Im Letting My Flat
Natalie Sarah Orton, now Natalie Gromley, always believed the worst thing in life was when something good starts quietly, almost imperceptibly, and then just as quietly, but inevitably, begins to end. Like flowers on a windowsill: you water them, they seem fine. Then, one day, their leaves are yellow and you realise theres no saving them.
She first noticed the scent in the stairwell.
Thick, cloying, powdery sweet. Chanel No. 5. The one Natalie could never mistake because that was how her mother-in-laws flat always smelt whenever they stopped by. The scent clung to her clothes, her hair, her memory.
Natalie stood outside her front door, her key ready in her hand.
Four oclock in the afternoon. Shed left work earlyMrs. Oxford from accounts had remarked she looked terribly pale and insisted she go home. Her head had ached all morning, dull and tight, as if someone had set a clamp on her temples. Natalie just wanted to take a tablet, crawl under a blanket, and rest.
But the smell told a different story.
She opened the door.
In the hallway were three large cardboard boxes, the kind washing machines come in. They were branded “MECO” in bold on the side. One was already sealed with packing tape. In the other two something lay beneath old newspapers.
From the kitchen came the sound of shuffling, the clink of crockery, and a low muttering.
***
Mrs. Gromley, Natalie said, not stepping inside. Whats all this?
The noise stopped. Then her mother-in-law appeared in the kitchen doorwaya robust woman of fifty-seven, neat and tidy, wearing a floral apron over a light grey suit. Her hair was pinned back; rubber gloves on her hands. She looked businesslikealmost ceremonial.
Natalie, love! said Mrs. Gromley, in her professional, slightly regretful tonethe sort nurses use when delivering bad but necessary news. Youre home early. Are you feeling all right?
Whats going on? Natalie didnt move further in.
Dont get worked up, Mrs. Gromley slipped off her gloves and folded them neatly. All this is for your benefit. For you and Jamie. Sit down and Ill explain.
Ill stand. Please, explain.
Mrs. Gromley narrowed her eyes momentarilya woman used to obedience. A senior nurse at the local GP for twenty-three years. When she spoke, things happened.
Fine, she gestured towards the kitchen. At least come in; dont hang in the hall. Ill put the kettle on.
No tea, thank you. Whats in the boxes?
She sighed, clearly weary of other peoples fussing.
Crockery. Pots, some pans. I wrapped all the crystal glasses separately in bubble wrapdont worry. Plates are still out; well leave them for the tenants.
Natalie heard the phrase. All of it. Well leave them for the tenants. She stood as the meaning settled in her stomach.
What tenants? she asked, voice even.
Ive found some,” Mrs. Gromley said as if it were good news. “A young couple with a little boy, five or so. He works in construction, shes home with the child. Respectable people. Ive checked. Theyre moving in on Friday.
Friday? Natalie repeated. Thats three days from now.
Yes. Ive sorted their deposit; theyre paying first and last month up front.
Natalie set her bag on the console, unbuttoned her coat, and hung it upeach action a chore, her headache now joined by cold fingers despite the warmth of the flat.
Did you discuss this with James? she asked at last.
Of course. We planned it together, have you forgotten? Three months ago, when Jamie lost his bonus. I suggested: you let the flat, live with me, and save money. All very sensible.
We didnt agree, Natalie shook her head. I said I wasnt comfortable with it.
You said youd think about it, Mrs. Gromley corrected softly.
No. I said I didnt agree. James asked me not to argue, so I stayed quiet. That isnt the same as consent.
Mrs. Gromley folded her arms. She always did this when her point was final and needed no input.
Youre clever, Natalie. Youre an accountantyou know numbers. Lets do the sums. How much is your mortgage per month?
Thats none of your concern.
Natalie.
No,” she kept her voice calm. “Our finances are none of your concern.
A pause fell in the hall. Through the kitchen window, the distant hum of traffic was audible. Below, on Baker Street, a tram rattled by.
Youre entitled to your opinion, Mrs. Gromley said at last, voice edged now with the hard steel usually masked by domestic fuss, but marriage isnt just you. Its James, too. And James agrees.
Ill phone him, Natalie said, and took out her mobile.
***
James answered on the third ring, background noise of the plant and voices audible.
Natalie? Youre home early, whats up?
