“Family Secrets and a New Home”
“Come visit me in the village with your husband!” Vera’s mother insisted.
“We will, Mum, as soon as Liza finishes her exams,” Vera replied, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “Oliver wants to come too. He used to visit his family in the countryside, but since they passed, he won’t set foot there.”
“How come?” her mother wondered. “He’s got brothers and sisters there, surely?”
“He doesn’t like talking about it,” Vera murmured. “We visit his parents’ graves, but just for the day—no stopping by the relatives. Oliver helped them out while they were alive, but after they died, things turned ugly, and it left him cold.”
“Vera, why do you take everything on yourself?” her mother scolded. “What kind of husband does nothing? A strong man like that, and you coddle him. You ought to look after yourself! All he does is take out the bins.”
“Mum, we’ve been over this. I’m not carrying everything. We love each other, and he earns his share.”
“It’s not about the money! He doesn’t lift a finger at home!”
“What’s there to do? Our flat’s tiny. He comes in, lies on the sofa—nothing needs doing.”
“When will you buy a proper place? Two little rooms—that’s all you’ve got!”
“I don’t know,” Vera sighed. “We were saving, but now we’re thinking…”
Liza was set on college after school, and next year was her graduation. Vera missed the village. The city never felt like home, no matter how long they stayed. Step outside, and it was just old women on benches, whispering about everyone. The village had gossips too, but at least the air was fresher.
“Come for a visit,” her mother pressed.
“We will, once Liza’s done with her exams. Oliver’s coming too. He used to spend every summer with his family, but after his parents died, he stopped. Won’t even hear about them now.”
“But how? His family, the graves…”
“Don’t bring it up, Mum. He visits the graves, but quickly—no talking to relatives. They all fell out.”
Oliver was the youngest in his family. Every holiday, he’d go to the village near Oxford, helping his parents—fixing the house, building a shed, buying tools for his dad. His parents gave him money, but he often chipped in his own. When they passed, his brothers swooped in and took anything valuable. Tools vanished with the excuse, “You don’t need these in the city.” Even the old cabinet was emptied of keepsakes Oliver had wanted.
All that remained was a tarnished set of silverplate cutlery—dozens of pieces in a darkened box. No one had bothered with it. Oliver brought it home. Vera said nothing—it was a piece of his parents.
“And the house? Surely it needed dividing?” her mother asked.
“No. His nephew’s family moved straight in. There was a will. Oliver didn’t argue, but it nearly came to blows. Now they’re in the same village, enemies.”
“And the cutlery? Still tarnished?”
“I polished it. Oliver was over the moon—said he hadn’t seen it shine like that since he was a boy. Someone gifted it to his parents, but they kept it unused, like treasure…”
At his mother-in-law’s village home, it was quiet and cosy. Oliver walked the yard, eyeing repairs. No one nagged him like his brothers, who’d bark orders but never lift a finger.
“Vera, what if we put up a fence? Would your mum mind? We’ve got the money, no need to take hers,” Oliver asked that night.
“I’ll ask about the fence.”
“Plenty to do with the summer kitchen too. And more…”
“No more lounging on the sofa?” Vera teased.
“This isn’t the city. Your own place—different rules.”
Her mother was thrilled when Oliver started on the fence. She’d never dared hope for it, thinking the old one would last. And when he fixed the summer kitchen, she beamed.
“Why buy a house? You’ve got one here, near town. I won’t be around forever, I’m getting frail…”
“Mum, there’s Liza. We need jobs.”
“Liza’s grown, serious. Always with her books. You could leave her alone sometimes. Town’s close—commute’s easy. Work’s there. The new farmer pays well, got all sorts—greenhouses, fields…”
“I don’t know. It’s a big step.”
“House is big, I won’t be in the way. I don’t need much. You’re all I’ve got. My niece only comes ’round for money.”
“For money?”
“Weeded the garden, then expected pay. I never asked, but I gave it. Don’t let her inside—she’d nick anything not nailed down. Even suggested signing as my carer for the allowance. But I’m not helpless, and I’m not that old. You visit. Pity Oliver didn’t before. I take back what I said about him. No rush—think it over.”
“Auntie, where’d this fence come from? You moaned your pension wouldn’t stretch! Too tight to pay for help?” The niece, Katie, barged in.
“Speak of the devil,” her mother sighed.
“I’ll handle this,” Vera cut in. “Afternoon, sis. What’s the shouting?”
“Oh, it’s…”
“‘It’s’ nothing. We live here now. No ‘help’ needed.”
“Fine, I’m gone,” Katie muttered, storming off.
A year later, Oliver was eager to move. Liza finished school, got into college. Jobs secured, car bought. If things went sour, they could return—but no one dwelled on it. They settled in.
Her mother suggested displaying the silverplate set in the cabinet. Space freed up when she moved her old china to the kitchen—nothing valuable, just dust-collectors.
She lived another twelve years. No one thought of wills—daughter and son-in-law were in the house. Oliver became the master of it, fixing, renovating.
When inheritance split came, a will surfaced. Vera and Oliver got half each. A note read: “Forgive me, love. This is fair. You’re together, share all. His life’s been short-changed enough. You know what I mean.”
Oliver was moved. He hadn’t expected that from his mother-in-law. Over those years, he and Vera had a son. When Liza announced her second pregnancy, they helped her family with housing, remembering how cramped their flat had been with just one child—they’d never dared try for another.
Liza’s family visits often. They’ve no other kin. The silverplate set gleams in the cabinet, a memory of Oliver’s parents kept bright.
