«Youre the one to blame, Mum,» the voice echoed, stopping Anne midstep as she turned the kitchen door.
«Mom, it’s for me,» her daughter called from the hallway. «I’ll open it.»
«Alright, I didn’t know» Anne muttered, lingering by the stove.
«What are you still doing? Keep frying those meat patties,» the daughter snapped, glancing back over the doorway.
«Why ‘your’ patties? I bought the mince myself» Anne protested.
«Close the door, Mum,» Emily rolled her eyes.
«If youd said that earlier» Anne slipped back into the kitchen, shut the door behind her, turned off the gas, slipped off her apron and left the room.
In the entrance hall Emily pulled on her coat. Standing nearby was Ian, a friend of hers, eyes glued to her like a lovesick puppy.
«Hello, Ian. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner,» Anne called.
«Good evening,» Ian smiled, looking at Emily with a questioning tilt.
«We’ve got to dash,» Emily replied, not meeting her mother’s gaze.
«Maybe youll eat after all? Everythings ready,» Anne repeated.
Ian hesitated.
«No!» Emily snapped. «Come on.» She seized Ians arm and swung open the front door. «Mum, can you shut it?»
Anne approached, but left a sliver ajar, listening to voices drifting from the street.
«Why are you being so harsh? It smells wonderful, I could swear down a plate of those patties,» a neighbour shouted.
«Lets grab a bite at the café. Im sick of your patties,» Emily muttered.
«They could never tire me,» Ian said. «I could eat your mums patties every day.»
What Emily answered, Anne never caught. The footsteps above faded.
Anne closed the door fully and slipped into the living room where Brian was glued to the television.
«Brian, lets have dinner while its still hot,» she urged.
«Alright,» he rose, lumbered past Anne, and settled at the kitchen table.
«Whats on the menu?» he demanded.
«Rice with patties and a salad,» Anne announced, lifting the pan.
«Youve told me a dozen times I dont eat fried patties,» Brian grumbled.
«I added water, they turned out almost steamed,» Anne said, holding a lid like a shield.
«Fine, but this is the last time,» he sighed.
«At our age, losing weight isnt wise,» Anne remarked, plating the rice and patties before him.
«At what age? Im fiftyseven. Thats the prime of a mans life,» Brian declared, spearing a patty and taking a bite.
«Is this some sort of conspiracy?» Emily shouted from the hallway, refusing to eat, storming out. «Youll see what happens when I stop cooking. Think the café is healthier? Fine, dont cook.»
«You should slim down too. You wont fit through the door soon enough,» Brian finished his second bite.
«Do you think Im fat?» Anne snapped, hurt. «Ive bent over backwards, bought new jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, shaved my head to hide the bald spot. Who am I trying to impress? Not you.»
«Just let me eat,» Brian muttered, stabbing at the rice without bringing it to his mouth. «Pass the ketchup,» he demanded.
Anne fetched a bottle of ketchup from the fridge, slammed it onto the table, and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her untouched plate behind.
She retreated to Emilys room, sank onto the sofa, and felt tears well up.
«All I do is cook, try, and they give me nothing back. Brian flirts elsewhere, calls me fat. Emily looks at me like Im staff. If Im retired, can they trample over me? Id work if they didnt cut my hours. The seasoned staff are obsolete; they want fresh faces. I rise before anyone, even without a job, just to make breakfast. I spin all day, never find a moment to rest. Im to blame, Ive spoiled them. Now they sit on my neck, dangling their legs,» she whispered, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She brushed them away with her hands, stifling a sob.
She had always believed they had a decent family not perfect, but no worse than anyone else. Emily was at university, doing well. Brian didnt drink or smoke, earned a decent wage. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
Anne stared at the mirror on the wardrobe door, inspecting herself. «Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that heavy. The wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved to eat, to cook. They dont seem to need it any more. When I worked, I curled my hair, did my nails. Now I tie a knot at the back of my head so it wont get in the way its easier. Do I really need to chase heels and hairdos? I should lose a few stones, maybe dye my hair.» She sat on the bed, lost in thought.
The next morning Anne didnt rise at her usual predawn hour. She lay still, pretending to sleep. «Im retired, I can stay in bed a little longer. Let them make their own breakfast,» she thought.
The alarm rang. Anne shifted, turned her face to the wall.
«Are you ill?» Brian asked, devoid of sympathy.
«Uhhuh,» Anne answered, burying her face in the duvet.
«Mom, are you sick?» Emily entered the room.
«Yes, go on and have breakfast,» Anne croaked from under the blanket.
Emily huffed, stormed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sang, the fridge door clanged, muffled voices floated from the hallway. Anne stayed hidden, playing the part of the ailing wife.
Brian entered, a hint of expensive cologne lingering the same aftershave Anne had bought for him. He and Emily drifted out, the house fell silent. Anne lifted the duvet, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty mugs lay in the sink, crumbs dotted the table. She thought of cleaning but stopped. «Im not a maid,» she muttered, then slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Later she called an old school friend.
«Emma! How are you, love? Not getting tired of retirement?» the voice chirped, unchanged by time.
«I miss you, Im bored at home, havent visited my parents grave in ages. Can I crash at yours?» Anne asked.
«Of course, come over. When?» Emma replied.
«Right now, Ill catch the train,» Anne said.
«Great, Ill pop some scones in the oven,» Emma answered.
