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Oh dear, little sister, you’ve got troubles—this isn’t your apartment at all!
“Oh, you think *you’ve* got problems, little sis? Well, that flat isnt yours to begin with.”
My mums sister never had kids, but she did have a gorgeous three-bedroom flat right in the heart of London and some serious health issues. Her husband was a collector, so the place looked more like a museum than a home.
My younger sister, Gemma, has a lazy husband and two kids. Theyve been crammed into a rented room in student digs. When Gemma found out about our aunts health troubles, she rushed over straight awaynot to help, mind you, but to moan about her own miserable lot in life.
Now, let me be clearour aunt isnt exactly what youd call pleasant. Shes blunt as a hammer and doesnt hold back when someone needs putting in their place. For years, shed invite me and my husband over (practically begging us to move in) and kept promising wed inherit the flat.
But we had our own place, so we turned down her generous offer. Still, wed drop off groceries and meds now and then, and Id tidy up for her. Not because of the flatjust common decency. Well, wouldnt you know it? After that visit, Gemma and her lot moved in with Auntie within days.
Gemma and I never got on. Shes always been jealousIve got a hardworking, loving husband, a brilliant son, a good job, decent pay, and my own home. The only time she ever called was to borrow money.
And guess what? Shes got the memory of a goldfish when it comes to paying it back. After I got pregnant again, I didnt have time for Auntie, though my husband still brought her the odd treat. When my baby was six months old, I went to see her. As I reached the door, I heard shoutingGemma screaming:
“Youre not getting a scrap of food until you sign that deed, so turn yourself around and crawl back inside. And dont even think about leaving the doghouse tonight!”
I rang the bell. When Gemma saw me, she blocked the door and sneered, “Dont even dream about coming in or getting your hands on this flat!”
I only got in after threatening to call the police. Auntie had aged a decade since I last saw her. When our eyes met, she burst into tears.
“Why are you crying? Go on, tell her how *wonderful* weve been to youand tell her to back off! Look, she couldnt even be bothered to bring the baby!” Gemma snapped.
Aunties room was stripped barejust a bed left. Theyd even taken the wardrobe, her things piled on the floor. All the collectables were gone, and she wasnt wearing her fancy jewellery anymore. Suddenly, it clickedGemma and her husband were just sitting around, selling off Aunties things.
I excused myself to the loo and texted my husband: “We need to get Auntie out. Now.” Back in her room, I chatted about my year, the baby, and then squeezed her hand, whispering, “Just hang on a bit longer.” She understoodher eyes said it all.
Gemma kept trying to shove me out while her useless husband kept popping in, nagging, “Shouldnt you get back to your kid?”
An hour later, my husband showed upwith a bobby in tow. Gemma took her sweet time answering the door. I played it cool: “Oh, thats just my husband picking me up.”
The copper was *not* what Gemma expected. I brought him to Auntie and said, “Heres your victim. I heard them denying her food. Theyve sold everythingfurniture, gold, collectables.”
Between Gemmas sobs, the officer asked Auntie, “Do you want to press charges?”
Gemma got off lightly, but her husband did two years inside. Mum took Gemma and the kids in, even though shed kicked her out years before. Mums furious with me over the police, swearing Ill never inherit a thingbut Auntie left me the flat anyway.
Now, we visit like we used to, and weve hired a carer. Honestly, I cant even imagine what she went through living with *them*.
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