The door creaked open, and her daughters voice cut through the silence. «We werent expecting you.»
«Why must you keep barging into my life?» Emilys tone was sharp, brittle with irritation. «Im thirty-seven, Mum. A grown woman!»
«Barging?» Margarets hands fluttered helplessly. «I only asked why you and James split up. Im your motherisnt it natural to worry?»
«Youre my mother, not a detective.» Emily turned towards the window, the London skyline grey behind her. «I have my own reasons. My own life.»
Margaret sighed, folding the half-finished scarf into her bag. Another conversation gone wrong. The wall between them grew taller each year.
«Fine, I wont ask again,» she conceded. «Its justyou always seemed so happy together.»
«Mum.» Emily spun around. «Drop it, alright? Lets not ruin our one dinner in months.»
Margaret nodded, swallowing her words. Visits were rare nowEmily always busy with work, friends, spin classes, some new course. No time left for her mother.
Leaving the flat that evening, Margaret felt the weight of loneliness heavier than ever. Sixty next week, and no one to celebrate with. Her husband gone three years, old friends scattered, her daughter wrapped up in her own world. Perhaps there was no point in marking the day.
But at home, shuffling through old photos, she found one of little Emily blowing out candles, cheeks flushed with joy. Back then, Margaret had scraped by as an accountant, yet shed always made birthdays magicalcake, presents, friends.
«My birthdays next week,» she realised, «and even my daughters forgotten.» Should she remind her?
Her hand hovered over the phone. No. She wouldnt beg for attention. If Emily had forgotten, so be it. What were numbers, after all? Fifty-nine, sixtyjust marks on a calendar.
Yet the thought gnawed at her. Days later, she finally called.
«Hi, Mum.» Emilys voice was distracted, as if she were multitasking. «Everything alright?»
«Oh, yes, nothings wrong.» Margaret hesitated. «Just wanted to say my birthdays Saturday. Sixty, you know.»
«Really?» A flicker of surprise. «God, it completely slipped my mind. Works been mad»
«Its fine,» Margaret rushed in. «Just thought Id mention it.»
«Sorry, Mum.» Emilys tone softened. «Ill try to swing by. Around five?»
«Lovely! Ill bake your favouriteblackberry pie.»
«Perfect. Gotta dash, talk later.»
Hanging up, Margaret buzzed with sudden energy. She hadnt been forgotten. There was hope yet.
Saturday dawned unseasonably bright for April. Margaret rose early, cleaned the flat, baked the pie, even treated herself to a salon visita trim, a blowout. She bought a bottle of Bordeaux, Emilys favourite Stilton, fresh grapes. She wanted the evening to feel special, warm, a chance to bridge the growing distance.
But by five, Emily hadnt arrived. Nor by six. Calls went straight to voicemail.
«Traffic, probably,» Margaret reasoned, eyeing the clock. «Or a work crisis.»
By seven, worry curdled into dread. Had something happened? Accidents, muggings, sudden illnessher mind painted horrors.
Finally, she hailed a cab to Emilys. Perhaps her daughter had mixed up the dates. With her hectic schedule, it wouldnt be surprising.
Outside the building, several cars clustered near the entrance. One looked like Emilys. So she was home. No disaster, just forgotten? Or deliberately stood up?
Heart heavy, Margaret climbed to the third floor and rang the bell. Footsteps, then the door swung open.
Emily stood theredressed up, hair styled, makeup flawless. Behind her, shadows moved; laughter trickled out.
«Mum?» Emily blinked. «We werent expecting you.»
«II got worried,» Margaret stammered, clutching the bouquet shed bought herself, a pitiful consolation. «You didnt come, and your phone»
A man appeared behind Emilytall, bearded, in a crisp shirt. «Em, whosoh! Hello!»
«This is my mum,» Emily said, then to Margaret: «Mum, this is Oliver. Were seeing each other.»
«Pleasure,» Margaret managed, shaking his hand.
Oliver grinned. «Emilys told me so much about you!»
From inside, a womans voice called, «Em, hurry up! The carbonaras going cold!»
«Coming!» Emily shouted, then winced at Margaret. «Weve got a few friends over. I completely forgot about our plansIm so sorry.»
Margarets throat tightened. On her birthday, her daughter was hosting a dinner party. Forgetting her entirely.
«Its fine,» she forced out. «Ill go. I dont want to intrude.»
«Dont be silly,» Emily frowned. «Since youre here, come in. Meet everyone.»
Margaret hovered on the threshold, then stepped inside. The flat buzzed with chatter, clinking cutlery, music.
«Its a sort of trial run,» Emily explained, taking her coat. «Were planning a surprise for Sophies thirtieth next week.»
«You forgot my birthday for a rehearsal,» Margaret almost said, but bit her tongue. Why spoil Emilys night? Her life was her own.
The kitchen was a whirltwo women around Emilys age, another man, all debating some script, props strewn about.
«Everyone, this is my mum,» Emily announced. «Mum, this is Hannah, Claire, and Tom.»
A chorus of «Hello!»
Margaret nodded, feeling like a ghost at a feast.
«Mum, hungry?» Emily asked. «Weve got carbonara, salad. Olivers quite the amateur chef.»
