The next morning, our neighbour was once again lingering by our garden fence. My wife went out to her and explained we had plenty to do today, so we couldnt sit around as we did yesterday. And what about tomorrow? Barbara asked, tone laced with curiosity. Itll be the same tomorrow. In fact, wed prefer it if you didnt come round anymore.
My longing for city life brought nothing good with it.
My wife owns a cottage in the countryside. When her parents were still with us, we visited often. I always loved those evenings when her mum laid the table beneath the old pear tree. Wed sit for hours talking, letting the dusk settle around us. It was the same every time we visited. In winter, her mum would light the old range and fill the house with the scent of fresh scones and cake. There was a cosiness in every corner.
My wife and I both grew fond of countryside pursuitsskiing, sledging, long rambles. But after her parents passed away, we never put the cottage up for sale. We told ourselves wed visit just as much as before. Somehow, it never happened.
There was always something demanding our attention. As time went by, thoughts of her parents house faded further into the background. Life marched on and the years slipped by, scarcely noticed. Our son met a wonderful girl, and eventually married her. Our daughter-in-law, Victoria, would often say how nice it must be to live in the country, at least for the summer.
Thats when the cottage came to mind again. My wife and I decided to go firstafter all, it had been ages since we last set foot there. To our relief, almost nothing had changed, apart from the house looking somewhat neglected.
We decided to give the place a thorough clean. Anne scrubbed the inside while I tackled the overgrown garden. Id half-expected the cottage to have fallen to pieces after all those years, but after some elbow grease, it felt transformed. The very next day, the children arrived and pitched in. In just a day, the cottage was tidy and welcoming once more. The women prepared supper while my son and I set about repairing the old table and benches under the tree.
Thats when I noticed a woman observing us closely from the other side of the fence. She called out that shed recently bought the house next door and had come to introduce herself. Being English, we invited her for supper. Her name was Barbara. She told us she was divorced and lived alone, though shed bought the house for her daughter and three grandchildren. She carried on chatting, but after a while, I stopped listening. I became distracted by something brushing along my leg.
I glanced under the table and realised it was Barbaras foot. Startled, I quickly moved away, but she kept trying to touch me. Id never encountered anything like it. I tried to distance myself discretely, careful not to alert my wife, but Barbara rambled on merrily. The children were getting cranky by then, and I desperately wished shed take her leave. While we were clearing up, Anne quietly remarked that Barbara seemed a rather flighty woman. I could hardly disagree. Still, I didnt confess what had happened under the table; I was too embarrassed. And somehow, I doubted she behaved this way for the first time.
The next morning, Barbara was back, leaning over our fence with hardly a care. Anne went out to meet her and said, Weve a lot on today, so we wont be able to sit and chat.
And what about tomorrow? Barbara asked, her voice hopeful.
Tomorrow will be just the same, said Anne. Please dont come round here again.
It was a brave thing to do. Barbara grumbled to herself for ages, but I paid her no mind. I thought Anne made the right call. Were a straightforward lot, always honest, and we knew right away we didnt take to her. Weve no need for her company, and we wont be changing our minds.
