A Flat for Old Age
Edith moved the plate of sliced tomatoes to the edge of the table, straightened the napkins, and cast another look around the kitchen. The kettle was hissing on the hob, the microwave humming as the chicken warmed through. By the radiator, she had placed two pairs of childrens slippers, for when they growrecently bought, and she was oddly doubly pleased that she could still choose, buy, and set things out on her own.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly. Edith started, faultered for a moment, then turned down the flame before making her way to the hallway.
Its open! she called, wiping her hands on her apron.
The door creaked open, and in came her son, Harry, with a bag in one hand and a childs backpack in the other. Behind him followed his sister, Alice, gently steering her youngest daughter by the shoulders. With them came the rustle of shopping bags, the chill scent of the street, and quick, overlapping voices.
Mum, where are your keys? Youve left them in the lock again, havent you? Harry automatically glanced at the door.
Theyre in my pocket, Edith replied, patting her dressing gown to make sure. The keys were thereweighty, familiar. She was relieved by the feel of metal beneath the cloth.
Harry moved into the kitchen and set the bag on the table. We picked up some fruit. And juiceSophie wont eat her tea without juice.
Hello, Mum. Alice kissed Ediths cheek. She smelt of shampoo and some lingering sweetness, like boiled sweets. Youve laid everything out again We said just tea.
Whats the use of just tea when the children come round? Edith waved a hand. Wheres Matthew?
Hes at home with his dad, doing homework, said Alice. Hell come next Sunday.
Edith nodded, a pang of familiar disappointment tight in her chest. She quickly brushed it away and concentrated on the table: laid another plate, pulled out the bread basket.
Dinner was noisy and warm, as always with family. Her granddaughter wandered from her seat now and again, Harry kept fetching napkins, and Alice rifled through her bag for papers, setting them down only to pick them up again.
Mum, Harry put down his fork, you havent paid the gas and electricity yet? I got a text about it, since Im listed.
I have paid, said Edith, tensing a little. I went to Barclays last week. It must be a mix-up.
Its the twenty-first century, Mum, Harry chuckled. Ill sort it out with the app later.
Edith stayed quiet. She only knew that each person had their own apps, and you had to be careful what you pressed in case something got taken without you noticing.
By the way, Alice said, regarding her salad as though she sought the right time between pieces of cucumber and tomato, someone at work told me something about a flat
Edith froze, spoon poised over the salad. What kind of story?
Her mother kept the flat only in her name, Harry joined in, and when she ended up in hospital, they couldnt sort a thingpaperwork, bills, nothing. Some right tangle with the documents.
Mum, continued Alice, we thought maybe we should sort all that in advance too. So you arent racing about if anything happens.
What do you mean, in advance? Edith set her spoon back in the bowl and wiped her fingers on the napkin, though they werent greasy.
Harry fished out a folded sheet from his jacket pocket. I got some advice. Its quite simple. We can register your share in the flat to us. It stays in the family, but paperwork would be much easier. Taxes, repairs, all that.
He slid the paper onto the oilcloth. Edith read the heading without bothering with the small print. Something hurt, deep and sharp inside her.
Is my share such a bother to you? she asked, keeping her tone steady.
Of course not, Alice reached out for her hand. Its just practical. Were your heirs anyway.
Heirs. That stung. Edith glanced at her granddaughter, who at that moment was attempting to sail a cucumber-boat in her teaspoon.
We could properly get the place renovated, Harry added. Replace the windows, the plumbing. Im about to pay off the mortgage, but after Christmas I could get a loan to do it up. The banks like it better if the propertys in my name.
My windows are still doing the job, Edith said quietly.
Harry shrugged. Maybe for you, but well have to live here one day. Our place is mortgaged to the hilt. This buildings solidbrick. Lets put it all square on paper.
Later. Later. There were too many laters. Edith stood up to take the kettle off, even though it had gone quiet. The sound of water in the sink muted the conversation.
When her children had left, the flat felt too quiet. On the table remained two half-finished glasses of juice, a plate of untouched chicken, and the paper with the legal heading about transfer of ownership. Edith picked it up, folded it with care, and placed it in the drawer where she kept old letters and the guarantee for her fridge.
