My daughter recently got married. She wed a fine, hardworking gentleman. His family seems decent enough. The mother is reserved, she works as a nurse at the local clinic. He earns good money. Their house has all the comforts youd expect.
Besides her husband, my daughters in-laws have younger children. Since the wedding, they havent visited us in the countryside. We, on the other hand, have been to their place a few timesfor birthdays and New Years Eve.
We live out on the rural fringes, a little ways from London. Our home is detached, an old brick house with a garden chock-full of vegetables and fruit. Recently, the in-laws announced theyd come to visit us with their children. A chance to get to know them better, and let the kids play in the fresh country air. Honestly, we werent thrilledthe growing season was in full swing, and there was plenty to do outdoors. But there was no polite way to refuse.
We made up a separate room for them. I spent the morning darting around the kitchen, knocked off my feet. Their appetites were tremendous, and their children could devour piles of food. The mother-in-law kept quiet and meek, but never lifted a finger to help. She sat the whole time reading a magazine, flipping the glossy pages as if in a trance.
Their children stripped all the apples from our treefair enough, but they hardly ate any. Theyd take a single bite, toss the rest, and scamper back up again for more. It was as if the tree was a gate to another world, and their bites were tiny keys tossed aside.
The father-in-law, it turned out, liked his drink. He seemed to hover about the place, glass in hand, as if the breeze itself carried him from room to room.
I hope they dont visit again anytime soon. And another thing I almost forgotafter theyd gone, I found my husbands workshop missing a few tools. The kitchen was lighter by a few utensils as well.
I cant believe it. There was no one else here, no one who couldve taken those things. Its as if the objects walked away on their own, following the footsteps of our guests.
Next time they ask to come round, Ill think of some excuse, some polite little reason, and slip away from the whole affair.
