The New Owner of the Cottage – “We’ll Be Living at Your Cottage All Summer!” Announced My Brother.

Emma, well be staying at your cottage all summer, declared my brother, Ian, with a grin that seemed to stretch the sky.

I felt the words tumble from my mouth like broken glass. Enough! I thought, shoving the uninvited guests out the door.

When I pulled the planting bags from the boot of my old Ford, a familiar calm settled over me. My tiny green sanctuary, my sixacre slice of silence. Yet something was wrong. From beyond the hedgerow drifted the low thrum of a pub ballad, and at the gate I froze. The lock was not merely forcedit had been ripped out, flesh and splinter all around.

What on earth? I muttered, pushing the gate.

What unfolded before my eyes looked like a frame from a horror film for garden enthusiasts. On my hammock lounged Samantha, Ians wife and selfappointed queen of borrowed deckchairs. In one hand she held a glass of pink fizz, in the other a mobile phone. She wore the same fluffy bathrobe that a colleague had given me for my fortyfifth birthday. From my charcoalsmoked barbecue something sizzled and puffed.

Ian! My voice cracked, and the nearby apple tree erupted in a shower of blossoms.

Ian emerged from behind the cottage, brandishing my pruning shears. His Tshirt, emblazoned with Give me a pint and a hug, clung betrayingly to his belly.

Oh, dear Emma! he beamed, as if breaking into a strangers home were the most ordinary thing. We thought wed surprise you.

You broke the lock? I set the bags down slowly.

Didnt we? Ian scratched his head. It just fell apart on its own, I suppose.

From the rose bushes sprang a figure in orange shorts.

Auntie Emma! Got a net? Well be catching lizards this evening!

I squinted. It was my older nephew Charlie, or perhaps FreddieI always mixed them up.

You broke my cottage? I spoke each word deliberately, as if rehearsed in an angermanagement workshop.

Samantha, youve finally risen from the hammock, she sighed, the robe slipping to reveal sunkissed legs.

And we decided to breathe life into this place without you! she declared, brushing the lapel of her robe as if it were a mink coat. Why is it hanging there? A robe is meant to be worn!

From the kitchen windows came a clatter and a shriek.

My books are being torn apart? I recognized the sound instantly.

My beloved collection of Agatha Christie novels, stacked on the shelf for a lazy read, were tumbling out.

Kids were playing, Ian said, looking embarrassed. They built a fort out of them. Very symbolic, really.

Symbolic? I raised an eyebrow. You know whats also symbolic? That I asked you not to come to the cottage without meespecially after you set my garden shed alight last summer!

The candle fell on its own, we were having a romantic evening! Ian protested. And that was last year. Weve all grown up since then!

Samantha nodded. Im into psychology now. Your sibling rivalry is just an echo of childhood trauma!

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty. It didnt help.

Pack up and leave, I said as calmly as I could. Now.

But we just arrived! Ian shouted. And the meat

Leave the meat and go, I turned toward my car. And make sure you havent taken my silver forks by accident.

Your forks are ours now! Ian called after me, his voice echoing down the lane. The metal isnt even real!

I slipped into the drivers seat, the engine growling to life, my hands shaking with fury.

***

After escorting the unwanted guests out, I poured myself a strong cup of tea with a chunk of dark chocolate, tears and all the bitterness of a curse.

For seven years I had saved every penny, finally buying the cottage of my dreams. I planted hydrangeas, sipped coffee from my grandmothers china set, and tended the vegetable beds. Most of all, it was minemy own little kingdom, not ours with Victor, my exhusband. Just mine. Period.

The phone rang. It was my mother, Margaret, a selfstyled family therapist with a doctorate in keeping the peace.

Emma, why are you fighting with your brother?

I sighed deeply.

They broke my house, I said, trying not to smash my head against the kitchen table.

Maybe the lock was just sticky, Mother suggested. Perhaps it wasnt closed properly.

It was completely ripped off, I snapped, holding back the urge to hurl the handset.

