And now Ive gathered my things and I’m out the door, Oliver announced to his brothers wife.
Eleanor! Can you hear me? he shouted, not yet inside the cottage.
I hear you, came the voice, still glued to the tablet where she was sketching with a stylus.
George and his wife and daughter are asking for a place to stay!
Eleanor knew George well her husbands younger brother, a restless lad only two years her senior. It seemed he was born with a camera in his hand, never far from it.
He loved photographing everything, especially models; womens images were his favourite subject. He started out at a local paper, moved to an advertising agency, and somehow ended up on a beautypage shoot a goldmine for him.
He didnt stop there. He covered weddings, corporate launches, any gig that paid. Even at his brothers wedding he couldnt stay seated; he chased the bride around, snapping away.
Eleanor set her stylus aside, straightened up just as Oliver entered the room. She smiled at him.
So I give my blessing, then.
His question about the guests was a relief. They lived by the sea, and everyone seemed keen to drop by.
Eleanor wasnt opposed, but their cottage was modest, and they had only just begun building a guesthouse the previous year.
We need to finish the renovation, she reminded her husband, who wasnt exactly a handyman.
Its just a few touchups.
When are they planning to arrive? Eleanor asked.
If everyone agrees, Id say in two weeks.
Let them come, then.
Shall we take a walk? Oliver suggested cautiously.
Too much work.
I understand, but maybe
Eleanor rarely left the house; she only ventured out in the cooler evenings to tend her garden. Most of her day was spent in her studio, drawing, drawing, drawing. She kept a strict diet, counted calories, then, in a fit of frustration, bunched up and ate again, berating herself for the weakness, only to start the cycle anew.
Outside, the sea roared, roses sprayed the air with their perfume. On the windowsill a plump tabby cat dozed, opening its eyes only for the gulls swooping past.
Oliver left the room. Eleanor rose, massaged her lower back, shuffled to the scale and, with a sigh, stepped on. The needle crept upward.
Again, she thought gloomily, noting another halfkilogram.
She glanced at the packet of biscuits shed brought to her office that morning, already halfeaten.
Maybe just one more, and thatll be it, she mused. Her hand reached for the bag, then hesitated, embarrassed. She closed it, carried it to the kitchen and set it down.
Eleanor worked from home, illustrating childrens books, so all that was expected of her was the finished product. Oliver, who had opened his own advertising firm five years earlier, was often nowhere to be seen.
It had begun with buying a presscard printer, then a camera, hiring graphicdesign students, later artists and scriptwriters. The business grew quietly; he understood the ad market was evershifting. Soon he employed web developers and ecommerce specialists. His staff never numbered more than fifteen fulltime and a similar number of freelancers.
The venture brought a tidy profit. They had lived up north, but when they spent a summer down south and were about to leave, the lady of the house announced she wanted to sell her plot.
Oliver brushed it off; work consumed him. Eleanor, however, fell in love with the idea of a larger piece of land twenty acres on a gentle hillside, though not in the most desirable spot.
After consulting her father, who supported her and sent the money, Oliver realised they really did need to build something. Within two years they had a threeroom cottage, and when guests arrived they decided to add a small guesthouse.
Although Eleanor and Oliver had been married longer than George, their daughter Olivia was the same age as Charlotte, Eleanors younger sisters child.
George might have stayed single forever, but it seemed his wife, Yvonne, had finally convinced him to settle down.
Early summer, Eleanor sent her daughter to her mothers house. Charlotte, five, was almost ready for school. Eleanor wanted her to meet Olivia, so after a quick chat with Oliver she set off to fetch her.
Ill be back in a flash, she told Oliver. Keep the guests entertained she covered the tablet screen with a protective film, so no one can peek in.
Ill lock the door, Oliver joked.
With a calm heart, Eleanor boarded a train. A couple of days later George arrived with his wife and daughter.
Wow! Yvonne exclaimed, having heard countless stories about Georges brothers place but never set foot there.
Thats Eleanors work, Oliver said proudly, gesturing to the garden.
The garden was mostly wild: a pear tree, a hazel, apple and plum saplings. The grass grew so fast he could barely keep up with the mower.
Olivia, look, theres a cherry tree, Oliver called softly, pointing to a lofty branch.
The little girl sprinted over.
Lovely garden you have, George commented, hauling his suitcases into the guesthouse.
What do you have back there? Yvonne asked.
Oliver spent nearly an hour wandering the grounds, describing each tree, then they descended the hill and entered the main house.
Seeing the studio door ajar, Oliver stepped in. Olivia, acting as hostess, peeled away the protective film from the tablet and clutched the stylus.
Stop! Oliver said firmly. You cant touch that.
He took the stylus from her, placed it on a shelf.
And you really shouldnt be in this room.
The girl bolted out. Oliver replaced the film and shut the door tight behind him.
Still as round as ever, isnt she? Yvonne asked Oliver with a sly grin.
Oliver winced. He knew Eleanor wasnt a supermodel, but comparing her to Yvonne, a former fashion model, was low.
He softened his tone.
Not everyone can be as svelte as you.
Yvonne smiled smugly.
Still, its not a subject to discuss.
To stay slim you simply eat less, Yvonne retorted.
I get it, Oliver agreed. Eleanor has tried every diet, counted calories, but
Eat less, Yvonne repeated.
Realising his hint had fallen flat, Oliver blurted out:
Dont say that about Eleanor.
Yvonne huffed, shrugged, and as she left the guesthouse muttered:
Eat less, thats all. Dont be a pig.
Oliver stared, bewildered by the cruelty. Hed seen such models parade their perfect bodies, never earning them, just flaunting what nature gave them.
