Monday, 28th May
The basket of apples and pears still sits on the kitchen table like an unspoken accusation. Margaret gave it another glance and sighed heavily. From the next room the television droned ona fishing programme on the BBC, the kind that makes him forget the world exists. He hasnt the slightest worry about the tea growing cold.
Emily, you coming? George called from his armchair, though his name is George, not Emily. Margaret winced. Even the kettle he cant manage to reheat himself.
Ill be right there, she replied, rummaging through the fridge for jam.
She passed the hallway mirror, straightening a few stray silver strands. Time darts by. It feels as if just yesterday she walked down the aisle with him, and today theyre celebrating Eleanors 60th birthday.
Eleanorjust the thought of her makes his heart tighten. Its been a week since they argued, and she hasnt called. As usual, Margaret bears the blame for everything, despite her best intentions.
On the table, beside Georges untouched mug, lay a simple wooden frame holding a photograph of their wedding: young, radiant. Margaret in a flowing dress, George in a dark suit. Who could have guessed that forty years later life would settle into a routine of halfspoken words and lingering grudges?
You still stuck there? Georges voice cut through the quiet.
Margaret shook off the memory and carried a tray of tea and jam into the living room.
What, still stewing over it? George asked without looking away from the screen.
And you, I see, arent stewing at all! Margaret snapped. If youd called Eleanor, youd have apologized by now.
For what? George finally turned. 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. Expensive, mind you. About thirty pounds.
Its not about the money, Margaret sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed never liked that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and gave it to her for her birthday! She thought we were mocking her.
We werent mocking anyone! George snapped. We thought it was a lovely present. Its almost antique, you know.
Margaret shook her head. Men never grasp the subtleties. The set had been a wedding gift from distant relatives of Georges family. Margaret remembered young Eleanor turning a cup over in her hands and declaring, Mother, this is ridiculouseverythings covered in flowers, it looks more like a garden than a cup. The set had sat untouched in the sideboard ever since, until someone suggested it as a birthday present.
Tastes change, George persisted. Vintage is in now. All those hipsters love these oldfashioned things.
Eleanor isnt a hipster! Margaret retorted. Shes a senior accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalist, not a grandmothers china cabinet.
So she could have just said thanks and put it on a shelf, George muttered. Instead she made a scene in front of all our guests.
Margaret recalled the moment. Eleanor opened the box, stared at the set in silence for a few seconds, then looked up at them.
This is the same set from the sideboard? she asked softly.
Yes, love! Margaret had replied brightly. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Eleanors face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I hated it, and you both knew that.
Again youre exaggerating, George sipped his tea. A bad gift isnt the end of the world. Do we have any other problems?
Yes, George. The biggest one is that we dont really know our own daughter. We have no clue what she likes or how she lives.
George scoffed. Dont dramatise. Shes just a difficult character, thats all.
Before Margaret could answer, the phone rang. She hurried to answer, hoping it was Eleanor.
Hello?
Its Maggie, a familiar neighbours voice chirped. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tabletscant make heads nor tails of the instructions.
Im on my way, Margaret said, hanging up.
Who was that? George asked.
Maggie Johnson. Ill be a minute; she needs a hand with her medication.
Again with your charitable runs, George grumbled. And whos cooking lunch?
Ive got borscht in the fridge, just needs reheating, Margaret replied wearily.
She slipped on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted her with the usual smellsfried fish from the flat below and a whiff of cigarette smoke from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Maggie lived alone; she opened the door the moment Margaret arrived.
Come in, darling, Maggie cooed. Ive baked a cakelets have a cuppa together.
Margaret tried to decline, but Maggie was insistent. While the neighbour fussed in the kitchen, Margaret surveyed the wall photographs: Maggie with her husband, their children, grandchildrenall smiling.
Hows little Ellie doing? Maggie asked, placing a tray of tea on the table. Hows she coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, Margaret replied vaguely.
And her son, Jamie? Hes at university now, isnt he?
Yes, third year.
Maggie settled beside her, eyes gentle. You look down today. Something wrong?
Margaret finally let it all out: the cursed tea set, the argument with Eleanor, Georges stubbornness.
You know, Maggie said once Margaret finished, you just need to talk to Eleanor. No George. Just apologise honestly for the gift.
She wont answer the phone, Margaret sighed.
Then go to her place! Maggie shrugged. She doesnt live in another county.
The idea lodged. Why not just visit? Pride? Fear of being called old and clueless by their own child?
Youre right, Margaret decided. Ill go today.
