14April2025
Dear Diary,
Ive just finished gathering the last of my loose pennies and slipped out the back door, announcing to my brothers wife, Clare, Im off, love.
Clare! Can you hear me? I called, not yet inside.
She answered from her tablet, still sketching with her digital pen, I hear you.
Peter and his wife Ivy, together with their little girl Nell, are asking if they can stay over.
Clare knows exactly who Peter ismy younger brother by a couple of years, a restless lad who seemed born with a camera hanging around his neck. Hes always been into photography, primarily of models, especially the female kind. He started out at the local newspaper, moved to an advertising agency, and somehow ended up on a beautypage competition, which for him was pure gold.
He didnt stop there. He shot weddings, corporate presentationsanywhere money was on the line. Even at my own wedding he could never sit still, darting about snapping photos of the bride.
Clare set her tablet aside, straightened up, and just then Alex walked in. She smiled at him. So I give my blessing, she said.
It was pleasant hearing her talk about the guests. They live by the sea, and everyone wants to visit. The only snag was that our cottage is modest; we only began building a guest house last year.
We need to finish the refurbishment, Clare reminded my husband, who isnt exactly a master handyman. Just a few small things left.
When are they planning to arrive? she asked.
If theyre all agreed, Id say in two weeks.
Fine, let them come.
I was thinking maybe we could take a walk? Alex suggested timidly.
Too much work, Clare replied.
I understand, but perhaps
Clare rarely leaves the house. She prefers evenings in the garden when the heat eases, but most of the day she stays in her studio, drawing and drawing. Shes been watching her weight, counting calories, dieting, then breaking the fast and berating herself, only to start the cycle again.
Outside, the sea roared, roses scented the garden, and a plump cat dozed on the windowsill, halfopened eyes flickering at passing swallows.
Alex left the room. Clare rose, massaged her lower back, stepped onto the scales and sighed as the needles crept upward. Again, she muttered sadly, noting another halfkilogram. She eyed the bag of biscuits shed brought to her studio, halfeaten already. Maybe just one more, then Im done, she thought, reaching for another, but felt a sting of shame and set the bag aside, taking it to the kitchen instead.
When Clare works from home, the only demand is the finished productshe illustrates books. I, having opened my own advertising firm five years ago, am often offsite. It all began with buying businesscard equipment, then a camera, hiring eager graphic students, later artists and scriptwriters. The business grew quietlynow fifteen staff and a similar number of freelancers. Its profitable.
We once lived up north, but after a summer down south we were about to leave when the lady of the house announced she wanted to sell her plot. I brushed it off; my mind was on work, but Clare was thrilled. She fell in love with a twentyacre (roughly twenty thousand square metres) plot on a hillside not the best spot, but big enough. After consulting my father, he backed her and sent the money. When the land appeared, I realized we needed to build. Within a couple of years we had a threeroom house, and when guests arrived we decided to add a small guest cottage.
Although Clare and I married before Peter did, our daughter Emma is the same age as Nell, Ivys daughter. Peter had stayed single for a while, but eventually Ivy agreed to marry.
At the start of summer, Clare sent Emma to stay with her mother. Nell was five, about to start school. Clare wanted the girls to meet, so after speaking with me she said, Ill be quick, in and out. She covered the monitor with a protective film, so no one can peek in.
Ill lock it, I joked.
Clare left with a calm mind. A few days later Peter arrived with Ivy and Nell.
What a sight! Ivy exclaimed, having heard countless stories about my brothers house but never visited.
This is all Clares doing, I said proudly, pointing to the garden.
Most of the garden is wild: a pear, a walnut, apple and plum trees scattered about, grass growing so fast the mower cant keep up.
Emma, look up there, thats a cherry tree, I said gently, pointing to a high branch. She ran off immediately.
Its lovely here, Peter said, pulling his luggage toward the guest cottage. What do you have inside? Ivy asked. I spent nearly an hour walking her around the plot, explaining each tree before we descended the hill and entered the main house.
Seeing the door to Clares studio ajar, I stepped inside. Emma, acting as hostess, pushed aside the protective film and grasped her pen.
Stop! I said calmly but firmly. Dont touch that. I took the digital pen from her and placed it on a shelf. And really, this room is offlimits. The girl ran out, and I shut the door tightly behind me.
Is your wife still that heavy? Ivy asked with a sly smile.
I winced. I knew Clare wasnt slender, but comparing her to Ivywhod once been a photo modelwas unfair. I tried to be diplomatic: Not everyone can be as lithe as you.
Ivy smirked, But we shouldnt talk about it.
You need to eat less to stay slim, she muttered.
I get it, I replied. Clare has tried many diets, counted calories, but
Eat less, Ivy repeated.
Realising my hint had gone over her head, I said bluntly, Dont bring that up with Clare.
Ivy rolled her shoulders, left the cottage, and said, Just eat less, thats all. Dont be a pig.