She checked her keys at bedtime; laid them by the edge of the bedside table, then, not satisfied, slipped them into her handbag, which stood on the chair beside her bed. She knew she would wake in the night and feel for them again, just to be sure.
The next morning her blood pressure was up. Edith woke with her heart pounding oddly and heavy in her chest. She sat up, counted to ten, turned her head to the bedside tablethe blood pressure monitor was in its spot, the tablets in a little box to the right.
After noting down the numbers in her diary, she made herself porridge, turned on the news, then flicked over to a cookery show. But her mind kept spinning back to yesterdays phrase: Were your heirs anyway.
At lunch, her old friend Margaret rang. You never called after the GP yesterday. Are you alright? I was starting to wonder if things had got worse.
Im fine, Edith answered. The kids came by. They brought the girls.
How was it?
Edith paused, then surprised herself by admitting, They want me to sign my share of the flat over to them.
There was a silence on the end of the line.
Oh my, Margaret finally said. Are they insistent?
For now more of a suggestion. For convenience. So they dont have to rush round later.
And how does it make you feel?
Edith looked at her window. The glass was sparkling cleanshe’d washed it before autumn. Outside were neighbours’ balconies with their washing strung up, aerials pointing skyward.
Scared, she admitted. It feels like giving away the keys.
And what is it? A gift?
They say so. Harry thinks its safer than a will. A will can be challenged, but a deed of giftonce its signedits done.
He thinks he knows it all, Margaret sniffed. My cousins aunt did that. Next thing, she was sent off to a care home. She didnt last there. Edith, get advice from a solicitor. Things arent simple these days.
The word care home sent a shiver through Ediths belly. She pictured rooms with lined-up beds and strangers voices in the corridor. She saw someone else holding all the keys.
No one would send me there she began to protest.
No one plans to, while alls well, Margaret cut in. Get yourself down to the councils office. Its free advice. Or go to a solicitor. Let someone outside the family explain it to you.
After the call, Edith sat in the kitchen for quite a while, staring at her half-eaten sandwich. Finally, she stood, found the councils number where Harry had written it for her, from some old benefit application, and dialled. The robotic menu confused her, so she hung up, clucking in annoyance.
Later, calmed, she tried again and managed to arrange an appointment.
The council office was bustling and comfortably warm. Edith, shedding her hat and the too-long puffy coat she rarely wore, kept them on her knee, reluctant to leave them on a chair. Around her scrolled an electronic queue; numbers flashed on screens overhead. People leafed through papers, tapped on phones, one mother rocked a pram.
Window eight, a womans voice called her number.
Edith approached the desk. Behind it sat a young woman with neat hair tied back.
Good afternoon. How can I help?
Edith placed her passport, pension book, and property certificate on the deskall arranged in a clear folder at home to keep them safe. I have a question. My children want me to give them my share of the flat. I want to know what that means.
The woman looked at her with care, then at the documents.
How many shares? Whats the ownership?
Its a three-bedroom. Half is mine, a quarter each to my son and daughter. We sorted it out when my husband was alive, so everything was split for the children too.
I see. If you transfer your half by deed of gift, the woman explained in a neutral tone, you will cease to be an owner. Unless the contract gives you a right to live there for life, but even so, you can no longer sell, gift, or control it further.
The words for life rang loud. Edith glanced around to see if anyone else had heard.
What if I make a will and leave things as they are? she asked.
In that case, you remain owner until your death. After that, your children inherittheres a procedure. Wills can be contested, but properly drawn up, its not easy.
My children say if I fall ill, they cant access accounts, pay bills, or sell if needed.
If you lose capacity, the staff member explained, they need a legal power of attorney, guardianship, or a court order to manage the property. Its true, its more complex. But a deed of gifta giftmeans immediate transfer. The questions about trust, and your relationship.
TrustEdith felt those letters ring inside her head.
What if if they wanted to well, kick me out? she forced herself to say.
If your lifelong right to reside is in the contract, they cant evict you, the woman said, leaning forward. But they could mortgage or sell the property, with your residence as a condition. The new owner would have to let you live there, butthings can get complicated.
