Pass Us the Keys to Your Cottage, We’d Love to Stay: When a Couple Offers Their Friends a New Year’s…

Lend us the keys to your cottage, well just live there for a bit,

The Fergusons let their friends stay at their country cottage, never quite imagining what sort of chaos these simple words would lead to.

—

Davids mum got ill right before Christmas, so he and his wife Caroline ended up celebrating quietly at home, sipping mulled wine and making an ambitious attempt at a Yorkshire pudding. Their friends, Lucy and Mark, were a touch miffed that David and Caroline had bailed on their much-discussed New Years Eve getaway to the cottageespecially since Lucy had already planned matching woolly hats for the snowy countryside. But who could have predicted Margaret Fergusons dramatic bronchitis debut on the 30th of December?

Even so, Caroline felt a nagging twinge of guilt. So when Lucy rang her up on the 2nd of January, launching into a tale about how grim New Years had been in their cramped flat (with Marks mother taking over the living room and apparently, Lucys sanity), Carolines guilt returned in force.

You wouldnt believe it, Lucy moaned, Marks mum landed on us on New Years Eve, claiming her radiator was possessed and leaking. Shes basically squatting here until the Council comes round to sort the pipes! I swear, Ill divorce Mark over his mother if I hear one more thing about heating!

Im sorry, Caroline offered, commiserating about how poorly Margaret was faring herself with bronchitis, If theres anything I can do, just say.

Well, Lucy hesitated, hinting at a solution, There is actually something

Go on then, said Caroline, bracing herself.

Give us the cottage keys! Mark and I will escape to the Cotswold paradise, leave his mum to talk the cat into a new radiator herself.

Caroline pondered, torn between compassion and dread of what David might say. On paper, the country cottage belonged to him, but in practice, it was pretty much communal property.

Im not sure, Lucy. Ill have to check with David.

Of course! Well be careful, promise. No wild parties. Well tiptoe around your precious stuff.

The roads probably blocked in with snow… We havent called anyone to clear it, Caroline cautioned.

Well manage, got a 4×4, Lucy declared, And Marks basically a boiler-whisperer, hes fixed more heating than British Gas.

Lucys sales pitch was remarkably persuasive, so Caroline relented, telling her shed call back after consulting David.

Are you sure this is wise? David asked, hunting for his most dramatic sceptical face.

Not really, said Caroline, But Lucys desperate, and its not like we werent all meant to go if it wasnt for your mum.

If anything breaks, Im not crossing the countryside just to mend a kettle, David warned, And dont let them rope us into anything.

Deal.

Lucy knew shed won the trust jackpot. She promised to check in regularly and drove off triumphantly.

The drive took them three hours into the wintry heart of Gloucestershire. The cottage, nestled somewhere between sheep and distant church bells, was proper idyllic, but of course, David and Caroline had been right: thanks to the festive snow, the lane was basically Narnia, even for a 4×4. The friends got thoroughly marooned and had to ring up their hosts.

Its a disaster! they wailed.

Head back home, Caroline sighed, No ones ploughing snow on the 3rd of January!

Not happening. Cant give up now! Lucy pressed. You said David knows someone with a tractor in the next village?

Yes, thats Bob, the tractor man, agreed Caroline.

Perfect, give me his number!

Thirty minutes later, Lucy called: He wont answer unfamiliar numbers. Tell David to call! Hell pick up!

Reluctantly, Caroline got David to dial up Bob, and eventually he promised to come in an hour. Meanwhile, Lucy rang every ten minutes, turning Carolines phone into an anxiety device.

To everyones relief, Bob arrived, ploughed the drive and vanished into the mist. But the gate required a workout with a shovel, and as expected, neither Lucy nor Mark volunteered for athletic heroics. Mark cleared a path just big enough to squeeze through the door, setting the tone for the rest of their stay.

Then the heating wasnt working. Apparently, Mark wasn’t quite the heating sage; cue another round of calls to David, who spent two hours walking him through the most ancient boiler this side of Buckingham Palace.

Is this thing from the Victorian era? Mark mused.

