31May2025
Im sitting at the kitchen table in our little cottage near the coast of Devon, and the salty breeze drifts through the open window as I write. This afternoon began with a rather abrupt exchange. I stood in the doorway, my bag slung over my shoulder, and announced to my brothers wife, Ellen, Im heading out, love. She glanced up from the tablet where she was sketching with her digital pen and replied, Go on then.
Greg and his wife, Helen, and their little girl, Sophie, are looking for a place to stay, I said. Ellen knew exactly who Greg wasmy brother Ians soninlaw, the restless lad a couple of years younger than me, never seen without his camera. Hed always been the one snapping pictures, especially of women, turning an ordinary day into a fashion shoot. Hed started out at the local paper, moved to an ad agency, and somehow wound up on a beautycontest panel, which, to him, felt like striking gold.
Greg never stopped. He filmed weddings, corporate presentations, anything that paid. Even at Ians wedding he was everywhere, darting after the bride, clicking away. Ellen put her sketchpad aside, straightened, and just as I entered the room she smiled at me.
So Im giving the goahead, she said. It was pleasant that she asked about the guestsafter all, we live by the sea and everyone seems eager to visit. Ellen wasnt opposed, though our house is modest; we only started building a guest cottage last year. We need to finish the renovations, she reminded my husband, Tom, who isnt exactly a master carpenter. Just a few bits left. I asked for the schedule. If everyone agrees, I think two weeks, Tom answered. Let them come then.
Shall we take a walk? I suggested gently. Too much work, Ellen replied. I understand, but perhaps She rarely left the house except for evening gardening when it wasnt too hot. Most of the day she sat in her studio, drawing endlessly. She kept a strict diet, counting calories, only to binge later and start over again.
Outside, the sea roared, roses scented the garden, and on the sill our cat, Mittens, dozed, opening his eyes now and then to watch the gulls. I left the room. Ellen rose, massaged her lower back, stepped onto the bathroom scales and sighed as the needle crept upward. Again, she muttered, noting half a kilo gained. She glanced at the packet of scones shed brought to her studio this morning, halfeaten. Maybe just one more, she thought, reaching for another, then halted, feeling embarrassed. She set the packet aside and carried it to the kitchen.
When Ellen works from home she only needs to deliver illustrations for books; I, after launching my own small ad firm five years ago, am often away. It all began with buying a printer for business cards, then a camera, hiring a couple of graphicdesign students, later artists and scriptwriters. The agency never stalled; I saw the market shift, so we added web developers and ecommerce specialists. We never grew beyond fifteen staff and a similar number of freelancers, but the income was steady. We had lived up north in Yorkshire, but after a summer down south we were about to leave when the lady of the house announced she wanted to sell her plot.
I brushed it off; work consumed me. Ellen, however, fell in love with the idea of buying landtwenty acres on a gentle hillside, though not the prime spot. After consulting his father, Ian sent the money, and when the plot appeared Tom admitted wed need to build something. Two years later a threeroom house stood, and when guests started arriving we decided to add a small guest cottage.
Even though Ellen and I had wed before Greg, our daughter Lucy was the same age as Molly, Ellens daughter. Greg was still single when he finally agreed to marry Helen. At the start of summer Ellen sent Lucy to stay with her mother. Molly was five, about to start school, and Ellen wanted the girls to meet, so she told me, Ill be quick, in and out. She covered the studio screen with a protective film so nobody would wander in. Ill lock it, I joked.
A couple of days later Greg arrived with Helen and Sophie. Wow! Sophie exclaimed, having heard many stories about my brothers house but never seen it. I pointed to the garden, All mine, I said proudly. The garden was mostly wild: a pear tree, hazelnut, apple and plum bushes, all scattered, and grass grew so fast I could barely keep the mower up to speed. I pointed to a cherry tree perched on a rise and said, Lucy, look up there. She sprinted over.
Greg admired the garden, then hauled his luggage into the guest cottage. What do you have in here? Sophie asked. I spent nearly an hour walking the grounds, narrating each tree, before we all descended the hill and entered the main house. I saw the studio door ajar, slipped inside, and found Lucy already discarding the protective film, pen poised.
Stop! I said calmly but firmly. Dont touch that. I took the digital pen from her and placed it on a shelf. And really, this room isnt for visitors. She darted out, I replaced the film, and shut the door tightly behind me.
Is your wife still that plump? Sophie asked, a smile curling her lips. I winced; Ellens figure is not the same as Sophies, who once modelled. Trying to be diplomatic I replied, Not everyone can be as slender as you. Sophie smirked, But you shouldnt talk about it. Ellen replied, If you want to be thin, just eat less. I nodded, Shes tried diets, counted calories, but Sophie repeated, Eat less. I realised she hadnt heard my hint, so I blurted, Dont say that about Ellen.
