And now Ive gathered my pennies and slipped out the back door, announced Oliver to his brothers wife.
Margaret! Can you hear me? Oliver shouted, not yet having entered the cottage.
Im listening, replied the woman, still tapping away at the tablet with her stylus.
Ian and his wife and daughter are asking for a room!
Margaret knew exactly who Ian was the brother of her husband, a restless lad about two years younger. He seemed born with a camera in his hand and never put it down.
He loved snapping pictures, especially of people women were his favourite subjects. He started out at a local newspaper, moved to an advertising agency, and somehow ended up on a beauty pageant panel, which to him was pure gold.
But he didnt stop there: weddings, corporate launches, any gig that paid a fee. Even at his brothers wedding he couldnt sit still, darting after the bride and clicking away.
Putting her tablet aside, Margaret straightened up just as Oliver walked in. She smiled at him.
So Im giving the OK.
It was nice of him to ask about the guests. After all, they lived by the sea, and everyone seemed eager to pop over.
Margaret didnt mind, though their cottage was modest and theyd only started building a guest house the previous year.
We still have a few touches to finish, she reminded her husband, whose DIY skills left much to be desired.
Just the small stuff, he replied.
When are they due? Margaret inquired.
If everyones happy, Id say in two weeks, Oliver answered.
Perfect, let them come.
How about a stroll? Oliver suggested cautiously.
Loads of work.
I understand, but perhaps
Margaret rarely left the house; she only enjoyed an evening garden when the heat softened. Otherwise she spent most of her time in her studio, drawing and drawing.
Thats probably why she kept a strict diet, counting calories, only to binge later, berate herself, and start all over again.
Outside, the sea roared, roses scented the garden, and a fluffy cat lazily watched passing seagulls from the windowsill.
Oliver left. Margaret rose, massaged her back, stepped onto the scales and sighed as the needle crept upward.
Again, she thought gloomily, noting another halfkilogram.
She eyed the halfeaten packet of biscuits she’d brought to the studio that morning.
Maybe just one more, then Im done, she mused, reaching for another, but shame stopped her. She closed the pack and carried it to the kitchen.
When Margaret worked from home she was only judged on the finished books she illustrated. Oliver, who had launched his own ad agency five years earlier, was often nowhere to be found.
It all began with buying a printer for business cards, then a camera, then hiring artschool students, later bringing on designers, writers, andbefore he knew ithis small team of fifteen staff plus a handful of freelancers was thriving.
The agency earned a tidy sum, and after a summer holiday up north they drove down south, only to be told the lady of the house wanted to sell her plot.
Oliver shrugged; work was his whole world. Margaret, however, fell in love with the idea of a 20acre (about eight hectares) plot on a gentle hill, even if it wasnt prime location.
Her father, after a chat, backed her with the cash. When the land appeared, Oliver admitted they needed a proper building.
A couple of years later they had a threeroom home, and when guests arrived they decided to finish a small guest cottage.
Although Margaret and Oliver were engaged before Ian, their daughter Ellie was the same age as Natalie, Ians daughter.
Ian might have stayed single longer, but eventually Yvonne, his wife, pushed him toward marriage.
At the start of summer Margaret sent her daughter to stay with her mother. Natalie, five, was about to start school.
Margaret wanted the girls to meet, so after consulting Oliver she said:
Ill be quick, in and out, she told Oliver. Keep the guests entertained and she covered the monitor with a protective film, make sure no one wanders in.
Ill lock the doors, Oliver joked.
With a calm mind Margaret set off. A few days later Ian arrived with his wife and little Natalie.
Wow! Yvonne exclaimed, having heard countless stories about her brothers house but never visited.
Its all Margarets doing, Oliver said proudly, gesturing to the garden.
The garden was mostly wild: a pear tree, some hazelnuts, apple and plum saplings, and grass that grew faster than his mower could keep up.
Ellie, look at that cherry, Oliver said gently, pointing to a lofty tree.
She darted off.
Lovely place youve got, Ian admitted, hauling his luggage into the guest cottage.
What else do you have? Yvonne asked.
Oliver spent nearly an hour touring the grounds, explaining each tree, then they all descended the hill into the main house.
Seeing the studio door ajar, Oliver stepped in. Ellie, acting as hostess, pushed aside the protective film and picked up the stylus.
Stop! he said calmly but firmly. You cant touch that.
He took the stylus, placed it on a shelf, and warned, And really, dont go in this room.
The girl fled. Oliver replaced the film, shut the door tight, and turned to Yvonne with a smirk.
Is your wife still as plump as ever? he asked, halfteasing.
Yvonne winced. She knew Margaret wasnt a runway model, unlike herself, a former photomodel.
Trying to stay diplomatic, Oliver said:
Not everyone can be as slender as you.
Yvonne replied smugly,
Still, its best not to mention it.
She muttered,
To stay fit you just eat less.
I get it, Oliver agreed. Margaret has tried every diet, counted calories, but
Eat less, Yvonne repeated.
Oliver realised his hint had missed the mark, so he blurted,
Dont say that to Margaret.
Yvonne huffed, shrugged, and as she left the cottage said,
Just stop eating so much, alright? No need to be a pig.
Oliver winced at her harshness. He didnt understand why models were so bitter; they prided themselves on looks theyd never earned.
