**The Country Cottage Bill**
Emily had always assumed that petty squabbles between siblings only happened to neighbours or distant relatives like Aunt Clara in Manchester. Yet reality proved more mundane, with conflict arising long before any inheritance disputes over their parents’ flat or ageing cottage.
Ironically, the cottage became the catalyst for a bitter clash between sisters—Emily and Charlotte—though the issue wasn’t inheritance or who’d weed the vegetable patch.
With the May Bank Holiday approaching, leaving the county seemed impossible. Train tickets had sold out instantly, and Emily loathed long car journeys—cramped, tedious, and hardly a holiday if you were driving.
“Why not stay at my cottage?” Charlotte suggested. “It’s no five-star hotel, but it’s cosy. The kids can play outside, and we’ll keep busy—like an outdoor fitness bootcamp!” she quipped.
“Let’s do it!” Emily agreed, though her options were limited: endure London’s crowded parks or visit their parents’ cottage, where relaxation was impossible.
The sisters weren’t close, but Emily couldn’t recall major disagreements. A seven-year age gap meant Charlotte had left for university while Emily was still in primary school. By the time Emily graduated, Charlotte had married James and returned with baby Lily.
“We’ll barbecue, and James will mix his homemade liqueurs—he’s obsessed with recipes, though he never drinks them!” Charlotte chirped.
Emily feigned enthusiasm, unaware of James’s hobby but eager to keep the peace.
“Perfect! We’ll bring cake and fruit. The forecast’s sunny—we’ll finally thaw out after winter!”
Emily’s twin boys and Charlotte’s youngest son were similar ages, promising lively days ahead.
On May Day, Emily’s family navigated gridlocked motorway exits, buoyed by the collective exodus from the city.
“Finally! We’ve been waiting ages,” Charlotte greeted them, boasting about the feast, weather, and James’s newly built barbecue area.
“Let’s refrigerate the cake—it’s been in the car over an hour,” Emily urged. The sisters headed inside while the boys kicked a football outside.
The evening was idyllic: homemade liqueurs, roasted vegetables, meats, and fruit. The cake waited until morning.
“When did we last talk this long?” Charlotte mused as they cleared the table.
“Life’s too hectic,” Emily replied. “Shame Paul has work mid-holiday—we’d have stayed longer.”
“Stay without him! He can fetch you on VE Day.”
They agreed. Sunny days followed—kids outdoors, sisters grocery shopping, James occasionally joining. Emily tried contributing, but Charlotte insisted: “Stop! I’ve got this. Don’t you trust me?”
The idyll shattered on departure day. Over a lavish farewell meal, Charlotte’s true intentions surfaced. She produced a ledger detailing every expense—groceries, utilities, even prorated bills for the children and Paul’s brief stay.
“When did she find time for this?” Paul muttered, reaching for his wallet, short on cash.
“Can I transfer it?” he asked awkwardly.
“Cash only. Banks charge fees, and you’d pay triple at a holiday park!” Charlotte snapped, unyielding.
They scrounged £150, promising the remaining £225 later.
The drive home was silent until Emily erupted: “Why did she buy oysters? We didn’t eat them! Oliver barely touched anything but cucumbers!”
“£150’s more than fair,” Paul insisted.
But Charlotte called relentlessly: “Ungrateful! Your kids broke our chairs—will you cover repairs too?”
After ignoring calls, they returned home to another ringtone. Emily’s mother, Margaret, answered coldly: “Repay Charlotte immediately. Times are hard—no excuses.”
“Mum, it was her idea—” Emily began, but the line went dead.
“Should I deliver the rest?” Paul asked gently.
“No!” Emily snapped. “This is a joke. How could Mum side with her?”
She sobbed, ranting about subtracting the cake’s cost—had the neighbour’s slice been billed too? Paul soothed her until she collapsed into exhausted sleep.
Late that night, he drove back to the cottage. Music blared; Charlotte and guests laughed raucously.
“Emily’s devastated, and she’s hosting another party?” he muttered, turning homeward.
The family never discussed it again. Three months passed without contact until a text arrived: “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. Lily’s school uniform costs £225. Pay up.”
Emily deleted it, blocked Charlotte’s number, and packed for the holiday park. As they left, Paul grinned: “Remember when I wanted a cottage? Thank God we never bought one.”
