My Husband’s Family Invited Themselves to Our Holiday Cottage for Christmas, But I Refused to Give Them the Keys — “So, we’ve been talking and decided: why let your cottage sit empty? We’ll head there with the kids for the Christmas holidays. Fresh air, sledging hill nearby, we’ll fire up the sauna. You’re always at work, Lena, and Vitya could use some rest—but he turns us down, says he just wants to catch up on sleep. So just hand over the keys, we’ll pop in tomorrow morning.” Svetlana, my sister-in-law, was speaking so loudly and matter-of-factly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, towel-drying a plate, struggling to process what I’d just heard. My husband’s relatives’ cheek had long become a running family joke, but this was a new level of audacity. “Hold on, Svetlana,” I replied slowly, trying to keep the irritation from trembling in my voice. “What do you mean, you decided? With whom? The cottage isn’t some public holiday camp—it’s our home, mine and Vitya’s. And for your information, we were planning to go there ourselves.” “Oh, come off it!” She brushed off my protest—for all I knew, chewing something at the other end. “You were planning! Vitya told Mum you’d be home with the telly. You’ve got loads of space – two floors! We won’t be in your way, even if you decided to show up. But better not—it’s going to be a noisy crowd. Gena’s inviting mates for barbecue and music! You and your books would just be bored anyway.” I felt my face flush. I could picture it instantly: Gena, her husband, a fan of drunken singalongs; their two teenage kids who’d never heard the word “no”; and my poor cottage, into which I’d poured my soul and every penny I’d saved these last five years. “No, Svetlana,” I said firmly. “You’re not getting the keys. The cottage isn’t ready for guests, the heating system needs an expert touch, the septic tank isn’t easy. And frankly, I don’t want a crowd of strangers partying in my home.” “Strangers?!” my sister-in-law shrieked, finally pausing her chewing. “Family! Your husband’s own sister and nephew and niece! What’s happened to you and your accountant’s heart? I’ll tell Mum exactly how you welcome family!” The dial tone sounded like gunshots. I lowered the phone to the table, hands trembling in betrayal. I knew this was just the beginning. Soon the heavy artillery would arrive—my mother-in-law, Nina Petrovna, and a full-blown assault would begin. Viktor entered the kitchen a minute later, offering a guilty smile. He’d overheard, of course, but had chosen to hide in the lounge, hoping I’d handle it. “Lena, isn’t that a bit harsh?” he tip-toed in, trying to put an arm around my shoulders. “Svetka’s a bit much, sure, but they’re family. Don’t want to hurt them.” I shrugged him off and turned. The exhaustion and resolve in my eyes made him fall silent. “Vitya, do you remember last May?” I asked quietly. He winced, like a toothache had flared up. “Well, yes…” “‘Yes’?” I raised my voice. “They came for two days ‘to barbecue’. Result: your nephew broke the apple tree my father planted; the lounge carpet’s still got burn marks; a week spent scrubbing congealed, greasy dishes because Svetka said ‘I’ve got a manicure and you’ve got a dishwasher’, though they didn’t even turn it on! Smashed vase? Trampled peonies?” “Well, kids… they played…” Viktor mumbled to the lino. “Kids? He’s fifteen. She’s thirteen. Not toddlers! Those two set the sauna on fire by not opening the flue! We nearly burned down! And now you want them there alone—for a week—in winter?” “They promised to be careful… Gena said he’d keep an eye out.” “Gena will keep watch only that the vodka doesn’t run dry!” I snapped. “No, Vitya. I said no. It’s my home—legally and in fact. I put my inheritance into its renovation. I know every nail. I won’t let them turn it into a pigsty.” The rest of the evening passed in tense silence. Viktor tried putting on the telly, switched it off, went to bed. I sat in the kitchen, sipping cold tea, remembering how we built that house. It was more than a cottage—it was a dream. We’d inherited the old cabin and rebuilt it over three years, scrimping on everything. No new clothes, no seaside holidays, every penny for our sanctuary. I sanded logs myself, painted the walls, sewed the curtains, chose the fireplace tiles. To me, it was a sacred place, an escape from city stress and work. To his relatives? Just a ‘free holiday base’ with amenities. Next morning, just as I knew it would, the bell rang. I checked the spyhole and sighed heavily. On our doorstep stood Nina Petrovna, the full force of mother-in-law: fur hat, bright lipstick, huge bag poking with a frozen fish tail. “Open up, Lena! We need to talk!” she thundered, not bothering with hellos. Nina sailed in like an icebreaker, filling the hallway. Viktor poked his head out, half-relieved, half-anxious. “Mum! No warning?” he squeaked. “What, do I need an appointment now?” She snorted, dumping her coat on him. “Put the kettle on—and the valerian, my heart’s been hurting for two days over you two!” Sat in our kitchen like a tribunal chair, I poured the tea, sliced cake, braced for what was coming. “So, dear daughter-in-law,” Nina Petrovna began, “what’s up with Svetochka? Your husband’s flesh and blood. All they asked was to rest at your place. Their own flat’s a mess, can’t breathe for the dust, and your palace just sits empty. Why so stingy?” “Nina Petrovna,” I answered calmly, “it’s not a palace but a regular house that needs care. Their renovations have dragged on five years, that’s not a reason to occupy our property. And I remember their last visit perfectly. The tobacco stench still hasn’t left the guest curtains, even though I begged them not to smoke inside.” “Who cares if they smoked!” she waved her hands. “Open the windows! You care more about stuff than people, Lena, that’s materialism! We raised Vitya to be generous and kind, now you’re turning him into a miser! You can’t take the cottage to your grave!” “Mum, Lena put so much into it…” Viktor tried. “Be quiet!” she snapped. “Your wife’s got you under her thumb. Do you want your sister and nephews out in the cold? Gena turns 45 on the third—they wanted a family celebration, already bought the meat, invited friends. Now what, cancel it all? Be the laughingstock?” “That’s not my problem if they invited guests without asking,” I shot back. “That’s called bad manners, Nina Petrovna.” She turned purple—she wasn’t used to anyone arguing, especially not Viktor. But I was made of sterner stuff. “Bad manners?” she gasped theatrically, clutching her heart. “So that’s how it is? I treat you like a daughter and you… Vitya! Hear how your wife speaks to me? If you don’t hand those keys to Svetka right now, I’ll… I’ll curse that house! My foot will never cross its threshold again!” “Hardly sets foot there now, you hate weeding,” I couldn’t help but mutter. “You snake!” She jumped up, knocking over a chair. “Vitya, give me those keys! I’ll give them to Svetka. Who’s head of this family?” He glanced miserably between her and me. Torn apart. He feared his mother’s wrath, had always obeyed, but also loved me—and the cottage too. He remembered fixing the porch Gena broke, dragging a barbecue in during a storm. “Mum, Lena has the keys,” he mumbled. “And maybe we’ll go ourselves.” “A liar!” she declared. “Right, Svetka’s coming round tomorrow. Have the keys on the table—with instructions for the boiler! If not, you’re not my son. And you,” turning to me, “remember this day. What goes around comes around!” She left, slamming the door. Silence settled, broken only by the clock ticking. “You won’t give them the keys, will you?” Viktor whispered half-an-hour later. “I won’t,” I said. “In fact—Vitya, we’re going to the cottage tomorrow morning. Ourselves.” “But we hadn’t planned… you had reports…” “Plans have changed. If we don’t occupy it, they’ll lay siege. I know your sister. She’d climb in the window if she decided she ‘needed’ it. If we’re there, she’ll have to go.” “Lena, that’s war…” “It’s defending our borders, Vitya. Pack your bags.” We left at dawn. The city was sparkling under Christmas lights but our mood was anything but festive. Viktor anxiously checked his phone—on silent, as I’d requested. An hour later, we arrived. The village dozed under snowy blankets; our house, with its bright wooden walls and snow-topped roof, looked like a Christmas card. I breathed out—sanctuary. We warmed the house, switched on the underfloor heating, unpacked Christmas decorations. The smell of pine and clementines filled the air; tension began to fade. Viktor went out to shovel snow; I watched through the window as he enjoyed it. He needed this peace too, but had been afraid to admit it. The peace shattered at three in the afternoon. The blaring of car horns at the gate. I peeked out and froze—Gena’s old jeep and another unfamiliar car. A crowd tumbled out: Svetlana in bright puffer, Gena, their kids, a strange couple with a huge Rottweiler, and Nina Petrovna—a general amongst troops. Viktor hesitated by the gate, shovel in hand. “Vitya, let us in—we’re freezing!” Svetlana yelled, yanking the handle. “Lena, what’s keeping you? We came to surprise