James, your mothers boxing up our flat. Shes found tenants. Says theyre moving in Friday.
A pause. Two heartbeats.
I meant to speak to you myself
So you knew?
She called last night, said shed found a family. I thought you two would talk
James. Natalie leant back against the hall wall. You knew and you didnt tell me. I come home to boxes. Do you understand what that means?
Natalie, I knew youd be upset
Come home.
Ive a meeting at six
James. Her voice was quiet and steady, like a millpond behind a dam. Come home now.
He arrived at half five. By then, Natalie was sipping cold tea at the kitchen table. Mrs. Gromley was in the sitting room, rearranging porcelain figurines brought from Kent last yearthe ones shed set out to make things homely.
James was tall, sandy-haired, his expression lately a constant guilty one. He worked as a design engineer at a plant in Croydon, commuting by train and change. Natalie always allowed for his tiredness. But not today.
Natalie he began in the kitchen doorway.
Sit.
He did. She picked up her mug, set it down.
Explain how this decision about our home was made without me.
There was no decision, he brightened faintly, grasping for a loophole. Mum just found an option. I thought youd discuss it
I discussed it. Shes packing the pans. You call that finding an option?
Natalie, you dont understand our position
Explain, then.
I lost my bonus six weeks ago. Since then, were in the red monthly. Mortgage, bills, food. Ive car payments. We cant manage.
Natalie listened. It was true they were counting pennies more carefully. But they werent desperate. She had steady work at Alpha Accounts. They were managing.
I suggested we cut out extras, she reminded him. Postponed the New Year trip. Cancelled the gym subscription, remember?
I remember.
It would have been enough.
Mum thinks it wont.
And what about you?
He was silent. That said more than words.
James, Natalie moved closer. Whose flat is this?
Well, its mostly
No. Whose flat is it, exactly?
Technically, its yours, but were married
Its not technically. My dad gave it to me, three months before our wedding. Its legally mine. You and your mother cant let it without my consent. Its against the lawyou do realise?
James looked up. The thought hadnt crossed his mind.
You wouldnt call the police on your husband
Its not about the police. Its about you allowing your mother to make choices about something that isnt hers. And staying silent. Why?
Footsteps sounded. Mrs. Gromley appeared in the doorway, as anticipated.
James, youre here. Good. Talk to Natalieexplain how reasonable this is. She must not grasp the full picture.
Mum, give us a minute, James said.
What for? Mrs. Gromley stepped inside, stationed herself by the window. The tenants are expecting a reply. If we say no, theyll look elsewherethis sort of opportunity doesnt come along twice.
Mrs. Gromley, Natalie said. My answer is no. I wont let the flat. Were not moving in with you. Thats final.
Her mother-in-laws gaze was steely as she looked to her son.
James. Do you understand?
Mum, maybe Natalies right
James. Her tone sharpened. Ive spent three days sorting these people. Organised a viewing tomorrow. Now you want me to lose it all because shes being stubborn?
Its not her stubbornness James tried weakly, Natalie, explain to Mum
Natalie stood up, placed her mug by the sink.
The viewings off,” she said. “The tenants wont be moving in Friday. If Mrs. Gromley brings them, Ill explain why they cant live here myself. Good night.
She walked to the bedroom, quietly closing the door.
***
The night was a poor one. James came to bed just after ten. They lay at opposite sides, not touching. Natalie listened to his breathing, even and steadyperhaps feigning sleep. She watched the dark, thoughts churning.
Her father had said, when she was young, Natalie, if you want to fix a problem, step back. Up close, it always seems bigger than it is.
Her father had passed away four years earlier, leaving her the flatnot just for security, but as protection. Shed always known that was what it meant. He realised she was on her own, that her mother lived far away in Manchester, that his daughter needed an anchor.
Right now, the anchor was in cardboard boxes.
Well, maybe not. The boxes were there, yes. But the anchor was really documents. Those sat, untouched, in the upright dresser in a blue plastic folder Natalie had packed when she moved in. The Land Registry summary. Deed of gift. All sealed and signed.
She knew Mrs. Gromley would bring the tenants tomorrow. Knew it as surely as shed make her morning coffee. Her mother-in-law was nothing if not steadfasther greatest strength, and, perhaps, her greatest flaw. She didnt back down.
