Strange Walls
Do you know what I keep thinking about? I ask my husband, absentmindedly polishing the same dinner plate for what must be the fifth time. That we dont even have a single teaspoon to ourselves anymore. Everythings in their room. And now, even in my own flat, I go to bed wondering: are we making too much noise in our own lounge, watching telly? Are we disturbing them?
He just gazes out through the dark window, down into the shadowed garden. Then he sighs a heavy, deep, tired sort of sigh.
Were just guests, arent we, he says quietly, not turning. We, the owners, have become the guests. Even in our own kitchen.
And as if on cue, from the spare room comes the tinkling, barely-suppressed laughter of my niece, followed by her boyfriends distinctly masculine voice. Theyre watching a film. In what used to be our lounge.
So thats how we sit me with a plate clasped to my chest, David by the window, and my mind going round and round with the same burning question: how did it end up like this? How did we end up so tiptoey in our own flat that even flushing the loo at night is an act of quiet rebellion? We used to live, freely, in our own home. And, as usual, it all started with the best of intentions or so we thought.
It was the end of August, a year and a half ago, and I was still sweating over jars of pickled onions in the kitchen, hair clinging to my forehead, when the phone rang. I wiped my hands on my apron and picked up.
Hi Elaine, came my sisters voice, nervous, almost cajoling. I braced myself at once Lizzie doesnt just ring for a chat. Shes in Leeds, wrapped up in her busy life; we talk maybe three times a year, if that. Listen, thing is. You remember Sophie, my eldest?
Of course. Whats happened?
Oh, nothing bad! Actually, really good news. Sophies going to uni in Sheffield. She got a place, proper entry, clever girl. The only thing is, the halls cant take her straight away. Might be a term, might be longer. I was wondering well, you two have the three-bedroom, and theres only you and David. Could you just put her down as a temporary resident for the paperwork? Its purely for the records, you know how strict they are. Shell find somewhere to rent herself, dont worry, weve talked about it. Just for the uni she needs an address in the city to sort the forms.
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, and my mind was already racing. On the one hand: shes family, my niece, always did well at school. Lizzie was always proud of her. And its just paperwork. But David hes always said never register anyone here, family or not. Its never that simple, Elaine. Once someones down, its a nightmare getting them out. Yet shes my niece, just a student for a spell. Of course, refusing Lizzie feels wrong shes family, after all.
Are you sure shes found somewhere? I asked, treading carefully. Only, if she changes her mind, it isnt going to be easy for David and me, having someone here all the time.
Oh, come on, Elaine, my sister laughed. Shes eighteen! She wants independence. Shes already arranging to share with her friends. Its just for the uni paperwork, official stamps, registration. All very formal, you know how it is.
I hesitated, mumbled something about asking David. When I told him, he frowned straight away.
No, Elaine, he said flatly. Registration isnt some little favour. Once shes down, its a pain getting her off. Ive heard horror stories at work. It always ends badly.
But shes your niece! I protested. Lizzies daughter, and its only for a while, for the paperwork. Once shes sorted at uni, shell be off living with her mates.
Shell have her form, David snorted. And next itll be her stuff, then crashing here one night, then her friends coming over, then something else. No, lets not.
Yet my conscience wouldnt let up. Why was I being so strict about a bit of family help? Sophie was such a sweet girl growing up. When she called, her voice was so polite and grown-up.
Aunt Elaine, its Sophie. Mum said you might be willing to help with the registration? I promise, I wont be any bother at all. Ive got a flat lined up with two other girls, all sorted, but I need the address just for the university. Would you mind if I came round to meet you, maybe talk everything through, and bring the forms?
How could you say no? She was so polite, so earnest. David just shrugged when I told him.
Do as you like. But dont come running to me later.
Sophie arrived at the start of September: tall, skinny, long fair hair in a plait, jeans and a white shirt, and a huge rucksack. She gave me a shy smile.
Aunt Elaine, thank you so much for this! Mum wanted to send you a few bits.
Jam, honey, home-baked shortbread in a bag. I felt instantly as if everything would be fine.
We had tea together as she talked about journalism studies, her dream to go into television, her hopes, her plans. She really seemed earnest. She showed me the photos of her new room in some suburb, three beds crammed in, but she and her friends would manage.
I only need registration so the forms are right, she repeated. I wont be around, I promise. Maybe just occasionally, if I need to pick something up. Thats all.