you! If you’re here—even better! Let’s celebrate together!” I put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. He hesitated. “Hello. We weren’t expecting guests,” I said loudly. “Oh, stop pretending!” Gena waved, his voice already slurring. “Surprise! We’ve brought meat, a crate of vodka—everyone’s here. Let us in!” “A dog?” I snapped as the Rottweiler lifted its leg on my precious juniper. “Get him off my plants!” “Oh leave it, it’s just a tree!” Svetlana laughed. “Come on! Kids need the toilet!” “There’s a loo at the petrol station five miles down,” I said crisply. “I told you yesterday—the cottage is occupied. We’re resting. No room for ten guests and a dog.” A pause. They’d assumed if they just showed up, with mother-in-law in tow, we’d give in—classic family blackmail. “You’re not letting us in?” Nina Petrovna shrilled. “Leaving your own mother out in the cold? Vitya! Say something!” He turned to me, pleading. “Lena, please… they’re already here, how can we…?” “Like this,” I said firmly. “If you open that gate, in an hour it’ll be drunken chaos. The dog’ll dig up my garden and foul the carpets, the kids will destroy the upstairs, your sister will teach me how to cook in my own kitchen, and your brother-in-law will smoke cigars in the lounge. Our peaceful holiday—ruined. Is that what you want? Or would you prefer a quiet New Year with me? Make your choice. Right now.” Behind the gate, Gena was kicking his tyre, Svetlana was screaming insults, the kids were throwing snowballs at the window, Nina Petrovna clutched her heart theatrically. And suddenly, Viktor remembered. Three days fixing the swing last visit, the shame over the burnt rug, wishing simply to nap by the fire instead of running out for Gena’s vodka. He straightened, stepped to the gate, and, quietly but very firmly, declared: “Mum, Svetka. Lena’s right. We said there’d be no keys and no guests. Please leave.” “What?!” the whole clan roared. “You heard me. This is my home too. No circus. Please go.” “You—you—” Gena started, hand trying to force the latch. “Go, Gena,” Viktor gripped his shovel. “I’ll call security.” “Security?!” Nina Petrovna wheezed. “We’re family! I curse you, Judas! And your snake wife! I’ll never set foot here again!” “Let’s go!” Svetlana yanked her husband. “They’re mad! Let’s go to Tolyan’s place—he may be half-built but at least they’re welcoming!” Finally, engines revved, wheels spun, cars reversed out through the snow. Svetlana showed me a very rude gesture, Nina Petrovna’s stare like granite. Five minutes later, only silence—and a yellowed patch on my winter-wrapped juniper for proof. Viktor rammed the shovel into a snowdrift, sat heavily on the steps, face in hands. “Oh God, what a disgrace,” he whispered. “My own mother…” I sat beside him, put my arms around him, rested my cheek to his shoulder. “It’s not disgrace, Vitya. It’s growing up. Today you protected our family—the two of us. Not their clan, but us.” “She’ll never forgive me.” “She will. The moment she needs something—money for medicine or help with a job. They’re like that. They don’t stay upset if it’s inconvenient. But now they’ll know—there’s a line. And start respecting you. Not right away, but they will.” “You think?” “I know. And if not… well, we’ll have more peace. Come in, or you’ll freeze. I’ll make us mulled wine.” We went inside, drawn the curtains, shutting out the cold and angry words. In the evening, by the fire, we watched the flames in a silence that was cosy, not bitter. The next three days passed in blissful quiet. Woodland walks, barbecues—for ourselves—sauna, books. The phones silent—the family had declared boycott. On the third of January, just as I’d predicted, Viktor’s phone pinged: a message from Svetlana. Not an apology—just a photo: some sort of shed, a battered gas stove, empty vodka bottles and blurry, drunken faces. Caption: “Having a great holiday without you. Jealous much?” I looked at the battered table, Gena’s puffy face, and then at my husband asleep with a book, relaxed, peaceful, content. “Nothing to be jealous of, Svetka,” I whispered, deleting the message so as not to wake him. A week later, back in the city, Nina Petrovna rang herself. Her voice was cold and hurt, but she needed Viktor to drive her to the clinic. She didn’t mention the cottage. The boundary was drawn. There’d be the odd skirmish, but our citadel stood firm. Sometimes you need to be ‘bad’ for others to be good for yourself, and to protect your own family. And from then on, the cottage keys sat not on the hallway shelf, but locked in my safe. Just in case.

