I was in the kitchen frying meatballs when the doorbell rang. I stepped out of the skillet to answer it.
Mom, its for me, my daughter Poppy called, stopping me halfway. Ill get it.
Alright, I didnt expect you to be home I said, a little surprised.
What are you standing there for? Keep frying your meatballs, Poppy snapped, glancing back at me from the doorway.
Why your? I bought the mince for the recipe
Mom, shut the door, she rolled her eyes.
If youd told me earlier I muttered and went back to the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind me. I turned off the gas under the pan, slipped off my apron and left the kitchen.
In the hallway Poppy was slipping on her coat. Standing nearby was Ian Hughes, her friend, eyes glued to her.
Hello, Ian. Where are you off to? Join us for dinner, I called.
Good evening, he replied with a smile, looking over at Poppy.
Were in a hurry, she answered, not bothering to look at me.
Maybe youll still have dinner with us? Everythings ready, I repeated.
Ian fell silent.
No! Poppy shouted. Lets go. She grabbed Ians arm and opened the front door. Mum, could you close it?
I walked to the door but left it ajar, hearing voices from the garden.
Why are you so rude to her? It smells delicious, I wouldnt mind a meatball, a neighbour called.
Lets pop into the café. Im fed up with your meatballs, Poppy muttered.
Can they really get boring? I love your mothers meatballs; I could eat them every day, Ian said.
What Poppy answered I didnt catch. The voices on the stairs faded away.
I finally shut the door fully and headed to the lounge where my husband Bob was glued to the telly.
Bob, lets have dinner while its still hot, I suggested.
Alright, lead the way, he rose from the sofa and followed me into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked, demanding.
Rice with meatballs and a salad, I replied, opening the pan.
Ive told you a dozen times I dont eat fried meatballs, Bob grumbled.
I added a splash of water, theyre almost steamed, I said, holding the lid in my hand.
Fine, lets eat. But thats the last time, he warned.
At our age losing weight is unhealthy, I remarked, placing a plate of rice and meatballs before him.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. For a man this is the prime of wisdom, Bob chuckled, spearing a meatball and taking a bite.
Are you all conspiring today? Poppy ran off, youre acting like a child. Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without me. Think the café is better? I snapped.
Fine, dont cook then. You could lose a few pounds yourself. Soon you wont fit through the door, Bob finished his bite and reached for another meatball.
If you think Im fat, Ive been trying to clean upnew jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, shaved my head to hide my baldness. Who am I doing this for? Certainly not for you. Im still chubby, so what, compare me to anyone? I said, hurt.
Just let me eat in peace, Bob tried to scoop up the rice, then set the fork down. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
I fetched the ketchup from the fridge, slammed the jar on the table and left the kitchen without touching my plate. The untouched dinner sat there.
I locked myself in Poppys room, sank onto the sofa and tears welled up.
I cook, I try my best, and they never thank me. Bob flirts with younger women. Im the fat one for him. Poppy looks at me like Im just staff. If Im retired, can they still treat me like a servant? Id work if they didnt cut my hours. They say they dont need experienced staff, just the youngsters. What can they do?
I get up before anyone else, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. The whole day Im on the move, never a moment to rest. Its my fault, Ive spoiled myself. Now they sit on my neck and walk away, I whispered, wiping away the tears.
I always thought we had a good family. Not perfect, but decent. Poppy got into university and does well. Bob doesnt drink or smoke, brings home a steady income. The house is tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
I stared at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that big. The wrinkles are less noticeable on my round cheeks. Ive always loved eating, Im a decent cook. They dont seem to need that. When I worked I styled my hair, curled it. Now I tuck it back so it doesnt get in the way. Its easier. Do I need to be a housewife in heels? I should lose weight, maybe dye my hair, I mused, sitting back on the bed.
The next morning I stayed in bed longer than usual, pretending to be ill. Im retired, I can afford to sleep in. Let them make their own breakfast.
The alarm finally went off. I turned away from the wall.
Whats wrong with you? Sick? Bob asked, tone devoid of sympathy.
Yeah, I replied, burying my face in the duvet.
Mum, are you ill? Poppy entered the room.
Go have breakfast yourselves, I croaked from under the covers.
Poppy huffed and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door clicked, and I could hear muffled voices from the hallway. I didnt get up; I kept up the sick act.
Bob drifted in, wearing his expensive cologne that Id bought for him once. After he and Poppy left, silence fell. I tossed the duvet aside, closed my eyes and fell asleep.
An hour later I woke, stretched and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty cups waited in the sink, crumbs littered the table. I thought about cleaning, then decided, Im not a servant. I headed to the shower, then phoned an old school friend.
Ellie! Its been ages. How are you? Still enjoying retirement? she answered cheerfully.
Ive missed you. Im bored at home, havent visited my parents in ages. Can I crash at yours? I asked.
Of course, Id love that. When are you coming? she replied.
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Oh dear, Im about to put the pies in the oven, she said.
I packed a few things for a short stay, swept the crumbs aside and left a note on the kitchen table that I was off to see a friend, not knowing when Id be back.
On the way to the station I hesitated. Theyd probably manage without me, but was it too harsh to just walk out? If there are no tickets, Ill come back, I thought. The bus queue was long, but I managed to get a seat.
