**The Flat, or A Family’s Story**
Lily trudged home from school, her mind racing over how to keep her mother from finding out about the failing grade. Maybe Mum wouldn’t even be home. Then she could just hide the report card and claim she’d left it at school. But what about tomorrow? She couldn’t “forget” it every day. Eventually, Mum would find out.
*I’ll hide it today and fix the grade tomorrow. Then she won’t be as angry,* Lily decided, quickening her pace.
Mum never failed to remind her how important school was—not just to uphold their family’s reputation (Dad had been a professor, after all), but to keep her mind sharp. Alzheimer’s ran in the family. Gran had suffered from it before passing away when Lily was just two.
She tiptoed into the flat, careful not to slam the door. Mum’s coat hung on the rack—she was home. Lily slipped off her shoes, crept to her room, and stuffed the report under her pillow. Only then did she exhale. After changing, she dove straight into homework, even rereading the history chapter twice. Yet Mum never came in. Strange.
Pushing her door open a crack, Lily listened. Silence. Maybe Mum was ill, asleep? Their flat was spacious, with lofty ceilings and wide windows in the heart of London. The furniture was antique, dark and heavy. The hallway, lined with wardrobes, felt unnervingly long and shadowed.
Then the grandfather clock in the living room chimed. Lily nearly jumped out of her skin before remembering it was just the old clock. She padded down the hall, peeking into the kitchen. Mum sat at the table, head resting on folded arms.
“Mum,” Lily murmured, touching her shoulder.
Mum lifted her face, eyes red-rimmed. “Dad’s gone. Right in the middle of his lecture…” Her voice was hollow. She pulled Lily close, sobbing into her shoulder. Lily held on tight before her own tears spilled over.
She skipped school the next day. There was no point in fixing the grade now. They shuffled between the hospital, the morgue (where Mum brought Dad’s best suit and nearly new shoes), and endless arrangements.
At the funeral, the church was packed—mostly university colleagues, where Dad had chaired his department. The man in the coffin looked unfamiliar, waxy and old. Yet Mum wept over him, whispering, *“How will we manage without you? Why did you leave us?”*
Afterwards, Mum spent days in bed, crying, refusing meals. Lily boiled pasta or ate frozen meals until they ran out. When she asked Mum for money, the reply was automatic: *“Take it.”* No questions. She bought sausages, bread, and more pasta.
One evening, she came home to find Mum stirring soup on the stove. Relief washed over her.
“How’s school? What have you been eating?” Mum asked. Lily told her. “Forgive me. I forgot about you. But I’ll go to Dad’s department tomorrow, ask for work. They won’t turn me down, right? We must carry on.”
Mum was gaunt, pale—nothing like she’d been when Dad was alive. But at least she wasn’t crying.
The new department head, one of Dad’s former students, hired her as a lab assistant. With only an incomplete degree, she couldn’t teach. The pay was meager, so she took on evening cleaning shifts.
“The professor’s wife, scrubbing floors,” Mum sighed.
Lily often stayed to help.
Money stayed tight. Mum sold her jewellery to colleagues, accepting whatever they offered. Soon, even that was gone.
A neighbour offered to buy some furniture, but Mum refused.
“The flat won’t feel like home without it.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t expect the same price later,” the neighbour huffed.
Lily asked why the furniture mattered more than the jewellery.
“You’re too young to understand. These pieces are heirlooms. Rare, like museum pieces. Even during the war, no one sold them.”
Then Mum told her how they’d come to live here.
She’d arrived from a tiny village to study at the university, lodging in student halls. Dad was her lecturer—older, distinguished. Their affair stayed secret until she fell pregnant. He brought her home.
They married, though Dad’s mother disapproved, sneering that Mum wasn’t good enough. Mum once nearly left, but Dad stood by her, even quarrelling with Gran. Then Lily was born, and Gran softened. Until one day, she vanished.
