Emily, what colour is that? Margaret snapped, thrusting a manicured finger adorned with a heavy gold ring into the fan of wallpaper samples. I asked for peach and youve brought me some hospitalbeige. You clearly have no taste, dear. But I suppose you cant be expected to have any, coming from a modest background.
Emily inhaled deeply, trying to steady the tremor in her hands. They had been standing in the middle of the Homebase DIY store for three hours. Her feet ached, the stale air and the smell of rubber made her head throb, and her motherinlaw still couldnt decide which shade would grace the walls of her future dream sitting room.
Margaret, thats not beigeits Champagne, Emily said as calmly as she could. Peach would actually make the room feel smaller, and you already have too much furniture. We agreed on light tones to let more light in, since you keep complaining the flat feels dark and oppressive.
The oppression isnt the flat, its my blood pressure, which spikes every time you argue, Margaret clutched her chest dramatically. James! Come here and see what your wife is suggesting. She wants to lock her mother in a whitewashed room like a madhouse.
James, Emilys husband, had been polishing drills in the neighbouring aisle. He shuffled over with a guilty, weary expression. He never liked conflict and usually either buried his head in the sand or went along with whoever shouted the loudest and in this household, Margaret was always the loudest.
Ma, Emily finished a interiordesign course, she knows more about colour than I do, James began timidly, but was instantly cut off by his mothers icecold stare.
Did you finish a course? Ive lived a whole life! Margaret huffed. Fine, take your Champagne, just dont say I didnt warn you. Ill pick the curtains myselfvelvet, burgundy, with tassels. No arguing.
Emily fell silent. Arguing over velvet drapes in a fortyfivesquaremetre flat was pointless. The priority was to buy the materials and start. The faster they finished the cursed renovation, the sooner a peaceful life could beginat least thats what she believed then.
The story began six months earlier. Emily and James were renting a modest flat on the outskirts of Manchester, squirreling away every penny for a mortgage. Money came in slowly: the car broke down, grocery prices rose, and so on. Then Margaret dropped a royal proposal.
She lived alone in a twobedroom flat in a prewar building right in the city centre. The apartment was spacious and welllocated, but it was a disaster. No renovation had been done since the 1970s: the parquet creaked like an old cart, plaster fell from the ceiling, and the bathroom pipes rattled so loudly neighbours knocked on the radiators. Margaret constantly complained that she was embarrassed to invite friends, but as a pensioner she had no money for repairs.
Lets make a deal, she said one evening over dinner, spreading butter on a sodabread roll. You move in with me, rentfree. The £300 you currently pay in council housing disappears. The savings you make go straight into fixing my flat. Youll end up with a proper home, and Ill have a comfortable old age. In two years youll have saved enough for a deposit, and the flat will belong to James eventually. Its a winwin.
Emily was hesitant. She didnt want to live under the same roof as a motherinlaw with a notoriously difficult temperament. But James was instantly excited.
Emily, think about it! Its central, only a fifteenminute walk to work. Wed save £300 a monththats £7,200 a year. In two years wed have saved a tidy sum, plus the money we already have. Well do the renovation, Mom will be happy, and well have a comfortable place. Shes old, she needs help.
Emily gave in. Love for James and practical calculation outweighed the quiet voice in her head whispering Run.
They moved in November. At first things were calm. Margaret, pleased that someone could now lug groceries and mop floors, behaved politely. But once the intensive phase of the renovation began, chaos erupted.
Emily poured every saving£16,500into the project. That covered new wiring, plumbing, plastering, flooring, and the handful of professional tradespeople they could afford. Most of the work they did themselves. She learned to skim, paste wallpaper without seams, and lay laminate. After her day job as an accountant, she would change into old sportswear, tie a kerchief, and work until midnight. James helped where he could, mainly by hauling rubbish and bringing bags of supplies.
Margaret never lifted a trowel, but she supervised with gusto.
Emily! Why are you slamming the kitchen door so hard? Im just resting! And the paint smells terriblemy migraine is getting worse! Couldnt you have bought a lowodour brand?
Its a premium waterbased paint, it barely smells, Emily answered from a ladder, roller in hand.
