Sergey Brought His Bride Irina to Live in the Countryside, Where He Inherited His Grandmother’s Cottage

July 22

Today has left me feeling exhausted and quite unsettled. So much has happened lately that I feel compelled to get everything off my chest.

Its been just over three years since I brought my fiancée, Alice, to the village where I grew up. The little cottage, left to me by my grandmother, awaited us with its crooked gate and scent of honeysuckle. I remember telling Alice, Take your pickdo we try our luck in the city and rent a flat, or build our life here? Not much of a choice, really; in London, Id had nowhere to call my own and was sharing a cramped box room at my sisters, Lucys, place with her eldest.

Lucy never made me feel wanted. Once a month, when I handed over nearly all my pay for the privilege of sharing her home, shed be almost pleasant. The rest of the time, shed find fault with me for the smallest things. Weekends were reserved for chores: shaking out the rugs and duvets, and minding her three childrenages one, three, and sixwhile her husband was away at university or off with mates, sometimes disappearing to his parents for a break from family life.

Alice knew it all. Knew that despite my good job and respectable salary, I saw precious little of my own money. Even when Alice and I began courting and I tried to save for myself, Lucy nearly threw me out. I had to hand in my notice at work and work out two weeks, all while enduring her endless complaints.

Eventually, Lucy turfed me out properly the day I said I wouldnt hand over my salary any longer. I arrived at Alices bedsit with my things in tow, and that was that.

The village welcomed us kindly, even if we had no relatives nearby. My childhood summers spent in Grans garden paid off, as I knew half the villagers already. My mother lives in another county, and Alices parents are from even farther north, so we were left to our own devices. We married quietly and got on with settling into country lifeAlice found work at the local nursery, I took a job at the sawmill. An elderly neighbour gifted us her goat since she couldnt care for it anymore, asking only for half a pint of milk a day in return. Eventually, we took on chickens and sheep. My pay was modest, but the smallholding and Alices sewing jobs made life comfortable.

Our son, little Oliver, just turned three. With Alice back at work after maternity leave, wed weathered the hardest years. Or so I thought.

Today, out of the blue, Lucy turned up, children in tow. She hadnt visitednot oncesince tossing me out. Of course, her husband didnt come; as always, hed opted to rest at his parents.

I used to live here too, remember? she announced as if reclaiming a lost kingdom. Id come visit Gran. Decided I want a seaside holiday, so Ill probably leave my children with you here in the village! The audacity left me speechless.

Whos meant to look after them? I asked, bewildered. Were both at workthere are days I dont make it home.

Oh, its the country, what can happen? They can mind themselves! she said breezily.

Stay yourself and mind your own children. Alice wont agree, I retorted, knowing full well my wife has no patience for such schemes.

Why does it matter what she thinks? Youre my brotherjust tell your wife! she huffed. I asked if her husband had anything to say about this plan. No, hes fine at home. Needs his rest from us, you know? she replied carelessly. I bit back a remark about their habit of perpetually resting from one another.

While we argued, her children had managed to unleash havoc. Suddenly, I heard an almighty racket outside. Through the window, I saw her threeSimon, Abigail, and Joshuachasing the piglet, which was squealing and sprinting through the vegetable patch. I only just managed to catch the pig and herd it back, but not before the beds were trampled. Next, it was the goat and her kidshalf our cabbages destroyed.

I scolded Lucy while Alice fretted over the damage, but the children were off again in a flash.

Theyre only children, and its just a village! Lucy said, rolling her eyes. Theyre playing, whats the harm?

Our own three-year-old son wouldnt dream of it, I replied.

Well, he will, given time, she shot back.

He knows better, I said, but was interrupted by another crashthis time, theyd ventured to the chicken coop. They flung open the door, drawn by the birds colourful eggs, and found themselves facing a furious cockerel.

What sort of village is this? Lucy barked. How is everything so out of control?

The cockerels not the problemtell your children not to wander, I replied, exasperated. If anything happens while Im out, its on you. Alice cannot take a holiday to babysit them!

Its not as if theyve met the neighbours bull yet, I muttered darkly. That beast is mean as sin, and the local geese are more vicious than our cockerel. At night I wouldnt risk stepping outside at all.

Youre just trying to put me off, she snapped.

At that very moment, a neighbour appeared at our front door dragging her eldest, Simon, by the arm. Do you realise your boy was smoking behind my garage? The fields are dry as tinder, no rain in a monthwhat do you lot think youre doing?

Thats it, Lucy. Im not having this. You are not dumping your children here. If you must go to the coast, take them with you. Mind the sharks, too.

You lot are all strange! I supported you when you had nowhere to go! she shrieked.

For a year, because I had no choice. I gave you every penny I earned, remember?

Im taking everyone to Mum and Dads, she announced abruptly, gathering her children, who protested all the way out the door.

Early this morning, the lot of them packed up and left. Alice and I sat for ages afterwards, shaking our heads at the whirlwind that is my sister. I can only hope for a bit of peaceat least until her next bright idea.