The midday sun hung lazily over the village green as Margaret adjusted her sunhat.
“Honestly, Elaine, you must not know much about kids these days!”
“Hello, Margaret! Saw you pottering about in the garden and thought Id pop over,” said Susan Parker, shifting awkwardly by the garden gate.
The two women lived on opposite ends of the villageSusan and her husband, Victor, near the brook, while Margarets cottage nestled closer to the woods. Theyd never been particularly close, what with plenty of neighbours in between. But now, with summer looming, Susan had a problem.
Her son, Christopher, was bringing his boysOliver and Henryfor an entire month.
“Theyre tired of the city,” Christopher had said over the phone, though Susan suspected finances played a part. Theyd always holidayed abroad before.
“Just a heads up, Mum,” hed added, “Olivers thirteen and acts like hes grown. Henry wont take orders from him, so theyre at each others throats constantly.”
“Oh, well manage,” Susan had replied breezily. But after hanging up, doubt gnawed at her. Modern children were a mystery. What if they refused to listen?
Victor was a strict manno nonsense tolerated. The last thing they needed was rows.
So Susan had marched over to Margarets. She remembered Margarets grandsons were around the same age. Maybe keeping the boys busy would help.
“Come in, Susan!” Margaret called when she spotted her. “What brings you by?”
“Well, my grandsons are visiting for a month. Thought we might introduce them to yours? If they get along, itll be easier on everyone.”
Margaret laughed. “You really dont know modern children, do you? Mine ran me ragged last summer! My husband nearly sent them packing. But fine, bring yours round. What else can we do? Theyre family.”
That weekend, Christopher arrived with his wife, Penelope, and the boys. Oliver and Henry seemed cheerful enough, hugging their grandparents warmly. Susans worries eased.
What was Margaret on about? These were polite, well-mannered boys.
“Mum, ring if theres any trouble,” Christopher said as they left. Susan waved him off. “We raised you, didnt we?”
But that night, the boys wouldnt settle. Their chatter and shuffling in the spare roomonce Christophers old bedroomkept Victor awake.
“Why on earth did you agree to this?” he grumbled. “They dont care about the countryside!”
Come morning, the boys slept till noon.
“Oliver, up you get!” Susan nudged him.
“Five more minutes, Gran,” he mumbled.
Henry didnt stir at all.
Then Susan spotted their phones on the floor.
“Were you up all night on these?” she snapped, snatching them up. “Thats enough. Im confiscating these.”
Oliver bolted upright. “Give them back! Mum lets us!”
“Ill just ask her, shall I?” Susan retorted.
Oliver scowled and stormed off, slamming the door.
At lunch, both boys refused porridge.
“We want nuggets or toasties,” Henry muttered.
Victors temper flared. “If porridge isnt good enough, go hungry.” He marched to their room. “And why are your beds a mess? Crisp packets? Sweet wrappers? Earn your lunchtidy up!”
“You cant starve us!” Henry glowered.
Susan intervened, coaxing them to help. Victor muttered, “Youre too soft. No discipline!”
“Like you were an angel at their age?” she shot back.
The boys soon befriended Margarets grandsonsand chaos followed. Sticks, trampled flowers, mud tracked indoors, chairs wobbling from rough use.
“Blasted hooligans!” Victor fumed.
But he put them to workOliver helping repair bikes, Henry assisting Susan with lunch.
“You thought things came free?” Victor growled. “Everythings earned.”
When the month ended, the boys complained to their parents.
“Granddad worked us like servants! No phones, no fun!”
But a week later, Christopher called, stunned.
“Mum, Dadhowd you manage it? Henry peels potatoes now! Oliver does his own laundry. They even cook a bit!”
Susan huffed. “Were we meant to wait on them?”
The boys left in a huff. But a year later, they begged to returneven turning down a holiday abroad.
Because in the village, there were friends.
And there was something deeply satisfying about eating Grans porridgeknowing theyd earned it.
