The memory of that longago family supper still haunts me, as if I were watching it from a cottage garden in Kent, the air tinged with the earlyMay chill.
Really, my dear? Youve decided to serve guests beet soup? my husband, George, sniffed the kitchen air with a grimace. The room reeked of fried tomatoes and last years cabbage, a scent that reminded him of the greasy takeaways they frequented in London. You could have made something more interesting than that old soup, he muttered.
Meatballs are coming, a salad with mayo, and crêpes, I snapped back, my voice sharp. And a platter of cold cuts honestly, good riddance, you old fool. Ill manage without you. Get out before I hit you with the ladle. Waitstay. Turn the pot off in five minutes; Im going, I said, ripping my apron off in a sudden change of heart.
Where are you off to? George asked, adjusting his trousers and glancing nervously at the stove.
To meet them. Theyll be here in ten minutes. Ill grab some extra bread; someone always arrives hungry. I smoothed my short, curled hair in the hallway mirror. The hair, once the pride of my youth, now sat limp and unsympathetic, a reminder of the bloom that had long since faded.
Dont they need help? George wondered, his voice tentative.
Pet, stop looking all over the place. Ill sort this without you. Remember the pot and put on some clothes, for heavens sake, not just your underwear.
Why are you so cross today? he protested.
I dont know! Youll never understand, dear, I snapped, and made my way to the lift, hips swaying with each step.
My anger was a shield against the endless parade of my sons boyfriendsevery few years a new, pretentious gent, all too proud to taste anything homemade. They were vegans, dietobsessed, salty, greasy, never possessing a proper kitchen knife. It seemed theyd survived on takeaway menus alone.
These girls sniffed the air, turned up their noses at my cooking, and I decided that this time I would simply prepare a plain, hearty dishenough to fill bellies and keep hunger at bay.
The street greeted me with a fresh May breeze, and as I breathed in the clean air I barely noticed my sons silver sedan pulling up. Peter, now thirtyseven and still drifting through freelance programming, had never settled into a steady job or family. He dreamed of a proper home and a childsomething I longed for myself. All my friends had grandchildren; I, Eleanor Smith, felt left behind.
Mum, why did you come out? We could have fetched you, Peter said, embracing me warmly. This is Emily.
Hello, the girl replied with a polite nod.
Right hello, I stammered, relieved that at least one of them looked ordinary enough, a touch like a country girl from Sussex. Finally, someone who isnt trying to impress. I smiled faintly at my sons new partner.
Shall we sit? Peter asked.
Wait, mum, theres a bag of drinks and a parcel for you in the boot from Emily.
A parcel? I said, curiosity sparking. Emily beamed. She works in environmental cleaning, a gift to match.
In an instant my suspicion flaredanother overthetop ecolover, I thought. Mum, could you take the bag? Ill get the box; Emily cant lift heavy things, Peter said, wrestling the cumbersome parcel from the car.
Unseen, a silent exchange passed between the young couple, but I ignored it, snatching the bag like a robot and dragging the box to the hallway.
We all settled at the table after the usual flood of greetings. Emily did not flinch at the beet soup; she ladled it eagerly. When she spoke of her job, she was shy, barely audible. She seemed to be a lowlevel inspector for a greenwatch organisation.
Is it a proper job? I asked.
Yes, Im officially employed.
See, Peter, youve never had a real contract. Your work record is gathering dust for ten years. What if you fall ill? What about a pension? Time flies, and youre already thirtyseven. I had finally voiced the thought that had gnawed at me.
Oh, mum, Ill never live to see a pension, Peter replied.
Well see about that, I warned, eyes glinting.
Enough, stop ruining my stomach. Father, pass the crêpe and cheese.
Peter tried to propose a toast, but his father kept interrupting, jumping up with his usual blustering wishes.
The soup is delicious, Eleanor, Emily said, blushing, May I help clear the table?
The women gathered the dishes, and Emily, noticing the cluttered stove, exclaimed, Your gift is right here! I almost forgot! She opened the box and displayed a range of ecofriendly cleaning products, explaining, Theyre made from vegetables and fruit, fully biodegradable, and dissolve in water. Our company produces almost all household chemicals.
Shall we try them now? she offered, looking radiant. Ill treat the stove, and we can wash the dishes with this special gel.
I stepped back, shielding the stove. No, dear, I havent cleaned it in three days; Im embarrassed.
Dont worry, I grew up in the countryside; Ive seen every kind of stove, Emily laughed. You can spray it yourself, and Ill finish with a sponge.
Emily worked swiftly, while I rolled crumbs on the table, peppering her with questions about her schooling, her parents, and how shed met Peter. Her answers were respectable and satisfied my curiosity. Soon she was scrubbing the stove with ease, the grime disappearing.
Thank you for the lovely gifts, Emily, I admitted, still wary of a hidden catch.
Just then Peter clinked his glass, calling us back to the sofa. He embraced Emily tenderly, placed his hand on her belly, and announced, Emily and I have decided to marry.
Oh! I gasped.
And theres more Peter paused, then, with a conspiratorial grin, whispered, Were expecting a child; expect a grandchild by winter.
My goodness, God bless! I exclaimed, arms flailing. The Blessed Virgin has heard my prayers; the heavens have shown mercy!
Emily, my dear sunshine, my angel, come here, I said, opening my arms, gently silencing Peters eager gestures. Be careful, I know better than anyone how to treat a pregnant woman.
Emily, eyes shining, murmured, Eleanor, could you share some of your recipes? I cant cook a beet soup as well as you.
Emily! I shouted, delight overtaking me. Its my dreamto pass my knowledge to my daughterinlaw, to give my love to the future grandchild.
Thus, thanks to you, my humble hope finally became a living, breathing dream.
