«You’re no longer needed,» said the son, taking the keys.
«Mum, stop making a scene! We agreed to talk this through calmly!» Andrew drummed his fingers on the table, avoiding his mothers gaze.
Margaret Elizabeth sat across from her son in her small kitchen, where everything had its place, where the air smelled of fresh biscuits and tea. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice was steady.
«What scene? Im just asking why you and Marina decided to sell the cottage without consulting me?»
«Because it’s in my name. You transferred it to me five years ago, remember?»
«I remember. But I thoughtI assumed it was just paperwork. So you could handle the documents more easily.»
Andrew stood and paced the kitchen. He was forty-two but looked oldergrey at his temples, lines on his forehead, tired eyes.
«Mum, you need to understand. We need the money. Marinas business faileddebts are piling up. Emilys at university now, halls arent cheap.»
«I can help with money. Ive got savings…»
«Your savings are pennies, Mum. Sorry, but a pension of eight hundred pounds a month wont solve our problems.»
Margaret rose and walked to the window. Outside, the first snow fell in slow, heavy flakes.
«Your father planted every tree at that cottage. Remember the apple tree by the gazebo? You helped himyou were seven.»
«I remember,» Andrew said quietly.
«We built the greenhouse together when you were fifteen. You said youd bring your children there somedaymy grandchildren.»
«Plans change, Mum.»
«Plans…» She turned to him. «What about memories? Every corner of that place is our history. Your childhood.»
The doorbell rang. Andrew went to answer it. Marina, his wife, stood theretall, polished, wrapped in an expensive coat.
«Have you talked?» she asked, brushing past her mother-in-law without greeting.
«Marina, hello,» Margaret said.
«Oh, hi,» Marina replied dismissively. «Andrew, were late. The estate agents waiting.»
«What estate agent?» Margarets voice sharpened.
«The one wholl sell the cottage quickly. Hes got buyers lined up.»
«But my things are still there! Your fathers tools, the photo albums…»
«Take them,» Marina cut in. «Youve got a week.»
«A week? How am I supposed to move everything alone?»
«Mum, well help,» Andrew said weakly.
«Help?» Marina glared at him. «With what free time? Youre working two jobs.»
«Ill figure something out.»
Margaret sank into a chair, legs suddenly unsteady.
«Andrew, lovemust you sell it? Couldnt you rent it out? I wont visit, I promise.»
«Mum, renting isnt worth it. The place is oldneeds repairs. Selling gets us a lump sum.»
«Three hundred thousand,» Marina added. «Enough to clear the debts.»
«Three hundred thousand… for your fathers cottage,» Margaret whispered.
«Its a fair price,» Andrew said. «Big plot, good location.»
«Good for whom? The people wholl bulldoze it and build a mansion?»
«What does it matter?» Marina shrugged. «Moneys money.»
Margaret stood, took Andrews hands.
«Please, love. Dont sell. Its your fathers memory.»
«Hes been gone ten years, Mum.»
«For youten years. For me, its like yesterday. When Im there, I feel him. In every nail he hammered, every flower bed he dug.»
«Margaret,» Marina interrupted. «You must see this is sentimental nonsense. You cant live in the past.»
«And the future? Where will Emily spend her summers?»
«Spain. Greece. Like normal people.»
«Normal people…»
Andrews phone rang. He checked the screen.
«Its the estate agent. Mum, I really have to go.»
«Wait.» Margaret fetched a folder. «Look at this.»
Andrew opened it. Photos. The cottage over the yearslittle Andrew picking apples on his fathers shoulders; teenage Andrew digging the garden; his wedding reception under the trees.
«Mum…»
«And heres Emily taking her first steps. Remember? Down the path between the flowerbeds.»
Marina snatched the folder shut.
«Enough guilt-tripping! Andrew, lets go.»
«Im not guilt-tripping,» Margaret said softly. «Im asking you to keep what matters.»
«To whom?» Marina laughed. «You know what matters to me? A life without debt. Emilys education. A decent car, not that rust bucket Andrew drives.»
«Marina, stop,» Andrew said.
«Why? Because the truth hurts? Your mother clings to relics, and were supposed to suffer for it?»
