Dear Diary,
I was frying meat patties when the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on the tea towel and went to answer it.
Mom, its for me, my daughter Emily called from the hallway, stopping me midstep. Ill open it.
Alright, I didnt know I trailed off.
What are you waiting for? Keep cooking your patties, she snapped, glancing back at me from the doorway.
Your own? I bought the mince for the recipe I protested.
Mom, shut the door, Emily rolled her eyes.
Could have said that from the start, I muttered, retreating to the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind me. I turned off the gas, slipped off my apron and left the kitchen.
In the entrance hall Emily was pulling on her jacket. Beside her stood Jack, a friend of Charlottes, eyes glued to her as if she were a prize.
Hello, Jack. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner, I asked.
Good evening, he replied with a smile, looking questioningly at Charlotte.
Sorry, were in a hurry, Charlotte said without glancing at me.
Perhaps youll change your mind? Everythings ready, I called after them. Jack fell quiet.
No! Emily snapped. Were going. She took Jack by the arm and opened the front door. Mom, could you close it?
I approached the door but left it ajar, hearing a familiar voice from the garden.
Youre being harsh. It smells deliciousI wouldnt say no to a patty, someone said.
Lets pop into the café instead. Im fed up with your patties, Emily muttered.
They could never get boring. I love your mums patties; I could eat them every day, Jack replied.
I never caught Charlottes retort. Voices from the stairs faded as they walked away.
I finally shut the door and slipped into the sitting room where Brian was watching television.
Brian, lets have dinner while its still hot, I suggested.
What? Fine. He rose from the sofa, passed me, and sat at the kitchen table.
Whats on the menu tonight? he asked, demanding.
Rice with patties and a salad, I said, lifting the pan.
You know I never eat fried patties, he grumbled.
I added a splash of water, so they turned out almost steamed, I replied, holding the lid.
Alright, but this is the last time, he warned.
Its not healthy to lose weight at our age, I said, placing a plate of rice and patties before him.
What age? Im only fiftyseven. This is the prime of a mans life. He speared a patty, took half a bite.
Are you all conspiring against me? Emily ran off, youre acting like a child, and Im done cooking. Think the café is better? I snapped.
Then dont cook. You should lose a few stones; youll barely fit through the door, he retorted, polishing off another patty.
Im not fat, you know! Ive tried everythingnew jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, even shaved my head to hide the bald spot. Who am I trying to impress? Certainly not you, I vented, hurt.
Just let me eat in peace. He poked at the rice, then demanded, Pass the ketchup.
I fetched the ketchup from the fridge, slammed the bottle onto the table and left the kitchen, my dinner untouched.
Later I locked myself in Emilys room, collapsing onto the sofa as tears welled up.
Everything I docooking, caringgoes unappreciated. Brian is growing younger, looking elsewhere. He calls me fat. Emily treats me like a servant. If Im retired, is it right for them to walk all over me? Id still work if they hadnt cut my hours. They want fresh faces, not seasoned hands.
I rose early every day just to make breakfast, even though I no longer worked. I spun in endless chores, never finding a moment to rest. Im to blame, I thought, for spoiling myself, and now theyre perched on my neck, drifting away.
The tears slid down my cheeks, I wiped them away, and tried to compose myself. I had always believed we had a decent familynothing perfect, but respectable. Emily was doing well at university, Brian didnt drink or smoke, money came in, the house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
I stood before the mirror on the bedroom door, examined my reflection. Sure, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not obscene. The wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved food, always cooked well. It seems they dont need that any more. I thought about cutting my hair short, maybe dyeing it, losing weightany change felt necessary.
The next morning I lingered in bed, pretending to be asleep. Im retired; I can sleep in a bit longer. Let them make their own breakfasts, I whispered to myself.
The alarm finally jolted me awake. Whats wrong? Youre ill? Brian asked, his tone lacking sympathy.
Yeah, Im fine, I mumbled, burying my face in the duvet.
Mom, are you sick? Emily entered the room.
Yes, youll have to manage breakfast yourselves, I called out weakly.
Emily huffed, left for the kitchen, and soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door clanged, and muffled voices drifted from the kitchen. I stayed under the covers, playing the part of the sick lady.
Brian entered, his expensive cologne filling the hallwaya scent Id once bought for him. He and Emily soon left, the house fell silent. I lifted the duvet, closed my eyes and fell asleep.
An hour later I woke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty cups lay in the sink, breadcrumbs scattered on the table. I considered cleaning, then decided, Im not a maid. I headed to the bathroom, took a shower, and called an old school friend.
Ellie! she answered cheerfully, her voice unchanged. How are you, love? Getting a bit bored of retirement?
I confessed that I missed being out, that I hadnt visited my parents grave in ages, and asked if I could stay with her.
Of course, come over whenever, she said. When?
Right now, Ill catch the train.
Oh dear, Ill bake some scones for you, she replied.
I packed a small bag for a short stay, swept the crumbs aside, left a note on the kitchen table that Id be at Ellies, not knowing when Id return.
