Beyond These Walls

Strange Walls

You know what Ive been thinking? I said to my husband as I wiped the same plate for the fifth time. We dont even have a single teaspoon left in our kitchen drawer. Everythings in their room now. And here I am, falling asleep in my own flat, worrying if were being too noisy in our own lounge, watching the telly. If were disturbing them.

He just stood silently, gazing out at the darkness beyond the window. Then he sighed a heavy, long one, pulled from somewhere deep inside.

Guests, he murmured, not turning around. Weve become guests. In our own kitchen.

Right on cue, there came a burst of muffled giggles from the spare room, followed by the deep baritone laugh of her boyfriend. They were watching a film. In what used to be our sitting room.

Thats how we sat there me clutching a plate, Michael at the window, my thoughts spinning for the hundredth time: how did we end up here? How did it come to the point where Im afraid to flush the loo at night in my own flat, in case it disturbs someone? And to think it all started so innocently. With good intentions and family ties, as it always does.

It was around the end of August, year and a half back. My sister Emma called I was elbow-deep in a steaming kitchen, still pickling cucumbers, red-faced, hair stuck to my forehead. The mobile rang, and I wiped my hands on my apron to answer.

Hi Liz, came her voice, all hesitant and careful. Alarm bells rang Emma never called for a chat. She lived in York, always busy, and wed usually ring only three or four times a year.

Its about Molly you remember, my oldest?

Of course I do, I replied. Is something wrong?

No, not at all. Shes gotten into Uni. In Sheffield, your way. On a scholarship, bless her. The thing is, theres a wait for halls maybe a term, maybe longer. And I thought Look, you two have a three-bed flat, dont you? Maybe you could put her on your council registration for a bit? Just for the paperwork, she needs a proof of address for the uni. Shell be renting a room with her mates anyway, dont worry. Weve talked it through. Its just formality, really.

I stood there, phone pressed to my cheek, and my brain started whirring. On one hand, shes my niece always was a clever, polite thing. On the other, registering someone at your address isnt nothing. Michael always said: never put anyone, even family. Its a pain to take them off later. But then, its only Molly. Uni student, temporary. Hard to say no to Emma, even if we werent the closest anymore. Blood is blood.

Are you sure she won’t want to stay with us? I asked quietly. Because it might be a bit much for us if she moves in, you know?

Oh Liz, dont be daft, Emma laughed. Shes eighteen! She wants her freedom, not to be stuck with her aunt and uncle. Shes already sorting something with her friends, its all arranged. Its purely for the paperwork, you know what its like hoops to jump through, endless forms, addresses, leaflets from the council. Nothing to do with actually living there.

I hesitated a bit more but said Id talk to Michael. When I mentioned it that evening, his brow furrowed straight away.

Dont, Liz, he said gruffly. Registering someones a headache. Had enough stories at work about this it never ends well.

But its only Molly, I argued. Emmas daughter. Just for a bit, for the paperwork. Shell be out of our hair, living with her mates.

Yeah, until she decides to bring her things over, crash for the night, then what? Suddenly theres friends, boyfriends No, Liz.

But I rang Emma back the next day anyway. Guilt, probably. The girl’s just gotten into uni, trying to get on in life, and Im quibbling over forms. I remembered Molly as a quiet, sweet thing at family dos when she was small. Emma arranged for her daughter to call me herself and explain.

A couple of days later, Molly rang polite, well-spoken, just as I remembered.

Aunt Liz, hello, its Molly. Mum said you might help me with the address, I know its a faff but I really need it. Ive found a room with two other girls, but uni is very strict, need the official paperwork. Do you mind if I pop over, meet you both and talk things through?

How could I say no? Michael was resigned to it by then. Do what you want, but dont blame me later, he muttered.

Molly turned up early September. Tall, skinny, in jeans and a crisp white shirt, her brown hair in a long thick plait. Pretty girl, honestly. She brought a bag of homemade jam, a jar of honey and some sweets from Emma. My heart melted honestly, what a lovely, well-brought-up thing.

