“You’re always at the cottagemight as well live there!” her daughter laughed while listing the flat online.
“Mum, d’you remember where my blue hoodie is?” called Emily from her bedroom. “The one with the big pockets?”
Margaret looked up from the old photos she’d been sorting through. She could hear her daughter rummaging in the wardrobe, hangers clattering.
“Probably in the wash,” she said. “Check the airing cupboard.”
“Found it!” came the reply a minute later.
Margaret turned back to the photos. There was little Emily, barely more than a toddler, cradled in her late husband Roberts arms by their first car. Another showed her in school uniform, holding a bouquet on her first day. Then graduation
“Mum, whats all that?” Emily wandered in, pulling on the blue hoodie.
“Just old photos from the dresser. Deciding what to keep.”
Her daughter leaned over the box. “Oh, this is us at the cottage!” She picked up a picture of the three of them standing by the freshly built garden shed. “Dad was still here. God, how longs it been?”
“Eight years,” Margaret said quietly. “Eight this August.”
“Time flies,” Emily sighed, putting the photo back. “Actually, Mum, I wanted to talk to you.”
Something in her tone made Margaret tense. After thirty-four years of motherhood, she knew every shift in Emilys voice. This careful, measured pitch usually meant trouble.
“What about, love?”
Emily walked to the kitchen table and sat. Margaret followed.
“Right, soIve got this amazing work opportunity,” Emily began, fiddling with a teaspoon. “A client wants me to build an online shop, manage the website. Pays really well.”
“Thats brilliant!” Margaret smiled. “Youre brilliant with that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, but theres a catch.” The teaspoon clinked against the table. “Its remote work. From home. And honestly, this flats too noisy for me to focus.”
“Why? I dont disturb you.”
“Mum, come on. The telly, your calls, the neighbours blasting music through the wallsI need quiet.”
Margaret nodded. The thin walls of their council flat werent exactly soundproof, and the lads next door loved their drum and bass a bit too loud.
“So what are you saying?”
“I was thinking” Emily hesitated. “What if I rented somewhere? Just a quiet little place. I can afford it now.”
“Rent? This isnt your home anymore?”
“Dont twist it. Of course it is. But I need space to work. Just for a year or so.”
Margaret stared. Theyd always lived togethereven when Emily was married, her husband had moved in here. Not that it lasted. Mark left, and Emily stayed.
“So Id be here alone?”
“Mum, youre always at the cottage!” Emily brightened. “You spend half the year there anyway. Why not just move there properly?”
“Properly?”
“Yeah! You love it. The garden, the peace. The flat just sits empty.”
Margarets throat tightened. “Youre kicking me out?”
“Dont be dramatic! Its practical. Youre there constantly anyway. Wed split the rental incomefairs fair.”
Margaret swallowed hard. “Youre seriously suggesting a sixty-year-old woman winters in a cottage?”
“Youre fifty-nine! And loads of retirees do it. Fresh air, no stress.”
“And no one around if something happens.”
“Youve got a phone! And the bus stops right outside.”
Margaret said nothing. The cottagea little brick house with a veg patch, forty minutes from Leedswas their escape. Not a bloody retirement home.
Emily kept pushing. “Think about it. Why keep a two-bed in town when we could earn from it? Flats here rent fast.”
“And if this job falls through?”
“It wont. But even if it did, Id find something else.”
Margaret walked to the window. Kids screeched in the courtyard below; a dog barked. Normal city noise. The cottage was birdsong and silence.
Living there full-time?
“Emily, what if I get ill? Need an ambulance?”
“Youve got your mobile. And taxis exist.”
“I dont drive anymore.”
“You could learn. Or bus it.”
Margaret turned. “Youve already decided, havent you?”
Emily flushed. “No! Im just suggesting. Think about it.”
“When do you need an answer?”
“Well the project starts on the first. So three weeks?”
Margaret picked up a photo of her and Robert, grinning outside this very flat as newlyweds. Twenty-two and full of plans.
“Remember how we got this place? Your dad queued eight years for it.”
“Youve told me a hundred times.”
“He worked overtime, did union meetingsall for these two rooms.”
“Mum, that was then. Things are different now.”
“Aye. Back then, parents brought kids home. Didnt ship them off to cottages.”
“Now youre just being bitter. Im not throwing you out. Its mutual benefit.”
Margaret scoffed. Mutual benefit? Freezing her toes off for Emilys career?
“Fine. Ill think.”
“Brilliant!” Emily hugged her. “Youll seeitll work out. Half the rents yours, extra pension money!”
With a peck on the cheek, Emily grabbed her bag. “Off to Lucys. Dont wait up.”
The door clicked shut.
That evening, over tea, Margaret weighed it up. The cottage *was* peaceful. No noise, no nosy neighbours. But visiting was one thing; living there, alone, through Yorkshire winters?
And then there was Emilys eagerness. Like Margaret was clutter to be tidied away.
Eight years ago, when Robert died, Emily had begged her not to stay alone. *”Mum, move in with me. I dont want you lonely.”*
Now? *”Youre always at the cottage anyway.”*
The next morning, Emily rushed out with coffee sloshing in her mug. “Thought any more?”
“Still thinking.”
“But times tight. The clients waiting.”
“What if I say no?”
Emily faltered. “Then Id lose the job. And the money.”
“So its an ultimatum.”
“No! Just explaining.”
After she left, Margaret took the bus to the cottage. To see it properlyas a home, not a holiday.
The trees were turning gold, leaves crunching underfoot. Inside, the house smelled of apples and woodsmoke. Two rooms, a tiny kitchen, the wood burner ready. Livable, sure.
Neighbour Jim waved from his plot. “Staying long?”
“Maybe permanently. Emily wants to rent the flat.”
“Ah. Well, winters herere rough alone.”
Margaret nodded. Some retirees managedgrew veg, saved on bills. But the isolation
That night, under a blanket on the porch, she listened to the quiet. No sirens, just owls. And the gnawing truth: Emily was evicting her, politely.
Back in Leeds, Emily was giddy. “Signed the contract! Just need the flat sorted.”
“Youve already listed it?”
“Well I assumed youd agree. You love the cottage!”
“*In summer.*”
“Dont fuss. Itll be cosy. Romantic, even.”
Margaret studied her daughterbright-eyed, oblivious. “Ill decide where I live.”
“Fine. But its a good deal. Extra cash for you.”
“Cash isnt comfort.”
Emily huffed. “If youre dead against it, Ill refuse the job.”
“Ill agree. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“We rent the flat. But *I* keep *all* the money.”
Emily gaped. “Thats not fair!”
“Your share was a birthday gift. Consider it returned.”
“But Ill need rent money!”
“You earn enough.”
After a stare-off, Emily caved. “Fine. But *you* handle the tenants.”
“Deal.”
The young couple who viewed the flat were niceteachers with a toddler. They moved in a week later.
On moving day, Emily hovered by the van. “Youre not angry, are you?”
“Disappointed.”
“Its just this opportunity might not come again.”
Margaret loaded the last box. “Well see.”
The bus ride to the cottage was bumpy. Fields blurred past. Margaret thought of Emilys words: *”Youre always there anyway.”*
Well. Now she was.
Time would tell whod won. If anyone had.