Even David thawed a little Sophie addressed him as Mr. Campbell, all respect. Thank you so much for helping me! Ill bring my forms tomorrow if thats all right?
Three days later we signed the forms at the council. Sophie was registered to our place for a year, all official. A fortnight later she rang to say a grateful thank you, again and again. I felt satisfied a kindness given, a small family favour. All sorted.
Except, life is rarely so simple.
At the start, Sophie didnt appear. Weeks went by. She phoned occasionally, checked in on birthdays. Lizzie called to thank us: Sophie was doing brilliantly at uni. I felt good, reassured. Maybe David had been too strict.
But then, in November, Sophie called and asked if she could stay a few days. Flatmates row one girl brought friends over every night, music blared. Sophie couldnt study, and with exams coming, just wanted a bit of peace.
Come and stay, I said. You can use the sofa in the lounge.
She turned up in the evening, burdened with her rucksack again. David gritted his teeth but said nothing. Sophie apologised for the trouble just a week, until things settle. How could we say no? She was quiet, hard-working, up early for lectures, home late with her books. We stopped watching telly so as not to disturb her. David retired earlier than usual; I dawdled in the kitchen.
A week stretched into two. Then exams started and Sophie said she couldnt move mid-term; shed look for somewhere after. After winter break, she returned, saying shed picked up a job at the local paper to gain experience, was trying to save for a summer internship in London, couldnt afford a room on her tiny wage.
Aunt Elaine, can I stay with you a little longer? Ill pay towards the bills, do my shopping, I wont be a burden. I really need this job, but rent would swallow half my wage.
David, when I told him, was furious.
See, Elaine? I told you. Shes taking advantage. Now shes living here, paying you a token, and it will never stop!
I tried to justify it she was trying so hard, after all. Paying a bit for bills. But deep down, I knew David was right, and I dreaded calling Lizzie, imagined her saying, You agreed, you deal with it. I felt sorry for Sophie, too. She was a quiet girl, working hard how could I throw her out?
By February, her stuff was everywhere half the hallway cupboard, boxes of books and materials on the balcony. In the fridge, her own shelf: yoghurts, fruit, ready meals. Sometimes our food would disappear sugar, bread. She always replaced it, but still. It wasnt our home anymore, not really.
David and I hardly spoke conversation had become stiff, awkward. He came home late, went straight to the bedroom. Avoided Sophie. She did her best to be invisible, apologised, cleaned up after herself. But it made no difference. A stranger polite, yes still disturbs your home.
One evening, as I chopped salad in the kitchen, Sophie boiled water for her special herbal fruit tea her own stylish mug, her own pink kettle (Yours is so slow, Auntie.). I sat watching her, and realised how at home she seemed. Comfortable, natural.
Sophie, I said, unable to resist, are you getting anywhere with somewhere to live? Have your old flatmates calmed down?
She looked up, apologetic.
I dont speak to them anymore. We had a right falling out. But honestly, Im looking for new places, but nothing suits. Either too expensive or too far from uni. Here is handy transport, everything. If its a problem, though, I will try harder.
What could I say? Yes, its a problem, please leave? I couldnt, too polite. Besides, I pitied her. Circumstances, thats all.
You probably need your own room, your freedom. Sleeping on the sofa cant be great.
Im fine, really. I dont want to be a bother.
She disappeared back to the lounge. I stood in the kitchen thinking: She says we dont bother her, but were the ones now living in the kitchen, watching less TV, speaking in hushed tones. Our own home and we tiptoe around.
That night in the bedroom, David muttered wearily:
Elaine, we need to end her registration. When August comes, dont renew. Tell her to look elsewhere.
I promise, I said. I wont renew.
Inside, I knew it wouldnt be so easy. Shed been registered, living here for months. Ending it would mean a confrontation I didnt want.
March slipped by, then April. Sophie revised for spring exams, worked at the paper, often home late, typing on her laptop. Id lie in bed, listening to her tap away, increasingly irritated. I wanted to tell her to stop, but I kept quiet.
Then in May, everything changed.
Sophie brought home a young man. Tall, dark hair, fashionable jacket. This is Jamie, my friend from uni studies computer science. We met at the office, work together on projects. Can he come in for a bit? Were working on a presentation.