I expect it still works, said David (deeply unconvinced).

Of course, Lucy wasnt done. She rang for every conceivable issue: Wheres the frying pan? Why is it still cold? Can we survive in these arctic conditions?

By late evening, Caroline and David simply turned their phones off, electing to let Lucy and Mark fend for themselves in the British wild.

Come morning: dozens of missed calls. Caroline anxiously dialled back.

Where have you been?! Lucy shrieked.

In bed.

The sauna nearly killed us! Smoky as a pub in the 1980s, thought wed burn the place down!

What on earth?

Your sauna has a pipe cap thingyshouldve warned us! Luckily, Marks a genius.

Sorry, didnt think youd brave the sauna on day one. Everything all right?

Were making the most of it. Also, wheres the barbecue grill?

Oh, ours is ancient and broken.

Sono barbecue then? And you didnt even warn us? How are we supposed to grill sausages?

I dont know, Lucy, were not exactly running a B&B. Sort out the sausages yourselves. Just dont set the house on fire.

Afterwards, Caroline told David, who rolled his eyes, Mark knows about the pipe cap, no worries. The barbecue is a them problem. If they want a new one, go to the village shopthey sell disposable ones. Sorted.

Caroline relayed this nugget to Lucy, who finally stopped calling. She mustve realised even saints stop playing housekeeper after the fifth emergency.

Days passed in blessed silence. Not a peep. David speculated theyd finally settled inor perished in the snow.

Lucy sent a text: All good.

David and Caroline rejoiced, mentally filing the episode away. At the end of the holidays, Margaret Ferguson perked up enough for them to consider collecting the cottage keysand inspect the estate for damages.

David made the trek; Caroline stayed back, hopeful. When he returned, he was tight-lipped, evidently traumatised by the encounter.

The next day, Lucy phoned Caroline:

Got a minute? she said, inviting Caroline round to her house, just round the corner.

Has your mother-in-law finally left you in peace? Caroline asked.

Thank the Queen for that. Shes back home and terrorising her own neighbours now.

Lovely. Ill come by in an hour, Caroline agreed, not mentioning it to Davidwho shuddered at all things cottage-related.

Lucy went straight to business, handing Caroline a handwritten note.

Whats that?

Our expenses at your cottage.

Caroline scanned the list: tractor mans fee, electric shovel, disposable grill, coal, firelighters, grill rack, three lightbulbs, and some essential oils for the sauna.

Bought all this while staying with you, Lucy explained.

And…?

We left them for you, so now you can enjoy them too. Seems fair to split the costs fifty-fifty!

Youre joking! Caroline snorted, convinced Lucy had lost her mind.

No, really! If youd had a working grill and a proper shovel, we wouldnt have spent a penny. And if Bob the tractor man had cleared the drive earlier, that wouldve saved us petrol. Not to mentionno shampoo in the sauna. Had to buy everything!

Lucy, youre being dramatic. Our cottage isnt a Premier Innyou want shampoo, bring it yourself. You got the electric shovel and grill on your own. Take them home, theyre yours. Same for your aroma oils and coal and rack. Im not paying for snow clearance either; you chose the adventure!

But youll use the drive!

By the time we go up again, the snow will be back. They only charge at Christmas anyway, the rest of the year they clear it free. As for the lightbulbsIll pay for those, sure. Send me the bill.

Three pounds eighty pence appeared in Lucys bank account moments later. Caroline breezed out the door, ignored subsequent calls, and sent all the friends purchases back with a courierno more unpaid cottage upgrades on Carolines watch.

Margaret Ferguson was soon recovered; the Fergusons reclaimed their weekends and cottage privileges, restoring peace in their little corner of the Cotswolds. Lucy and Mark, like bad jam on toast, stopped featuring in their lives.

We were so generous, grumbled Lucy to Mark, ringing Caroline for the sixteenth time, still stuck with an unwanted electric shovel that required a receipt now gathering dust at the Fergusons place. But the Fergusons were otherwise occupied, enjoying their newly peaceful weekends, no friends in sightand not a hint of cottage chaos.