“‘What kind of rascals have been here? Call your family over to sort things out,’ Lily snapped. ‘I won’t be cleaning up after them. I’m already fed up washing the sheets after your friends, who even stayed overnight at our holiday cottage.’

June82026

Dear Diary,

What a tangled mess the weekend turned into. When I arrived at the cottage, Evelyn was fuming. What on earth have those freeloaders done now? Call your family and get them to sort this out, she snapped. Im done cleaning up after them. Im already washing the sheets every time your mates crash here. Theyve been staying overnight at our place for weeks.

She reminded me that my mother had phoned earlier, saying the whole Whitaker clan were planning a weekend barbecue at the cottage. Let them go, Evelyn said dryly, whats it to us? Ive never liked my motherinlaw, Mrs. Whitaker.

I tried to explain, They want to use the cottage because they dont own one themselves, and Im booked at the garage on Saturday. It seemed obvious to me, so I told Evelyn we couldnt go away that weekend and that Mum had asked for the keys.

Reluctantly, Evelyn agreed, though she later regretted it. When we finally drove up the following weekend, the sight that met us was like a scene after a storm. The garden was a mess, berries strewn everywhere, the floor inside filthy, and a lone pot of old soup sat on the stove. The kitchen curtains had been ripped down. I could see why Evelyn was at her wits end. My parents are already in their sixties.

She poured out her frustrations to me, repeating her earlier tirade. What did those freeloaders do? Call your family and have them clean up, she repeated, I wont be the one constantly doing the laundry for your friends. Theyve made a habit of staying here.

I suggested she load the washing machine, take it out and hang the clothes. Next time you do it all yourself! she shouted, Are you satisfied with the state of our cottage and garden?

No one called anyone else. Evelyn stopped talking to me for a while, but eventually we patched things up. Wed only been married two years, a lovemarriage, and we still didnt have children. Life went onwork, the house, the house, work. Weekends were either walks or trips with friends out in the countryside.

Everything changed when Evelyns mother suddenly remarried and moved to another city. The cottage now fell to Evelyn. Suddenly the Whitaker side of the family fell over us like a swarm of bees, all eager for barbecues in the fresh air. Cousins, uncles, aunts, even my own grandmother turned up, dragging along their own kits, blankets, and to Evelyns horror her slippers.

They all wanted to stay overnight, and I, as usual, kept the grill going. Evelyn grew tired of the constant influx, yet she didnt want to hurt the relations. She began looking forward to the weekends, hoping for some calm.

My motherinlaw, an oldfashioned country woman, believed everything belonged to everyone. She, along with my sisterinlaw Margaret, started raiding the cottage for creams, shampoos, sponges, even my wifes indoor slippers. Then she rang again, asking for the keys so she could take her boss down to the cottage for a little retreat and a barbecue.

Again, Evelyn wasnt asked for her opinion. Well give Mum the keys, I said, remembering how furious she had been after the last Whitaker visit, but I didnt want to stir the pot.

Evelyn realised she had to act. She phoned her own mother, complained, and after a brief exchange, told her aunt Olive that her sister and brotherinlaw would be coming to the cottage for a short stay. Dont worry, Olive promised. Ill sort it.

Evelyn had always been uneasy about Aunt Olive; as a child shed been sent to stay with her every summer, memories that still gnawed at her. That night Olive called, Well, my dear, youve been quiet for ages. How shall we handle this? Scare them a little, or be blunt? she laughed, delighted at the drama.

Evelyn, startled, asked, Did you tell them the cottage is yours? Olive replied, I cant recall, but they all think it is. Dont fret, dear, well make it right.

On Sunday, my motherinlaw rang, furious. Did you sell the cottage? Wheres the money? Why didnt you tell us? It turned out that on Saturday Margaret, her boss, and Mrs. Whitaker had all arrived with a group of five, already firing up the barbecue.

When they saw me, my motherinlaw shouted, Who are you?
The lady here claims she owns the cottage, the boss replied sharply. I dont know you. How did you get the keys?

A tense silence fell. Margaret tried to explain the family connection and the key handover, but the woman who called herself the owner glared at her, and Margaret stumbled over her words. The boss stayed quiet. In the end, the keys were taken back, and the intruders were politely asked to leave, warned not to return unless the matter was cleared up.

From a distance Evelyn heard my motherinlaws voice booming over the handset. I was at a loss for words. Pass the phone to her, I said, handing Evelyn the receiver. The cottage isnt yours! my motherinlaw declared with a theatrical sigh.

Evelyn tried to keep her cool. Did you even ask us first? Do you think everything around us belongs to you?

Mrs. Whitaker retorted, You know Margaret invited her boss here. If she gets laid off, youll be to blame.

I could feel the tension crackle. And what about Aunt Olive? Shes just here to rest, you never asked us. I finally said, Youve lived without this cottage before; youll manage without it now.

My fatherinlaw, visibly shaken, muttered, I wont go back there, and neither will my relatives.

It was the first real fight wed had. Margaret was dismissed from her job, and I told her, Ill never forgive you for this. My family cares for you, and youve deceived us. Evelyn believed Margarets dismissal had another cause, and suddenly she felt no remorse for anyone involved. Our marriage hit a dead end.

I think Im getting a divorce, she whispered to her mother.

Decide for yourself. Youre an adult now. Where will you live? Ive let go of my flat. Go to Olive, her mother replied.

Thanks, Evelyn said, a hint of sarcasm. I suppose Ill rent a flat.

She filed for divorce, moved into a rented flat, and never set foot in the cottage again.

Looking back, I realise that trying to please everyone without setting boundaries only breeds chaos. Ive learned that a partnership needs mutual respect and clear communication, and that protecting whats yourswhether a home or a marriagerequires the courage to speak up early.

Lesson learned: a house is only a roof over your head when both partners feel its theirs.