Season of Trust
In early May, when the grass had turned a deep, fresh green and the morning dew still clung to the veranda panes, Emma Clarke and her husband James Harper finally began to wonder whether they could let their country cottage go on holiday rent on their own, without an agent. The idea had been germinating for weeksfriends spoke of commission fees, online forums were full of angry reviews of lettings firms. But the real reason was simpler: they wanted to decide themselves who could stay in the house that had held their lives for the past fifteen summers.
Remember, a cottage isnt just four walls, James said, snipping dry raspberry canes and glancing at Emma. We need people who treat it with respect, not like a hotel room.
Emma wiped her hands on a towel, standing on the steps, and nodded. That year they would stay in town longerLucy, their daughter, was about to sit her exams, and Emma would be helping her. The cottage would sit empty for most of the summer, yet the bills would still arrive. The answer seemed obvious.
That evening, after dinner, they walked through the house together the same route they knew by heart, now seen through a fresh lens. They noted what needed tidying, what to store away so that strangers wouldnt be tempted by clutter. Books and family photographs were packed into boxes and placed on the loft shelves; fresh linen was folded in neat stacks. In the kitchen Emma stripped the cupboards down to the essentials.
Lets record everything, James suggested, pulling out his phone. They snapped pictures of every room, the garden furniture, even the old bicycle leaning against the shedjust in case. Emma wrote down the minutiae: number of pots, the type of duvet covers, where the spare set of keys lay.
Later that day, a sudden May shower turned the garden into a patchwork of puddles. They uploaded an advert to a local rental site. The photos were bright; through the kitchen windows one could see tomato vines stretching up the greenhouse, while dandelions bloomed thickly along the path to the gate.
Waiting for the first replies was a mix of anxiety and excitementlike the moment before guests arrive, everything is ready but you have no idea who will cross the threshold. Calls came quickly: someone asked about WiFi and TV, another about whether dogs or children were welcome. Emma answered honestly and in detailshe remembered how hard it was to find a place herself, and she knew the value of the little things.
The first renters arrived at the end of May: a young couple with a sevenyearold boy and a mediumsized Labrador they swore was utterly quiet. The lease was signed on the spotplain paper with names, dates and a payment schedule. Emma felt a flicker of nerves; the agreement wasnt registered with any agency, but that felt right for a summer stay.
The first few days passed smoothly. Emma visited once a week to check the garden and water the tomatoes, bringing fresh towels and a loaf of bread from town. The family greeted her with a wave from the kitchen window, the dog trotted up to the gate.
Three weeks in, payments began to lag. At first they blamed forgetfulness or a bank error; then they offered excuses about unexpected expenses.
Why must we put up with this stress? James muttered, scrolling through messages on his phone as the sun slipped behind the apple trees, casting golden bands across the floor.
Emma tried to negotiate gently, sending polite reminders and offering a partial later payment. Yet the tension grew; each conversation left a sour aftertaste, a weariness that settled deep.
By midJune it became clear the tenants intended to leave early, still owing part of the rent. When they finally moved out, the cottage greeted them with the smell of stale cigarettes on the porch (despite a request to keep smoking outside), rubbish littering the veranda, and paint splatters on the kitchen table.
Exactly what we meant by quiet dog, James said, eyeing the scratched pantry door.
They spent the entire day cleaning in silencetaking out trash, scrubbing the stove, hauling old towels to the wash. The strawberry patch along the fence was already turning pink; between the chores Emma snatched a handful of warm, rainkissed berries.
After that episode they argued for hours about whether to keep renting at all. Should they hand the keys to an agency and pay a commission? The thought of strangers controlling their home, even for a modest fee, felt wrong.
By midsummer they tried again, this time screening tenants more carefully, demanding a months rent up front and spelling out house rules in detail.
The new guestsa pair of adults and a teenage daughterarrived on a Saturday evening and immediately invited friends for a couple of days. The parties stayed almost a full week, laughing loudly in the garden and firing barbecues until the small hours.
Emma called repeatedly, asking them to keep the noise down after eleven. James checked the yard and found empty bottles beneath the lilac bushes.
When the family finally left, the cottage looked exhausted: the sofa was stained with what looked like wine, rubbish bags were piled by the shed, and cigarette butts littered the apple tree base.
How much longer can we put up with this? James grumbled, sorting through the remnants of the barbecue.
Emma felt a growing disappointment. It seemed unfair that people could treat a home they didnt own so carelessly.
Maybe were to blame, she whispered. We should have been stricter with the rules.
In August another inquiry came in: a young couple without children wanted the cottage for just a week. After the previous dramas Emma was hypervigilant. She outlined every condition over the phone, demanded photographic evidence of the propertys state at checkin, and asked for a deposit.
The couple accepted without protest. They met at the gate under the scorching noon sun; the air trembled over the path to the shed, and the hum of insects rose from open windows.