We had a cup of tea, she told me about her course, journalism, wanted to work in telly, do serious reporting. Her eyes sparkled, she was so earnest. She showed me snaps of her little rented room pretty cramped, three beds in a tiny box, but the girls would make do.

I genuinely just need the address so my documents are right, she repeated. I wont be a nuisance, I promise. Maybe Ill pop in if Im desperate, but very rare.

Even Michael thawed a bit when he came in from work. Molly stood, said hello properly, used his full name. He nodded, barely, and started in on his dinner she slipped away soon after.

The next week we did the paperwork together. She brought her forms, I signed the landlord bit as owner. Michael even reluctantly scrawled his name. It was all quick and easy. Molly got her proof of address for a year, and called me a dozen times to thank me when she picked it up. I figured that was the end of it. Wed done our bit as family. Everyone happy.

But life, as you know, never works out the way you expect.

At first, she really didn’t come round. A month, maybe two, just a few polite texts and calls on birthdays. Emma rang too, told me Molly was doing well, enjoying university. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But then in November Molly called, asked if she could crash for a week, just till things settled. Trouble with one of the girls in the house share too much noise, friends coming and going at all hours, impossible to study.

Of course I said yes. Shes a student, exam season, what was I supposed to do? Come over, I said. You can use the sofa bed.

She arrived that evening, all apologetic, carrying her big backpack. Michael just pursed his lips. Molly set herself up in the lounge, insisted it would only be a week, ten days tops. Shed sort things with the girls or find a new place.

A week turned to two and then she explained her exams were starting; moving now would be madness. We said alright, its winter, focus on your studies. I reckoned shed move after Christmas.

After the holidays, she was back, and told us shed landed a part-time job at the local newspaper. Good experience, essential for her CV. She wanted to save money for a summer placement in London, so now preferred not to rent a room at all.

Aunt Liz, can I stay a bit longer? she asked, those big grey eyes of hers looking up at me. Ill pay you for the bills honestly and buy my own groceries. I know I wont be a burden. Please, it really means a lot to me.

When I told Michael, he exploded.

What the hell, Liz! I told you! Shes moving in, next itll be a vans worth of stuff. He was almost shouting, low and harsh, so Molly wouldnt hear. Shes using us! She slips you thirty quid for bills and takes over half the flat. Ive seen people do this at work, trust me, it never ends well.

But I didnt have it in me to argue. I pitied Molly she was studying hard, working, polite as anything, bought her own food. And I was too embarrassed to phone Emma, knowing shed say I brought it on myself.

By February, Molly had properly settled in. Her things filled half the hall wardrobe, boxes of books and college stuff cluttered the balcony. Her cheese and yoghurts and fancy tea bags claimed a shelf in the fridge. She paid for her bits, but still, sometimes our sugar or cooking oil would disappear. She replaced everything, but you know how it is you begin to feel youre not the master in your own house anymore.

Michael and I barely spoke, except in strained, monosyllabic tones. Hed leave early, come back late, disappear to our bedroom, mumbling that he was tired. I knew he just didnt want to cross paths with Molly. She tried her best to be invisible, always apologising or keeping out of the way. But it didnt help we were constantly on edge, tiptoeing around a polite stranger.

One evening I was making salad in the kitchen as Molly came in for the kettle. She had her own pink one bought it herself and told me ours was too slow her own big mug, her favourite posh fruit teas. Everything, quietly, hers.

Molly, I blurted out eventually, did you ever sort things with your housemates? Maybe its calmer now?

She smiled apologetically. Not really, Aunt Liz. Im looking at places, honestly, but nothings affordable or close to campus. I suppose Im just comfortable here everything works, its warm, you two are so kind. If its really awkward, Ill ramp up my search, I promise.

