We had some new people move into the cottage next door today. I didn’t see them myself, but my sister came running in with the news: a husband, wife, and grown-up daughter. Typical. Just my luck it wasn’t a family with a tall, broad-shouldered son who could have come round to borrow sugar (or offer to “fix” things I didn’t know were broken). Instead, it looks like I’ll have to carry on dreaming.
Mum was already in a mood this morning. She went out to hang the washing and discovered the peg bag had been left on the line overnight. Thanks to the gale we’ve been having, the pegs were now scattered across the garden like confetti at a particularly low-budget wedding.
Of course, it turned out to be my sister who’d left the bag there. When pressed, she swore blind she didn’t have time to bring in both the washing and the peg bag yesterday when it started raining. Naturally, logic prevailed—and I was the one sent to crawl about the garden on peg-retrieval duty.
As if that weren’t enough, I also got saddled with picking up all the windfall apples from the lawn so Dad could mow. After filling bags with bruised, wasp-nibbled fruit, I loaded them onto my bicycle and pedalled down to Sofia at the other end of the village. She uses them for animal feed, though judging by her face when she saw the haul, I suspect her pigs eat better than I do.
By the time I got back, Mum was still fuming about the state of the laundry, Dad was growling at the mower, and my sister was mysteriously “busy” upstairs. So much for a peaceful Sunday.
Still, the new neighbours are bound to make things interesting. And if their daughter is anything like the rumours suggest—wild hair, late nights, and a penchant for secrets—then perhaps I’ll be doing more than pegging out laundry before long.
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