Liz, we won’t take much. Pack us your famous pie and a couple of jam jars for the road,” Glen drawled, a smile on his face.

**June 5, 2026 The Lake District**

Im still trying to untangle the knot of thoughts that has settled over me since Graham swaggered into the garden this morning, grinning like a boy whos just found the last biscuit in the tin.

> Lucy, we wont take much. Pack your famous apple crumble and a couple of jars of jam for the road, he said lazily, his smile broadening.

I stared at him, unable to believe the sheer audacity. How could he ask, so unabashedly, for a takeaway from a home Id been pouring my heart into?

All day long the image of the crumble the one Id spent hours perfecting, the one Id baked while prepping the cottage for their arrival kept looping in my mind. And here was Graham, a man who hadnt lifted a hammer in the whole week, now lounging in the shade and demanding a takeaway.

Arthur, my brother, seemed oblivious to his brothers behaviour, his eyes fixed on the lake as if nothing odd was happening.

> Graham, arent you asking too much? I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

> Oh, hush, Lucy! he waved off, not even turning. Were family, we share. And youve got a whole pantry of yours!

A hot flash of resentment and anger rose within me. This little stonecottage by the lake, bought three years ago, has become our sanctuary. Summer here never allowed for lazy days: early rises, hedging, berry picking, tending the hens, and stockpiling for winter. Every helping hand was worth its weight in gold, and Grahams request felt like a slap.

To him the cottage was just a freeofcharge holiday resort, and my brother and I were the staff.

—

It all began three weeks ago when Graham called, offering to drop by, lend a hand around the house and get a bit of countryside fresh air. Those words were a surprise. Graham and his wife Olivia are city folk through and through nightclubs, pubs, cinema, weekend shopping sprees.

> Help out? I echoed, uncertain.

But Graham was already in full swing.

> Exactly! Were family! Itll be easier for you, and we get a breath of fresh air. Ive been itching to pick raspberries and heat up the sauna

After hanging up, I lingered on the porch, absentmindedly running my aprons fabric through my fingers. I knew Grahams pattern: he loved to promise, rarely to deliver. My doubts lingered, but Arthur, hearing the news, lit up.

> Maybe theyll at least gather some berries. And look, my brother can finally help me fix the fence.

The next few days felt like the president himself was visiting: I washed and ironed the bedding, fetched fresh towels, drove into Kendal for supplies fresh fish, meat for a barbecue, fruit, sweets anything to make the guests feel welcome.

> Maybe itll all turn out alright, I whispered to myself, hanging the towels. Even a little help would be nice.

When Graham and Olivia finally arrived, I greeted them with a smile that concealed my reservations. They looked relaxed, as if theyd just returned from a spa retreat.

> Here we are! Graham declared, arms flung wide.

I forced another smile and ushered them inside. The veranda was already set with salads, hot pastry bites, and a jug of chilled compote. The first halfhour was light chatter, news swapping, then Arthur carefully laid out the plan for the coming days.

> Tomorrow well start the haymaking, then pick the berries. Theres a lot to do, but well manage together.

> Right, of course, Olivia nodded, though a flicker of surprise crossed her eyes; the word haymaking seemed foreign to her.

I caught that look and felt a foreboding chill: perhaps the help they promised would be more illusion than action.

The first day passed like a little celebration. I tried not to think about the kneehigh grass, the strawberry beds overrun with weeds, or the bucket of apples waiting in the shed.

Graham was in high spirits, shouting jokes, cracking seeds, boasting how tired of the city he was and how lucky we are to be out here. Olivia, in a new sundress, posed against the sunset and the lake, snapping dozens of photos. Arthur smiled, glad his brother finally arrived, hoping the work would now move faster.

But by the next morning the mood shifted.

At dawn, the roosters crow pulled me from sleep. I pulled on my rubber boots, stepped out into the dewy grass that sparkling in the morning light, the air thick with the scent of hay. The chickens pecked for feed.

I scooped grain into a trough, and my gaze drifted to the guestroom window: curtains drawn, the room quiet.

By eight oclock Id already fed the birds, filled a bucket with green cucumbers, and watered the beds. Arthur emerged with a cup of tea and announced:

> Graham and Olivia have gone into town. Something urgent came up.

I nodded silently, a sour knot tightening inside. I had hoped the helpers would at least stay for breakfast.

They returned at dusk, beaming, laden with bags of crisps, fizzy drinks, and a large sack of pork ribs, as if theyd just completed a heroic quest.

> Lucy, youve practically got a spa here! Graham shouted, collapsing into a lounge chair on the veranda. Everything does itself!

The next day my irritation grew. I mowed the lawn alone, lugged heavy buckets, scrubbed the floors, and cooked lunch. Graham lounged in a hammock, lazily scrolling through his phone, complaining of a headache.

> I think Ive caught a cold. Ill stay in bed today.

