“We werent expecting you,” said Emily, opening the door on my birthday.
“Why do you always pry into my life?” Marinas voice was sharp with irritation. “Im thirty-seven, Muma grown woman!”
“Pry? Hardly,” Margaret said helplessly, spreading her hands. “I only asked why you and Daniel split up. Im your motherIm allowed to worry.”
“Youre my mother, not a detective,” Marina turned toward the window. “I have my own life. My own reasons.”
Margaret sighed, carefully folding the half-knitted scarf into her bag. Another conversation with her daughter gone wrong. It was like a wall between themgrowing taller every year.
“Fine, I wont ask again,” she conceded. “I just thought you two got on so well…”
“Mum!” Marina spun around. “Can we drop it? Lets not ruin our only family dinner in a month.”
Margaret nodded and fell silent. She visited less these daysMarina was always busy with work, friends, spin classes, some new course. There was hardly any time left for her mother.
Leaving her daughters flat that evening, Margaret felt lonelier than ever. Her sixtieth birthday was in a week, and there was hardly anyone to celebrate with. Her husband had passed three years ago, her old friends had scattered, and her daughter was wrapped up in her own world. Maybe birthdays werent worth the fuss anymore?
But back home, flipping through old photos, she found one of little Marina blowing out candles on a cake, cheeks flushed with excitement. Back then, Margaret had been an accountant, barely making ends meet, but she always managed a proper birthdaycake, presents, friends.
“My birthdays next week,” she thought, “and even my own daughter forgot. Should I remind her?”
She reached for the phone, then stopped. No. She wouldnt beg for attention. If Marina forgot, so be it. What was sixty, anyway? Just another number.
But the thought nagged at her. A few days later, she finally dialled.
“Hi, Mum,” Marinas voice was distracted, as if she were multitasking. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, yes, fine,” Margaret hesitated. “I just wanted to say my birthdays on Saturday. The big six-oh.”
“Oh! Right,” surprise flickered in Marinas tone. “Completely slipped my mind. Works been mad…”
“Its fine,” Margaret said quickly. “Just thought Id mention it.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Marina softened. “Ill try to swing by, even if just for a bit. Around five?”
“Of course, love,” Margaret brightened. “Ill bake your favouritecherry pie.”
“Perfect. Gotta dash, talk later.”
Hanging up, Margaret felt a rush of energy. She hadnt been forgotten after all. Maybe things between them werent so broken.
Saturday was unseasonably bright for April. Margaret woke early, tidied the house, baked the pie, even popped to the hairdressers for a trim. She bought a nice bottle of wine, Marinas favourite cheddar, some grapes. She wanted the evening to feel specialwarm, maybe even a chance to bridge the gap between them.
But by five, Marina hadnt arrived. Nor by six. Margaret called, but her daughters phone went straight to voicemail.
“Probably stuck at work,” she thought, eyeing the clock. “Or traffic. Central Londons a nightmare.”
By seven, she tried again. Still no answer. Now she was properly worried. What if something had happened? Her mind spun worst-case scenariosaccidents, muggings, sudden illness…
Finally, she caved and took a cab to Marinas. Maybe her daughter had simply forgotten. Or mixed up the dates. With her hectic schedule, it wouldnt be the first time.
Pulling up to the flat, Margaret spotted several cars outsideone looked like Marinas. So she was home. Nothing terrible, then. Just forgotten? Or blown off without a word?
Heart heavy, she climbed to the fifth floor and rang the bell. No answer for ages, then footsteps. The door swung open.
Marina stood theredressed up, hair done, makeup flawless. Behind her, figures moved, laughter spilled out.
“Mum?” Marina blinked. “We werent expecting you…”
Margaret froze, clutching the bouquet shed bought herselfa pitiful attempt to brighten a lonely celebration.
“II got worried,” she stammered. “You didnt come, didnt answer…”
A man appeared behind Marinatall, neatly bearded, in a crisp shirt and jeans.
“Marina, whos?” He spotted Margaret. “Oh! Hello!”
“This is my mum,” Marina turned to him, then back. “Mum, this is Andrew. Were seeing each other.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Margaret managed, shaking his hand.
“Likewise!” Andrew grinned. “Marinas told me loads about you.”
A womans voice called from inside: “Marina, hurry up! The pastas going cold!”
“Coming!” Marina shouted, then winced at her mother. “Weve got a little gathering. I completely forgot about our plansIm so sorry.”
Margarets throat tightened. On her birthday, her daughter was hosting friends, having fun, not giving her a second thought.
“Its fine,” she forced a smile. “Ill go. Dont want to intrude.”
“Dont be silly,” Marina frowned. “Since youre here, come in. Meet everyone.”
Margaret stepped inside, uneasy. The flat buzzed with chatter, clinking glasses, the smell of garlic and wine.
“Were sort of rehearsing,” Marina explained, taking her coat. “Prepping a surprise for Lucyher birthdays next week.”
*And mine is today*, Margaret thought but said nothing. No point souring the mood.
The kitchen was fulltwo women about Marinas age, another bloke. They were debating some script, papers and trinkets strewn across the table.
“Guys, this is my mum,” Marina announced. “Mum, this is Sophie, Claire, and Tom.”
“Hello!” came the chorus.
Margaret nodded, feeling out of place.
“Mum, hungry?” Marina asked. “Weve got seafood pasta and salad. Andrews our resident amateur chef.”