«No, no, I ate earlier,» Margaret demurred, stepping back. «I should go»
«Stay!» Oliver cut in. «Were about to have dessert.»
Margaret spotted the cakechocolate-glazed, elegant. Not for her. No sixty candles.
«Really, I must be off,» she insisted, turning to Emily. «A quick word?»
They stepped into the hall. Margaret pulled an envelope from her bag.
«For your winter coat. You mentioned needing one.»
«Mum, stop.» Emily frowned. «I earn plenty.»
«Its a gift,» Margaret pressed. «Please.»
Emily pocketed it with a sigh. «Thanks. But you shouldnt have.»
Margarets smile was thin. «Well. Enjoy your evening.»
«Wait.» Emilys brow furrowed. «Why did you come? Is something wrong?»
Margaret froze. Was this genuine oblivion? Or performance?
«Its my birthday, Emily. Sixty today. You promised to come at five.»
Emily went very still. Horror dawned across her face.
«Oh my God.» Her voice cracked. «Mum, Im so sorry! With Sophies party prep, it justslipped my mind!»
Margaret shrugged, feigning nonchalance. «Its just a day.»
«Not just a day!» Emily grabbed her hands. «A milestone! And IGod, Im awful!»
She dashed to the kitchen, leaving Margaret adrift. Muffled voices, an exclamation, then Emily returned, the others trailing behind.
«Margaret,» Oliver declared, «were throwing you an impromptu birthday dinner!»
«Yeah!» Hannah chimed in. «Well rearrange everything!»
«No, really» Margaret protested.
«No arguments,» Emily said firmly. «Were celebrating your birthday properly!»
Before Margaret could object, she was seated at the table, champagne poured.
«Right,» Claire said, «weve got cake. CandlesEm, those tea lights from your bedroom?»
«On it!» Emily darted off.
«Ill toast,» Oliver stood, raising his glass. «Margaret, Ive known you all of half an hour, but I can already tell youre remarkable. No wonder Emilys so brilliant. Happy birthday! Health, joy, and many more years!»
«And may your daughter remember them,» Tom added, earning an elbow from Emily.
«Candles!» She brandished a box. «Well squeeze in as many as we can!»
«Gifts!» Hannah panicked. «We dont have any!»
Emily gasped. «Ive got it!» She vanished, returning with a lacquered trinket box. «Here! Bought it last week for myself, but its perfect for you, Mum. For your jewellery.»
Margaret took it, touched. «Thank you, love. You didnt have to»
«I did,» Emily said fiercely. «And Im sorry. Ive been a terrible daughter.»
«Nonsense,» Margaret patted her hand. «Just busy.»
«No excuse,» Emily sighed. «Forgetting your own mothers birthday…»
«Back to festivities,» Oliver interjected. «Margaret, Emily says you knit brilliantly?»
«Oh, passably,» Margaret demurred.
«Knit me a jumper?» Tom blurted. «My gran used to, but she moved to Manchester. I miss them.»
«Of course,» Margaret smiled. «If Emily doesnt mind.»
«Mind? Her jumpers are legendary!» Emily laughed.
The evening unfurled into warmth. The young ones asked about her youth, her career, listened with keen interest. Emily dug out photo albums, and they pored over childhood snaps, laughing at tiny Emilys antics.
«Lookour first seaside trip,» Emily pointed. «I was terrified the ocean would vanish overnight!»
«You were imaginative,» Margaret said fondly.
«Just bonkers,» Emily grinned.
Oliver drove her home past midnight, Emily in tow.
«Mum, shall I stay?» Emily offered at the door. «We could talk»
«Another time, love,» Margaret said gently. «Im tired.»
«I want to make up for lost time,» Emily insisted.
In the kitchen, they ate the blackberry pie, brewed tea.
«Mum Im truly sorry,» Emily said suddenly.
«Dont be silly»
«Its not silly.» Emilys eyes glistened. «Youre my mother. My favourite person. I dont want you thinking I dont care.»
«I dont think that,» Margaret murmured.
«You do.» Emily sighed. «You call less, visit only when invited. You used to just drop by with pies, jam…»
«Youve grown up. Its natural.»
«Natural to forget your sixtieth?» Emilys laugh was bitter. «When you said it today, I couldnt believe Id forgotten. Then I remembered your call, my promise and Sophies party prep, Oliver everything just swallowed it.»
«I met Oliver,» Margaret smiled. «Hes lovely.»
«You think so?» Emily brightened.
«Very. Steady. Kind.»
They talked until dawnEmilys breakup with James (hed feared commitment), meeting Oliver (reaching for the same book in Waterstones), her fledgling design studio. Margaret listened, advised, as in the old days when Emily would confide everything.
Three days later, Emily returnedwith cake, flowers, and a real gift: a seaside holiday for them both that summer.
«Remember our trips when I was small?» Emily asked as Margaret gaped at the tickets. «Now its my turn to treat you.»
«You neednt»
«I want to,» Emily said firmly. «After all youve done for me.»
They sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea, making plans. And Margaret thought: sometimes you must arrive uninvited to remind them you exist. And even if you werent expectedit doesnt mean you arent wanted.
