**Diary Entry 28th October**
*”Do you go to the cottage? Then stay there,”* my daughter laughed, handing over the keys to the tenants.
“Mum, do you remember where my blue hoodie is?” shouted Natalie from her room. “The one with the pockets.”
Antonia paused from sorting through old photographs and listened. Natalie was rummaging in the wardrobe, hangers clinking.
“Probably in the wash,” she replied. “Check the laundry room.”
“Found it!” came the answer a moment later.
Antonia returned to the photos. There was little Natalie, cradled in her late husband Victors arms by their first car. Another of her as a schoolgirl, clutching flowers on her first day. And then her graduation
“Mum, whats all that?” Natalie emerged, tugging on the blue hoodie.
“Just old photos from the dresser. Deciding what to keep.”
Natalie leaned in, peering at the box. “Oh, this is us at the cottage!” She picked up a picture of the three of them by the newly built summerhouse. “Dad was still here. Feels like forever ago.”
“Eight years,” Antonia said quietly. “Itll be eight in August.”
“Time flies,” Natalie sighed, setting the photo down. “Mum, I wanted to talk to you.”
Something in her tone made Antonia tense. Thirty-four years of motherhood had taught her every inflection in Natalies voice. This cautious tone usually meant trouble.
“What is it, love?”
Natalie moved to the kitchen, sitting at the table. Antonia followed.
“Ive been offered a brilliant job,” she began, avoiding her mothers gaze. “A client wants me to develop an online storedesign the website, manage it.”
“Thats wonderful!” Antonia brightened. “Youre a programmerits perfect!”
“Yes, but theres a catch.” Natalie twisted a teaspoon in her fingers. “Theyll pay well, but Id have to work remotely. From home. And here its too distracting.”
“Why? I dont disturb you.”
“Mum, come onthe telly, phone calls, the neighbours blasting music. I need quiet to concentrate.”
Antonia nodded. Their semi-detached house had thin walls, and the young couple next door loved their music loud.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I thought” Natalie hesitated. “What if I rented a flat? Somewhere quiet, in a nice area. I can afford it now.”
“Rent a flat? Whats wrong with this one?”
“Mum, dont twist it. Of course its ours. But I need space to work. At least for a year.”
Antonia stared, bewildered. Theyd always lived togethereven when Natalie was married, her husband had moved in. The marriage ended quickly, Mark moved out, but Natalie stayed.
“And Id be here alone?”
“Mum, youre always at the cottage!” Natalie brightened. “From May to October, you practically live there. Why not just stay?”
“Stay permanently?”
“Yes! Move to the cottage, and well rent this place. Split the income fairly.”
A lump rose in Antonias throat. “So youre evicting me?”
“Dont be dramatic! Its just practical. You love the cottage, and this place sits empty half the year.”
“And winter? The cottages freezing.”
“Use the fireplace. Or well get an electric heater.”
“Natalie,” Antonia said softly, “are you seriously suggesting a sixty-year-old woman winters in a cottage?”
“Youre fifty-nine! And plenty of retirees live year-round in the countryside. Fresh air, peace and quiet.”
“And no one around if something happens.”
“Theres neighbours! The Wilsons, the Harrisonsthey stay all winter.”
Antonia fell silent, absorbing it. Natalie pressed on:
“Think about it. Why keep this place when we could earn from it? Rentals are booming, especially in our area.”
“And if this job falls through?”
“It wont. Its long-term. But even if it does, Ill find something else.”
Antonia stood, walking to the window. Children played outside, dogs barked, cars passedthe familiar hum of suburban life.
The cottage was different. A small plot thirty miles from town, a little house she and Victor had built themselves. A garden, fruit trees. A retreat from noise.
But live there full-time?
“Natalie, what if I fall ill? Need an ambulance?”
“Youve got a phone. And the car.”
“I barely drive since passing my test. It terrifies me.”
“Youll learn. Or take the bus.”
Antonia turned. “Youve already decided, havent you?”
Natalie flushed. “No! Im just suggesting. Think about it.”
“When do you need an answer?”
“Well the project starts on the first. So three weeks.”
Antonia picked up a photoshe and Victor, newlyweds, grinning by their first home. Twenty-two and twenty-five, their whole lives ahead.
“Remember how we got this house?” she asked.
“Youve told me a hundred times.”
“Your dad waited eight years on the council list. Worked overtime, volunteeredjust to get these two rooms.”
“Mum, that was then. Things are different now.”
“Yes,” Antonia agreed. “Back then, parents brought their children home. Not sent them away.”
Natalie scowled. “Im not sending you away. Its mutual benefit.”
*Mutual benefit.* Antonia almost laughed. What benefit was there in winter frosts, alone?
“Fine,” she said. “Ill think.”
“Brilliant!” Natalie beamed. “Youll seeitll work. Well split the rent. Extra pension for you.”
She hugged Antonia, kissed her cheek. “Off to Sarahsdont wait up.”
With that, she left.
—
That night, Antonia sat with tea, untangling her thoughts.
Part of her saw sense. The cottage *was* peacefulfresh air, quiet, her books, the garden.
But visiting was one thing. Living there? Especially winter.
And it stung how easily Natalie rearranged their lives. As if her mother were clutter to be tidied away.
She remembered Natalie begging her to move in after Victor died.
*”Mum, dont be alone. Come live with me. I need you too.”*
Now, that same Natalie was nudging her out. Gently, kindlybut out.
—
The next morning, Natalie lingered over coffee.
“Thought about our chat?”
“Still thinking.”
“Right. But times tight. The client needs an answer.”
“What if I say no?”
Natalie faltered. “Then Id lose the job. And the moneys good.”
“So its an ultimatum.”
“No! Just explaining.”
After she left, Antonia took the bus to the cottage. To see it anew.
The journey took an hour. Autumn leaves crunched underfoot as she walked the quiet lane.
The cottage smelled of apples and woodsmoke. She aired the rooms, checked the stove, the stacked logs. Livable, yes.
The garden was tidypotatoes dug up, apples ripe.
“Antonia!” Mr. Wilson waved from next door. “Staying long?”
“Maybe for good. Natalie wants to rent the house.”
His eyebrows rose. “Winters tough alone.”
“You manage.”
“Aye, but weve no choice. Pensions dont stretch in town.”
That evening, she sat on the porch, listening to the silence. Only the occasional car, a distant crow. A world apart from home.
And “home” was slipping away. However Natalie framed it, the truth was clear: she was being moved out.
—
Natalie returned that night, buoyant.
“Mum, its sorted! Contract signed, deposit paid. Just the house left.”
“Youve already found tenants?”
“Almost. A couples viewing tomorrow.”
Antonias stomach twisted. “You advertised without my answer?”
Natalie flushed. “I thought youd agree. You love it there.”
“In summer.”
“Winters cosy. Youll see.”
Antonia studied herbright-eyed, eager. Oblivious.
“Fine,” she said. “Ill agree. On my terms.”
“Which are?”
“We rent the house. But I keep *all* the income.”
Natalie gaped. “Thats unfair! Its half mine.”
“Your share was a gift. Consider it returned.”
“But I need money for rent!”
“Youll manage. Youre the one earning.”
Natalie huffed. “Fine. But *you* handle the tenants.”
“Deal.”
—
The couple came the next dayyoung, with a well-behaved toddler. They loved the house, agreed to the price.
“Move
