their mother, after all. Shed meant only the best.
A month later, Henry delicately asked at dinner if things were patched up. Margaret just shrugged and changed the subject.
After two months, she stopped jumping at every ring.
Three months everything was clear.
Her son wouldnt call. Not tomorrow. Not ever, perhaps.
Margaret sat alone in her kitchen, staring at her keyring: the house key, the garage key. And in between the one that used to open the door to the flat on Lilac Avenue.
Shed only wanted to help. She truly did. Cushions, saucepans, bedding werent those little tokens of love? Isnt that what parents do? Help out, be appreciated, everyone content?
But somewhere along the way, something had broken. Margaret, searching her memory for where it all shifted, found no answer or maybe didnt want to.
Now, it was far too late to mend.
