A Holiday with Relatives
Emma perched on the edge of the bed, her tired gaze fixed on the neat stack of banknotes lying on the table before her. For two years, she and young Alfie had scrimped and saved every penny, every pound, setting aside what they could for what had once seemed an impossible dream—a holiday by the sea.
A cosy cottage by the shore, fresh fish for supper, the whisper of waves, and the freedom from everyday worries—it was to be their reward for years of hard work, small sacrifices, and rare little indulgences.
“We’ve earned this,” Emma thought, staring at the money. She wanted to believe that finally, luck might smile on them both. This summer was meant to be their long-awaited respite, a breath of fresh air away from the endless bustle of life.
Alfie walked in, clutching a pair of headphones—a birthday gift Emma had bought despite their careful budgeting, just to see his face light up.
“Mum, are you sure about this?” he asked, perching on a chair and studying her intently.
“Yes, love,” she replied softly. “It’s quiet there, almost a wild beach, and there’s a market nearby with fresh fruit. Can you imagine? Just lying in the sun, the sea, the breeze… no rush, no noise.”
Alfie grinned and nodded, though a shadow crossed his eyes—he knew how hard his mother worked, how she often went without, how every pound in that envelope had been earned with effort. This holiday was their shared dream, treasured like something precious.
Then the phone rang. The screen flashed: *Thomas*.
“Hello, sis!” her brother’s voice boomed. “How’s things? Any plans for summer?”
Emma sighed. Thomas had always been difficult—bossy, convinced he knew best, never shy about reminding everyone, even her.
“Taking Alfie to the seaside,” she answered carefully. “Just a little place by the coast, for a proper rest.”
“Why waste your money?” Thomas chuckled. “We’ve got a cottage right by the sea! Come stay with us. Fresh air, berries, peace and quiet. Save your pennies.”
Emma hesitated. Thomas always acted as if he had life figured out. But Alfie’s face brightened at the idea of seeing family.
“Mum, a whole cottage by the sea!” he said eagerly. “Let’s go to Uncle Thomas’s! We can save the money for later.”
Emma exhaled, doubt flickering, but she nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “We’ll come.”
Thomas met them at the station with a wide grin and open arms.
“About time! It’s been an age!” he declared, embracing Emma. “Come on, supper’s waiting.”
His wife, Irene, stood nearby with their youngest, three-year-old Sophie, who waved excitedly.
“Look at you!” Irene cried, pulling Emma into a hug.
The cottage was charming—wooden beams, wicker chairs on the porch, a swing beneath an old apple tree, a hammock swaying in the breeze. The beach was just a fifteen-minute stroll away, down a path lined with wildflowers. For the first two days, it was bliss—sunbathing, swimming in the cool sea, eating fresh pies and strawberries from the garden, listening to birdsong and the tide rolling in.
Emma watched Alfie race around with Sophie, pluck apples from the tree, and feed the ducks at the nearby pond, and for the first time in years, her heart felt light.
But on the third morning, the peace shattered. Over breakfast, Thomas turned to her.
“Em, you can cook, can’t you? Fancy making lunch? Irene’s run ragged with Sophie.”
Emma blinked but nodded.
“Of course, no trouble.”
That evening, as they gathered after supper, her brother asked her to wash up.
“Em, we’re knackered. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Alright,” she replied, forcing a smile.
By the fourth day, Alfie was handed a basket.
“Go pick raspberries, lad. Everyone loves a pie.”
“But I wanted to go to the beach…” he mumbled.
“Work first, play later,” Thomas said curtly.
The tasks piled up. Emma mopped floors, minded Sophie while Irene shopped. Alfie weeded, hauled water from the well. What began as small favours soon felt like chores—their holiday had become work.
That evening, Alfie slumped onto the porch, his hands scratched from gardening.
“Mum,” he said quietly, “why can’t we just go to the beach and not do all this?”
Emma clenched her jaw, fighting tears. A knot of anger and unfairness tightened in her chest.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll rest soon,” she whispered.
But unease gnawed at her. Leaving felt wrong—yet staying felt worse.
The next day, she confronted Thomas.
“Thomas, we came here to see the sea. We’d like to go today.”
He frowned.
“Em, there’s work to do. Who’ll tend the garden or watch Sophie if you go? And speaking of—I’ll need some of that money you saved. Windows need replacing. Since you’re not spending it now, you can chip in.”
“No! That’s ours!” Emma burst out. “We saved for two years!”
“You’re staying here for free,” Thomas snapped. “Least you can do is pay your way.”
Emma stood abruptly, fury boiling inside her.
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Thomas smirked.
“Doubt it. I already took the cash from your purse. As a thank-you, you can nip to the beach in the morning—but chores are waiting after. List’s on the fridge.”
Alfie stared, disbelief in his eyes.
Emma’s hands shook. That night, she couldn’t sleep. Moonlight spilled cold through the window, the walls closing in. She grabbed her phone and texted her ex-husband.
*Paul, I’m sorry to ask. We need help. Thomas took our money and won’t let us leave.*
The reply came fast:
*I’ll be there at dawn. Hold tight.*
At first light, a familiar Land Rover pulled up. Paul stepped out.
“Where’s Thomas?” he demanded, striding inside.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Thomas sneered.
“Here for my son. We’re leaving.”
“My house, my rules!” Thomas snapped.
“My family. Want trouble? You’ll get it. Where’s the money?”
“I took it for lodgings!”
Paul flashed his police badge. Thomas clenched his fists, then flung the stolen cash onto the table.
“Get out.”
Emma and Alfie hurriedly packed. Paul drove them to a small seaside inn.
“Thanks, Paul… You saved us.”
“Next time, think first. I won’t always be this close.”
Two hours later, they stood on an empty beach. Waves crashed, wind tangled their hair, the sun high above.
“Mum,” Alfie murmured, “why did Uncle Thomas do that?”
Emma sank onto the warm sand, pulling him close. She had no answer.
“Some people don’t understand kindness or honesty.”
“Let’s not visit them again.”
“Let’s not,” she agreed, finally feeling the weight lift.
Better to pay their own way.
Free cheese… isn’t just in the mousetrap. Sometimes, it’s at family’s cottages too.
