Never did I imagine Id leave my own child in my grandmothers flat and come to regret it!
Id lived with my mum my entire life in our three-bedroom flata cosier blitz of shoe racks and teapots than anyone could wantso there was always enough space for the two of us. I figured Id think about moving only once I started my own family. As ever, life had its own curious plans. When I first began seeing Simon, we sensibly decided not to bother throwing money at rent. Better to save, we thought, so after half a year of marriage we shuffled our boxes back to my mums flat. Family games, you might say.
Strangest of all, my mum looked like shed been waiting for this her whole life. With Simons coat now hanging on her hall peg, she sprang into energetic motion, writing out daily to-do lists for both of us and calling me at work just to check Id eaten lunch. She was nearly seventy but fizzed with improbable energy, as if Simons presence had been the key turning on some ancient engine inside her. It quickly became unbearable, so much so we decided it was time to find another way.
Thats when Mum revealed a peculiar secret: shed inherited a flat from my grandmother years back, letting it out until now, and since we longed for our own space, she suddenly offered it to us. Of course, we were delighted, though I felt a little uneasy because she wouldnt sign it formally overshe insisted that as I was married, she didnt want Simon to have any claim if anything went askew.
The new flat felt like something out of a dreama grand old fairy tale. Still, the gift transformed quickly into a strange sort of loanevery Sunday spent in Mums village cottage, tending the garden, painting the fences, harvesting never-ending gooseberries. Wed have helped anyway, but now, we had no chance at a quiet weekend, and after a year, Simon had had enough. He wanted just one Sunday to lounge at home in his dressing gown, reading the papers. After some debate, we reached a strange compromise: instead of every weekend, we trundled out to see Mum three times a month.
When our son was born, life spun itself more tangled still. Simon visited his own mum more rarely, in an effort to support me, and none of us mentioned itafter all, everyone deserves some rest.
Then, one weekend when Simon stayed home, Mum swept into town, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. She insisted Simon owed every weekend to her, in exchange for living in her flat. When Simon explained his need for rest, she accused him of sponging off her generosity.
Right then, Simon snapped. Ill not set foot in your village again, he declared.
Mum took this as a mortal blow, and ever since, she calls every day to lament my lazy, ungrateful husband:
Never thought Id leave my own child in your grans flat and regret it! Should have let it, should have kept you all safely at bay!
Now were sifting through listings, searching for somewhere to rent. Our savings wouldnt buy a broom cupboard in London, but the idea of staying on is beyond us. I love Mum, truly, but Id rather move out than let arguments twist us out of shape. Sometimes, you have to step away and let life unravel its own peculiar logic.
What do you make of this odd little mess weve found ourselves in?
