What mischief have those strangers left behind? Eleanor swore, her voice echoing through the mistladen garden. Call your family, have them come and put things straight. I wont tidy after them. Im already drowning in sheets you keep leaving for me to wash, after your friends crash on our cottage.
Mum called earlier, Tom said over a steaming roast, his words drifting like smoke. The relatives are planning a weekend barbecue.
Good for them, his wife replied, eyes narrowing. Let them go, what do we have left here? Ive never liked my motherinlaw, Martha.
They just want to use our cottage, Tom tried to explain, his tone as casual as a Sunday stroll. They have none of their own, and Im scheduled to be at the garage on Saturday. He said it as if it were obvious. I told her we cant go to the cottage this weekend, thats why Mum asked for the keys.
Eleanor had no choice but to agree, a decision that later gnawed at her. When the next weekend arrived and they drove to the cottage, she froze at the sight. The place looked as if a stray herd of goats had trampled through it.
Berries lay scattered, the floor was grimy, a lone pot of ancient soup sat on the stove like a tired relic. The kitchen window was bare, its curtain ripped away. Eleanor could not comprehend the chaos. Toms parents were already sixty.
She poured out everything to Tom.
What strange folk have been here? she demanded again, the words looping in the dream. Call your kin, have them come and straighten this mess. I will not sweep after them. Im exhausted from constantly washing the linen after your friends who have made this cottage their nightspot.
Perhaps youre overworking yourself. Toss it in the washing machine, pull it out, hang it up, he suggested.
Then next time youll do it all yourself! she snapped. Are you pleased with the state of our cottage and garden?
But Tom said nothing, his phone remaining silent. Eleanor stopped speaking to him, yet they eventually patched things up. They had only been married two years, a union born of love, though Eleanor sometimes wondered if shed rushed. They had no children.
Life rolled on: work, house, house, work. Weekends were spent wandering the countryside or meeting friends for a walk. Everything shifted when Eleanors mother suddenly remarried and moved to another city, leaving the family cottage to Eleanor.
From that moment, Toms entire side of the family seemed to adore her. Relatives kept dropping by the cottage, insisting that barbecues tasted better under open sky. Cousins, distant aunts, uncles, even the grandmother of Toms side streamed in like a tide, all eager for the river, the woods, and the grill. Toms friends joined them too.
Everyone arrived with a nights stay in tow. Tom habitually manned the grill. Eleanor grew weary of the endless influx, yet she didnt want to sour the bonds with Toms kin. Something had to change.
Now the approach of the weekend filled her with a nervous excitement. When Eleanor and Tom wed, his mother was already in her later years, having given birth to a son quite late. He also had an older sister, Margaret, ten years his senior, a villageborn woman who believed everything was communal property.
Martha and Margaret would pilfer everything from the cottagecreams, shampoos, sponges, even Eleanors indoor slippers. Then, once more, Martha called, asking Tom for the cottage keys. This time Margaret planned to bring her boss along for a weekend retreat and barbecue.
And, as always, Eleanor was not consulted.
Well give mum the keys, Tom said, recalling Eleanors reaction to the previous family invasion but unwilling to revisit it.
Eleanor realised she had to act, and Tom found himself on the opposite side. After running through countless scenarios in her mind, she phoned her own mother and complained.
Ill call back, her mother replied curtly.
Within twenty minutes Eleanor had dialed again, telling her mother that her sister and brotherinlaw would be arriving at the cottage for a spell. Dont worry, she added. Aunt Olive will sort it out.
Eleanors breath caught. She had always been uneasy around Aunt Olive, who had whisked her away on summer holidays as a child, leaving memories that lingered like a lingering scent. Aunt Olive was stern, but she could handle things.
That evening Olive called.
My dear, youve been quiet for ages. Why havent you rung sooner? How should I behaveshould I be a little frightening or utterly firm? she laughed, a sound that seemed to ripple through the nights fog.
Eleanor shivered. Did you tell them the cottage belongs to me? Olive asked.
I cant recall, but theyre all convinced its mine.
Dont fret, love. Well set it right.
On Sunday Toms motherinlaw, Martha, called, furious. Have you sold the cottage? she shouted. Wheres the money? Why didnt anyone tell us?
It turned out that on Saturday Margaret and her boss had arrived with Martha and her husband. A picturesque group of five was already firing up the grill on the plot.
Who are you? gasped Eleanor.
And who are you, exactly? a sharpvoiced woman stepped forward, eyes flashing. Im the lady of this cottage. I dont know you. How did you get the keys?
Marthas side of the family stumbled, Margaret tried to explain the family ties and the handedover keys. The lady, now identified as Mrs. Hawthorne, glared displeased, and Margarets words tangled. Hawthorne kept silent, waiting.
In the end, the keys were taken from her, and she was politely asked to leave and not return, lest they have to investigate the source of the foreign keys.
From a distance Eleanor heard Marthas voice crackling over the receiver. Tom was bewildered, unable to utter a word.
Hand the phone to your wife, Tom said, passing the handset to Eleanor. The cottage isnt yours! Martha proclaimed in a solemn tone.
Did you even ask? Eleanor tried to stay calm. Do you think everything around us belongs to you?
Do you realise Margaret invited her boss, and now there could be layoffs? She wanted to butter her up. If shes sacked, the blame falls on you, Martha raged.
And what does that have to do with me? Aunt Olive is the lady of the house, shes just on holiday; you never asked me. Buy your own place and enjoy it, Eleanor shot back. Youve lived without this cottage before; youll live without it now.
After this, I wont go back, nor will my relatives, Tom stammered.
It was the first serious fight theyd ever had. Tom felt wounded. Margaret was dismissed from her job. Ill never forgive you for this, he declared. My family loves you, cares for you, and you deceived us.
Eleanor was convinced Margarets dismissal had another motive. Suddenly she realised she didnt truly miss any of them. Their marriage had reached a dead end.
Mum, I think Im divorcing Tom, she whispered.
Decide for yourself, dear. Youre an adult now. Where will you live? Ive let my flat go. Move in with Olive.
Thanks, of course, Eleanor replied, bewildered. I suppose Ill rent a flat.
Eleanor filed for divorce, took a flat of her own, and left Toms side. She never returned to the cottage.
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