A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the kitchen table like a mute accusation. Margaret Tucker cast another weary glance at it and let out a heavy sigh. From the next room the television droned on her husband, George, was glued to a programme about troutfishing on the Lake District. It didnt seem to bother him one iota.
Harriet, are you coming? The teas getting cold, George called from the sofa.
Margaret grimaced. He couldnt even manage to heat his own cup of tea.
Im coming, she replied, reaching for a jar of jam in the fridge.
As she passed the hallway mirror, she absentmindedly smoothed the few silver strands at the hairline. Time really does fly. Just yesterday she was walking down the aisle with George; today they were celebrating their daughters sixtieth birthday.
Emily, their only child, made Margarets heart tighten. It had been a week since theyd argued, and Emily hadnt called. As usual, Margaret found herself clutching the blame for everything, even though shed meant well.
On the table, next to Georges halfwashed mug, lay a simple woodenframe photograph of their wedding young, beaming, Margaret in a flowing dress, George in a proper suit. Who would have guessed that forty years later their lives would have settled into a routine of halfsaid words and lingering grudges?
Are you still stuck in the kitchen? Georges voice rang again.
Margaret brushed the memory aside and carried the tray of tea and jam into the sitting room.
What, still stewing over it? George asked without blinking from the screen.
And you, I see, are completely unbothered! Margaret snapped. You could have called Emily and apologised.
For what? George finally turned to her. For the gift we gave her? Thats absurd.
Margaret set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a terrible gift, George. I know that now.
Just a regular tea set, George shrugged. A pricey one, mind you. About thirty pounds.
Its not about the money, Margaret sighed. You should have seen Emilys face when she opened the box. Shed hated that set thirty years ago, but we kept it and gave it to her for her jubilee. She thought we were mocking her.
No mocking! George snapped. We simply thought it was a lovely present. Its a pretty, almost antique piece.
Margaret shook her head. Men never catch the subtleties. The set had originally been a wedding gift from Georges distant relatives. Margaret remembered young Emily twirling a cup in her hands and saying, Mum, whats this, a prehistoric garden? All the flowers, not mugs but flowerbeds. Since then the set had sat untouched in the sideboard, until the bright idea of gifting it to Emily surfaced.
Tastes change, George persisted. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipstertype folk love oldfashioned stuff.
Emily isnt a hipster! Margaret exclaimed. Shes the chief accountant at a serious firm, and her flat is minimalist, not a grandmas china cabinet.
Then she could have simply said thanks and put it on a shelf, George muttered. Instead of throwing a tantrum in front of all the guests.
Margaret recalled the moment. Emily opened the box, stared at the set in silence for a few seconds, then looked up at them.
Is that the set from the sideboard? she asked quietly.
Yes, love! Margaret had said cheerily. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Emilys face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I could never stand it, and you both knew that, she retorted.
See, youre exaggerating again, George sipped his tea. A gift that isnt liked is no big deal. What else is wrong?
There is, Margaret replied. The main problem is that we dont really know our own daughter. We have no idea what she likes or how she lives.
George snorted. Dont make a drama of it. Shes just a difficult character, thats all.
Before Margaret could argue, the phone rang. She scrambled up, secretly hoping it was Emily.
Hello?
Margaret? Its Mabel, a familiar neighbours voice crackled. Could you pop over? Im baffled by these new tablets the instructions are gibberish.
Ill be there straight away, Margaret said, hanging up.
Who was that? George asked.
Mabel Thompson. I need a quick hand with her meds.
Your charitable runins again, George grumbled. Whos cooking lunch?
Its a pot of stew in the fridge, just needs reheating, Margaret replied, sighing heavily.
She threw on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted her with the usual aromas fried fish from the flat below and a faint whiff of cigarette smoke from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Mabel lived alone; she opened the door the moment Margaret arrived.
Come in, dear, come in, the elderly lady chirped. Ive baked a cake, lets have tea together.
Margaret tried to decline, but Mabel was insistent. While the neighbour busied herself in the kitchen, Margaret stared at the family photos on the wall Mabel with her husband, her daughter, grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows little Emily doing? Mabel asked, carrying in a tray of tea. Hows she coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, Margaret answered vaguely.
And her son? Kirill is at university, right?
Yes, third year now.
Mabel settled beside her and looked intently at Margaret. You look glum today. Whats up?
Margaret finally let it all out the cursed tea set, the argument with Emily, Georges stubbornness.
You know what? Mabel said after a pause. You need to talk to Emily, just the two of you. Honestly admit the gift was a misstep.
She doesnt answer my calls, Margaret sighed.
Then go to her house, Mabel shrugged. She isnt living in another city.
