The fruit basket sat on the kitchen table like a mute rebuke. Nancy Anderson, for the umpteenth time, cast a weary glance at it and let out a long sigh. From the next room drifted the low murmur of the televisionher husband, Peter Clarke, was glued to a programme about angling. To him it was all the same old thing.
Nancy, youll be quick? The teas gone cold, Peter called out.
She grimaced; even the tea was something he could not warm himself.
Im coming, she replied, reaching into the fridge for a jar of strawberry jam.
Passing the hallway mirror, Nancy brushed a stray silver strand from her cheek. How swiftly the years had slipped away. It seemed only yesterday she had walked down the aisle with Peter, and today they were marking their daughter Emilys sixtieth birthday.
The thought of Emily tightened a knot in Nancys chest. They had not spoken for a week after a sharp argument, and Emilys calls had not come. As usual, Nancy felt she bore the blame, though she had meant well.
Next to Peters unwashed mug lay a modest woodenframed photograph of their wedding dayyoung, beaming, Nancy in a flowing dress, Peter in a crisp suit. Who could have guessed that forty years later their lives would settle into routine, punctuated by halfspoken grievances?
You still stuck there? Peters voice cut through her reverie.
She brushed aside the memory and carried a tray of tea and jam into the living room.
What, still brooding? Peter asked, eyes never leaving the screen.
And you, I see, are completely unfazed! Nancy snapped. If only youd called Emily and apologised.
For what? Peter finally turned to her. For the gift we gave her? Thats absurd.
Nancy set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a dreadful gift, Peter. I know that now.
A plain tea set, he shrugged. A costly one, mind youthirty pounds.
Its not about the money, Nancy sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed despised that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and presented it as a anniversary gift. She thought we were mocking her.
Never! We simply thought it was a proper presentbeautiful, almost a relic.
Nancy shook her head. Men, she thought, never grasp the subtleties. The set had been a wedding present from Peters distant relatives. Nancy remembered young Emily twirling a cup in her hands, saying, Mum, this is dreadful antiquityeverything covered in flowers, more like a flowerbed than a cup. The set had then sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it to Emily resurfaced.
Tastes change, Peter persisted stubbornly. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipsters chase anything oldfashioned.
Emily isnt a hipster! Nancy exclaimed. Shes a senior accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalist, not a grannys china cabinet.
So she could at least have said thanks and placed it on a shelf, Peter muttered. Instead she made a scene in front of all the guests.
Nancy recalled the moment. Emily had opened the box, stared at the set in silence for a few seconds, then looked up at them.
Is this the same set from the sideboard? she asked quietly.
Yes, love! Nancy had replied brightly. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Emilys face went pale.
I never called it beautiful. I could not stand it, and you both knew that.
Ah, youre exaggerating again, Peter sipped his tea. A gift you dont like isnt the end of the world. Do we have any other problems?
Yes, Peter. The biggest is that we have no idea who our own daughter iswhat she likes, how she lives.
Peter snorted. Dont dramatise. Shes just a difficult character, thats all.
Nancy was about to argue when the phone rang. She sprang up, hoping it was Emily.
Hello?
Nancy? Its Maggie, a familiar neighbours voice crackled. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tabletscant make sense of the instructions.
On my way, Nancy said, hanging up.
Who was that? Peter asked.
Maggie Thompson. I need to help her with her medication.
Your charity runs again, Peter grumbled. Wholl cook dinner?
Nancy exhaled heavily. Theres borscht in the fridgejust needs reheating.
She slipped on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted her with the familiar smells of fried fish from the neighbours below and a wisp of cigarette smoke drifting up from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Maggie lived alone; the door swung open at once.
Come in, Nancy, come in, the older woman babbled. Ive baked a cakelets have tea together.
Nancy tried to decline, but Maggie was insistent. While the neighbour fussed in her kitchen, Nancy eyed the photographs on the wallMaggie with her husband, her daughter, her grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows little Emily doing? Maggie asked, setting down a tray of tea. Managing after the divorce?
Managing, Nancy replied evasively.
And her son, Kieran, is he at university now?
Yes, third year.
Maggie settled beside her, eyes softening. You look sad today. Something happen?
Nancy could no longer hold back and poured out everythingthe cursed tea set, the rift with Emily, Peters stubbornness.
You know, Maggie said when Nancy finished, you just need to talk to Emily. Without Peter. Honestly apologise for the gift.
She wont pick up the phone, Nancy sighed.
Then go to her! Maggie shrugged. She isnt living in another county.
The thought struck Nancy. Why not simply visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that they had become two clueless old folk, unable to understand their own child?
Youre right, she admitted. Ill go today.