What could I say? Yes, it IS awkward, please leave? I just couldnt. Old-fashioned decency, really. I ended up mumbling, Alright, but its better for you to have your own place eventually. Here youre only on the sofa, not properly settled in.

I dont mind, honestly, she replied cheerily.

As soon as she left, I realised Michael and I now spent most evenings perched at the kitchen table, rarely stepping into our own lounge. We hardly watched the telly, almost too self-conscious even to chat out loud.

One night Michael whispered in bed, Liz, we need to get her off the register. Her permissions up in August. Dont renew it, alright? Make sure she finds somewhere else.

I wont, I promised, heartsick.

But in truth, it wasnt that easy. Molly had official residency even temporary, it wasnt simple to tear up, not without a fuss. I kept putting off the conversation, dreading tears or a family rift. If I tried, would Emma label me mean and hard-hearted? You know how relatives are Its your duty! Family must help!

March and April slid by. Molly studied obsessively for spring exams and worked long hours. Shed come home late, clutching her laptop, tapping away until midnight. Id hear the click of the keys through our wall, twitching.

Then in May it all tipped over. Molly came home with a tall young man handsome, trendy, his name was Ben. He was a computing course mate; theyd met at the paper, he helped with design layouts.

Aunt Liz, can he stay for a bit? Molly asked, all big eyes, Were working on a project. Wont be long.

What was I to do? Michael was out. They set up in OUR lounge, closed the door, murmured and laughed. I sat in the kitchen, fuming now shes bringing boys over? To our flat, our things?

When Michael came home, saw my face, I hissed, She has a boy in there. Theyre working.

He looked like thunder, went silently to bed.

When Ben left, Molly apologised. Sorry if we disturbed anything. We really were just doing uni work. Wont happen again, promise.

I tried to be brave: Molly, this is awkward. Its our home. Youre sort of a lodger, but youre having people over as if its yours.

Her face dropped. “I’m sorry. Hes just a friend. I wont invite anyone else, honestly.” She slunk off and I felt wretched, as if Id been cruel.

From then on, Michael insisted: August. She moves. Have the conversation.

Of course, August came and went with nothing resolved. Molly asked to extend her registration for another year, said shed definitely have moved out by the autumn, but needed it now due to studies and work. If not, she could end up being dropped from her course.

I phoned Emma, exasperated. She was gentle but firm. “Liz, just bear with it a bit longer. Mollys a good kid, not a tearaway. I’ll ask her to be more proactive, but let her extend the address. Please, uni rules are very strict you know how things are these days.”

And like an idiot, I agreed. Michael refused to sign, but as main leaseholder I still could, so I did, telling myself it was just one final year.

Molly went to York for a month that summer, and Michael and I could finally breathe. It felt like the flat belonged to us again. We stayed up watching quiz shows on the big telly, laughed loudly, talked in the hall. Michael even started cracking jokes again. For a moment, I hoped she’d decided to stay with her parents.

But come September, she was back, bags in tow new clothes, more books. She told us she was determined to aim for a First now, so would spend more time at home, focusing on coursework.

Come October, Ben returned as a regular. Sometimes hed show up two or three times a week, staying late. Once, they didnt even bother asking just walked in, straight to the lounge. When I reminded Molly wed said no guests, she just said, Its not a social call, its study.

I didnt know what to say. Instead, I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine and felt completely out of place. Our living room, our things, not ours anymore.

In November, I couldnt keep quiet. I sat Molly down at the kitchen table.

Look, Molly, you promised youd move out. Its been over a year. When are you looking for another place?

Her eyes widened, pleading. I am, but everywheres so expensive or grotty. I can’t just move anywhere. Here everything works, I have the internet, its warm, and I pay my share. Is it really so unbearable?

It is, Molly. Michael and I like our own space. Its too hard living with someone else. And those evenings with Ben theyre not really appropriate. This is a family home.

We’re just friends!” she flashed, “And I AM registered here, legally. Its my address too.

