Strangers in Our Flat Katie was the first to open the door and froze on the threshold. From inside came the sound of the TV, voices in the kitchen, and a strange smell. Behind her, Max nearly dropped the suitcase in shock. “Quiet,” she whispered, stretching out her arm. “Someone’s in there.” There were two complete strangers sprawled out on their beloved beige sofa. A man in trackies flicked through the channels, while a plump woman beside him knitted. On the coffee table—mugs, plates strewn with crumbs, packets of medicine. “Excuse me, who are you?” Katie’s voice trembled. The strangers turned, not the least bit embarrassed. “Oh, you’re back,” the woman didn’t even put her knitting down. “We’re Lynda’s relatives. She gave us the keys, said you weren’t home.” Max paled. “Lynda who?” “Your mum,” the man, finally standing, replied. “We’re from Birmingham, here with Michael for some health checks. She put us up here, told us you wouldn’t mind.” Katie wandered into the kitchen. At the hob stood a teenage boy, frying sausages. The fridge was packed with unfamiliar food. Dishes were piled in the sink. “And you are?” she managed. “Michael,” he turned. “Why, shouldn’t I eat? Granny Lynda said it was fine.” She returned to the hall, where Max was already getting his phone out. “Mum, what are you doing?” His voice was quiet, but angry. His mum’s upbeat voice came through the speaker. “Maxie, you’re back already? How was your holiday? Listen, I gave Svetlana the keys, her and Victor came up to London, Michael had to see the docs. Didn’t think it mattered—place would be empty, waste not want not. Just for the week.” “Mum, did you ask us?” “Why should I? You weren’t here. Just tell them I’m responsible for the flat, make sure they tidy up.” Katie grabbed the phone: “Lynda, are you serious? You let strangers into our flat?” “What strangers? It’s only my cousin Svetlana! We shared a bed as kids.” “And? That’s our flat!” “Katie, don’t be so dramatic. They’re family. They’ll be quiet. They’ve got a sick child, you should help. Or are you just selfish?” Max took back the phone. “One hour, Mum. You come and take them. All of them. Or I’ll ring the police.” He hung up. Katie sat on the pouffe in the hallway, head in her hands, their suitcases still unpacked. The TV buzzed in the lounge, sausages sizzled, and she felt like an uninvited guest in her own home. The woman from the living room appeared looking sheepish. “We’ll start packing,” she murmured. “Lynda thought you wouldn’t mind. We’d have asked you ourselves, but didn’t have your number. She offered, we agreed. Just needed a week for Michael’s appointments.” Max stood by the window, silent, shoulders tense. “Where’s our cat?” Katie suddenly gasped. “What cat?” “Morris. Ginger. We left the keys so you could feed him.” “No idea,” Svetlana shrugged. “Not seen him.” Katie found Morris wedged under the bed, fur bristled, eyes wide. The room smelled unfamiliar; unknown medicine bottles on her nightstand, the bedding different, someone else’s slippers by the door. Max knelt down beside her. “Sorry.” “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” “For Mum being like this.” “She always does what she wants.” Voices filtered from the corridor—his mum had arrived. Katie straightened her hair and went to face her. Lynda stood in the hallway, glaring. “Max, are you mad?” “Mum, sit down,” he said, pointing to the kitchen. “We’re being thrown out! Svetlana, Victor, pack up, we’ll go to mine.” “Mum, just sit.” They sat at the kitchen table, Michael finishing his sausages. “Mum,” Max said, “how did you think it was okay to let people into our flat without asking?” “I was just helping! Svetlana rang, crying—Michael’s sick, they had nowhere to stay. It’s not like you were here.” “But it’s not your flat.” “Of course it is! I’ve got keys.” “To feed the cat. Not run a B&B.” “Max, they’re family! He’s poorly, they need help. And you’d turn them out?” Katie’s hands shook as she poured water. “You didn’t even ask us, Lynda.” “Why ask? You weren’t here!” “That’s exactly why you should have.” Max’s voice rose. “You could have called. Texted. We’d have talked it over.” “And you’d have said no, I suppose.” “Maybe. Or maybe just for a couple of days. But we’d have known. That’s called respect.” Lynda stood up. “Typical. I try to help, and you throw it back in my face. Svetlana, pack up—we’ll manage at mine.” “You said your flat’s a single-bed, there isn’t room for four.” “We’ll squeeze in. Better than dealing with ungratefulness.” Katie set her glass down. “Lynda, stop. You know you did the wrong thing, or you’d have asked first.” Lynda hesitated. “You knew we’d say no, and wanted to put us on the spot. That we wouldn’t turf people out—yes?” “I thought it was best.” “No, you wanted to do things your way. That’s different.” Lynda finally looked lost. “Svetlana was so upset. Michael’s in pain. I felt sorry for them.” “We get that,” Max said. “But you can’t just use what isn’t yours. Imagine if I let my mates move into your flat without asking.” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” They sat in silence, the sounds of hasty packing drifting from the lounge. Michael stood in the doorway, looking at his feet. “Sorry,” the teenager muttered. “Thought it was okay. Gran said so.” Katie gave him a tired smile. “It’s not your fault. Go help your parents, love.” Lynda dabbed her eyes: “I really thought I was helping. Never occurred to me to ask. You’re still my kids—I just assumed…” “We’re not kids anymore, Mum. We’re thirty—we have our own life.” “I see.” She handed over the keys. “You’ll want these back?” “Yes,” Katie said. “Trust is broken now.” “I understand.” Svetlana’s family packed quickly. Their apologies were awkward and endless. Lynda drove them away, promising to find space. Max closed the door behind them and leaned against it. They checked the flat—unmade beds, the fridge filled with strange food, bits left behind, and their cat still cowering. Katie opened the kitchen window. “Think she’ll get it this time?” “Not sure. I hope so.” “And if not?” “Then we’ll just have to set firmer boundaries.” She hugged him, and together they stood among the chaos. “You know what hurts most?” Katie pulled away. “The cat. We did all this for him and he’s hungry and terrified.” “Did they even feed him?” “Doesn’t look like it—bowl’s empty, water filthy. They probably forgot he existed.” Max knelt by the bed. “Morris, mate, we’re not giving her the keys again.” The cat cautiously crawled out at last. Katie gave him food; he devoured it, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. They started cleaning. Threw out the strange food, changed the sheets, washed the dishes. Gradually, their flat became home again. Morris slept on the windowsill, finally settled. That evening, Lynda rang. Her voice was quiet, apologetic. “Max, I’ve been thinking. You were right. I’m sorry.” “Thanks, Mum.” “Is Katie angry?” He glanced at his wife—she nodded. “She is. But she’ll forgive you. In time.” They sat up late over tea, silent. Out the window the city darkened; their flat, finally, was quiet and theirs again. Holiday was well and truly over—suddenly and brutally.

