Return the Key to Our Flat
My mother, Margaret, rested her hand gently atop mine one Sunday afternoon, her eyes thoughtful. Your father and I have made our minds up, she told me, her voice warm but resolute. Were selling the cottage. Well give you forty thousand pounds for a down payment. Enough of you shuffling around rented bedsitsyou need a proper home.
I sat motionless, tea suspended halfway to my lips. My wife, Alice, stopped chewing her Victoria sponge, fork paused in mid-air.
Mum, really? I set down my cup carefully. The cottage? You spend every summer there
Well cope, she replied, glancing over to my father. James, tell him.
Dad, whod been focused on his jam and toast, looked up at last. Your mums right. Its been our place for forty years. The roof leaks, the fence is rottingjust endless fuss. Besides, you two need somewhere to live.
Dad, well save up ourselves, I protested. Another year or two. Maybe three
Three years? Mum exclaimed, hands in the air. Three years bouncing between rentals, with a baby on the way? Alice, talk some sense into him!
Alice glanced at me, then at my mother, uncertain.
Margaret, its an enormous amount of money. We cant just
You can, Mum interrupted. Weve spoken to an estate agent already, viewings booked for Saturday.
I opened my mouth but she continued.
Son, your father isnt getting any youngerhis blood pressures been iffy and I turn sixty next year. Why do we need a cottage now? Tomatoes in the garden? I can buy them at the market. Let our grandchildren grow up in a decent flat. Their own, understand?
Silence settled thick in the room. Alice squeezed my hand beneath the table. I rubbed my browmy usual habit when lost for words.
Well pay everything back, Mum. Gradually. Every penny.
Oh, dont fuss, Dad said. The main thing is the grandkids having somewhere warm to crawl about.
A month and a half later, the cottage was sold. Mum handled all the paperwork, counted out the money, and transferred forty thousand pounds to our account. Three months on, Alice and I moved into a two-bedroom flat on Lavender Walk, ninth floor, windows overlooking the park.
Fifteen people crammed in for the housewarming. Alices parents brought tableware, friends gifted towels, my colleagues chipped in for a coffee maker. Mum wandered from room to room, tapping walls, inspecting cupboards, shaking her head in that familiar wayimpossible to tell if she approved or not.
As dusk fell and guests dispersed, Mum found me in the hallway.
Tom, just a quick word, she murmured, steering me towards the front door.
Hand me a key, she said quietly.
I blinked. Which key?
The spare for your flat. You never know, she lowered her voice. Weve helped you outyou understand. If anything happens and we dont have access And anyway, in England, its normal for parents to have a key.
I shifted uneasily, wanting to protest but struggling for words.
Mum, its just Alice
What about Alice? Shes opposed? Mum narrowed her eyes. We helped buy this place, and she wont let us have a key?
No, thats not it
Well then, hand it over. Youre dithering like a schoolboy.
I fished out my keyring, picked a shiny new key, and pressed it into her hand.
Good boy, she smiled, tucking it on her own ring between her house and garage keys. The metals clinked softly.
Lets have some cake before its all gone, she declared.
The evening was a success.
Margaret ran her hands thoughtfully over the new cushionssoft velvet, one in a mustard hue, the other terracotta. She imagined them perfectly with Alices grey sofa, mentally arranging it all: cushions at the ends, a knitted throw between them, just like the one shed seen the week before.
She rode the bus clutching the shopping bag close, watching the streets and playgrounds flicker past. At Lavender Walk, she entered the newly painted foyersomeone had done the place up. Ninth floor, she unlocked the flat smoothly.
No one was home.
She slipped off her shoes and surveyed the living room. The sofa looked bare, so she set about placing the cushions just so, stepping back to admire her handiwork. The room seemed transformed.
Dust on the shelf caught her eye, and there was a dirty mug on the windowsill. She shook her head, but didnt touch. Not her business. Not yet.
That night, at nine, the phone rang.
Mum, did you visit today?
Toms tone was strained.
Yes, darling, did you see the new cushions? Beautiful, arent they?
