The hallway of the old council flat in Manchester was as narrow and long as a winding river. Yellowed floral wallpaper lined the walls, and the floorboards creaked under each step, fitted in the postwar years. The air always carried the scent of boiled cabbage and cats, even though flat7 had never housed a feline.
Margaret Clarke didnt swing the door open straight away. First she fiddled with the old latch, then she stared through the peephole for a good minute before finally letting me in.
Finally! she shouted, pulling her daughter into a hug. I thought youd never come. Come in quick, the cake is in the oven.
Olivia shifted uneasily from foot to foot, a parcel clutched in both hands.
Mum, Im really pressed for time. I just popped in to wish you happy birthday and then I have to dash Toms waiting in the car.
Margarets expression shifted at once; delight turned to disappointment.
How can you pop in? Ive set the table, Ive baked everything. Ethel from the fifth floor is coming, Victoria with her granddaughter is due, were all waiting. A 65th birthday isnt a joke.
Mum, Olivia bit her lip, I told you on the phone today is my fatherinlaws 70th, a big celebration at the Riverside Hotel. All the relatives, friends, colleagues are coming. We simply cant miss it.
So I can skip my own jubilee and go to yours? Margaret pursed her lips. Am I worse than your fatherinlaw?
Come on, Mum, Olivia sounded cornered. I suggested moving your party to tomorrow, keeping it a family affair with cake and presents. You stubbornly insisted it had to be today.
How could I move it? My birthday is today, not tomorrow! Margaret flailed her arms. Ethels already set, the puddings in the oven. What will I tell them? That my own daughter prefers strangers over her mother?
The entrance grew stifling. The smell of the cake drifting from the kitchen made Olivias head spin or perhaps it was the relentless guilt that had haunted her for years.
Theyre not strangers, Mum. Theyre my husbands family. We got the invitation a week ago, before you even thought of planning anything.
A week ago! And you think I was born yesterday? Margaret snapped. A mothers birthday should be remembered forever, not waiting for an invite.
Olivia glanced at her watch. Tom had been waiting in the car for fifteen minutes; they were already late.
Mum, I really cant argue now. Here, take the gift, she said, handing over the parcel. Its the electric kettle you wanted, with a thermostat. And this, she added, pulling an envelope from her bag, money for the new coat you liked at Harrods.
Margaret didnt take either.
I dont need your handouts, she snapped. I need the attention of my own daughter. What attention? You didnt even bring Emily, your own grandma, to wish her.
Emilys running a fever, 38.5°C, Olivia replied wearily. I called you this morning, told you. The nanny is with her.
Nanny! Margaret wailed. And grandma cant cope? You think I cant look after my granddaughter?
Mum, thats
A knock at the door interrupted them. Ethel Peterson, the neighbour from the fifth floor, stood in the doorway, dressed smartly and balancing a cake.
Margaret, happy birthday, love! Ethel exclaimed, then froze on seeing the strained faces. Oh, am I intruding?
Come in, Ethel! Margaret brightened. Right on time. Meet my daughter Olivia shes just dropped by to wish me a happy birthday before she darts off to more important people.
Ethel forced a smile. Dont worry, Margaret. Young people have their own lives. Dont hold them back.
Im not holding anyone! Margaret stepped aside, creating a clear path. Off you go, Olivia. Dont let your fatherinlaw get offended. As for a mother, shell get over it shes used to it.
Olivia stood, clutching the gift and envelope, unsure what to do. Her phone buzzed in her pocket Tom was probably wondering where she was.
Mum, please, Olivia whispered. Lets not make a scene in front of guests. Ill come back tomorrow with Emily once shes better, and well celebrate properly, just the two of us.
Guests? Margaret raised an eyebrow. Ethel is closer than most relatives. She visits, asks about my health. Some people only pop in once a month, drop a few pounds, and walk away satisfied. Thats not us.
Ethel shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the family drama. I suppose Ill go put the kettle on, she muttered, retreating toward the kitchen.
Fine, Olivia said, placing the parcel on the side table and sliding the envelope beside it. I understand, Mum. Im sorry I cant stay. Happy birthday.
She kissed Margaret on the cheek and slipped out before another harsh word could be uttered. In the stairwell the air was damp and dusty; she leaned against the wall and drew a deep, steadying breath.
The phone buzzed again. This time she answered.
Yes, Tom, Im on my way down.
Whats taking so long? his voice sounded worried. Were already twenty minutes late.
Everythings the usual, Olivia replied shortly. Ill explain on the road.
She descended the creaky stairs and stepped out onto the street. Toms Toyota was idling by the entrance, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.
Hows it going? he asked as she buckled up.
I didnt get a happy birthday from Mum, Olivia said, fastening her seatbelt. She said Im not her daughter because Im going to your fathers jubilee instead of staying with her.
Tom sighed. Maybe you should have stayed.
What would that have changed? Olivia rolled her eyes. Shed find another excuse tomorrow. The gifts wrong, Emilys too noisy, I visit too rarely. Its a neverending loop, Tom.
The engine roared to life and they pulled away.
Remember last year? Olivia began. I cancelled our seaside trip to throw her a party. I set the table, invited her friends. She spent the whole evening complaining the cake was storebought and full of chemicals, saying I didnt care about her health.
I remember, Tom said, turning onto the main road. You were miserable for a week after that.
And when Emily was born? Olivia continued, staring out the window as memories played like a film. Instead of helping, she kept critiquing everything how I fed her, how I dressed her, how I held her. Then shed get upset that I rarely asked her to watch the granddaughter.
Listen, Tom said, glancing at her, maybe we should see a counsellor together? With your mum?
Olivia gave a tired halfsmile. Shed rather die than admit she has any issues with me. To her, a therapist is for lunatics.