At the end of their stay they claimed the microwave was brokensomeone had tried to heat foil inside it. When asked to cover the repair, they refused.
It was an accident! the woman protested.
Emmas anger flared for the first time all summer, but she held back.
Lets resolve this calmly. Accidents happen. We can agree on a reasonable compensation without a fight.
After a brief discussion they kept part of the deposit to cover the repair and left without a scene.
When the gate slammed shut and only the heat and the buzz of bees lingered on the terrace, James and Emma felt a strange mix of relief and exhaustion. They both understood that the current path could not continue.
That evening, as the summer heat lingered and long shadows from the apple tree stretched across the lawn, they sat on the veranda with a notebook. The scent of fresh grass and ripe apples hung in the air; the first blush of the seasons harvest brushed the ground. Emma flipped through the photos taken at the last checkin, marking with a pen every flaw that now needed attention.
We need a detailed checklist, she said without looking up. So everyone knows exactly what to leave behinddishes, appliances, linen, rubbish.
James nodded, weary from the endless conversations, but aware that without a system things would revert to chaos. They wrote down that photos must be taken with tenants at both arrival and departure, that a deposit was mandatory, and that key handover procedures had to be clear. They listed how to operate the pump for irrigation and what to do if something broke.
They debated wording for hours, aiming for a tone that welcomed guests rather than accused them. Each line was crafted to balance trust with firm boundaries. Emma insisted the contract include a phone number for immediate contactif anything went wrong, they should call straight away.
Later, as night fell and the veranda grew cool, the table damp with evening dew, they stopped arguing. The new checklist was transcribed neatly into a notebook, then typed into a spreadsheet on their laptop. The photo archive was sorted into folders: before, after, intake, and checkout. It felt as if they had cleaned not just the kitchen table but a hidden corner of their own nerves.
The first test came quickly. In early August a woman called to ask about the rules, listened carefully to the photo requirement and the deposit, and arranged a meeting with her husband and teenage daughter. The family appeared calm, asking where garden tools were kept, if the bike could be used, and when the roses by the porch should be watered.
Wed like to stay for two weeks, if thats okay, the woman said, signing the lease without hesitation.
Together they walked the house, noting the condition of furniture and appliances. Emma showed where spare bulbs were stored, how the irrigation pump worked. The family took photos, asked where to dispose of waste, and thanked them for the clear instructions.
Will it be all right if we come back for the harvest? the husband asked, holding the gate open.
Of course, just give us a headsup, Emma replied with a smile.
During those two weeks not a single complaint arrived. When Emma checked the greenhouse, the kitchen was spotless, and a bowl of freshly picked strawberries sat on the table with a note: Thank you for the trust. All is well.
James peeked into the shedbicycles were upright, tools neatly arranged. No bottles or cigarette ends lay on the ground. Under the apple tree someone had swept away last years fallen leaves. Even the microwave gleamed after a careful wipe.
On the day of departure the family met them at the gate. Together they ran through the checklist, confirming everything was as it should be. Emma ticked off that no new scratches marred the furniture, the linen was laundered and folded.
Thank you for the thorough instructions, the woman said as they said goodbye. It made everything easier for us.
Emma managed a restrained smile; caution still lingered, but her heart was lighter. They returned the deposit without fuss. The lease and checklist were filed away, ready for the next season.
August waned, days grew shorter, and a gentle mist settled over the beds each morning. Emma and James cleared the garden, gathering the last courgettes and peppers, trimming the dry blackcurrant canes. The house smelled of apples and fresh laundry.
That summer they had learned to say no without guilt and to explain rules without irritation. Each point on the new checklist now carried a tone of carefor the cottage and for the people who entered it.
It feels calmer now, James admitted one evening, standing by the window, watching the garden turn dusky. I used to fear that too many conditions would drive everyone away. Now I see honesty helps.
Emma smiled from the hallway, a basket of apples cradled in her arms. Trust hadnt vanished; it had simply maturedcautious but not closed.
In September they posted another advert, this time with confidence, detailing every rule and attaching photos of the house, the garden, and the checklist laid out on the dining table.
Responses arrived quickly. Prospective renters asked sensible questions about water, heating, and transport. One young man wrote, Thanks for the honesty and detailrare these days.
Emma and James discussed the upcoming season without the earlier fatigue. They knew peace was possible; it just required paying attentionto themselves and to those who would stay in their home.
The final night before the cottage closed for the year was unusually quiet. A soft wind brushed the lawn, a distant dog barked faintly. James locked the shed with a new lock and joined Emma on the veranda.
Think we need to add anything else to the rules? he asked.
No, Emma replied. Weve learned the essentials. Just remember to stay human.
They sat side by side, gazing at the garden. A new season lay ahead, filled with fresh meetingsno longer haunted by the fear of losing what mattered most.