Sophie rolled her eyes, shrugged, and left the cottage muttering, Just eat less, thats it. Dont be a pig. I felt my cheeks flush. Ive dealt with such models at workproud of their looks, yet quick to criticize. The next day Ellen returned with Molly. I met her at the door, sighed, sat down and embraced the little girl, whose cheeks were flushed, lips puffed.
Grandma, Ellen whispered protectively. Shell be fine, a few days of running and swimming and shell be back to normal, I reassured her. How are our guests? she asked. Off to the sea, theyll be back soon. Did they starve? Only pizza? Ellen peeked into the fridge. No, Helen cooked something, theyre not starving.
Ill make lunch, Ellen said, changing into a kitchen apron. An hour later the guests returned. Sophie was quiet, but her eyes told me she was displeased not just with Ellens shape but also with Lucys appearance. She kept her comments to herself. The meal was hearty: a meat casserole, salads, fruit, and two pies. The children ate everything, but ten minutes later Sophie scolded Lucy, Dont eat so much, youll end up as round as Molly. By then Lucy and Molly were already outside, yet I heard every word.
My face reddened with anger. Just then our daughter shouted, Dad, dad! Can I go up the hill? The guest cottage sat at the bottom of a slope that led to the land wed bought, covered in hazel and wild vines. Morning birds woke us, no alarm needed. At first the chirping annoyed me, now its a comfort I cant imagine life without.
Take Lucy with you, I suggested. Lucy immediately took Ollis hand and said, Come, Ill show you the nest, theres a ditch and stones! Olli glanced at his mother, then at Molly with a look of disdain, and muttered, I dont go near pigs. I lifted my daughter, asked her to fetch Mum who was watering the roses. Olli, offended, ran off.
I turned to Ian, who had been sitting with his family and Lucy, and said, Youve insulted my daughter, called her a pig. I didnt say it! Ian protested. You stayed silent, as did Helen, I replied, shifting my gaze from my brother to Sophie and then to Lucy. You all called my girl a pig at once. Sophies face flushed. Ian had nothing to say; hed indeed kept quiet.
I stared coldly at the family, then left the house. Later that evening Ellen set the table, and Ians family arrived. I expected an apology, but they acted as if nothing had happened. Ellen prepared a wonderful dinner; Ian praised it, I echoed his words. Molly, now full, sank into a chair. Ellen served tea and biscuits, which shed asked me to buy. Sophie took one, sliced off the frosting, and ate it, as did Lucy.
Ellen, remembering her promise, set her biscuit aside. Sophie noticed, smiled, and whispered, If you dont want to be heavy, just dont eat. I slapped the table hard; the sudden noise made Sophie jump, staring bewildered at me.
Go for a walk, I said to Ellen. She took Lucy and stepped outside, leaving me alone with the guests. I returned to Ian and said, This time youve hurt my wife. Nothing of the sort! Ian retorted. You stayed quiet when she I pointed at Sophie, said my wife is heavy. But she is, Sophie retorted, defending herself. My hand struck the table again; Sophie flinched. I turned to Ian, First you called my daughter a pig. Stop it! Ian begged. Now youve called my wife heavy and told her to eat less. Shes right, Sophie argued, looking at Helen. I wont let anyone insult my family in my house, I said, then fell silent.
Sophie sneered, Sorry, Im not to blame. I coldly told her, You may stay the night, but youll leave tomorrow morning. Ian shouted, What?! Is that because Im right? Sophie wailed, Shes heavy, your daughter is heavy! I warned, One more word and youll be out of my home. Sophie leapt from her seat, fled to the guest cottage, with Lucy close behind.
I told Ian, Ive said everything. He sat mute, likely understanding his wifes nature. At dawn, after skipping breakfast, Ians family hurried to the exit. The scent of blooming magnolias filled the air, the sun just beginning to warm the garden.
Where are they going? Ellen asked, wiping the table with a kitchen towel. Did they hate the cottage or my cooking? I hugged her, readjusting the curtain. Everythings fine, I replied. What do you think? Should we head to the sea and spend the day there? The lively Molly bounced into the bedroom, returned in a swimsuit clutching a huge inflatable ring, humming a cheerful tune. Their mother called, Not so fast, dress properly first.
I felt a pang of melancholyso long since Id seen my brother, hoping the two girls would become friends. Ellen, ever practical, said, Weve packed water, fruit, towels, and sun cream. Great, lets go, I answered, tossing Ians familys belongings aside and dressing quickly. Within five minutes we were descending the hill toward the sea. The southern sun grew hotter, and the sea breeze carried the salty tang of water and seaweed.
Looking back, I realise that keeping silent while loved ones are insulted only fuels bitterness. I must speak up, even when it hurts, because a home is only as strong as the honesty that holds it together. This lesson will stay with me, wherever the tide may turn.
