Hand Over the Key to Our Flat

Hand Over the Spare Key to Our Flat

Your father and I have made up our minds, Margaret laid her hand gently on her sons. Well sell the old cottage, give you £20,000 for the deposit, and thats enough of you two hopping between rented bedsits.

Andrew froze mid-sip, his mug hovering by his lips. His wife, Harriet, stopped chewing, fork dangling, a bit of pie uneaten.

Mum, are you serious? Andrew set his mug down carefully. The cottage? You go there every summer!
Well manage. Geoffrey, tell them.

His father, whod been absorbed in poking at the plum jam with a spoon, looked up.

Your mums right. That cottages been around for forty years roofs leaking, the fence cant stand another winter. Its nothing but hassle. And you two need a place of your own.
Dad, well save up ourselves, Andrew shook his head. Maybe another year or two
Three years! Margaret threw her hands in the air. Three more years in someone elses poky flat, kid due any month? Harriet, surely you see reason?

Harriet looked helplessly from her husband to her mother-in-law.

Mrs. Burton, its a great deal of money. We cant just accept it like that
Yes, you can, Margaret cut her off. Weve already rung the estate agent. The viewings on Saturday.

Andrew started to protest, but Margaret got in first.

Love, were not getting any younger. Your fathers third year with high blood pressure, Ill be sixty come spring. Why do we need that cottage? For what to grow tomatoes? I can buy them from the market, thank you very much. Better that our grandchildren grow up with a proper home. Their home, you understand?

Silence hung thick. Harriet squeezed Andrews hand beneath the table. Andrew rubbed his brow, as always when he couldnt find the words.

Mum Well pay it back. Bit by bit, every penny.
Oh, dont be so dramatic, Geoffrey waved a hand. You pay us back if you do, dont worry if not. All that matters is the grandchildren have somewhere to crawl and grow.

Six weeks later, the cottage was sold. Margaret handled all the paperwork, counted out the money, and had £20,000 transferred to her son. Three months passed, and Andrew and Harriet moved into a two-bedroom flat on Lilac Avenue new build, ninth floor, windows overlooking the park.

The housewarming drew fifteen people. Harriets parents brought crockery, mates showered them with towels, Andrews colleagues chipped in for a coffee machine. Margaret wandered room to room, touching the walls, peeking in cupboards, nodding was it approval, was it assessment? No one quite knew.
Towards evening, as guests filtered off, Margaret caught Andrew in the hallway.

Drew, a quick word.

She led him to the front door, away from curious ears.

Hand me the spare key.

Andrew blinked.

What key?
To the flat. The spare. You never know, she lowered her voice, we did help you out, darling. Should something happen, wed be locked out. And after all decent folk give parents a key.

Andrew shifted his weight, face conflicted. He wanted to resist, but couldnt find his words. Or perhaps didnt dare.

Mum, its just that Harriet
What about Harriet? Is she against it? Margaret narrowed her eyes. We bought you the flat, and she objects to us having a key?
No, thats not what I meant
Then hand it over. Dont be childish.

Andrew fished out his keyring from his jeans, picked off one shiny new key.

Here.

Margaret took it, examined it, and slotted it between her house and garage keys. Metal clinked.

Good lad, she patted Andrews cheek. Now, lets eat some cake before its gone.

The evening was lovely.

Margaret ran her hands over the fabric, turning the cushion, testing the seams. Velvet slid warmly under her fingers, the mustard colour soft and homely, just the thing for Harriets grey settee. She picked up a terracotta one to match. She could picture them already: cushions in the corners, and the knitted throw shed spotted last week tossed between.

On the bus, Margaret hugged the bag close. Outside, gardens sped past, playgrounds, parked cars. Lilac Avenue here was her stop. The entryway smelled of fresh paint, renewals just completed. She climbed to the ninth floor, pulled out her big bunch of keys, found the right one. The lock clicked, door opened quietly.

No one was home.

Margaret took off her shoes and entered the lounge. Indeed bare sofa, nothing inviting. She arranged the cushions in the corners, stepped back, assessed. Perfect. It looked entirely different.

Though some dust on the shelf stood out. And a dirty mug on the windowsill. Margaret shook her head, but kept her hands to herself. Not her place. Not yet.
That evening, the phone rang around nine.

Mum, did you come by?

Andrews voice was strained.

