The last supper I ever set before my kin was a scene that still haunts my mind, even now, many years later, as I sit by the fire in a modest flat in Manchester and recall the day the house fell silent.
It began in the great oakpanelled dining room of the Whitfield Hall, where I, Julie Whitmore, rose to the head of the long table and addressed my guests with a smile that scarcely hid the strain.
Are you all fed, my dears? Have you had enough to drink? Did I manage to please you? I asked, gesturing grandly.
Yes, sister, boomed Boris Whitfield, his voice booming across the room. As always, youre on top of the world!
Exactly! echoed Natasha, his sister, clasping her hands. We learned to cook together when we were young, but never have I managed anything as tasty as this. No wonder I keep asking you to cater my celebrations!
Mother, whispered Natalie, her eyes flickering. Im still not free from the gym, but I could not stop.
And Ill send my wife over so you can teach her a thing or two about cooking, said Andrew, with a grin.
Thats why I married you, my love! declared William, his belly rumbling. Pardon my appetite.
What a treat! I laughed, widening my grin. Then, as a shadow crossed my face, I paused, and the smile fell. Now, all of you, out of my house! I announced, my voice cracking.
It was the final dinner I ever prepared for them, the last time I would bend over a hot stove for their sake. I no longer wanted to see them, hear them, or even think of them.
I seized the massive brass salad bowl from the table, lifted it with a sudden surge of fury, and hurled it to the floor with a deafening crash.
Enough, my little ones! The dancing is over, I snarled, a harsh grin twisting my lips. I will not let anyone ride on my back any longer, especially not you!
A heavy silence fell over the room. The guests stared, stunned. They might have expected a betrayal from any of us, but certainly not from Juliealways calm, obliging, everready to serve.
Are you serious? demanded William, his eyebrows knitting.
His question earned an instant slap from his wife.
Call a doctor, shes having a fit! shouted Natasha, halfjoking, halfconcerned.
I lifted the empty wine decanter, its amber liquid glistening, and warned, Anyone who reaches for the phone will feel the blow! I smiled sweetly, then barked, Why stand still? Run, you gluttons! Ive had my fill of your endless demands!
Julie! barked Boris, stern. I tell you as an older brother, calm down and pull yourself together.
No! I retorted, still smiling. I will not be your servant any longer! I will not cater, I will not scramble at anyones command! Enough is enough!
Whats the matter, youve been bitten by a fly? William asked, rubbing his flushed cheek. Everything was fine!
I didnt gather you all for nothing, I said, sitting back in my chair. Your audacity has crossed every lineindeed, its been that way for ages! Your final refusal showed me just how bold youve become, and I will no longer tolerate your presence in my life.
We did nothing wrong, Andrew protested weakly.
Exactly, son! Exactly! I replied, the words echoing off the walls.
—
They say a life must be lived rightly, and you cannot argue with that. Yet what does right truly mean? Everyone, if you ask, offers a different answer.
I had lived fortyfive years convinced I was doing everything correctly. At worst, I could not blame myself. I was the third child, the second daughter, in a modest Yorkshire family. My parents were pleased, my brother adored, my sister never troubled me. I learned a trade, worked hard, never chased fame or glory.
I married a faithful, loving husband, bore two children, and raised them well. I remained close to my brother and sister, helping when needed, celebrating together, sharing troubles and joys. People called me kind, helpful, wise.
Thus I believed I had led a proper lifeuntil, at fortyfive, I felt abandoned in the loneliest moment of all.
—
The operation, Miss Whitmore? the surgeon asked after lunch. All tests are clear, no contraindications. Shall we schedule it?
Certainly, Doctor, I replied, a low sadness in my voice. The decision has already been made.
I understand, he said, noticing my despondence, but we must be thorough.
Schedule it, I waved my hand. The sooner we start, the sooner it ends.
He noted it on my chart. Youll have dinner tonight, then nothing tomorrow, and the operation the day after.
Turning to my neighbour in the ward, he said, Katherine, your results need more attention; well sort them out.
Very well, Mr. OLeary, she answered politely.
When the doctor left, Katherine asked, Whats with you, dear? Afraid of the operation?
Partly, I admitted, glancing at my mobile. My husband
Your man left me with his songs, Katherine chuckled. I think the children will come to their mother, and hell throw a party himself! Hell manage eventually. Maybe hes gone off on a solo tour?
From his last voicemail, he knows Im about to have my uterus removed, I whispered, clenching my lips. He knows its serious, yet hes out drinking with friends!
Ah, Katherine waved her hand dismissively. All men are like thatcats at home, mice dancing in the yard.
It still hurts, I said. Uterine removal is a grave matter. A word of support would have meant something. I told him I was terrified, that I needed his backing, and he barely repliedtwo short messages after I left, then silence!
Katherine, ten years my junior, lacked the experience to console me, so the conversation dwindled on its own. I skipped dinner, taking nothing with me, knowing I should fast before surgery. I lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, recalling the time Vasili broke his leg in two places at work. I had visited him daily, bringing homecooked meals, clean clothes, riding the bus after my shift, staying until late, and only getting home around midnight. When his family let him go, I took leave to help, like a squirrel on a wheel, never refusing my husband a helping handwater, spoonfeeding, washing, shaving, grooming.
Why does he treat me so? I asked Katherine when she returned from her own dinner.
Not just yours! she laughed. All of them are the sameconsumers! Do they teach them in school how to sit on a ladys lap?