So, we were just chatting, and had a thought: why just let your cottage sit gathering dust? Well pop down for the Christmas hols with the kids. Good country air, that sledding hill next door, well even warm up the old sauna. Youre always slaving away at work, Alice, and Rob could do with a break, but he never comes with us, always just says he wants to catch up on some sleep. Anyway, hand over the keys, would you? Well head out first thing tomorrow.

The voice on the phone was unmistakableloud and certain, every word punctuated with confidence. Phoebe, Alices sister-in-law, barely gave her a moment to speak. Alice, standing in her kitchen and drying a plate, pulled the phone away from her ear, stunned by Phoebes audacity. Robs family prided themselves on their candour, but this was something else.

Hang on, Phoebe, Alice said slowly, fighting to keep resentment from sharpening her tone. What do you mean, decided? Who exactly decided? The cottage isnt a public park or a holiday camp. Its our homeRobs and mine. We were planning on using it, actually.

Oh, dont be such a stick-in-the-mud! came Phoebes dismissive reply, through a mouthful of food. You were going to! Rob told Mum youd both be at home, glued to the telly. Its a big placetwo floors! If you must come down, fine, but honestly, youd be bored with us lot. Well have our crowdGrahams bringing mates, therell be music, BBQs you with your books would be lost.

Alice felt her cheeks heat. The image was all too vivid: Graham and his pals belting out dodgy pop tunes, the teens running riot, rules a foreign concept, and the precious cottageher heart and savings poured in over five yearstossed around like a student rental.

No, Phoebe, Alice said, firm as steel. Im not giving you the keys. The cottage isnt ready. The heatings tricky, the sewage systems temperamental. And I dont want strangers treating our home like its their local.

Strangers?! shrieked Phoebe, finally pausing her chewing. Im your husbands sister! Your own niece and nephew! Has accountancy turned your heart to stone? Ill ring Mum and tell her how youre treating your own family!

The flat buzz of disconnected call echoed like gunshots. Alice set her phone down, hands shaking. She knew this was only the beginning. Soon, the heavy artilleryRobs mother, Patriciawould be on the move.

Rob shuffled into the kitchen a minute later, eyes apologetic. Hed overheard, but, as usual, opted for tactical retreat rather than intervention.

Alice, love, was that really necessary? he began, carefully, trying to slip his arm around her shoulders. I know Phoebes a bit much, butits family. Dont want to upset anyone

Alice shrugged him off, her resolve and exhaustion clear in her eyes.

Rob, do you remember last May? she said quietly.

Rob grimaced, as if the memory was a toothache.

I do, yes

Do you? Alices voice rose. They came for just a couple of nightsto have a barbie. Ended up with my dads apple tree snapped in two, the lounge carpet ruined by burn markstook me a week to clean, and the stains never came out. Dishes piled everywhere, because Phoebe couldnt risk her manicureeven though we have a dishwasher! Not that they used it. And the vase? My peonies flattened into the mud?

Theyre just kids. Playing, Rob mumbled, eyes fixed on the linoleum.

Kids? Your nephews fifteen, Rob. Your niece is thirteen. Theyre not exactly toddlers. They nearly set fire to the saunaforgot to open the flue.

They promised theyd behave this time. Graham said hed keep an eye on things.

Grahamll only watch to make sure the gin doesnt run out! Alice snapped, turning to the window. No, Rob. I mean it. That is my home. Legally and literally. I put the money from Grans flat into that place, I know every floorboard and brick. I wont let it be trashed.

The evening dragged by in icy silence. Rob fidgeted with the telly, but soon gave up and trudged off to bed. Alice nursed her cold tea and memories of three years spent building their sanctuary.

That place meant everything. Her parents had left the old stone house to her, and the rebuild consumed every spare penny and hour she hadno new dresses, no beach holidays, just stained hands from sanding skirting boards, painting walls herself, picking out tiles, and sewing curtains. For Alice, it wasnt a holiday houseit was her only refuge. Robs clan saw it as a free hotel.

Saturday arrived with a knock that shook the flat. Alice peered through the spyhole and sighed. There, resplendent in mink hat and red lipstick, was Patricia, her mother-in-law, dragging a suitcase bulging with what looked suspiciously like the tail of a frozen salmon.

Open up, Alice! We need to talk! Patricia barked, not even bothering with hello.

Alice obliged. Patricia swept inside, filling the hallway with a chill. Rob darted forward, half-worried, half-cheerful.