«Im not asking you to suffer. Im asking you to spare the cottage.»
«And Im asking you to stay out of our business!» Marina raised her voice.
«Our business? Its mine, too. My husbands cottage, my sons father!»
«Was his cottage. Now its Andrews, and hes selling it. End of.»
Margaret looked at her son.
«Is this final?»
Andrew glanced away.
«Yes, Mum. Im sorry.»
«Well, then.» She folded her hands in her lap. «Theres only one thing left for me to do.»
«What?» Marina tensed.
«Im moving there. For good.»
«What?» Andrew gaped. «Mum, are you mad? Winters coming!»
«Theres a wood stove. Firewoods still there from last year.»
«But its not habitable! Outdoor loo, water from the pump!»
«I grew up in the countryside, love. Ill manage.»
«This is emotional blackmail!» Marina snapped. «Youre saying this to make him back down!»
«Im saying what I mean. If the cottage goes, Ive nowhere to go. This flat suffocates me.»
«A flat we pay for,» Marina said pointedly.
Margaret flinched.
«I never asked you to. I couldve»
«On your pension? Dont be ridiculous.»
«Ill find work.»
«Doing what? Youre sixty-eight!»
«Cleaning. Night watchman.»
Andrew stood.
«Mum, stop. Youre not moving, and youre not working. Well sell the cottage, clear the debts, and things will improve.»
«For whom? You?»
«For all of us.»
«My life wont improve without that place.»
«Youre being dramatic.»
Margaret took the cottage keys from the hook.
«Here. Take them.»
«Mum…»
«Take them. Do what you want. Sell it, tear it down, build anew. Just leave me out of it.»
She pressed the keys into Andrews hand. He turned them over.
«And give us the flat keys,» Marina said suddenly.
«What?» Andrew and Margaret stared.
«We pay for itweve a right.»
«Marina, what?»
«What? If were selling the cottage against your mothers wishes, trust is gone. Who knows what shell do in her state?»
«What could I possibly do?» Margaret asked wearily.
«Anything. Leave the gas on, start a fire»
«Marina!» Andrew barked. «Enough!»
«No, shes right.» Margaret unclipped the flat key. «Here. Take it.»
«Mum, dont»
«Take it.» She pressed it into his palm. «What else do you need from me?»
«Your signature,» Marina said. «On the sale papers.»
«Why? The cottage is in Andrews name.»
«But youre registered there. We need your consent.»
Margaret nodded.
«Fine. When?»
«Tomorrow. Ten a.m., at the solicitors.»
«Ill be there.»
Marina smirked, steering Andrew out.
«Come on. The estate agents waiting.»
Andrew hesitated, something flickering in his eyes.
«Mum, youll be alright?»
«Perfectly, love. Go on.»
They left. Margaret stood alone in the kitchen, then slowly sat. She called her niece.
«Sarah? Its Aunt Margie. Yes, Im fine. Listenyou mentioned your halls needed a porter? Ill take it. When can I start? Tomorrow? Lovely. Yes, lodging included. Thanks, pet.»
She hung up, surveying the rented flat. Few belongingsclothes, crockery, some photos. All would fit in two suitcases.
That evening, Andrew called.
«Mum, how are you?»
«Fine. Packing.»
«Packing? Where to?»
«Moving. Found a live-in job.»
«Doing what?»
«Porter at student halls. Tiny room, but mine. They pay six hundred a month.»
«Mum, why?»
«Why? I need to live on something. Youve stopped paying the rent.»
«We havent! Mum, dont be daft.»
«You took my keys today. Saidwell, not you, but stillthat Im no longer needed.»
«I never said that!»
«Marina did. And you didnt disagree.»
«Mum…»
«Its alright. I understand. Youve your own life. Ill manage.»
«Let me come over. Well talk.»
«No need. See you at the solicitors.»
She hung up. He didnt call back.
The next morning, Margaret signed the papers. Andrew looked haggardas if he hadnt slept.
«Mum, lets talk.»
«About what? Where are the documents?»
The solicitor, a stout woman in glasses, peered over the forms.