I winced again. The fashionindustry types I meet for work pride themselves on looks they never earned; nature gave them a face, yet they use it to shove others down.
The next day, as promised, Clare returned with Nell. I met her, sighed, sat, and embraced the little girl, who now looked plumper, cheeks rosy.
Grandma, Clare said protectively.
Dont worry, a few days of fresh air and swimming and shell be fine, I reassured her.
How are our guests? Clare asked.
Theyve gone to the sea, will be back soon.
Did they starve? Only pizza? she joked, opening the fridge.
No, Ivy cooked something, they didnt die of hunger.
Ill whip up lunch, Clare said, changing into an apron.
An hour later the guests returned. Ivy was silent, but her eyes showed she was dissatisfied not only with Clares looks but also with my daughters appearance. She kept her criticism to herself out of politeness.
The meal was hearty: a meat casserole, salads, fruit, and two pies. The children ate everything, but after ten minutes Ivy scolded Nell, Dont eat so much or youll end up as round as Nell.
Luckily, by then Clare and Nell were already outside, though I heard everything. My face flushed with anger; I was ready to speak up when Emma burst in, Dad, dad, dad! Can I go up the hill?
The cottage sat in a dip, the hill behind it leading up to the plotperhaps why the land was cheap. The hill was overgrown with hazel, wild vines clinging to the steep slopes. Dawn birds woke us without an alarm. At first it annoyed me, then I grew to love the chorus.
Take Emma with you, I suggested.
Emma ran to Olya, extended her hand and said, Come on, Ill show you a nest, theres a ravine and stones!
Olya turned to her mother, glanced at Nell with disdain, and said, Im not friends with pigs.
I lifted Emma, asked her to fetch her mother, who was watering the garden. Olya, offended, ran off.
I turned to Peter, who had been sitting with Ivy and Emma, and said, Youve insulted my daughter, calling her a pig.
I didnt say it! Peter protested.
You both stayed silent, as did Ivy, I replied, glancing at the three of them. You all called my girl a pig at once.
Ivys face reddened. Peter had no reply; he indeed kept quiet. I stared coldly at the family, then, with a hint of contempt, walked out.
That evening Clare set the table. Peter arrived with his family, acting as if nothing had happened. Clare served a lovely dinner; Peter praised the food, and I nodded. Nell, now full, slumped back in her chair. Clare brought tea and biscuits shed asked me to buy. Ivy took one, sliced off the cream and began to eat, as did Olya.
Clare reached for a biscuit but, remembering her promise to herself, put it aside. Ivy noticed, smiled, and whispered, If you dont want to get fat, just stop eating.
I slammed my hand on the table. The sudden noise made Ivy startle, she looked at me bewildered.
Go for a walk, I told Clare. She took Emma and stepped outside, leaving the house to the guests.
Later I returned to Peter, reminding him, Youve hurt my wife.
It wasnt me! Peter replied.
You stayed quiet when Ivy said my wife was fat, I said, pointing at her.
Shes right, Ivy retorted.
I raised my hand again, the table trembling. First you called my daughter a pig, now you call my wife fat and tell her to eat less.
I wont let anyone insult my family in my house, I said, silencing myself.
Youre sorry, arent you? Ivy sneered, Im not to blame for her size.
I looked at her coldly, then said slowly, You may stay the night, but youll be out of my house by morning.
What?! Peter shouted.
And thats because Im right! Ivy shrieked. Shes fat, your daughter is fat!
One more word I stood, leaned on the table and warned, Another word and youll be out the door right now.
Ivy leapt from her seat, fled to the guest cottage, Olya following. I turned to Peter, saying Id said all I needed to. He stayed silent, clearly understanding his wifes nature.
At dawn, after skipping breakfast, Peters family hurried to the gate. The air was scented with blooming magnolias, the sun just beginning to warm.
Where are they off to? Clare asked, wiping the table with a kitchen towel. Dont like the cottage or my cooking?
Its fine, I replied, pulling the curtain back. How about we head to the sea for a day?
The cheerful Nell immediately sprinted to her bedroom, returned in a swimsuit with a huge inflatable ring, her steps echoing through the house.
Im ready! she sang, heading for the door.
Not so fast! her mother called, also heading to change.
I felt a pang of sadness; I hadnt seen my brother in ages and hoped the two girls would become friends. Clare, ever practical, said, Weve got water, fruit, towels, and sunscreen.
Great, lets go, I answered, tossing Peters belongings aside and changing myself. Within five minutes we were descending the hill toward the sea. The southern sun grew hotter, the salty sea breeze carried the scent of seaweed.
Looking back, I realise that letting pride and careless words fester only breeds bitterness. Ive learned that standing up for those you love must be tempered with compassion, not aggression. In the end, family is worth protecting, but peace is kept by gentle honesty rather than harsh slams.
Alex Turner.
