2 January
Well, this years New Years break began with family drama, which I suppose proves that some stereotypes really do have grain of truth. It all started yesterday, when my wifes sister, Victoria, rang me up in that no-nonsense, world-is-hers fashion shes mastered over the years.
So, we’ve been talking, she bellowed, so loudly I had to move the mobile away from my ear, and decided theres no reason for your cottage to sit empty over the holidays. Well be heading there with the kids for New Years. Fresh air, a hill for sledging, and a proper wood-burner to warm up in the evening, too. You’re always buried in work anyway, Simon, and Laura said you needed some peace to catch up on sleep, but youre not coming with us apparently. So, how about handing over the keys? Well pop by tomorrow morning.
Well, I was stood in the kitchen, drying a plate, and honestly, I couldnt quite believe the sheer front of it. Lauras relativesher side, mindare quite legendary for just swanning in wherever they please, but this level of presumption was new.
Hang on, Victoria, I managed, forcing my voice to not betray my slowly simmering temper, Decided with whom, exactly? Its not a public house, you know. Its our cottageLaura and mine. We were actually planning to spend some time there ourselves, you see.
Oh, dont be uptight! Victoria shot back, and I could practically hear the chewing in her mouth. You were planning! Your Laura told Mum that youd be staying home, glued to the telly. Youve plenty of spacetwo storeys! We won’t get under your feet, if you do show up. Might be best for you not to, to be honest, well have our own crowdGlens mates over, a bit of barbecue, music You know, with your books and whatnot, youd just get bored.
I could feel my face heating up with frustration. I pictured Victorias husband Glenfond of rowdy music and even rowdier eveningswith their two nearly adult children, who seem to specialise in ignoring all house rules, and my poor cottage, into which I’d funneled all my savings and soul over the last five years. Not to mention the dog they occasionally bring along, who has no respect for flowerbeds.
Victoria, no, I said, decisive and firm. I’m not handing over the keys. The place is not ready for guests, you need to know how to deal with the heating and the leaky plumbing, for a start. Besides, I dont want a crowd trampling through.
Were strangers now, are we? she shrilled so loud I had to hold the phone away again. Your own wifes sister and your niece and nephew! Have you grown completely heartless, stuck in those tax returns? Ill phone Mum right nowlet her know what an absolute cold fish you are!
The dial tone thudded in my ear. My hands shook a little as I set the phone downmostly from annoyance, if Im honest. Laura walked in a moment later, brow already furrowed, and, bless her, tried to soften the mood.
Did you have to be so harsh, Simon? she said, gently draping an arm around my shoulders. Victoria means well, in her way. Family, you know. They’ll feel slighted.
But the memory of last May boiled up faster than I cared to admit. I turned and gave her a look, serious enough for her to step back.
Do you remember last spring? I asked.
She wincedyes, she remembered. It happened, Simon she muttered.
It happened? I said, raising my voice a notch. They came for just two days. In the end? The apple tree Dad planted? Snapped clean in half. The loungeburn marks all over the carpet from the barbecue coals you asked them not to bring inside. Dishes stacked up for days because Victoria couldnt risk her manicure and figured the dishwasher would sort it out, only she didnt even turn it on, just crammed it full. The vase? The battered flowerbeds? It was a mess!
Theyre just kids. Just playing Laura muttered, staring at the lino.
Kids? Lucas is fifteen. Sophies thirteen. Theyre perfectly old enough to know better. Let’s not forget the time they turned the sauna into a death trapnearly set the whole place on fire. And now you want to leave them on their own for a week? In January?
Glen promised hed keep an eye
Glen will keep an eye on the gin, I snapped, and turned back to the window. No, Laura. This is my house, actuallytechnically and legally. I put all my inheritance from Grans old flat into that renovation. I know every floorboard. Im not letting them treat it like a skip.
The rest of the night was a silent one. Laura tried to distract herself with TV, but was soon heading to bed alone. I sat at the kitchen table, swirling cold tea around, and recalled building the cottage. It was never just a summer houseit was a dream. A battered old country cottage my parents left me. Three years work; I scrimped, didnt go on holidays, patched my own jeans, borrowed tools. I learned to sand beams, paint walls, sew curtains, choose tiles for the hearth. That house became a sanctuary for both of usa place free from the rat race and office grind. To Lauras family, it was just somewhere free to crash.
Next morning, a knock at the doorI checked the spyhole. Lauras mother, Pamela, stood there like the Queen on a state visit, wrapped in fur hat, crimson lipstick just so, a bulging shopping bag with what I swear looked like a fish tail poking out.
Open the door, Simon! Weve things to sort! she barked.
She came gliding in, every inch the family matriarch. Laura cut cakes and made tea, wordlessly.
So, Laura, explain yourself, Pamela began, cross-legged at our kitchen table. Hows Victoria upset you so? Your own sister, just asking for a bit of peace. Theyve got builders everywhere back home, drilling into the new year. Your country house sits empty. Are you so possessive you must hoard it?
Pamela, Laura replied, eyeing her mother-in-law, Its not Downton Abbey. Its an ordinary house that needs looking-after. Victorias repairs have been dragging on for years. It doesn’t mean she can invade ours. I still cant get the smell of cigarette smoke out of the spare room curtains from their last visiteven though I asked Glen not to light up indoors.
Oh, come off it! Just open a window. Honestly, Laura, you care more about things than peoplebit precious, arent you? Sir Simons become a bit of a Scrooge under your influence! Cant take your cottage to the grave, you know!
Mum, I tried, Lauras put her whole heart into that place
Quiet! Pamela snapped at me. Under the thumb, the pair of you! Your poor sisters shivering in a flat thats all dust and paint. Glens 45th is on the thirdproper milestone, that. Theyve invited friends along, bought all the grub, and now you want them to cancel? Hows that fair?