Complicatedan abstract but frightening word. Edith twisted her handbag strap.
Are you sure you want to transfer everything now? the woman said quietly. Forgive me, but its irreversible.
The unexpected kindness brought tears to Ediths eyes.
Im not sure, she confessed. I just wanted to understand.
You did the right thing coming. Personally, not as an employeeif youre hesitant, do a will. You can change it anytime. A gift, you cannot undo.
Edith nodded, gathered her papers, replaced them carefully.
On the way home, the flutter of worry left her legs weak. On the bus, she took a seat by the window, holding onto a rail with one hand, clutching her bag to her with the other. The keys nestled, heavy and reassuring, in their usual compartment.
That evening her children rang.
How are you? Alice asked. Harry and I might pop round Sundayto look at the papers.
No need on Sunday, Edith said. I went to the council office today.
A pause.
And? Harrys voice sharpened.
They explained. A deed of gift means Im no longer the owner. You could then sell or mortgage the flat Id live here until, well, the endand afterwards, its out of my hands.
Mum, as if wed ever Harry broke off, exhaling heavily. Do you really think wed treat you like that?
I dont think you would, Edith said gently. But I want to still have my own key to my door. Not just on paper.
It would be the same, really, Alice interjected. Mum, its just so much easier for us to get it sorted now. You dont know how much hassle it is later on. My colleague spent half a year challenging dodgy gifts her father had been talked into.
Ill write a will, said Edith. Youll both be named. Then everyone knows where they stand and I can sleep easy.
Wills can be challenged, Harry insisted. And the taxes are higher. Well have more to pay later. If we do it now, we can forget about it.
Forget about itEdith heard that too clearly.
Im not ready to gift anything yet, she said, suddenly firm. Lets do this: Ill talk to a solicitor. Then well sit together and decide.
What is there to decide? Harry began, but Alice interrupted.
Alright, Mum. See the solicitor. Just dont drag your feetdo it while youre still sharp; its easier now.
Edith heard the worry in her daughters voice. Not just about taxes and renovations. About what would happen if Edith truly could no longer look after herself.
Afterwards, she wandered the flat for a long while. She stopped at the old wardrobe in the sitting room, running her hand over the varnished wood, scarred by years. She and her late husband had bought it when Harry was ten. Her shoulders felt heavy, as if she was weighed down by an extra coat.
Booking the solicitor took effort. The first office had no appointment for three weeks. Edith hung up, sat for a moment, then rang another, and got a slot for the next Friday.
On the day, she arrived early, treading quietly down the corridor, feeling uneasy about brushing past strangers with her coat. The plaque on the door bore the name of the solicitor. The secretary, a young woman in a crisp blouse, took her paperwork and asked her to wait.
Come through, she was finally told.
The solicitor was a man in his fifties, glasses on his nose, hands folded over a neat pile of files.
Tell me your story, he invited.
Edith explained: how theyd bought the flat, split the shares, what her children wanted, what she feared.
Your worries are perfectly understandable, he said, hands steepled. A deed of gift, in essence, is just thata gift. You lose your ownership instantly. Even if we write in a lifelong right to remain, you cant make decisions about the flat without their say. With a will, you hold control until the end.
The children say a will can be overturned.
Any document can be challenged, he replied, calm. It depends on grounds. If youre competent and the paperworks proper, its rare that a challenge succeeds. And he spread his hands, challenges only happen after. While youre alive, your will means nothing to them.
Theyre worried that if Im ill
You can create a Lasting Power of Attorney for property, he explained. Authorize one of the children to act for you. That way, if youre unable to manage temporarily, they can pay bills and sign documents. But you stay the legal owner.
That seemed a middle ground to Edith.
And if I do want to gift it, but make sure they cant just move me out without my say?
You can add conditionslifelong right of residence, restriction on sale or remortgage without your written consent. That limits their ability to act without you. But nothing removes all risk. Theres always the human factor.
Human factor sounded dry, but Edith pictured itrows, anger, their fatigue.