Mum! Didnt expect you

Do I have to book an appointment now? Patricia rolled her eyes, dumping her coat on Rob. Tea, please, and some of that valerian rootIve been quite beside myself after yesterday.

In the kitchen, she set herself up like the judge of a local magistrates court. Alice calmly poured tea and cut a slice of lemon drizzle. She could guess what was coming.

Well, come on then, Alice, began Patricia, sipping tea with a practiced air of injury. Whats Phoebe done to offend you? All she wanted was to spend the holidays with the childrenher own brothers family. Theres dust everywhere in their flat from the redecorating, the kids can barely breathe, and you have a manor house sitting empty. Why be so mean?

Patricia, Alice replied steadily, matching her gaze. Its not a manor, just an old house that needs a lot of care. Phoebes been doing up her kitchen for five years. That isnt reason enough to commandeer ours. And I havent forgotten their last visittheres still stale smoke in the guest room curtains, even though I asked there to be no smoking.

Its only a bit of smoke! Air it out! Patricia waved her hands. You care more for things than people, Alice. Thats materialism. I raised Rob to be generous, and now youre hardening him up! You cant take the house with you to the grave!

Mum, to be fair, Alice has worked hard on that house Rob ventured.

Dont interrupt! Patricia snapped. Henpecked! Your wife spins you around her little finger. And your own niece and nephew left out in the coldGrahams birthday is the third! Hes forty-five! They want to celebrate in style. Everythings bought, the guests are coming. Should they cancel and make fools of themselves?

Thats not my problem if they invited a bunch of strangers to our home without asking, said Alice crisply. Thats rude, Patricia.

Patricia coloured deeply. She was used to winning arguments, especially with Robs timid compliance. But Alice wasnt Rob.

Rude? Is that what you think? Patricia clutched melodramatically at her chest. I welcomed you as a daughter, and this is what I get? Rob! Are you listening? Unless you hand those keys to Phoebe right now, Ill disown this house! Ill never set foot there again!

You never set foot there anyway, Alice muttered under her breath.

You snake! gasped Patricia, leaping from her chair. Rob, give me those keys! Ill take them to Phoebe myself. Are you man of the house or arent you?

Rob looked helplessly between his mother and wife. Torn in two. He dreaded his mothers temper, always had, but he loved Alice and, truth be told, he loved the house too. He remembered fixing the porch after Graham broke it, hauling the barbecue in during that downpour.

Mum, Alice has the keys. Maybe well go ourselves

Liar! Patricia snapped. Listen to me, both of you. Phoebes coming round tomorrow. So see those keys on the tableand write instructions about the heating, or so help me, Rob, Ill wash my hands of you all. And you she jabbed a finger at Alice youll remember this. The worlds a small place.

Patricia slammed the door behind her, leaving only the tick of the kitchen clock hanging in the sudden silence.

You wont give them the keys, will you? Rob asked quietly, half an hour later.

Of course not, Alice replied. Were going ourselves. Tomorrow.

But you wanted to finish those year-end reports.

Change of plan, Rob. If we dont get there first, theyll break in. If your sister sets her mind to something Lets go. Pack up.

They left in the pre-dawn gloom, skirting the sparkling, empty city, neither feeling the slightest bit festive. Rob nervously checked his silenced phone every few minutes as they drove.

The journey took ninety minutes. The lane to the cottage was blanketed in new-fallen snow. Their homelovely, pale stone, dusted with whitelooked as though it belonged on a Christmas card. Alices breath released some of its tension. Here, she was safe.

They fired up the boiler, Alice fetched their battered box of Christmas baubles. By lunchtime, there were pine needles and the scent of oranges everywhere. Rob went to clear snow from the path, Alice watching through the window as he shovelled, shoulders relaxing in the cold, clean air.

The peace shattered at three in the afternoon.

A car horn blared from the gate. Alice peered out, chill running down her back. Two cars outside: Grahams battered Land Rover, plus an unfamiliar silver hatchback. Out tumbled Phoebe in a bright down jacket, Graham in an unzipped parka, their teens, a couple Alice didnt knowand a massive black labrador, running loose. Patricia, of course, stood in the middlecommanding her troops.

Rob froze in the garden, shovel in hand.

Open up! Guests have arrived! Graham roared, his voice echoing across the hushed meadows.

Alice slipped on her boots and coat and stepped outside to join Rob, who hovered at the gate, hand on the bolt.

Rob, let us in! Phoebe screeched, rattling the handle. Alice, come on! We wanted to surprise you! Well have more fun together!

