New owner of the cottage Well be living at your cottage all summer, my brother announced.
I was about to lose my voice. No! Id had enough of these uninvited guests; it was high time they left.
When I hauled the trays of seedlings out of the boot, a familiar calm settled over me. My little patch of green, my quarteracre of peace. But something was wrong. From beyond the hedge drifted the sound of a pop ballad, and at the gate I froze. The lock was busted, more precisely ripped out, meat still hanging on it.
What on earth? I muttered, pushing the gate.
The scene that unfolded looked straight out of a horror film for gardeners. My brothers wife, Ethel, was lounging in my hammock, queen of anyones deck chairs. In one hand she clutched a glass of something pink, in the other a mobile. She wore the plush bathrobe my colleague had given me for my fortyfifth birthday. And over my barbecue a sizzling, smoky scent rose.
Tom! my voice rang out, scattering blossoms from the nearest apple tree.
My brother emerged from the garden, a pair of garden shears in his grip. His Tshirt, emblazoned with Beer me and give me a hug, clung to his waist in a most unflattering way.
Oh, Mabel! he beamed, as if breaking into someone elses home was perfectly normal. Were just we thought wed give you a surprise.
You broke the lock? I lowered the seed boxes slowly to the ground.
Dont be so quick to judge it sort of fell apart on its own, Tom scratched his head. It just gave way.
From the shrubbery sprang a lanky teen in orange shorts.
Auntie Mabel! Got a net? Well be catching lizards this evening!
I squinted. It was my older nephew, Victor, or maybe Harry I was never sure.
You you broke my house? I said each word deliberately, as if Id learned it in an angermanagement course.
Oh, Mabel, youre finally up! Ethel finally managed to swing herself from the hammock.
The robe slipped, revealing tanned legs.
We decided to breathe some life into this place without you! she declared.
Mabel, youre in my robe, I hissed through clenched teeth.
Its so soft! she cooed, petting the collar like it were a mink stole. Why is it hanging there? You should be wearing it!
From the house, through cracked windows, came a clatter and a yelp.
My nephews are destroying my books?! I recognised the sound instantly.
My collection of Agatha Christie novels, which I kept on the cottage shelf for a good read, was tumbling off the shelves.
Kids were just playing, Tom said, grimacing. They built a fort out of them. Very symbolic, really.
Symbolic? I raised an eyebrow. You know whats also symbolic? That I asked you not to come to the cottage without me. Especially after you burnt my little gazebo last time!
The candle fell on its own, we were having a romantic night! Tom protested. And that was last year. Weve grown up since then!
Yes, indeed, Ethel nodded. Ive taken up psychology. And you know what I see? Your trouble with me is just a echo of childhood wounds!
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It didnt help. I kept counting to twenty.
Pack your things and go, I said as calmly as I could. Now.
But we just arrived! Tom shouted. And the meat
Leave the meat and get out, I turned toward the car. And make sure you didnt accidentally take my silver forks.
Our forks are yours now! Tom yelled after me. The metal isnt even real!
I slipped into the drivers seat, the engine coughing to life. My hands trembled with rage.
***
After sending the intruders packing, I poured myself a strong mug of tea with a biscuit. Tears welled, damn it.
For seven years Id scrimped, stashed every penny, and finally bought the cottage of my dreams. I planted hydrangeas, drank coffee from my grandmothers old china, and toiled in the vegetable beds. Most of all, it was mine. Not ours with my exhusband, not family. Mine. Period.
My reverie was shattered by a ring from Mum.
Sweetheart, the voice of Galina Ivanovna, my motherinlawtype mother with a professional peacekeeping diploma, chimed, why are you fighting with your brother?
I sighed deeply.
Mum, they smashed my house.
Maybe the lock was just faulty?
Mum, I swallowed the urge to bang my head on the table, the latch was completely broken.
Darling, your brother hes struggling, isnt he? Youre being harsh. Toms your brother, the only soul youve got left!