The next day, as promised, Eleanor returned with Charlotte. Oliver met them, sighed, sat down and embraced his daughter. Olivias cheeks were puffier, her lips full.
Grandma, Eleanor said protectively.
Shell be fine, a few days of running and swimming and shell be back to normal, Oliver reassured.
How are our guests? Eleanor asked.
Off to the beach, theyll be back soon.
They didnt starve, did they? Only pizza? the housewife asked, opening the fridge.
No, Yvonne cooked something, they didnt die of hunger.
Ill whip up lunch, Eleanor said, changing into an apron and heading to the kitchen.
An hour later the guests returned. Yvonne was silent, but her eyes and tight jaw showed she was displeased, not just with Eleanors looks but also with Olivers daughter. She kept her criticism to herself.
The meal was hearty. Eleanor, thinking the visitors were famished, prepared a meat casserole, sliced salads, fruit, and two pies. The children ate everything, but after ten minutes Yvonne scolded her daughter:
Dont eat so much, or youll end up as round as Charlotte.
At that moment, Eleanor and Charlotte were already out in the garden, but Oliver heard everything. His face flushed with anger; he was about to interject when his own daughter burst into the room.
Daddy, daddy, can I go up the hill? she cried.
The guesthouse sat at the bottom of a slope that led up to the land Eleanor had bought. The hill was thick with hazel and wild vines on the steeper sides. Dawns birdsong woke the house long before any alarm could.
It had irritated Oliver at first, then he grew to love it; he could not imagine life without the birdsong.
Take Olivia with you, Oliver suggested to his daughter.
She ran to Olivia, extended her hand and said:
Come, Ill show you the nest, the ravine, the stones!
Olivia turned to her mother, glared at Charlotte, then, choosing her words carefully, declared:
Im not friends with pigs.
Oliver lifted his daughter, sent her to fetch her mother, who was watering the roses. Offended, Olivia fled.
Oliver turned to his brother, who had been sitting with his wife and Olivia all this time:
You insulted my daughter, calling her a pig, he said, bitterness seeping through.
I never said that! George snapped.
You both stayed silent, as did your wife, Oliver replied, shifting his gaze from George to Yvonne, then to Olivia. You all called my girl a pig at once.
Yvonne flushed. George had nothing to say; he had indeed kept quiet and never defended his daughter.
Oliver stared coldly at the family, then, with a contemptuous glance, walked out onto the patio.
That evening, when Eleanor set the table, George arrived with his family. Oliver expected an apology, but they behaved as if nothing had happened.
Eleanor, the perfect hostess, served a wonderful dinner. George praised the food, Oliver backed him up.
Charlotte, now full, slumped into a chair. Eleanor fetched tea and biscuits that Oliver had bought earlier.
Yvonne took one, sliced off the cream and began to eat, as did Olivia.
Eleanor reached for a biscuit, but remembering a promise to herself to stop, she put it aside.
Yvonne noticed, smiled, and whispered:
To stay thin, just dont eat.
Oliver slammed his hand on the table. The sudden noise startled Yvonne, who looked bewildered at him.
Go for a walk, Oliver told his wife.
She took their daughter and stepped outside, leaving the house and its guests behind.
Oliver returned to his brother, his voice steady:
This time youve hurt my wife.
Thats not true! George protested.
You stayed silent when she and he pointed at Yvonne said my wife was heavy.
But she is heavy! Yvonne retorted defensively.
Olivers fist hit the table a second time; Yvonne jumped. He turned to George:
First you insulted my daughter, calling her a pig.
Stop it! George begged, seeing where his brother was heading.
Now youve insulted my wife, telling her to eat less.
Shes right, Yvonne said, looking at herself.
I wont allow my home to be a place for such slurs, Oliver said, then fell silent.
Fine, apologise, Yvonne snapped, Im not to blame for how she looks
Olivers stare hardened. He slowly, so they would hear, said:
You may stay the night, but tomorrow morning youll be on your way.
What? George shouted.
And thats because Im right?! Yvonne shrieked. Shes heavy, and your daughter is heavy too!
One more word Oliver rose, leaned on the table and warned: One more word, and youll be out of my house right now.
Yvonne leapt from her seat, fled to the guesthouse without a word of thanks. Olivia chased after her.
Ive said my piece, Oliver addressed his brother.
George remained silent, fully aware of his wifes nature.
At dawn, having skipped breakfast, Georges family hurried to the door. The scent of blooming magnolias filled the air, and the sun began to scorch.
Where are they off to? Eleanor asked Oliver, wiping the table with a kitchen towel. Dont like the guesthouse, or my cooking?
All good, Oliver embraced her, smoothing the curtains.
But why? Eleanor fretted, sitting on the edge of a chair.
Its the plan, he replied. How about we head to the beach and spend the whole day there?
Upon hearing that, the lively Charlotte sprinted to her bedroom, returned moments later in a swimsuit and a huge inflatable ring.
Im ready! she declared, marching toward the door, humming a jaunty tune.
Not so fast! her mother called, also slipping into a fresh dress.
Oliver felt a pang of sadness it had been ages since hed seen his brother, and he hoped the two girls would become friends.
Eleanor, ever practical, approached him.
Weve packed water, fruit, towels, and sunscreen, she said, loading everything into a large beach bag.
Brilliant, lets go, Oliver replied, tossing the rest of Georges familys belongings aside and changing into his own swim trunks.
Within five minutes they were descending the hill, heading for the sea.
The southern sun beat down harder, and the salty sea breeze carried the scent of brine and seaweed.