Alice placed a gentle but firm hand on Robs shoulder and called out, clear and loud, Sorry, but were not expecting guests, Phoebe.

Oh, give over! Graham waved a crate of beer in the air. Just a bit of a knees-up! We brought food, drinks, the lot. See, Tony and his missus are here, brought along the doggentlest thing on four legs. Let us in, mate!

A dog? Alice spotted the Lab cocking his leg on her favourite topiary. Get him away from my plants!

For heavens sake, its just a shrub! Phoebe snorted. Right, open up, will you? Kids are desperate for the loo!

Theres public loos back at the service station, Alice said, voice as crisp as the snowy air. As I told you yesterday: the cottage is occupied. Were here, alone. No room for ten people and a dog.

A stunned silence fell. The family were unused to being challenged and had counted on pulling the old turn up and knock stunt.

You mean you wont let us in? Patricias voice quivered with rage. Youd leave your own mother out in the freezing cold? Rob! Say something!

Rob looked pleadingly at Alice.

Alice, theyre already here What are we supposed to do?

Exactly this, Rob. Alices stare was baleful. If you open that gate, in an hour therell be smashed glasses, the dog will trash the garden, the kids will trash the spare bedrooms, Phoebe will lecture me over my cooking, Graham will light up in the lounge, and our peaceful Christmas will disappear. Your choice, Rob. Either them or me.

Rob looked at the mob behind the fence, Graham cursing and kicking his own tyre, Phoebe screeching about heartless cows, the kids pelting windows with snowballs, Patricia clutching her chest.

He remembered the last time: fixing the swing for days, the stench in the carpet, longing to fall asleep by the fire instead of refilling glasses.

He squared his shoulders, stepped up to the gate, and said, not loudly but clearly, Mum, Phoebe. Alice is right. We said no. Were not expecting guests, and you need to go back.

What?! the family shrieked in unison.

You heard me. Its my house too. I dont want a circus. Please leave.

You bloody Graham tried to reach the latch through the bars.

Go, Graham, Rob gripped the shovel. If you dont go, Ill call the police and say strangers are trying to force their way intheres private security here.

Strangers?! Patricia spluttered. Us? Curse you! And your sly wife! Ill never set foot here again!

Lets go! hissed Phoebe, yanking Grahams sleeve. Theyre mad! Well go to Tonyshalf finished, but at least hes welcoming!

Good plan! added Tony, uncomfortable but eager to escape the family drama. Got a log burner, well be fine!

Engines started. The cars lurched away, snow flurrying, Phoebe flipping Alice a rude gesture, Patricia stone-faced in the passenger seat.

Five minutes later, calm fell again. Only the trampled snow and the yellow stain on Alices wrapped-up box tree remained.

Rob jabbed the shovel into a snowbank and collapsed onto the steps, face in hands.

Good grief, what a mess. My own mum

Alice sat beside him and leaned in.

Its not a mess, Rob. Its growing up. You protected usfor the first time, us, not them.

Shell never forgive me.

She willwhen she needs help with something again. They never stay angry when they want something. But now theyll know: this is our line in the sand. They cant cross it without asking. Eventually, theyll respect youmaybe not immediately, but they will.

You sure?

Absolutely. And if not, well at least have some peace. Lets go inside before you freeze. Ill do us some mulled wine.

Inside, Alice drew the curtains, shutting out the cold and the bitterness. That evening by the fire, their quiet shared silence felt warmcompanionable, not strained.

Three blissful days passed: long walks, a roast just for two, books by the fireplace. Both phones stayed eerily mute, save for the inevitable cold shoulder from Robs family.

January third, as Alice predicted, Rob got a text from Phoebe. Not an apologya photo: ramshackle shed, log burner, boxes of beer, a bunch of red-faced laughing people. Were having a blast WITHOUT you! Jealous?

Alice studied the squalid scene, Grahams swollen face, the litter, then looked at Rob, drifting in his chair, book on his chest, finally at rest.

Theres nothing to envy, Phoebe, she whispered, and deleted the message.

A week later, back in town, Patricia called Rob herself. She was curt, slightly injured, but needed him to drive her to the GP. Not a word about the cottage. The boundary heldoccasional pot-shots, but it remained standing.

Alice understood then: its better to be the bad one in other peoples eyes than to betray yourselfor your family. And now, the cottage keys didnt sit on the hallway hook, but locked away, just in case.