Heres what I suggest, said the solicitor. Draft a will with your share going equally to your children. Set up a Power of Attorney in parallel. In a year or two, if you change your mind, you can revisit the gift. It gives you time to see what sits best.
What if they take offence? she blurted.
He looked over his glasses. Thats not a matter of law. But if you sign something under pressure, you may end up resenting them or yourself. Youll have to live with it.
The words live with it felt suddenly solidabout mornings at her kitchen stove, with her keys in her hand.
Edith took a deep breath.
Lets do the will and the Power of Attorney, she said. If I decide on the gift later, Ill come back.
He nodded, detailing what she needed to bring. Edith listened carefully, feeling shed need to explain it all calmly to her childrenwithout apologising.
A family meeting was fixed for Saturday. Harry insisted it be at her placeon site. Early in the morning he texted: Well be round at two, with Linda. Alice confirmed shed be there too.
Edith spent the morning cleaning, to keep her hands busywiping shelves, scrubbing the sink, rearranging the windowsill plants. She checked again that her documents folder was ready on the table. The keys, as always, were in her bag beside the chair.
Right before two, the bell rang.
Mum, hi, Harry strode in, shoes still on. No kidsfigured wed talk undistractedly.
After him walked his wife Linda, who greeted Edith, kissed her cheek, and blushed under her gaze. Alice appeared last, already extracting a notebook from her bag.
Shall we sit? Edith suggested.
They settled around the kitchen table. This time, the surface was mostly empty: just the kettle, mugs, a plate of biscuits.
Harry laid out printed sheets. Heres the draft for the deed of gift. My friend did it this wayvery fair, no catch. Your half would go to me and Alice, quarter each. You remain registered; you live here as usual.
Edith set down her own folder. I saw a solicitor, she said. And heres what I decided. Ive made a willeverything splits between you. And I did a Power of Attorney so, Harry, you can handle the bills if I cant.
He frowned. Mum, weve discussed this. A will doesnt help. With our mortgageif its transferred now, I can sort the finance, do up the place. Better for you too.
My home suits me fine, Edith replied calmly. Ive lived here thirty years.
But couldnt it be better? Linda coaxed, trying to be gentle. Were not talking about sending you off she hesitated, Its about making things nice.
Edith felt heat rise under her skin, but her voice stayed even. I know you mean well. But I wont sign over the flat just now.
The pause stretched out. The neighbours footsteps sounded outside, then the communal door banged.
Why? Harry pressed at last. Be specific. Not just dread or not sure. Dont you trust us?
A sharp blow. Ediths hands tightened on her skirt.
I do trust you, she said. But I have to trust myself too. To keep the right to make decisions while Im myself. You know the details of my willyou can see it. But until that time, I want my share to stay mine.
Alice shifted her pen from hand to hand. Mum, pleaseif, God forbid, you had a stroke or something, wed struggle to get anything sorted. Guardianship, courts, paperwork. You hate all that bureaucracythis is to spare you.
And ourselves, Harry added, not meeting Alices eye.
Yes, us too, Alice admitted. Kids, jobs. We just dont want arguments by your hospital bed over a bit of paper.
Her words left a bitter taste. Edith pictured herself lying in a ward, a drip, their voices above her.
Thats exactly why, she said slowly, I dont want any more to think about. I dont want to be lying there, knowing you could move me out, sell it without a wordeven if you never do.
We wont, said Harry abruptly.
I believe you dont plan to, but Ive seen how exhausting it is to care for someone, how anger creeps in. I want it so youll never even think, If only we could sell up, life would be easier. I want you protected from that temptation.
She was calm, amazed at her own clarity, as if the words had assembled themselves inside her over the days.
Harry leant back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. So you dont trust us, he murmured, much softer.
Im protecting both you and myself, she replied. If, after a year or two, I see youre truly taking on a lot and I want to make life easier for you, Ill reconsider. But not now.
Linda stared at the table, fidgeting with her mug.
Mum, she broke in softly, how about thisyou keep everything as is, but lets at least get the Power of Attorney so Harry can manage things ifwell, if youre ill or forget. Youve told us how cold it was, queueing at the Post Office last winter.
