The hallway of the old council flat was narrow and stretched on forever, like a dark tunnel. Yellowed floral paper clung to the walls, and the floorboards creaked beneath every step, laid down when the building was first erected after the war. A thin, everpresent scent of boiled cabbage lingered, mixed with the faint whiff of old cats, even though no cat had ever lived in flat7.
MrsMargaret Clarke didnt fling the door open at once. She fumbled with the rusted latch, stared a long moment through the peephole, then finally eased the door inward.
Finally! she exclaimed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. I was sure you wouldnt turn up. Come in, quicktheres a cake in the oven.
Emma Clarke shifted from foot to foot, clutching a small parcel.
Mum, Ive got barely any time. Im just popping in to wish you happy birthday and then Im off. Victors waiting in the car.
Margarets smile froze, disappointment washing over her face like a cold wave.
How can you just pop in? Ive set the table, everythings ready. Eleanor from the fifth floor will be here, and Aunt Sarah with her little one. Were all waiting. A 65yearold birthday isnt a joke.
Mum, Emma bit her lip, I told you on the phonetodays my fatherinlaws seventyyear celebration. Its a big thing at the restaurant; the whole family, friends, colleagues. We cant ditch it.
So I can skip my own birthday? Margarets lips pressed together. Am I worse than your fatherinlaw?
Dont say that, Mum, Emma felt the walls closing in. I suggested we move your party to tomorrow, keep it intimate with cake and presents. You stubbornly said today was the only day.
How can I move it? My birthdate is today, not tomorrow! Margaret flailed her arms. Eleanors already set, the cakes baked. What do I tell them? That my own daughter would rather party with strangers than her mother?
The hallway grew stale. The aroma drifting from the kitchen made Emmas head spinnot from the scent, but from the crushing guilt that had haunted her forever.
Theyre not strangers, Mum. Theyre my husbands family. We got the invitation a week ago, before you even thought of a party.
A week ago! And I was born when, exactly? Yesterday? Margaret snapped. A mothers birthday should be remembered every day, not only when someone sends an invite.
Emma glanced at her watch. Victor had been waiting in the car for fifteen minutes; they were already late.
Mum, I cant argue now. Heretake the gift. She thrust the parcel forward. Its the electric kettle you asked for, with a thermostat. And she slipped a envelope from her bag, the money for that coat you liked at Winter Crown.
Margaret turned away from both.
I dont need your handouts, she snapped. I need a daughter who actually shows up. Speaking of which, you didnt even bring little Lucy to greet her own grandmother.
Lucys running a fever38.5°C, Emma replied wearily. I called you this morning; the nanny stayed with her.
A nanny! Margarets hands flew up. And you think a grannys not enough? You think I cant look after my own grandchild?
Mum, that
A knock sounded at the door. Eleanor, a neighbour from the fifth floor, stood there in a smart dress, a cake balanced on a tray.
Margaret, happy birthday, dear! she cried, then froze, seeing the strained faces. Oh, am I early?
Come in, Eleanor! Margaret perked up, forcing a smile. Perfect timing. This is my daughter, Emma. Shes just stepped in to wish me and is already rushing off to more important people.
Eleanor chuckled, a nervous smile on her lips. Dont worry, Margaret. Young people have their own lives. Dont hold them back.
Im not holding anyone! Margaret stepped aside, widening the exit. Go, Emma, go. Let your fatherinlaw stay happy. As for me, Ill surviveIve been through worse.
Emma stood frozen, clutching the parcel and envelope, unsure what to do. Her phone buzzed in her pocketVictor must have been asking where she was.
Mum, please, she whispered. Lets not make a scene in front of guests. Ill come back tomorrow with Lucy as soon as shes better, and well celebrate properly, all of us together.
Guests? Margaret raised an eyebrow. Eleanor is the only one who actually visits, asks after my health. Some people only pop in once a month, drop a few pounds, and are satisfied. Shes more than family.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting witnessing the showdown.
I think Ill go put the kettle on, she muttered, retreating toward the kitchen.