Lucy, my longtime friend, met me at the station. We hugged, drank tea with warm pies and talked nonstop.
Good youre here. Now tell me everything, she urged.
I wont lie to you, I sighed, spilling the whole story.
Exactly. Let them suffer a bit, itll do them good. Turn your phone off, she suggested.
Is that too extreme? I asked.
Its just right, Lucy replied. Tomorrow well hit the salon and give you a makeover. Valentina works there you remember her from school? Shes booked solid now. Well turn you into a stunner, make your husband bite his elbows.
That night I lay awake, wondering whether they were angry or happy.
At the salon Valentina welcomed me, sat me in a chair, and started reshaping my eyebrows and hair. She even gave me a new cut. I almost fell asleep with my eyes closed. The night felt endless. Valentina insisted on full makeup; I wanted to quit, but Lucy coaxed me to see it through.
When I finally looked in the mirror I barely recognised myself younger, striking. Valentina was already arranging a manicure.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take any more, I begged.
Okay, well book you for eight tomorrow. Dont be late, Valentina said firmly.
Lucy marveled, Look at you now! Who would have guessed? We left the salon, and Lucy dragged me into the shopping centre.
Ill come back another time? I asked.
No, we must go. With that haircut you cant hide, Lucy replied, pulling me along.
I emerged from the store in loosefit trousers, a light cardigan and a sleek coat, feeling surprisingly fresh.
I carried bags with a new dress, a coat and a pair of shoes. I felt younger, more confident, finally looking the way Id always wanted. It was good that Lucy had pushed me toward change.
Outside Lucys house a tall man with white hair and dark moustache, untouched by grey, greeted us. Hello, ladies, he said, admiring me. You look smashing.
Im not I started, surprised.
You didnt recognise me? Its Paul Jones, Lucy filled in.
Paul? I repeated.
Yes, the same Paul who was skinny and invisible at school, the man confirmed. He was a former classmate, now a retired colonel whod served in the army and come back after a serious injury. He now limped a bit.
Lucy suggested, Lets go to my place, celebrate your transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine.
We three sat at the kitchen table, drinking wine and reminiscing about school. I flushed, half from the wine, half from the attention.
Hes still in love with you, Lucy whispered when Paul left.
Stop it, its been years, I muttered.
You could fall for you again, honestly, she said.
Does he still live nearby? I asked.
No, hes retired from the military. He came back two years ago after a tough wound. Doctors werent sure hed walk again, his wife left him, but hes on his feet now, though he limps if he walks a lot, Lucy explained.
Im married, I protested.
Later, I decided it was time to head home, but Lucy wouldnt let me leave.
Just arrived and youre off already? Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you. Live a week here, see what changes, she urged. By the way, Paul got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
The youth club for the Christmas show with Lucy, I stammered.
Exactly, well parade your new dress around, Lucy teased.
Three days later I finally turned my phone back on.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, a call from my sister Sally came.
My heart raced. I rushed to get ready. Paul gave me a lift to the station.
If you need anything, Im here. Dont hesitate, he said.
Thanks, Paul, I replied.
On the bus I called Sally. She told me shed been shocked by my sudden disappearance. Dad hes been cheating. I saw him leaving the neighbours flat a few times. He wont even come over at night now. Yesterday his other womans husband showed up, yelling. Hes on a shift system, the whole block heard the fight. He broke two ribs, but its not fatal. He also had a brain bleed, but the ambulance came in time, she said, voice trembling.
I listened, stunned, and realised I shouldnt have left. I made it back home by evening; the hospital was already closed.
Sally, you sound different. You sound respectful, I heard Poppy say later, her tone softer than usual. She stayed with me all night, sharing news.
I was scared you wouldnt come back, that youd find someone else, she confessed.
I didnt find anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You and Dad stopped seeing me as a person, she added.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old lady. Dad will be jealous. Will you forgive him? Sally lectured.
I looked around the room, grateful for the familiar walls, the warmth of home.
The next morning I rose early, made chicken broth and headed to the hospital. Bob looked older, his beard now fully grey. When he saw me, tears welled up and he begged forgiveness. I fed him the broth with a spoon.
Two weeks later Bob was discharged. As we left the taxi, a man and a woman passed us. Bob flinched, turned away. The woman averted her eyes. I recognised her as my rival a slender, redhaired youngster. Bob slumped, his shoulders drooping, trying to disappear into the hallway.
Are you not leaving any more? he asked at home.
Am I not thin now? I havent lost weight, I replied brightly.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry those meatballs, will you? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
I fried the meatballs and served a hearty dinner.
It smells amazing! shouted Poppy, returning from college.
We all sat together at the table, just like the old days when Poppy was still at school, Bob never criticised my cooking, and I could stand at the stove for hours just to please him. I looked at my family and felt a deep joy that they were all alive, at home, and mostly healthy, and that I still mattered to them.
Life in a family isnt always smooth. Things get shuffled, especially as old age creeps in. The body isnt what it was in youth, but the spirit can stay young. Its hard to accept, yet we strive to keep the old strength alive.
Everyone learns their lesson. The important thing is were together. You cant change the horses on the ferry, just as you cant outrun time on a wild steed.
A good wife, a cosy home what more does a person need to face old age?