Natalie could. But only when stepping back made sense.
This time, it didnt.
James rustled beside her. She didnt turn. He didnt either. They both lay, two people with a years history, a half-finished bathroom remodel, the memory of their first Christmas tree together, and two sets of keys to one door.
Natalies thoughts circled. Love wasnt just about good in good times. It was shown in the choices made. He lay silent beside her. What did that mean?
She didnt know.
And that was scarier than the boxes.
***
Natalie rose at seven, as routine demanded. James was still asleep. She made filter coffee, drank it at the window. Outside, heavy sleet whipped the glass, bleak and grim as only South London in March could behalf-melted snow, wet concrete, bare, black branches outside the Tube station.
Her headache was gone. That was something.
She opened the dresser, pulled out the blue folder, set it on the kitchen table. Flicked throughLand Registry, neat and stamped, deed of gift from her father, notarised. Dated: 28th February, two years past. Owner: Natalie Sarah Orton. Everything in place.
The folder went back.
At half nine, her mother rang from Manchester. Natalie didnt answer immediatelynot out of reluctance, but worry that her voice might betray her.
Darling, are you all right?
Im fine, Mum.
You dont sound it
Its all fine.
A pause.
James called last night, her mother said gently. Told me somethings going on with your mother-in-law.
Natalie closed her eyes.
He rang you?
Hes very upset. Says he doesnt know how to handle things.
Mum, he needs to decide whose side hes on.
Natalie, her mother hesitated. Hes not a bad man. But hes lived with her for thirty years. That doesnt change overnight.
I know.
Are you bearing up?
Im managing.
If you need me, Ill come. Just say.
Natalie felt a tightness in her throat and cleared it away.
No, Mum. Ill handle it.
All right. Just remember: its your flat. Thats not up for debate.
I know.
She ended the call. James drifted from the bedroom at ten. He poured himself a coffee silently. Natalie stood at the window, book in handnot reading, only needing to keep occupied.
Natalie, he started.
Yes?
Mum rang. Shell be here about twelve, with the tenants. For a viewing.
I heard you yesterday.
Natalie, will you at least see them? Talk to them? Maybe youll change your mind
She turned from the window.
James. Youre asking me to rent my own flat to complete strangers, on terms set behind my back?
I justMum put a lot of effort in.
James, she murmured without anger. Dyou hear yourself? Not you worked hard, not we agreed, but Mum put effort in. Is this her flat? Her choice?
He put his mug down, rubbed his forehead.
I just dont know how to refuse her without hurting her.
Its all right to hurt me?
He gave no answer.
Natalie turned back to her book. The lines were a blur anyway.
***
They arrived at half twelve.
Natalie heard the door buzzer. Then Mrs. Gromleys brisk, authoritative voice from below. The lift. James stood by the balcony window; Natalie sat on the sofa, blue folder in the dresser.
The doorbell rang.
James moved as if to answer.
Dont, Natalie told him.
He stopped, his face a mix of embarrassment, relief, and something elseshame or gratitude.
The bell rang again.
Natalie got up, crossed to the hall, opened the door.
On the step, Mrs. Gromley wore her best coasta tailored one with silvery buttons, reserved for occasions. Behind her stood a couple in their late twenties or thirties, he in a jacket, she in a red quilted coat, holding a five-year-old boy in a bear ear hat. The child stared at Natalie, solemnly.
Natalie!” Mrs. Gromley entered uninvited. “Meet Max and Laura. Lovely family. Max works in construction. Lauras at home with Michael.
Hello, Laura said, nervously. Sorry for arriving unannounced
No trouble, Natalie replied evenly. Come in.
She stepped aside. The child still eyed her soberly.
James here? Mrs. Gromley asked without looking around.
In the sitting room.
Perfect. Max, let me show you round. The lounge has windows both waysvery handy. Tube stations just down the road
She played the hostess, discussing ceilings and electrics as she led them in. Natalie followed.
James stood at the balcony. He nodded at the visitors. Clearly uncomfortable, he looked past Natalie.
So, as I was saying, Mrs. Gromley gestured, lounge is about twenty square metres. The main bedroom is eighteen. Kitchens small but practicalNatalie bought a new oven last year
Max nodded, looking around. Laura squeezed her sons hand. Natalie stood by the dresser.