Dad searched everywhere. A neighbour found her at the train station, convinced she was heading to a cottage she’d sold years prior. She forgot to turn off the stove, left taps running. Mum juggled caring for her and a toddler.
“For two years, I watched her fade. By the end, she didn’t recognise anyone…” When Gran died, Mum turned her room into Dad’s study. He worked tirelessly, publishing papers. “You remember how kind he was? But these last years… Professorship took everything he had. And I was still young.”
His mind had begun to slip, like Gran’s. Mid-lecture, he’d forget terms. Terrified of forced retirement, his heart gave out.
Lily was in sixth form when Mum brought Victor home.
“He’s *living* with us?” she scowled.
“He doesn’t drink, earns well. It’ll be easier.”
Lily loathed him. She avoided meals with him, ate alone. Mum said he’d divorced, left his flat to his ex-wife and daughter.
Once, Lily caught him stroking the furniture like a lover. She hinted he only wanted the flat, but Mum brushed it off, rambling about loneliness. Victor was younger than Dad—even younger than Mum.
For months, things improved. Mum smiled again, dressed nicely. Then she caught a cold. A cough lingered, worsened. Lily begged her to see a doctor.
“I’ve been. It’ll pass.”
But Mum withered. Her face contorted with each cough. Hospitalised, treatments failed.
Victor brewed broths and cordials, sending Lily to deliver them. She did, though Mum never improved.
One morning, the phone rang. Victor answered. Lily eavesdropped.
“I’ll come now.”
She stepped out. “Who called?”
He turned sharply—calm, almost smug. “The hospital. Your mother… it’s bad.”
In the ward, they were told Mum had passed overnight. A nurse had missed her call button.
“We’re alone now, orphaned,” Victor slurred later, half a bottle of whisky deep. Lily fled to her room, muffling sobs in her pillow.
At the funeral, only two colleagues and that covetous neighbour attended. All pitied Victor, patted Lily’s shoulder.
Two days later, she overheard him on the phone: *“Be patient. Too soon… they’ll suspect.”*
He spun around, spotting her. “Just debts. Borrowed for Vicky’s treatment. They want repayment, suggest selling furniture. I said not yet.”
Lily believed him. They coexisted, barely speaking. He drank nightly but never missed work.
A year passed. Lily got her A-levels, enrolled at university—fulfilling Mum’s wish.
One evening, Victor staggered into her room.
“You hate me, don’t you? But your mother loved me. We’re family.”
“You *have* a daughter.”
“We don’t speak. Ah, you wouldn’t understand.”
Autumn turned to winter. Lily caught a cold, the cough persisting. Hot honeyed milk, pills—nothing helped.
“See a doctor,” Victor said, brewing cordial. Later, she spotted the same jar she’d taken to Mum. Her skin prickled. She poured it out.
The next day, tests showed nothing. Weak and desperate, she went to the police. The officer scoffed. “You need a hospital, love.”
Outside, a young PC named James listened. “Tell you what—when he’s out, call me. We’ll check for evidence.”
The next day, James rummaged through cupboards, even the bin. “Who takes out the trash?”
“Victor.”
He upended it. “Ah.” An empty vial glinted in his hand. “Who’s had injections here?”
“No one.”
He sent it for testing, warned her not to eat at home. That night, Victor hovered by her bed before leaving. Soon after, a phone call: *“It’ll all be over soon.”*
Her heart hammered. Then—a knock.
“You’ve no right! I’m on the lease!” Victor shouted.
James flashed a warrant. “You killed Victoria Dobson. Now you’re poisoning her daughter.”
Victor lunged, snarling, *“She framed me!”* before being hauled away.
Tests confirmed poison in the vial. Lily recovered with treatment. James visited daily.
“What now?” he asked later.
“Sell the flat. Before someone else tries to kill me.”
“Just sell the furniture. It’s antique—worth loads. RedecThey kept a few pieces, repainted the walls, and built a new life together in the old London flat, where happiness finally found its way in.
