Maggie was frying meat patties when a knock sounded at the front door. She left the kitchen to answer.
Mom, thats for me, her daughter Ethel called from the hallway, stopping Maggie halfway. Ill get it.
Alright, I didnt hear anything, Maggie replied, a little bewildered.
Why are you standing there? Keep on with the patties, Ethel said sharply, glancing back at her mother from the doorway.
What do you mean your patties? I bought the mince myself
Mom, shut the door, Ethel rolled her eyes.
Had you said that earlier Maggie drifted back to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. She turned off the gas beneath the skillet, slipped off her apron and stepped out of the kitchen.
In the entrance hall Ethel was pulling on a coat. Beside her stood Ian, a friend of her, eyes glued to her as if transfixed.
Hello, Ian. Where are you off to? Come have dinner with us, Maggie called.
Good evening, Ian smiled, looking inquisitively at Ethel.
Were in a hurry, Ethel replied without looking at her mother.
Maybe youll stay for dinner? Everythings ready, Maggie repeated. Ian fell silent.
No! Ethel snapped. Lets go. She took Ian by the arm and ushered him out. Mom, could you close the door?
Maggie approached the doorway but left a narrow crack, listening to distant voices from the garden.
Youre being rude to her. It smells delicious, I wouldnt mind a patty, someone called.
Lets pop into the café. Im fed up with her patties, Ethel muttered.
Cant they ever get boring? I love your mothers patties, I could eat them every day, Ian said.
What Ethel answered, Maggie couldnt catch. The voices on the stairs faded away.
Maggie finally shut the door and slipped into the living room where her husband George was watching television.
George, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Alright, lets go, he rose from the sofa, passed her, and sat at the kitchen table.
Whats on the menu? he asked, demanding.
Rice with patties, a side salad, Maggie replied, lifting the skillet.
Ive told you a thousand times I dont eat fried patties, George complained.
I added water, they turned out almost steamed, Maggie said, holding the lid in one hand.
Fine, but only this once, he grumbled, stabbing a patty with his fork.
At our age its unwise to keep losing weight, Maggie remarked, placing a plate of rice and patties before him.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. For a man thats the prime of life, George said, taking a bite.
Ethel burst in, eyes flashing. You all conspired against me, didnt you? Im not eating, youll have to manage without me. Think a restaurant is better?
Then dont cook. You could lose some weight yourself. Soon you wont fit through the door, George finished, grabbing another patty.
You think Im fat? Ive been breaking my head over this, buying jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, shaving my hair to hide my baldness. Who am I trying to impress? Not you, Maggie snapped, tears glistening.
Let me eat in peace, George started, but stopped short of the spoon, pushing the rice back onto his plate. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Maggie fetched the ketchup from the fridge, slammed the jar onto the table, and left the kitchen, leaving her untouched plate behind.
She retreated to her daughters bedroom, sank onto the couch and wept silently. I cook, I try, and they give me no thanks. George looks elsewhere, calls me fat. Ethel treats me like staff. If Im retired, can they still step on me? Id work if they didnt cut me out. They say we dont need the old hands, only the young. What can the young do?
She recalled rising before everyone else, even without a job, just to make breakfast. The whole day she spun like a top, never finding a moment to rest. Im to blame, Ive spoiled them. Now they sit on my neck, dangling their legs, she whispered, wiping away the tears with her palms.
She had always believed they were a decent familyimperfect but no worse than anyone else. Ethel was at university, doing well. George didnt drink, didnt smoke, earned a decent wage. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could they want?
Maggie stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door, studying herself. Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not huge. The wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved food. I cook well, yet they seem indifferent. When I worked I styled my hair, curled it. Now I keep it tied back so it doesnt get in the way. Whats the point of high heels and fancy hair now? Maybe I should lose a few stones and dye my hair.
The next morning she stayed in bed longer than usual, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I can linger a bit longer. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm rang. She stirred, turning her face toward the wall.
Are you ill? George asked, his tone flat.
Yeah, Maggie muttered, burying her nose in the blanket.
Mom, are you sick? Ethel entered the room.
Go have breakfast yourselves, Maggie whispered from under the covers.
Ethel huffed and went to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sang, the fridge door thudded, muffled voices floated from the kitchen. Maggie stayed in the blankets, playing the part of the sick lady to the very end.
George entered, his scent of expensive aftershave filling the roomshe had bought that cologne herself years ago. He and Ethel slipped out one after the other, leaving a hush. Maggie lifted the blanket, closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
She awoke an hour later, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty cups piled in the sink, crumbs scattered on the table. She considered cleaning but decided, Im not a servant. She hopped into the shower, then called an old school friend.
Ellie! Its been ages, the voice on the other end chirped. How are you? Not tired of retirement?
Maggie confessed she missed the bustle, hadnt visited her parents grave in years, and wondered if she could crash at Ellies place.
