«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 impatiently on the kitchen table, avoiding his mothers gaze.
Margaret Elizabeth sat across from him in her small but immaculate kitchen, where everything had its placewhere the scent of freshly baked scones and tea still lingered. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice was steady.
«What scene? I’m only asking why you and Olivia decided to sell the cottage without consulting me.»
«Because its in my name. You transferred it to me five years ago, remember?»
«Of course I remember. But I thoughtI assumed it was just paperwork. To make things easier for you.»
Andrew stood, pacing the cramped kitchen. At forty-two, he looked olderstreaks of grey at his temples, deep lines etched into his forehead.
«Mum, we need the money. Olivias business went under, and weve got debts piling up. Emilys at university nowweve got tuition and halls to pay for.»
«I can help with money. Ive got savings»
«Your savings are pennies, Mum. Sorry, but a pension of eight hundred quid a month isnt going to fix this.»
Margaret rose and walked to the window. Outside, the first snow of winter fell in slow, heavy flakes.
«Your father planted every tree in that garden. The apple tree by the shedyou helped him when you were seven.»
«I remember,» Andrew said softly.
«We built the greenhouse when you were fifteen. You said youd bring your children there one dayyour own kids, my grandchildren.»
«Plans change, Mum.»
«Plans?» She turned to face him. «What about memories? Every corner of that place is our history. Your childhood. Your youth.»
The doorbell rang. Andrew went to answer it. Olivia stood on the threshold, tall and polished in her expensive coat, stepping past Margaret without a greeting.
«Well? Have you talked?»
«Olivia, hello,» Margaret said.
«Oh, hello,» Olivia replied airily. «Andrew, we need to go. The estate agents waiting.»
«Estate agent?» Margarets voice wavered.
«The one selling the cottage. Hes got buyers lined up.»
«But my things are still there! Your fathers tools, the photo albums»
«Take them,» Olivia cut in. «Youve got a week.»
«A week? How am I supposed to clear it all alone?»
«Mum, well help,» Andrew said unconvincingly.
«Help?» Olivia scoffed. «Youre working two jobs. When exactly do you have time?»
«Ill figure something out.»
Margaret sank into a chair, her legs suddenly weak.
«Andrew, love, maybe dont sell it? Rent it out instead. I wont go there, I promise.»
«Mum, rentings not worth it. The place is falling apart. Selling it will get us a decent sum.»
«Three hundred thousand,» Olivia 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? For someone to tear it down and build some soulless mansion?»
«What does it matter?» Olivia shrugged. «The moneys what counts.»
Margaret stood, took Andrews hands.
«Please, love. Dont sell it. Its all we have left of your father.»
«Hes been gone ten years, Mum.»
«For youten years. For me, it feels like yesterday. When Im there, I still feel him. In every plank he hammered, every flowerbed he dug.»
«Margaret,» Olivia interrupted. «You cant live in the past.»
«And the future? Where will your daughter spend her summers?»
«Abroad, like normal people. Spain, maybe Greece.»
«Normal people…»
Andrews phone rang. He checked the screen.
«Its the estate agent. Mum, I really have to go.»
«Wait.» Margaret went to the living room, returned with an album. «Look.»
Andrew opened it. Photos of the cottage over the years. A tiny Andrew on his fathers shoulders, picking apples. A teenage boy digging flowerbeds. His weddingtables set up in the garden, guests laughing, newlyweds dancing.
«Mum»
«And heres Emily taking her first steps. Remember? Down the path between the roses.»
Olivia snatched the album shut.
«Enough guilt-tripping! Andrew, lets go.»
«Im not guilt-tripping,» Margaret said quietly. «Im just asking you to keep what matters.»
«Matters?» Olivia laughed. «You know what matters to me? Being debt-free. My daughters education. A decent car, not that rust bucket Andrew drives.»
«Olivia, dont,» Andrew tried.
«Dont what? Tell the truth? Your mothers clinging to relics, and were supposed to suffer for it?»
«Im not asking you to suffer. Im asking you to keep the cottage.»
«And Im asking you to stay out of our decisions!» Olivias voice rose sharply.
«Ours? Its my decision too. That was my husbands homeyour fathers.»
«Was. Now its Andrews. And hes selling it. End of.»
Margaret looked at her son.