If hes my soul, Im an atheist, I muttered. Theyve turned my cottage into a battlefield, my books into forts, my robe into a runway for strangers!
Theyre just kids, boys will be boys, Mum sighed.
Theyre twelve, theyre little barbarians! I snapped.
Mum only sighed.
Alright, alright, I get it. You dont love your nephews, you dont love your brother, you dont love me, anyone at all, she dramatised. Fine, Ill stop nagging.
I hung up. Classic Mum move: when facts fail, hit the guilt button.
Mum, Im going to bed, I said wearily. Work tomorrow.
Think about it, love, Mum cooed. Theyre family. Dont you care?
I hit the endcall button and flopped onto the sofa, one thought looping: what more could Tom do to finally get Mum on my side?
***
Tom didnt give up; he was as stubborn as a mule. He texted, Maybe we should spend the whole summer at the cottage? Ethel will be happy, the kids will be fine.
I set my phone down slowly and poured a cup of black coffee, no sugar, so I could feel the bitterness fully.
All summer? ALL SUMMER?! Three months?!
At first I wanted to call Tom and unload everything I thought of him, his wife, their brood.
Calm down, Mabel, I told myself aloud. Youre an adult, you can handle this.
I nodded at my reflection and grabbed the phone.
Tom, are you serious about the whole summer? I asked as soon as he answered.
Whats it to you?
His voice was relaxed, as if he were lounging in a deck chair. IN MY DECK CHAIR!
Youre not opposed, are you? Youre a good person.
Im good, but Im not a fool, I snapped. This is my cottage.
Listen, youre odd, Tom chuckled. What difference does it make? Were looking after the place for you.
You guarded the roses when Ethel cut them for a friend.
So what? The friend was pleased.
I inhaled deeply, exhaled, counted to ten, then to a hundred. Nothing helped.
Ethel wants to tell you something! Tom added cheerfully.
A rustle and a shuffle came through the receiver.
Mabel! Ethel sang, her voice as sweet as a shopwindow advertisement. The boys will love the fresh air at your cottage. Be a good aunt!
Ethel, this is my private property, I said evenly, like explaining to a child why you cant eat sand. Youre there without permission. If youd asked, maybe Id have let you.
See? If Id let you, everything would be fine.
I realised talking to her was pointless.
Fine then, I said, feigning calm. Enjoy yourselves.
Mabel, are you upset? Tom asked suddenly, back on the line.
No, I replied with a smile he couldnt see. Im going to sort this out.
***
The estate agents office smelled of strong coffee and desperation mostly my own. Across the table, a welldressed lady flipped through photos of my cottage on a tablet.
Are you sure you want to sell? she asked, eyes sharp. Properties like this are in demand.
Absolutely, I nodded, neck stiff with determination. The sooner, the better.
The agent raised an eyebrow.
Rush?
Im shedding excess baggage, I said with a weary grin. New goals have appeared.
Like getting rid of a brother? she chuckled.
Exactly, I thought.
The buyer looks promising, she said, scrolling. Theres already interest.
I breathed a sigh of relief everything was falling into place.
***
The prospective buyer was a gentleman called Arthur Whitfield. A solidlooking man in his fifties, silvertempled hair, eyes that could cool a summers day. He examined the photos, asked three concise questions, then nodded.
Ill take it.
Dont you want to see the land in person? I asked, surprised.
I trust the pictures, he shrugged. And your honesty.
I faltered slightly.
You see I do get occasional visitors. Relatives sometimes pop over.
Is that a problem? his gaze stayed steady.
Its not a legal issue, I shook my head. Just might be a bit awkward.
I couldnt care less, he replied. Im buying the property, not the relatives. When can we sign?
We set the date for the upcoming Saturday. Tom was planning a massive barbecue for the neighbours that very day.
He hadnt told me Id heard through Mum. Hed probably try to break the lock again and pull a surprise.