Sarah was the first to open the door, halting on the threshold. From within the flat drifted the sound of the television, voices chatting in the kitchen, and an unfamiliar scent that wasnt their own. Behind her, Tom nearly dropped the suitcase, startled by all this.

Shh, she whispered, stretching out a hand to stop him. Theres someone in there.

There, on their beloved beige sofa, lounged two strangers. A man in tracksuit bottoms flicked through TV channels, while beside him sat a plump woman, knitting away. On the coffee table messy with cups, a few plates with crumbs, and some medicines were scattered about.

Im sorry, butwho are you? Sarahs voice quavered.

The strangers turned with not a hint of awkwardness.

Oh, youve arrived, the woman said, not pausing her knitting. Were Paulines relatives. She gave us the keystold us the owners were away.

Tom went pale as milk.

Pauline? Whos Pauline?

Your mother, the man finally stood, rubbing his knees. Were down from Newcastle, brought our Michael for some medical appointments. She put us up here, said you wouldnt mind.

Sarah made her way slowly into the kitchen, pulse thumping. At the cooker stood a teenage boy of about fifteen, frying sausages. The fridge was stuffed with unfamiliar groceries and the table was strewn with a pile of dirty dishes.

And you are? she managed.

Michael, the boy replied, glancing round. What, am I not supposed to eat? Nan Pauline said it was fine.

Back into the hallway went Sarah, where Tom was already clutching his mobile.

Mum, what are you thinking? His voice was low but filled with ire.

Paulines cheery voice came through the phone: Tommy! Youre back? How was your trip? Listen, I gave the spare keys to Janettheyre in London for Michaels check-ups. Thought since you were gone, letting the place go empty was a waste. Just for the week.

Mum, did you ask us?

Why ask? You werent about. Tell them I sent them, theyll clear up after themselves.

Sarah snatched the phone.

Pauline, are you quite serious? You let strangers into our flat?

What strangers? Janets my cousin! We grew up together, shared a bed back in the day.

And why should that matter to me? This is our home!

Sarah, darling, calm yourself. Its family. Theyll be no trouble. Their sons poorly. Or are you really so selfish?

Tom took the phone again: Mum, youve got an hour. I expect you here to collect them. All of them.

But Tommytheyre meant to stay until Thursday! Michael has more tests.

Mum. One hour. Or I ring the police.

He pressed the button and ended the call. Sarah sank onto the hallway pouffe, face in her hands. The suitcases beside her remained unpacked. The sound of the television drifted from the lounge, and sausages still sizzled in the kitchen. Just two hours before, they were still in the plane, dreaming of getting home at last. Now, she felt a stranger in her own home.

Well pack up, the woman from the living room appeared in the hall, embarrassment deepening her voice. Pauline thought youd not mind. We didnt have your number. She offeredso we came, just needed somewhere for a week, for the appointments.

Tom stared silently from the window. Sarah saw the stiff line of his back, the way he always tensed when his mother crossed the line and left him lost for words.

Wheres our cat? she suddenly exclaimed.

What cat?

Milo. Ginger. We left keys just for him.

Sorry, Janet shrugged. We havent seen a cat.