“Oh, no, Ive eaten,” Margaret retreated. “I should go.”
“Dont rush off,” Andrew cut in. “Stay for tea and cake.”
Margaret spotted the cakechocolate-glazed, elegant. Not a sixty-candle affair. Not for her.
“Thanks, but Ill head home,” she said, turning to Marina. “Love, a quick word?”
They stepped into the hall. Margaret pulled an envelope from her bag.
“Here. For that coat you wanted.”
“Mum, stop,” Marina frowned. “Youre always giving me money. I earn plenty.”
“Its a gift,” Margaret insisted. “From mother to daughter. Take it.”
Marina pocketed it reluctantly. “Thanks. But you shouldnt have.”
Margaret forced another smile. “Right, off I go. Enjoy your evening.”
“Wait,” Marinas brow furrowed. “Why did you come? Is something wrong?”
Margaret paused, coat in hand. Had she really forgotten? Or was this an act?
“Todays my birthday, love,” she said quietly. “Sixty. You said youd come at five.”
Marina went very still. Her face cycled through shock, disbelief, horror.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Mum, Im so sorry! With Lucys party prep, it justslipped my mind!”
Margaret shrugged, aiming for casual. “No matter. Just another day.”
“Not just another day!” Marina grabbed her hands. “Sixty! And IIm such an idiot!”
She dashed back to the kitchen, leaving Margaret in the hall. There were hurried whispers, then exclamations. A gasp.
A minute later, Marina returned, the others trailing behind.
“Margaret,” Andrew said solemnly, “wed like to invite you to an impromptu birthday dinner. In your honour!”
“Yes!” Claire chimed in. “Well reorganise in a flash!”
“Really, dont trouble yourselves,” Margaret protested.
“Theyll manage,” Marina said firmly. “Mum, stay. Were celebrating!”
Before she knew it, Margaret was seated at the table, champagne poured.
“Right,” Sophie said briskly. “Weve got cake. CandlesMarina, those romantic dinner ones?”
“On it!” Marina vanished.
“Ill toast,” Andrew stood, raising his glass. “Margaret, Ive known you half an hour, but I can already tell youre brilliant. Now I see where Marina gets her charm. Happy birthday! Health, joy, and many more years!”
“And may your daughter remember next time,” Tom added, earning an elbow from Marina.
“Candles!” She reappeared. “However many fit!”
“Presents?” Claire panicked. “We dont have one!”
Marina lit up. “I do!” She raced off, returning with a lacquered box. “Here! Bought it last weekmeant to keep it, but youll love it. For jewellery.”
Margaret took itpearl-inlaid, lovely.
“Thank you, darling,” her voice wavered. “You didnt have to…”
“I did,” Marina said firmly. “And Im sorry. Im the worst daughter.”
“Dont be silly,” Margaret patted her hand. “Youre just busy.”
“Thats no excuse,” Marina shook her head. “Forgetting my own mothers birthday…”
“Back to the birthday,” Andrew interjected. “Margaret, Marina says you knit brilliantly?”
“Oh, passably,” Margaret demurred. “Just hobby stuff.”
“Knit me a jumper?” Tom blurted. “My nan used to, but she moved to Manchester. I miss them.”
“Of course,” Margaret smiled. “If Marina permits.”
“Permit? Her jumpers are legendary!” Marina grinned.
The evening turned warm, laughter-filled. The young crowd drew Margaret into stories, pored over old photos, teased Marina about childhood antics.
“Lookus at Brighton,” Marina pointed. “First time I saw the sea! Remember, Mum?”
“Like it was yesterday,” Margaret chuckled. “You refused to leave, terrified itd vanish by morning.”
“I was a weird kid,” Marina laughed.
“Imaginative,” Margaret corrected gently.
Andrew drove her home past midnight, Marina in tow.
“Mum, shall I stay?” she offered at the door. “Chat a bit?”
“Another time, love,” Margaret said. “Im knackered. Go back to your friends.”
“Theyve probably gone,” Marina waved it off. “I want time with you. Proper time.”
In Margarets cosy kitchen, they shared cherry pie and tea.
“Mum,” Marina sighed. “I need to apologise. Properly.”
“Dont,” Margaret poured the tea. “Youve got your own life.”
“Thats no excuse,” Marina insisted. “Ive been rubbish. TodayGod, Im so ashamed.”
Margaret squeezed her hand. “Youre here now.”
“Lets do this weekly,” Marina said suddenly. “Lunch, teawhatever. And dont wait for invites. Just come. Youve got keys.”
“I didnt want to intrude…”
“Rubbish,” Marina scoffed. “Youre my mum. Andyoure the only one I can really talk to.”
They talked till dawnMarinas breakup with Daniel (hed feared commitment), meeting Andrew (reaching for the same book in Waterstones), her plans to launch a tiny design studio.
Margaret listened, advised, smiled. Like old times.
Three days later, Marina returnedwith cake, flowers, and a proper gift: a week in Cornwall, just the two of them, that summer.
“Remember our Brighton trips?” she asked as Margaret gaped at the booking. “Now its my treat.”
“You dont have to”
“I want to,” Marina said firmly. “After all youve done for me? My turn.”
They sat with tea and plans, and Margaret thought: sometimes, you just have to show up uninvitedto remind them youre there. And even if they werent expecting you it doesnt mean theyre not glad you came.