Ive hustled three years to get a job for my husband, using contacts, picking a wellpaid position. He still wont work unless I threaten divorce and alimony! I snapped.
My husband works, I added defensively.
Your mans a different creature, Katherine gestured. All exploiter, if you dont rein them in theyll sit on your neck, strip your legs, and still chase after more! Thats what Ive learned.
I began to suspect my husband was as soft as butter on bread, while I was merely a footnote in his life.
Am I being foolish? I asked, nerves still raw from the upcoming operation. Am I overreacting?
Nothing prevents the two from coexisting, Katherine replied. But the fact that you hear no kind words from him is plain as day. My husband, however, sends fruit juices, calls, and sends heart emojis every day.
I turned away, pulling the blanket over my head.
—
A day without food, even when you need it, is no small thing. I tried to distract myself with talk, but the ward kept calling me for tests and scans, and Katherines visits were brief and hurried.
Phone in hand, I thought, Relatives will not refuse a chat to pass the time. My son, Andrew, didnt answer; he only sent a text promising to call later. My daughter, Natalie, hung up twice before her number became unreachable.
Good children, I muttered, baffled.
Dont they answer? Katherine asked, catching her breath between procedures.
Imagine! I replied. Is it so hard to return a mothers call?
Adults? she wondered.
They live on their own now.
Forget them, love! Youll only see them when you need something. Like fledglings leaving the nest, theyll only drift back on the wind.
My eldest, sixteen, no longer thought of me as anything more than a spare change. If they live apart, parents become unnecessaryonly showing up at funerals, perhaps.
No, thats not true! We have a wonderful relationship, I insisted.
Then why dont they pick up?
Katherine hurried away, and I lingered on the thought.
Is it really that hard to spare a minute for a mother? I mused. Their recent visits were all about moneynever a genuine checkin.
Grief settled heavily. Katherines words, Fledglings have left, rang true. They now lived their own lives, remembering their parents only when they needed something.
I dialed my husband again. No answer. I left a message, unread.
Ah, Vasili, Vasili, I sighed. If only you hadnt vanished!
By evening, a text finally arrived: Where are our savings? The wages are gone, we have nothing to live on! Hed been paid three days ago.
Indeed! I thought, admiring his optimism. A feast of cake, wine flowing like a river! Yet I gave him no reply. If he had shown even a hint of concern, perhaps I would have spoken. Instead, he was left to sort his own mess.
Boris answered my call, but he was busy and hung up. Hes busy, I murmured, noting Katherines absence, so I heard no retort. I remembered the six months Id lived in two houses after Boriss wife left him, children in tow. I tended to them, acted as mother, cook, cleaneruntil Boris found a new partner.
Conflicts arose; Boris wanted his children loved, I wanted my own, and his new family clashed with me. I soothed them for a year and a half, never receiving a word of thanks. Now he was busy again.
When I tried to call him that night, only a few clicks and the line went dead.
Thanks for the black list, brother! I muttered.
He, too, knew about my operation. When he asked to take the children for a month, I first refused, citing the surgery.
Natasha, my sister, gave me only five minutes of attention, and that too not about health. When will you be back on your feet? My husbands relatives are arrivingten people. Well lodge them in a hotel, but theyll need food at home, a proper spread! Youre my only hope!
I dont know, Nat, I answered. The operation is serious. Two or three weeks in hospital, then a recovery period. Doctors say up to fifty days.
Dont be daft, sister! This isnt how things are done! You must be swift, like a waltz, and in three weeks be as fit as a soldier! These are my husbands kinmore important than anything else!
It frightens me, I admitted.
Come on, stop dawdling! Chitchat and off you go! I have to run! she snapped.
That sting lingered. What if the operation goes wrong? Complications could arise! Who knows what may happen? I thought, eyes on the phone. Im almost fifty, and I never learned to cook properly!
Natasha constantly called on my younger sister to cater her guestscolleagues, husbands friends, any festive occasion. I never left the kitchen for a day, yet never received an invitation to sit at her table.
Whats this? Natasha protested. Its a foreign crowd!
My preparations for that foreign crowd were ignored.
The operation proceeded without incident, though I remained in hospital an extra fortnight. I refused to call anyone, waiting for someone to think of me. Nobody didno husband, no children, no brother, no sister.
I turned over the decision in my mind countless times before I finally spoke out.
Julie, what nonsense are you spouting? Boris shouted. Did they take a piece of your brain with the uterus?
Ah, you remembered! I laughed, surprised. I thought no one would recall me any longer.
I rose again to the head of the tablethis time in my minds hall.
Listen, my dear relatives! I have lain in that hospital for two weeks, and not a single soul bothered to ask how I am, or what became of me! No brother, no children, no sister, no husbandnone cared!
A hush fell over the imagined banquet.
I have spent my life ready to do whatever you needed. And when the only time I needed a crumb of support, you were all absent!
I decided that if I could survive this alone, I could manage everything else. I would no longer be a runnererrand for them.
I called out, one by one:
Vasili, divorce without a word! Pack your things and leave my flat!
Children, live your own lives! If you need help, turn to your father! Im gone!
Boris and Natasha, I will no longer see you! Hire nannies and cooks elsewhere! Enough!
Voices rose in protest. Are you mad? How can you be so cruel?
All rose together, forming a line, shouting, Out of my life! I finally declared, I want to live for myself, not for you!
A roar of Wooo! filled the hall. Alone now, I sat down at the empty table, stared at the shattered salad bowl, and whispered, I overreacted a little, but this is a fresh start. With a new bowl, I shall begin a new life.