Mum he hesitated. Would you mind letting us know before you pop in? Alice came home and things were moved, and there were cushions
Cushions? Margaret chuckled. They cost seventy-five each. And tell Alice the flats dreadfuldust everywhere, dirty mugs, and your fridges half empty. Are you starving? We gave you all this money so you wouldnt live like students.
Mum, just ring ahead next time, please. Just call
Honestly Tom, she rolled her eyes, though he couldnt see. I must dashyour fathers calling.
She hung up, not waiting for a reply.
Next week, Margaret dropped off new bedding. Quality cotton. Alice was home, but in the shower. Margaret left the bundle on the bed and slipped out quietly, no notewhy bother?
Three days later, it was a new set of saucepans. The ones they had were direcheap, chipped, barely fit for use.
Saturday, Alice and Tom came for dinner. Everyone was polite, discussing rain and the neighbours renovation, eating homemade pie.
Alice paused, fork resting on her plate.
Margaret Would you mind ringing before you come by? Just so we know.
Margaret dabbed her lips with a napkin.
Alice, your father and I gave you forty thousand pounds. Thats our flat tooI have every right to visit when I please.
Mum Tom tried.
What, Tom? Am I wrong?
Silent, Dad just picked at his food, making it clear hed stay out of it.
Thank you for dinner, Alice said, standing abruptly. Tom, lets go.
They left in a hurry, smiles tight, not quite genuine. Margaret tidied after them, then drifted to the window just as they exited the building.
The window was ajar. Alices voice carried clearly:
Either we pay off this debt, or were done. I cant live like this anymore.
Margaret froze, a plate in her hand.
Debt? What debt?
Tom answered something indistinct. A car door slammed, engine roared to life.
Margaret placed the plate in the sink, slowly.
No. She didnt like this one bit.
She let herself in days later, only to bump straight into Tom in the hallway. Alice peered out of the kitchen, towelling her hands, looking wary.
Oh, youre inI brought something
Mum, wait.
Something in his voice told her this was different. Tom fished out a thick white envelope from his jacket.
I want to return this.
Margaret took it automatically. Peeking inside, she saw stacks of notes. Her knees wobbled.
Whats?
Forty thousand, Alice said, standing firm beside Tom. We took out a loan.
Youwhat? Why a loan?
Because we dont want to owe you, Alice met her gaze, calm and steady. Were tired. Of surprise visits. Of being checked up on. Of you coming unannounced and going through our things.
I wasnt snooping! I brought cushions, bedding, saucepanshelping!
Mum, Tom said gently, moving his hand onto Alices shoulder. Were changing the locks. The locksmiths booked for tomorrow.
Margaret stared, not comprehending.
Locks?
Yes. No more spare key.
A heavy silence hung. Margaret looked between them, throat tight, cheeks burning.
Youre youre petty. Petty and ungrateful! We sold our cottage for you! And now you treat me like a thiefthrowing me out!
Were not throwing you out, Alice replied. Were just asking you to leave.
Margaret clutched her keys, fingers numb.
Tom, love will you let her speak to me like this?
Tom lowered his eyes for a moment, then met Margarets gaze.
Mum, it was our decision. Together.
With that, Margaret spun and left without farewells.
All the way home, she rehearsed what shed say when Tom called to apologise. Tomorrow, maybe the day after. Hed come to his senses.
A week passed; the phone stayed silent.
Several times she nearly dialled herself, but always put it off. No. Let them come first. She was their mother, after all. She meant no harm.
A month later, James quietly asked at supper whether theyd made up yet. Margaret shrugged and changed the subject.
After two months, she stopped jumping at every ring.
After three, she understood.
Tom wouldnt call. Not tomorrow, nor next week, nor ever.
Margaret sat in her kitchen, staring at her keyring. House key. Garage key. Between themthe one that once opened the flat on Lavender Walk.
She only wanted to help. She truly did. Cushions, saucepans, beddingit was care, wasnt it? Isnt that what parents do? Offer help, and children are gratefuleveryone is content.
But somewhere along the way, something snapped. No matter how Margaret replayed their conversations, their visits, she couldnt quite grasp where.
Maybe she didnt want to.
And now, it was too late to mend it.
