“Don’t Even Think About Bringing Your Wife Into My Flat,” Anton’s Mother Declared

Dont even think about bringing your wife into my flat, said Antons mum, Sheila Harrison.

Sheila had spent weeks getting ready for this conversation. It was obvious, straight away. Shed polished up the good china set, the one she hadnt used since Antons fifteenth birthday. Shed baked an apple and cinnamon pienot just any pie, but the very one Anton loved as a boy. Cups laid out, everything just so.

Anton turned up on Sunday afternoon, like theyd arranged. He looked around warily. Somethings up, he thought, taking off his jacket and heading into the kitchen.

Mum, why so formal?

Sit down, said Sheila, pouring the tea. Want some?

Yeah, go on.

She poured his tea, slid the pie over, and paused for ages, like she was about to dive into a freezing lake. Then she got up, left the room, and came back holding some papers.

She placed them on the table.

Here, she said, the papers for the flat. Ive decided to sign it over to you.

Anton stared at the folder, then at his mum.

Mum

Let me finish, she said, holding up a hand. Im not getting any younger. This place is far too big for just me now. It should be yours. Well get the paperwork sorted, Ive already found out what needs doing.

Anton looked at her and, from her face, knew a but was coming.

The but followed, right on cue.

But theres one thing, Sheila said, voice perfectly calm, as if commenting on the weather. Youre not to bring Emily here.

Anton set his cup down.

Are you joking?

No.

Mum, Emilys my wife.

I know exactly who she is, Sheila said, folding her hands. Anton, this flat is our familys. Your dad lived here. You grew up here. Ive been here all my life. I dont want her coming in and running the place. I just dont. Thats that.

She doesnt run anything. Shes my wifeshe just visits.

Youre welcome any time, but come alone. Sheila nodded to the folder. The flat will be yours. Live here all you like. Just not with her.

Anton stared at his mum.

She actually means it, he thought. She spent three weeks planning this. Baked the pie and everything.

Did Emily do something to upset you? he asked, much softer now.

Ive never liked her, Sheila replied, as if that explained everything.

Anton took the long way home. Not because it was farfifteen minutes by car, he knew every set of traffic lightsbut he drove slowly, turned down side roads for no reason, pulled up in front of a shop and sat there, not getting out. His thoughts buzzed round his head like an old fridge in a heatwave.

Three bedrooms. Tall ceilings. His dads bookcase covering an entire wall. The kitchen where his mum still made Sunday roasts, and where as a child he did his homework. It was a lovely flat. They didnt build them like that any more.

He finally parked outside his own place, sat in the car for a bit longer, then went in.

The smell of something stewed was in the airEmily was in the kitchen, singing quietly out of tune, totally lost in what she was doing. He kicked off his shoes and stood in the doorway.

Youre back early, she said, not turning round. Thought youd be at your mums all evening.

Didnt stay.

Something in his voice mustve given it away, because she turned, studied him closelythe way people do when theyre good at not asking unnecessary questions, yet still understand everything.

Sit down, she said. Dinners nearly ready.

They ate together. Anton told her, briefly, no extra details.

Emily listened without interrupting, never frowned, just tilted her head once at the bit about dont bring your wife here, as if confirming something to herself.

Shes thought that for a while, Emily said, when he finished.

You knew?!

No. But I suspected. She cleared away her plate, paused. Anton, the flats wonderful. I get it.

Its not about the flat.

What do you mean its not? Three bedrooms, a good areaproperty like thats worth quite a lot. Its money, its a home she trailed off, I dont want you to lose it all because of me.

Anton looked at her.

Em

No, listen. She raised a hand, gently stopping him. Im serious. If it matters to you, well work something out. I wont be insulted. I dont need to live thereso what? Youll have the flat; itll still be for our family. Ill manage.

Thats the moment Anton fell silent, for a long while.

Hed braced himself for tears or hurt. Hed have understood itshed have every right. But instead she said, Ill manage.

Calm, like someone whos never gambled themselves in another persons fight.

Anton got up, paced the tiny kitchenthree steps there, three backand stopped at the window.

Em, he said, do you realise what my mums done?

What?

She offered me a deal. He spoke slowly, thinking aloud as he went. The flat, in return for you never setting foot in it? Shes buying my choice. That isnt her giving me the flat as a giftno, shes buying it. And youre the price.

Emily watched him, quiet.

Anton. Its her flat. Shes allowed

Shes allowed, Anton agreed. The flats hers, she can do what she wants with it. But not with me.

He sat back down and poured himself a cup of tea.

You cant manage or find a solution, he said. Because its not about the flat. Its about the fact that my mum still thinks I belong to her. Ive never once stood my ground with her, not in thirty-eight years. Shes used to that.

Emily was silent, then said softly, I know.

How?

Anton, Ive been trying for four years to build a relationship with her. I ring her on holidays. I drop off jam she likes. I ask about her health. Emily spoke without anger, just tired, as people do when theyve had this settled inside for a while, but are saying it out loud for the first time. But she doesnt see me. Im not a person to her. Im just the one who took her son away.

Anton gazed at his wife.

Hed never noticed.

You going to see her? she asked.

I will, Anton said. Give me a few days to think.

Alright.

Youre not asking what Ill decide?

Emily looked at him, a little surprised.

No, she said simply. I trust you.

And that, Anton thought, was the hardest part. Not his mums conditionno. It was that Emily said, I trust you, and he realised now hed have to live up to that.

