Parents: My Flat for You, a Rental for Me? No, dear, you get the rental, and I get my freedom!

Mum, that flat of yours, is it yours or a rental? No, love, its yours to rent, and I want my freedom!
And here we could put a wardrobe against that wall, Margaret Archer said dreamily, sweeping her gaze over the sittingroom. Wed just have to move the armchair; its terrible anyway. Where will you stash it, sweetheart?

Evelyn blinked. She hadnt realised at first that the woman wasnt a TV interiordesigner but her motherinlaw, and that here meant the flat she and I owned. A flat bought with her own savings twentyeight years of freelance gigs, endless projects, skipping lattes and cheapening herself.

Ill probably just wear it on my head, she answered slowly, rising from the sofa. I didnt catch that. Are you moving out?

Were only talking, Margaret replied with a smile that held more triumph than warmth. My husband Dennis and I just looked around. Whats the problem? A spacious flat, designer finish. The rental is cramped, and Pauls debts after his foolish crash are impossible to clear. And, you know, family is family.

The word family slipped from her mouth as if Evelyn didnt count.

Youre clever, love, you have your own income, you wont be left out. Were old where will we scuttle around in rented rooms?

Youre sixtyfive, Evelyn snapped. Youre not even retirees, youre in your active golden years. Youre doing crosswords, heading to the country house. What does my flat have to do with that?

Margaret pressed her lips together, pouted, then drew her usual weapon.

I, by the way, gave you that husband. Hes the one who looked after you when you were in hospital with that anaemia. And now his brother is in trouble you turn your back on us?

When his brother crashed into a lamppost in my fathers car with a stranger in the passenger seat, Evelyn managed to keep her voice down, nobody called to ask if we should move in with you while Paul patches up his morals and his credit.

Evelyn, Dennis called from the kitchen, pretending to be busy. Were just discussing. The parents arent demanding.

Evelyn walked to the door and whispered:

While youre discussing, Im living. In my own flat, the one you seem intent on turning into a boarding house named after Saint Paul. That wont happen.

She breathed out, tried not to scream, and slipped into the bedroom.

Dennis and I didnt speak for three days. Hed pop in now and then, saying things like Do you need anything from the shop? or Did you remember Mums birthday on Saturday? Id nod or act deaf. The flat grew thick with a sticky silence, not the calm sort but the kind that hides grudges in every wall.

Saturday changed everything.

Evelyn, Dennis stared out the window as if ready to jump, I know its hard for you. But Mum and Dad have no other way out. The bank put the mortgage on my father, the flats already on the market. In a month theyll be out on the street. And you

What?

Youre strong, youll find somewhere to go. We could stay in a rental for a couple of months, then figure something out.

I wanted to whack him with a frying pan first, then hug him, but finally I asked:

So I have to leave my own home because your parents have once again failed to manage their own children?

Its not like that. We just you have more options.

I have more sense. I didnt scatter my brain around strangers cars like your brother did, nor let his wife move in without the owners sayso, I sneered. Want a tip, Dennis?

How?

Pack your things and get out with them.

He frozefor the first time in all our years togetherunsure what to say. In his face I saw no husband, no protector, just a shadow.

Im not leaving, he exhaled. This is still my home.

Bought with my money.

But were family, Evelyn. Isnt family about sacrifice?

Sacrifice is when youre asked; its not being handed a fact. Do you know the difference between a victim and a fool? A victim still has a choice.

I didnt scream or weep. I just hauled my own suitcasehis suitcaseinto the hallway.

You can go wherever you like. Rent a studio, crash at Mums, even sleep on your brothers roof. This flat stays mine. You, your greatmum and her sideboard can forget the way back.

He left, emptyhanded, eyes like a beaten dog, and muttered as he went:

Youll regret this. No one lives alone forever.

I watched him go and thought: Im not alone. I have myself. He, on the other hand, doesnt even know who he is with.

That evening there was a knock. I opened the door to find my friend Sally standing in the hallway.

Whats wrong with you? she squeezed me in one arm, hugging tightly. Just last week you told me Paul wasnt that bad. And now?

I poured myself a glass of red.

