**Diary Entry – A Holiday That Wasn’t**
Lucy perched on the edge of the bed, staring wearily at the neat stack of banknotes laid out on the table. For two years, she and little Alfie had scrimped and saved every spare penny, counting each pound, dreaming of something that once felt impossible—a seaside holiday. A cosy cottage by the shore, fresh fish for supper, the lull of waves, the whisper of the breeze—it was meant to be their reward for years of hard work, sacrifice, and the rare indulgence in life’s small joys.
*We’ve earned this,* Lucy thought, running a finger over the money. She wanted so badly to believe happiness was finally within reach. This summer was supposed to be their escape, a much-needed breath of air from the relentless grind.
Alfie bounded into the room, clutching a pair of headphones—his birthday gift, bought despite their careful savings, just to see his face light up. At ten, he was all curiosity and nerves, twisting the cord in his hands.
“Mum, are you sure about this place?” he asked, plopping onto the chair beside her.
“Yes, love,” Lucy said gently. “It’s quiet, the beach is nearly untouched, and there’s a market with fresh fruit nearby. Imagine—lying in the sun, the sea air, no rush…”
Alfie nodded, grinning, but his eyes held a flicker of understanding. He knew how hard she worked, how often she went without, how every pound in that envelope had cost her. This holiday was their shared dream, cradled like something precious.
Then the phone rang. *Tom.*
“Hey, sis!” His voice was all false cheer. “What’s the plan for summer?”
Lucy exhaled. Tom had always been difficult—bossy, convinced he knew best, never shy about reminding them.
“The seaside with Alfie,” she answered cautiously. “We’ve booked a little place by the coast.”
“Why waste the money?” Tom scoffed. “We’ve got a cottage by the sea! Come stay with us. Fresh air, blackberries, peace and quiet. Think of the savings.”
Lucy hesitated. Tom always made life sound so simple. But Alfie’s face brightened at the idea.
“Mum, a whole cottage by the sea!” he pleaded. “Let’s go to Uncle Tom’s! We can save the money for later.”
With a quiet sigh, Lucy agreed.
Tom met them at the station with a booming laugh and a crushing hug. “Blimey, it’s been years! Come on, we’ve got dinner waiting.”
His wife, Emma, stood beside their youngest, three-year-old Rosie, who waved excitedly. “What a reunion!” Emma crowed, pulling Lucy into an embrace.
The cottage was charming—wooden beams, wicker chairs on the porch, a swing beneath the apple tree. The beach was a fifteen-minute walk down a path lined with wildflowers. For two days, it was bliss. They swam in the cool sea, ate warm scones with clotted cream, listened to the gulls cry overhead.
Lucy watched Alfie chase Rosie, pick apples, toss crumbs to ducks at the pond, and for the first time in ages, her heart felt light.
But on the third morning, over breakfast, Tom dropped the act.
“Lu, you can cook, right? Fancy whipping up lunch? Emma’s knackered with Rosie.”
Lucy blinked but nodded.
That evening, as the family lounged, Tom gestured at the dishes. “Mind giving us a hand? We’re shattered.”
Alfie got his first task the next day—a basket thrust into his hands. “Pick raspberries, lad. Everyone loves a pie.”
“But I wanted to go to the beach,” he mumbled.
“Work first, play later,” Tom said briskly.
The chores piled up. Lucy mopped floors, minded Rosie while Emma shopped. Alfie weeded, hauled water from the well. What began as helping soon felt like servitude. This wasn’t the holiday they’d dreamed of.
That evening, Alfie sat on the porch, hands scratched from thorns.
“Mum,” he whispered, “why can’t we just go to the beach?”
Lucy’s throat tightened. “We’ll find time,” she lied.
The next day, she confronted Tom. “We came here to relax. We’d like to go to the sea.”
Tom’s smile vanished. “Don’t be daft. There’s work to do. If you leave, who’ll tend the garden or watch Rosie? Oh, and I’ll need some of that holiday money you saved. The windows need replacing.”
*”No!”* Lucy snapped. “That’s ours!”
“You’re staying here for free,” Tom shot back. “Consider it rent.”
Lucy stood, shaking. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Tom smirked. “Doubt it. I’ve already taken the cash from your purse. You can nip to the beach in the morning, but chores come after. List’s on the fridge.”
Alfie stared, horrified.
That night, Lucy lay awake, the moon casting cold light across the room. She texted her ex, James.
*”Need help. Tom’s keeping us here, took our money.”*
The reply came instantly: *”I’ll be there at dawn.”*
At sunrise, a familiar Land Rover pulled up. James stepped out.
“Where’s Tom?”
Tom appeared, scowling. “What’s this then?”
“Collecting my son. We’re leaving.”
“This is *my* house!” Tom barked.
“And this is *my* family,” James said evenly. He flashed his police badge. “Hand over the money.”
Tom stiffened, then flung the notes onto the table. “*Piss off.*”
They packed in haste. James drove them to a small inn by the shore.
“Cheers, James. You saved us.”
“Next time, think,” he muttered. “I won’t always be nearby.”
Two hours later, they stood on an empty beach, the wind tangling their hair, the sea roaring.
“Mum,” Alfie said quietly, “why was Uncle Tom like that?”
Lucy sank into the warm sand, pulling him close. “Some people don’t know what kindness is.”
“Can we not go back?”
She nodded. “Never again.”
And at last, she breathed freely.
*Free cheese… not just in the mousetrap, but at family cottages too.*
