Strange Walls
You know what Ive been thinking? I asked my husband, rubbing the same plate for the fifth time. That we dont even have a single proper teaspoon left. Theyre all in her room. And now, in my own flat, Im falling asleep thinking, Are we being too loud, watching TV in our own living room? Are we disturbing them?
He silently stared through the window into the dark courtyard, sighed, that long, heavy sigh pulled from somewhere deep inside.
Guests, he murmured, not turning to look at me. Were the guests now. Owners turned into guests. In our own kitchen.
Just then, as if summoned, came a burst of girlish laughter from the spare bedroom, followed by the low rumble of her boyfriends voice. They were watching a film. In what used to be our living room.
And so sat there, me clutching a plate, Oliver standing at the window, nothing in my head but one thought: How did we end up like this? How did it come to us tiptoeing around our own flat, anxious even to flush the loo in case we disturbed someone? It all started so innocently. Purely a family gesturegood intentions, so they say.
The whole story started a year and a half ago, late August, with a call from my sister, Rosemary. I was busy bottling tomatoes, red-faced and sweating, hair stuck to my forehead. The phone rang; I wiped my hands on my apron and picked up.
Hello, Elaine, came Rosemarys hesitant, almost sly voice. I tensed a littleshe never calls unless theres a reason. She’s got enough on her plate; we live in different parts of the country, only catch up on birthdays or Christmas.
Listen, I wanted to ask Remember Emily, my eldest?
Of course, I answered. Is everything alright?
Yes, nothing bad. Actually, shes got into Leeds, can you believe it? Full scholarship tooso proud of her! Thing is, halls arent sorted at once. Apparently, theres a waiting list, maybe a semester or so. So I wondered You and Oliver still have that three-bedroom in Sheffield. Could you just put her on your tenancy, temporarily? For the uni just needs proof for their records. Shell be living elsewhere, sharing with friends, dont worry. Its just paperwork, really.
There it was. The family dilemma. On one hand, its Emilymy own niece, bright, hard-working, always polite. On the other, Ive always been wary of handing out our address. Oliver always said, Dont register anyone, family or not. The hassle if things turn awkward But this was just a young girl, just for a short while. Besides, how do you say no to your own sister?
Are you sure she wont change her mind and move in? I asked, cautiously. It would get a bit crowded, us not really used to anyone staying long-term.
Oh, dont be daft, Elaine! Rosemary actually laughed. Shes eighteen. She cant wait to live with friends, wants her own space. Shes already arranging a house share. Its just to keep the admin lot happyuni these days, you know what theyre like. Forms, stamps, the works. Just a formality, promise.
I hedged, said Id ask Oliver. That evening, when I brought it up, he scowled outright.
I wouldnt do it, he said flatly. Registrations are a serious thing. Its never just a formality. Youll end up regretting itIve seen too many such stories at work.
Shes family! I argued. Just for a semester, and shes found somewhere else to live.
Oliver just shook his head. Thats what they all say.
Still, the next day, I called Rosemary back. I suppose it was guiltEmily had always tried so hard; shed been such a lovely little girl. Rosemary said Emily would call me herself, explain everything.
A couple of days later, Emily rang. Such a polite, gentle voice.
Aunt Elaine, its Emily. Mum said you might help with the tenancy thing. I know its inconvenient, but I really need it for the uniIve already moved in with friends near campus, but they insist on official proof of Sheffield address. I wont trouble you, proper promise. Could I drop by, just to meet and sort it?
How could I say no? Polite, considerate, practically apologetic. When I told Oliver, he just shrugged.
Do what you like, he mumbled. Dont complain to me after.
Emily arrived at the beginning of September. Tall, slim, in faded jeans and a white shirt, hair neatly plaited. A proper English young lady, honestly. Dragging a rucksack, grinning from ear to ear.
Aunt Elaine, thank you so much for seeing me! Mums sent some bits for you
She handed me a paper baghomemade scones wrapped in a tea towel, a pot of jam, fancy teas, chocolates. Proper hospitality.
We sat with a cuppa, talked about university life, her journalism degree. She bubbled with enthusiasm, her eyes lit up when she described the TV newsrooms she wanted to work in. She even showed me photos of her room with two other girls in Headingley. Compact, but they were happy.
Honestly, I just need the registration for the papers, she repeated. And I promise I wont be in your way. Occasionally, I might pop in to collect post or so, but thats all.
Oliver came in from work, saw Emily, and thawed a bit at her manners.
If its just paperwork, he finally agreed.
