I was in the kitchen frying meatballs when someone knocked at the front door. I stepped out of the kettleroom to see who it was.
My mum, its for me, my daughter shouted, stopping halfway down the hallway. Ill answer.
Alright, I didnt know I muttered.
Come on, get on with your meatballs, she snapped, glancing back at me from the doorway.
What do you mean your meatballs? I bought the mince myself
Mum, shut the door, she rolled her eyes.
If youd said that straight away I went back to the kitchen, pulled the door shut and turned off the gas beneath the pan. After a moment I slipped out of my apron and left the room.
In the hall my daughter was pulling on her coat. Standing nearby was Ian, Charlottes boyfriend, watching us with a lovers stare.
Hello, Ian. Where are you off to? Come have dinner with us, I called.
Good evening, Ian smiled, looking at Charlotte with a question in his eyes.
Were in a hurry, Charlotte replied, not even glancing at me.
Maybe youll join us after all? The foods ready, I repeated.
Ian fell silent.
No! Charlotte snapped. Lets go. She grabbed Ians arm and swung the door open. Mum, could you close it? she asked.
I walked to the door but left a small gap, listening to the voices drifting from the street.
Why are you being so rough with her? It smells delicious, I wouldnt mind a meatball, a voice called.
Lets grab a bite at the café. Im tired of her meatballs, Charlotte muttered.
They could never get boring. I love your mums meatballs; I could eat them every day, Ian said.
What Charlotte replied, I didnt catch. The chatter on the staircase faded away.
I finally shut the door properly and slipped into the sitting room where my husband, Brian, was glued to the telly.
Brian, lets have dinner while its still hot, I said.
Right, lets go, he got up, brushed past me, and sat at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked, demanding.
Rice with meatballs and a salad, I answered, lifting the pan.
Ive told you a dozen times I dont eat fried meatballs, he complained.
I added a splash of water, theyre almost steamed, I said, holding the lid in my hand.
Fine, but thats the last time, he muttered, spearing a meatball with his fork.
At our age, losing weight isnt wise, I warned, setting a plate of rice and meatballs before him.
What do you mean our age? Im only fiftyseven. For a man this is the prime of wisdom and vigor, he retorted, biting off half a meatball.
Are you all planning something? Charlotte ran off, refused to eat, and now youre acting the rogue. Im done cooking; lets see how you manage without my food, I said sharply. Think a café serves better, healthier fare?
Fine, dont cook then. You could lose a few pounds yourself; you wont fit through the door soon enough, Brian finished his meatball and poked another with his fork.
Is that how you see me? Fat? Ive been putting my head together, buying new jeans, a leather jacket, a cap. Shaved my hair to hide the bald spot. Who am I trying to impress? Definitely not you. Im still thick. Whats there to compare me with? I asked, hurt.
Just let me eat in peace, Brian said, scooping rice onto his fork but never bringing it to his mouth. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
I fetched a jar of ketchup from the fridge, slammed it onto the table and left the kitchen, leaving my untouched plate behind.
I retreated to the bedroom, sank onto the sofa and tears welled up.
I cook, I try my best, and they still give me nothing but criticism. My husband flirts with younger women. To him Im just the heavy one. My daughter looks at me like Im staff. If Im retired, can they just walk all over me? Id still work if they didnt cut my hours. They say experienced staff arent needed, only the young. What can they offer?
I get up before anyone else, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. Im on my feet all day, never a moment to sit. Im to blame for this mess. Now theyve perched on my neck and are rolling away. The tears streamed down my cheeks. I swallowed a sob, patted my face dry.
I had always believed we had a good family not perfect, but better than most. Charlotte was doing well at university, Brian didnt drink or smoke and earned a decent wage. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
I stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, examined myself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that large. The wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved a good meal, and I still cook well. They just dont seem to care. I thought about dyeing my hair and losing weight. I sat back down, lost in thought.
The next morning I didnt get up at the usual hour. I lay there, pretending to sleep. Im retired, I can sleep in. Let them make their own breakfast, I told myself.
The alarm rang. I shifted and turned my face to the wall.
Whats wrong? Sick? Brian asked, his tone flat.
Yeah, I replied, burying my face in the duvet.
Mother, are you ill? Charlotte entered the room.
Yes, go on and have breakfast yourselves, I called out weakly.
She huffed and walked to the kitchen. Soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door slammed, and muffled voices drifted from the living room. I stayed under the covers, playing the sick role to the end.
Brian entered later, smelling of the expensive cologne Id bought for him. He and Charlotte left one after the other, and the house fell silent. I pulled the duvet off, kept my eyes closed and drifted off.
An hour later I woke, stretched, and headed to the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, breadcrumbs littered the table. I thought about cleaning but stopped. Im not a servant, I muttered, then headed to the bathroom for a shower. After that I called an old school friend, Lucy.
Annie! Its been ages! How are you? Still enjoying retirement? Lucys voice was as bright as ever.
I told her I missed getting out, that Id been cooped up, and asked if I could stay with her for a few days.
Of course, youre always welcome. When are you coming? she asked.
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Oh dear, Ill bake some pies for you then.