Sarah rushed to look. She found Milo crammed under the bed, eyes wild and twitching with panic, fur on end. When she reached for him, he hissed and flattened his ears.

Milo darling, she lay down, calling softly. Its me. Its alright now.

He eyed her suspiciouslythe room reeked of strangers. Someones medicine boxes cluttered her bedside. The bed was made all wrong. Odd slippers lay on the floor.

Tom knelt at her side.

Sorry.

For what? You didnt know.

For my mother. For the way she is.

She thinks shes right.

Shes always been like this, Tom said with clenched anger. Remember back when we just moved in, how shed show up unannounced? I thought Id made it clearapparently not.

Suddenly voices rose in the hallwayPauline had arrived. Sarah got up, smoothing her hair, and went to meet her.

Pauline stood in the hall, face set in outrage.

What on earth do you think youre doing, Tom?

Mum, come into the kitchen, he said, gesturing.

Sit? Janet, Richard, get packing, were being thrown out. Well go to mine.

Mum, sit down, please.

Pauline stopped, noting the look on Toms face, and complied. Michael hunched over the last sausage at the table.

Mum, Tom sat across from her. What made you think it was finegiving someone else our home without asking?

I was only helping! Janet rang, in tearsMichaels ill, they needed London, nowhere to stay. You werent hereit seemed sensible.

Its not your flat, Mum.

But Ive a key!

A key to look after the catnot open a boarding house.

Tom, whatever are you on about? This is family! Janets my cousin, known her all my life. Richards decent, a hard worker. Michael, poor lad, needs help. Youd throw them onto the streets?

Sarah reached for water; her hands shook.

Pauline, you never asked.

No pointyou werent here!

Thats exactly when you should have asked, Tom raised his voice. We have mobiles. You could have rungtexted.

And what would you have said? No?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe just for a couple of nights, with conditions. But wed know. Thats called respect.

Pauline stood abruptly.

Always the same. I try, and I get blamed. Janet, pack up. Were leaving.

Mum, youve only a little flat. You said yourselves, youd never fit four.

Well squeeze inbetter that than among ingrates.

Sarah set down her glass.

Paulineplease. You know this wasnt right, or youd have rung beforehand. You knew wed say no.

Pauline hesitated.

You thought if you just did it, wed come back and put up with it.

I meant well.

Noyou wanted your way. Its not the same.

For the first time, Pauline looked lost.

Janet was crying, Michaels pain was so bad. I couldnt leave them.

We get that, Tom said gently. But you cant just give away what isnt yours. Mum, imagine if Id let friends move into your home while you were awaywithout telling you.

Id be furious.

Exactly.

They sat in silence. The sound of packing filtered through from the lounge. Janet wept quietly; Richard zipped up the bags. Michael stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes on the floor.

Sorry, the boy mumbled. I thought it was alright. Nan said it was fine.

Sarah looked at him. Just a boyscared, guilty. None of this was his doing.

Its not your fault, she said kindly. Go help your parents, love.

Pauline fished a hanky from her bag, dabbing her eyes.

I really thought I was helping. I never even considered asking. Youre my childrenIve always acted for you, and thought youwould understand.

Were not children, Mum. Were thirty years old. We have our own lives now.

I see, Pauline stood heavily. Would you like your keys?

We would, Sarah nodded. Sorry, but youve broken our trust.

I understand.

Janet and family gathered themselves swiftly, apologising profusely as they left. Pauline took them to hers, promising to find a way to fit them all. Tom closed the door and leaned against it, breathing out slowly.

Together, they walked in silence through their own flat. The bed needed new sheets; fridge needed clearing. Signs of others everywhereforgotten jumpers, shuffled chairs, dirty plates. Milo remained hidden for hours, refusing to budge.

Do you think shes learnt anything? Sarah asked, opening the kitchen window.

I dont know. I hope so.

What if not?

Well be firmer next time. I wont let this happen again.

Sarah wrapped her arms around her husband. They stood amidst the chaos left behind, together and quiet.

What hurts most? she pulled away. The cat. This was all meant for himyet he was left frightened and hungry.

Did they even feed him?

Doesnt look like it. Bowls empty, waters filthy. Might have forgotten him completely.

Tom crouched at the bed.

Sorry, Milo. No more keys for my mother.

Gingerly, Milo crept out, rubbing against his owners legs, furious little purrs sounding. Sarah brought him foodhe devoured it as if he hadnt eaten in days.

They set to cleaning: binned the strangers groceries, remade the bed, washed all the plates. Milo, fed at last, curled up on the windowsill, asleep. Bit by bit, the flat regained its sense of home.

That night, Pauline rang. Her voice was hushed, glum.

Tom, Ive been thinking. You were right. Im sorry.

Thanks, Mum.

Is Sarah furious with me?

Tom glanced at his wifeshe nodded.

She is. But shell forgive, in time.

After the call, they sat long into the night sipping tea in the kitchen, saying little. Dusk closed in outside. The flat, once again, was theirs. Their holiday had ended, suddenly, brutally.