The thought struck Margaret. Why not just visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that theyd both turned into clueless old folk?
Youre right, she said. Ill go today.
Good thinking, Mabel smiled. Now lets have a slice of cake.
Back home, Margaret found George still glued to the television.
George, Im off to Emilys.
Why? he asked, surprised.
To apologise for the gift.
Again with your sentimentality! George turned to her. A set that didnt please her is no big deal. Shell grow into it.
Its not the set, its that we dont hear each other. We dont hear our daughter at all.
Fine, George said unexpectedly. Just dont tell her Im admitting defeat. I still think the gift was splendid.
Margaret only shook her head. Forty years together and the stubbornness hadnt diminished a gram.
Emily lived in a new suburb, a sleek tower block. Margaret hopped on a bus, watching the passing countryside, thinking how tricky it can be to communicate with those you love most.
The flats door opened to reveal Jack, Margarets grandson.
Grandma? he exclaimed. Why didnt you call before coming?
Just a surprise, Margaret replied, handing him a bag of scones. Is Mum home?
Shes in her office, Jack said, taking the bag. Come in, Ill get her.
Margaret laughed and stepped into the living room. Emilys flat always gave her mixed feelings admiration tinged with a little sadness. Everything was modern, minimalist, in soft whites. No sideboards, no crystal, no floral wallpaper. A different era, different values.
Emily emerged from her study, a tight expression on her face.
Mum? Everything alright?
Nothings wrong, Margaret said calmly. I just came to talk.
Emily glanced at the clock.
Ive got a video conference with London in half an hour.
Ill be quick, Margaret settled onto the sofa. Emily, Im sorry about that tea set. It was foolish of us.
Emily raised an eyebrow.
Youre sorry for the set?
Not just the set, Margaret clasped her hands. For not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Emily sank into the chair opposite.
Mom, it isnt really about the set. Its its a symbol. It shows how you two dont really know who I am, what I do, what I love.
Thats true, Margaret whispered. Were stuck in the old days. To us youre still that little girl who used to live with us.
Emily sighed.
The worst part is you never try to learn the real me. In all these years youve never asked what music I listen to, which books I read, what films I enjoy. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, Margaret felt a lump 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 into, what worries you. I just pop in once a month with groceries and leave, as if its a duty.
Were all at fault, Margaret smiled through a tear. But its not too late to fix things, is it?
Its not too late, Emily agreed.
Then tell me, what music are you listening to these days? Margaret asked. And what are you reading?
Emily laughed.
You really want to know?
Absolutely, Margaret said. Weve got about twenty minutes before your call, then Ill head out and let you work.
Alright, Emily thought for a moment. Im into jazz, especially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals for work, but for fun I devour detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I dream of Barcelona.
Margaret listened, feeling as if she were meeting a new person for the first time. How much she had missed over the years.
And what about love life? she asked gently. Its been three years since the divorce
Emilys smile was shy.
There is someone. Hes seven years younger than me. I was scared youd both think its odd.
Were oldfashioned, but not prehistoric, Margaret replied. The important thing is hes a good man.
Hes good, Emily nodded. He teaches history at the university. Jack likes him.
Then bring him over for dinner, Margaret suggested. Well meet. And I promise, no more sideboard gifts!
Both laughed.
You know, Emily said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually lovely, very Provençal. Vintage pieces are quite the thing now.
Dont redeem me, Margaret shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Emily exclaimed. Im even thinking of putting it in the cottage we bought last year. Did I tell you we have a weekend house?
No, Margaret felt a sting of shame. See how much we still dont know about each other?
Lets catch up, Emily said, checking her watch. I have to get ready for the call, but visit us this weekend, okay? Bring your dad too. Ill show you the cottage.
They embraced, and Margaret felt something important slide back into place, something shed almost lost through blind stubbornness.
On her way back, Margaret stopped at a shop, bought a decent bottle of red wine and a box of chocolates. George met her at the door, looking a bit concerned.
How did it go?
Made up, Margaret said, handing him the bag. And guess what? Emily now likes the set; she wants to place it at the cottage.
See! I told you it was a good gift, George declared triumphantly. You were worrying for nothing.
Margaret just smiled. Let him think he won. The real victory was that the familys peace mattered more than any porcelain.
George, she said as she walked into the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and planning a trip to Barcelona?
No way! he exclaimed. Why Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, Margaret replied, pulling out two glasses. And neither does ours. Maybe we should learn something new ourselves.
George looked skeptical.
Like what?
Like listening to each other, Margaret poured the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not from the sideboard.
Deal, George raised his glass. To a new chapter!
The fruit bowl still sat on the table, but now Margaret looked at it with a different eye. Even the most illjudged present can become the start of something important and genuine.
