Margaret was frying up some mince meat patties when the doorbell went off. She left the kitchen to answer it.
Mom, its for me, Ethel called out, stopping her halfway. Ill get it.
Alright, Margaret replied, a little confused. I didnt know
What are you standing there for? Keep cooking, Ethel snapped, glancing back at her from the doorway.
My own?
I bought the mince myself, Mum, Ethel said, rolling her eyes.
Close the door, love, she added, sighing.
Couldve just said that, Margaret muttered, heading back to the kitchen and pulling the door shut just enough to keep a draft out. She switched off the gas under the pan, slipped off her apron and stepped out of the kitchen.
In the hallway, Ethel was pulling on her coat. Standing nearby was George, Emilys boyfriend, who kept stealing glances at the pair of lovebirds.
Hey, George. Where are you off to? Fancy dinner with us? Margaret asked.
Hello, George smiled, looking over at Emily with a questioning tilt.
Were in a hurry, Emily replied, not even glancing at her mum.
Maybe youll join us after all? Ive got everything ready, Margaret offered again.
George fell silent.
No! Ethel snapped. Lets go. She took Georges arm, opened the door and called, Mum, could you close it?
Margaret reached for the door but left a crack open, hearing voices from the street.
Why are you so harsh with her? Smells delicious I wouldnt mind a patty, a neighbour shouted.
Lets head to the cafe, Ive had enough of her patties, Ethel muttered.
Can they really get boring? I love your mums patties, I could eat them every day, George replied.
What Emily said, Margaret never caught. The voices on the stairwell faded away.
Margaret finally shut the door and went back into the living room where her husband, John, was glued to the telly.
John, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Right, lets go. He got up, passed her, and sat down at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked, impatient.
Rice with patties, a side salad, Margaret answered, lifting the pan.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried patties, John grumbled.
I added a splash of water, theyre almost steamed, she said, holding the lid.
Fine, just this once, he sighed. But thats the last time.
At our age losing weight isnt advisable, Margaret replied as she placed a plate of rice and patties in front of him.
What age? Im only fiftyseven. This is the prime of a mans life, John said, spearing a patty and taking a bite.
Are you all conspiring against me? Emily ran off, wont eat, and youre acting like a child. Im done cooking if you think a restaurants better, Margaret snapped. You think its healthier out there?
Then stop cooking. You could lose a few stones yourself. You wont ever fit through that door again, John finished, shoveling another patty onto his fork.
What? You think Im fat? Ive been trying to look after myself bought new jeans, a leather jacket, a cap. Shaved my head to hide balding. Who am I trying to impress? Not you. Yes, Im a bit round. Compare me to who? Margaret asked, hurt.
Just let me eat in peace, John said, pushing the rice toward his mouth. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Margaret fetched a jar of ketchup, slammed it on the table and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her untouched dinner.
She shut herself in her daughters room, flopped onto the sofa and tears welled up.
Cooking, trying my best, and its never enough. I do everything for them and get no thanks. Johns looking for someone else. Im just the housekeeper for him. My daughter looks at me like Im a servant. If Im retired, can they just treat me like this? Id still work if they didnt cut my hours. They say Im too old for the job, give it to the youngsters. What can they do, anyway?
I get up before everyone, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. Im always on my feet, never a moment to rest. Its my fault for spoiling them, and now theyve turned on me.
She thought the family was good not perfect but no worse than anyone else. Her daughter was at university, doing well. John didnt drink, didnt smoke, earned decent money. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
She stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, examined herself. Sure, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that heavy. Wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved food. Im still decent in the kitchen. When I worked, Id style hair, curl it. Now I tie a bun at the back so it doesnt get in the way way easier. Do I have to be a highheeled, perfectly coiffed housewife? Maybe I should lose a bit, dye my hair.
She sat back on the bed, lost in thoughts.
The next morning she didnt get up early like usual. She pretended to be asleep, thinking, Im retired, I can linger a bit longer. Let them make breakfast themselves.
The alarm went off, she stirred and turned to the wall.
Whats wrong? Sick? John asked, tone flat.
Yeah, right, Margaret muttered, burying her face in the duvet.
Mom, are you ill? Ethel entered.
Yes, you all have breakfast yourselves, Margaret whispered from under the covers.
Ethel huffed, headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle boiled, the fridge door clanged, and muffled voices drifted from the kitchen. She stayed under the blanket, playing the sick role to the bitter end.
John entered, his expensive cologne filling the room the same aftershave shed bought for him years ago. He and Ethel left one after the other, leaving silence. Margaret pulled the duvet off, kept her eyes shut and fell asleep.
An hour later she woke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She thought about cleaning but decided, Im not a servant. She headed to the shower, then phoned an old school friend.
Ellie! Its been ages, love. How are you? Still taking it easy, pensioner? the voice chimed.
Margaret explained she missed the hustle, hadnt visited her parents grave in ages. Dont be shy, stay over if you like.
Of course, come over. When?
Im heading to the station now, she said.
Great, Ill get the pies going.