«Is this your final word?»
Andrew looked away.
«Yeah, Mum. Im sorry.»
«Right.» She folded her hands in her lap. «Then Ive only one choice left.»
«What?» Olivia stiffened.
«Im moving there. Permanently.»
«What?» Andrew gaped. «Mum, are you mad? Winters coming!»
«Theres a fireplace. Plenty of firewood left.»
«But its not habitable! The loos outside, water from a well!»
«I grew up in the countryside, love. Ill manage.»
«This is emotional blackmail!» Olivia snapped. «Youre doing this to make him back out!»
«Im saying what I mean. If the cottage goes, Ive nowhere left. This flat suffocates me.»
«A flat we pay for,» Olivia added.
Margaret flinched.
«I never asked you to. I couldve»
«On your pension? Dont be absurd.»
«Ill find work.»
«Doing what? Youre sixty-eight!»
«Cleaning. Night watchman. Something.»
Andrew stood, gripping her shoulders.
«Mum, stop this. Youre not moving, and youre not working. Well sell, clear the debts, and things will get better.»
«For who? You?»
«For all of us.»
«My life wont be better without that place.»
«Youre being dramatic.»
Margaret walked to the hook, took down a set of keys.
«Here. The cottage keys. Take them.»
«Mum»
«Take them. Do what you want. Sell it. Bulldoze it. Just leave me out of it.»
She pressed them into his hand. Andrew turned them over, silent.
«And give us the flat keys,» Olivia said suddenly.
«What?» Both Margaret and Andrew turned.
«The flat keys. We pay the rentweve a right to them.»
«Olivia, what the hell?» Andrew paled.
«What? If were selling against her will, trusts gone. Who knows what shell do in here?»
«What could I possibly do?» Margaret asked wearily.
«Anything. Leave the gas on, set a fire»
«Enough!» Andrew barked.
«No, shes right.» Margaret unclipped the flat key. «Here. Take it.»
«Mum, dont»
«Take it.» She pressed it into his palm. «Do you need anything else from me?»
«Yes,» Olivia said. «Your signature on the sale papers.»
«Why? The cottage is in Andrews name.»
«But youre on the deeds. We need your consent.»
Margaret nodded.
«Fine. When?»
«Tomorrow. Ten at the solicitors.»
«Ill be there.»
Olivia smirked, looping her arm through Andrews.
«Come on. The estate agents waiting.»
Andrew hesitated, searching his mothers face.
«Mum, are you sure youre alright?»
«Perfectly, love. Go on.»
They left. Margaret stood alone in the silent kitchen, then sank onto a chair. She dialled a number.
«Susan? Its Margaret. Yes, fine, thank you. Listenyou mentioned needing a porter at the halls? Ill take it. When can I start? Tomorrow? Lovely. Yes, with lodging. Cheers, dear.»
She hung up, glancing around the rented flat. Few belongingsclothes, crockery, a handful of photos. All would fit in two suitcases.
That evening, Andrew called.
«Mum, how are you holding up?»
«Fine. Packing.»
«Packing? Where to?»
«Moving. Found a live-in job.»
«Doing what?»
«Porter at the student halls. Tiny room, but mine. They pay six hundred a month.»
«Mum, why?»
«Why? Ive to live on something. Youre not paying the rent anymore.»
«We are! Dont be daft.»
«Love, you took my keys today. Youor rather, Oliviamade it clear Im not wanted.»
«I never said that!»
«But she did. And you didnt stop her.»
«Mum…»
«Its alright. I understand. Youve your own life, your troubles. Ill manage.»
«Let me come over. Well talk.»
«No need. Ill see you at the solicitors.»
She hung up. He didnt call back.
At the solicitors the next morning, Andrew and Olivia waited. He looked exhausted, as if he hadnt slept.
«Mum, lets talk.»
«About what? Where are the papers?»
The solicitor, a sharp-eyed woman in glasses, peered over the documents.
«Margaret, you consent to the sale of the property?»
«I do.»
«You understand this relinquishes your right to reside there?»
«I do.»
«Sign here and here.»
Margaret took the pen. Her hand didnt shake.
«All done?»
«Yes, youre free to go.»
She stood. Andrew caught her in the corridor.
«Mum, wait! Where are you going?»
«The halls. My shift starts at two.»