Well, brother, lets see who gets the last laugh.
***
When we arrived, the field buzzed like a beehive. Neighbours cars, an inflatable pool on the lawn, music, grills, children shouting. A proper summer fête.
Is this always like this? asked Arthur, stepping out of his black SUV.
Only when my brother shows up, I sighed.
We walked through the gate and the first person we saw was Ethel, emerging from the house with a huge bowl of salad.
Mabel! she cried. We didnt expect you!
My plans have changed, I smiled. Meet Arthur Whitfield and Victor Simmons, a solicitor.
Delighted! Ethel beamed. Are you friends of Tom? Or?
She winked knowingly.
Something more?
Im the new owner, Arthur said calmly.
Ethels face went blank.
What do you mean owner?
The lady in the black coat sold the cottage to me, the solicitor explained. Mrs. Whitfield transferred the title to Mr. Whitfield. Here are the papers.
He tapped the folder.
But how could Tom! Ethel gasped. Tom!
From behind the grill (MY grill!) Tom strutted out in an apron, skewer in hand, grin on his face.
Mabel! he shouted. We thought youd sent us packing!
Id swing my hand if I could, I muttered.
Tom, Mabel sold the cottage! Ethel blurted.
Tom froze, skewer midair.
What?
I sold it, I said slowly, clearly. Arthur Whitfield is the new owner. The solicitor is here to make it official.
I braced for a tirade, accusations, a scream. Instead, Tom lowered his arms and asked quietly:
Why?
The question caught me off guard.
Because you occupied my home without permission, I replied. Because you act as if everything thats mine automatically belongs to you. Im fed up. Its easier to lose this cottage than keep the feud.
What now? Tom asked, eyes downcast.
Now you gather your things and leave, Arthur interjected. Today, now. This is private property.
But we were planning to stay all summer! Ethel protested. We even have a tent!
Take it with you, the new owner said. I dont like guests.
Tom ripped off his apron and tossed it onto the grass.
This was a cursed trap! Driving here, digging in the flowerbeds Normal people fly to Spain, not muck around in the garden!
Fine, have a good trip to Spain, I said. Enjoy the flight.
Because you you youre cruel! Tom shouted, searching for a line. This is our family nest!
What nonsense? I crossed my arms. I bought it with my own money. Your contribution was a snide, why do you need a cottage anyway?
Ethel grabbed Toms elbow.
Lets go. Its clear now.
She turned to me, eyes cold.
Youll regret this, Mabel.
I doubt it, I smiled. At least I wont watch you turn my garden into a battlefield.
At that moment the nephews burst out of the house, followed by a handful of local kids.
Aunt Mabel! We were bouncing on the sofa like trampolines!
The sofa?! I gasped. Are you out of your minds?
Enough, Arthur said, pulling out his phone. Im calling the police. You have half an hour to pack up and vacate.
He dialed, his expression a mix of triumph and relief. The fear on Toms face was the reward for years of patience.
***
Mabel, love, how are you? Mum asked, sitting across the kitchen table, eyes searching mine. No regrets?
No, Mum. Not at all, I replied honestly.
Hes still angry, she said.
Hell get over it, I shrugged. Hes brilliant at making excuses for anything.
Two months passed after the sale. Tom didnt call, I didnt call him. It was the longest silence since he started asking me why the sky is blue and where babies come from.
Hes still your brother, Mum said, softer now.
I know, I nodded. And Ill always be his sister. That doesnt mean I have to put up with everything he creates.
Mum fell silent, cup in hand.
What will you do with the money from the cottage?
Not decided yet. Save it, invest it, maybe splurge a bit, I said lightly. You dont need a master plan for a few pounds.
In truth, Id already spent it on a new cottage up north, already landscaping it. I wasnt about to tell Mum, nor give away the address.
I learned a simple truth: whenever something good is in your life, someone will try to ruin it. The second time, I wont let it happen.
