**Diary Entry 12th April**
*»We werent expecting you,»* my daughter said as she opened the door on my birthday.
*»Why do you keep interfering in my life?»* Emilys voice was sharp with irritation. *»Im thirty-sevena grown woman!»*
*»Interfering?»* Margaret Wilson spread her hands helplessly. *»I only asked why you and James split up. Im your motherof course I worry.»*
*»Exactlyyoure my mother, not a detective,»* Emily turned to the window. *»I have my own life. My own reasons.»*
Margaret sighed, carefully folding the half-finished scarf into her bag. Another failed conversation. The wall between them seemed to grow taller every year.
*»Alright, I wont ask again,»* she said, softening. *»I just thought you two got along…»*
*»Mum!»* Emily spun around. *»Lets drop it, alright? Dont ruin our only family dinner in months.»*
Margaret nodded and fell silent. She visited less these daysEmily was always busy: work, friends, the gym, evening classes. No time left for her mother.
Leaving the flat that evening, Margaret felt lonelier than ever. Sixty next week, and no one to celebrate with. Her husband had passed three years ago, her old friends scattered, her daughter absorbed in her own world. Maybe the birthday wasnt worth marking at all.
But at home, flipping through old photos, she found one of little Emily blowing out candles, cheeks flushed with delight. Back then, Margaret had worked as an accountant, barely making ends meet, yet shed always scraped together a proper birthdaytorch cake, presents, friends.
*»My birthdays in a week,»* she thought, *»and even my daughter forgot. Should I remind her?»*
She reached for her phone but stopped. No. If Emily hadnt remembered, so be it. What did numbers matterfifty-nine, sixty? Just another day.
Yet the thought gnawed at her. Days later, she finally called.
*»Hi, Mum,»* Emilys voice was distracted, as if she were multitasking. *»Everything alright?»*
*»Yes, nothings wrong,»* Margaret hesitated. *»Just wanted to sayits my birthday on Saturday. Sixty.»*
*»Oh! Right!»* Surprise flickered in Emilys tone. *»Completely slipped my mind. Works been mad…»*
*»Its fine,»* Margaret replied too quickly. *»Just thought Id mention it.»*
*»Sorry, Mum,»* Emilys voice softened. *»Ill try to stop byaround five?»*
*»Of course, love,»* Margaret brightened. *»Ill bake your favouritecherry tart.»*
*»Perfect. Got to dashwell talk later.»*
Hanging up, Margaret felt a rush of energy. She hadnt been forgotten. Maybe all wasnt lost between them.
Saturday was unseasonably sunny for April. Margaret rose earlycleaned, baked, even squeezed in a salon visit for a trim. She bought wine, Emilys favourite cheddar, fresh fruit. She wanted the evening to feel special, warmperhaps even bridge the gap between them.
But by five, Emily hadnt arrived. Nor by six. Calls went straight to voicemail.
*»Stuck at work? Traffic?»* Margaret checked the clock again.
By seven, worry set in. What if something had happened? Her mind racedaccidents, emergencies.
Unable to bear it, she took a cab to Emilys. Maybe her daughter had simply forgotten.
Parked cars crowded the street outside Emilys building. One was unmistakably hers. So she was home.
Margarets heart sank as she climbed the stairs and rang the bell. Footsteps approached, the door swung open
Emily stood there, dressed up, hair styled. Behind her, laughter and chatter spilled from the flat.
*»Mum?»* She blinked. *»We werent expecting you…»*
Margaret clutched the bouquet shed bought herselfa pitiful attempt to brighten a lonely evening.
*»II got worried,»* she stammered. *»You didnt come, didnt answer…»*
A man appeared behind Emilytall, bearded, in a crisp shirt.
*»Em, whos?»* He spotted Margaret. *»Oh! Hello!»*
*»Mum, this is Andrew,»* Emily turned. *»Were… seeing each other.»*
*»Lovely to meet you,»* Margaret extended a stiff hand.
Andrew shook it warmly. *»Emilys told me so much!»*
A womans voice called from inside: *»Em, hurry up! The pastas getting cold!»*
*»Coming!»* Emily shot Margaret an apologetic look. *»Weve got a little gathering. I completely forgot about our plansIm so sorry.»*
Margaret swallowed the lump in her throat. Her daughter had thrown a partyon her birthday.
*»Its fine,»* she forced a smile. *»Ill go. Dont want to intrude.»*
*»Wait,»* Emily frowned. *»Since youre herecome in. Meet everyone.»*
Margaret stepped inside reluctantly. The flat buzzed with energyglasses clinking, voices overlapping.
*»Were rehearsing,»* Emily explained, taking her coat. *»Planning a surprise for Lucys birthday next week.»*
*»Ah,»* Margaret thought bitterly. *»Hers you remembered.»*
The kitchen held a lively grouptwo women around Emilys age, another man. They huddled over notes, discussing some script.