Your brother is your only blood, dear, Mother cooed, a hint of reproach in her tone. Hes struggling. Isnt it a pity? Ian is your only brother, your only soulmate.

If hes my soulmate, then I must be an atheist, I muttered. Theyve turned my garden into a battlefield, my books into fortresses, and even my robe is being paraded around!

Theyre just kids, Mother sighed. Boys will be boys.

Theyre twelveyearold little barbarians!

Mother simply sighed again.

Fine, I get it. You dont love your nephews, nor your brother, nor me, nor anyone, she said dramatically, pausing for effect. Got it.

I hung up. Mothers classic movewhen facts fail, appeal to emotion and guilt.

Ill go to sleep, I said, weary. Work starts tomorrow.

Think about it, love, Mother urged. Theyre family. Do you mind?

I hit the end button and flopped onto the sofa, the thought looping in my mind: what more could Ian possibly do to make Mother finally side with me?

***

Ian didnt give up easily. He texted: Maybe we should spend the whole summer at the cottage? Samanthas there, the kids will have fun.

I set the phone down, poured myself a bitter coffee, and let the bitterness settle into the marrow of my thoughts.

The whole summer? All three months? At first I wanted to call Ian and unload everything I felt about him, his wife, and their offspring.

Calm down, Emma, I whispered to my reflection. Youre an adult, you can handle this.

I nodded at my mirror image, grabbed the handset.

Ian, are you serious about staying the whole summer? I asked as soon as he answered.

Well? he replied, his voice relaxed as if he were lounging on a deckchairmy deckchair!

Youre not opposed, are you? Youre kind.

Im kind, but not foolish, I snapped. This is my cottage.

Listen, youre odd, Ian chuckled. What difference does it make? Consider us caretakers of the plot.

Remember when Samantha cut down my roses for a friends wedding? I reminded him.

And? Ian asked, genuinely puzzled. The friend was pleased.

I inhaled deeply, exhaled, counted to ten, then to a hundred. It did nothing.

Samantha wants to tell you something! Ian added cheerfully.

A rustle and a flurry of voices erupted from the speaker.

Emma! Samantha sang, her tone as sugary as a sales pitch for a pricey vacuum. The boys love your cottage, the fresh air is good for them. Be a good aunt!

Emma, this is my private property. Youre here without permission. If youd asked, I might have let you stay, I said calmly, as if explaining to a child why eating sand is a bad idea.

Its all the same thenif youd let us, it would be fine, she replied.

I realized talking to her was pointless; destiny had tangled us together by sheer accident.

Alright, I said, feigning serenity. Enjoy yourselves.

Emma, are you upset? Ian suddenly asked, his voice wavering.

No, I answered with a smile he could not see. Im going to sort this out.

***

The realestate office smelled of stale coffee and desperationmostly mine. Across the desk, a poised lady named Helen flicked through photos of my cottage on a tablet.

Are you sure you want to sell? she asked, her gaze sharp.

Absolutely, I nodded, determination making my neck ache. The sooner, the better.

Helen raised an eyebrow. In a hurry?

Im shedding unnecessary weight, I said, a wry grin on my face. New goals, you knowlike removing my brother from my life.

Good property, she mused, sliding her finger across the screen. I already have a potential buyer.

He was a solidlooking man in his fifties named Arthur Whitmore, with a foxred hairpiece that gleamed like a billiard ball and eyes that could cool the hottest summer day. He examined the pictures, asked three pertinent questions, and then nodded.

Ill take it.

Dont you want to see the land in person? I asked, surprised.

I trust the photos, he shrugged. And your honesty.

I felt a flicker of unease.

Its just sometimes my relatives turn up, I admitted.

Is that a problem? Arthurs stare remained unchanged.

Its not a legal issue, I said, shaking my head. Just could be awkward.

It doesnt matter to me, he replied. Im buying the property, not the relatives. When can we sign?

We arranged for the following Saturday. That same day Ian was planning a grand picnic for the whole neighbourhood.

He hadnt told merumours reached me via Mother. I suspected another lockbreaking surprise.