Good, Maggie nodded. Now lets try that cake.
Back home, Margaret found George still glued to the television.
George, Im heading to Eleanors, she announced.
Why? he asked, surprised.
To apologise for the tea set.
Again with your sentimentality! George snapped, turning to face her. A bad set isnt a tragedy. Shell grow out of it.
It isnt about the set. Its about us not hearing her, not hearing our own daughter.
Fine, George relented, just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think the gift was lovely.
Margaret only shook her head. Forty years together and the stubbornness remained intact.
Eleanor lived in a modern development of sleek flats. Margaret hopped on a bus, watching the countryside blur past, pondering how hard it could be to bridge the gap with someone you love.
The door opened and her grandson James stepped in.
Grandma? he asked, startled. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise, Margaret smiled, handing him a bag of scones. Is Mum in?
Shes in her office, James replied, taking the bag. Ill get her.
Margaret walked into the living room. The apartment was a study in minimalismbright walls, no heavy furniture, no vintage sideboard. It felt like another era, another set of values.
Eleanor emerged from her study, a hint of tension in her eyes.
Mom? Is everything alright?
Nothings wrong, Margaret said calmly. I just came to talk.
Eleanor glanced at her watch.
I have a video call with London in half an hour.
Ill be brief, Margaret settled onto the sofa. Eleanor, Im sorry for that tea set. You were rightit was foolish.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. Youre apologising for the tea set?
Not just the set, Margaret clasped her hands. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Eleanor sank into the chair opposite her.
Mom, its not just the set. Its a symbol. It shows you dont really know who I am, what I do, what I love.
Thats true, Margaret whispered. Were stuck seeing you as the girl who once lived with us.
Eleanor sighed. What hurts most is that you never ask about my life. Never what music I listen to, what books I read, what films I enjoy. You assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, Margaret felt a lump form in her throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Exactly! Eleanor brightened a little. Im also to blame. I never ask about your lives, your concerns. I just drop by once a month with groceries and leave.
Were all at fault, Margaret smiled through tears. But its not too late to fix things, is it?
Not at all, Eleanor agreed.
So, tell me what music youre listening to these days? Margaret asked. And what you like to read?
Eleanor laughed. Seriously?
Absolutely, Margaret affirmed. We have twenty minutes before my call, then Ill head out so I dont interrupt you.
Alright, Eleanor said after a pause. Im into jazz, especially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals for work, but for pleasure Im a fan of detective novels. And Im learning Spanish because I dream of visiting Barcelona.
Margaret listened, feeling as though she was meeting a new person for the first time. How much had she missed over the years?
What about your love life? she ventured gently. Its been three years since the divorce
Eleanor blushed. There is someone. Hes seven years younger than me. I was scared youd both think it odd.
Were oldfashioned but not blind, Margaret teased. What matters is hes a good person.
Hes wonderful, Eleanor said. He teaches history at the university. Jamie likes him.
Invite him over for dinner, Margaret suggested. No tea sets, I promise.
Both burst into laughter.
You know, Eleanor said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually lovely, a proper French provincial piece. Vintage is in now.
Dont excuse me, Margaret shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Eleanor exclaimed. I might even put it in the cottage we bought last year. Did I tell you about that?
No, Margaret felt a sting of shame. See how little we know about each other?
Lets change that, Eleanor said, glancing at the clock. I must get ready for the call, but please visit this weekend, bring Dad along. Ill show you the cottage.
They embraced, and Margaret felt a warmth return to her heartsomething she almost lost to her own blindness.
On the way back, Margaret stopped at a shop for a bottle of fine red wine and a box of chocolates. George met her at the door, looking concerned.
How did it go? he asked.
It went well, she replied, handing him the groceries. And you know what? Eleanor actually likes the tea set now; she wants to put it in the cottage.
See! I told you it was a good gift, George declared triumphantly.
Margaret simply smiled. Let him think hes won. What mattered was that the family peace mattered more than any set or petty pride.
George, she said as she moved toward the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and dreaming of Barcelona?
No way! George exclaimed. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, Margaret lifted the glasses. And neither do we. Perhaps we should learn something new ourselves.
What, like what? George asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Like listening to each other, Margaret poured the wine. And choosing presents with heart, not from an old sideboard.
Agreed, George raised his glass. To a new chapter for us.
The fruit basket still sits on the table, but now Margaret looks at it differently. Even the most illfated gift can become the catalyst for something genuine and lasting.
Lesson learned: love isnt about the perfect present; its about hearing the voice behind the silence.