The next day, as promised, Margaret returned with Natalie. Oliver met them, sighed, sat down and hugged the little girl, whose cheeks were now fuller.
Grandma, Margaret said protectively.
Shell be fine after a few days of running and swimming, Oliver reassured.
How are our guests? Margaret asked.
Off to the sea, back soon.
They didnt starve, did they? Only pizza? the housewife asked, opening the fridge.
No, Yvonne was cooking something, so they didnt die of hunger.
Ill make lunch, Margaret said, changing into an apron and heading to the kitchen.
An hour later the guests returned. Yvonne was quiet, but her eyes and expression showed she was displeased not just with Margarets appearance but also with Olivers daughter.
The meal was hearty. Margaret, thinking the visitors were famished, served a meat bake, salads, fruit, and two pies.
The children ate everything, but after ten minutes Yvonne scolded her own daughter:
Dont eat so much or youll end up as round as Natalie.
Fortunately, by then Margaret and Natalie had stepped outside, though Oliver heard everything.
His face flushed with anger; he was about to speak up when his daughter burst in:
Daddy, Daddy, can I go up the hill?
The cottage sat at the bottom of a slope that led up to the land Margaret had bought, a modestly priced plot.
The hill was thick with hazel and wild vines on the steeper sides. In the mornings the birds were a natural alarm clockno need for an actual one.
At first Oliver found the chirping annoying, then grew to love it; he couldnt imagine life without the birdsong.
Take Ellie with you, he suggested.
His daughter immediately ran to the girl, extended her hand, and said,
Come on, Ill show you the nest; theres a ditch and rocks too!
Ellie turned to her mother, glared at Natalie, and, after a short pause, declared,
I dont make friends with pigs.
Oliver lifted his daughter, asked her to fetch her mother who was watering the garden. The upset Ellie ran off.
Oliver turned to his brother, who had been sitting with his wife and Ellie all this time:
You insulted my daughter, calling her a pig, he said, bitterly.
I didnt! Ian protested.
You both kept quiet, as did your wife, Oliver replied, his gaze shifting from Ian to Yvonne and then to Ellie. You all called my girl a pig at the same time.
Yvonne flushed. Ian had nothing to say; hed indeed stayed silent.
Oliver stared coldly at the family, then, with a hint of contempt, walked out.
That evening Margaret set the table. Ian arrived with his family, expecting an apology, but they acted as if nothing had happened.
Margaret, as hostess, served a wonderful dinner. Ian praised the food, Oliver backed him up.
Natalie, wellfed, flopped onto a chair. Margaret fetched tea and biscuits shed asked Oliver to buy.
Yvonne took one, cut off the frosting, and began to eat, as did Ellie.
Margaret reached for a biscuit but, remembering her promise to limit herself, set it aside.
Yvonne noticed, smiled, and whispered,
To stay thin, just dont eat so much.
Oliver slammed his hand on the table. The sudden noise startled Yvonne, who looked bewildered at him.
Go for a walk, he told his wife.
She took their daughter and stepped outside, leaving the housemaster alone with the guests.
He returned to his brotherafter all, he was the man of the house:
This time youve hurt my wife.
Nothing of the sort! Ian replied.
You stayed silent when she he glared at Yvonne said my wife was fat.
But she is, Yvonne defended herself.
In that instant Olivers hand hit the table again; Yvonne flinched. Oliver turned to Ian:
First you called my daughter a pig.
Listen, stop! Ian pleaded, finally grasping the point.
And now you called my wife fat, telling her to eat less.
Shes right, Ian said, looking at his wife.
I wont let anyone insult my family in my home, Oliver said, then fell silent.
Fine, apologise, Yvonne snapped. Im not to blame shes like that.
Oliver stared coldly, then slowly said,
You may stay the night, but youll leave at first light.
What?! Ian shouted.
And thats because Im right?! Yvonne wailed. Shes fat, and your daughter is 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 sprang up, fled to the guest cottage, and Ellie followed.
Oliver turned to his brother, his words directed at him.
The brother stayed silent, evidently understanding his wifes nature.
At dawn, having skipped breakfast, Ians family hurried to the door.
The air was scented with blooming magnolias, and the sun was just beginning to warm.
Where are they off to? Margaret asked Oliver, wiping the table with a kitchen towel. Not happy with the cottage or my cooking?
All good, Oliver embraced his wife, adjusting the curtains.
Really? she asked, sitting on the edge of a chair.
Its fine, he replied. How about we head to the beach and spend the whole day there?
Hearing that, the evercheerful Natalie bolted to her bedroom, returned moments later in a swimsuit and a huge inflatable ring.
Im ready! she declared, marching to the door, humming a jaunty tune.
Not so fast! her mother called, also changing clothes.
Oliver felt a pang of sadnesshe hadnt seen his brother in ages and hoped the two girls would become friends.
Margaret, ever the practical one, came over:
Weve packed water, fruit, towels, and sunscreen, she said, loading a large beach bag.
Great, lets go, Oliver replied, shooing Ians family out of the way, and hurried to change himself.
Within five minutes they were descending the hill, heading for the sea.
The southern sun grew hotter, and the salty breeze carried the scent of seaweed.
