Youll never see a single penny from me! shouted the daughter, slamming the flatdoor of her parents terraced house.
The commuter train rattled toward the familiar platform at Bramley, and Amelia pressed her forehead against the cold pane of the carriage window. She hadnt set foot in this town for five years. Five years of grinding in London, twelvehour shifts, skimping on everythingeven the cheap tea from the office vending machine. Every pound was shoved into her dream fund: a mortgage of her own. She was almost therejust six more months and the deposit would be ready.
Then the call. Midday, her mother sobbing, whispering about debt collectors, threats, and a looming bankruptcy. Amelia took an unscheduled day off, boarded the first train out of the city.
The house that had raised her greeted her with the smell of cabbage soup and tense faces. Her mother, who seemed a decade older, flitted about the kitchen, dabbing her hands on a stained apron. Her father sat at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on some invisible point. On the battered sofa, her younger sister, Lydia, leafed through a bridal magazine with a serene smile.
Amelia, love, her mother rushed over, thank God youre here. Weve tangled ourselves up in a mountain of debts
What debts? Amelia sat opposite her father. Explain, properly.
Her father exhaled heavily and pulled a thick dossier from the drawer.
It started three years ago. Lydia got a job at a local salon. The pay was tiny, but she said it was only until she found a proper husband.
Dad, not the husband thing again! Lydia snapped, not even looking up from the magazine. I just want to live nicely, not like youstarving yourselves all your lives.
Go on, Amelia urged.
Lydia took a credit card, then another. She said the minimum payments were peanutsjust a couple of hundred a month. At first we didnt mind. Then she kept asking us to chip in£100 here, £200 there. We thought, Shes young, shell sort herself out.
And you started taking out loans?
First a small consumer loan, her mother interjected, to clear Lydias cards. And then She gestured helplessly.
Lydia finally set the magazine aside and sat up, her eyes flashing.
Listen, Amelia, dont make a mountain out of a molehill. It isnt that much. Youve saved you always brag about how tightfisted you are.
How much? Amelia asked, voice barely a whisper.
Her father slid a sheet across the table. Amelia scanned the figures; the colour drained from her face. The total debt eclipsed everything she had saved for the flat.
Have you lost your minds? she breathed.
It piled up slowly, her father said defensively. One loan covered another, the interest just kept climbing
And what was Lydia doing all that timewasnt she working?
I was working, Lydia piped up. But you know the pay around here. At the salon I earned £300 a month. Try living on that! Then I moved to a clothing shop£400, but the hours were awful, so I quit after a month. Then a café
How many jobs in three years?
I cant countmaybe ten. I cant stay where I hate it!
Amelia felt a hot anger build.
And what did you live on? Dads pension and Mums shop wages?
Lydia kept saying shed be married soon, her mother muttered timidly. She has plenty of admirers
Admirers! Amelia exploded. In three years not a single serious man, but a mountain of debt!
Why are you so harsh? Lydia pouted. Are you jealous that I have a social life and youre just a workhorse?
Amelia inhaled sharply, forcing calm.
Fine. Tell me exactly whats happening now. Threats? Deadlines?
For the next hour she poured over the paperwork, called banks, and got the cold truth. Her parents were truly mired in a pit of debt they couldnt climb out of alone. Collectors called daily, threatening to repossess anything of value.
What did you actually buy with all this money? Amelia asked after the last call.
Lydia needed a car, her father began. Not newusedbut on credit
Why does she need a car?!
Everyone has one, and she was walking everywhere! her mother defended.
It needed repairs, we bought it with high mileage, her father continued. A new phone, furniture for her room
On that kind of money?! Amelia shouted.
Look how beautiful it turned out! Lydia beamed, pulling Amelia toward her bedroom.
Amelia stared at the room: a massive canopy bed, a vanity like something from a celebritys dressing room, a floortoceiling wardrobe, a flatscreen TV, an airconditionerall in soft rosegold tones.
Its a palace! Lydia crowed. And I needed decent clothes. I had nothing proper to wear. Mum even bought herself a mink coat
A mink coat? her mother whispered, embarrassed.
