Margaret! Margaret, where have you got to?!” Nicholas Peters’ voice strained from the living room. “Come here, quickly! Important news!”
“I’m coming!” responded Margaret Mills, drying her wet hands on her apron. “Whatever’s the matter? Is the house on fire?”
“Better! Much better!” Nicholas bounded up to her as she entered the room, grasping her elbows. “Listen! Remember Peters, my old boss? The one who retired last year?”
“Of course. What about him?” Margaret grew wary. Nicholas getting this excited usually meant trouble.
“He phoned! He’s selling his three-bedroom flat, right in the city centre! He’s offering it to us! Practically for nothing, Maggie! He says we can have it for half price because I helped him out once. Remember when I got his nephew that job?”
Margaret sank slowly into the armchair. Thoughts swirled in her head like autumn leaves in a gale.
“Nick, what flat? Are you mad? We haven’t got that sort of money!”
“That’s the beauty of it!” Nicholas perched on the armrest, talking fast, excitedly. “Peters says we can pay in instalments! Small monthly chunks, he’s in no rush. He’s moving out to the countryside, to his daughter – doesn’t need the city place anymore. Margaret, do you realise? We’ve squeezed ourselves into this little two-bed all our lives, and now this chance!”
“Nick, hold on…” Margaret rubbed her temples. “Why do we need a three-bed? The kids have grown up and moved out. This place suits us fine.”
“Why?!” Nicholas jumped up, pacing the floor. “Maggie, you’re a smart woman! The grandchildren will need somewhere to stay! And when we’re old, maybe the kids will move back in to look after us. Or we’ll hire help – they’ll need a room!”
Margaret looked at her husband silently. Married thirty years, and he was still the same dreamer. Always expecting some grand happiness to wander by, ripe for the grabbing.
“How much money is needed?” she asked cautiously.
“Well, the deposit’s small. Three thousand. Then monthly, five hundred.”
“Three *thousand*?!” Margaret nearly leapt up. “Nick, are you off your head? Where would we find that?”
“Here’s where I’ve got it sorted, Maggie,” Nicholas sat beside her, taking her hands. “Remember Mum left me Grandma’s ring? The diamond one? I had it valued at the bank, it’s worth four thousand easy. Sell it – problem solved!”
Margaret snatched her hands back.
“The ring?! Nicholas Peters, have you lost your senses? It’s a memory of your mother! She gave it to you on her deathbed!”
“So? Mum wanted us to be happy. Now we will be! In a big central flat!”
“What if we can’t keep up the payments? What if something happens? Illness? Losing our jobs?”
“Nothing will happen!” Nicholas waved away the thought. “Margaret, this is our *chance*! Understand? Opportunities like this strike once in a lifetime!”
Margaret stood and walked to the window. Rain streaked the glass like her muddled thoughts, everything blurred and uncertain.
“Nick, have you spoken to the children? What will they say?”
“What would they say? They’ll be thrilled! Imagine Emma’s surprise! And Steven will be so proud – his parents living in the city centre!”
Emma, the eldest daughter, taught school, constantly busy, constantly tired. Steven, the younger, had moved to Manchester after his army service, rarely called. Would they rejoice over their parents’ new flat? Margaret doubted it.
“Listen,” she said, not turning around, “maybe we shouldn’t rush? Think it over, get some advice…”
“Advice from who?!” Nicholas threw his hands up. “Maggie, Peters flies out to his daughter tomorrow! We need to decide *today*! Otherwise, someone else grabs the flat!”
“And why is he offering it just to us?” Margaret asked suddenly. “Surely he has other friends?”
“Well… He says we’re reliable. Trustworthy.”
Something in his voice made Margaret turn. Nicholas avoided her gaze, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.
“Nick, are you telling me the whole truth?”
“Of course! What could I hide?”
“I don’t know. But I feel you’re holding something back.”
Nicholas was quiet, then sighed heavily.
“Alright. There’s one small snag. The flat… well, it’s not exactly in perfect shape. It needs renovation. Serious renovation.”
“How serious?”
“Well, new plumbing, wiring. Maybe the floors. And the wallpaper, obviously…”
“Nick!” Margaret sank back into the chair. “That’s more big money!”
“But imagine after! We’ll live like royalty!” Nicholas spoke fervently. “Maggie, I’ve dreamt my whole life of a place like that! In the centre, high ceilings, plasterwork! Like in the period dramas! This is the chance!”
Margaret looked at Nicholas and saw in his eyes the same sparkle as thirty years ago when he courted her. Back then, he also made grand plans, told tales of their wonderful life. She’d believed him. Married him, raised the children, worked, scrimped. And he still dreamed of something bigger.
“Alright,” she said finally. “But on one condition. First, we *see* this flat. Honestly assess what the repairs will cost. We talk to the children. *Then* we decide.”
“Of course!” Nicholas beamed. “I’ve already arranged it with Peters, we see it tomorrow morning!”
That night, Margaret couldn’t sleep. She lay thinking. Nicholas was right – bigger flat, city centre, prestigious. Maybe worth the risk? But their snug little two-bed was so homely, so loved. This is where the children grew up, held so many memories…
Next morning, they went to see the flat. The building was indeed grand and old, with wide staircases and tall windows. But when Peters unlocked the door, Margaret gasped.
“Goodness, was there a flood here?” she asked, staring at the water stains on the walls.
“Well, the neighbours upstairs sometimes leak a bit,” Peters smiled apologetically. “Nothing terrible, it dries out.”
Margaret walked through the rooms. Wallpaper hung in shreds, floors groaned, a tap in the bathroom was broken. The view from the kitchen window over the square was lovely, but the window itself was cracked.
“Nick,” she said quietly, “it’s a wreck.”
“But think of the potential!” he whispered in her ear. “Imagine what we could do here!”
Peters hurried them. He said other buyers were interested, a decision was needed quickly. Nicholas grew agitated, pacing the rooms, measuring them with his stride.
“We’ll take it!” he suddenly declared. “Maggie, we’re taking the flat!”
“Nick, wait…”
“No, I’ve decided! Peters, let’s get the papers sorted!”
That evening, they sat in their kitchen. Nicholas drank tea, sketching redecoration plans. Margaret stayed silent.
“Imagine,” he said, “the big room is our bedroom. The middle one, a lounge with a fireplace. The small one can be my study. Computer, bookcases…”
“With what money for the renovations?” Margaret asked.
“Well, gradually. Room by room. First make somewhere liveable, then add the fancy bits.”
“What if we can’t make the payments?”
“We will!” Nicholas dismissed it. “I’ll find extra work. Maybe build garden sheds weekends.”
The next day, Nicholas went to sell the ring. Margaret stayed home, cleaning, cooking lunch. But her thoughts kept returning to the flat. Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t place it.
She
They silently realised their greatest mistake was trading precious memories for hollow aspirations, forgetting true contentment had always lived within their cosy little flat.
The Gift That Ruined Everything
