28April
Another weekend, another mess at the cottage. Ive been swearing at the top of my lungs, What a bunch of careless guests have been here? Call your family, have them sort this out!I told Poppy, my wife, as I stared at the chaos. Im fed up with having to wash the sheets after your mates crashovernight on our little getaway.
Your mother rang earlier, Sam said over dinner, halfeaten shepherds pie on his plate. She, the aunties and cousins, are planning a weekend barbecue.
Good for them, I replied, trying to sound supportive. Weve got no use for them here. The truth is, Ive never liked Poppys mother, Evelyn, much.
Sam tried to explain, They want to use the cottage because they dont own one. Ive got a garage appointment on Saturday, so I thought we could let them have it. Mum asked for the keys, after all. He said it as if it were obvious.
Poppy had no choice but to agree, a decision she would later lament. When we finally drove out to the cottage the following weekend, the sight that greeted us stopped me in my tracks. It looked as if a storm had torn through it.
Berries lay strewn across the garden, the floor was grimy, a lone pot of yesterdays stew sat on the stovetop, and the kitchen window curtain had been ripped away. I could barely make sense of the mess. The Hart family had been around for sixty years, after all.
I let it all out to Sam.
What a disgrace! Call your relatives, get them to clean up, I snapped. Im done washing sheets after your friends. Its enough!
He shrugged, Just toss it in the washing machine, spin it, hang it out to dry.
I snapped back, Maybe next time youll do it yourself! Are you happy with how the cottage and the garden look?
He didnt say another word. Poppy fell silent, and eventually we patched things up. Wed only been married two years, a whirlwind romance, and we still had no children. Life went onwork, the house, the routine. Weekends meant walks or trips with friends.
Everything changed when Poppys mother suddenly remarried and moved to a different city. The family cottage fell to Poppy. Suddenly the Hart side of the family adored the place. Everybody wanted to pop over for a barbecue, insisting that fresh air made the meat taste better.
Cousins, secondcousins, aunts, uncles, even Grandmother Evelyn, all descended on the cottage, bringing creams, shampoos, sponges, and even Poppys indoor slippers. It became a constant stream of guests. Sam, as usual, manned the grill. I was growing weary, but I didnt want to offend anyone, so I kept my mouth shut.
The next weekend, with the holidays looming, I was on edge. When the Hart family first bought the cottage, Evelynalready an old womanhad given birth to a son late in life. She also had a daughter, Martha, ten years older than Sam, who lived in the village and treated everything as if it belonged to her.
Martha and Evelyn raided the cottage for everythingshampoos, lotions, even Poppys slippers. Then Evelyn called again, asking Sam for the cottage keys so she could take her boss there for a weekend retreat and a barbecue. Once more, they didnt ask Poppy what she thought.
Well give Mum the keys, Sam said, remembering Poppys fury from the last visit but unwilling to argue.
I realised I had to act, and Sam found himself on the opposite side of the fence. After weighing my options, I called my own mother and complained.
Ill call back, she replied shortly.
Within twenty minutes Id phoned my sister, Emily, and told her that her husbands sister would be staying at the cottage for a while. Dont worry, Auntie Olivia will sort it out, I added.
Emilys name sent a shiver down my spine. As a child, Id been sent to stay with Aunt Olivia on summer holidays; the memories were still vivid. Olivia was a strict but caring woman.
That evening Olivia rang.
My dear niece, why so quiet? You could have called me ages ago. How do you want me to handle thissoftly or firmly? she laughed, already delighted at the prospect.
I asked, Did you tell them the cottage is yours?
She shrugged, I dont recall, but they all think its theirs.
Dont fret, love, well set things straight.
On Sunday, Evelyn, now furious, called Sam. Did you sell the cottage? Wheres the money? Why didnt you tell us?
It turned out that on Saturday, Martha, her boss, and Evelyn with her husband had all arrived at the cottage. Five people were already grilling on the plot.
What? Who are you? gasped my motherinlaw, Gwendoline Hart.
And who are you, exactly? the lady with the boss replied authoritatively. Im the owner of this cottage. Who gave you a set of keys?
A brief confusion erupted among the Hart women. Martha tried to explain the family ties and the key handover, but Gwendoline glared at her, and Marthas face turned beet red. Gwendoline said nothing more.
In the end, the keys were taken back, and the intruders were politely asked to leave, lest we discover where those rogue keys had come from.
From a distance I heard Gwendoline shouting into the phone. Sam looked clueless, unable to interject.
Hand the phone to your wife, Sam said, passing it to me. The cottage isnt yours! Gwendoline declared dramatically.
Did you even ask? I tried to stay calm. Have you decided everything here belongs to you as well?
Do you realise that Martha invited her boss, and now there could be layoffs? She wanted to butter her up. If her boss gets sacked, it will be on your conscience, Gwendoline fumed.
And what about me? Aunt Olivia is just here to rest, and you never even asked me. Find somewhere else to stay, I retorted. Youve lived without this cottage before; youll manage without it now.
Sam, pale, muttered, I wont go back there, and neither will my relatives.
It was the first real fight wed ever had. Sam was hurt. Martha lost her job. Ill never forgive you for this, Sam said. My family loves you, cares for you, yet youve deceived us.
I was convinced Marthas dismissal had a different cause. Suddenly I didnt feel any remorse for anyone. Our marriage had hit a dead end.
Mother, I think Im getting a divorce, I told my mother over the phone.
Decide for yourself, youre an adult now. Where will you live? Ive let go of my flat. Go to Olivia.
Thanks, I suppose, I replied, surprised at my own composure. Ill probably rent a flat.
I filed for divorce, found a small flat in town, and moved out. I havent set foot in the cottage since.
Looking back, I realise the constant stream of guests, the meddling relatives, and the endless barbecues were just symptoms of a deeper problem: we never set clear boundaries, and we let others dictate our lives.
**Lesson:** No matter how much love surrounds you, you must protect your own homeboth the house and the heartfrom being overrun.