Monday morning, we trotted off to the letting agents, filled out forms. I signed as resident owner, Oliver too, not happy but resigned. She got a one-year registration, sent endless thank yous by text. I thoughtwell, thats sorted. Weve done our bit, she got what she wanted. All happy.
Life, though, isnt that neat.
Emily didnt show up for weeks, only sending the odd message, asking about birthday cards or bills. Rosemary rang to say thanks, said Emily was doing well, settled in. Both Oliver and I breathed easyit really was just paperwork after all.
Then November rolled in. Emily called, asking if she could stay for a few nightssome drama with a housemate: parties, loud music, not ideal for studying for her first set of exams. How could I say no? Poor kid, sleepless, stressed.
Come over, you can use the living room sofa, I said.
She arrived with her rucksack. Olivers lips thinned but he didnt argue. She apologised endlessly, promising it was just for the week.
But a week turned into two. Then, exams started, and she begged to stay until terms end. How could we toss her out in the snow, with finals looming?
After Christmas, she stayed on. Found herself a part-time job at the local paper, saving for a summer internship in London. Sticking around now made financial sense.
Aunt Elaine, could I stay just a bit longer? She blinked those big grey eyes. Ill pay my way for bills and food, honestly.
When I relayed all this to Oliver, he was livid.
Oh, so she’s just moved in! I told you! First the registration, then the stuff, then the guestswhat next? Her own furniture in our house?
Shes studying, working, trying hard I protested, but deep down, I knew he was right, and I was scared to admit it.
By February, Emilys belongings had filled up half the hall cupboard. Shed stacked boxes on the balconybooks and all sorts. Her own shelf in the fridge, with yoghurts, fruits, containers. She did buy her own groceries, fair play, but the lines blurred: sugar, bread, oilit would accidentally run out, then get replaced, but it all started to feel like someone else was making herself truly at home.
Oliver and I grew cool, careful. He stayed away, avoided Emily. She was always polite, tidy, offering to help, but it didnt change the fact: her presence was a reminder our home wasnt truly ours anymore.
Once, I sat slicing a salad when Emily popped in for tea. She filled the kettleher own pink one. Her mug, her special fruit teas. She felt at home, while I watched from the corner, feeling like a lodger.
Emily, I said gently. Any news from your old house? Maybe things have calmed down? Maybe find somewhere else closer to uni?
She smiled, apologetic, saying the girls had all fallen outno way shed go back. She was looking elsewhere, but everything decent was overpriced or too far. If youre not comfortable, Ill look harder, she offered.
But I just couldnt bring myself to say it outright. In our own kitchen, we spent most evenings, avoiding our own living room.
Oliver pressed quietly, This needs to stop, Elaine. Registration runs out in August. Dont renew. She needs to move out.
I promised, but with a heavy heart. Emily had been living with us for half a year. Could we really just turf her out? What if she called Rosemary and the whole family said we were heartless?
Spring went by, exams, work. Emily came home late, claimed she was at meetings, writing articles, always working. The clatter of her keys on the laptop at night through the bedroom wall began to grate. My nerves were fraying.
Then, one May evening, she brought home a young man. Tall, sharp haircut, expensive jacketthis was Harry, she explained, a fellow student and friend. Needed to work together for a group projectcould he just join for the evening?
What could I say? Emily and Harry retreated to the living room, muffled laughter, whispers between scenes.
Oliver came home, saw the pair in our living room, and vanished into the bedroom with a grim face.
After Harry left, I summoned Emily to the kitchen.
Emily, look, this is getting odd, I said quietly. This is our flat. Youre living here, more than just visiting now, and having guests over it isnt what we agreed.
Her face fell. Im sorry, truly. Harrys lovely, but I wont have anyone over again.
Oliver was having none of it. Shes out in August, no arguments, he said.
But August came, and Emily didnt leave. In June, she asked to renew her registration for another yearthe uni needed the paperwork, or shed lose her place, and she promised shed move out by autumn.
I complained to Rosemary. She sighed, Just a little longer, Elaine. Shes not trouble, and itll be sorted soon.
So I caved and extended the registration. Oliver refused to sign, but I went alone to the agency and did it myself. Another year, just until she finished her course or so I hoped.
Emily spent the summer in Cambridge with her parents. For a glorious month, our home returned to us. We watched telly, cooked late, had conversations without worrying about waking anyone.
But come September, Emily reappeared. Suitcase, boxes, more stuff than ever. She announced shed be spending more time at home, gunning for a first-class degree.
