Live with a friend, Victor muttered, shoving my suitcase out of the doorway. My aunt from York is staying with us for a month, he added, as if that explained everything.
Nancy! Nancy, youve parked on my space again! I asked you yesterday not to take it! I shouted, the words spilling like hot tea.
Mrs. Clarke, what space? Theres no assigned parking here! I park wherever I please! the other woman snapped, arms flailing as if conducting an invisible orchestra.
How can you say that? Ive lived on this street for thirty years! That spot has always been mine! the first huffed.
Doesnt give you any right to own it! the second retorted, her voice echoing down the narrow hallway.
I stood at the lift entrance, heavy grocery bags sagging my shoulders, while the two neighbours bickered over an imaginary parking spot. Their voices rose like a tide, blocking the passage to my flat.
Excuse me, may I get through? I whispered, trying to slip past the storm.
Reluctantly they stepped aside, still throwing angry glances at each other. I pushed the hallway door with my shoulder, the bags pulling my arms taut until my fingers went numb. I should have taken the trolley, but the thought always slipped away before I reached home.
I climbed the stairwell to the fourth floor the lift was, as usual, out of order. At my door I shifted the bags to one arm, fished the keys from my coat pocket, and entered.
Inside the hallway lay my blue travel suitcase, the one I always take on holidays, its lid propped open as if waiting to be whisked away.
Victor? I called as I stepped into the flat. Are you home?
Yeah, in the kitchen! came his voice from somewhere beyond the thin walls.
I set the bags down, shrugged off my coat, and padded into the kitchen. Victor sat at the table, a mug of tea cooling beside his phone.
Hey, he said without looking up.
Hey. Victor, why is the suitcase in the hallway? I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
He finally glanced up, his eyes flickering with a sudden seriousness.
Remember my Aunt Zena from York? he asked.
I frowned, trying to summon the vague memory of a grey-haired woman whod appeared at family gatherings once or twice.
Sort of, I replied.
Shes coming to London for a month. She needs surgery, then rehab. I invited her to stay with us.
I sank slowly into a chair, the words feeling like they were being spoken in a dream.
You invited her here? For a month?
Yeah. Whats the problem? Shes family.
Victor, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she sleep?
Victor finished his tea, set the mug down, and said, Thats the thing. Space is tight. I thought maybe you could stay with a friend for a while. Like, you could crash at Lucys place. She lives alone in a twobedroom flat. Plenty of room. Aunt Zena would stay with us for the month, then leave. And you could come back.
My mouth went dry. What?
Just stay at Lucys. She has space. Aunt Zena will be here for a month, then shell go. You can return.
So you want me to move out of my own flat? I asked, my voice trembling.
Its only temporary, he insisted. Just a month.
A month is a long time! Why should I go? Let Aunt Zena rent a place or stay in a hotel!
She cant afford a hotel, Victor said, his tone sharp. Are you being greedy? Shes family!
Im not greedy! I just dont understand why I have to sacrifice my own home!
Victor snatched the keys from the table. Ive already sorted everything. Aunt Zena arrives tonight. Ive packed the suitcase, put your things in. Go to Lucys. Ive already called her, shes agreed.
You called Lucy without telling me?
Of course. No point wasting time. Pack your things, Al.
He left the kitchen, the door closing behind him with a thud that echoed like a heartbeat.
I stood in the hallway, the weight of his words pressing down like a stone. Victor, I wont go.
You will. Its just a month. Then youll be back.
What if I dont want to?
Victor sighed, rubbing his face. Dont be childish, Al. Aunt Zena needs help. Youre being selfish.
Your rights, your rights What about family? What about helping relatives? he retorted, his voice rising.
Tears welled, blurring the hallway into a corridor of shadows. I turned and fled to the stairwell, the black cab waiting outside my building like a silent witness.
At the landing, I dialed Lucys number. Hey, Lucy, its Al. Victor said Im supposed to stay with you. Is that okay?
Of course, love! Ive got a spare room. Come over, she replied, her voice warm despite the chaos.
I called a black cab, gave the address, and rode to Lucys flat, the city flashing past in a smear of rainslick windows. When Lucy opened the door, she wrapped me in a hug that felt both comforting and oddly distant.
What happened? she asked, eyes wide.
He kicked me out, I sobbed. Hes not letting me stay.
Victor? He just?