«Dont be ridiculous! Come home, please.»
«Home?» She smiled sadly. «I dont have one, love. You made sure of that.»
«It was Olivia! Ive talked to her»
«And?»
Andrew faltered.
«She… thinks she was right.»
«Of course. And you agree, since you didnt disagree.»
«I dont agree! Its just… complicated.»
«I know, love. Go on. Olivias waiting.»
Outside, snow blanketed the streets. Margaret tilted her face up, letting flakes catch in her lashes.
«Forgive me, William,» she whispered. «I couldnt save it. But I tried.»
A month later, Andrew knocked on her tiny porters room door.
«Mum? Its me.»
«Come in.»
The room was crampeda single bed, a desk, a wardrobe. Photos on the wall: her late husband, a young Andrew, granddaughter Emily.
«How are you managing?»
«Well enough. The students are kind. Help with heavy things.»
«Mum… the cottage sold.»
«I know. Olivia called to gloat.»
«She wasnt gloating, just letting you know.»
«If you say so.»
Andrew sat on the only chair.
«I brought you money.»
«I dont want it.»
«Dont be stubborn. Its your share.»
«There is no share. The cottage was yours.»
«But morally»
«Morally?» She smiled thinly. «If morality mattered, the cottage would still stand.»
«We had no choice!»
«Theres always a choice. You couldve worked extra. Olivia couldve got a job instead of sitting home.»
«She was raising Emily!»
«Emilys nineteen. What raising?»
Andrew fell silent, then pushed an envelope across the desk.
«Thirty thousand. Take it.»
«Blood money?»
«Dont be cruel. Its help.»
«I dont need help. Ive work, a roof, food. What more is there?»
«What about us? Your family?»
Margaret studied him.
«Love, you said it yourselfIm not needed.»
«I never said that!»
«No? Who took my keys? Who sold the cottage against my wishes?»
«We were desperate!»
«Perhaps. But afterwards, I understood. Im a burden. An old woman clinging to the past.»
«Mum, stop»
«Its the truth. Im not angry. This is life.»
Andrew knelt, pressing his face into her hands.
«Mum, Im sorry. Ive been a fool.»
«Not a fool. Just lost.»
«Come home.»
«Wheres home? A rented flat where I existed on sufferance?»
«Well get a bigger place. Your own room.»
«No need. Im happy here.»
«In this box?»
«In this box, Im my own woman. No ones taking my keys.»
Andrew broke down, sobbing like a child.
«Forgive me. Please.»
She stroked his hair, just as she had when he was small.
«Its alright, love. Its alright.»
Six months later, Andrew divorced Olivia. The cottage money hadnt gone to debtsshed blown it on a new car and a girls holiday in Bali.
He came to Margaret, shamefaced.
«Now I see what an idiot I was.»
«Dont punish yourself. We all make mistakes.»
«Come home. Ive rented a two-bed. Well be 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 for me.»
«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 weekly after thatbringing groceries, sitting with her, talking. Emily moved in with him but spent more time at her grandmothers.
And Margaret lived quietly. Helping students revise, teaching them to bake, listening to their woes.
One day, the universitys dean inspected the halls. He found Margaret tutoring struggling students.
«Are you a teacher?»
«Once was. Forty years in classrooms.»
«Would you consider running prep courses? The pays modest, but its something.»
«Id love to. Thank you.»
At sixty-nine, Margaret Elizabeth returned to teaching. And she was content.
The cottage was demolished. A modern house stood in its place. Andrew drove past once, stopped, stared. Then he went to Margaret.
«Mum, I went there. Where the cottage was.»
«And?»
«Nothing left. They cut down the apple tree too.»
«Shame. Your father loved that tree.»
«Forgive me.»
«I have, love. Long ago.»
«But not forgotten.»
«No. Some things cant be forgotten. Only accepted.»
Andrew hugged her tightly.
«Youre strong.»
«No. Just old. Age changes your sight.»
«I love you, Mum.»
«And I love you, son. Always.»
They sat embraced in the tiny porters room. Snow fell outside, students hurried to lectures, life went on.
And Margaret knewwhatever came, shed endure. Because shed found the one thing that mattered: freedom to be herself. In a small room, on a modest wage, but without fear that someone would ever again say, «Youre not needed,» and take her keys away.
