**Diary Entry**
Gleb stretched lazily with a grin on his face. Lizzy, we wont take much. Just pack us some of your famous pie and a couple of jars of jam for the road.
Lizzy stared at him, unable to believe his audacity. How could he ask so shamelessly?
Her thoughts racedhow shed worked tirelessly to perfect that pie, how shed scrubbed the cottage spotless before their arrival. And now here was Gleb, 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.
Gleb, dont you think thats a bit much? Lizzy asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
Oh, come off it, Lizzy! He waved her off without even turning. Were familywe share. Youve got plenty!
A mix of resentment and anger simmered inside her.
This little lakeside cottage, bought three years ago, had been their sanctuary. Summers here were anything but idleearly mornings, weeding, berry picking, tending the chickens, preparing preserves. Every bit of help counted.
Thats why Glebs request stung. He either didnt seeor chose to ignoreall the work behind it. To him, this place was just a free holiday, and she and Arthur were the staff.
It had started three weeks ago when Gleb called out of the blue. Thought wed pop by, lend a hand, enjoy the countryside.
Lizzy had been sceptical. Gleb and his wife, Olivia, were city folk through and throughbrunches, pubs, weekend shopping sprees.
Lend a hand? she repeated doubtfully.
But Gleb prattled on. Course! Were family, arent we? Fresh airll do us good. Fancy picking some raspberries, maybe firing up the sauna
After hanging up, Lizzy lingered on the porch, absently smoothing her apron. She knew Glebfull of promises, short on delivery. Yet Arthur had been optimistic.
Maybe theyll help with the berries. Or the fence.
In the days that followed, Lizzy scurried about as if preparing for royaltyfresh linens, stocked pantry, lamb for the barbecue, treats to make them feel welcome.
Maybe itll be fine, she murmured, hanging towels. Even a little help would be something.
When Gleb and Olivia finally arrived, Lizzy forced a smile, hiding her doubts. They looked relaxed, as if stepping off a spa retreat.
Here we are! Gleb announced, arms wide.
Lizzy ushered them to the tablesalads, warm pastries, homemade lemonade.
For half an hour, chatter flowed. Then Arthur gently laid out the weeks plans: Haymaking tomorrow, then the berry patch. Plenty to do, but well manage together.
Oh, absolutely, Olivia nodded, but her eyes flickered with confusion, as if haymaking were a foreign concept.
Lizzy caught the looka foreboding prickled her chest.
The first day passed like a holiday. Lizzy ignored the overgrown strawberries, the un-mown grass, the buckets of apples waiting in the shed.
Gleb was in high spiritscracking jokes, boasting of his city fatigue. Olivia posed endlessly by the lake, flooding social media with #CountryLife captions.
Arthur smiled, hopeful for shared labour.
But by day two, the mood shifted.
Lizzy rose at dawn to feed the chickens, haul water, pick cucumberswhile the guestroom curtains stayed drawn.
Gleb and Olivia went into town, Arthur said over tea. Urgent errands.
Lizzy nodded silently, though something sour twisted inside.
They returned at dusk, laden with crisps and beer.
Lizzy, this place runs itself! Gleb sighed, flopping onto the porch chair.
Day after day, resentment grew. Lizzy toiled alonemowing, cooking, cleaningwhile Gleb napped in the hammock (Bit of a headache) and Olivia sunbathed.
When Lizzy asked for help with the dishes, Olivia gasped. Guests dont *work*!
By day five, Lizzy snapped.
Arthur returned from the fields to find her seething. They dont even wash a plate! Gleb asked me to iron his shirt, and Olivia complained about *breakfast*.
That evening, they assigned tasks: Gleb would help Arthur mend the fence; Olivia would weed.
Of course, of course, Gleb muttered, eyes glued to his phone.
At dawn, Arthur laid out tools, brewed strong teabut the guestroom was empty. A note lay on the bedside: *Gone to town. Back for BBQ!*
They returned with steaks and wine, laughing about traffic.
We agreed on work today, Lizzy said flatly.
Ah, right, Gleb shrugged. Tomorrow, promise!
But come morning Emergency back in London! Pity we couldnt help!
Then, grinning: Pack us some of that pie, Lizzy. And a few jars of raspberry jamits divine!
Something in Lizzy snapped.
No. Her voice shook. You didnt lift a finger.
Glebs face reddened. After all our hospitality?
What hospitality? she shot back. You lazed about while I worked!
Arthur stood beside her, firm. You offered help, Gleb. Instead, you ate, drank, and complained.
Olivia stormed to the car. Disgraceful! Some family!
Gleb spat over his shoulder, Keep your bloody pie!
As their car vanished, relief and exhaustion washed over Lizzy and Arthur.
That evening, they walked their landfence still broken, berries still tangled, hay unmown. Yet the fatigue felt good, honest.
Over tea and *that* jam, Lizzy sighed. Next time, guests bring spades, not smartphones.
Arthur chuckled. They knew nowrespect mattered most.
**End of Diary Entry.**