Harry started coming again, sometimes without asking. Id find them mid-project on our settee, as though it was perfectly natural.
Emily, we agreedno guests, Id say.
Its not a guest, Auntie. Its work, shed reply, blinking wide-eyed.
I was losing control. Oliver started working late to avoid them.
In November, I finally sat her down.
Emily, you promised youd find somewhere else. Its over a year now. When?
She looked guilty. I am looking, but its either overpriced or terrible. I really need my peace and quiet, and heres so convenient. I pay my share, I dont get in your way is it really so bad?
Yes, it is, I admitted. Were used to having our own space. Its hardyour guests, your stuff everywhere. Its too much.
She flared for the first time, But this is my legal address! Im registered here!
And I realized it had changed. She grew bolderclaiming her territory, her rights.
Your registration is not a right to live here forever, Emily. We helped you out. This is our home.
I pay my way, buy my food, I clean up! Now you want to kick me out?! She had tears in her eyes.
No ones kicking you out, I said, just tired. But its time you found your own space.
Emily walked off, stony-faced. From then on, conversation dropped to bare greetings. Oliver ignored her completely.
Christmas approached. No tree in the living room this yearEmilys stuff was everywhere. We put up a fake one in the kitchen. She went away for the holidaysthe first sigh of relief in months.
Next year we sort this, Oliver said. No more excuses. I want my life back.
In January, Emily returned. At dinner, she announced, Harry needs somewhere to stay. Halls are awful. Just for a few months. Were together now, and were planning to get married after uni. He wont get in your way.
I choked on my tea.
No, Oliver said flatly, colour rising in his cheeks. Absolutely not. I want my home back. Both of you, out by next month.
Emily stared, chin up. You cant evict me. Registrations legalIm here until August. If you try and remove me, youll have to go to court. And if you call the police, nothing will happen; I checked.
She flounced off to the living room.
I phoned Rosemary in despair. Shes blackmailing us! Says its all legal. Brings in her boyfriend. What do I do?
Rosemary only said, Take her to court, if you must. Ill understand.
Harry moved in a few days later. Suitcases, boxes, the lot. Laid claim to our living room, cooked in our kitchen, showered in our bathroom. We started living almost entirely in our bedroom.
Oliver went to a solicitor. He called the local councillegally, it would take months to have her removed. Harry, not registered, was easier. We called the council; they gave him a warning to move out, eventually did, but not until wed been made to feel like strangers in our own home.
But a few weeks later, Emily said, Harrys coming back; Ive put him on the paperwork. Were engaged; he counts as family.
And she was righthaving a family connection made it much harder to remove him according to the rules. Oliver filed legal paperwork anyway.
Word got out. Rosemary stopped speaking to me. The family turned icy.
Harry returned. Emily greeted him with a peck in the hall, carried his things together to their room. By then, after nearly two years, the place felt nothing like home. Theyd bought a new TV for the living room, too, and quietly took our old set away.
One evening, our routine the same, I scrubbed a plate while Oliver stared into the twilight Sheffield streets.
We could sell, I murmured at last. Move somewhere smaller. Let them have it.
Oliver looked long and hard at me. So thats it? Give up our home, where weve lived for twenty years, to strangers?
Theres nothing left for us here, I said. It doesnt feel like home anymore.
He nodded slowly. Easier, perhaps. But it hurts, Elaine.
Laughter came from the living roomthe young couple, shouting at the television, comfortable. In our living room.
We sat in heavy silence, sipped cooling tea. Outside, life marched on, but not for us.
How did it come to this? Oliver asked later. We only meant to help.
We made the mistake of believing family would be thankful, I answered softly. That good intentions mattered.
Naive, really, he sighed. At our age, you’d think wed know better.
That night, in the dark, we listened to the telly through the wallEmily and Harry, living their own lives, happily indifferent to ours. Our home was no longer ours.
Tomorrow, wed get in touch with an estate agent, ask about selling up, starting over, somewhere small and truly ours. Without tenants, without registrants, without owed favours.
And I lay there, knowing wed lost more than our flatwed lost faith. Faith in kindness, in gratitude, in family. All that remained was exhaustion and bitterness.
Oliver drifted off. I stared into the dark, listening as the laughter carried on, replaying the past, mourning what wed lost: our sanctuary, our peace, our home. And when sleep finally found me, I dreamt not of now, but of the home we once hadwarm, open, ours alone.
Too deep a dream. The morning would bring us right back to reality.