As for the price, Mrs. Gromley began, Ive quoted £1,800 a month
Excuse me.
Natalies voice was calm. She opened the dresser and took out the blue folder.
All eyes turned to her.
Max, Laura, she said, before you decide, Id like to show you something.
She produced two sheets, offering the first.
This is the Land Registry summary. Issued two weeks ago. See the Proprietor line?
Laura read it. Then looked up.
Natalie Sarah Orton, she read aloud.
Thats my maiden name. Thats me.” Natalie held up the second sheet. This is the deed of giftmy father gave me this flat two years ago, three months before my wedding. I am the sole owner. My husbands name isnt on it. Mrs. Gromley has no legal claim.
Laura passed the sheet to Max.
Natalie, Mrs. Gromley blustered, youre being ridiculous
Max, Natalie addressed him, ignoring her mother-in-law, to let a property, the owners written consent is required. I have given no such consentto anyone. If you sign an agreement with someone else and move in, youll be living here unlawfully. I want you to know that.
Max glanced at her, then the pages. The little boy whispered to his mother. Laura bent and answered quietly.
We didnt realise, Laura said at last. We were told the owner had agreed
The owner is standing before you, said Natalie. And the owner does not agree.
A long pause fell.
Oh, Max cleared his throat, well Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.
He handed back the documents. Natalie took them.
Wait! Mrs. Gromley stepped forward, her voice raw now, unfamiliarNatalie had only heard it a handful of times. Max, dont go. Theres been a misunderstanding. Ill explain…
Mrs. Gromley, said James suddenly.
Everyone looked at him.
He stood by the balcony, hands in his pockets, face wretched but determined.
Mum. Theyre right. Let them go.
She stared at him.
What?
Let them go. Its Natalies flat. II should have said so sooner.
The silence was thick as winter cloth.
Laura took her son’s hand. Max nodded curtly. They left. The door thudded shut.
The three of them remained.
***
Mrs. Gromley gazed at her son for a long while. Natalie stood, blue folder in hand, waiting.
James, her mother-in-laws voice went quiet, sending shivers down Natalies back, do you realise what youve just done?
I do, Mum.
You sided with her against me.
I sided with the truth.
With the truth, she echoed as though testing and discarding it. So Im wrong, am I?
In thisyes, Mum.
I gave you everything. Raised you alone. Your father left when you were six. I worked two jobs. Did without
I know, Mum.
Do you? her voice climbing, Do you see I only ever wanted you well? For you and Natalie to manage? I found these people, arranged everything
You did it without asking, James replied. You didnt ask the owner.
Owner, she turned to Natalie contemptuously, Owner. So thats what we are now. Husband and wife; everythings meant to be shared.
Mrs. Gromley, said Natalie, measured, Im ready to discuss financial decisionswith my husband. Within our marriage. But not to ultimatums, decided in my absence.
Ultimatums?” Her mother-in-laws hands fluttered, exasperated. “You dont see, I was trying to help!
I know. And I appreciate it was meant well. But help that wasnt requested isnt help. Its interference.
Interference! Mrs. Gromley looked to her son now; Natalie could see, from here on, every conversation would go through him. “James, did you hear? Thats what she thinksI’m interfering. After everything…”
“Mum.”
“No,” she held up her hand, “No, you choose. Listen to your mother who raised you, or stay with the woman who calls that interfering. Choose.”
Natalie didnt flinch. She watched James, standing at the centre of the room. The lounge with the curtains theyd picked togetherargued over, laughed at. The wonky bookshelf hed hung, not quite straight, but left as it was. Their wedding photo, still in its white frame.
He looked at his mother.
“Ill stay here,” he said quietly.
She didnt understand at first.
“What?”
“Im staying. Here. With Natalie.” He swallowed. “Mum, I love you. But you cant do this. Not like this.”
“I cant?”
“You cant. You cant turn up unannounced. Or pack our things. Or sort tenants without asking the owner. I should have said so before. Im sorry I didnt.”
She stood there, then buttoned her coat, picked up her handbag.
“Youll regret this,” she said softly. Not as a threat but as a prophecy.
“Maybe,” said James. “But this is right.”
She left. This time the door slammed.
Silence.
