Six years ago, my husband and I bought a charming country cottage on the outskirts of Surrey. With our own hands, we renovated every room, tamed the overgrown garden, and made it our sanctuarya retreat we cherished every weekend or at least fortnightly.
I never went overboard with vegetables, just a modest patch of cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh herbs, onions, courgettes, and a few peppers. The essentials, but never in abundance.
The cottage came with thick hedges heavy with raspberries, a scatter of currant bushes, and rows of strawberries poking through the grass. Often Id take baskets of these fruits into the office and treat my colleagues. Everyone was always delighted.
This year, a woman named Emily transferred to our team from another department. She struck me as polite, warm, and unassuming. I still remember the day I brought in strawberries; of course I offered her some.
She ate them gleefully and showered me with praise about their incomparable flavour. After that, she plied me for detailswhere did I get them, what was the cottage like, how big was the garden. I reveled in describing it all.
A few days later, Emily approached me again, this time with an unexpected requestshe wanted the keys to our cottage. Her daughter, she explained, wanted to take the kids out of London for a few weeks, get some fresh air while on maternity leave. She reasoned that since we wouldn’t be there for a week anyway, it was a perfect window.
Of course, I declined, politely but firmly. Emily appeared offended, but didnt push the matter.
Two weeks passed. Then Claire, another woman from Emily’s department, sidled up to me in the canteen. She asked, quite matter-of-factly, for directions to the cottage. Puzzled, I asked her why.
She told me that Emily had invited herand several other colleaguesto a birthday bash at our cottage, and that everyone was to make their own way there.
I was dumbstruck.
Without waiting, I sought out Emily and confronted her. My voice trembled with disbelief and frustration.
Emily, what exactly do you think youre playing at?
Her face was all innocence, her lips curled in a practiced smile. “Whats the harm?” she replied breezily. “Its just for one day, and no one will be staying overnight. Surely you dont mind if I celebrate my birthday at your cottage? It wont do any damage.”
Yes, I do mind,” I replied, my heart pounding. I care about all the effort weve poured into that place, and what people might do to the lawn, the borders, the shrubs, and my home.
And on top of it all, she hadnt even invited menor asked my permission.
I said no. She was offended, but that was the end of it.
I honestly dont care. Ive shared fruit from our garden for years, but never in my life have I met someone as boldly cheeky as her.
