I still recall the day when Margaret was frying meat patties on the stove, and a knock sounded at the front door. She left the kitchen to answer.
Mom, it’s for me, her daughter Eleanor called halfway across the hall. Ill get it.
Alright, Margaret replied, a little surprised. I didnt expect
Why are you standing there? Go on, keep frying those patties, Eleanor snapped, glancing back over her shoulder.
What do you mean your patties? I bought the mince myself for the cooking.
Mom, close the door, Eleanor rolled her eyes.
Could have said that straight away, Margaret said, retreating to the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind her. She turned off the gas beneath the pan, slipped off her apron and stepped out of the kitchen.
In the hallway Eleanor was pulling on her coat. Standing nearby was George, a friend of Eleanors, his eyes fixed on her with a fondness he could not hide.
Good afternoon, George. Where are you off to? Do join us for supper, Margaret offered.
Good afternoon, the young man smiled, looking inquisitively at Eleanor.
Were in a hurry, Eleanor answered, not turning to her mother.
Perhaps youll still have dinner with us? Everythings ready, Margaret repeated.
George fell silent.
No! Eleanor burst out. Were going. She took George by the arm and opened the door. Mum, could you shut it?
Margaret reached for the door but left a small gap, listening to voices from the street.
Youre being terribly rude, a neighbour shouted. It smells wonderful, I wouldnt mind a patty.
Lets go to the café instead. Im sick of your patties, Eleanor muttered.
They could never tire me, George replied. I could eat your mothers patties every day.
What Eleanor replied, Margaret never caught. The voices on the stairs faded as they drifted away.
Margaret finally shut the door completely and went into the livingroom where her husband Edward was perched before the telly.
Edward, shall we have dinner while its still hot? she asked.
Fine, he rose, passing her to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. Whats on the menu?
Rice with patties and a salad, Margaret announced, lifting the skillet.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried patties, Edward grumbled.
I added a splash of water, they turned out almost steamed, Margaret said, holding the lid in one hand.
Alright, but this is the last time, he warned.
At our age its not wise to lose weight, Margaret remarked, placing a plate of rice and patties before him.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. For a man thats the prime of life, Edward replied, spearing a patty and taking a bite.
Are you all conspiring against me? Eleanor had fled the table earlier, refusing to eat. Youre both out of line. Ill stop cooking and well see how you manage without my food. Do you think the café serves better, healthier fare?
Then dont bother. You should lose a few stones yourself; you wont fit through the door soon enough, Edward finished his patty and lifted another with his fork.
Is that how you see me? Fat? Ive been busting my head over everything, and now you start watching your figure. Bought yourself a leather jacket, a baseball cap, shaved your head to hide baldnesswho are you trying to impress? Certainly not me. Im the one whos overweight. Compare me to whom? Margaret asked, hurt flashing in her eyes.
Let me eat in peace, Edward muttered, lowering his fork. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Margaret fetched a bottle of ketchup, slammed it down on the table and left the kitchen, leaving her untouched plate behind.
She closed herself in the bedroom, sank onto the settee, and tears welled up.
I cook, I try, and they… they give me nothing but criticism. I do everything for them and receive no gratitude. My husband looks for younger company. My daughter treats me like a servant. If Im retired, will they still step on me? I would work if they didnt cut my hours. They say seasoned staff are no longer neededhand the jobs to the youngsters. What can the youngsters do?
She remembered rising before anyone else, even though she no longer worked, just to make breakfast. The day passed in endless chores, with no time to sit down. Its my own fault for coddling myself, she thought, now theyve settled on my neck like a heavy weight.
She had always believed they had a good familyimperfect perhaps, but not worse than any other. Her daughter was at university, doing well. Her husband didnt drink, didnt smoke, earned a steady income. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could a man ask for?
In the mirror on the wardrobe door she examined herself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not fat. Wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved a good meal, and I still cook well. They simply dont need it any more. When I worked I styled hair, curled it. Now I tuck it back so it doesnt get in the waymuch easier. Should I be polishing heels and doing my hair? Perhaps I should lose a few stones and even dye my hair.
The next morning she lingered in bed, pretending to be ill. Im retired; I have the right to stay under the covers a little longer. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm buzzed, and she shifted away from the wall.
Are you sick? Edward asked, devoid of sympathy.
Yep, Margaret mumbled, burying her face in the duvet.
Mother, are you ill? Eleanor entered the room.
Go on and have breakfast without me, Margaret whispered from beneath the blankets.
Eleanor huffed and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sang, the fridge door clanged, and muffled voices drifted from the kitchen. Margaret stayed under the covers, playing the part of the sick lady to the very end.
Edward entered, his scent tinged with the expensive cologne she herself had bought for him years ago. He and Eleanor left one after the other, and silence settled. Margaret lifted the duvet, closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.
She awoke an hour later, stretched, and walked to the kitchen. Dirty mugs lay in the sink, crumbs scattered on the table. She thought of cleaning, then dismissed it. Im not a servant. She headed to the bathroom, showered, and called an old school friend.
Emma! the voice replied, unchanged by time. How are you? Not getting bored of retirement?
Margaret confessed she missed the bustle, that she hadnt visited her parents graves for ages, and wondered if she should stay over.
Of course, come over. Ill be delighted. When?
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Oh dear, Ill bake some pies then.
She packed a few belongings for a short trip, swept the crumbs to one side of the table, and left a note saying shed gone to see a friend, unsure when shed return.
