In those long-ago days, when the air still carried the scent of freshly turned earth and the promise of quiet country living, George and Margaret arrived at their new cottage in the Cotswolds. They had purchased it the previous autumn and now, as spring warmed the land, they set about putting things to rights. The house itself was sound enoughfit for winter habitationbut the garden and outbuildings required considerable attention.
The old orchard needed pruning and tending. A new sauna had been ordered and would arrive within the fortnight; all that remained was to select the best spot for it. Nearby, they planned a covered area for laundry, a woodshed, and a small summerhouse. Their grown children had promised to visit soon and lend a hand.
“How peaceful it is here,” Margaret remarked. “We could live here year-round now we’re retired.”
“I’ve had a look at the cellar,” George replied. “Only the door needs replacing.”
“And Ive inspected the back veranda,” Margaret said. “Remember how we talked of a summerhouse? Theres no needthis veranda has a fine round table and old chairs, just waiting to be restored. Another centurys use in them yet. And the view over the orchard! Perfect for tea. Though the door here wants mending tooIve a queer feeling someones been inside, winter past or since.”
“Aye, doors first,” George agreed. “Well set everything right in the back garden. Out of sight from the lane, yet lovely all the same. And at the front, well have a lawn and flowerbeds.”
“Some perennials are already sprouting,” Margaret mused. “Well see whats where, and perhaps move a few things. But for this summer, well let them be.”
The sauna arrived as promised, and with it came the children. Work on the grounds began in earnest. Their neighbor, Mrs. Thistlethwaite, soon appeared, her grandchildren darting about the property.
“Have you grandchildren of your own?” she inquired.
“We do,” Margaret answered. “Theyll visit in time.”
“And why such a tall fence? Weve always got on well enough without boundaries here.”
“Without boundaries?” George frowned. “Weve only just taken down the old onerotted clean through. You may not mind, but we like order. Rest easyweve not pinched an inch of your land. The fence follows the property line exactly.”
“No little gate between us, then? Theres always been a path here.”
“You mean right here, between our homes? No, that wont be happening. The only entrance is from the lane.”
“But how shall the children play togetheryours and mine? I see youve cut down the apple trees. My little ones loved climbing them.”
“Weve only trimmed and cleared them, and planted new saplings besides. Your children may climb your own trees.”
“New, everythings new with you. And why plant hedges along our fence?”
“For beauty, Mrs. Thistlethwaitesheer beauty!”
She left then, but soon returned with fresh questions. Her grandchildren roamed George and Margarets land freelyuntil the new gate was hung.
“Youve settled in thoroughly,” Mrs. Thistlethwaite observed. “Will you stay through winter?”
“Time will tell,” said Margaret.
“And why lock the gate? The children always played football heresafe and level, unlike the lane with its motorcars.”
“Every inch of my front garden is planted, unlike yours. You cant tell thyme from parsley unless its labeled at the grocers, and I daresay youve only seen berries in jam. Youd do better making friends.”
“The gate stays shut to keep out prying eyesand your grandchildrens mischief. Two days ago they let out our laying hens. Not a single one did we recover.”
“You keep chickens? Then you mean to live here proper?”
“We already do.”
By late August, they celebrated Georges birthday. The family gatheredchildren, grandchildren, all together. The men grilled sausages, the women prepared salads, and the table was set on the veranda.
Suddenly, Mrs. Thistlethwaite appeared. “Here we are! Come to wish you happy returns, neighbor-like. Weve always done so, unasked. The children knew of it since morning.”
“Youre preparing, guests have comeits a celebration! Well sit a while. The little ones can play together. Really, its high time we became friends.”
“We didnt invite you,” Margaret said firmly. “This is a family gathering. Ours is a neighborly acquaintance, not a kinship.”
“Oh, that may change,” Mrs. Thistlethwaite laughed. “Children grow. Who knowswe may yet become relations!”
No matter what was said, she twisted words and would not leave. Her grandchildren scrambled everywhereshaking pear trees, climbing the sauna roof (mercifully without falling). Then they took to hurling decorative stones into the inflatable pool. By the time anyone noticed, water gushed forth as the children fled with shrieks of glee.
“Little harm done,” Mrs. Thistlethwaite declared. “Autumns comingtime to put the pool away regardless. Theyve had their fun.”
“Its time you went home.”
“Why, weve barely sat! The children are famished after their romp. Come now, all to the table!”
The celebration was spoiled. Yet another awaiteda week later, the family returned to mark George and Margarets thirty-fifth anniversary.
Someone had the sense to latch the gate beforehand. It turned out to be their youngest grandson, seven years old.
Knocking sounded at the gate. The family pretended not to hear. The aroma of grilling meat and fresh herbs filled the air. A cool breeze stirred.
“When shall we expect you back in town?” someone asked.
“Well see,” said Margaret. “Autumn comes firstwell stay awhile. Apples to harvest, and this years crop is splendid. Weve grown fond of everything heresave the neighbor. But shes no real trouble. Weve learned how to manage her.”
Laughter rippled through the gathering.
In time, the guests departed, leaving George and Margaret to their solitude. Autumn lay ahead, then winter They would try it. And if it didnt suit, their London flat remained.
As for Mrs. Thistlethwaite? She too leftschool called her grandchildren, and her daughter needed help. George and Margaret exchanged a glance of profound relief. Heaven grant patience with impossible neighbors
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