Of course, come over. Ill be glad to see you. When?
Right now, Ill catch a train to the station.
Oh dear, Ill start the pies then.
Maggie packed a few belongings for a short stay, swept the crumbs aside, and left a note on the kitchen table saying shed gone to a friends, unsure when shed return.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Should I really leave? They never appreciate me, she thought, but boarded the bus anyway, joining a line of weary commuters.
At the station, old friend Lucy greeted her with warm hugs and fresh tea. Good youre here. Tell me everything, Lucy urged.
Maggie spilled the whole tale, and Lucy nodded. Let them have a taste of their own medicine. Turn off your phone for a bit.
Is that too harsh? Maggie asked.
Just right. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a new look. Remember Valentina? She runs the place now. Well turn you into a bombshell, make George drool.
That night Maggie lay awake, wondering if they were angry or delighted.
At the salon Valentina greeted her, seated her, and started teasing Maggies hair and eyebrows. She watched herself in the mirror as the older woman transformed her. Enough for today, Maggie begged. I cant take more.
Eight oclock tomorrow, dont be late, Valentina instructed.
Lucy marveled, Look at you! Who would have guessed? They left, and Lucy suggested a shop stop.
Ill go another time, Maggie protested weakly.
No, we must. Beauty demands sacrifices, Lucy urged, pulling Maggie into the bustling shopping centre.
When they emerged, Maggie wore loose trousers, a light cardigan, and a sandcoloured coat, feeling oddly fresh. She carried a new dress, a jacket, and a box of shoes, feeling younger, slimmer, more confident.
Outside Lucys house a tall man with stark white hair and dark, untouched moustache appeared.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Maggie. You look smashing.
Mister? Maggie asked, surprised.
Its Peter Jowett, Lucy supplied. Hes an old schoolmate, once skinny and unnoticed.
Shall we go to my place and toast your makeover? Weve got a bottle of wine, Lucy suggested.
They sat together, sipping wine, reminiscing about school days. Maggie blushed, half from the wine, half from the attention.
He still loves you, Lucy whispered as Peter left.
Maggie laughed, Its been years.
Hes still in the house? she asked, changing the subject.
No, hes retired from the army, a colonel now. He came back two years ago after a serious injury. His wife left, but hes on his feet, though he limps when he walks a lot, Lucy explained. Dont rush to judge.
Im married, Maggie protested.
Later she decided to return home, but Lucy wouldnt let her go without a weeks stay.
Just one week. The theatre tickets are booked. When was the last time you went? Lucy asked.
The youth theatre for the Christmas play with Ethel, Maggie replied.
Ah, the youth theatre. Lets show off that new dress, Lucy giggled.
Three days later Maggies phone rang.
Mum, dads in hospital! Come quickly, Ethel shouted.
Maggies heart thumped. She hurriedly packed, and Peter gave her a lift to the station.
Anna, if you need anything, Im here, he said. Dont be shy to ask.
Thanks, Pete.
On the bus she called Ethel, who recounted how surprised she was by Maggies sudden disappearance. And dad? she asked.
Its hard to say. Hes been unfaithful, Ive seen him leave the building with another woman. He didnt even stay the night when you disappeared. Yesterday a fight broke out, his arm was broken, he had a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time, Ethel whispered.
Maggie listened, stunned, realizing she didnt have to leave after all. She got home by evening; the hospital was already closed.
Mum, youve changed so much, Ethel said, her tone now respectful. I didnt recognise you.
I was scared youd never come back, so I tried to teach you a lesson. You and dad stopped seeing me as a person.
Sorry, Mum, but youre the one who retired and stopped caring for yourself. Youve become old. Will you forgive him? Ethel pressed.
Maggie gazed around the familiar room, feeling the comfort of home. The house felt right, everything hers.
The next morning she rose early, made chicken broth, and headed to the hospital. George, now older with a grey beard, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth with a spoon.
Two weeks later George was discharged. Outside the taxi, a couple passed; George flinched, turned away. The woman looked away, and Maggie recognised her as her rivala slender, redhaired, young woman. George slumped, his shoulders drooping.
Are you staying? he asked.
Am I not thin enough anymore? I havent lost weight, Maggie replied brightly.
I asked for forgiveness. Foolish me. Fry the patties, will you? Ive missed your cooking, he pleaded.
Maggie cooked the patties, the kitchen filling with a homely aroma.
The smell! Its wonderful, Ethel, now back from university, exclaimed.
They sat together at the table as they used to when Ethel was still at school, George never criticising Maggie, eating everything, praising her. Maggie felt a warm surge, glad to see her family alive, healthy, and needing her.
Old age never runs smooth; it drifts you into strange places, yet the soul can stay youthful. They each learned their lesson: together they were whole. A good wife, a good homewhat more does a person need to face the twilight?