***
They stood in the lounge: James by the balcony, Natalie by the dresser, folder in hand. One sealed box of crockery sat in the corner, two more in the hallway.
Outside, the sleet still fell.
Natalie slid the folder onto the shelf, went over to the sofa and sat. He waited, then joinedsitting not too close.
Natalie, he said.
Wait, she replied.
They sat quietly. Natalie looked at the crooked bookshelf; James, at his hands.
I should have said no straight away, he managed at last. Yesterday, when she rang. I should have told her: Mum, its not your business. I didnt.
Why?
He was quiet a long while.
I cant tell her no. Never could. She doesnt screamshe goes silent, just stares, as if youve killed her. I couldnt take that, even as a kid. Its always seemed easier just to say yes.
I know, said Natalie softly. I see it. Its not easy, James. But youre not a little boy anymore.
I know, he said. And todayIm not even sure if I did the right thing. I think I did. But shes my mum.
Shell always be your mum.
Shell be cross. For ages.
Probably.
Thatll hurt.
Yes, Natalie refused to sugar the pill. It will.
He nodded, rubbed his forehead.
What now?
I dont know, said Natalie honestly. We need to talk. Not today. When things have settled. About money. How well cope. Thats a conversation Im ready for.
And Mum?
Thats another talk. But a different one this time.
He was silent, then asked:
Are you angry?
Natalie considerednot to search for a right answer, but because she genuinely wanted to understand how she felt.
Im tired, she said. I was angry this morning. Now Im just tired.
Natalie, I
James. She turned to him. You did what was right. Today. It matters. But today is only today. Do you see?
He nodded. She could tell he understood.
Lets unpack the boxes? she said.
Yeah. Lets.
***
They unpacked in silence, each tackling a box. Natalie unwrapped saucepans and set them back in the cupboard. James carefully took the crystal glasses from the bubble wrap.
The flat still smelled of another womans perfume. Chanel No. 5 lingered; it always did. Natalie opened a window, letting in the raw March air.
Somewhere the little bear-eared boy was on his way home, staring out the bus window. Unaware hed just walked through the middle of someone elses life.
Natalie thought of her mothers phrase, Hes lived with her thirty years. That doesnt change fast. True. Change is slow. Today James said no. Once. For the first time.
It didnt guarantee hed keep saying it.
Or that everything would now be simple.
But it meant something.
She set the final pan on its shelf, folded the newspaper, and dropped it into recycling.
Coffee? James called from the kitchen.
Please.
He made them both a mug. Natalie took the white-framed photo from the window sill and studied it. They both looked slightly bemusedher in a dress not quite the colour she wanted, him in a tie hed later abandon. Smiling, though. Real smiles.
A year had gone by.
She put the frame back.
The smell of fresh coffee drifted in. A good smell. Theirs.
She joined him in the kitchen. He set her mug down before her, his opposite.
Outside, the sleet drifted on.
They drank in silence. It was heavy, but not hollowfull of things still to say. Natalie felt that as surely as shed felt the ache in her hands that morning.
But for now, words could wait.
Now, there was coffee. The open window. The wonky bookshelf next door.
And the blue folder, in its place.
***
Shed like to think the hardest part was behind them. That would make a neat ending. But after five years at Alpha Accounts, Natalie knew: ones books rarely balanced straightaway. The numbers dont always add up; it takes time to find mistakes, set them right.
Families, perhaps, are the same.
Mrs. Gromley would call backmaybe tomorrow, maybe next week. She wasnt the sort to leave forever. She was the sort to walk away and wait for someone to fetch her.
James would feel torn. Natalie could see it, clear as anything.
Moneythe lost bonus, the mortgagestill existed.
The talk was yet to come. The long and honest one they hadnt yet mastered. Maybe today had set something in motion.
She couldnt know.
James put down his mug.
Natalie.
Yes?
I Im glad you didnt walk out, even when I was thick as two short planks. You stayed and did the right thing.
She looked at him.
I couldnt do otherwise, she said simply. Its my home.
He nodded.
Ours, he said.
After a pause, she said at last, Yes. Ours.
Outside, the wind eased. The sleet stopped pattering at the glass. The sky over Baker Street lightened a shadestill no sun, just less grey.
Natalie picked up her mug. The coffee was almost cold, but she finished it all the same.
