З життя
Як виявилося, ми весь цей час орендували квартиру у свекрухи.
Як виявилося, весь цей час ми орендували квартиру у свекрухи.
Протягом двох років я думала, що ми орендуємо квартиру у зовсім іншої людини, але, як з’ясувалося, власницею квартири є моя свекруха. Я була просто приголомшена.
Ми одружилися два роки тому. Оскільки я з села, у мене не було власної квартири. Чоловік теж не мав, а свекруха жила з партнером у двокімнатній квартирі і попросила дорослого сина виїхати.
Після весілля ми вирішили жити разом, тож я переїхала в нову квартиру з чоловіком. Ремонт трохи збентежив мене, адже не хотілося нічого змінювати не у своїй квартирі. Я мріяла про іпотеку і власні квадратні метри.
Проте не вдалося накопичити на перший внесок. Наші зарплати були середні – ледве вистачало на проживання. Я запропонувала чоловікові купити однокімнатну квартиру, але він не хотів. У його словах була частка правди. У нас були різні життєві стилі, і ми б не ладнали в однокімнатній. А більше сварок – швидше розлучення. Ми таких планів на майбутнє не будували.
Чоловік навіть чути не хотів про оренду іншої квартири. Казав, що має гарні стосунки з власницею, тому ризикувати немає сенсу. Зрештою, ми не могли придумати спосіб, щоб заощадити більше грошей, і не хотіли працювати сім днів на тиждень. Якщо зараз нам важко платити за оренду, то як відкладати на власне житло?
Свекруха не втручалася в наші стосунки. Ми добре ладнали – нічого поганого сказати не можу. У неї було своє життя і захоплення, тож часу навіть нас відвідувати не було. Зустрічалися лише на свята, і всім так було зручно.
Ми жили в цій квартирі два роки. Усіма платежами та іншими справами займався чоловік, адже мав контакт із власницею. І потім випадково дізналася, що орендуємо у свекрухи.
Нас запросили до неї на річницю. І там почалася розмова між нею і чоловіком про близьких родичів. Говорили про якесь весілля.
– Твоя двоюрідна сестра ще не одружена…
– Ні, через прізвище сперечаються, не хоче його змінювати. А наречений вважає, що це неповага, – сказав мій чоловік.
– У першому шлюбі я теж не змінювала прізвища. Працювала у музичній школі, прізвище було відоме, навіщо це все? Тільки в другому шлюбі я вже не була Ковальчук.
І тут дійшло до мене – я бачила це прізвище на рахунках за квартиру. Нічого не сказала, бо мій скандал зіпсував би свято.
Вдома я запитала прямо чоловіка. Він не заперечував. Сказав, що платимо оренду його мамі. Вона не хотіла віддавати йому квартиру безкоштовно.
Я була шокована, а чоловік не бачив у цьому нічого поганого. Вважав, що зобов’язаний допомагати матері, тож усім добре.
– Ми б усе одно орендували квартиру, а тут можемо робити ремонт і жити роками, ніхто нас не вижене, – сказав радісно чоловік.
Здається, що він має рацію, але мені не подобається вся ця ситуація. Як можна вимагати гроші від власного сина? Уже б давно зібрали на іпотеку, а свекруха заселила б сюди чужих. Але прибуток важливіший…
Чоловік намагався мене заспокоїти.
– Врахуй, що не доведеться сплачувати іпотеку. Я – єдиний син, квартира дістанеться мені.
– Так, точно, тобі.
– Ну, що тобі? Ми ж не збираємося розлучатися.
Не знаю, що робити. Ця ситуація не дає мені спокою. Я не почуваюся у цій квартирі добре, хоча також плачу зі своєї кишені. Як жити далі?
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She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. 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