Who on earth has been traipsing about my cottage? I muttered, my voice tight with anger. Give your family a ring and have them sort this mess out. Im done cleaning up after them. Id had enough of constantly washing the sheets after your friends. Theyd been staying over at our weekend retreat for nights on end.
My mother called earlier, Tom said over dinner, his eyes halffocused on the plate in front of him. She and the rest of the relatives are planning a weekend barbecue.
Good for them, I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone. What does it matter to us? I never liked my motherinlaw, Margaret, much to begin with.
They want to use our cottage, Tom explained. They dont own one themselves, and Ive got a garage appointment on Saturday. He spoke as if it were obvious. I told them we couldnt go up there this weekend, which is why Mum asked for the spare key.
I had little choice but to agree, a decision I later regretted. When Tom and I finally drove up the next weekend, the cottage looked like it had been hit by a hurricane.
Berries were strewn across the floor, the livingroom carpet was filthy, and a lone pot of an old stew sat on the stove like a relic. The kitchen window curtains had been ripped down. I stared at the chaos, finding it hard to make sense of it. Toms parents were already in their sixties.
I said it all straight to Tom.
Whos been running round here? I huffed again. Give your family a call and have them clean up. Im not going to mop the floors after your mates again. Theyve been crashing at our cottage night after night.
Youve had enough, he said calmly. Pop the laundry in the machine, spin it, and hang it out to dry.
Fine, then you do it yourself next time! Are you happy with the state of our cottage and garden? I snapped.
He didnt pick up the phone. I stopped speaking to him for a while, but eventually we patched things up. Wed only been married two years, a whirlwind romance, and we still had no children.
Life went on the usual way work, the house, work, the house. Weekends were spent walking the countryside or meeting friends for a trek. Everything changed when Mabels mother suddenly remarried and moved to another town. The cottage fell into Mabels name.
Suddenly Toms whole side of the family seemed to adore the place. Relatives kept asking to stay over, claiming the fresh air made the barbecues taste better. Cousins, aunts, uncles, even Toms grandmother turned up, all keen for river walks and grilled sausages. Toms friends joined them too.
Everyone arrived with overnight bags. Tom would fire up the BBQ as usual. I was getting fed up, but I didnt want to sour the relationship with his kin. Something had to change.
Now I looked forward to the weekend with a mixture of dread and excitement. When Tom and I married, his mother was already elderly. Shed given birth to a son quite late in life and had a daughter, Rose, ten years older than Tom. Margaret, a countryborn woman, seemed to think everything belonged to everyone.
Rose and Margaret raided the cottage for anything they could find creams, shampoos, loofahs, even my slippers. Then Margaret called again, asking Tom for the cottage key so Rose could take her boss up there for a weekend retreat and a barbecue.
Again, they never asked me what I thought about it.
Well hand the key to Mum, Tom said. He remembered my reaction to the previous family invasion, but he didnt want to bring it up.
I realised I had to act, and this time Tom was on the opposite side. After weighing my options, I called my own mother and complained.
Ill call you back, she said briefly.
In about twenty minutes I was on the phone again, telling my mother that my sister and her husband were coming to the cottage for a few days. Dont worry about a thing, Aunt Nancy will sort it, I added.
Aunt Nancy had always frightened me as a child; shed taken me away on summer holidays, and those memories lingered. She was a strict disciplinarian.
Later that evening she called.
My dear niece, youve been awfully quiet. Did you finally give me a ring? How should I behave gently scare them or go fullforce? she laughed, clearly delighted at the prospect.
I shivered. Did you tell them the cottage was yours? she asked.
I cant recall, but they all seem convinced its mine, I admitted.
Dont fret, love. Well sort this out nicely, she promised.
The following Sunday Margaret, furious, called Tom.
Did you sell the cottage? she shouted. Wheres the money? Why didnt you tell us?
It turned out that on Saturday Rose, her boss, and Margaret had all turned up at the cottage, a picturesque group of five already grilling sausages on the lawn.
What are you doing here? gasped my aunt, Galina Pavlovna.
Who are you, exactly? the lady in charge asked in a commanding tone, stepping toward us. Im the owner of this cottage. I dont know you. How did you get a key?
In the crowd, Margaret flustered. Rose tried to explain the family connections and the borrowed keys, but the owner glowered at her, leaving Rose tonguetied. Galina Pavlovna stayed silent, just in case.
In the end, the keys were taken from them, and they were politely asked to leave and not return, lest they investigate where those foreign keys had come from.
From a distance I heard Margaret shrieking into the receiver. Tom was clueless, unable to interject.
Hand the phone to your wife, Tom said, passing the handset to me. The cottage isnt yours! Margaret declared dramatically.
Did you even ask us? I tried to stay calm. Do you think everything around here belongs to you as well?
You understand Rose invited her boss to the cottage? She could be facing a layoff and wanted to butter her up. If she loses her job, itll be your fault, Margaret fumed.
Im not responsible here, I retorted. Aunt Nancy is just on holiday; you never even asked me. Buy your own place and enjoy it there.
After this, I wont go back, and neither will my relatives, Tom muttered, his voice shaking.
It was our first real fight. Tom was hurt. Rose lost her job. Ill never forgive you for this, he said. My family loves you, cares for you, and youve deceived us.
I was sure Roses dismissal had another cause. Suddenly I realized I didnt really care about any of them. Our marriage had hit a dead end.
Mum, I think Im getting a divorce from Tom, I said.
Decide for yourself, youre an adult now. Where will you live? Ive let go of my flat. Go stay with Nancy.
Thanks, of course, I replied, bewildered. I suppose Ill rent a flat.
I filed for divorce, moved into a rented flat, and left Tom for good. I never set foot in the cottage again.
