When Family Turns Foreign
“Emily, it’s Jonathan on the phone,” William said as he walked into the kitchen. “He and Rebecca are coming over Saturday. Just the two of them. Says he wants to talk.”
“Talk, sure,” Emily scoffed. “About the cottage, no doubt. Brace yourself—it’s going to be a ‘fair family redistribution.’”
It had been just over two months since Aunt Margaret passed. She’d left William and Emily a two-bedroom flat in central London and a cottage near Brighton. For four years, they’d cared for her—bringing groceries, taking her to doctors, even sending her to a seaside resort twice. The rest of the family—Jonathan and Rebecca—only took. They’d holidayed at the cottage every summer, but whenever Margaret needed a ride there, they were suddenly “too busy.”
At four o’clock on Saturday, Jonathan and Rebecca stood at the door. Their greetings were stiff, no smiles. They sat in the living room, and Jonathan wasted no time.
“We’re here about the cottage. You got the flat—fine. But the cottage… We’ve kept an eye on it. It’s only fair you hand it over to us.”
“You didn’t keep an eye on it,” Emily said coolly. “You stayed there in summer. When Aunt Margaret was ill, neither of you even called.”
“Stay out of this,” Rebecca snapped.
“Why should I? I’m in the will too. And I know exactly how often you visited Margaret. Three times in four years. Once for her garden vegetables, another to bring the kids, and the last time for tea. That’s it.”
“So what? We’re family!” Rebecca huffed. “Are you seriously going to sell it?”
“Yes,” William said. “We’ll tidy it up and put it on the market.”
“Fine, sod off then!” Jonathan growled. “Don’t come crying to us when you’re left with no one!”
The next day, the phone rang.
“What the hell are you playing at?!” Jonathan shouted. “We drove to the cottage with our nephew, and the locks are changed!”
“Of course. The gates and the front door too. Should’ve called ahead. We’ll meet you there Saturday with Emily—collect your things. But you’re not going in without us.”
“You bloody—”
William calmly hung up. Emily wasn’t surprised.
“Good call changing the locks. If you hadn’t, there’d be nothing left.”
They sold the cottage. Sold their old flat too. Bought a new three-bedroom in a seaside estate—just a ten-minute drive to the beach. Their daughter Charlotte kept the London flat while she studied at uni. William took a job at the docks; Emily taught at a secondary school. Life settled into peace.
But not for long. By March, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Family” suddenly remembered William existed. Rebecca called first.
“Right, we’re coming down in July. No cottage now, and we need a holiday. We’re not strangers!”
“You’re guests. And we didn’t invite you.”
“Have you seen the prices in Brighton?!”
“No. But if it’s too steep, pick another town. Or a lake. We’re not hosting anyone.”
“Emily’s parents stayed with you!”
“Her parents. Not in-laws with kids and grandkids in tow.”
“You’ll regret this. One day you’ll need help, and no one will come!”
“Don’t fret. Between May and September, everyone remembers us. Funny how November and February are dead silent.”
That silence was what William and Emily valued most.
