I still recall the day Anne was frying meat patties in the kitchen of her modest terraced house in a sleepy English town when a knock sounded at the front door. She slipped out of the kitchen to answer it, only to be halted halfway by her daughters voice.
Mum, its for me, her daughter, Ethel, called from the hallway. Ill get it.
Alright then. I didnt know, Anne began, bewildered.
Then why are you standing there? Go on, keep on frying those patties, Ethel snapped, glancing back at her mother from the doorway.
Why your own? I bought the mince myself Anne tried to protest.
Mum, shut the door, Ethel rolled her eyes.
Could have said that straight away, Anne muttered, retreating to the kitchen, 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 Ethel was pulling on her coat. Beside her stood Ian, a friend of hers, eyes fixed lovingly on her.
Good evening, Ian. Where are you off to? Would you like to have supper with us? Anne called out.
Good evening, Ian replied with a smile, looking at Ethel.
Were in a hurry, she said, not meeting her mothers gaze.
Perhaps youd still like a bite? Everythings ready, Anne repeated.
Ian hesitated.
No! Ethel snapped. Were going. She took Ians arm, opened the door and shouted, Mum, could you close it?
Anne approached the doorway, but left it ajar, listening to the voices outside.
Youre being rather harsh with her, a neighbour called from the garden. It smells delicious, Id love a patty.
Lets pop into the café instead. Im fed up with your patties, Ethel muttered.
They could never tire me, Ian replied. I could eat your mothers patties every day.
What Ethel said in reply Anne could not make out; the voices on the stairwell faded away.
Anne finally shut the door fully and went into the sittingroom where her husband George was watching television.
George, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Alright, he rose, passing her and sitting at the table. Whats on the menu?
Rice with patties and a salad, Anne announced, lifting the pan.
How many times must I tell you I dont like fried patties? George complained.
I added a splash of water; they turned out almost steamed, Anne replied, holding the lid in one hand.
Fine, but this is the last time, he grumbled, taking a bite.
At our age, losing weight is unwise, Anne said, placing a plate of rice and patties before him.
What age? Im only fiftyseven. For a man this is the age of wisdom and vigor, George retorted, spearing a patty and chewing half of it.
Ethel had slipped out earlier, refusing dinner, and now Anne felt a sudden surge of frustration. If you all conspire against me, Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without my meals. Think the café is better? Fine, I wont cook any more. You should lose a few stone yourself, or youll never fit through the door, George said, polishing off another patty.
Ethels voice, muffled from the hallway, rang out, Do you think Im fat? Ive broken my head over this, and now youve gone all fancyleather jacket, baseball cap, shaved my hair to hide the baldness. Who are you trying to impress? Certainly not me. Im still round. Who am I to compare with?
Let me eat in peace, George said, stabbing at the rice but never bringing the fork to his mouth. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Anne fetched the ketchup from the fridge, slammed the jar onto the table, and left the kitchen in silence. The untouched dinner sat on her plate.
She withdrew to the bedroom, sank onto the settee and let tears fall. I cook, I try my best, and they give me nothing but criticism. My husband grows younger in spirit, looks elsewhere. My daughter treats me like a servant. If Im retired, can they keep treating me like a nuisance? I would have kept working if they hadnt cut my hours. They say the older staff are useless; they want the young. What can the youngsters offer, anyway?
I rise before everyone else, though Im no longer employed, just to make breakfast. The whole day Im on my feet; theres no time to rest. I am to blame; Ive spoiled myself. Now they sit on my neck and wander off.
The tears streamed down her cheeks; she pressed her hands to her face, stifling a sob. She had always believed her family was decentnothing perfect, but not worse than any other. Her daughter was doing well at university, the husband didnt drink or smoke, earned a decent wage. The house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
Anne stood before the fulllength mirror on the wardrobe door, surveyed herself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not fat. The wrinkles are soft on my round cheeks. Ive always loved a good meal, and I still cook well. They simply dont need it any more. When I worked, I curled my hair, styled it. Now I keep it pinned back so it doesnt get in the way. What use is a high heel and a frilly updo now? I should probably lose a few stone and maybe dye my hair.
She returned to the bed, lost in thought.
The next morning she lingered in bed longer than usual, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I have the right to stay in bed a little later. Let them make their own breakfast, she mused.
The alarm finally rang. She stirred, turning her face to the wall.
Whats wrong? Are you ill? George asked, his tone void of sympathy.
Just a bit, Anne replied, burying her face in the blanket.
Mum, are you sick? Ethel entered the room.
Just have breakfast yourselves, Anne whispered from under the covers.
Ethel huffed in displeasure and drifted to the kitchen. Soon Anne heard the kettle whistling, the fridge door creak, and the muffled chatter of her husband and daughter. She kept her eyes closed, playing the part of the ailing mother.
George entered, a scent of expensive cologne lingeringhed bought the aftershave himself when Anne could still afford a splash. He and Ethel left one after the other, and the house fell quiet. She lifted the blanket, closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
When she awoke an hour later she stretched, padded to the kitchen and found unwashed mugs and crumbs scattered across the table. She considered tidying up but thought, I am not a servant. She slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower, then called an old school friend.
Anne! Its been ages, the familiar voice chirped. How are you faring? Not too bored sitting at home, love?
Anne confessed she missed the bustle, hadnt visited her parents graves in years, and wondered if her friend would mind a short stay.
Of course, come over whenever you like, her friend, Margaret, replied. When are you arriving?
Right now, Ill catch the bus to the station.
Oh dear, Ill pop some scones out of the oven then, Margaret said.