I nodded, what could I do? David wasnt in. They shut themselves in the lounge, I sat in the kitchen, simmering. Shes now having boys round. In our lounge, on our sofa, with our things.
David came home, I told him. He stormed to the bedroom in silence. Sophie and Jamie emerged an hour later, all smiles and thanks, promising not to be a nuisance.
Sophie, this is uncomfortable, I tried to say rationally. This is our home. Youre like a lodger and now you have guests.
Her face fell.
Im sorry, Aunt Elaine. Jamies just a friend, we were working. It wont happen again.
She vanished to her room. I felt torn justified, yet somehow ashamed. But David was immovable.
No more. She moves out in August. Warn her.
August arrived and nothing happened, because in June, Sophie came to me saying her registration was about to expire could she renew it for one more year? With her exams and work, it was too much. The university required it for her to stay enrolled.
I rang Lizzie, complaining.
Elaine, just another year. Shes good as gold, no trouble. Ill speak to her, make sure she looks for somewhere. But please, get her registered. She cant risk being thrown off her course now, can she?
I caved in. David refused to sign this time, but as the owner, I renewed it alone. Just one more year, then thats it, I told myself.
That summer Sophie went home to Leeds for a month, and David and I rediscovered our flat. We watched TV past midnight, chatted late into the night. For a moment, I hoped shed stay put find a job in Leeds, not return.
But back she came in September, with an even bigger suitcase. More books, more clothes, an ambition to get a first. So Ill probably be home more, lots of studying!
In October, Jamie reappeared. I overheard them go into the lounge, no request this time. I stuck my head round the door; they were working on their laptops.
Sophie, really, you promised no guests.
Hes not a guest, this is course work, she seemed genuinely puzzled at my concern.
I retreated to the kitchen, shaking. I hadnt smoked for years, but I lit up. I felt like a stranger in my own home.
Jamies visits became the norm two or three evenings a week. Sometimes he stayed late, on the sofa. David began coming home later, claiming work was busy, but I knew the truth.
One November evening, Id had enough.
Sophie, sit down we need to talk, I said, as she came into the kitchen.
She perched on the edge of her chair, wary.
You promised youd move out. Its been over a year, youre still living here. When will you find somewhere?
She looked genuinely contrite.
Aunt Elaine, I am looking. But everywheres either grim or too dear. I need somewhere quiet, and here you have fast internet, its warm, its safe. I pay for my share and I try to keep to myself. Is it really that unbearable?
It is, I admitted. David and I are used to living alone. Its hard with someone else here and having Jamie round all the time, it feels like youre running your own life out of our living room.
Were just friends! She flushed. We study together, thats all and I am officially registered here, so its my address too.
Thats when I realised how far things had gone not an apology now, but a statement of rights.
Sophie, registration is a formality; it doesnt mean you can live here forever. We helped you, but youre taking advantage.
Im not! she snapped, unusual for her. I pay for my bills and food. I dont get in your way! Now you want to throw me out?
Nobodys throwing you out, I said wearily. But you must understand, we are exhausted. David barely comes home now and I just pick at my food in the kitchen. Youre old enough to understand.
She said nothing, left, and after that, we barely spoke. December was grim. Normally wed put the tree up in the lounge, cook for friends, celebrate New Year. This time, a little fake tree on the kitchen counter, that was all. The lounge was Sophies now.
She left for Christmas. David exhaled, At least well see the year in peace.
New Years Eve, just the two of us, half a bottle of fizz, and the little telly. At midnight, David hugged me and whispered, Elaine, next year we sort this out. I cant go on like this. Get her registration cancelled. Court, if you have to.
Court? Shes family, David. Lizzie will never forgive us; well be the villains.
So what? Can we live like this? Youre a wreck, Im never home. Its our place. We bought it, we made it ours!
He was right, of course. But I was frightened of the fight, the row, family rifts. I couldnt bear to be branded the heartless aunt.
Sophie returned from Leeds in January and she had an announcement.
Aunt Elaine, Uncle David, I wanted to warn you: Jamies leaving his halls. Renting is so expensive, so I thought maybe he could stay here for a bit? Its temporary, of course. Were serious about each other, planning to get married after uni. Hes a good lad, hard-working, wont disturb you.
I dropped my mug. David went white, and then very red.
What? he exploded. You want you want him to move in here as well?