Well then, brother, lets see who gets the last laugh.

***

When we arrived, the plot buzzed like a beehive. Neighbours cars, an inflatable pool on the lawn, music, barbecues, childrens shrieks. A proper celebration of life.

Is this always like this? Arthur asked, stepping out of his black SUV.

Only when my brother shows up, I sighed.

We passed through the gate and were greeted first by Samantha, emerging from the house with a massive bowl of salad.

Emma! she cried. Weve been waiting for you!

My plans have changed, I smiled. Meet Arthur Whitmore, and this is Victor Hargrave, the solicitor.

Delighted! Samantha beamed, winking suggestively. Are you two… more than friends?

Just acquaintances, Victor replied, smoothing his tie.

Im the new owner of this cottage, Arthur announced calmly.

Samantha froze, salad bowl trembling.

What does owner mean?

The law says so, Victor explained. Mrs. Bennett sold the cottage to Mr. Whitmore. Here are the documents.

He tapped the folder.

But how Samantha? Ian! she stammered, turning pale.

From behind my barbecuea very much my ownemerged Ian, apron over his shirt, a skewer in hand, a triumphant grin.

Emma! We thought youd sent us packing!

I would have, if I could, I muttered.

Ian, Emma sold the cottage! Samantha shouted.

Ian stood, skewer poised.

What?

I sold it, I said slowly, clearly. Arthur Whitmore is the new owner. Victor is here to finalize everything.

I braced for a tirade, accusations, a scene. Instead, Ian lowered his arms and asked quietly:

Why?

The question caught me off guard.

Because you occupied my home without permission, I answered. Because you assume everything thats mine is automatically yours. Because Im fed up. It would be simpler to rid myself of this cottage and the feud.

What now? Ian asked, eyes downcast.

Now you pack your things and leave, Arthur interjected. Right now. This is private property.

But we were planning to live here all summer! Samantha protested. We even have a tent!

Take it with you, the new owner said. I dont like guests.

Ian ripped off his apron and flung it onto the grass.

This was a cursed trap all along! Driving here, digging in these flowerbeds Normal people fly to Cyprus, not muck about in garden plots!

Fine then, I said. Off to Cyprus you go.

Youre cruel! Ian shouted, searching for justification. Its our family nest!

What nonsense? I crossed my arms. I bought and built it myself. Your contribution was a single remark: Why do you need a cottage?

Samantha seized Ians elbow. Lets go. Its clear now.

She turned to me, eyes glittering. Youll regret this, Emma.

I doubt it, I replied, smiling. At least I wont watch you turn my garden into a war zone.

At that moment the nephews burst from the house, followed by a handful of local children.

Aunt Emma! We were jumping on the sofa like it was a trampoline!

A sofa?! I gasped. Are you out of your mind?

Enough, Arthur said, pulling out his phone. Im calling the police. You have half an hour to gather your things and vacate.

He dialed emphatically, his face a mask of authority. The fear on Ians and Samanthas faces was the reward I had earned after years of patience.

***

Emma, love, how are you? Mother asked over the kitchen table, eyes wary.

Fine, Mum. Not a bit, I replied honestly.

The brothers still angry, she sighed.

Hell get over it, I shrugged. He has a talent for making excuses no matter the circumstances.

Two months passed after the cottage sale. Ian never called, and I never called him. It was the longest silence between us since he learned to ask why is the sky blue? and where do babies come from.

Hes still your brother, Mother said, now without the usual pressure.

I know, I nodded. And Ill always be his sister. That doesnt mean I have to endure everything he creates.

Mother fell silent, cradling her mug.

What will you do with the money from the cottage?

I havent decided yet. Either stash it in a savings account or splurge somewhere, I said breezily. Spending it doesnt require a great intellect.

In fact, Id already spent itbought a new cottage in a different county and was busy turning the plot into a garden of my own design. I hadnt told Mother, nor anyone, the address.

I realized something simple: wherever there is something good in your life, someone will try to ruin it. The second time, I wont let that happen.