“Liz, we wont take much. Just pack us some of your famous pie and a couple jars of jam for the road,” Gabe said with a lazy stretch and a smirk.
Liz stared at him, barely believing his audacity. How could he ask so shamelessly?
Her mind raced with memories of the effort shed put into making that pie perfect, the hours spent cleaning the house before their arrival. And now here was Gabe, who hadnt lifted a finger all week, lounging in the shade and demanding treats “to go.”
She glanced at Tom, who seemed oblivious to his brothers behaviour.
“Gabe, dont you think thats a bit much?” Liz asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“Oh, come off it, Liz!” He waved her off without even looking up. “Were familysupposed to share, right? Youve got loads here anyway!”
A mix of resentment and anger simmered inside her.
This little cottage by the lake, bought three years ago, had become their sanctuary. Summers here werent lazyearly mornings, weeding, berry-picking, tending the chickens, prepping for winter. Every bit of help was worth its weight in gold.
Thats why Gabes request felt like a slap. He hadnt seenor refused to seeany of the work. To him, this place was just a free holiday, and Liz and Tom were the staff.
It had started three weeks ago when Gabe called, offering to “pop by, lend a hand with chores, and enjoy the countryside.”
Liz had been sceptical. Gabe and his wife Olivia were city people through and throughdinners out, bars, cinemas, weekend shopping sprees.
“Lend a hand?” shed echoed doubtfully.
But Gabe had barrelled on: “Course! Were family! Fresh airll do us good. Been ages since I picked raspberries, had a proper sauna”
After hanging up, Liz had sat on the porch, absently twisting her apron strings. She knew Gabefull of promises, short on delivery. Still, Tom had been hopeful: “Maybe theyll help with the berries. Or the fence.”
The next few days, Liz had prepped like royalty was visiting. Fresh bedding, clean towels, a trip to town for steak, fish, fruit, sweetsanything to make family feel welcome.
“Maybe itll be fine,” shed told herself, hanging the towels. “If they help even a little, its something.”
When Gabe and Olivia finally arrived, Liz plastered on a smile, hiding her doubts. They looked relaxed, like theyd just stepped off a resort.
“Here we are!” Gabe announced, arms wide.
Liz forced a grin and ushered them to the tablesalads, warm scones, cold lemonade waiting.
For half an hour, they chatted, catching up, before Tom gently outlined the next days plans: “Haymaking first, then berries. Plenty to do, but well manage together.”
“Of course,” Olivia nodded, but her eyes flickered with confusion, as if “haymaking” was a foreign concept.
Liz caught the lookand felt a twist of dread.
The first day passed like a holiday. Liz ignored the overgrown strawberries, the weedy garden, the buckets of apples waiting in the shed.
Gabe was in high spiritsjokes, sunflower seeds, boasting about “escaping the city.” Olivia posed in a new sundress, snapping sunset lakeside selfies.
Tom smiled, hopeful this meant “workll go faster.”
But by day two, the mood shifted.
Liz woke at dawn to the roosters crow, pulled on her wellies, and headed out. Dew glistened, the air smelled of grass and hay. The chickens clucked for feed.
As she scooped grain, her gaze drifted to the guest roomcurtains drawn, silence.
By 8 a.m., shed fed the birds, picked a bucket of cucumbers, and hauled water for the veg patch.
Tom appeared with tea. “Gabe and Olivia drove into town. Urgent errands, they said.”
Liz nodded, though something sharp twisted inside. Shed hoped theyd at least join after breakfast.
They returned at dusk, grinning, unloading crisps, fizzy drinks, and beer like theyd accomplished a mission.
“Liz, this place is like a spa!” Gabe flopped onto the porch chair. “Everything just happens!”
By the next day, irritation simmered. Liz mowed alone, hauled buckets, scrubbed floors, cooked lunch.
Gabe swayed in the hammock, scrolling his phone, complaining of a headache.
“Think Ive caught a chill. Need rest.”
Olivia sprawled on a beach towel, snapping selfies. Her socials bloomed with hashtags: #CountryRetreat #GoodVibes #LakeLife.
Each day, Liz grew wearier, angrier. Up at 5, bed past midnight, cleaning up after “guests” who never lifted a finger.
They didnt even offergenuinely believing their presence was gift enough.
“Were your guests,” Olivia had gasped when Liz asked for help drying dishes. “Since when do guests work?”
From then, Lizs smile stayed stiff, every request a fraying thread.
By day five, she couldnt stay quiet.
All morning, shed weeded, hauled water, while laughter drifted from the porch where Olivia lounged, phone to ear.
When Tom returned, dusty and exhausted, Liz met him with a hardened look.
“I cant do this. They wont even wash a plate. Gabe asked me to iron his shirt. Olivia called breakfast a bit plain.”
Tom nodded. That evening, they assigned chores: Gabe would help mend the fence; Olivia, weed strawberries.
Liz hoped, finally, theyd understanda holidays fine, but work doesnt do itself.
“Gabe, fence tomorrow. You in?” Tom asked over dinner.
“Sure, sure.” Gabe barely glanced up from his phone, shovelling in grilled meat.
Next morning, Tom rose earlytools ready, strong tea brewed. He knocked. Silence. Louder. Only the hum of AC.
The room was empty. A note on the side:
“Gone to town. Back by dinner! BBQ tonight!”
They returned at dusk, loaded with meat, beer, and pretzels, laughing about “awful traffic.” Liz, exhausted, leaned against the porch post.
“We agreed on chores today,” she said.
“Oh, right,” Gabe waved the meat bag. “Tomorrow, promise!”
But next morning: “Emergency trip home. Shame we couldnt help!”
Then, grinning: “Liz, pack us some of that famous pie. And a couple jars of raspberry jamits brilliant!”
Something inside Liz snapped. A week of dawn starts, endless cooking, cleaning, ungrateful guestsall boiled over.
“Youre getting nothing,” she said, voice trembling. “You havent lifted a finger.”
Gabe froze, face reddening.
“Nice hospitality!” he screeched. “We came with open hearts!”
“Open hearts?” Liz shot back. “You lazed around while I worked! Even the chickens did more!”
Tom, usually avoiding rows, stepped beside her, hand on her shoulder.
“You offered to help, Gabe. Instead, you ate, drank, and moaned about the heat.”
“Dont be daft!” Gabe stepped forward. “Were family! You charging us for food now? Shame on you!”
Olivia sighed dramatically, flung her hands up, and marched to the car, slamming the door.
“Lets go, Gabe!” she yelled. “They dont appreciate us! Some family!”
Gabe turned, mouth openthen just shook his head and stormed off, trunk slamming behind him.
His face twisted with outrage, as if the world had betrayed him.
“Choke on your pies!” he yelled, peeling away. “Were never coming back!”
Silence settled. Relief, exhaustion.
Tom sighed, sinking onto the step.
“Expensive lesson,” he said, squeezing Lizs hand. “No more freeloaders.”
That evening, they walked the landfence still broken, berries weedy, hay half-cut.
But the fatigue felt good, honest.
Later, by the fire, tea and jam in hand, Liz smiled.
“Next guests better bring wellies, not Wi-Fi.”
Tom laughed, and the cottage felt like theirs again.