Just for a few months. The halls are overcrowded, its impossible. The lounge is big, youre in your bedroom, we hardly overlap. Hell help with the bills!
Absolutely not! David slammed his fist on the table. You move out, Sophie. You have a month. By February, you and Jamie go. Enough.
Sophie looked us in the eye now, all the past gratefulness gone.
You cant kick me out. Im registered here until August. Youll have to go to court, and unless I cause problems or skip bills, you wont win. And Jamies coming on Saturday. Call the police if you like.
She stormed to the lounge. David and I just sat there wed been strongarmed, outmanoeuvred. She knew her rights.
I rang Lizzie. She sighed.
I cant control her, Elaine. Shes an adult now, Im not pulling her strings. Shell have to sort herself out. If its that bad, go to court. I wont be offended. I knew that was a lie.
Jamie arrived a few days later, bags and boxes with him. David saw his trainers and jacket by the door, and his face set hard.
Im seeing the solicitor, he said quietly. Well evict them. I dont care if the family hates me.
Our solicitor explained: yes, Sophie could be evicted, but only if the conditions were impossible for us as owners, and it takes months. Jamie was on thinner ice not registered, so technically could be removed. David called the local police officer. A few days later, Jamie was given a warning: as a non-resident, he must leave within seventy-two hours or face a fine.
Jamie packed up and went. Sophie stared daggers at us for days, claiming wed thrown him out into a hovel. David was unmoved: until August, and then out, no renewal.
Peace didnt last. Three weeks and Jamie was back Sophie had filed paperwork to get him registered as her partner. Legally, she could. I panicked. Our solicitor said: challenge it in court, but itll take months.
We filed the court case. Lizzie stopped speaking to me. The family took Sophie’s side.
Now, both Jamie and Sophie live here. The court hearings in July. We document everything utility bills, late-night noise, evidence for the judge.
But life goes on. We spend our evenings in the kitchen, lounge off-limits. Sophie and Jamie make their dinner after weve retreated. Politeness is terse now. Theyve bought themselves a gigantic TV for the lounge; our old one has been relegated to the balcony. David said nothing what was the point? They do as they please.
This evening, as I do the washing up, David sits staring into the dusk.
Maybe we ought to sell and move, Elaine. Leave them to it. Buy a little one-bed. Something thats truly ours.
He says it so simply, and I know, inside, my heart is breaking.
Its like giving up our home, he goes on softly. We bought this place, put everything in it. But if were just guests now
At least wed have peace, I reply, but its a hollow kind of hope.
From the lounge comes laughter, the rumble of Jamies voice, the flicker of their new television. In our old home, now not really ours.
We sip our cold tea in silence. Outside, dusk settles over the garden, kids voices carry on the breeze. Life carries on, but were stuck, trapped, waiting.
Remember, David murmurs, us talking here, about letting Sophie register? Last year, over a jar of pickled onions
I remember, I reply, a lump in my throat.
Should have listened to myself, he says gently, with no reproach. Said no from the start.
You were right.
We fall quiet. Sophie passes by on her way to the bathroom, calls good evening. We reply, she disappears. The water runs, muffling our defeat.
Maybe we will move. Maybe thats easier than fighting, than struggling in our own home, watching the walls become strange.
Tomorrow, David will call the estate agent. Just in case. Well see what our place is worth. Maybe well buy somewhere small and peaceful. Completely ours, again.
We linger a little longer, finish our tea, then turn in. Past the closed lounge door our old lounge, their territory now.
In our bedroom, we sit, but I cant read, the words blur. David sighs in the half-light, Where did we go wrong? We tried to be kind.
We believed in gratitude, I answer softly. We believed people would give back, especially family.
He laughs, quietly. Foolish. Should have known better at our age.
We lie there, the hum of their laughter and telly seeping through the wall.
Were just guests, forgotten in our own home.
And I realise: the worst thing isnt the loss of control, or the flat. Its losing faith in kindness, in family, in goodwill. That trust is gone, and in its place, just a weary, hollow ache.
David falls asleep. I lie awake, listening to the laughter on the other side of the wall, wondering what tomorrow will bring, and the day after, and every day after that.
Outside, the March wind shudders at the window. Spring is near, but in our home it still feels like winter cold, and never ending.
I close my eyes. I dream of our old home, light-filled, full of laughter. But when I wake, I know: it was only a dream. The reality is so very different.