«Margaret, you consent to the sale?»
«I do.»
«You understand you forfeit residency rights?»
«I do.»
«Sign here and here.»
Margaret signed without a tremor.
«Done? May I go?»
«Yes, youre free to leave.»
Andrew caught her in the corridor.
«Mum, wait! Where are you going?»
«To the halls. My shift starts at two.»
«Mum, this is madness! Come home, lets talk.»
«Home? I dont have one, Andrew. You took the keys, remember?»
«Marina went too far! Ive spoken to her.»
«And?»
Andrew hesitated.
«She… thinks she was right.»
«Ah. And you agree, since you didnt object.»
«I dont agree! Its just… complicated.»
«I know, love. Go on. Marinas waiting.»
Outside, snow blanketed London. Margaret tilted her face up, letting flakes settle on her skin.
«Forgive me, William,» she whispered. «I couldnt save our cottage. But I tried.»
A month later, Andrew visited the porters lodgea cramped room with a bed, desk, and photos on the wall.
«Mum, how do you stand this?»
«Im fine. The students are kind. Help me with heavy things.»
«Mum, the cottage sold.»
«I know. Marina rang to boast.»
«She wasnt boasting, just updating.»
«If you say so.»
Andrew placed an envelope on the desk.
«Your share.»
«No.»
«Why not? Its only fair.»
«The cottage was yours. Ive no claim.»
«But morally»
«Morally?» Margaret smiled sadly. «If morality mattered, the cottage would still be ours.»
«Mum, we had no choice!»
«Theres always a choice, love. You couldve worked extra. Marina couldve gotten a job instead of sitting at home.»
«She was raising Emily!»
«Emilys nineteen. What raising?»
Andrew fell silent, then pushed the envelope forward.
«Thirty thousand. Take it.»
«To buy my forgiveness?»
«No! Just to help.»
«I dont need help. Ive work, a roof, food. What more is there?»
«What about us? Family?»
Margaret studied him.
«You said I wasnt needed.»
«I never said that!»
«Didnt you? Who took the keys? Who sold the cottage against my wishes?»
«We had to!»
«Had to. And after that, I understoodIm a burden to you. A silly old woman clinging to the past.»
«Mum, stop!»
«Its the truth. Im not angry. You chose what mattered more.»
«You matter!»
«For now. Until the next debt, the next crisis. Then youll choose again.»
Andrew knelt, pressing her hands to his face.
«Mum, forgive me. Im a fool. A traitor.»
«Not a traitor. Just lost.»
«Come home.»
«Home? What home? A rented flat where I was barely tolerated?»
«Well get a bigger place. Your own room.»
«No need. Im happy here.»
«In this box?»
«In this box, Im in charge. No ones taking my keys.»
Andrew wepta grown man sobbing like a child.
«Forgive me, Mum.»
She stroked his hair.
«Its alright, love.»
Six months later, Andrew divorced Marina. The cottage money hadnt gone to debtsshed bought a new car and holidayed in Bali.
He returned to Margaret, ashamed.
«Now I see what an idiot I was.»
«Dont punish yourself. Everyone errs.»
«Mum, come home. Ive got a two-bed flat. Well live together.»
Margaret shook her head.
«Thank you, love. But Im staying.»
«Why?»
«Because this is my world now. Small, but mine. The studentstheyre like grandchildren. They care.»
«But Im your son!»
«You are. And I love you. But trust… trust shattered with those keys you took.»
«Ill earn it back! However long it takes!»
«Maybe. Time will tell.»
Andrew visited weeklybringing groceries, chatting. Emily moved in with him but visited Margaret often.
And Margaret lived quietly. Snow fell again the winter after William would have turned eighty. Margaret lit the stove in her little room, wrapped in the woolen shawl hed bought her on their last holiday. She kept his photograph where the light touched it each morning. The students brought her stories, laughter, mugs of tea when she was tired. She still walked past the old flat sometimes, slowly, without bitterness. She forgave Andrew in her heart, though they never returned to what they were. And when spring came, she planted marigolds in window boxes, just like at the cottage. They bloomed bright and gold, stubborn as memory, as love that refuses to be sold.
