Anne was frying meatballs when the doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on the towel and went to answer it.
Mom, its me, her daughter called from the hallway. Ill get it.
Alright, I didnt hear you, Anne said, a little puzzled.
Come on, get on with it, the girl snapped, turning back to the kitchen. Why are you still in here? Keep cooking your meatballs, she added, a hint of irritation in her voice.
Why your meatballs? I bought the mince just yesterday, Anne replied, a little flustered.
Mom, shut the door, please, the daughter rolled her eyes.
Shouldve said that earlier, Anne muttered, closing the kitchen door behind her. She turned off the gas, slipped off her apron and headed out of the kitchen.
In the hallway, her daughter, Poppy, was pulling on her coat. Standing nearby was Ian, a friend of Poppys who had been eyeing her a bit too fondly.
Hey, Ian. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner? Anne asked, wiping her hands on a napkin.
Hello, Ian smiled, looking at Poppy with a question in his eyes.
Were in a rush, Poppy replied, not glancing at her mother.
Maybe youd like to stay? Everythings ready, Anne insisted.
Ian hesitated.
No! Poppy snapped. Lets go. She grabbed Ians arm, opened the door and called, Mom, could you close it for a sec?
Anne leaned into the door, leaving a small crack ajar, and heard a voice from the street.
Why are you so harsh with her? Smells delicious, I wouldnt mind a meatball.
Lets grab a bite at the café. Im tired of your meatballs, Poppy muttered.
I could eat your mums meatballs every day, Ian said, grinning.
What Poppy answered, Anne never caught. The voices on the stairwell faded away.
Anne finally shut the door and slipped into the living room. Bob, her husband, was perched on the sofa watching TV.
Bob, lets have dinner while its still hot, she called.
Right, lets go, he said, standing and heading to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked, a hint of expectation in his tone.
Rice with meatballs and a side salad, Anne replied, lifting the pan.
You know Ive told you a dozen times I dont like fried meatballs, Bob complained.
Theyre practically steamed now, I added a splash of water, Anne said, holding the lid.
Fine, but this is the last time, he muttered.
At our age, losing weight isnt exactly wise, Anne noted as she plated the rice and meatballs.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. This is the golden years for a man, Bob said, spearing a meatball and taking a bite.
Are you all plotting against me? Im fed up. I could stop cooking and see how you manage without my food. Think the café is better? Anne snapped, tears welling up.
Fine, stop. You could lose a few pounds yourself, you know. You wont fit through the front door any more, Bob finished his meatball, reaching for another.
Is that how you see me? Fat? Ive been trying to look after myselfnew jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, even shaved my head to hide the bald spots. Who am I doing this for? Definitely not for you. Im fat, what, compare me to who? Anne asked, voice trembling.
Just let me eat in peace, Bob said, pushing the rice toward his mouth, then demanding, Pass the ketchup.
Anne grabbed the ketchup bottle from the fridge, slammed it on the table with a forceful thud and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her untouched plate behind.
She shut herself in Poppys room, collapsed onto the sofa, and the tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
I work so hard, try to please them, and all I get is criticism. My husband flirts on the side, calls me fat, and my daughter treats me like a servant. If Im retired, can they just walk all over me? Id still work if they hadnt cut my hours. They say experienced staff arent needed, only the youngsters. What can the youngsters do anyway?
I get up before everyone else just to make breakfast, then spend the whole day running around with no rest. Im at fault for spoiling myself, and now theyre sitting on my throat, hanging their legs over it. The sobs tracked down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away, patting her face dry.
Shed always believed they had a decent family not perfect, but better than most. Poppy was doing well at university, Bob never smoked or drank, the house was tidy, the food was good. What more could they ask for?
She stood in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door, scrutinising herself. Sure, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that big. My wrinkles are soft on my round cheeks. Ive always loved food, Im a decent cook. Apparently, thats not enough. When I worked, Id style my hair, curl it. Now I just pull it back so it doesnt get in the way. No point in fussing with high heels or fancy haircuts. Maybe I should lose a few pounds and dye my hair.
The next morning she stayed in bed longer than usual, pretending to be ill. Im retired, I can sleep in. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm finally went off. She turned away from the wall, groaning.
Are you alright? Bob asked, his tone flat.
Yeah, just, Anne muttered, burying her face in the duvet.
Mom, are you sick? Poppy peeked in.
Go on, have breakfast yourselves, Anne said weakly.
Poppy huffed and walked to the kitchen. Shortly after, the kettle whistled, the fridge door clanged, and muted voices drifted from the living room. Anne stayed wrapped in her duvet, pretending to be ill.
Bob entered, wearing his expensive cologne that Anne had bought for herself years ago. He lingered a moment, then left with Poppy. The house fell quiet. Anne lifted the duvet, kept her eyes closed and drifted back to sleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She considered cleaning up but thought, Im not a maid. She headed to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and called an old school friend.
Emma! Its been ages, the friend chirped. How are you? Still enjoying retirement?
Anne laughed, I miss getting out, I havent visited Mums grave in forever. Can I crash at your place?
Of course, come over whenever, Emma replied. When are you thinking?
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Great, Ill start baking some scones.
