The phone rings just as Im pulling the tray of roasted peppers from the oven, and my sister’s name flashes up on the screen. She never calls at lunchtime unless theres a reason.
Is Mum at yours? she asks, skipping any greeting.
I tell her shes not here, and even before she hangs up, I can hear shes out of breath, her voice a bit panicked as if shes rushing upstairs. Then she says, If she comes round, dont sign anything.
I stand there, my hand still gripping the hot oven handle, not even feeling the burn for a moment. Ive already set two plates on the table; my husbands due home any minute, and the stew on the hob smells of dill and tomatoes. Its an ordinary day. Only now, everything suddenly rings with warning.
Mum arrives in less than an hour. She doesnt knock like usual but lets herself in with the spare key I gave her years ago for emergencies. She walks in, swings her big brown handbag onto the hallway floor, and smiles with that look people have when theyve already made a decision for you.
Good thing youre home, she says. I just need your signature. Its a formality.
She hands me a folder and, sticking out from between the papers, theres an old photo me at eighteen, her beside me, both my parents standing outside our old block. The same block where Grans flat was.
What sort of formality? I ask.
For the flat. To finally sort things out. Your brother needs it, you know.
Thats what stings. Not the request itself, but the way she says it. As if I should already know. Like my name is only there on paper, temporary, until they decide what to do with my life.
I sit down not because Im calm, but because my knees wont support me any longer. I open the folder and see that its not a formality at all. My signature would mean giving up my share in the inheritance Gran left for both me and my brother. Only now, it all goes to him.
Why didnt you tell me on the phone? I whisper.
Because you always make a scene, she replies and starts fussing with my tablecloth, as if shes just visiting for tea. This is family. You need to help.
Right then, the front door opens and my husband walks in. He sees the folder, sees my face, and stops in the doorway with a bag of bread in his hand.
Am I interrupting something? he asks.
Mum doesnt even glance at him. This is between mother and daughter.
The worst part is that he stays silent. He places the bread on the counter and just looks at me, as if waiting for me to decide whether to sink or to save myself. His quiet hits harder than her words.
I read through the papers again. Theres a note attached with a paperclip my brothers handwriting. Only one line:
Dont play the victim, youre sorted.
I look at Mum and, for the first time, I dont see a tired woman trying to hold the family together. I see someone whos spent years taking from one child to patch things up for the other. Im the convenient one. Im always meant to understand. Always me.
So thats how youve arranged it? I ask.
Dont start, she says.
No, I am starting. Right now.
I stand up, hand her the folder, and the photo slips out, landing on the floor. I pick it up, set it on top of the papers.
Is this what family means to you? I say. To let yourself in with my key, lie to me, and expect gratitude?
She goes pale. Youre being awful to me.
And youre behaving even worse.
Theres that heavy silence where even the ticking clock sounds insolent. The smell of slightly burnt peppers drifts from the kitchen. At last, my husband takes a step forward and says, Mrs Turner, perhaps its time for you to leave now.
Mum looks at him as if hes the traitor, not her. She gathers up the paperwork, stuffs it in the folder, grabs her handbag.
At the door, she turns and says, Youll regret this one day.
I open the door wide. Maybe. But at least I wont regret giving myself up.
Once shes gone, I sink into my chair and say nothing for a long time. Thats when it hits me something sharp and unkind. Some people call pressure love, just because it suits them. And when you finally stop giving in, suddenly, youre the villain.
Did I make a mistake refusing, or did she cross the line the moment she walked in with my key?