Now hes just like his motheralways moving the sideboard into my bedroom.

Sally burst out laughing.

You knew his mum was a shrew. Why did you get involved?

He seemed sane.

Seemed is the key word. Evelyn, fancy a trip south? Youve got a forced holiday now.

Im not going anywhere. Ill stay here, glass in hand, and when her sideboard shows up Ill throw it from the balconythird floor, personally.

Sally laughed, then fell silent.

What if he comes back?

I stared at the wine, replaying the week in my head.

Then Ill buy a drill and smash the lock that only I know the code to.

Saturday at ten oclock, just as I was setting the kettle and bracing for a manfree day, there was a knock.

I thought it was a delivery from Sainsburysmaybe a blender. I opened the door and froze.

Standing there was Margaret Archer, suitcase in hand, with Paul, my brotherinlaw, lanky in tracksuits, his face a mix of misery and a hope for a free ride. Beside them was their father, Paul Senior, short, balding, looking like a pensioner whos been done with life since 87.

Good morning, Margaret said as if wed arranged tea. Well be brief. Just a couple of months while the flat sells.

I had no words.

Evelyn, Paul Senior interjected, excuse us, the situation is out of our hands. Aunt Margaret and I have an agreement; shell let us in once the work is done. Dennis said youd be okay with us staying.

Dennis? I finally found my voice. Did he say that before or after I kicked him out?

Did you have a fight? Margaret asked mournfully, stepping inside. We just want a peaceful solution. Dont be angry. Were our own people.

Our people in someone elses flat that echoed in my mind.

Paul started dragging his suitcase in, smelling of cigarettes and last years garage oil.

Paul, dont drag it through the doorway, Margaret snapped. Bad luck.

Luck is letting you in, not occupying, I muttered, but no one listened.

They settled. Paul flopped on the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table. Paul Senior inspected the balcony.

Can we smoke here?

You can keep quiet, I replied. And make a swift exit.

Margaret unpacked a jar of pickles, a bag of groats and a tin of baking molds.

I brought a bit of home so you dont have to fuss. Well live togetherhumanely. I love order, and my hand is light. Everything grows!

Is that the potato in the bathroom? I retorted. Or the cactus in a pot? I recall.

Evelyn, cut the sarcasm. Times are tough. You and Dennis need to stick together. Im a mother. I care.

You cared when you forced borscht on us every Sunday despite my pleas. You cared when you suggested I change jobs because teachers have stability. And you certainly cared when you turned up with suitcases unannounced. Thats an invasion, Margaret. Are you waging a war?

Paul tried to intervene:

Evelyn, you know we have nowhere else. My brother said youre understanding.

He was wrong. So are you.

I dialled Dennis. He answered on the third ring.

Hi. Cant talk, in a meeting

Right, a meeting. I have your family here with suitcases. Your brother, your mum, your dad. You said I was fine with it?

A long pause stretched.

I thought youd sort it out. Youre not cruel. You have a big heart

Yeah, and theres a big hole now. Its over. Youre free of me and this flat. Good luck. Remember your mums light hand on the shelves.

I hung up.

By evening Margaret settled in.

Evelyn, we thought we could use the bedroom, you stay in the lounge?

No.

But youre alone, and there are three of us.

Exactly. Three for one is what Ive been waiting for all my life. Butno.

Youre selfish, Margaret said. A woman should be soft.

A man should pay rent if hes an adult, or marry a woman who already owns a flat, like my husband.

Youre greedy, the motherinlaw snapped. At your age people dont live alone.

At your age you live off other peoples money. Funny, isnt it?

Monday morning I went to work thinking only of getting them all out while I still could.

A miracle happened at reception.

Evelyn, a young man came asking for you. Said he was from the housing board, wanted your number. I didnt give it.

Which board?

No idea. He was handsome, with a backpack. In the backpacka plastic sideboard! Can you imagine?

It clicked.

The sideboard. Plastic. Margaret. A sign.

That evening I knocked on neighbour Olga Petersons door, the evergrumpy pensioner downstairs.

Olga, if you hear shouting, a smell of borscht, call the constable. Ive got an invasion.

Invasion?