Anton phoned his mum that Saturday morning.

Sheila would later say she sensed something as soon as she picked upnot the usual, Hi Mum, how are you, Ill drop by on Sunday. His tone was different. No hint of that apologetic little note hed used with her for twenty years.

Mum, Ill be over today. About three, alright?

Alright, she said, and waited.

At three oclock he rang the bell.

Sheila opened the door and noticed straight awayno flowers, no M&S bag with dinner bits like he usually brought. Just his jacket and keys in hand. He came in, took off his shoes, made for the kitchen, sat.

Sheila fussed with the kettleautomatic, a reflex.

No need for tea, Mum, he said. Wont be long.

She put the kettle back, sat down, and looked at her son.

Well, then, she began, made up your mind?

I have, Anton said.

He didnt rush.

Mum, I want to ask you something first.

Go ahead.

When Dad was alive, Anton began, carefully, would you have set him a condition like this? Told him, Do as I say or youll lose something important?

Sheila started to answer, then shut her mouth.

Thats different, she said.

Why?

Because he was your father. And youre my son. I look out for you.

Mum, Antons voice was quiet, almost gentle. Youre not looking out for me. Youre trying to keep me close. Its not the same.

The silence in the kitchen felt thick.

For four years, Anton said, Emilys tried to get through to you. Have you ever once responded kindly?

Sheila was silent, staring at the table.

You know what she says after each of those calls? Anton went on. Nothing. She just hangs up and smiles at me. Says, What matters is shes alright.

He paused.

I once asked her if it bothered her. She answered that all she wants is for me to have a good relationship with you. Thats all.

Sheila glanced up.

Anton.

She offered not to live in your flat, if thats what itd take. She said it herself, to make it easier for me.

Antons voice wavered, just a little.

The flats yours, Mum.

Youre refusing, she saidnot a question, but a quiet, lost statement. Shed never expected this. Shed always been sure hed accept the flathed always taken whatever she gave, because she thought she knew best for him.

Im not refusing the flat, Anton said. Im refusing your condition. Thats different.

Is she more important to you than I am now? Her tone hardenedher final, weightiest argument. More important than your own mother?

Anton sighed, deeply. The kind of sigh you give when you want to say the honest thing, not the easy thing.

Mum, its not a set of scales. Youre both my family.

Pause.

Its just for some reason youve decided its a contest. And you have to win.

Sheila said nothing.

I love you, Anton said. That will never change. Ever.

He got up, picked up his jacket.

Call me whenever you want to see me. Ill come over.

Sheila didnt reply.

Anton left. The front door closed quietly behind him.

Sheila stood alone for a long time. She went to the window.

Down in the street, Anton was getting into his car. She watched himhis back, his slightly hunched shoulders, the way he opened the car door, glanced back just for a second (not really looking for her), then drove away.

She stood there long after the car disappeared past the bend. Thinking. About what, she wasnt quite sureshe just thought. And in that quiet, something in her eyes stung a bit.

For almost a month, they barely spoke.

Anton would send the odd short message: Mum, how are you? Sheila replied, Fine. That one English wordfinethat can mean anything, from Im alright to I havent slept for three nights and dont want to talk about it.

Then, something happened.

Sheila was walking back from the pharmacynot the one right outside, but the one a bit further off, because paracetamol was 30p cheaper. When youre sixty-nine and your pension is best left unmentioned, 30p isnt nothing. She cut through the back streets and, quite unexpectedly, saw Anton.

He was standing by his car, bonnet up. Emily was there too, in her old coat with something greasy smeared on the sleeve, saying something. Sheila couldnt hearshe was too far. Anton replied. Then Emily laughedloud and honest, her head thrown back like only happy people do.

Anton laughed as well.

Sheila stopped.

She watched them from a distancethis little scene: autumn, a courtyard, the open bonnet, two people with oily hands laughing together. Completely ordinary.

He hadnt left her. He was just living his life.

That realisation was uncomfortably simple.

Sheila had always thought Emily had taken him awaystolen him, taken what was hers. But there they were, in the next road over, fixing a car on a Saturday, laughingand no one had taken anyone anywhere. Her son had always had his own life. Sheila just hadnt wanted to see it.

She quietly turned and walked home.

Back at her place, she set down her pharmacy bag on the table and sat staring out at the courtyard for ages.

At last, she got up. Took out the flour.

The pie took nearly two hours to make this timeshe kept trembling, spilt the sugar twice. This one was blackcurrant, the very jam Emily always brought round, the jars that Sheila used to stash at the back of the cupboard, never opened out of sheer stubbornness.

She opened one.

Two days later, she called Anton.

Ive baked a pie, she said, Far too much for just me.

Pause.

Come over? she asked. And that last bit, very soft, just slightly harder to say: Both of you.

Anton hesitated for a second. Only a second.

Well come, he said.

When they rang the bell, Sheila opened up and saw them there togetherAnton with flowers, Emily carrying a shopping bag. She looked at her daughter-in-law, who met her gaze without expectation or resentment.

Come in, Sheila said.

The kitchen was a squeeze for threesmall, as always. But they managed.

So, she said, slicing the pie, hows everything with the two of you?

Emily looked up.

Well tell you all about it, she said, with a gentle smile.

Sheila handed over a slice. It was a start. Small, awkward, full of the smell of blackcurrant pie.