I packed a bag, left a note on the kitchen table saying Id be at Lucys and would be back soon, if at all.
On the way to the station I hesitated. Maybe theyll manage without me. They never appreciate my effort. But if I left, would that be too harsh? If there are no tickets, Ill go home, I decided. Tickets were available, a queue formed at the bus stop, and I took my place at the back.
Lucy greeted me with a hug, we shared tea and warm pies, chatting nonstop.
Good youre here. Now tell me everything, she urged.
I poured out everything, and she listened patiently.
Right, turn off your phone for a bit, she suggested.
Is that too drastic? I asked.
Just right. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a fresh look. Valentina works there remember her from school? Shes the one everyone books months ahead now. Well shop, make you a proper lady, have your husband eating out of his seat, Lucy said, laughing.
That night sleep eluded me. I kept wondering whether theyd be angry or happy about my plans.
At the salon Valentina greeted us warmly, seated me, and began fixing my hair, shaping my eyebrows, and trimming my locks. I almost fell asleep in the chair. The room smelled of hair products, and Valentina kept pushing for makeup. I wanted to quit, but Lucy coaxed me to see it through.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognised the woman staring back younger, vibrant, almost dazzling. Valentina was already arranging a manicure.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take any more, I begged.
Fine, well book you for eight tomorrow. Dont be late, or the shop will close, Valentina warned.
Lucy beamed as we left, Look at you now! Who would have thought? She led me into a nearby shopping centre.
Id rather go another day, I suggested weakly.
Never. With that hair and that dress, youll turn heads. Beauty takes sacrifice, Lucy replied, hauling me along.
I emerged from the store in loosefit trousers, a light knit top, and a sandcoloured cardigan, looking pleased despite the fatigue. In my arms were bags containing a new dress, a jacket and a box of shoes. I felt younger, more confident, almost slimmer. It was long overdue for a change, and I was grateful Lucy had pushed me.
Outside Lucys house, a tall, silverhaired man with dark moustache approached.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring me. You look smashing.
I? I stared at Lucy, bewildered.
You dont recognise me? Its Peter Hughes, Lucy whispered.
Peter? I asked.
Yes, the man confirmed, smiling. Hed been a lanky, unremarkable classmate back at school.
Well pop over to my place, celebrate your transformation. Ive grabbed a bottle of wine, Lucy suggested.
The three of us sat in the kitchen, sipping wine and reminiscing about school days. I blushed, either from the wine or from the attention.
Hes still in love with you, Lucy said when Peter left the room.
Stop it, its been years, I replied.
You look like someone I could fall for all over again, Lucy teased.
Is he still staying at your place? I asked, changing the subject.
No, hes retired from the army, a former colonel. He came back two years ago after a serious injury in a conflict. Doctors werent sure hed walk again, his wife left, but hes managed, though he limps when he walks a lot. Take care, dont rush into anything, Lucy advised.
Im married, you know, I protested.
That night I decided to go home, but Lucy wouldnt hear of it.
Just arrived and youre off already? Not how it works. Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. By the way, Peter got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
At the youth theatre for the Christmas show with Sophie, I replied.
Ah, the youth theatre. Lets give that new dress a proper outing, Lucy said.
Three days later I finally answered my phone.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, Charlotte shouted.
My heart pounded. I gathered my things. Peter drove me to the station.
If you need anything, Im here. Dont hesitate, he said.
Thanks, Peter, I replied.
On the bus I called Charlotte. She told me her father had been unfaithful, that shed seen him leave the flat next door several times, and that a fight had broken out at his worksite. Hed broken two ribs and suffered a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time.
I was scared youd never come back, she said, her tone softer than before. I didnt think youd find someone else.
I havent found anyone. I just wanted to teach you both a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old woman. Dad will be jealous now. Will you forgive him? Charlotte babbled.
I looked around the room, grateful for the familiar surroundings. Home felt good, everything familiar.
The next morning I rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Brian looked older, his beard tinged with grey. He wept when he saw me, begging forgiveness. I fed him broth from a spoon.
Two weeks later Brian was discharged. As we left the taxi, a man and a woman passed us. Brian flinched, turned away. The woman avoided my gaze. I realised she was my rival a slim, gingerhaired youngster. Brian hunched over, trying to disappear.
Are you not leaving now? he asked me at home.
Dont I look thinner? I havent lost weight yet, I replied, a bit cheeky.
I asked for forgiveness. I was foolish. Can you fry those meatballs again? Ive missed your cooking, he pleaded.
I fried the meatballs, served a hearty dinner.
Smells amazing! Charlotte exclaimed, returning from university.
We sat together as we used to when she was still at school, Brian praised my cooking and ate everything, and I was ready to stand at the stove for hours just to make him happy.
Looking at my family, I felt content that everyone was home, alive, mostly well, and that I still mattered.
Life isnt always smooth, especially as you age. The body changes, but the spirit can stay young. Its hard to accept, but we all want to keep our strength.
Everyone learns their lesson. The important thing is were together. You cant change a horse at the river crossing; you just have to ride it out.
A good wife, a good home what more does a person need to face old age?
adapted from English culture.