Relatives of my exhusband want to move in.

Scoundrels, she said, nodding. Ill help.

Next morning I called the constable. He arrived with a clipboard.

Good afternoon, the officer said, looking weary. Theres a complaint that youre illegally residing here.

Illegal? Margaret shouted.

Are you the owner? he asked, flipping through papers.

No but shes my daughterinlaw! I replied, handing him the documents.

The officer stared at the paperwork.

You have an hour to pack, or well treat this as a squat.

Margaret went pale. Paul hid in the bathroom. Paul Senior let out a soft cough. The officer nodded.

We left in silence, no goodbyes.

As Margaret walked out she called over her shoulder:

Youll learn what loneliness feels like.

I shut the door, sat on the floor and laughed.

Loneliness is living with those who never hear you. Now the flat was quiet, and the kettle only boiled when I wanted it to.

I stood, went to the bedroom, and saw a small plastic sideboard in the corner, with a note:

Just so you rememberwell be back. Love, M.A.

A week later the flat was spotless, like a freshly sterilised operating theatre. I grew proud of closing doors behind me. In the evenings I drank tea in silence, no Paul on the sofa, no lingering stew smells.

Sometimes I caught myself listening at the landing, especially on Saturdays, when neighbours whispered that Margaret had moved in with a distant aunt in Birley. She had a balcony without double glazing and a cat with a murderous stare.

I kept the sideboard in the storage cupboard because let it stay. A reminder.

Saturday at seven, while I was polishing glasses for no reason, the doorbell rang.

Not them again, I thought, not the court or chefs. I opened it to find Dennis, in fresh jeans, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums like hed just walked out of a funeral. Behind him his mother, dressed in a furcollared coat, face tight as someone hauled onto a psychiatric ward. Beside her stood a blonde woman, roundbodied, with dolllike lashes, cradling a pot of borscht.

I exhaled.

New show? Or did you decide to introduce me?

Evelyn, Dennis began, this is Oona. Were together now, and shes expecting

Already? I smirked. It hasnt even been a month since you were kicked out.

Weve known each other for ages, Oona interjected, just never had the right moment to tell you.

Margaret stood mute, lips twitching like a brick wall.

Dennis rubbed his neck.

Weve been together since last November. I didnt want to break the marriage I thought we still had a chance but when you threw me out, everything became clear.

I didnt throw you out. I saved myself. What do you want now?

We want he started, to sell the flat.

Silence fell.

Then I laughed, the kind of laugh you give thieves at a railway station.

The flat? This one? Mine?

But its in both our names he said. We bought it together.

Then we divorced. I bought your share. Remember the bank transfer? I have the receipt and the deed. Ask the solicitor, or ask your new friend who studied law.

Oona bit her lip.

We thought youd be reasonable and share.

Of course, I said. Heres a spoon, heres a bowl. Ill share the borscht.

I took the pot from Oona, carried it to the hallway, set it on the mat outside and slammed the door, locking it on both bolts.

From the other side Margarets voice shouted:

Evelyn, youll regret this! When old age comes youll be alone!

Better alone than with you and your borscht.

A week later a court summons arrived, accusing Dennis of disputing the sale. I opened the cupboard, saw the plastic sideboard, pulled out the note:

Well be back. Love, M.A.

Oh, youre back, I said. Not for long.

I gathered the paperworkbank statements, transfer confirmations, messages, photos of Dennis with Oona from last year.

Then the phone rang.

Hello, is this Evelyn Kettle? This is Laura Whitaker. Remember you said youd help if I ever wanted to sell? The times come. Not you, the bank. Ill arrange a mortgage tomorrow.

The hearing lasted twenty minutes. I placed the documents on the table, looked at Dennis.

The claim is dismissed. No grounds to contest. You should be glad you ever lived with such a woman.

I didnt smile, just stood.

As I left the courtroom Dennis caught up.

You understand youve left us all homeless?

No, Dennis. You left yourselves. I simply closed the door. Outside.

Margaret lingered in the corridor, silent, then turned and whispered:And as the courtroom doors shut behind me, I finally tasted the peace I had been desperate to reclaim.