The next day, our neighbour was hanging over our fence again. My wife walked over and told her that we had a lot to get done today, so we wouldnt be able to chat like we did yesterday. What about tomorrow? Margaret asked, curiosity in her voice. Itll be the same tomorrow. To be honest, wed prefer if you didnt pop over again, my wife replied.
My wish to settle in the city hadnt led to anything good.
My wife owns a cottage in the countryside. When her parents were still alive, we used to visit them often. I loved when they would set the table outside in the evening under that old pear tree. Wed sit and talk until dusk fell, every time we visited. In winter, her mother would light the old Aga cooker, filling the house with the smell of freshly baked scones and cakes. There was a wonderful, cosy aroma all through the place.
My wife and I enjoyed going sledging and even skiing when the weather allowed. Then her parents passed away. We couldnt bring ourselves to sell the cottage. We told ourselves wed visit just as often as before, but it never quite happened.
Life always seemed to get in the way. Over time, we stopped thinking about my wifes old family home. Life moved on. The years slipped quietly by. Our son met a lovely girl and married her. Our daughter-in-law, Emily, often remarked how lovely it would be to spend time at the cottage, especially in summer.
Thats when we remembered the place. My wife and I decided to go out first. After all, it had been ages since we were last there. The cottage was just as we remembered, though a bit rundown from neglect.
We decided to freshen things up. Anne got to work indoors while I tackled the overgrown garden. Id half expected the years of emptiness wouldve done the house in, but it was standing strong. After a bit of cleaning, things took on a completely different feel. The next day our children arrived, and they pitched in too. In just a day or so, the place looked clean and welcoming. The women started preparing dinner while my son and I decided to mend the old table and the benches under the pear tree.
Thats when I noticed a woman watching us over the garden wall. She introduced herself as Margaret and told us she had recently bought the neighbouring cottage. As English folk, we invited her to join us for dinner. Margaret told us she lived alone now. Shed bought her daughter a house; her daughter had three little ones. Margaret herself was singledivorced, apparently. She kept chatting away, but I found my mind drifting. Then I felt something brushing against my leg under the table.
I looked down and realised it was my neighbours foot. I quickly moved my leg away, but she kept trying to stroke my foot with hers. Id never experienced anything quite like it. I did my best to act normal so as not to alert my wife, but Margaret just kept talking. The children, by then, were getting restlessI just wanted her to leave. As we cleared the table, my wife commented that Margaret was rather inappropriate and I couldnt disagree. I didnt mention what had taken place under the tableI was embarrassed. Somehow, I doubted it was the first time shed acted this way with a man.
The next day, there she was again, peering right over our fence. My wife walked over and told her, Were busy todayIm afraid we wont be able to have company.
But tomorrow? asked Margaret, putting on a hopeful face.
It will be the same tomorrow. Please dont call round again, my wife replied.
That took some courage. Margaret muttered under her breath for a while, but I stopped listening. Frankly, I wasnt interested. I think my wife did exactly the right thing. Were open, straightforward people, and we could tell straightaway that we werent fond of her. So, weve decided not to keep in touch.