On the road to the station she hesitated. Should I really abandon them? They dont seem to value my work, she mused. If there are no tickets, Ill go back. Tickets were available, a line formed at the bus stop, and she took her place at the end.
She reunited with Emma, who embraced her. They sipped tea with warm pies, laughing until words ran out.
Tell me everything thats happened, Emma urged.
I wont hide it from you, Margaret sighed, spilling the whole tale.
Right. Let them have their drama. Turn off the phone for a while, Emma suggested.
Too drastic? Margaret asked.
Just right, Emma affirmed. Tomorrow well go to a salon and give you a new look. Remember Valentina? Shes there now. She used to be a bit of a troublemaker, but now everyone books her in advance. Well make you a stunning lady, and your husband will be left staring.
That night Margaret tossed and turned, wondering whether they were angry or pleased with her.
At the salon Valentina welcomed her, settled her into a chair, and began working on her hair and eyebrows. She sat, eyes halfclosed, the world fading. Valentina insisted on makeup; Margaret wanted to quit, but Emma coaxed her onward.
When she looked in the mirror she saw a younger, striking woman she barely recognized. Valentina was already arranging a manicure.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take any more, Margaret begged.
Alright, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, or well lose the slot, Valentina warned.
You look amazing, Emma said as they left. Shall we shop now?
Im not ready yet, Margaret replied. Maybe another time?
No, lets go. Beauty takes a bit of sacrifice, Emma tugged her toward the shopping centre.
Emerging from the store Margaret wore loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, and a softcoloured sweater. She felt refreshed, though a little weary from the days bustle.
She carried bags with a new dress, a stylish coat, and a box of shoes. For the first time in years she felt youthful, confident, and even a touch slimmer. It was high time I got my act together, she thought, grateful to Emma for the push.
Outside Emmas house a stout gentleman with white hair and dark moustache approached.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Margaret. You look wonderful.
Who are you? Margaret asked, puzzled.
Its Peter Jukes, Emma supplied. You dont remember?
Peter? Margaret repeated.
Yes, the same Peter who was a skinny, unremarkable schoolmate, the man confirmed. He was now a retired colonel, his hair silvered, his gait a little uneven from an old wound.
Lets go to my place and celebrate your transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine waiting, Emma offered.
The three sat at the kitchen table, sipping wine and reminiscing about school. Margaret flushed, perhaps from the wine, perhaps from the attention.
Hes still in love with you, Emma whispered when Peter left.
Stop it. How long has it been?
You look the sort of woman one could fall for again, Emma reassured.
Does he still live nearby? Margaret asked, shifting the conversation.
No, hes retired from the army, a colonel now. He came back two years ago after a serious injury. His wife left, but he learned to walk again, though he limps when he walks far, Emma explained. Take your time, dont rush.
Im married, you know, Margaret protested.
That night she decided to head home, but Emma refused to let her leave.
Just arrived and youre off already? Stay a week, show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you, Emma urged. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
The youth theatre for the Christmas pantomime with you, Margaret recalled.
Exactly, lets dress you up proper for that, Emma teased.
Three days later Margarets phone rang.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, her daughter shouted.
Her heart leapt. She hurriedly packed, and Peter drove her to the station.
Annie, if you need anything, Im here. Dont hesitate, he said.
Thank you, Peter.
On the bus she called Eleanor, who told her that her mothers sudden disappearance had shocked her. Father hes been unfaithful, Eleanor confessed. I saw him leaving the neighbours flat late at night. He never came home when you were gone. Yesterday his other partner returned; there was a brawl, he broke two ribs, and even suffered a brain haemorrhage, but the ambulance got him in time.
Margaret listened, stunned, feeling that perhaps she should not have left. By evening she was back home, though it was too late to get to the hospital.
Mother, youve changed so much. Hard to recognise you, Eleanor said, her tone now respectful, staying close all evening and sharing news.
I was frightened you wouldnt come back, so I tried to teach you a lesson. You and Father stopped seeing me as a person, Margaret admitted.
Sorry, Mum, but you brought this on yourself. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old woman. Father will be jealous now. Will you forgive him? Eleanor jabbed.
Margaret scanned the room, relieved to be back in familiar surroundings.
The next morning she rose early, made chicken broth, and went to the hospital. Edward, now older with a saltandpepper beard, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth with a spoon.
Two weeks later Edward was discharged. As they stepped out of a taxi, a couple passed by; Edward flinched, turning away. The woman avoided his gaze. Margaret recognized her as her rivala slim, redhaired young woman. Edward bowed his head, embarrassed, and slipped into the building.
Are you staying now? he asked at home.
Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight, Margaret replied with a hint of defiance.
I asked for forgiveness, I was a fool. Fry those patties again, will you? Ive missed your cooking, he pleaded.
Margaret grilled the patties and set a hearty dinner on the table.
It smells wonderful! Eleanor, now back from university, exclaimed.
They sat together as they once had, when Eleanor was still at school, Edward never criticized Margarets cooking, and he praised every bite. Margaret felt content, watching her family gathered, alive and mostly healthy, knowing she still mattered.
Life in a family is never without its bumps, especially as old age creeps in. The body no longer bears the vigor of youth, yet the spirit remains young. Acceptance is hard, but the desire to hold onto former strength lingers.
Each of them learned their lesson. The important thing was they faced it together. After all, you cannot change the horses at the river crossing; you simply must ride the one you have. The journey may be rough, but it leads you home.
A good wife, a warm hearthwhat more does a person need in old age?