Thats not my fault, Laura answered coldly. Throwing a party in someone elses home without asking is called taking liberties.
Pamela bristled, unused to defiance from her children. She was about to unleash more, but Laura cut her off.
Im sorry, Pamela. No keys.
With a great show of outrage, Pamela stomped out, the flat shuddering as she slammed the door.
Later, as Laura and I sat quietly, I asked, Youre really not going to give in?
No. But were heading there tomorrow. Well occupy it before they get any more ideasVictoria’s been known to break in through a window when she feels shes entitled. If were inside, theyll have no option but to leave.
I could tell this was a line in the sand. Laura was right; sometimes you have to be the bad guy.
We left before dawn. The city was silent and twinkling with Christmas lights. Laura made me put my phone on silent; I half-expected to find Victoria camped outside the cottage by the time we arrived.
The house looked beautiful under a heavy layer of frost, just like a Christmas card. I felt the tension ebb away. We started the heating, lit a fire, fetched the Christmas baubles from the cupboard. Smelled of pine, oranges, and peace. Later, I went out to shovel snow, and Laura watched from the window, cheeks flushed with firelight.
It was too good to last.
At 3pm, horns blared out front. I peeked through the window. There they were. Two carsa battered Land Rover belonging to Glen, and another filled with more people, and a massive rottweiler with them. Victoria, Glen, their kids, some friends, and, of course, Pamela, looking like she meant business.
I stood glued to the spot.
Come on, then! Let us in! Glen boomed.
Victoria banged the gate. We thought wed surprise you! Itll be a partywell do Christmas together! Let us in, Simon!
Laura placed her hand on mine, and said, evenly, We werent expecting visitors.
Stop playing silly games! Glen barked. We’ve brought meat and a crate of spirits! Thats Tony and his wife, and their dogs harmless, I promise. Come on, lad!
I spotted the rottweiler cocking its leg at my favourite holly busha new addition, carefully wrapped up for winter. Keep that dog off my plants! I snapped.
Oh, calm down, its just a bush! Victoria laughed. Open up! The kids need the loo!
Theres a petrol station five miles back, Laura replied, every word clipped. I told you yesterday: We’re here on our own. Theres no room for a crowd.
The group fell momentarily silent. Clearly, theyd planned to turn up en masse and give us no choice; the tried-and-tested family tactic.
Youre not letting us in? Pamelas voice trembled with dramatic outrage. Youll leave your own mother in the freezing cold? Simon! Say something!
I met Lauras eyes. She was determined. If you open that gate, she said quietly, before long itll be a drunken circus. The dog will ruin the garden. The kids will trash the rooms. Your sister will take over the kitchen, your brother-in-law the sofa, and our holiday will disappear. This is your decision, Simon. Them or us.
I looked at the mob outside; Glen kicking his tyres, Victoria screeching, kids launching snowballs at the windows, and Pamela clutching her chest.
Suddenly I remembered last timehow ashamed I’d been scrubbing the carpet, fixing the swing, how I just wanted to enjoy our little corner by the fire and not chase after Glens empty bottles.
I squared up, strode to the gate. My voice was quiet, but firm: Mum. Victoria. Lauras right. We said you couldnt come, and I’m not changing my mind. Please leave.
What?! they all shrieked.
You heard me. Its our house. We don’t want a carry-on.
Glen swore and tried to force the bolt. Move along, Glen, I said, gripping the shovel. Or Ill ring the police. The neighbours will back me up.
Pamela spluttered. We’re your own flesh and blood! You Judas! Ill never set foot in your home again!
Fine, Laura muttered calmly. Youre hardly out here digging the beds in May.
Ungrateful snake! Pamela cried, flouncing back to the car. Victoria hurled insults (Rot in your mausoleum!) and Tonys face burned with embarrassment as they all piled into the cars. The engines revved, and they skidded away, Sandy the rottweiler leaving a golden trail on my holly.
Laura and I sat down on the step outside. I buried my head in my hands.
How humiliating, I whispered. My own mum
Thats not humiliation, Laura said quietly, wrapping her arms around me. Thats adulthood. Today, you defended us. Not the clanthe two of us.
Shell never forgive me.
She will, next time she needs something. Thats how your family arethey cant hold grudges if it doesnt suit them. But at least now, theyll know theres a boundary. You have to enforce it. They might even respect you for it. If notat least we know peace.
Dyou reckon?
Im sure. Now, let’s go inside before you catch cold. I’ll do us both a mulled wine.
We retreated inside. Laura drew the curtains, shutting out the freezing night and the gossiping voices. That evening, we sat by the fire in companionable quietno bitterness, just the relief of having held firm.
Three days passed blissfullyjust us, the woods, some home cooking. No phone calls; a family boycott in progress.
On the third, Victoria sent Simon a photoan icy, half-built shed, a grimy stove, the gang clustered round assorted bottles. The caption: Cracking party without you! Jealous?
Laura glanced at the photo, then smiled at me snoozing in my chair, clean, content, and peaceful.
Nothing to envy, Victoria, she murmured, deleting the message rather than wake me.
A week later, on our return to London, Pamela rang herselfvoice stiff with wounded pride, but she asked Simon for a lift to the doctors. No mention of the cottage, of course, though shed stopped coming for the time being. The line had been drawn, and though there would be little flare ups, the fort held.
This whole mess taught me a vital lesson: sometimes, you have to let the world see you as the villain to stand up for your own life and happiness. And my cottage keys now live in a locked box, rather than rattling around in the halla precaution I shouldve taken years ago.
