You must not know much about kids these days!
Hello, Evelyn, I saw you pottering about the garden and thought Id pop in to say hello, Margaret fidgeted by the gate.
She and Evelyn lived on opposite ends of the village. Margaret and her husband, Victor, stayed near the river, while Evelyns cottage sat closer to the woods.
Theyd never been closethere were plenty of neighbours between them, after all. But now, with most of their own grandchildren grown, Margarets son and daughter-in-law had announced they were sending their boys, Oliver and Alfie, to stay for a whole month.
“Tired of the city,” they said.
In better years, the family had holidayed abroadSpain, France, even the Maldives once. But times had changed, and suddenly, the countryside seemed a fine alternative.
“Just so you know, Mum,” her son Nigel had warned, “Olivers thirteen and fancies himself a man. Alfie wont take orders from him, so theyre at each others throats half the time.”
“Oh, well manage,” Margaret had said brightlybut the moment she hung up, doubt crept in. Children werent the same these days. What if she couldnt handle them?
Victor was strict, no nonsense. He wouldnt tolerate cheek, and the last thing they needed was constant bickering.
So Margaret decided to hedge her bets. Evelyns grandsons were around the same age, werent they? If the boys got along, it might ease the strain.
“Come in, Margaret!” Evelyn called, spotting her at the door. “What brings you over?”
“Oh, the boys are coming to stay, and I thoughtwell, yours are about the same age, arent they? Might be nice for them to meet.”
Evelyn laughed. “You really dont know modern children, do you? Mine nearly drove me round the bend last summermy old man wanted to send them packing! But fine, bring them over. What choice do we have? Theyre our grandchildren, after all.”
That weekend, Nigel arrived with his wife, Penelope, and the boys.
Oliver and Alfie had shot up since their last visit, but they seemed happy enough to see their grandparents. Margarets worries eased.
What was Evelyn on about? Her grandsons were polite, well-mannered! And bright, toonothing to fret over.
“Mum, just ring if theres any trouble,” Nigel said as they left, but Margaret waved him off. “Oh, go on with youwe raised children too, you know.”
That evening, the boys took forever to settle. Theyd been given Nigels old room, but the excitement of a new place kept them awakelaughing, arguing, thumping about.
Victor scowled.
“Whyd you agree to this, Maggie? They dont care about the villagethey just needed somewhere to dump them!”
Come morning, the boys refused to stir.
“Gran, let us sleep,” Oliver groaned when she nudged him. Alfie didnt even twitch.
“For heavens sake!” Margaret huffedthen froze.
Their phones lay discarded on the floor.
“Up all night, were you? Thats itthese are mine now!”
Oliver leapt up. “Give them back! Theyre not yours!”
“Ill ring your mother and see what she has to say about that!” Margaret snapped. Oliver backed off, sulked, then slammed the door behind him. “Fine, ring her then!”
Two hours passed without a peep. Victor was ready to storm inwhat kind of childish nonsense was this?but the boys finally emerged, both scowling.
“Were not eating porridge. We want nuggets or toasties.”
“Oh, is that so?” Victors temper flared. “Then go hungry. And have you made your beds? Lets have a look, shall we?” He marched in. “Crisp packets? Sweet wrappers in the sheets? Not a thing tidied? You havent earned breakfast yet! Clean this mess up!”
“You cant starve us!” Alfie glared. “Youre mean!”
Victor nearly lost it, but Margaret stepped in. “Come on, Ill show you how to make the beds properly. Tomorrow, you do it yourselves, yes? And toastiesbut only after porridge. Deal?”
“Youre spoiling them,” Victor grumbled. “No respect, no disciplinejust little lords, the pair of them!”
The boys soon befriended Evelyns grandsonsbut together, they were a nightmare.
Branches and sticks littered the garden. Flowers were trampled. Mud trailed inside, crumbs everywhere. Chairs wobbled from rough use, the front door nearly shook off its hinges from their slamming.
“Absolute menaces!” Victor fumed. “Never again! If they cant behave, theyre not welcome!” He turned to Oliver. “Rightyoure helping me fix those bikes. Gran and Alfie will sort lunch. You dont eat till youve worked for it.”
Oliver blinked. “Youre making us earn food?”
“You think things just appear out of thin air? Nothings free, boy! And look at youripped trousers already! Lucky weve got your dads old clothes lying about.”
“Go easy on them,” Margaret chided. “You werent an angel at their age, remember?”
When the boys left, they complained bitterly.
“Grandad was awful! No phones, just work!”
But a week later, Nigel rang, baffled.
“Mum, Dadhowd you manage it? Alfie can peel potatoes and hoover now! Oliver does his own washing, even cooks a bit. And they make their beds without being told!”
“Well, we werent about to wait on them hand and foot!” Margaret said. “They sulked the whole way home, minddoubt theyll want to come back.”
Yet a year later, Oliver and Alfie begged to returnturned down a holiday abroad, even. The village meant friends now.
And there was something satisfying about eating Grans porridge, her pies, everything she madeknowing theyd earned it.
Funny, that. Pride in their own work, skills to show offwhod have thought theyd enjoy it so much?
