**Why Should I Give You My Flat?**
It was Evelyn Stewarts anniversary, a milestone she had prepared for with meticulous care. From dawn, she bustled about the kitchen, determined to create perfectionno small feat for such a gathering. She had planned the menu weeks in advance, scoured farmers’ markets in the Cotswolds for the finest cheeses, organic vegetables, and fresh cuts of meat. Supermarket fare simply wouldnt do. Tonight, she wanted her family gathered around the table, savoring her cooking, just as they had when her children were small. And, of course, the cake had to be homemadeher famous Victoria sponge, the very same she had baked for her daughter Sophie and son Nicholas on every birthday.
Evelyn lost herself for a moment in memories of happier times, when the flat had been alive with laughter. Her husband, Edward Stewart, a revered physics professor; their children, Sophie and Nicholas, barely a year apart; and herself, a music teacher. Edwards academic prestigeand his connectionshad secured them this grand four-bedroom flat in Chelsea, which Evelyn had furnished with an almost obsessive elegance. Through sheer determination (or, as they used to say, *”by hook or by crook”*), she had acquired a crystal chandelier for the sitting room, a mahogany sideboard, and a full Wedgwood dinner service, not to mention the antique silver cutlery and Irish linen tablecloths. She took pride in every detaileven the soup tureen, so much grander than ladling from the pot. Friends often remarked that her home resembled a stately drawing room from a period drama. The comparison delighted her. She was a consummate hostess, effortlessly playing Chopin for guests, presiding over dinners that left everyone raving. The flat was her kingdom, her sanctuary. And oh, how she had spoiled Edward and the children with her cooking.
*”Mummy,”* little Nicholas had once asked, *”will my wife cook as well as you?”*
*”I hope so, darling. But they dont make them like me anymore,”* she replied with a wink.
*”Then Ill just live with you forever!”*
*”Oh no, you wont,”* she laughed. *”Children must leave the nest when its time. Youll have your own life, your own family.”*
And she meant it. She had no interest in becoming a live-in grandmother, squeezed into a *”clan household.”* A Sunday-visit gran, yesbut never a permanent fixture in their homes.
Then, just like that, the happy chapter ended. Edward passed suddenly one morningheart failure, the doctors said. The ambulance hadnt even made it in time. Hed complained of pains, dutifully taken his pills, but well. Mortal one moment, gone the next.
After grieving, Evelyn carried on. The children, as shed always insisted, flew the nest. Sophie graduated with a degree in economics, married Simon, and moved into a grim little rented flat in Peckhamall they could afford. Their daughter, Emily, was born in the local hospital. Nicholas, meanwhile, shacked up with his girlfriend Alexandra in a cramped student digs before finding a shoebox of a flat in Croydon.
When Sophie first married, she had tentatively asked: *”Mum could we stay with you just for a bit? Until Simon finds a proper job?”*
*”No, darling. Youre married nowstart your own life. Do you think your father and I had help? We scraped by in dreadful flats, no hot water half the time. But we managed. And lookwe built something. Youll do the same.”*
She gave Nicholas the same advice: *”Youre the man of your house now. Provide. Thats your duty.”* The children bristled, but they didnt argue. You couldnt very well force yourself on a mother who prized independence above all.
Evelyn believed *”absence makes the heart grow fonder.”* She called regularly, sent gifts, invited them for tea and scones, even tickets to her piano recitalslittle performances meant to conjure the family idyll she cherished.
Tonight, the flat shimmered with preparation: the table impeccably set, the air rich with rosemary and slow-roasted beef. Evelyn had styled her hair, applied a touch of makeup, and slipped into a sequined evening dresspaired, of course, with the diamond earrings Edward had given her.
One by one, they arrived. First Nicholas and Alexandra, bearing roses and a bone-china tea set.
*”Goodness, how exquisite! You know my taste so well,”* Evelyn trilled, embracing them.
*”Alexandra, that dress is divine on you. And your cheeksso rosy! Are you?”*
*”Actually, Mum”* Nicholas began.
*”Later, darling! Sophies on her way. That dreadful old banger of theirs broke down againtheyre taking three buses!”*
Half an hour later, Sophie arrived with Simon and Emily. They presented tulips and a velvet box: a delicate golden pendant.
*”How it sparkles! Not diamonds, of course, but lovely all the same. Ill wear it with my ring.”*
*”We couldnt stretch to diamonds, Mum,”* Sophie sighed. *”That cars a money pit, rents gone up again, Emilys ballet classes”*
*”Oh, must we dwell on the dreary? Everyone has troubles. They pass. Chin up!”* Evelyn ushered them to the table. *”Now, lets eat!”*
They feasted, complimented her cooking, made small talk about work and the unseasonable rain.
*”How lovely this is Only I do miss your father. He always brought me the grandest bouquets, you know. And jewels! Id cook his favorites”* She dabbed her eyes. *”But no matter. After supper, Ill play for us all.”*
*”Mum,”* Nicholas raised his glass, *”weve another gift. A surprisefor us as much as you.”*
Evelyn perked upperhaps diamonds after all? Something to flaunt at the faculty luncheons?
*”Alexandra and I are expecting.”*
*”Oh! Oh, my!”* she gasped after a pause. *”What wonderful news! Come here, both of you!”*
Sophie hugged her brother; Simon clapped Nicholas on the back. Emily, bored, fidgeted.
*”Biscuits now?”* she whispered.
*”Victoria sponge, darling. Just like Mummy loved as a girl.”*
Then Nicholas slid a brochure across the table: *”What do you think of this cottage?”*
*”Charming. Are you buying?”*
*”Actually, Mum its for you.”*
*”A gift?”*
*”No. Weve lived in that hovel for years. Shared bathrooms, no proper kitchen. Youve seen it. But with the baby comingwe cant raise a child there.”*
*”Then rent somewhere better.”*
*”We cant afford it. So were asking you to sell this flat. Help us buy our own.”*
Sophie and Simon stared. Evelyn blinked.
*”You want me to give up my home? Move to some godforsaken hamlet? The sheer audacity!”*
*”You rattle around in four bedrooms! A guest room you never use! Were in a box!”*
*”Ive welcomed you with open arms! Concerts, giftswhat more must I do? Count my rooms like some miser?”*
*”Parents should help their children! These are hard times!”*
*”Times are always hard! If you choose to have a child, you bear the cost. Sophie, back me up!”*
Sophie, to her shock, didnt.
*”What about us? Emilys eightweve scraped by in rentals for years! You wouldnt even let us stay after the wedding!”*
*”Because children must stand on their own feet! Must I subsidise your lives?”*
*”You hoard this flat like a dragon! Were drowning!”* Nicholas shouted.
*”I earned this. Ill not beggar myself for your choices.”*
The room fell silent. Only the clock ticked. Evelyn sliced her beef deliberately, savoring the weight of her silver.
The children seethed. Emily squirmed.
*”Biscuits now?”*
*”Victoria sponge, poppet,”* Evelyn murmured.
Sophie stood abruptly. *”Well have cake at a café. Simon, Emilycoat on. Thanks, Mum. Lovely evening.”*
*”As you wish, darling.”*
Nicholas rose too. *”Well go as well.”*
*”Work never waits, does it?”* Evelyn smiled.
In the hall, she caught their whispers:
*”Why bring it up? The flatll be ours eventually.”*
*”When? When shes ninety? Shed rather rot here than help!”*
Evelyn sipped her wine. *So theyre waiting
