Last year, an old friend rang me up and begged me most desperately to let her best mates stay at my place for a week. Theyd decided, much like every soul escaping the city, to have a bit of seaside relaxation in our charming village. I felt far too awkward to refuse, so I agreed, but I made it clear from the get-go:
The seasons in full swing, so I cant just hand over a room on the house. On the other hand, it feels downright odd to charge your pals.
My friend assured me, Dont fret, darlingtheyll pay. Money isnt an issue, they just worry about getting hoodwinked. You know, those folks who take deposits and then vanish or kick guests out halfway through their holiday.
And there I was, caught nicely in the web. If Id known how much this holiday would actually cost me, Id have declined with a polite No, thank you.
Feeling a bit guilty, I offered them a jolly good discount. They got the room at half pricepretty generous, really.
The big day arrived! First to show up was not the expected family, but a teenage girl with a ten-year-old boy. Well, friends are friends, but let me tell youthey were not chuffed about sharing a triple room!
The meeting was cordial enough. I attempted to cook them a proper meal, then showed them the highlights of our town (the nearest thing to tourist attractions we have). I wished them a pleasant stay and dashed off to my lessons.
On the second day, the guests son decided it would be hilarious to shoot a water gun directly at the TV while it was running. The parents were there, but nothing seemed to deter the scamp. They apologised and promised to cover repairsthough Im still waiting for the telly to be fixed, so I gave them a replacement from the next room. What on earth would they do in the evenings?
Then, our friendly family managed to burn the kettle. My apologies, actuallynot them, the teenage girl forgot to pour in any water.
Next up, they took to redecorating (as you do, apparently)the room was far too small!and broke two legs, one from the bedside cabinet, the other from the table. For them, it was all terribly funny: Hee-hee, youve got loads of furniture, havent you? Well stick the table leg on with tape, and all will be fine. And just prop up the cabinet with somethingits not a big deal.
The grand finale was a raucous party ending at two in the morning. With proper drunken shouting and yells, naturally. When I asked (civilly!) if the music could be turned down at eleven, the answer was, Relax! Youre getting your moneys worth. To be fair, the volume was loweredafter my second request.
Arguing with tipsy guests is never wise, so I decided to bite my tongue and wait for daylight. The next day, I had an honest chat with the couple, explaining that their behaviour was unacceptable. They werent the only ones on holiday, after all. Also, could they please be careful with the appliances?
They shrugged, rather grumpily: Weve paid, havent we? I retorted, Thanks for being here as a friend-of-a-friend, otherwise you wouldnt be here at all!
After that, the group became noticeably more subdued and, mercifully, stopped breaking things. But friendship? That was swiftly out the window.
In the end, we stopped talking altogether. Not that it stopped them from nicking the gifts and souvenirs I’d prepared for them and our mutual friend. And, lo and behold, two big bath towels and a terracotta sheet vanished as well.
I should point out these were supposed to be my friends best mates. She and I had been buddies throughout high school, until she married and moved to another town. Shed told me her friends were delightful and well-mannered. If they truly were, they might just have been invited every summer.
But fate is what it is. My friend stayed silent for ages, until one day, during a chat, she mentioned her buddies hadnt enjoyed their holiday: Apparently, you kept nagging them and ruined the vibe. And thats despite the fact they paid loads!
Sorry, but the money they handed over wouldnt even cover a brand new telly, kettle, table, cabinet, bedding and towels. Not to mention my frazzled nerves and the annoyance of the other guests, which hardly helps businessnext year, the tourists might just pick another spot.
Still, Ive gained plenty of life experience, and now I know for sure: sometimes, its best to just say No.Looking back, I see that moment as a turning point. A line was drawn, not just between myself and unreliable acquaintances, but between my old selfeager to pleaseand the person who finally learned to stand up for their home and peace of mind. As summer waned and their voices faded from memory, I took comfort in the quiet corners of my cottage, the laughter of true friends, and the salty breeze that never let me down.
Now, when someone asks for a favor and my gut warns me off, I dont hesitate. No awkward dance, just honesty: Sorry, I can’t. Its liberating, really. The village is as delightful as ever, my kettle whistles merrily, the TV works just fine, and the towels actually match.
Every story requires a lesson, and mine is simple: friendship isnt measured by favors, nor is hospitality owed to anyone elses expectations. Next time, Ill keep the room for someone whose company feels like homeand, maybe, who knows how to make tea without burning a kettle.
The sea glimmers outside my window, and I smile, content. My heart, at last, is as calm as the tide.