They arrived at the Grand Hotel, where guests were already gathering for Victor Stevens 70th birthday. Dressed to the nines, people streamed through the glittering doors.
Were here, Tom said as he parked. Try not to think about Mum tonight, okay? You know how dad was waiting for us.
Olivia nodded, pulling a lipstick from her bag. She needed to look presentable and plaster a smile on her face. A celebration is a celebration; no one should see her upset.
Inside, the ballroom buzzed with chatter. Victor Stevens, a tall silverhaired gentleman with a military bearing, greeted them at the entrance.
There you are, my latecomers! he boomed, hugging his son first and then Olivia. You look radiant!
Happy birthday, Dad, Olivia whispered, kissing her fatherinlaw on the cheek. Sorry were late, I I was held up by Mum.
Victors expression turned solemn. How is she? Send her my best. Its an odd coincidence with the dates.
Yes, odd indeed, Olivia replied, trying to sound casual. Well celebrate with her another day.
And Emily? Victor asked. Tom mentioned shes under the weather.
Just a little fever, Olivia said. Nothing serious, just a cold. We left her at home just in case.
Good enough, Victor nodded. A childs health comes first. Come, find your seat; the dinners about to start.
The banquet hall filled with music, clinking glasses, and waiters weaving through the crowd. Tom mingled, but Olivia mostly watched the room, her thoughts drifting back to the shabby flat with its faded wallpaper, where Margaret was probably still griping to Ethel about an ungrateful daughter.
During a lull between toasts, her motherinlaw, Tessa Wilkinson, slipped into the seat beside her an elegant woman in a navy dress.
Olivia, you look a bit down today, Tessa remarked. Everything alright?
Nothings wrong, Olivia forced a smile. Im just worrying about Emily. The nanny called; her temperature isnt dropping.
I get it, Tessa said. Kids fall ill a lot. Itll pass by morning, youll see.
She paused, then lowered her voice. Victor told me about your mums birthday clash. I feel awful for you.
Olivia sighed. Birthdays are birthdays, you cant move them. My mum is just complicated.
I understand, Tessa said, gently touching Olivias hand. My own mother was difficult. Every visit shed find a new way to needle me youre a terrible housekeeper, a bad mother, you dress poorly. I suffered for years. Eventually I realised I couldnt change her; I could only change how I reacted.
How? Olivia asked, intrigued.
Stop expecting what she cant give, Tessa answered simply. Accept her as she is, flaws and all, and set boundaries. Your mum will never be the pictureperfect mother from a novel. Shell complain, get hurt, manipulate thats her choice. Yours is how you respond.
Olivia reflected. Tessas words rang true, yet she felt a tug at her heart.
I still feel sorry for her, she admitted. Shes sitting alone on her birthday, hurt and upset.
Shes not alone, Tessa reminded her. She has a friend. She chose to be upset instead of accepting the situation. Thats her right. But you also have the right to live your life, make your own choices, set priorities.
A toast interrupted them. Relatives rose, glasses lifted, and Victors cousin delivered a heartfelt speech about family values and the importance of kinship.
Olivia mechanically smiled and nodded, but the image of her mothers angry, lonely face lingered. When the crowd sat down again, she slipped a quick text to the nanny: Hows Emily?
Sleeping, temperature 37.4°C. No worries, came the prompt reply.
She then messaged Margaret: Happy birthday, Mum. I love you. Ill be back tomorrow with Emily as soon as she feels better.
The phone stayed silent for a moment, then buzzed with a reply: Thanks for the wishes. Zenas storebought cake was terrible, full of chemicals. Yours wouldve been better. Love, Mum.
A reluctant smile tugged at Olivias lips. It was the closest thing to reconciliation Margaret could manage.
Whats good? Tom asked, noticing her grin.
Mum wrote back, Olivia showed him the message. Shes almost not angry.
Tom snorted, For your mum, thats practically a love confession.
The evening went on with speeches, dancing, and a few games. Slowly, Olivia relaxed and even began to enjoy herself. She realised the advice from Tessa held weight: she couldnt keep blaming herself for not meeting a mothers impossible expectations, even when that mother was her own.
They left the hotel late, the nanny later calling to say Emily had slept soundly and her fever was almost gone.
Tomorrow morning well visit Grandma, Olivia said, tucking a blanket around the sleeping child. Well give her a proper celebration.
Are you sure? Tom asked, loosening his tie. Maybe give her a couple more days to stew in her anger so she appreciates you more.
No, Olivia replied firmly. Shes my mum, flaws and all, and I dont want any lingering resentment. Lifes too short for that.
The next morning Olivia baked her mums favourite honey cake, dressed Emily in a pretty dress, and set off for the family jubilee. On the way she bought a bouquet of white chrysanthemums her mothers favourite flowers.
Margaret opened the front door the moment they arrived, as if expecting them. She wore a fresh dress and her hair was neatly styled for the occasion.
Grandma! Emily shouted, leaping into her arms. Happy birthday! Look what we brought you! She handed over a clumsily wrapped box of beads shed chosen herself.
Margarets face lit up; she lifted her granddaughter into her arms. Emily! I thought you were still ill!
Im fine now, the little girl declared proudly. The doctor said Im a champion.
Olivia set the cake on the side table and handed Margaret the bouquet. Happy birthday, Mum.
They embraced, and Olivia felt Margarets arms pull her close, the old hurt fading for the moment.
Come in, quickly, Margaret buzzed, the tea is ready and the scones are fresh. Yesterday Zena brought that terrible store cake full of chemicals we barely finished it.
Olivia exchanged a glance with Emily and gave her a playful wink. Everything felt ordinary, and that ordinaryness brought a warm smile rather than irritation. Mum was mum, with all her quirks and a stubborn streak, and those moments together were precious because they werent endless.