At the station I hesitatedwas it too bold to leave them to fend for themselves? If there are no tickets, Ill go back, I told myself. The ticket office was busy, a queue snaked to the bus doors. I sighed and took the last spot in line.
Ellie greeted me with a hug, we shared tea and warm scones, and talked without rush.
Youre brave to come, she said. Tell me everything.
I poured out everything, and she listened. Good. Let them have their little drama. Turn off your phone for a while, she suggested.
Is that too harsh? I asked.
Just right, she assured. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a fresh look. Remember Valentina? Shes now the goto stylist. Well shop, turn you into a dazzler, make Brians elbows ache with jealousy.
That night I tossed and turned, wondering how they were faring, whether they were angry or relieved.
At the salon Valentina welcomed us, settled me into a chair, tweaked my brows, dyed my hair, and gave me a cut that made me feel like a new woman. I almost fell asleep in the chair. Valentina insisted on makeup; I wanted to quit, but Ellie coaxed me to see it through.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognised the woman staring backyouthful, striking. Valentina was already arranging a manicure.
I think thats enough for today, I pleaded.
Fine, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, or the whole lot will be waiting, Valentina said firmly.
Ellie gushed, Look at you! Who would have guessed? as we left the salon.
Maybe next time? I asked.
No, well go now. Beauty takes work, she replied, dragging me into the shopping centre.
I emerged in loose trousers, a light cardigan, a soft blouse, feeling oddly content despite the exhaustion.
Bags full of a new dress, a coat and a box of shoes clutched in my hands, I felt rejuvenated, slimmer in spirit. It was high time Id taken care of myself, and I was grateful to Ellie for pushing me.
Outside Ellies house a welldressed gentleman with white hair and dark moustache approached.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring me. You havent changed a bitstill looking splendid.
I stared at Ellie, puzzled.
You dont recognise me? Its Peter Whitaker, she whispered.
Peter? I repeated, bewildered.
He nodded, proud of the reaction hed caused. I barely recognised the tall, onceslim schoolmate whod been a lanky boy years ago.
Come over, lets celebrate your makeover. Weve got a bottle of wine, Ellie suggested.
We three sat in her kitchen, sipping wine, reminiscing about school days. The wine flushed my cheeks, and I felt a warm glow.
Hes still in love with you, Ellie said as Peter left.
Come off it, hes been around forever, I retorted.
You look like someone you could fall for again, she teased.
Does he still live nearby? I asked, changing the subject.
No, hes a retired colonel now, back from the army a couple of years ago. He suffered a serious injury overseas, barely walked for a while. His wife left him, but hes back on his feet, albeit with a limp. Take your time, look closely, Ellie advised.
Im married, you know, I said, exasperated.
Later, I decided to head home, but Ellie wouldnt let me leave.
You just arrived and youre off already? Stay a week, show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you, she urged. Pavel booked tickets to the theatre. When was the last time you were at the theatre?
The youth theatre for the Christmas show with Charlotte, I muttered.
Ah, the youth theatre, Ellie mimicked. Lets show off that new dress.
Three days later my phone finally rang.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, shouted Charlotte.
My heart raced. I rushed to get ready; Peter gave me a lift 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 their father had been unfaithful, that shed seen him slipping out of a neighbours flat, that the man from next door had visited him the night before, that a fight broke out, that his ribs were broken, that hed had a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time.
I listened, stunned, and suddenly felt I couldnt leave. By evening I was back home, too late for the hospital.
Mom, youve changed completely. I barely recognise you, Charlotte said, her tone now respectful.
I was scared youd never come back. I even thought Id found someone else, I confessed.
No one else. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You and Dad stopped seeing me as a person, she replied.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, became an old woman. Dad will be jealous. Will you forgive him? Charlotte blurted.
I scanned the room, grateful for the familiar walls, the familiar smells.
The next morning I rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Brian looked older, his beard more silver. Seeing me, tears fell from his eyes as he begged forgiveness. I fed him broth from a spoon.
Two weeks later Brian left the hospital. As we stepped out of a taxi, a man and a woman passed. Brian flinched, turned away. The woman averted her gaze. I realised she was the rival Id dreadedslim, redhaired, much younger. Brians shoulders drooped, and he lingered at the doorway.
Are you staying? he asked.
Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight, I replied cheekily.
I asked for forgiveness. I was foolish. Fry those patties again? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
I cooked the patties, served a hearty dinner.
It smells amazing! shouted Emily, back from university.
We sat together as we used to when she was still at school. Brian didnt criticize me, ate everything, praised my cooking. I would have stood at the stove for days just to make him happy.
Looking at my family, I felt a deep gratitude that we were all still alive, most of us in decent health, and that I still mattered.
Life isnt always smooth, especially as age creeps in. The body changes, the spirit stays youthful, and accepting that is hard. Still, we learn our lessons, and the important thing is that were together. You cant change a horse at the river crossing; you just have to hold on as best you can.
A good wife, a warm homewhat more does a person need to face old age?
