**A Quiet Word for Grandad**
«Flat? What do you mean, *your* flat?»
«Mum, Grandads flat. He left it to me. You even rented it out for years. Dont you remember?» Emily asked, baffled.
«Oh, *that* flat. Well, it was never really yours,» her mother, Margaret, replied breezily. «Forget about it. I sold it.»
Emilys pulse spiked. Her heart hammered like it wanted out of her chest. Her knees buckled, and she had to sit down.
«You *sold* it?»
«Standard procedure, love. Listed it on Rightmove, found a buyer, job done. Stevens car packed in, and you know how he isuseless without it. Needed a new one.»
Emily couldnt even form a reply. She hung up. Everything inside her clenched so tight she couldve screamed.
She remembered Grandad, proud as punch, showing off the fresh wallpaper in the bedroom, chuckling, *»All thisll be yours one day, poppet.»*
«Grow up a bit, and youll have your own little fortress. Right from the start. Youll think kindly of me then, eh?» Hed ruffled her hair, grinning.
Hed died when she was twelve. Back then, the idea of owning a flat meant littlejust a vague *»thats nice»* floating in her head. So when Mum announced Grandads promise was just talk, Emily hadnt minded much.
«Ill keep it in my name for now,» Margaret had said, as the sole heir. «Grandad wanted me to manage itstop you frittering it away. Ill rent it out, cover the bills, spruce it up. You dont want some mouldy dump with a heap of debt, do you?»
«Course not,» Emily agreed easily.
«Sorted, then. *Ill* deal with tenants, not you. When youre older, well transfer it. Dont worryMums not about to swindle you.»
And that was that. Emily forgot about the flattoo busy with school. It only resurfaced when she was finishing sixth form.
«Mum, Ive been chatting with Lucy,» she ventured. «Were applying to the same uni. Thought maybe we could share the flat? Splitting bills would be easier. Id like to start being proper independent.»
Shed assumed it was a formalitythat Mum would wave her off with a *»go on, then.»* Imagined late-night chats, takeaway trays, giggling over crushes. But no.
«Independent at *eighteen*? On what wages?» Margarets eyebrows shot up. «Youd be juggling work and lecturesimpossible. And what if Lucy shacks up with some bloke and bails? Then what? Mum, rescue me?»
The sting settled under her ribs, but Mums logic still sounded reasonable. She *was* the adult, after all.
Mortified, Emily apologised to Lucy. Their plans fizzled.
Dreams of independence seemed shelveduntil Mum offered an alternative.
«Em, why not look at unis out of town? They do halls. Same freedom, just free. And Ill send you bits from the rent. Not loads, but enough.»
Emily nearly hugged the phone. She flung her arms round Mum, smothering her in kisses.
Perfect. For six months. Then the first trimmed transfer landed.
«Had a dentists bill, love,» Margaret said. «Well both have to tighten our belts.»
Thendelays. If rent came in on the 10th, money arrived a week later. Then later still…
Then Emily learned Mum had moved Steven in almost the second shed left.
Steven, who was *technically* married («divorce pending,» he sworefor three years). Steven, who leeched off Margaret like a human limpet.
Mum moaned about him endlessly, draining Emilys ears. After each call, she felt scraped hollow. It was obviousSteven was using her. But Mum wouldnt hear it.
«Get thishe *borrowed* money yesterday! To take *his kids* to the park!» Margaret huffed. «Since when am I funding his exs brood?»
«And you *lent* it?»
«Well, yeah. What else? Hes hard to replace, you know…»
«Right. A *keeper*one who takes your cash and gives you zip in return?»
«Oh, stop! Im not some gold-digger. Its *love*,» Margaret snapped, then changed the subject.
Steven *did* take. Free rent, free meals. The second his coat frayed, Mum sprinted to buy a new one.
Whatd she get back? Zilch. A builder by trade, he charged her *triple* to fix a tap.
No giftsexcept one IKEA lamp for Mothers Day. And even then, at checkout, his card declined. Mum paid most of it.
Then Steven upped his game. Started showing her plots of land, hinting *hed* build *them* a houseif the deed was in *his* name. Margaret gushed to Emily about dream gardens.
«Mum, *wake up*! Hes a sponger, and youre not even married!»
«Oh, what do *you* know?» Margaret bristled. «Ive a right to be happy!»
She didnt dump himjust stopped mentioning him. Small mercies.
By third year, Mums support dried up.
«Got laid off, love. Youll have to manage,» she said, crisp as a banknote.
Emily felt conned. That rent was *hers*. But she bit her tonguescraped by tutoring, moderating forums.
Somehow, she graduated, even saved a little. Giddy, she rang Mumto warn the tenants shed be moving in.
And learned there *was* no flat.
But Emily had a card to play. Not an acea two. She had half Mums *current* flat.
It took her weeksemergency rent ate her savingsbut she finally called.
«Mum, since youve played your hand I want whats legally mine. Im selling my share,» she said, icy despite the shake in her bones.
«*What*? Thats *mine*!»
«Lifes unfair. You sold my flat. I need to live.»
«*Your* flat? You ever put a penny into it? No! *I* managed it, *I* paidI *lived* there!»
A lump rose in Emilys throat. She wanted to scream about Grandads promisebut no. No theatrics.
«Im not debating this. You bought Steven a car. Now its my turn»
«Steven *drives* me in that car!» Margaret cut in.
«Mum, listen. You either buy me out, or I sell to strangers.»
«I *raised* you!» Margaret exploded. «And youyoure worse than your father!»
Emily hung up. Next day, she posted formal noticeno face-to-face required.
A month later, her account held Mums payout. Enough to start over.
«Sorry, Grandad,» she whispered. «But you taught me not to trust words.»
She felt rottenhed wanted them happy, each in their own home. But hers had turned into Stevens tyres, so shed played dirty too.
