Lucy, we wont take much. Just pack your signature apple pie and a couple of jars of raspberry jam for the road, Graham said, stretching lazily, a grin tugging at his lips.
Lucy stared at the intruder, stunned by his brazen entitlement. How could he ask so shamelessly?
In her mind swirled the memory of countless mornings spent perfecting that pie, of polishing the cottage before their arrival, of every nail hammered into the old stone walls.
And now Graham, who hadnt lifted a single tool all week, lounged in the shade demanding a takeaway feast.
She glanced at Arthur, who seemed oblivious to his brothers conduct.
Graham, arent you asking for too much? Lucy asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Oh, shove it, Lucy! he waved a hand without even turning. Were family, we share. And youve got a fortune of pounds here!
A simmering mix of resentment and anger rose in Lucys chest.
The little lakeside cottage, bought three years ago, had become a sanctuary for her and Arthur.
Summers there were never idle: early dawns, hoeing, berry picking, tending chickens, stockpiling firewood for winter. Every helping hand was worth its weight in gold.
So Grahams demand sounded like an insult. He either didnt seeor chose not to seeall that labour.
To him the cottage was a freeofcharge resort, and Lucy and Arthur were merely the staff.
It all began three weeks earlier, when Graham called and suggested, We could drop by, lend a hand around the farm, and have a bit of country air.
Those words arrived out of the blue. Graham and his wife Olivia were cityslickers through and through: cocktail parties, pubs, cinema, weekend shopping sprees.
Help? Lucy repeated, a hint of doubt in her tone.
But Graham continued, animated:
Of course! Were family! Its easier for you, and we get fresh air. Ive been itching to pick raspberries and warm up a hot bath
Lucy hung up and lingered on the porch, absentmindedly smoothing the fabric of her apron. She knew Grahams habitbig promises, little followthrough. A flicker of doubt lingered in her heart, but Arthur, hearing the news, lit up:
Maybe theyll finally gather some berries. And perhaps your brother will help me mend the fence.
The next days saw Lucy swamped with chores as if the prime minister himself had descended upon her. She washed and ironed the bedding, fluffed fresh towels, drove into town for suppliesfresh fish, steak for a barbecue, fruit, sweetsso the guests would feel welcomed.
Maybe things will settle down, she muttered, hanging the towels. Even a little help would be a blessing.
When Graham and Olivia finally rolled up in their beatup SUV, Lucy greeted them with a practiced smile, masking the knot of suspicion inside.
The relatives looked relaxed, as if theyd just returned from a seaside holiday.
Here we are! Graham announced, arms thrown wide.
Lucy forced a grin and ushered them to the table. On the veranda already lay salads, steaming pasties, and a jug of chilled elderflower cordial.
The first halfhour passed in lively chatter, news swapping, until Arthur gently laid out the plan for the next days.
Tomorrow well start mowing the meadow, then pick the berries. Plenty to do, but together well manage.
Right, right, of course, Olivia nodded, though Lucy caught a flash of bewilderment in her eyes, as if the word mowing belonged to another world.
Lucy sensed a foreboding chill: something told her the help might be more illusion than aid.
Day one unfolded like a celebration. Lucy tried not to think of the waisthigh grass, the strawberry patches choking on weeds, the barrels of apples waiting in the shed.
Graham was in his element: cracking jokes, snapping photos of seed packets, bragging about being tired of the city and loving the great outdoors.
Olivia, in a new sundress, posed against the sunset and the lake, snapping dozens of selfies for her Instagram.
Arthur smiled, pleased that his brother had finally arrived, hoping the work would now move faster.
But by the next morning the mood shifted.
Lucy awoke at dawn to the crow of a rooster, pulled on her rubber boots, and stepped into the courtyard. Dew glittered on the grass, the air smelled of fresh cut hay. The chickens clucked, demanding feed.
She scooped grain and, glancing toward the guest room, saw the curtains drawn, the room quiet.
By eight oclock Lucy had already fed the birds, filled a bucket with green cucumbers, and watered the beds.
Arthur emerged with a steaming mug and announced:
Graham and Olivia have gone into town. Something urgent, they say.
Lucy gave a wordless nod, a sour pit forming in her stomach. Shed hoped the helpers would return after breakfast.
They didnt come back until evening, cheeks flushed, bags of crisps, fizzy water, and a slab of pork belly in tow, as if theyd conquered a mountain.
Lucy, youve got a proper spa here! Graham declared, flopping into a chair on the veranda. Everything does itself!
The next day Lucy felt irritation coil tighter. She mowed alone, hauled heavy buckets, washed floors, cooked lunch.
Graham lounged in a hammock, scrolling through his phone, complaining of a headache.
I think Ive caught a chill. Ill stay in bed today.
Olivia sprawled on a beach towel by the water, taking selfies. Her feed filled with new captions: #CountryRetreat, #LifeIsGood, #NatureBreak.
