Who on earth has been skulking around my cottage? Blythe snapped, her voice trembling with exasperation. Ring your relatives, have them come and set this place straight. Ill not be the one to clean up after them. Ive had enough of washing the sheets every night after your friends have spent the night here. Theyve been camping on our little retreat for far too long.
Thomas, her husband, had been carving the roast chicken at dinner when he mentioned, Mother called. She and the rest of the family are planning a weekend barbecue out in the country.
Good for them, Blythe replied dryly. Let them go, whats it to us? Ive never liked Mabel, your motherinlaw, one bit.
Thomas tried to smooth things over. They just want to use the cottage. They dont own one themselves, and Ive got a garage job on Saturday. He said it as though it were obvious. I told them we couldnt go up the hill for the weekend, so Mum asked for the spare key.
Blythe had little choice but to agree, a decision she would later rue. When the following weekend arrived, she and Thomas drove up to the cottage, and Blythe froze at the sight that met her eyes. The place looked as if a storm had passed through.
The berries were strewn about, the floor was caked in dirt, and on the stove sat a solitary pot of old soup, its lid tarnished with years of neglect. A kitchen window had its curtain ripped down. Blythe could not comprehend the state of things; Thomass parents were already in their sixties.
She poured out her fury to Thomas.
Who has been trespassing here? Call your family, have them come and tidy up, she cried. I will not be the one to mop up after them. Im tired of laundering the bedding after your friends have slept over.
Thomas, ever the pragmatic, suggested, Just toss it in the washing machine, hang it out to dry.
Next time youll do it all yourself! she snapped. Are you proud of the way our cottage and garden look?
He said nothing further. Blythe fell silent, and after a while they reconciled. They had only been married two years a union born of love, though Blythe now sometimes thought she had rushed. They had no children yet. Life went on: work, house, work, house. Weekends were spent strolling through town or heading out with friends to the countryside.
Everything changed the day Blythes mother remarried and moved to a northern city. The family cottage fell into Blythes hands. Suddenly, Thomass relatives swarmed the place. Everyone knows a barbecue tastes better under open skies, after all. Cousins, secondcousins, uncles, aunts, even Thomass grandmother arrived, all eager for the river, the meadow, and the grill. Thomass friends joined the crowd as well.
They all arrived with sleeping bags, and Thomas dutifully lit the charcoal. Blythe grew weary of the constant influx, yet she did not wish to sour the relations with her husbands side of the family. Something had to change.
With each approaching weekend she found herself both anxious and excited. By then, Thomass mother, Mabel, was an elderly woman who had given birth to her only son late in life. She also had a daughterThomass sister, Marion, who was ten years his senior and came from a small village, convinced that everything was a shared resource.
Marion and Mabel made a habit of taking everything to the cottagecreams, shampoos, sponges, even Blythes indoor slippers. One day Mabel rang again, asking Thomas for the cottage key, this time because Marion wanted to bring her boss for a weekend retreat and a barbecue.
As always, Blythe was not consulted about how she felt.
Well give Mum the key, Thomas said, remembering Blythes reaction to the previous family visit but unwilling to bring it up.
Blythe realised she had to act, and Thomas found himself on the opposite side of the dispute. Weighing her options, she called her own mother and complained.
Ill call back, her mother replied briefly.
Within twenty minutes Blythe had phoned again, telling her mother that her sister and her husband would be staying at the cottage for a while. Dont worry, her mother said. Aunt Olive will sort it out.
Blythes heart leapt; Aunt Olive was a figure she had always feared. As a child she had spent several summers at Olives seaside cottage, memories that had lingered for life. Olive, a stern yet capable woman, always seemed to keep things in order.
Later that evening Olive called.
Come now, my dear, youve been so quiet. You ought to have called me sooner. How shall we handle thisby a gentle nudge or a firm hand? she laughed, the amusement clear in her voice.
Blythe asked, Did you tell them the cottage belongs to me?
Olive shrugged. I cant recall, but they all seem certain its theirs.
Dont worry, love. Well set it right.
On Sunday, Mabels voice rang through the phone, indignant. You sold the cottage? Wheres the money? Why didnt you tell us?
It turned out that on Saturday Marion, her boss, and Mabel had arrived at the cottage together, only to find a picturesque group of five already grilling.
What are you doing here? shouted Gwendolyn Parker, the lady who claimed ownership of the cottage.
And you, who are you? the woman asked sharply, striding toward the newcomers. I am the lady of this property; I know not who you are. How did you get these keys?
Mabel and Marion tried to explain the family connection and the handing over of the spare key, but Gwendolyns displeased stare left Marion tonguetied. In the end, the key was taken from them, and they were politely asked to leave and not return, lest the matter of the unauthorised keys be pursued further.
From a distance Blythe heard Mabels angry shout into the receiver. Thomas was at a loss for words, unable even to interject.
Hand the phone to your wife, Thomas said, passing the handset to Blythe. The cottage isnt yours! Mabel declared, her tone grandiose.
Did you even ask? Blythe tried to keep her voice level. Do you think everything around here belongs to you as well?
Gwendolyn, still fuming, warned, Do you understand that Marion invited her boss to the cottage? There may be repercussionsher company is planning cuts, and she wanted to curry favour. If her boss is dismissed, youll feel responsible.
Blythe retorted, And what does that have to do with me? Aunt Olive is just there to rest, you never asked me. Buy your own place and enjoy it there.
Thomas, pale, whispered, After this, I wont go back, and neither will my relatives.
It was the first serious argument they had ever had. Thomas felt hurt; Marion was later sacked.
Ill never forgive you for this, Thomas said, his voice cold. My family has loved and cared for you, and you have deceived us.
Blythe was convinced Marions dismissal had another cause, and suddenly she realised she scarcely missed any of them. Their marriage had reached a dead end.
Mother, I think Im divorcing Thomas, she confessed.
Decide for yourself, youre an adult now. Where will you live? My flat is vacant. Go stay with Olive.
Thank you, Blythe replied, surprised. I suppose Ill rent a flat.
She filed for divorce, secured a modest flat in South London, and moved out of Thomass house. The cottage was left behind, never to be visited again.
Now, as I look back on those tangled years, the memory of that overcrowded garden, the clatter of strangers laughter, and the stubborn pride that kept a simple country retreat from becoming a battlefield still lingers. It is a reminder that even the most tranquil corners can be stormed by too many guests, and that sometimes the only way forward is to close the gate and walk a new path.
