Elizabeth, we shant take much. Just pack us one of your famous pies and a few jars of that strawberry jam for the road,” drawled Geoffrey with a lazy smile.
Elizabeth stared at her guest, scarcely believing his audacity. How could he make such a shameless request?
Her mind raced with memories of the effort shed poured into that perfect pie, the hours spent scrubbing the cottage before their arrival. And now here was Geoffrey, who hadnt lifted a finger all week, lounging in the shade and demanding treats to take home.
She glanced at Arthur, who seemed oblivious to his brothers behaviour.
“Geoffrey, dont you think thats a bit much?” Elizabeth asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.
“Oh, come now, Lizzie!” He waved a hand without turning. “Were familysupposed to share! Youve got plenty to spare.”
A slow burn of resentment and anger settled in her chest.
This little lakeside cottage, bought three years prior, had been their sanctuary. Summers here were never idledawn risings, weeding, berry-picking, tending the hens, preserving for winter. Every helping hand was worth its weight in gold.
That was why Geoffreys demand stung like an insult. He hadnt seenor refused to seethe labour behind it all. To him, the cottage was just a free holiday, and she and Arthur were the staff.
It had begun three weeks earlier, when Geoffrey called out of the blue. “Thought wed pop by, lend a hand with the chores, enjoy the countryside,” hed said.
The words had startled her. Geoffrey and his wife, Olivia, were city folk through and throughcocktail parties, brunches, weekend shopping sprees.
“Lend a hand?” Elizabeth repeated, sceptical.
But Geoffrey had already prattled on. “Course! Were family! Fresh airll do us good. Been meaning to pick raspberries, maybe have a go at the sauna”
After hanging up, Elizabeth sat on the porch for a long while, absently smoothing her apron.
She knew Geoffreys waysfull of promises, short on delivery. A part of her doubted, but Arthur had brightened at the news.
“Maybe theyll help with the berries,” hed said. “Or the fence, even.”
The following days were spent in a flurry of preparations, as if royalty were coming. Fresh linens were aired, groceries stockedsalmon, beef for the grill, desserts fit for a feast.
“Perhaps itll be fine,” Elizabeth murmured, hanging the towels. “If they help even a little, its something.”
When Geoffrey and Olivia finally arrived, Elizabeth greeted them with a strained smile, masking her doubts.
They looked relaxed, as if returning from a spa retreat.
“Here we are!” Geoffrey announced, arms wide.
Elizabeth forced a grin and ushered them to the table. Salads, warm scones, and chilled lemonade awaited on the veranda.
For the first half-hour, the chatter was pleasantnews exchanged, laughter shared. Then Arthur tentatively outlined the weeks tasks.
“Well start with the hay tomorrow, then the raspberries. Plenty to do, but well manage.”
“Of course, of course,” Olivia nodded, though her eyes flickered with confusion, as if “haymaking” were a foreign concept.
Elizabeth caught the look, a foreboding prickle in her chest. Something told her this “help” would be scarce.
The first day passed in a holiday mood. Elizabeth ignored the overgrown strawberries, the buckets of apples waiting in the shed.
Geoffrey was in high spiritsjokes booming, sunflower seeds cracked between his teeth. “So good to escape the city!” he declared.
Olivia posed by the lake at sunset, snapping dozens of photos in her new sundress.
Arthur smiled, pleased his brother had finally visited, hopeful the work would go quicker.
But by the next morning, the mood shifted.
Elizabeth rose at dawn to the roosters cry, pulled on her wellies, and stepped into the dew-drenched yard. The hens clamoured for feed.
As she scooped grain, her gaze drifted to the guest roomsilent, curtains drawn.
By eight, shed fed the chickens, picked a pail of courgettes, and hauled water for the garden.
Arthur emerged with tea, frowning. “Geoffrey and Olivia went into town. Said it was urgent.”
Elizabeth nodded stiffly, though something twisted inside. Shed hoped theyd join after breakfast.
They returned at dusk, cheerful and laden with crisps, fizzy drinks, and beeras if theyd accomplished some great feat.