Yes, did you see the cushions? Arent they lovely?
Mum a pause You could have let us know first. Harriet came home to things moved, cushions suddenly appearing
Suddenly appearing? Margaret snorted. Ill have you know, those cost £15 each. And you tell your Harriet your place is looking rather untidy. Dust everywhere, dirty mugs. I checked the fridge half empty. Are you starving yourselves? I didnt give you money for you to live like students.
Mum, just warn us next time, please? Call us
Oh, Andrew, Margaret rolled her eyes, though he couldnt see. Anyway, I must dash, your fathers calling.

She hung up before he could reply.

Next week, Margaret dropped off a set of proper satin bed linen. Harriet was home, but in the shower Margaret heard the water running. She left the package on their bed, made no note. No need; theyd know. Three days later, she brought over a set of decent saucepans their Chinese ones were a disgrace to look at.

That Saturday, Andrew and Harriet came to dinner. They sat politely, ate dumplings, talked about the weather, neighbours renovations. It all felt stiff and formal.

Harriet set down her fork.

Mrs Burton
Yes?
May I ask would you mind calling ahead when you visit? Just so were prepared.

Margaret slowly dabbed her lips with a napkin.

Harriet dear, your father and I gave you £20,000. Twenty. Thousand. I have every right to come and go as I please. Its our flat, too, after all.
Mum, Andrew tried to step in.
What, Andrew? Am I wrong?

Silence. Geoffrey poked at his dumpling, utterly disengaged.

Thank you for dinner, Harriet stood up. Andrew, time to go.

They left hastily, goodbye smiles tight and uneasy. Margaret shut the door behind them, returned to the kitchen, clearing the table. Something made her peer out the window just as they left the block.

The window was open a crack, and Harriets voice carried sharply:

either we pay this debt off, or we get divorced. I cant keep living like this.

Margaret stood stunned with a plate in her hands.

What debt? What was she talking about?

Below, Andrew replied, but his words were lost in the rumble of their car door and engine.

Margaret set the plate in the sink.

She didnt like this one bit.

Margaret turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door and nearly collided with Andrew, waiting in the hall. Harriet peered out of the kitchen, drying her hands.

Oh, youre home Margaret faltered, then continued brightly Ive brought you
Mum, wait.

Something in her sons tone silenced her. Andrew reached into his coat, pulled out an envelope thick, solid, certainly not empty.

We wanted to give you something back.

Margaret took it automatically. She peeked inside her knees nearly gave way.

Money. A lot of it.

What whats this?
Twenty thousand pounds, Harriet stepped beside her husband. We took a bank loan.
You Margarets eyes widened. Why on earth? Why?
Because we dont want to be beholden, Harriet met her gaze, steady and direct. Mrs Burton, were worn out. By the visits, the inspections, you showing up when you please, poking about.
I did not poke! I brought cushions! Sheets! Pans!
Mum, Andrew placed a hand on Harriets shoulder were changing the locks. The locksmith will be round tomorrow.

Margaret blinked. Once, then twice, before understanding dawned.

Changing the locks?
Yes. You wont have a key anymore.

The air grew thick with tension. Margarets eyes moved from her son to Harriet and back. Her throat clenched, cheeks burned.

You you she swallowed Youre petty. Petty and thankless. We sold our cottage for you! And now you throw me out as if Im some thief!
Were not throwing you out, Harriets voice didnt waver. Were asking you to let us be.

Margaret gripped her bunch of keys in her pocket until her fingers numbed.

Andrew, love. Will you really let her speak to me that way?

Andrew lowered his gaze, hesitated, then looked his mother squarely in the eye.

Mum. We decided this together.

Margaret spun on her heel and left, not a word of farewell.

All the way home, Margaret rehearsed what shed say when Andrew rang to apologise. Tomorrow, maybe the day after. Hed cool off, see reason.

A week passed. The phone stayed silent.

Margaret reached for the receiver more than once, but always set it back down. No. Let them come first. Let them say sorry. She was their mum, after all. Shed only wanted the best.

A month later, Geoffrey gently asked at dinner if theyd made up. Margaret just shrugged and changed the subject.

Two months on, she no longer jumped at every ring.

Three months, she understood.

Her son wouldnt call. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.

Margaret sat in her kitchen, staring at her bunch of keys. House key, garage key. And between them the one for Andrews flat on Lilac Avenue.

Shed only wanted to help. Truly. Cushions, pans, bedding it was caring, wasnt it? Isnt that how its meant to be? Parents help, children grateful, everyone happy.

But somewhere, along the way, something broke. And no matter how Margaret sifted her memories of words and visits, she couldnt tell where.

Maybe she didnt want to.

Fixing it was out of her reach now.