**Family Secrets and a New Home**
“Come visit me in the countryside with your husband!” urged Vera’s mother.
“We will, Mum, don’t worry,” Vera replied, weariness creeping into her voice. “Once Liza’s finished her exams, we’ll all come. Oliver wants to as well. He used to go to his family’s village every summer, but after they passed, he never set foot there again.”
“How could that be?” Her mother frowned. “He’s got brothers and sisters there—”
“He doesn’t like talking about it,” Vera murmured. “We visit the graves, just for the day, but he avoids the rest. He helped them while they were alive, but after they died, something inside him hardened.”
“Vera, why do you carry everything alone?” her mother snapped. “What kind of man is he? Strong as an ox, and yet you coddle him. You should look after yourself! The most he does is take the bins out—”
“We’ve had this talk, Mum. I’m not carrying anything. We love each other, and he earns his keep.”
“It’s not about the money! He doesn’t lift a finger around the house!”
“What’s there to do? Our flat’s tiny. He comes home, lies on the sofa. There’s nothing more to it.”
“When will you buy a proper house? Two rooms—that’s nothing!”
“I don’t know,” Vera sighed. “We were saving for it, but now…”
Liza was set to start college after her A-levels, and next year would be her prom. Vera longed for the countryside. No matter how long she lived in the city, it never felt like home. Out on the street, only old women whispered on benches, judging everyone. The village had its gossips too—but the air tasted different there.
“Just come and visit,” her mother pressed.
“We will, once Liza’s done with exams. Oliver’s coming too. He used to go every summer, but after his parents died, he stopped. Won’t even hear about them now.”
“But his family—the graves—”
“Don’t remind him, Mum. He visits the graves, but quickly. No reunions. They all fell out.”
Oliver had been the youngest. Every holiday, he’d return to the village near Worcester, fixing his parents’ home, building a shed, buying tools for his father. They’d slip him money, but he often chipped in his own. When they were gone, his brothers stripped the place bare. “You don’t need these in the city,” they said, taking the tools. Even the old sideboard was emptied of the keepsakes Oliver had wanted.
Only one thing remained—a tarnished silver cutlery set, dozens of pieces in a faded box. No one had bothered with it. Oliver brought it home. Vera said nothing. It was all he had left of them.
“What about the house?” her mother asked. “Surely it had to be divided?”
“No. A nephew moved in straight away. There was a will. Oliver didn’t argue, but after that, it nearly came to blows. Now they live in the same village as enemies.”
“And the silver? Still tarnished?”
“I polished it. Oliver was overjoyed—like a child. Said he hadn’t seen it shine since he was little. Someone gifted it to his parents, but they never used it, just kept it safe…”
At his mother-in-law’s house, peace settled over Oliver. He walked the yard, noting what needed work. No one nagged him like his brothers, who barked orders but never lifted a finger.
“Vera, what if we put up a new fence?” Oliver asked one night. “Would your mum mind? We’ve got the money—won’t take a penny from her.”
“I’ll ask.”
“And the summer kitchen—needs repairs. Plenty to do…”
“No more lounging on the sofa?” Vera teased.
“This isn’t the city. Your own place—it’s different.”
Her mother was thrilled when Oliver started on the fence. She’d never dared hope for one. And when he fixed the summer kitchen, her face lit up.
“Why buy a house? You’ve got one here, close enough to the city. I won’t be around forever—I’m not as strong…”
“Mum, we’ve got Liza. Jobs to think of.”
“Liza’s grown, serious—always with her nose in a book. She’d be fine alone. The city’s close; you could commute. Work’s not hard to find—that new farmer pays well, all sorts of machinery, greenhouses, fields…”
“I don’t know. It’s a big step.”
“My house is big enough. I won’t be in your way. You’re all I’ve got. My niece only comes round when she wants money.”
“For money?”
“Pulled a few weeds—of course, not for free. I never asked, but I paid. I don’t let her inside—she’d take anything not nailed down. Offered to be my carer for the state allowance. But I’m not helpless yet, and I’m not old enough. You visit. Wish Oliver had come sooner. Take back every word I said about him. No rush—just think on it.”
“Auntie, where’d you get the fence? You cried about your pension!” A voice cut through the air—her niece, Emily.
“Speak of the devil…” her mother muttered.
“I’ll handle this,” Vera said sharply. “Hello, Emily. What’s all this yelling?”
“It’s just—”
“That’s enough. We’re staying. Don’t bother ‘helping’ again.”
“Fine. Won’t come back,” Emily huffed before storming off.
A year later, Oliver couldn’t wait to move. Liza had left school, started college. They’d found work, bought a car. If it didn’t suit them, they could return—but the thought never crossed their minds.
Her mother suggested displaying the silver in the sideboard. She’d cleared a space, shifting her old china to the kitchen. It wasn’t valuable—just collected dust.
She lived another twelve years. No one thought of wills—her daughter and son-in-law lived there now. Oliver became the man of the house, fixing, improving.
When the time came to divide the estate, a will surfaced. Vera and Oliver each got half the house. A note read: “Forgive me, love. This is fair. You share everything. His life’s been hard enough. You understand.”
Oliver was moved. He hadn’t expected such kindness. In those years, they’d had a son. When Liza announced her second pregnancy, they vowed to help her family find a home. They remembered how cramped their city flat had been—how they’d hesitated to have more children.
Liza’s family visits often. There’s no other kin left. The silver still gleams in the sideboard—a quiet tribute to Oliver’s parents.
