“Off to the cottage again? Might as well live there full-time,” laughed the daughter as she listed the flat for rent.
“Mum, remember where my blue hoodie is?” shouted Emily from her bedroom. “The one with the pockets.”
Margaret set aside the old photo albums shed been sorting through and listened. Her daughter was rummaging through the wardrobe, hangers clattering.
“Probably in the wash,” she called back. “Check the airing cupboard.”
“Found it!” came the reply moments later.
Margaret returned to the photographs. There was little Emily, cradled in her late husband Jamess arms by their first car. Another of her in school uniform, clutching a bouquet on her first day. Then her graduation…
“Mum, whats all that?” Emily emerged, pulling on the blue hoodie.
“Oh, just old photos from the chest of drawers. Deciding what to keep.”
Emily leaned in, peering at the box.
“Lookus at the cottage!” She picked up a picture of the three of them by the newly built summerhouse. “Dad was still here. Feels like forever ago.”
“Eight years,” Margaret said quietly. “Itll be eight this August.”
“Time flies,” Emily sighed, setting it down. “Mum, actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
Something in her tone put Margaret on edge. Thirty-four years of motherhood had taught her every inflection in Emilys voice. This cautious note usually preceded bad news.
“About what, love?”
Emily drifted into the kitchen, sitting at the table. Margaret followed.
“Thing is, Ive got this amazing work opportunity,” Emily began, avoiding her mothers gaze. “A client wants me to develop an online store, build the site.”
“Thats wonderful,” Margaret said warmly. “Youre brilliant at that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, but theres a catch.” Emily fiddled with a teaspoon. “The pays fantastic, but its remote. Id need peace to focus, and this flats too noisy.”
“Why? I dont disturb you.”
“Mum, come on. The telly, phone calls, the neighbours blasting music through the walls. I need silence to work properly.”
Margaret nodded. Their thin-walled flat in Croydon wasnt exactly peaceful, especially with the students next door.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I was thinking…” Emily hesitated. “Maybe I could rent somewhere quieter? A nice area. The pay would cover it.”
“Rent? Whats wrong with this place?”
“Mum, dont take it like that. Of course its home. But I need a proper workspace. Just for a year.”
Margaret stared, bewildered. Theyd always lived together, even during Emilys brief marriageher husband had moved in with them. When it fell apart, he left, but Emily stayed.
“And Id be here alone?”
“But youre always at the cottage!” Emily brightened. “Youre there from May to October anyway. Why not stay full-time?”
“Full-time?” Margaret echoed.
“Yeah, move there properly, and well rent this place out. Split the income fairly.”
A lump rose in Margarets throat.
“So youre evicting me?”
“Dont be dramatic!” Emily waved her hands. “Its just practical. You love it there, and this flat sits empty half the year.”
“And winter? The cottage is freezing.”
“Use the wood burner. Or well get an electric heater.”
“Emily,” Margaret said softly, “are you seriously suggesting a sixty-year-old woman winters in a cottage?”
“Youre fifty-nine! Plenty of retirees live in cottages year-round. Fresh air, peace and quiet.”
“And no one around if something happens.”
“The neighbours are there! The Wilsons, the Harpers. They stay through winter.”
Margaret fell silent, digesting it. Emily pressed on:
“Think about it. Why keep a two-bed flat when it could earn us money? Rentals are booming here.”
“What if this job falls through?”
“It wont. Its a long-term project. Even if it ends, Ill find something else.”
Margaret stood, walking to the window. Kids played below; a dog barked. The familiar hum of suburban life shed known for decades.
The cottage was different. A plot in Kent, an hour from London. The little house she and James had built themselves, the garden theyd tended. A retreatnot a full-time home.
“Emily, have you considered if I fall ill? If I need an ambulance?”
“Youve got your phone. And the car.”
“I barely drive since passing my test. You know Im nervous.”
“Youll get used to it. Or take the bus.”
Margaret turned.
“Youve already decided, havent you?”
Emily flushed.
“No! Im just suggesting. Think it over.”
“When do you need an answer?”
“Well… the project starts on the first. So three weeks.”
Margaret picked up a photographher and James, newlyweds, grinning by their first home. Twenty-two and twenty-five, their whole lives ahead.
“Remember how we got this flat?” she asked.
“Course I do. Youve told me a hundred times.”
“Your dad waited eight years on the council list. Overtime at the factory, community work. All for these two rooms.”
“Mum, that was ages ago. Things are different now.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “Back then, parents brought their children home. They didnt ship them off to cottages.”
“Now youre exaggerating. Im not throwing you out. Its mutual benefit.”
Margaret almost laughed. Mutual benefit? What benefit was there in winter isolation?
“Fine,” she said. “Ill think about it.”
“Brilliant!” Emily beamed. “Itll work out. Well split the rent evenlynice extra for your pension.”
She kissed Margarets cheek.
“Off to Sarahs. Dont wait up.”
The door clicked shut, leaving Margaret alone with her thoughts.
That evening, as darkness fell and Emily still hadnt returned, Margaret sipped tea at the kitchen table, untangling her emotions.
Part of her saw the logic. The cottage was lovely in summerquiet, serene. But living there full-time? Especially winter?
And then there was Emilys casual rearranging of their lives. As if her mother were an inconvenience, to be gently removed under the guise of practicality.
She remembered Emilys plea eight years ago, after James died:
“Mum, dont be alone. Move in with me. I dont want to be by myself either.”
Now that same daughter was nudging her out. Softly, kindlybut out all the same.
The next morning, Emily rushed through breakfast.
“Made up your mind?” she asked, zipping her coat.
“Still thinking.”
“Right. But the client needs an answer.”
“What if I say no?”
Emily faltered.
“Then… Id have to turn it down. Such a shamethe moneys incredible.”
“So its decided, then.”
“No! Just explaining.”
After Emily left, Margaret took the bus to Kent. She needed to see the cottage anewcould it really be home?
The autumnal chill had turned the leaves gold. The cottage greeted her with the scent of apples and stillness. She aired the rooms, checked the wood burner.
It was small but cosy. Two rooms, a kitchenette, the sunroom. Firewood stocked. Livable, certainly.
“Margaret!” called Mr Wilson from next door. “Staying long?”
“Not sure. Emily wants to rent the flat out.”
“Ah. Well, winters here are tough. Especially alone.”
“But you and Linda manage.”
“Were used to it. Pensions dont stretch in town.”
That night, sitting on the sunroom, Margaret listened to the silenceno sirens, no shouts. Just the occasional passing car.
And the unspoken truth: her daughter was evicting her. However prettily wrapped, the fact remained.
Back in Croydon, Emily returned triumphant.
“Signed the contract! Just need to sort the flat.”
“Youve already found tenants?”
“Nearly. A couple viewing tomorrow.”
The coldness spread through Margaret.
“You advertised without my answer?”
“I… thought youd agree. You always say how much you love it there.”
“In summer.”
“Mum, dont make a fuss. Winters finequiet, peaceful.”
“And freezing.”
“Youll have the burner. Almost romantic.”
Margaret studied her daughterbright-eyed, eager. Oblivious to what she was really asking.
“Fine,” she said. “Ill agree. On my terms.”
“Which are?”
“We rent the flat. But I keep all the income. Compensation for the inconvenience.”
“Mum! Thats not fair! The flats half mine.”
“Your share was a birthday gift. Consider it returned.”
Emily gaped.
“But I need money too! For my own place.”
“Youre earning