She packed a small bag for a few days, swept the crumbs aside, left a note on the kitchen table saying shed be at her friends and didnt know when shed be back.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Maybe theyll manage without me. They never value my work, she thought, but decided to be bold. If I cant get a ticket, Ill just head home, she resolved. Tickets were available, a line snaked around the bus doors. She sighed and took the last spot.
Her friend Lucy greeted her with a hug, tea and warm pies. Youre a trooper for coming. Now spill it, whats happened?
I cant hide the truth, Margaret sighed, recounting everything.
Exactly. Let them have a lesson. Turn off your phone for a bit, Lucy suggested.
Is that too harsh? Margaret asked.
Perfect. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a new look. Valentina works there remember her from school? Shes now a top stylist. Well shop, turn you into a knockout. Let your man bite his nails.
That night Margaret tossed and turned, wondering, Are they angry or relieved?
The next day Valentina welcomed them, sat Margaret in a chair, trimmed her hair, shaped her brows, even gave her a fresh haircut. Margaret almost fell asleep in the chair, the night stretched on. Valentina insisted on a full makeup session; Margaret wanted out, but Lucy coaxed her to see it through.
When she finally looked in the mirror, she barely recognised herself a younger, striking version stared back. Valentina was already arranging a nail appointment.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take any more, Margaret pleaded.
Alright, well book you for eight tomorrow, dont be late, Valentina said firmly.
Lucy gushed, Look at you! Who would have guessed? and they headed to the shopping centre.
Can we do it another day? Margaret asked.
No, lets go. Youll look smashing in those new shoes, Lucy urged, pulling her into the store.
Margaret left the mall in loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, and a tidy coat, looking pleased despite the fatigue.
She carried bags with a new dress, a jacket, and a pair of shoes, feeling youthful and confident, finally giving herself the makeover shed long deserved. Lucys push had sparked the change.
Outside Lucys house, a tall man with white hair and dark moustache approached, eyes bright as he took in Margarets new look.
Hey, ladies, he said, admiring her. You look smashing.
Who are you? Margaret asked, puzzled.
You must be thinking of Paul Jenkins, Lucy whispered.
Paul? Margaret repeated.
Yes, the man confirmed. You used to know him from school he was skinny and invisible back then.
Lucy suggested, Lets go to my place, celebrate your transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine.
The three sat in Lucys kitchen, sipping wine and reminiscing about school days. Margarets cheeks flushed, whether from the wine or the flattering glances, she wasnt sure.
Hes still got a crush on you, Lucy teased when Paul left.
Stop it, its been years, Margaret protested.
You still look like someone he could fall for again, Lucy assured her.
Does he still live nearby? Margaret asked, changing the subject.
No, hes a retired colonel, served in the army, came back a couple of years ago after a serious injury. Hes a bit hobbling now. His wife left, but hes back on his feet, Lucy explained.
Im married, Margaret protested.
Later that night she decided to head home, but Lucy wouldnt let her go.
Just arrived and youre leaving? Show some backbone. Nothing bad will happen. Stay a week, see how it feels. By the way, Paul got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
Back at the youth club for the Christmas show with Lucy, Margaret answered.
Lucy laughed, At the youth club, eh? Well give that dress a proper outing.
Three days later Margarets phone rang.
Mum, Dads in hospital! Come quick, her daughter Ethel shouted.
Her heart raced. She started packing, and Paul drove her to the station.
Anna, if you need anything Im here, he said.
Thanks, Paul, she replied.
On the bus she called Ethel, who told her her father had been cheating, that shed seen him leaving the neighbours flat, that the man had been violent and even suffered a brain bleed, but the ambulance had arrived in time.
Ethels voice trembled. Im scared you wont come back.
Margaret felt a knot in her stomach but decided to return home that evening. She arrived at the hospital too late for a visit.
Ethel greeted her, tone softened, You look so different now. Hard to recognise you.
Margaret smiled faintly, Ive been scared youd leave, that maybe youd find someone else.
No one else, Ethel said. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old lady, and now you think Dad will be jealous. Will you forgive him?
Margaret looked around the quiet room, feeling the warmth of home.
The next morning she rose early, made a chicken broth and drove to the hospital. John, now with a full beard of grey, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth from a spoon.
Two weeks later John was discharged. As they left the taxi, a couple passed by; John flinched, turned away. The woman glanced down, and Margaret realised she was the new, sleek, redhaired competitor her husband had been seeing. John slumped, avoiding her gaze.
Are you staying? he asked.
Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight, Margaret replied cheekily.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Cook those patties, will you? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
She fried the patties, the kitchen filling with their familiar aroma.
Smells amazing! shouted Ethel, fresh from university.
They all sat down together, just like the old days when Ethel was still at school, John never nagged, and Margaret could stand at the stove for hours just to please him.
Margaret looked at her family, grateful they were all there, alive and mostly well, and that she still mattered.
Life isnt always smooth, especially as you get older. The body changes, but the spirit can stay young. Its hard to accept, but you try to hold onto the strength you once had.
Everyone learns their lesson. The important thing is theyre together. You cant change the horse at the ferry, but you can keep riding it.
A good wife, a cosy home what more does anyone need to face old age?