Its sorted, said Edith. The solicitor did it for bills and paperwork. Ill give you a copy, Harry. You can pick it up tomorrow.
Harry let his hands fall, rubbing his face. Just know what youre choosing, he said. If something happens, well have a messand you could have made it easier.
I know, Edith nodded. But understand, too. This is my home. My share. I cant give it up while I can still put one foot in front of the other.
For the first time that evening, Alice looked directly at her.
Are you frightened well pack you off somewhere? she asked in a hollow voice.
Edith felt no fear now, but a bloom of shame.
Im afraid of becoming a burden, she said. And I want to keep at least a little power. So if you get weary, I still have the right to choose. Even if only in theory.
Nobody replied. Behind the walls, the pipes murmured with distant water.
Enough, Linda broke the silence. Harry, we cant force her. Its her right.
He nodded, still brooding.
I dont want to force you, he muttered. Justdont say we didnt try to help.
I wont, Edith said softly.
They sat a little longer, talking about Sophies school, Alices work. But an undercurrent ran through it all. Edith found herself watching Harry, just as shed once watched a little boy sulking over a lost toy.
Once theyd gone, she locked the door and checked the bolt, her keys warm in her palm.
The next two weeks seemed to pass slightly off-rhythm. The children called less. Harrys only message concerned the gas billalready paid thanks to the Power of Attorney. Alice sent a photo of the granddaughter at a school play, just a heart for caption.
Edith tried not to blame herself for saying no, but as she made her breakfast each morning, shed listen for her phone in the quiet kitchen. She brushed crumbs more carefully from the table, simply to busy her hands.
Margaret called in with a cake one afternoon.
Well then? Have you handed the palace over yet? she quipped as she unbuttoned her coat.
Edith laughed. No. I wrote a will, gave a Power of Attorneyfor bills. Didnt gift a thing.
Margaret grunted approval. And the children?
Harrys miffed. Alice understands but shes on edge. Sometimes I think I shouldve just signed and had done. At least thered be calm.
For whom? Margarets eyebrow shot up. Them? Nights on a care home pillow, and you wouldnt ring me anymore.
Edith suddenly pictured herself dialling her friend from a strange room, alien furnishings, and burst into laughter and tears at once. The tears surprised herchildish and raw.
Margaret perched beside her, wordlessly placing her palm on Ediths back.
Youve every right to want your own home, she said after a pause. Thats neither caprice nor greed. Its your life.
Those words nestled inside Edith, not as a slogan, but as a statement of fact. She wiped her eyes with the kitchen towel and drew a deep breath.
Ill water my plants, she said. Or Ill kill them with worrying.
The next Saturday, as she polished the leaves of her old ficus, the phone rang.
Mum, hello. Alices voice was softer than before. Are you in?
At homewhere else? Is anything wrong?
Not at all. Matthew and I would like to come round. Hes begging for your dumplingslike you made before. If its alright?
That we sounded to Edith like a tiny bridge being rebuilt.
Of course, come along, she said. I was just heading to the shop. Well get mince and make them together.
Great. See you in an hour.
After hanging up, Edith paused at the window. In the communal garden, someone walked their dog, children dribbled footballs. On her sill, the plants lined up in their pots, and the flat felt peacefulhers and orderly.
She reached for her handbag, checked the purse, the documents, the keys. Each was where she wanted them. She squeezed the keys tight for a moment, feeling the weight and cold of the metal, before slipping them back.
She pulled on her coat, wrapping the scarf tight, and left her flat, double-checking the lock. The hallway smelled faintly of home, with doors closed along the landing.
As she took each step down the stairs, Edith noticed her breath was deep and steady. Ahead was the shop, the butchers, pastry, her grandsons small hands at her kitchen table. In the distance, more talks to be had. But for now, she had an hourto go at her own pace, about her own business, in her own home, with her own keys safe in her bag.
She stepped out into the street, adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and made her way to the shops, knowing that behind her, her flat still echoed with the things and memories shed gathered. More than that: it echoed with her right, as long as breath lasted, to decide for herself how she would spend her old age.