Good, Maggie nodded. Now have some cake.
Back home, Peter was still glued to the telly.
Peter, Im off to Emilys.
Why?
To talk. To apologise for the gift.
Again with your sentiment! Peter turned. A tea set didnt please her. She just hasnt developed an artistic eye yet.
It isnt about the set. Its that we dont hear each other, that we dont hear our own daughter.
Fine, Peter said suddenly, just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think it was a good gift.
Nancy only shook her head. Forty years together, and the stubbornness hadnt lessened a gram.
Emily lived in a modern estate of sleek flats. Nancy boarded a bus, watching the town glide past the window, and thought how hard it could be to talk with those nearest to you.
The flat door opened for Charlie, Nancys grandson.
Grandma? he asked. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise, Nancy smiled, handing him a bag of pasties. Is Mum home?
Shes in the office, Charlie replied, taking the bag. Give me a minute, Ill fetch her.
Nancy followed him into the living room. The apartment always gave her mixed feelingsadmiration and a gentle melancholy. Everything was contemporary, minimalist, in light tones. No sideboards of crystal, no floral wallpaper. A different era, different values.
Emily emerged from her study, eyes tight.
Mum? Anything wrong?
Nothing, Nancy said calmly. I just came to talk.
Emily glanced at the clock.
I have a video call with London in half an hour.
Ill be brief, Nancy settled onto the sofa. Emily, Im here to apologise for that gift. You were rightit was foolish.
You came to apologise for the tea set? Emily raised an eyebrow.
Not just the set, Nancy clasped her hands. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Emily sank into the chair opposite.
Mum, its not just the set. Its a symbol that you dont know who I am, what I live for, what I love.
Thats true, Nancy whispered. Were stuck in the past. To us youre still the little girl who used to live with us.
Emily sighed. The worst part is you never try to know the real me. All these years you never asked what music I listen to, which books I read, which films I enjoy. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, Nancy felt a lump form in her throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Exactly! Emily brightened. Im also at fault. I never ask what youre doing, what worries you. I just pop in once a month, drop groceries, and leave, as if its a duty.
Were all to blame, Nancy smiled through tears. But its not too late to mend, is it?
Not late, Emily agreed.
Then tell me, what music are you listening to now? Nancy asked. And what do you like reading?
Emily laughed. Seriously?
Very seriously, Nancy replied. We have twenty minutes before my call, then Ill step out and not intrude on your work.
Fine, Emily thought. Im into jazz, especially the 1950s. I read professional journals, but for pleasure I devour detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I dream of Barcelona.
Nancy listened, feeling as if she were meeting a new person for the first time. How much she had missed over the years.
What about your love life? she ventured gently. Its been three years since the divorce
Emily gave a shy smile. There is someone. I havent mentioned him because hes seven years younger. I feared you and Dad wouldnt understand.
Were oldfashioned, but not dense, Nancy chuckled. The important thing is hes a good man.
He is, Emily nodded. He teaches history at university. Charlie likes him.
Then bring him over for dinner, Nancy suggested. And I promise no more tea sets as gifts!
Both laughed.
You know, Emily said, Ive been thinking maybe the set wasnt such a bad thing after all. Its lovely, Provençal style. Vintage pieces are in demand now.
Dont excuse me, Nancy shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Emily exclaimed. I might even move it to the cottage. We bought a plot last year, didnt I tell you?
No, Nancy felt a sting of shame. See how little we know each other?
Lets catch up, Emily said, checking her watch. I must get ready for the call, but youre welcome for the weekend. Bring Dad, and Ill show you the cottage photos.
They embraced, and Nancy felt something important returning to her lifesomething she had almost lost through her own blindness.
On the way back, Nancy bought a bottle of fine red wine and a box of chocolates. Peter met her at the door, his face a mixture of curiosity and worry.
How did it go?
Fine, Nancy said, handing him the bag. Emily says she likes the set now and wants to keep it at the cottage.
See! I told you it was a good gift, Peter declared triumphantly.
Nancy merely smiled. Let him think he won. What mattered was that peace had returned to the family, far beyond any tea set or petty grievance.
Peter, she called as she entered the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and plans a trip to Barcelona?
No way! he exclaimed. Why Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt end at sixty, Nancy replied, pulling out the wine glasses. And neither does ours. Perhaps well learn something new ourselves?
Peter looked skeptical. Like what?
Like listening to each other, Nancy said, pouring the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not just from a dusty sideboard.
Agreed, Peter raised his glass. To a new chapter in our lives!
The fruit basket still sat on the table, but now Nancy looked at it with fresh eyes. Even the most illchosen present can become the seed of something genuine and lasting.