Then why does it feel like Im choking? And why start with the kitchen? I need a place to drink tea! We should have begun in the hallway.
The daily tirades continued, but Emily gritted her teeth and pressed on. She saw the end: a bright, airy home where she and James could have a spacious bedroom and a kitchen perfect for dinner parties. She convinced herself she was investing in their future.
By May the renovation was complete. The flat was unrecognisable. The dark, musty den had become a sleek, modern space with oak parquet, stretch ceilings, and Italian tiles in the bathroom. Emily designed an ergonomic kitchen with integrated appliances shed always dreamed of.
That evening, as the final burgundy curtainschosen by Margaretwere hung, Margaret strutted around like a queen of a copper mine, touching the new cabinets, flicking the sensor switches, and scrutinising every baseboard joint.
Well, she said, settling on the new sofa in the living room, not bad. Spotless. The chandelier could have been a bit fancier, but itll do for young folk.
Emily, eyes ringed with dark circles, managed a tired smile. It felt like normal life might finally begin. She and James claimed the former sitting room, now split into zones, while Margaret retreated to her newly refurbished bedroom.
The peace lasted exactly two weeks.
One Friday, Emily returned home early, hoping to soak in a longoverdue bath. She heard voices in the kitchen. Margaret was chatting merrily with a guest. Peeking in, Emily froze.
Seated at the table was Claire, Jamess older sister, a twicedivorced woman from a nearby town who lived with her teenage son. Their relationship had always been strained; Claire believed James owed her financial support and resented Emily for taking his wallet.
Well, look at this place! Claire exclaimed, biting into a slice of cake. Emily, youve turned it into a magazine spread. Did you spend a fortune?
Enough, Emily replied tersely, heading for the kettle. What brings you here?
Just visited mum, missed her company. And wow, the sofadoes it pull out?
It does, Emily said cautiously.
Perfect! Margaret clapped. Claires thinking of moving back to town. Work isnt going well, her personal life is a mess. Shell stay with us for a while.
Emilys hand trembled around her mug.
We agreed this is just for James and me. Were saving for a mortgage. Where will Claire sleep? she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
In the sitting room, of coursethe spare bedroom. Well put a sofabed there to start, Margaret replied as if it were obvious. Were family, arent we? Its not a problem to make a little room for her.
Emilys throat tightened. We just finished the renovation. We poured all our savings into this. We wanted a quiet home.
And thats exactly why we must share it, Claire interjected. Its Margarets flat, after all. Im listed on the lease, so I have the right to stay.
That night Emily and James had a difficult conversation. She hoped James would side with her, explain to his mother and sister that such a plan was unreasonable. Instead, James sat on the edge of the bed, head down, playing with the corner of the blanket.
Emily, what can I do? he muttered. Claire really has nowhere else to go. She sold her flat, lost money, and Mum is terrified of being left on the street. We cant just kick them out.
We cant kick them out, Emily replied slowly. Theyre living off us now. We renovated, created a home, and now theyre treating it like a guest house.
James hesitated. Maybe we can put it off for a month or two until she finds work?
A month or two turned into the whole summer, Emily thought. Life became a nightmare. Claire acted as if she owned the place, scattering her belongings across the living room, smoking on the balcony despite Emilys pleas, while her teenage son monopolised the new flatscreen TV Emily had bought.
Margaret blossomed in her role as cohost, sipping tea with her daughterinlaw and staying silent whenever Emily entered a room. Complaints poured in.
Emily, why didnt you dry the bathroom tiles after you used them? Theres streaks everywhere! You chose that dark, blotchy tile yourself! Claire shouted.
Ill clean them, Emily snapped back. Your son spilled cola on the laminate yesterday and didnt wipe it up. The floors swollen now!
Dont blame the child! Margaret intervened. Youre being petty and greedy! We gave you a roof for free!
In September the final blow came. Emily returned home to find the frontdoor lock jammed. She wrestled it open, stumbled over a pile of suitcasesher own and Jamesslying in the hallway. Margaret emerged, supported by Claire, whose face wore a satisfied grin.
Whats happening? Emily asked, her hands shaking.