Anne packed a small bag, swept the crumbs into a corner, left a note that shed be away for a few days and might not know when shed return.
On the way to the station she hesitated. What if they really need me? she wondered. But I wont be that selfish, will I? She decided, If there are no tickets, Ill go home. The ticket office was busy, a line snaked to the bus doors. She sighed and slipped to the back of the queue.
Emma greeted her with a hug, tea steaming beside freshly baked scones.
«Tell me everything,» Emma urged.
Anne poured out the whole story, her voice trembling.
«Right, you should take a break, itll do you good. Turn off your phone,» Emma suggested.
«Is that too drastic?» Anne asked.
«Just right,» Emma affirmed. «Tomorrow well hit the salon, get a new look. Valerie works there remember her, the one who always flunked? Shes now the top stylist, bookings are months out. Well shop, turn you into a knockout. Let Brian bite his own elbow.»
That night Anne slept fitfully, thoughts swirling: What will they think? Offended or delighted?
At the salon Valerie welcomed them, settled Anne into a chair. While her hair was dyed and her brows shaped, Valerie trimmed and coifed her. Annes eyes grew heavy; the night felt endless. Valerie insisted on full makeup. Anne wanted to refuse, but Emma coaxed her onward.
When she finally looked in the mirror, a younger, striking woman stared back. Valerie was already arranging a manicure.
«No, thats enough for today. I cant take more,» Anne pleaded.
«Fine, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, or the crowd will come,» Valerie warned.
Emma gushed, «Look at you! Who would have guessed?» They left the salon, arminarm.
«Can we go shopping another day?» Anne asked.
«No, we must go now. Beauty requires sacrifice,» Emma replied, pulling her into the mall.
Anne emerged wearing loosefit trousers, a light sweater, and a flowing sandcoloured cardigan. She felt refreshed, even if a little tired, clutching bags of a new dress, a jacket, and a box of shoes. She felt younger, slimmer, more confident a change long overdue.
Outside Emmas house, a broadshouldered man with stark white hair and dark, ungreyed moustache approached.
«Hello, ladies,» he said, eyeing Anne appreciatively. «You look radiant.»
Anne stared, confused.
«Dont you recognise? Its Paul Whitaker,» Emma whispered.
«Paul?» Anne repeated, astonished.
He nodded, smiling. Paul had been a skinny, unnoticed classmate in school, now a robust figure.
«Come inside, lets toast to Annes transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine,» Emma suggested.
The three sat at the kitchen table, sipping wine, reminiscing about school days. Anne blushed, half from the wine, half from the admiring glances.
«Hes still in love with you,» Emma said as Paul left the room.
«Stop it,» Anne laughed. «Its been years.»
«You look like someone he could fall for again,» Emma assured.
«Does he still live nearby?» Anne asked.
«No, hes a retired colonel, came back two years ago after a severe injury overseas. He limps a bit now. His wife left, but hes on his feet again. Look closely,» Emma advised.
«Im married,» Anne protested.
That night Anne decided to return home, but Emma wouldnt let her go.
«Just arrived and youre leaving? Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy life. By the way, Paul got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went?» Emma teased.
«The youth theatre for the Christmas show with Emily,» Anne replied.
«Ah, the youth theatre,» Emma mocked. «Lets parade your new dress.»
Three days later Annes phone buzzed.
«Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly,» called Emily.
Annes heart thudded. She hurriedly packed, and Paul drove her to the station.
«If you need anything, Im here,» Paul said. «Dont hesitate.»
«Thank you, Paul,» she replied.
On the bus, she called Emily. The daughter confessed that their father had been unfaithful, slipping out of the neighbours flat, never coming home after Anne vanished. Hed been in a fight the night before, broken ribs, a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time.
Anne listened, stunned, yet felt she shouldnt leave. By evening she was back home, though it was too late for the hospital visit.
«Mom, youve changed so much. I barely recognize you,» Emily said, her tone respectful for the first time, staying close all evening, sharing news.
«I was scared youd never come back, that youd find someone else,» Anne admitted. «I didnt find anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person.»
«Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old woman. Your father will be jealous. Will you forgive him?» Emily babbled.
Anne scanned the room, grateful for the familiar walls, the warmth of home.
The next morning she rose early, made a chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Brian, now sporting a shag of grey on his chin, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth from a spoon.
Two weeks later Brian was discharged. As they stepped out of the taxi, a man and woman passed by. Brian flinched, turned away. The woman lowered her gaze. Anne recognised her a slender, redhaired rival. Brian slumped, embarrassed, and slipped back into the hallway.
«Are you staying?» he asked.
«Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight,» Anne replied, a hint of defiance.
«I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry those patties, will you? I miss your cooking,» he pleaded.
Anne fried the patties, served a hearty dinner.
«It smells amazing!» Emily, now back from university, inhaled the aroma.
They sat together as they once had, when Emily was still in school, Brian never criticized Annes cooking, and everything seemed simple. Anne felt a swell of joy watching her family, alive and mostly well, feeling needed.
Life in a family is never perfectly smooth. Age drifts you into new territories, the body changes while the spirit stays young. Its hard to accept, but you cling to the remnants of former strength.
Everyone learns their lesson. The important thing is they remain together. You cant change the horse at the river crossing, but you can stay in the saddle and ride it through the winding road of life.
A good wife, a warm home what more does a person need as they greet old age?
