**Why Should I Give You My Flat?**
Today was Eleanor Whitmores milestone birthday. She had been bustling about the kitchen since dawn, determined to make everything perfectno small feat when feeding such a crowd. She had planned the menu weeks in advance, sourcing farm-fresh vegetables, artisanal cheese, and the finest cuts of meat from a distant market. Supermarket fare simply wouldnt do. She wanted to gather her family around the table, to watch them enjoy her cooking, and to bake her famous honey cake, just as she had for her daughter Lillian and son Thomas when they were children.
With a wistful sigh, Eleanor remembered the past, when they had all lived together under this roofher husband, Edward Whitmore, a distinguished physics professor, their children, Lillian and little Tommy, and herself, a music teacher. Edwards prestige and connections had earned them this grand four-bedroom flat in Kensington, which Eleanor had furnished with impeccable taste. She had hunted down a crystal chandelier for the parlour, a mahogany dresser, and a fine Dresden china setlinen tablecloths, lace napkins, heirloom silverware. Nothing gave her more pride than serving soup from an ornate tureen rather than a dull pot. Friends often remarked that her home resembled a museum, or perhaps a drawing room from the Victorian era. Eleanor adored the comparison. She was a gracious hostess, skilled at piano, at conversation, at making her home a fortress of elegance. Her cooking was legendary, and she had spoiled her husband and children terribly.
“Mum, will my wife cook as well as you?” little Tommy had once asked.
“I hope so, darling, but its a rare talent,” shed replied with a smile.
“Then Ill just live with you forever!”
“Oh, no,” shed laughed. “Children must grow up and leave the nest, my dear. Youll have your own family one day.” She had always believed in distance making the heart grow fonderSunday visits, holiday gatherings, but never under one roof like some cramped, clinging clan.
Then, suddenly, the happy years ended, and Eleanor was alone.
Edward had died without warning one grey morninga heart attack, so swift the ambulance never stood a chance. Hed taken his pills, seen his doctors, but death is cruel that way. Eleanor grieved, then carried on as best she could. The children flew the nest, just as shed always said they should. Lillian studied economics, married Simon, and moved into a grim little rental in a rough part of Croydonall they could afford. Their daughter, Sophie, was born in the local hospital. Thomas, meanwhile, took up with a girl named Emily, renting a dismal bedsit before moving out entirely.
When Lillian first married, she had tentatively asked, “Mum, could we stay with you a while? Just until Simon finds proper work?”
“No, darling,” Eleanor had said firmly. “Marriage means standing on your own feet. Your father and I struggleddodgy flats, shared bathrooms, no hot water for days. But we managed. And look what we built. You must do the same.”
To Thomas, shed said much the same: “Youre a man now. Provide for your family. Youve made your choicessee them through.” The children had bristled but never argued. One didnt impose where one wasnt wanted.
Eleanor believed in closeness through distance. She rang often, sent gifts, invited them for tea and scones, to concerts where she accompanied her pupils on the pianoalways crafting the illusion of familial harmony.
Today was no different. The table gleamed with polished silver, the air rich with rosemary and thyme. Eleanor had set her hair, applied a tasteful dab of rouge, and donned a shimmering evening gownher diamond earrings, Edwards last gift, catching the light.
Right on time, the family arrived. First Thomas and Emily, bearing roses and a delicate Wedgwood tea set.
“How exquisite! You know my tastes so well,” Eleanor cooed, embracing them. “Emily, what a lovely dressso flowing. And your cheeks! Positively rosy. A doll, arent you?”
“Actually, Mum, we wanted to tell you” Thomas began.
“Later, darling! Lillian and Simon are nearly heretheir dreadful old banger broke down again. Three buses, but theyll make it.”
Half an hour later, Lillian arrived with Simon and Sophie, bearing tulips and a velvet box containing a gold pendant.
“How it sparkles! Not diamonds, of course, but lovely all the same. Ill wear it with my ring,” Eleanor said brightly.
“Couldnt afford diamonds, Im afraid,” Lillian sighed. “That wreck of a car eats all our money, the rents gone up again, Sophies ballet classes”
“Darling, must we spoil the mood with dreary talk? Everyone has troubles. They pass,” Eleanor chirped. “Now, everyoneto the table!”
The family feasted, praising each dish, making hollow chatter about work and weather.
“How lovely this is,” Eleanor murmured. “Only I do miss your father. He always brought me roses, jewels. And Id cook his favourites. Gone too soon.” She dabbed her eyes. “But no matter! After supper, Ill play, and well all sing.”
Thomas raised his glass. “Mum, theres another gifta surprise, really. For us as much as you.”
“Oh?” Eleanors eyes gleamed. Diamonds, perhaps? Something to flaunt at the faculty party?
“Emilys expecting. Youll be a grandmother again.”
A pause. Then”Goodness! What news!” Eleanor forced a laugh. “How wonderful! Come here, darlings.”
Lillian hugged her brother. Simon clapped Thomas on the back. Little Sophie grinned, swept up in the sudden joy.
“Now, now, enough fuss,” Eleanor chided gently. The spotlight had shifted, and she loathed it. “Whos for seconds?”
Thomas slid a brochure across the table. “Mum, what do you think of this cottage?”
“Charming. Are you buying?”
“For you.”
“A gift?”
“No, Mum. Lookweve been in that awful bedsit for years. Shared bathroom, kitchen like a cupboard. Youve seen it.”
“Dreadful. But whats that to do with me?”
“We cant raise a child there. We were hoping you might sell this flat. Help us buy a proper home.”
Lillian and Simon gaped. Eleanor stared.
“Thomas, have you lost your senses? This is my home. Mine and your fathers. And you want me to hand it over and toddle off to some godforsaken hamlet? The nerve!”
“You rattle around in four bedrooms, a parlour, a studya balcony! And we live like rats. Have you no shame?”
“Shame? After all Ive given you? Tickets, presentsthis very feast! My pensions modest, but I share what I can. Counting my rooms now, are you?”
“Yes! When Im queuing for a mouldy shower at dawn, I count them! Parents should help their children!”
“Nonsense! A child is your choice. Provide for it. Lillian, must I bear this alone?”
Lillians lips thinned. “And what about us? Eight years in that hovel, Sophie growing up there. We couldve had a mortgage if youd lent the deposit!”
“I never lent because you must stand on your own feet! Visit, yes. Live off me? Never.”
Thomas slammed his fork down. “We work! We scrape! Is it a crime to want a decent life?”
“You want itearn it. Why must I surrender my home? My refuge?”
“Because were family!” Thomas shouted. “Or are you too busy with your china and your concerts to care?”
Silence. The clock ticked. The parquet creaked under shifting chairs. Eleanor sliced her steak with calm precision, savouring the weight of her silverso seldom used these days.
The children sat seething. Sophie fidgeted.
“Grandmum, is there cake? Honey cake?”
“Of course, darling. Just like your mother always loved.”
Lillian stood abruptly. “Sophie, well have cake at a café. Simon, were leaving. Thank you, Mum. Everything was lovely.”
“Your choice, darling. Thomas, staying?”
“I think not,” he muttered, rising. “Work tomorrow.”
“Ah yes. Workthe key to success.”
In the hall, she caught their whispers: “Why bring it up? The flatll be ours eventually.”
“When, Lil? In fifty years? That cottage was perfectshe couldve gardened, played piano Wed have had a real home.”
Eleanor smiled into her wine. *Oh, theyre tired of me. Tired of struggle. Want it handed to them on a platter. But havent I earned my comfort?*
They left in a huff. Unruffled, Eleanor finished her meal, cleared the table, brewed her special coffeebeans imported from a tiny
