Youre the one to blame, Mum, Emily shouted, slamming the front door closed.
Anne was frying mince pies when the knock came. She left the kitchen to answer.
Mom, its for me, her daughter called from the hallway, stopping halfway. Ill get it.
Fine, I didnt know, Anne replied, bewildered.
What are you standing there for? Keep cooking your pies, Emily snapped, turning back toward the doorway.
Why your? I bought the mince already, Anne protested.
Mom, shut the door, Emily rolled her eyes.
If youd said that earlier, Anne muttered, returning to the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind her. She turned off the gas under the pan, slipped off her apron and left the kitchen.
In the hallway Emily was pulling on her coat. Beside her stood James, a friend of hers, eyes glued to her.
Hello, James. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner? Anne called from the kitchen.
Good evening, James said with a smile, looking at Emily.
Were in a hurry, Emily replied, not glancing at her mother.
Maybe youll stay after all? Everythings ready, Anne repeated.
James fell silent.
No! Emily snapped. Lets go. She took Jamess arm and opened the door. Mum, could you close it?
Anne reached for the door but left it ajar, listening to voices from the garden.
Why are you so harsh with her? It smells delicious; I wouldnt mind a bite of those pies, a neighbour called.
Lets pop into the café instead. Im fed up with your pies, Emily muttered.
Can they really get boring? I adore your mothers pies; I could eat them every day, James said.
What Emily answered, Anne never heard. The voices on the staircase faded away.
Anne finally shut the door and went into the living room where her husband, Peter, was watching television.
Peter, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Alright, he stood, crossed the kitchen and sat at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked demanding.
Rice and mince pies, with a salad, Anne replied, opening the pan.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried pies, Peter grumbled.
I added water, so theyre almost steamed, Anne said, holding the lid.
Fine, but this is the last time, he warned.
At our age, losing weight isnt wise, Anne remarked, setting a plate of rice and pies before him.
What age? Im only fiftyseven. For a man this is the prime of wisdom and vigor, Peter retorted, skewering a pie and taking a bite.
Are you all in on some conspiracy? Emily ran off, youre acting like a child. Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without me. Think a café is healthier? Anne snapped.
Dont cook then. You should lose a few stones yourself. You wont fit through the door soon enough, Peter finished his pie and reached for another.
Excuse me? You think Im fat? Ive been trying to look after myselfnew jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap. I even shaved my head to hide my thinning hair. Who am I trying to impress? Not you. Im fat, whats there to compare me with? Anne asked, hurt.
Just let me eat in peace, Peter said, poking at the rice but never bringing the fork to his mouth. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Anne fetched a bottle of ketchup, slammed it on the table and left the kitchen, the untouched dinner remaining on her plate.
She closed herself in Emilys room, sank onto the sofa, and tears welled up.
I cook, I try, and they they never thank me. My husband flirts with younger women. To him Im just a plussize wife. My daughter treats me like a servant. If I retire, will they even notice? Id still work if they didnt cut my hours. Experienced staff are obsolete; they want the youngsters. What can the young really do?
She recalled getting up before everyone else, even without a job, just to make breakfast. The day spun on, no time to sit. Im to blame, Ive spoiled them. Now they sit on my neck and walk away, she whispered, wiping away the tears.
She had always believed her family was goodimperfect but solid. Emily was doing well at university, Peter didnt drink or smoke, the house was tidy and the food tasty. What more could they want?
Anne stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door, studying herself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not huge. My cheeks hide the wrinkles. Ive always loved food. I cook well, yet they seem indifferent. When I worked, I styled hair; now I pin it back so it doesnt get in the way. Do I need high heels and fancy hair for a housewife? Maybe I should lose weight and even dye my hair.
The next morning she lingered in bed, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I have the right to stay in bed a bit longer. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm rang. She shifted and faced the wall.
Are you ill? Peter asked, his tone void of sympathy.
Yeah, Anne replied, burying her face in the blanket.
Emily, are you sick? Emily called in from the hallway.
Go have breakfast yourselves, Anne whispered from under the duvet.
Emily huffed and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door clanged, and muffled voices floated from the living room. Anne stayed under the covers, playing the part of the sick lady.
Peter entered, his expensive cologne filling the roomsomething Anne had bought for him years ago. He and Emily left one after the other, and silence fell. Anne pulled the blanket off, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and walked to the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She thought of cleaning but decided against it. Im not a maid, she told herself, then headed for a shower.
Later she called an old school friend.
Ellie! Its been ages. How are you? Still enjoying retirement? the friend chirped.
Anne confessed she missed being out, hadnt visited her parents graves in years, and wondered if she could stay at Ellies place.
Of course, come over. When are you arriving? Ellie asked.
Right now, Im heading to the station, Anne replied.
Great, Ill start the pies, Ellie said.
Anne packed a small bag for a few days, swept the crumbs from the kitchen table, and left a note that shed gone to a friends house, not knowing when shed return.