Each day Lucy grew more exhausted and more irritable. She rose at five, went to bed after midnight, scrubbing dishes and tidying after the guests.
The guests never offered a handthey sincerely believed their very presence was a gift.
We came to visit, Olivia exclaimed when Lucy asked her to clear the dishes. Shouldnt guests be expected to work?
From that moment Lucys smile was a permanent stretch, and every request from the couple felt like a jab to her patience.
Slowly, inexorably, the hospitality was reaching its breaking point.
On the fifth day Lucy could no longer stay silent. The irritation that had been building since the couples arrival finally snapped.
She spent the whole day in the garden, weeding rows, hauling water buckets, all while laughter drifted from the veranda where Olivia, collapsed on a deck chair, chatted with her friends.
When Arthur returned from the field, dust-covered and tired, Lucy met him with a hard stare.
I cant do this any longer, she said. They dont even rinse their plates! Today Graham asked me to wash his shirt, and Olivia called the breakfast something simple.
Arthur nodded, and they decided to rope the couple into tomorrows work: Graham would finally help Arthur repair the fence, and Olivia would tackle the strawberry weeding.
Lucy hoped that at least this would make the guests understand: a holiday is fine, but the farm wont run itself.
Graham, tomorrow we need to fix the fence, Arthur said over dinner. Will you help?
Of course, of course, Graham waved, chewing his pork belly, eyes glued to his phone.
It was clear he cared more about his messenger than the mowing.
The next morning Arthur rose early. The air was crisp, scented with hay and dew. He fetched tools from the shed, inspected boards and nails, even brewed a strong tea for his brother to start the day on a good note.
He knocked on the guest room door. Silence. He knocked again, louder. Only the soft hum of the airconditioner answered. When Arthur turned the knob, the room was empty.
On the bedside table lay a note:
Were in town, back by evening! BBQ tonight!
That evening Graham and Olivia returned, laden with bags of meat, fizzy drinks, and a bag of dried fish, laughing about horrendous traffic and the heat. Lucy, utterly spent, barely steadied herself on the porch.
We agreed on work around the farm, she said.
Ah, right, right, Graham replied, waving the meat bag. Well definitely help tomorrow! Promise.
But on the seventh morning he announced:
We have to leave urgently. Shame we didnt get to help!
Then, with a grin, he added:
Lucy, pack us your signature pie and a couple of jars of raspberry jam for the road. Its just delicious!
A surge of anger boiled inside Lucy. A week of dawntodusk labourearly garden work, endless cooking, washing, cleaning, and caring for ungrateful visitorsculminated in a decisive refusal.
We wont give you anything, she said, voice trembling but steady. You havent done a single task in a week.
Graham froze, disbelief flashing across his face. His cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed.
Thats how you are! he barked, voice cracking into a shout. And what about hospitality? We came with open hearts!
With what heart? Lucy snapped. You came to vacation on our dime! Ive been the only one working while you lounged in hammocks and shopped till you dropped!
Arthur, usually the peacekeeper, stepped beside his wife, placed a hand on her shoulder, and, looking straight at his brother, said calmly but firmly:
Graham, you volunteered to help. Yet all youve done is eat, drink, and complain about the heat.
What are you on about, Arthur! Graham erupted, stepping forward. Were family! And you youre demanding money for food! Shame on you, brother!
Olivia, standing by the railing, let out a loud sigh, threw her arms to the sky as if to display her disdain, pursed her lips, and trudged to the car.
She slammed the door with theatrical force. Olivia was furious that what was supposed to be a family gathering ended in a scandal.
Lets go, Graham! she shouted from the passenger seat. They dont value us! And the family name
Graham turned to Arthur and Lucy. He wanted to say something, but merely flicked his hand away, dismissing the insults, and strode briskly to his car.
He slammed the boot, slumped into the drivers seat, his face twisted with rage, eyes a mix of shock and wounded pride, as if the world had turned against him.
He threw over his shoulder:
Take your pies and get lost! he yelled, slamming the door. Well never come back!
The SUV disappeared around the bend. Lucy and Arthur remained on the porch, a wave of relief washing over them, tinged with the fatigue of the emotional storm.
Arthur exhaled heavily and sank onto a step.
Experience is a pricey teacher, but its worth it, Arthur said, looking at his wife with understanding. No more freeloaders will knock on our door.
Lucy nodded, realizing the truth of his words.
That evening they walked the fields, appraising the work still to be done.
The fence still needed mending, the strawberry patch still demanded weeding, the hay remained uncut.
They strolled slowly down the lane, listening to the night chorus of crickets. Lucy caught herself thinking that the tiredness from honest labour felt sweeter than the fatigue from someone elses arrogance.
Later, they lit the garden firepit and brewed tea with the very raspberry jam Graham had begged for.
They gazed out over the lake, and Lucy felt their little cottage settle back into its quiet world.
From now on well welcome only those who arrive with a pitchfork, not a phone, Lucy said, and they both laughed, understanding that lifes most vital ingredients are cooperation and respect.