Anne packed a small bag for a few days, swept the crumbs to the side of the kitchen table and left a note saying shed gone to visit a friend, not knowing when shed be back.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Maybe theyll manage without me. They never seem to value my effort, she thought. But am I being too harsh? She decided, If I cant get a ticket, Ill head home. Tickets were available, a queue formed at the bus stop, and she slipped in at the back.
Emma greeted her with a hug, they drank tea and nibbled warm scones, catching up on everything.
Youre looking different, you know, Emma said, smiling.
Its been a rough few weeks, Anne sighed, spilling the whole story.
Exactly. Lets give you a makeover. Tomorrow well hit the salon. Remember Violet? Shes now booking months in advance, Emma suggested. Well turn you into a proper bombshell. Your husband will be eating his words.
That night Anne tossed and turned, thinking, What will they think? Will they be angry or happy?
The next day Violet, a savvy stylist, greeted them. She washed Annes hair, trimmed her brows, and gave her a new cut. Anne barely kept her eyes open, the salon buzzed around her. Violet insisted on full makeup; Anne wanted to quit, but Emma coaxed her to see it through.
When the mirrors finally revealed her, Anne barely recognised herself. A younger, vibrant woman stared back, hair glossy, eyes bright. Violet arranged a nail appointment.
Enough for today, Anne pleaded. I cant handle more.
Okay, well book you for eightoclock tomorrow. Dont be late, Violet warned.
Back on the high street, LucyAnnes longtime friendmarveled, Look at you! Who would have guessed? They headed straight to the shopping centre.
Anne tried on loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, and a breezy blouse. She felt lighter, more confident. She left the store with a new dress, a leather jacket and a pair of shoes that made her stand a little taller.
Outside Lucys house, a tall, silverhaired gentleman with dark moustache appeared.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Anne. You havent changed a bitstill stunning.
Lucy burst out laughing, Thats Peter Shaw, your old school mate. He was skinny and unnoticed back then.
Peter? Anne asked, surprised.
Yes, Peter. Hes a retired colonel, came back after a serious injury overseas. Hes back in town now.
Lucy suggested, Why dont we pop over to my place, have a glass of wine and celebrate your transformation?
They all settled in Lucys kitchen, sipping wine, reminiscing about school days. Annes cheeks flushed from the wine and the attention.
Peter still has a crush on you, Lucy teased when he left.
Anne laughed, Its been years, Lucy.
Peter, grinning, replied, You still look like someone I could fall for again.
Anne, feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance, asked, Do you still live around here?
No, hes retired, served in the army, now lives a quiet life. Hes a bit lame after his injury, but still charming, Lucy explained.
Im married, Peter, Anne said, a little defensively.
That night Anne decided shed head back home, but Lucy wouldnt let her leave.
Just got here and youre off already? Stay a bit longer. Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you, Lucy urged. Maybe catch a show at the theatrewhen was the last time you went?
Back at the youth theatre for the Christmas play with you, Anne recalled.
Exactly, lets go for a night out, Lucy nudged.
A few days later, Annes phone rang.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospitalcome quickly, Poppy said, panic in her voice.
Annes heart raced. She grabbed her coat, and Peter offered a lift to the station.
Anne, if you need anything, just shout, he said.
On the bus, Poppy called her, You really surprised me, Mom. I thought youd be back tomorrow.
And Dad? Anne asked.
Its messy. Hes been cheating, Ive seen him leaving the neighbours flat. He didnt even sleep over last night. Yesterday his other wifes husband showed up after a fight. Hes broken a rib, had a minor stroke, but the ambulance got him in time, Poppy whispered, voice shaking.
Anne listened, stunned, realizing she couldnt just run away. She made it back home by evening, but the hospital was already closed for visits.
Poppy looked at her differently, more respectful. Youve changed a lot, Mom. I barely recognised you.
Anne, tears welling, replied, I was scared youd leave, thought Id find someone else. I didnt. I just wanted to teach you both a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person.
Poppy sighed, Youre not to blame, Mum. Retirement, neglect you look older, but youre still you. Will you forgive Dad?
Anne glanced around the cosy living room, feeling the warmth of home.
The next morning she rose early, made a chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Bob, now with a full white beard, greeted her, eyes misty, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth with a tiny spoon.
Two weeks later Bob was discharged. Outside the taxi, a couple walked past. Bob flinched, recognizing his old rivala slender, redhaired woman, his former gym mate. He turned away, embarrassed.
Are you staying longer? he asked, a hint of hope.
Am I still fat? I havent lost weight, Anne joked.
Im sorry, I was foolish. Can you make those meatballs again? Ive missed your cooking, Bob pleaded.
Anne cooked, the kitchen filling with the aroma of fresh meatballs.
Smells amazing! Poppy exclaimed, returning from university.
They all gathered around the table, just like the good old days when Poppy was still in school, Bob never criticised Annes cooking, and the house was full of laughter. Anne felt grateful, happy to have her family together, even if life was a bit chaotic.
There are always bumps on the road, especially as we get older. The body isnt what it used to be, but the spirit can stay young. We learn to accept the changes, hold on to the good bits, and keep moving forward.
In the end, the lesson is simple: a loving partner, a warm home, and a bit of humour are all you really need to face the later years.