At the station she hesitated. Maybe Im being too bold, abandoning them, she thought. If there are no tickets, Ill go back, she decided. The ticket office was busy, a queue formed at the bus gate. She took a breath and slipped to the back.
Ellie greeted her with a warm hug, tea, and fresh pies. Tell me everything, she urged.
Anne poured out the whole story. Youre right, its good to get away for a while. Turn off the phone, Ellie advised.
Is that too drastic? Anne asked.
Just right, Ellie replied. Tomorrow well go to a salon, give you a new look. Remember Claire? She works there. She used to be terrible at school, now shes booked solid. Well turn you into a dazzler, and your husband will be eating his words.
That night Anne tossed and turned, wondering whether Claires plan was too much. The next day Claire welcomed them, styled Annes hair, shaped her eyebrows, and gave her a fresh cut. Anne felt sleepy, the salon lights dimming her senses. Claire insisted on makeup; Anne wanted to quit, but Ellie coaxed her onward.
When the session ended, Anne barely recognized herself in the mirrora younger, striking version stared back. Claire booked her for a followup at eight the next morning.
Look at you, Ellie gushed as they left. Now lets hit the shops.
Anne hesitated. Maybe another day? she asked.
No, weve got to make the most of this new look, Ellie said, pulling her toward the shopping centre.
Anne emerged in loosefit trousers, a light cardigan and a sleek coat, carrying bags with a new dress, a jacket and a pair of shoes. She felt renewed, confident, even a little slimmer. It was time to tidy herself up.
Outside Ellies house, a tall man with white hair and neatly trimmed dark moustache appeared.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Anne. You look smashing.
Anne stared at Ellie, surprised.
You dont recognize me? Its Mike Turner, Ellie clarified.
Mike? Anne repeated.
Yes, he confirmed, smiling. He was a former classmate, once lanky and unnoticed.
Lets go to my place, celebrate your transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine, Ellie suggested.
They sat together, sipping wine and reminiscing about school. Anne blushed, unsure whether it was the wine or the flattering glances.
Hes still got feelings for you, Ellie whispered as Mike left.
Come on, its been years, Anne laughed.
He still looks the way you do now, someone could fall for you again, Ellie reassured her.
Is he still living nearby? Anne asked.
No, hes a retired colonel who served abroad. He returned two years ago after a serious injury. He limps now, but hes strong. Dont rush, think it over, Ellie advised.
Im married, Anne protested.
That night Anne decided to go home, but Ellie wouldnt let her leave.
You just arrived and youre leaving? Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. By the way, Mike got tickets to the theatre. When was the last time you went?
I went to the local youth theatre for the Christmas show with Emily, Anne replied.
Right, the youth theatre. Lets give your new dress a spin, Ellie teased.
Three days later Anne finally answered her phone.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, shouted Emily.
Annes heart raced. She grabbed her coat and Peter drove her to the station.
Anne, if you need anything, Im here, Mike texted. Dont hesitate.
Thanks, Mike, she replied.
On the bus, Anne called Emily. Her daughter recounted how surprised she was by her mothers sudden departure. And dad? Anne asked.
Im sorry to tell you, but hes been cheating. I saw him several times leaving with a neighbour. He didnt even stay the night when you disappeared. Yesterday his other wifes husband came back after a fight; dad broke two ribs, but its nothing. He also had a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time, Emily whispered.
Anne listened, stunned, realizing she didnt need to run away. She reached home by evening, too late for the hospital.
Mom, youve changed so much. I barely recognize you, Emily said, her tone now respectful.
I was scared youd never come back. I thought Id find someone else, Anne admitted.
No one else. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped being seen as a person, Emily said.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, became an old woman. Will you forgive dad? Emily jabbed.
Anne looked around the home, feeling its familiar warmth.
The next morning she rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Peter looked older, his beard turning silver. He wept when he saw Anne, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth with a spoon.
Two weeks later Peter was discharged. As they left the taxi, a man and woman passed them. Peter flinched; the woman averted her eyes. Anne realized she was looking at her rivala slender, redhaired young woman. Peter slumped, avoiding the couple.
Are you staying? he asked at home.
Am I still fat? I havent lost weight yet, Anne replied brightly.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry those pies, will you? Ive missed your cooking, he said.
Anne fried the pies again, serving a fragrant dinner.
It smells wonderful! Emily, now back from university, exclaimed.
They sat together as they used to, when Emily was still at school, Peter never criticized Anne, eating everything and praising her cooking. Anne felt content, ready to stand at the stove for as long as she could, just to please her family.
Life isnt always smooth, especially as age catches up. The body changes, but the spirit can stay young. Everyone learns their own lesson. The most important thing is that they face it together. As the old saying goes, you cant change the horse on the road, but you can decide how you ride it. A loving home, a caring partner, and a little selfrespect are enough to meet old age with grace.