And we bought Dad a suit, jewellery for me, a new set of dishes, a fridge, a washing machine
Amelia sank into a kitchen chair. Every expensive appliance, every piece of furniture, every curtain had been bought on credit.
So youve been living on borrowed money, she said flatly.
We thought Lydia would get married, her father admitted quietly. She had a few proper suitors
Yes, she did! Lydia affirmed. There was Andrew, a company directorturns out hes married. And Stephenhe runs a business but moved to Manchester. And Michael
What about Michael?
He was decent, but he lived in a onebed flat. I cant live in a onebed flat! Then we found out it was mortgaged too.
Amelia closed her eyes. She herself was renting a onebed flat, dreaming of owning a house, even if it meant a mortgage.
Lydia, youre twentyfive. Its time you earned your own keep.
Why? Lydia asked, genuinely surprised. Im going to marry. A proper man provides for his wife.
And if you dont?
I will. Im pretty and young. Look at youalways working, a drab mouse. Thats why youre alone.
Amelias fists clenched.
What will you do about the debts? her mother asked, voice trembling.
We were thinking her mother stammered, maybe you could help? You have the money, youve been saving for years
Lydia, Amelia cut in, what do you expect? You live alone, no kids. Why do you need an apartment? I need one to stop living like a guest.
So you want me to hand over all my savings? her father said sharply. Were family.
Amelia rose, pacing the cramped kitchen. The numbers swam in her head. Her savings were almost the whole sum of the debt. Shed be left with a pittance. Everything shed earned over five years would vanish into Lydias whims.
What about my flat? Lydia asked, lighthearted.
Youll save again, Amelia replied. Youre good at making money, but I cant fund your fantasies.
She sat back down, pulled out her phone, and began bargaining with the banks.
Alright, Ill call the banks and see what can be done, she said, voice steady. After two hours, she learned the debt could be restructured, stretching payments over a longer term, but the monthly instalment would still be about £5,000. With a combined family income of £8,000, that meant living on the edge of starvation.
Theres another option, she told them finally. We sell everything bought on creditthe car, the furniture, the appliances. That will clear roughly half the debt. The rest we spread over five years in modest payments.
What? Sell everything? Lydia gasped, horrified. My car? My furniture? Well lose everything!
You should give us the money! Lydia snapped. Were family! Or are you too stingy for your own?
I dont owe anyone anything, Amelia said coldly.
You do! her father burst out. We raised you, fed you, clothed you, sent you to university! And now you turn your back when we need you!
Amelia looked at her parents, at the woman who had sent her away to London in tears five years ago, and at the sister who had turned their modest life into a creditfueled nightmare.
I am your daughter, but Im not obligated to pay for your foolishness, she said, voice firm.
Then what will happen to us? her mother pleaded. We have nowhere to go.
Youll sell the house, buy something smaller. Lydia will find a proper job. Youre not that oldyou can pick up extra work, Amelia replied.
Sell the house? her mother shrieked. But this is our home!
And the debts are your debts, Amelia answered.
Some daughter you are! Lydia shouted, tears streaming. Youre abandoning us!
Amelia stood, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.
Where are you going? her mother asked, voice trembling.
To the station. Im leaving first thing tomorrow morning.
Wait! her parents rushed forward. Lets talk again!
Theres nothing to discuss. My decision is final.
Amelia, at least half! her mother begged.
You wont see a single penny from me! Amelia snapped, turning to them. You got yourselves into debtyoull pay it back yourselves! I will not support you!
She slammed the door, the sound rattling the old windows.
On the stairwell she leaned against the wall, hands shaking, heart pounding. For the first time she had spoken to her own family with such raw honesty. And for the first time she felt truly free.
The commuter train took her back to Londonto her job, to her modest rented flat, to the dream of a home she could call her own. Five years ago she left this town a frightened girl, terrified of independence. Now she returned as a woman who knew how to defend her interests and her future.
In six months she would submit her mortgage application, move into her own house, and no oneparents, sister, anyonecould strip her of the life she had fought so hard to build.
As for her family, that was their choice now. Adults must answer for the decisions they make.