*»Everyone, this is my mum,»* Emily announced. *»Mum, this is Kate, Sarah, and Tom.»*
A chorus of *»Hello!»*
Margaret nodded, feeling out of place.
*»Hungry?»* Emily asked. *»Andrew made seafood pasta.»*
*»No, no,»* Margaret retreated. *»I should go.»*
*»Stay for tea?»* Andrew urged. *»Weve got dessert.»*
A chocolate-frosted cake sat on the table. Not a sixty-candle one. Not for her.
*»Thank you, but Ill head home,»* she turned to Emily. *»A word?»*
In the hallway, Margaret pulled an envelope from her bag.
*»For your new coatyou mentioned wanting one.»*
*»Mum, stop,»* Emily frowned. *»Youre always giving me money. I earn enough.»*
*»Take it,»* Margaret insisted. *»A mothers gift.»*
Emily pocketed it reluctantly. *»Thanks. But you shouldnt.»*
*»Ill go,»* Margaret forced another smile.
*»Enjoy your evening.»*
*»Wait,»* Emilys brow furrowed. *»Why did you come?»*
Margaret froze. *»Todays my birthday, love. Sixty. You promised to visit at five.»*
Emilys face fellshock, realisation, horror.
*»Oh my God,»* she whispered. *»Mum, Im so sorry! With Lucys party prep, it justslipped my mind!»*
Margaret shrugged, feigning nonchalance. *»Its just a day.»*
*»Its not!»* Emily grabbed her hands. *»A milestone! And IGod, Im awful!»*
She dashed to the kitchen. Margaret heard frantic whispering, gasps.
Minutes later, Emily returned, the group trailing behind.
*»Margaret,»* Andrew said grandly, *»were throwing an impromptu celebrationfor you!»*
*»Yes!»* Kate chimed in. *»Well reorganise!»*
*»No, really»* Margaret protested.
*»Nonsense,»* Emily cut in. *»Mum, stay. Were celebrating you!»*
Before she knew it, Margaret was seated, champagne poured.
*»Weve got cake,»* Sarah said. *»CandlesEm, those dinner candles?»*
*»On it!»* Emily darted off.
Andrew raised his glass. *»Margaret, though weve just met, I can already tell youre remarkable. Now I see where Emily gets her kindness. Happy birthday! To health, joy, and many more years!»*
*»And may your daughter remember them,»* Tom added, earning an elbow from Emily.
She returned with a box of tapered candles. *»Well make do!»*
*»Presents!»* Kate panicked. *»We dont have one!»*
Emily brightened. *»I do!»* She vanished, reappearing with a lacquered jewellery box. *»Bought this last weekmeant to keep it, but its yours, Mum.»*
Margaret took it, touched. *»Thank you, love. You didnt have to»*
*»I did,»* Emily said firmly. *»And Im sorry. Ive been a terrible daughter.»*
*»Nonsense,»* Margaret patted her hand. *»Just busy.»*
*»No excuse,»* Emily shook her head. *»Forgetting my own mothers birthday…»*
*»Back to the party,»* Andrew interjected. *»Margaret, Emily says you knit beautifully?»*
*»Oh, hardly,»* she demurred.
*»Could you make me a jumper?»* Tom asked suddenly. *»My gran used to, but she moved away. I miss them.»*
*»Of course,»* Margaret smiled. *»If Emily doesnt mind.»*
*»Mind? Her jumpers are legendary!»* Emily laughed.
The evening unfoldedwarm, lively. They pored over old albums, Margaret sharing stories of Emilys childhood.
*»Heres us at Brighton,»* Emily pointed. *»First time I saw the sea! Remember, Mum?»*
*»How could I forget?»* Margaret chuckled. *»You refused to leave, terrified itd vanish by morning.»*
*»What a weird kid,»* Emily grinned.
*»Imaginative,»* Margaret corrected fondly.
Andrew drove her home late. Emily insisted on staying.
*»Lets talk,»* she urged, slicing the forgotten cherry tart. *»Ive missed this.»*
Over tea, confessions flowedwhy shed split with James (he wasnt ready for commitment), how shed met Andrew (reaching for the same book in Waterstones), her dreams of starting a design studio.
Margaret listened, advising as she once had when Emily was a teen sharing secrets.
At dawn, Emily leftbut returned days later with flowers, another cake, and a real gift: tickets to Brighton.
*»Remember our trips when I was little?»* she said. *»Now its my turn to treat you.»*
*»You dont have to»*
*»I want to,»* Emily insisted. *»After all youve doneits my turn.»*
As they planned the trip over tea, Margaret thought: sometimes, arriving uninvited is the only way to remind someone you exist. And even if youre not expectedit doesnt mean youre not wanted.