I told her everything. She listened, shaking her head. Thats mad. Evicting your wife for an aunt?
Maybe theres more, I whispered. Something feels off.
She led me to her sofa, offering tea. Do you think theres another reason?
Maybe, I murmured, the dreamlogic twistinglike a hallway that never ends, each door opening onto another part of the same room.
The next morning I tried to call Victor. Victor, hows Aunt Zena? Is she here yet?
He answered coldly. Shes in the hospital for tests. Ill bring her things later. Dont come over.
This isnt right, I said, my voice trembling.
He hung up.
Lucy suggested I go back to the flat while Victor was at work. You have a key, dont you?
Yes, I whispered, clutching the cold metal.
When I slipped into the apartment, the flat was eerily quiet. The living room was untouched, the kitchen table held a note: Victor, Im at the hospital for a scan. Ill be back this evening. Zena
Relief washed over me, but then the phone on the kitchen counter rang. The caller ID displayed Mum.
It was Margaret Blake, Victors mother. Alison? Victor said youve gone away.
I was just getting some things, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
Is Zena alright? Victor mentioned a surgery tomorrow.
Tomorrow? I stammered. But he said shed be here a month
The surgery is tomorrow, love. He said just a week of recovery, then home to York.
My mind swirled. A week? A month? The numbers tangled like ribbons.
I searched the wardrobe; everything was as Id left it. In the bedroom drawer I found a small notebook. Opening it, Victors scrawl read Plan on the first page, followed by a list:
1. Convince Alison to leave.
2. Meet with the estate agent.
3. Show the flat to potential buyers.
4. Finalise paperwork.
5. Collect money.
6. Move in with Sophie.
Sophiewho was she? A name I didnt recognise.
I photographed the page, heart pounding, and fled back to Lucys flat, my thoughts a chaotic storm.
Lucy read the note, her face hardening. Hes trying to sell the flat! To move in with some woman named Sophie!
I thought we owned it together, I whispered, tears spilling onto the sofa.
He put everything in his name while I was on maternity leave, Lucy said. Now he wants to dump you.
I dont know what to do, I said, clutching the notebook.
The next day I visited Margaret at her kitchen table. She stared at the notebook, her expression turning from surprise to anger.
Yes, Victor told me. He wants to sell, buy a smaller place, use the money for a car. He says you dont need a big flat. He even mentioned moving in with a Sophie.
V?
Ill talk to him, Margaret promised, but her voice wavered.
I called Victor, demanding to meet. He said he was busy, but I insisted. We finally met in a café opposite Lucys flat, the rain drumming on the windows.
Victor, explain, I said, sliding the notebook across the table.
He stared at the scribbles, his face paling. Where did you get that?
It doesnt matter. Tell me why.
He swallowed, then spoke slowly. I met someone Sophie. Weve been together six months. I love her. I I wanted to start fresh. The flat its mine, legally. I can sell it. Ill give you something, find somewhere else.
His confession hit me like a cold splash of water. Six months? Youve been lying to me this whole time?
Yes, he whispered. I didnt know how to tell you.
I stood, the chair scraping the floor. Do what you want. Sell the flat, move to Sophie. But know this: youve lost me forever.
I walked out, rain soaking my coat, the city lights flickering like distant stars.
Lucy held me as I collapsed on the steps outside the café. Youre brave, Al. You didnt let him humiliate you.
My flat is gone. I have nowhere to go, I said, voice raw.
Your parents have a onebedroom council flat. No room.
Ill stay here, at least for a while, Lucy said, determination in her eyes.
I lived with Lucy for a month. Victor did sell the flat and moved in with Sophie, who soon left him when the money ran dry. I filed for divorce; the court awarded me a modest sum, since the property was in his name. I found a job, saved, and eventually rented a small room in a shared house. It wasnt luxury, but it was mine.
Months later Margaret called. Alison, Victors split up with Sophie. Hes struggling, asks about you. He wants to reconcile.
No, I replied. Im moving on. I have a new life now, and Im happy.
I hung up, looking out at the grey London sky, the streets buzzing with strangers. Life was hard, the rent was tight, the pay modest, but it was honest. No more deception, no more stolen dreams. And that, in the end, mattered more than any flat or any man who thought he could own my world.
The dream faded, but the feeling lingereda strange, surreal sense that the walls of my mind had rearranged themselves, making room for a new, quieter life.