Thats when it really hit me she was standing her ground. Not apologising, but claiming her rights. So what if we owned the place and lived here twenty years? She wouldn’t budge unless forced.

Molly, the registration is a technicality, not an invitation to move in permanently. We helped you out and youre taking advantage.

Im NOT! she protested angrily. I keep out the way, pay my way, tidy up! You just want me gone. Fine, Ill look harder.

From that day, things were even more tense. Michael almost never spoke to her, I barely managed basic courtesy.

That December was miserable. Usually wed put up the tree in the lounge, plan a nice meal. This time, a token tree on the kitchen sideboard, Michael and I eating in silence.

Molly went home for New Year. Michael sighed in relief. At least well have a proper holiday.

We celebrated alone in the kitchen with a glass of prosecco and the little telly burbling away. At midnight, Michael hugged me tightly. We cant keep living like this, Liz. Enough. Well get legal advice if we have to.

Legal advice? Shes family. Emma will never forgive us.

And? Im not living like a squatter in my own home. Look at you youre at the end of your tether. I cant even face coming home half the time. Weve got to take our life back, Liz.”

He was right. But I was scared talking to a lawyer, going to the council, having a proper row with Emma. What would the rest of the family say? I didnt want everyone thinking I was cruel.

Molly came back after the break and, this time, her news was the final straw.

Aunt Liz, Uncle Mike, she announced over dinner (the first meal together in months), Bens leaving his halls soon. Its unaffordable and pretty awful, so he might come here to stay for a bit. Not for long, just till he finds somewhere. We’re serious about our relationship, might even get engaged after graduation. Bens solid, youll barely notice him.

My fork clattered. Michael just stared, crimson with silent fury.

What? You want Ben to move in here? he spluttered.

Only temporarily, she replied serenely. Its a three-bed flat. You two use the main bedroom, wed be in the lounge. Well all share bills. You wouldnt even notice us.

No. Michaels voice came from somewhere low and dangerous. Absolutely not. Our flat, our choice. And you, Molly, need to start packing. Youve got a month to look for another place.

Molly looked at him, cool and steady now, quite different to the polite girl who first arrived.

You dont have the right to throw me out. Legally, Im registered here till August, and you can only get rid of me if theres serious cause fighting or not paying the bills. And I pay on time. So Ill leave in August. Bens staying with me. If you want to call the council or police, go ahead, but I doubt theyll do anything.

She left for the lounge, closing the door firmly behind her.

Michael was shaking with rage. I TOLD you, Liz. I told you. Now shell run her life here as she pleases. Next theyll have the wedding here? Babies in the spare room?

I could only sit in silence, a horrible mess of anger, shame, and helplessness knotting in my stomach. How did we let this happen?

Next day, I phoned Emma. She sounded flustered, helpless. Liz, I hear you. I wish I could help, but Molly hardly listens to me now. If you have to get the council involved, I wouldnt blame you. Family is family, but enough is enough.

Ben arrived with his bags three days later. Molly greeted him like it was his own place, settled him right into our living room-cum-studio. Michael came home, saw a strange mans shoes and coat in the hallway, and lost it.

Thats it Im getting a solicitor. Well go through official channels. I dont care what people say. I want my house back.

He marched off and, remarkably for him, he kept his word. The solicitor explained it would take months. Youd have to prove Molly was making our situation unbearable, document everything, chase up bills, keep a noise diary, the works. As for Ben, as he wasnt registered, the council could move faster.

So, Michael rang the council. The first time the warden showed up, Ben claimed he was just staying for the weekend. They did nothing: We can only act if he stays longer than a week, the officer sighed.

Ben simply carried on living there. He and Molly would spend evenings watching Netflix, cook in our kitchen, make tea and toast, be perfectly polite but distant, treating us now as mere flatmates rather than their aunt and uncle.

A week later, another call. The officer issued an official warning Ben was to clear off in three days or risk a penalty.