This is whats been coming for ages, Margaret said sharply. Were fed up. My blood pressure spikes every evening because of your constant complaining. Claire says youre provoking her on purpose. Pack your things and leave.
Where? Emily whispered. We have no flat. We spent all our savings on this renovation. We cant even afford a nights rent; the next payday is two weeks away.
Thats your problem, Claire snapped. Youre adults. My mothers heart is weak, and James can stay if he wishes. As for you, Emily, youre not needed here.
Emily turned to James, who stood in the doorway, pale and wideeyed.
James? she called. Are you going to stay silent while you and your mother throw us out after we built you a palace from a pigsty?
James lifted his gaze to his mother, then to Emily. Mum really is unwell. Maybe maybe you could stay with a friend for a while? Ill talk to them, try to sort this slowly. We cant just argue all night.
Something inside Emily snapped. A loud, ringing crack like a snapped string. She realised there was no longer a we. There was a scared boy clinging to his mothers skirt and a woman who had believed in a fairytale family.
Fine, she said, voice steadier than she felt. Ill leave. But Im taking whats mine.
What are you taking? Claire shrieked. The wallpaper? The tiles? Ill call the police!
Dont worry, Emily said with a wry smile, grabbing her bag. I wont waste any more energy on you. Let the renovation be the thing that finally drives you mad.
She walked to the door, bags in hand. James tried to follow, but Margaret seized his arm.
Dont run after her, James! Let her cool off, shell come crawling back for forgiveness tomorrow.
Emily didnt return. Not tomorrow, not next week.
The first night she slept on a colleagues couch, weeping until dawn in a tiny kitchen. She was homeless, penniless, and husbandless. The feeling of being used burned like acid.
But Emily was not the type to linger on the floor. Years of independence and the grit earned from the renovation hardened her resolve. She rented a small room in a shared house, took a modest loan, and filed for divorce.
She ignored Jamess frantic texts: Emily, dont be stubborn, come back, Mum will let you stay if you apologise, Im miserable without you, but its your fault. Each message only reinforced that she had made the right choice.
Three months later she threw herself into work, picking up extra accounting jobs for small firms in the evenings. Life slowly steadied. Then, on New Years Eve, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
Hello?
Emily? Its Valerie, the neighbour from opposite, where Margaret lives.
Valerie Hart, yes. Whats wrong?
Its a disaster. Waters been flooding the building for hours. Ive been knocking, no one answers. Theres shouting, fighting Claire and her mother are yelling at each other. They even threatened a man who was with Claire. The pipe burst, probably because someone smashed it in a drunken row.
Emily listened, feeling only a faint fatigue.
Valerie, Im sorry, but I cant help. Its not my house any more. Call the housing office and the police if they wont open up.
Later she learned the flat had suffered serious damage: the flooded water ruined the oak floor below, the stretch ceiling sagged, and the expensive Italian tiles had to be ripped out. Margaret and Claires relationship fell apart completely. Two dominant women could not coexist in one flat without a third party to shoulder the blame. James, exhausted by the relentless battles, moved out to a friends sofa and began drinking heavily.
Six months after that, Emily ran into James on the street. He looked older, his shirt rumpled, eyes dull.
Emily hi, he said.
Hello, she replied, standing tall in a sleek coat, confidence in her posture, a spark in her eyes.
How are you? Heard you got a promotion?
Yes, Im now senior accountant. Bought my own little studio flat painted exactly the colour I want, no meddling opinions.
James gave a rueful smile.
Our mums still ill. Claire moved out but is suing for a share of the flat, saying the renovation increased its value. Its a mess. Emily maybe we could try again? I was a fool. I love you. Mum regrets; she says only with you was everything orderly.
Emily looked at her former husband and shook her head. She felt no pity. The sorrow she had felt that night, standing with her bags under Claires scornful gaze, had hardened into something useful.
No, James. Sort out your own house. Ive already finished my own renovationinside and out. Ive cleared the rubbish from my life.
She walked past him, heels clicking on the pavement, wind tugging at her hair. For the first time in years she felt completely, unequivocally free. Losing the flat and the money turned out to be a small price for discovering herself and shedding people who never valued her.
Sometimes the only way to build a solid foundation is to tear down the walls that keep you trapped.