Olivia stretched on a beach towel by the water, selfieing. Her social feeds filled with new hashtags: #CountryRelax, #LifeIsGood, #NatureBreak.

Each day left me more exhausted and more irritated. I rose at five, went to bed after midnight, washing dishes and tidying after the guests. They never offered to pitch in they genuinely believed their mere presence was a gift.

> Were here as guests, Olivia wondered when I asked her to wash the dishes. Shouldnt guests be working?

From that moment my smile became a thin line, each request from them a strike on my patience. Slowly, inexorably, the hospitality that had held us together reached its breaking point.

By the fifth day I could no longer stay silent. The irritation that had built up since their arrival finally erupted.

All day I was in the garden, weeding beds, hauling buckets of water, while laughter drifted from the veranda where Olivia, sprawled in a deck chair, chattered with her friends.

When Arthur trudged back from the fields, dust on his boots, I met him with a stern expression.

> I cant do this any longer, I said. They havent even cleared their own dishes! This morning Graham asked me to wash his shirt, and Olivia claimed breakfast should be something simple.

Arthur nodded, and we decided to involve the guests in tomorrows chores: Graham would finally help Arthur fix the fence, and Olivia would take charge of weeding the strawberries.

I hoped that at least then theyd understand that a holiday doesnt run itself.

> Graham, tomorrow we need to repair the fence, Arthur said over dinner. Can you help?

> Of course, of course, Graham replied, chewing a kebab, eyes glued to his phone.

It was clear his mind was elsewhere more interested in messaging than in any physical work.

The next morning Arthur rose early. The air was crisp, scented with hay and dew. He fetched tools from the shed, inspected the boards and nails, even brewed a strong tea for his brother to start the day on a good note. He knocked on the guestroom door. Silence. He knocked again, louder. Only the hum of the airconditioner answered. When he opened the door, the room was empty.

On the bedside table lay a note:

> Weve gone into town, will be back by evening! Barbecue tonight!

That evening Graham and Olivia returned, arms full of meat, packets of chips, and a bag of smoked fish. They laughed about terrible traffic and the heat. I was so weary I could barely stand on the porch.

> We agreed to work on the land, I said.

> Ah, right, right, Graham replied casually, waving the meat sack. Tomorrow well definitely help! Promise.

But on the seventh morning he announced:

> Weve got to leave urgently. Too bad we didnt get to help!

Then, with a grin, he added:

> Lucy, pack us your signature apple crumble and a couple of jars of raspberry jam for the road. Its just wonderful!

Anger boiled inside me. A week of sunrise garden work, endless cooking, washing, cleaning, and catering to ungrateful guests culminated in a decisive refusal.

> We wont give you anything, I said, voice trembling despite my effort to stay even. You havent done a single chore this week.

Graham froze, his face flushing, eyes narrowing.

> Thats how you are! he shouted, voice cracking. And what about hospitality? We came with good intentions!

> With what intentions? I snapped. You came to lounge in our hammock and shop in town while I did all the work!

Arthur, usually the peacemaker, stepped beside me, placed a hand on my shoulder, and looked straight at his brother.

> Graham, you volunteered to help. Yet all youve done is eat, drink, and complain about the heat.

> What are you on about, Arthur! Graham exploded, stepping forward. Were family! And youre demanding money for food! Shame on you, brother!

Olivia, standing near the porch, let out an exasperated sigh, threw her arms up as if to signal her utter contempt, and, clenching her lips, walked to the car. She slammed the door with a dramatic bang. She was furious that a family visit had turned into a scandal.

> Lets go, Graham! she shouted from the car. Were not valued here! And family whats that supposed to mean?

Graham turned to Arthur and me. He seemed about to speak, then simply brushed his hand away, as if dismissing any apology, and strode to his car, slamming the boot shut with a harsh thud.

His face twisted with rage, eyes a mixture of shock and wounded pride, as if the world had suddenly turned against him.

> Take your pies and go! he barked, closing the door. Well never come back!

When the car disappeared around the bend, Arthur and I stood on the porch, a wave of relief mixed with lingering fatigue washing over us.

Arthur let out a deep sigh and lowered himself onto the step.

> Hard lessons, but useful ones, he said, looking at me with understanding. No more freeloaders at our gate.

I nodded, realizing the truth of his words.

That evening we walked the fields, assessing the work still left undone. The fence still needed repair, the strawberries still required weeding, and the hay remained uncut.

We strolled slowly along the lane, listening to the night sounds of the garden. I caught myself thinking that the exhaustion from honest labour felt better than the weariness caused by someones entitlement.

Later that night, Arthur and I brewed tea with a spoonful of that raspberry jamthe very jam Graham had begged for. We stared out over the lake, the cottage once again feeling like our quiet world.

> From now on well only welcome guests who come with a spade, not a smartphone, I said, and we both laughed, realizing that in life the most important things are mutual help and respect.