He left. Molly sulked and glared at us for days, but life felt a fraction lighter. Our breathing space lasted just three weeks. Then Molly calmly informed us that she was putting Ben on her papers as her partner now.

You cant! I said, horrified. It isnt your house!

I can, she replied, calm and immovable. I called Citizens Advice. Since Im officially registered here, and hes my fiancé, its legal. You can appeal, but itll take ages.

Michael rang our solicitor. Yes, it was possible for someone on the address to register a spouse, but as property owners we could contest it yet it could take months of wrangling.

In February, we filed an official complaint. Emma stopped speaking to me. The rest of the family took Emmas side. At work, Michael was quietly pitied. Housings always trouble, people muttered.

Ben moved back in, suitcases and all. Molly met him like it was a warm homecoming and together they continued as before. Id sit in the kitchen, staring at the sky beyond the cracked window, and feel totally defeated. They knew exactly what they could get away with; we had no power at all.

Months rolled past. Ben never got officially registered. The legal case trails on. Were told by the solicitor we may succeed if we can prove Mollys made our living conditions unreasonable. We collect everything statements from neighbours, lists of extra costs, noise records hoping it will be enough.

But our daily life settled into a strange exile. Michael and I lived in our own bedroom and kitchen, barely venturing into the lounge. Molly and Ben claimed it as their own. Theyd bought a massive telly and put our old one out on the balcony; Michael didnt even rise to the bait.

One night as we sat quietly at the kitchen table, sipping weak tea, I finally said, Perhaps we should just leave. Sell up, buy a one-bed place somewhere quiet, and let them have this one.

He stared at me for a long time. So were the ones moving from our own home. The place we bought, decorated, made ours for twenty years?

But weve got no life here, I replied, bitterly. Were only guests now. Seems better to start over somewhere, anywhere, as long as its only us.

He mulled it over. It would be easier. But its not fair, Liz. Its just not fair.

From the lounge, we heard Molly and Bens laughter young, full of fresh plans, watching another new series on their massive screen. In our flat. Our home, now just walls with other people living behind them.

We finished our tea in silence as dusk fell across South Yorkshire. Kids voices echoed from the street life, somewhere, moving on, while ours had ground to a halt.

Do you remember, Michael said suddenly, when we sat right here, debating if wed do Emma that fav register Molly? If only wed listened to my gut back then.

I remember, I nodded, a lump slowly forming in my throat.

He didnt say I told you so. Just gave me a tired, sad look. We shouldve stood firm, Liz. Shouldnt have done it.

Too late now, I whispered.

Just then, Molly passed by to the bathroom. Evening, she tossed to us, breezy as anything. We answered. She shut the bathroom door, water running. Then Ben came through, poured a glass of juice and wished us goodnight before disappearing again. We watched him go, feeling emptier than before.

Tomorrow Ill call an estate agent, Michael said quietly. Find out what this place is worth. Let’s see whats out there, just for us, somewhere properly ours.

I nodded, feeling something inside fracture.

Much later, I lay in bed, book unopened on my chest, unable to focus. Michael breathed quietly beside me, already asleep.

I thought back was our mistake simply trusting that kindness came back around? Expecting that helping someone would be remembered, appreciated? Trusting that family looks after family?

We were naive, werent we.

For a while, I listened to Molly and Ben laughing in the next room, the TV their background. Our old flat, full of young life and none of it ours anymore.

We lay in our flat, outnumbered, out of place. Like guests whod forgotten to go home.

And in the end, I realised, the worst part wasnt losing our flat, but feeling none of it had mattered at all. That the idea of home and kindness and trust things you build a lifetime around can just slip away, leaving you tired and hollow.

Spring was coming outside; the wind rattled a loose windowpane somewhere. But inside, winter seemed unending. I lay waiting for sleep, knowing tomorrow, it would all begin again.

And sometimes Id dream of the flat as it once was: bright, peaceful, full of laughter that belonged only to us. Just ours. But that was only a dream. And the reality was so, so far from it.