Anne packed a small bag for a few days, swept crumbs aside, and left a note on the kitchen table that she was heading to her friends house, not knowing when shed return.
On the road to the station she hesitated. Perhaps theyll manage without me. They never seem to value my work. Yet she wondered if she was being too reckless. If there are no tickets, Ill go back home, she decided. The bus queue was long, but she managed a seat near the back.
At the station Margaret greeted her with a warm hug, tea and freshly baked scones, and they talked until the words ran out.
Tell me everything thats happened, Margaret urged.
Anne breathed out, spilling every grievance. Its right that they feel it, but its useful for them to suffer a little. Turn the phone off, Margaret advised.
Isnt that a bit extreme? Anne asked.
Just right, Margaret assured. Tomorrow well go to the salon and give you a new look. Valentina works thereremember her from school? Shes now the goto stylist. Well shop, make you a proper lady, and your husband will be left jawdropping.
That night Anne tossed and turned, wondering whether they were angry or delighted with her change.
At the salon Valentina welcomed them, seated Anne, and began trimming her hair, shaping her brows, and styling her. Anne watched herself in the mirror, barely recognizing the younger, striking woman staring back. Valentina arranged for a manicure as well.
Enough for today, Anne begged after a while. I cant take more.
Fine, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, or everyone will be waiting, Valentina instructed.
Margaret gushed, Look at you now! Who would have guessed? as they left the salon.
Ill come back another time, Anne suggested.
No, we must go shopping now. A new haircut needs a proper outfit, Margaret replied, dragging her into the town centre.
Anne emerged from the shop in loose trousers, a light cardigan, and a breezy sandcoloured sweater, feeling content despite the fatigue. She carried bags with a fresh dress, a jacket, and a box of shoes, feeling rejuvenated, lighter, and confident. She thanked Margaret for nudging her toward this transformation.
Outside Margarets home, a tall gentleman with white hair and dark moustache approached, admiring Anne.
Hello, ladies, he said, eyes twinkling. You look splendid.
Anne stared at Margaret, bewildered.
You dont recognise him? Thats Peter Zed, Margaret whispered.
Peter? Anne asked.
Yes, our old schoolmate. He was skinny and rather dull back then.
They invited Anne into their modest kitchen, poured a bottle of wine, and reminisced about school days. Anne flushed, perhaps from the wine or from the lingering glances.
Hes still fond of you, Margaret noted as Peter left.
Stop it, hes been gone for years, Anne replied.
You look as if you could fall in love with you again, Margaret teased.
Whats his situation now? Anne asked, changing the subject.
Hes a retired colonel, left the army after a severe injury. He limped a bit, his wife left, but hes recovered, Margaret explained. Dont rush into anything, just look.
Im married, Anne protested.
Later that night she decided to return home, but Margaret wouldnt let her go.
Just arrived and youre leaving? Show some resolve. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. Peter booked theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
Only to the local youth theatre for the Christmas show with Margaret, Anne muttered.
Lets take your new dress out for a spin, Margaret laughed.
Three days later Anne finally answered her phone.
Mum, where are you? Fathers in the hospital! Come quickly, her daughter Ethel shouted.
Annes heart thumped. She hurried to pack, and Peter drove her to the bus stop.
Anne, Im here if you need anything, he said. Dont hesitate.
Thanks, Peter, she replied.
On the bus Ethel recounted how shocked she was by her mothers sudden disappearance, expecting her back the next day.
What about Father? Anne asked.
Its painful, but I must tell you. Hes been cheating. I saw him leaving the neighbours flat multiple times. He never came home when you vanished. Yesterday the man from next door, his other wifes husband, returned in a fit of anger. Hes been working on shift patterns. There was a fight; his ribs are broken, but its nothing. He also suffered a brain bleed, but the ambulance arrived in time, Ethel whispered.
Anne listened, stunned, yet felt no urge to leave. She arrived home by evening; the hospital was already closing.
Mum, youve changed so much. I barely recognise you, Ethel said, her tone now respectful.
I was scared you wouldnt come back, that youd find someone else, Anne admitted.
I found no one. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person, Ethel replied.
Youre to blame, Mum. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old woman. Your father will get jealous. Will you forgive him? Ethel jabbered.
Anne scanned the room, feeling the warmth of home, the familiar comforts of her own life.
The next morning she rose early, made a chicken broth and drove to the hospital. George, now older with a thick grey beard, wept at the sight of Anne, begging forgiveness. She fed him the broth with a small spoon.
Two weeks later George was discharged. As they stepped out of the taxi, a man and woman passed by. George flinched, turned away. The woman avoided his gaze. Anne recognized her as a sleek, redhaired rival of hers. George hunched, trying to hide.
Are you not leaving again? he asked, hopeful.
Am I still fat? I havent lost any weight, Anne replied with a grin.
Im sorry. I was foolish. Fry the patties again, will you? Ive missed your cooking, he pleaded.
Anne fried the patties, prepared a hearty dinner.
What a smell! Ethel, now back from university, exclaimed, entering the dining room.
They sat together as they had in the days when Ethel was still at school, George never criticizing his wife, devouring everything and praising her cooking. Anne felt ready to stand at the stove for hours just to please her husband.
She looked around at her family, grateful that they were all alive, mostly well, and that she still mattered to them.
Life in a family is never perfectly smooth, especially as age creeps in. The body weakens, the spirit may stay youthful. Acceptance is hard, yet we strive to keep the old vigor alive.
Each learned their own lesson: the most important thing is to stay together. You cannot change the course of a horse midcrossing, just as you cannot cling to a wild youths saddle forever.
A good wife, a warm homewhat more does one need to face old age?