“Lizzie, this place is like a resort!” Geoffrey flopped onto a veranda chair. “Everything just runs itself!”
The next day, irritation simmered in Elizabeth. She mowed alone, hauled water, scrubbed floors, cooked meals.
Geoffrey lounged in the hammock, scrolling his phone, complaining of a headache. “Mustve caught a chill. Best rest today.”
Olivia sprawled on a beach towel, snapping selfies. Hashtags bloomed on her feed: #CountryLife #PerfectEscape #BackToNature.
With each day, Elizabeth grew wearier, more frayed. Up at five, toiling past midnight, cleaning up after “guests” who never lifted a finger.
They didnt even offerthey truly believed their presence was gift enough.
“Were here as guests,” Olivia had protested when asked to help wash up. “Since when do guests work?”
From then, Elizabeths smile stayed fixed, every request a test of patience.
Inside, the strain builtinevitable, unyielding. Hospitalitys limits were nearing.
By the fifth day, she could stay silent no longer.
Shed spent hours weeding, hauling water, all to the backdrop of laughter from the veranda, where Olivia lounged, chatting with friends.
When Arthur returned from the field, dust-streaked and exhausted, Elizabeth met him with a grim look.
“I cant do this,” she said. “They wont even clear their plates. Geoffrey asked me to iron his shirt. Olivia called breakfast plain.”
Arthur nodded. That evening, they broached the subject: Tomorrow, Geoffrey would help repair the fence; Olivia would weed the strawberries.
Elizabeth hoped it might make them seethis wasnt a hotel.
“Geoff, we need to fix the fence tomorrow,” Arthur said over supper. “Youll lend a hand?”
“Of course, of course,” Geoffrey muttered, eyes glued to his phone, shovelling in grilled sausages.
It was clear his messages mattered more than chores.
At dawn, Arthur rose early. The air was crisp, smelling of hay and dew. He fetched tools, checked the wood, even brewed strong teahoping for a united start.
He knocked on the guest room door. Silence. Louder. Only the hum of the fan answered.
Inside, the bed was empty. A note lay on the side table:
*Gone to townback by evening! BBQ tonight!*
At dusk, they returned, arms full of meat, beer, and smoked trout.
Laughing about “dreadful traffic,” they barely noticed Elizabeth swaying with exhaustion on the step.
“We agreed on chores today,” she said.
“Ah, right,” Geoffrey said, waving a meat packet. “Tomorrow, definitely. Promise.”
But come morning, he announced, “Weve got to dash. Pity we couldnt help!”
Then, grinning: “Lizzie, pack us that pie, would you? And some jamits divine!”
Rage boiled up in Elizabeth. A week of dawn labourcooking, cleaning, tending ingratesculminated in refusal.
“Youll have nothing,” she said, voice trembling. “Youve done nothing all week.”
Geoffrey froze, face flushing. “What sort of hosts are you?” he spat. “We came in good faith!”
“Good faith?” Elizabeth snapped. “You lazed about while I worked! You treated us like servants!”
Arthur, who usually avoided rows, stepped to her side, hand on her shoulder.
“You offered to help, Geoff,” he said quietly. “Instead, you ate, drank, and complained.”
“Rubbish!” Geoffrey barked, stepping forward. “Were family! Youd begrudge us food? Shame on you!”
Olivia, waiting by the car, sighed theatrically, arms raised as if in martyrdom. She slammed the door, shouting, “Geoffrey! They dont appreciate us!”
Geoffrey turned, mouth openingthen just shook his head and stormed off.
The boot slammed. His face was twisted, eyes burning with indignation, as if the world had betrayed him.
“Keep your bloody pies!” he yelled, revving the engine. “We wont come again!”
As the car vanished, Elizabeth and Arthur stood on the step, relief and weariness mingling.
Arthur sank onto the porch with a sigh.
“Lesson learned,” he said, meeting her eyes. “No more freeloaders.”
Elizabeth nodded. It had been a hard lesson
