“What are you doing here? We didnt think youd show up” muttered the sister-in-law, flustered, as she spotted Rita on the doorstep of her own cottage.
Rita turned off the engine and studied the little house through the windshield. Nothing seemed differentthe same blue roof, the same birch trees lining the perimeter, the same gate her father had once painted green. The only odd thing was the light on the porch. Maybe the neighbours? Though the neighbours knew Rita hadnt visited in almost a year.
She reached for her bag on the back seatthen froze. Someone was walking around the property. A figure darted between the apple trees, then reappeared closer to the house. A woman in a T-shirt and shorts, holding a child.
“What on earth” Rita muttered, stepping out of the car.
She approached the gate and stopped dead. Voices, laughter, and the clinking of dishes drifted from inside. A childs laundry was drying on the porch. Under the awning, two adult bikes and a small one leaned against the wall. And the gate the gate wasnt locked. Rita pushed it open with a familiar creak.
Her feet carried her toward the porch. One thought pulsed in her mind: someone was living here. In her house. The front door was ajar, and in the hallway, she nearly tripped over a pair of tiny sandals. Strange jackets hung on the hooks. Two large suitcases and a basket of toys sat in the corner.
Her heart hammered in her throat. Voices came from the kitchena woman chatting about a trip to the woods tomorrow, a childs laughter, the clatter of plates. The smell of fried potatoes and herbs filled the air.
“Mum, can we go to the river tomorrow?” a boys voice piped up.
“Well see, Tommy. If it doesnt rain”
Rita took a step forward. Then another. She stopped in the doorway.
A man in his mid-thirties in a checked shirt sat at the table. Next to him was a woman of similar age, her blonde hair tied back. A little girl, about three, perched on her lap. Across from them, an older boy waved his fork as he talked animatedly.
The woman saw Rita first. Her face went slack, eyes widening. The mug in her hand slipped and shattered on the floor.
“What are you doing here?” she stammered. “We didnt expect you”
Rita recognized the voice. Susan. Her ex-husbands sister. The sister-in-law who had always been kinduntil the divorce.
“Susan?” Ritas voice came out hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
The manSusans husbandstood slowly, his face flushed. The children fell silent, staring at the unfamiliar woman.
“Rita” he began. “We thought Well, Mark said you didnt come here anymore. That the place was just sitting empty.”
“Mark said that?” Rita felt heat rise to her face. “What else did Mark say?”
Susan picked up the broken mug, still holding her daughter. The little girl whimpered and clung to her.
“We didnt think” Susan spoke quickly, nervously. “Were on holiday, and renting a place is so expensive. Mark said the keys were still around from when we all used to visit. Remember? For your birthday three years ago”
“The keys were still here,” Rita repeated slowly. “So you decided you could just move in?”
“Wed have asked,” Susans husband cut in. “But your number we didnt know how to reach you.”
Rita blinked. Did they really think the problem was just not asking first? That shed happily let strangers live in her home if theyd just called?
“How long have you been here?” Rita demanded.
“A week,” Susan said quietly. “We planned to stay another ten days”
“Ten days,” Rita echoed.
Silence fell. The boy set down his fork. The little girl on Susans lap sniffled.
“Listen, Rita,” Susans husband said. “We didnt mean any harm. The house was empty. Weve kept it clean, watered the plants, even mowed the lawn. Its not worse off.”
“Not worse off?” Ritas voice rose. “You broke into my home and think thats fine?”
“We didnt break in!” Susan snapped. “Mark had the keys! We thought”
“What exactly did you think?” Rita cut in. “That I was dead? That the house was up for grabs?”
Susan tightened her grip on her daughter. “You dont understand. We only get two weeks off a year. We cant afford to rent. The kids were so excited”
“And how is that my problem?” Rita stepped forward. “This is my house! Mine! I inherited it from my father!”
The boy suddenly burst into tears. Rita flinched. The children werent to blame. But this was her homeher one place of peace.
“Rita,” Susan pleaded. “Please. Just give us a few more days. Weve planned everything, bought groceries. The kids were so happy”
“And where am I supposed to stay? On the street?”
“The house is big,” Susans husband offered. “Plenty of rooms. We can share”
Rita stared at him. “Share? In my own home?”
She looked around. Their plates on the table. Their dishes in the sink. Wildflowers in the vase shed had since childhood. The smell of cooking filling the air.
They had settled in as if they belonged.
“Wheres Mark?” Rita demanded.
Susan and her husband exchanged glances.
“Mark?” Susan said. “Why do you care?”
“Because he had the keys. And apparently gave you permission.”
“Hes back in town,” Susan muttered. “Busy with his own things.”
“Busy handing out my property?”
The little girl started crying again. The boy sobbed into his sleeve.
“Rita, please,” Susan begged. “Were family. Werent we close once? Have you no heart?”
“Family?” Rita scoffed. “We were only family while I was married to your brother. After the divorce, what are we?”
“But”
“No buts. Even if we were family, that doesnt give you the right to take whats mine!”
Susan set her daughter down and straightened. “Fine, Rita. You can throw us out. But thinkthis house sat empty for a year. We aired it out, cleaned it, tended the garden. Must you be so selfish?”
“Selfish?” Ritas voice turned dangerous. “Im selfish for not letting strangers live in my home?”
“Were not strangers!” Susan snapped. “And whats it to you? You dont even live here!”
“And how do you know that?” Ritas voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe I was planning to stay all summer.”
“Planning?” Susan snorted. “You said that last year too. And the year before.”
Rita clenched her fists. The audacity. First they invaded her home, now they lectured her?
“Listen carefully,” Rita said slowly. “You pack your things and leave. First thing tomorrow.”
“Rita, have you lost your mind?” Susan stepped forward, eyes blazing. “How can you be so cruel?”
“Me?” Rita laughed bitterly. “Youre the ones who stole my home!”
The boy wailed. The little girl joined in.
“Look what youve done!” Susan shouted over the noise. “Happy now?”
Rita looked at the crying children. A knot twisted in her chest. They werent to blame. But why should she pay for their parents rudeness?
“You did this,” Rita said. “Not me.”
“We just wanted a holiday!” Susan hugged her daughter. “Is that so terrible?”
“Not in my home!”
“Where else?” Susans husband shouted. “We cant afford hotels! Small wages, loans, the mortgage! We saved all year for this!”
“Still not my problem,” Rita shot back.
But something in his voice made her look closer. Dark circles under his eyes. Patched sleeves on his shirt. Susan looked exhausted too, her haircut uneven, clothes worn.
“Rita,” Susan whispered, rocking her daughter. “Try to understand. The kids waited all year for this”
“By promising them someone elses house?” Rita snapped. “What next, someone elses car?”
Susan dropped into a chair, face in her hands. “Im just so tired. Of work, of never having enough. When Mark suggested this it felt like a way out.”
Rita watched themthe crying children, the defeated parentsand didnt know what to feel. Pity warred with anger.
But poverty wasnt an excuse for theft.
“Susan,” Rita said.
The woman looked up, red-eyed.
“What?”
“Where do you work? What do you earn?”
Susan wiped her nose. “Im a nursery teacher. Steves a mechanic. I make £1,800 a month; he makes £2,300.”
“Thats £