Fine, Emma said, placing the gift on the small bedside table and sliding the envelope beside it. I understand, Mum. Im sorry I cant stay. Happy birthday.
She pressed a quick kiss to Margarets cheek and slipped out before another harsh word could be spoken. The stairwell smelled of damp and dust. She pressed her back against the wall, inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing heart.
The phone buzzed again. She answered.
Yes, Victor, Im on my way down.
Whats taking you so long? his voice was edged with worry. Were already twenty minutes late.
Nothing, just a few things, Emma replied shortly. Ill explain.
She trudged down the worn stairs and out onto the street. Victors silver Vauxhall sat at the curb, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.
Hows it going? he asked as she buckled in.
Didnt get to wish Mum happy birthday, Emma said, fastening her seatbelt. She said I wasnt her daughter because Im going to my fatherinlaws party instead of staying with her.
Victor sighed. Again, twentyfive minutes wasted. Maybe you should have stayed?
And what would that change? Emma leaned back, exhausted. Shed find another excuse tomorrowmy gift wasnt right, Lucys too noisy, I dont visit enough. It never ends, Victor.
He started the engine, and the car rolled forward.
Remember last year? Emma began. I cancelled our seaside break to throw her a party. I set the table, invited her friends, but she spent the whole evening whining that the cake was storebought and full of chemicals, saying I didnt care about her health.
Victor nodded. I remember. You were miserable all week.
And when Lucy was born? Emmas eyes drifted to the passing houses, seeing memories instead of scenery. Instead of helping, my mother kept criticizingYoure not feeding her right, youre not dressing her properly, youre handling her wrong. Then shed get upset that I never asked her to look after Lucy.
Victor glanced at her. Maybe we should see a therapist? With your mum?
Emma gave a hollow laugh. Shed rather die than admit she has a problem. To her, a therapist is for the cracked.
They pulled up outside the Grand Regency Hotel, where Victors father, Sir Victor Stead, was holding his own golden jubilee. Guests in evening dress streamed through sparkling doors.
Here we are, Victor said, parking. Try not to think about your mum tonight, okay? Your dads waiting.
Emma nodded, pulling a compact lipstick from her clutch, smoothing her face, forcing a smile. A celebration was a celebration; no one could see her turmoil.
Inside, the ballroom buzzed with chatter. Sir Victor, a tall, silverhaired man with the bearing of a retired colonel, greeted them at the entrance.
Finally, my late arrivals! he boomed, hugging his son before turning to Emma. You look radiant!
Happy birthday, Dad, Emma kissed his cheek, Sorry Im lateI was held up at my mums place.
Sir Victors expression hardened. How is she? Give her my regards. The coincidence with the dates is unfortunate.
Yes, unfortunate, Emma managed, keeping her tone casual. Well have a proper celebration with her tomorrow.
And Lucy? Victor mentioned shes under the weather.
Just a fever, Emma said. Nothing serious, we kept her home just in case.
Good, Sir Victor replied. A childs health is paramount. Come, have a seat. Everyones already gathered.
The orchestra swelled, waiters floated trays of champagne, and the chatter rose. Emma and Victor took their places at a table, but Emmas mind drifted back to the cramped flat, the yellow wallpaper, and the angry look on her mothers face.
During a lull between toasts, a poised woman in a navy dress slipped into Emmas seat. It was Victoria Victors mother, a dignified lady with a gentle smile.
Emma, you look a little down today, she observed. Whats on your mind?
Emma forced a smile. Nothing, really. Im just worried about Lucy. The nanny called; her temperature isnt dropping.
Victoria nodded sympathetically. Children get colds all the time. Shell be fine by morning.
She paused, then lowered her voice. Victor told me about your mothers birthday clash. I felt awkward, honestly. A birthday is a birthdayyou cant move it.
I know, Emma sighed. Shes a difficult person.
Victoria reached out, her hand warm on Emmas. My own mother was a hard woman. Whenever we visited, shed find something to criticizehow I cooked, how I dressed, how I behaved. I suffered for years. Then I realised I couldnt change her; I could only change how I reacted.
How? Emma asked, eyes searching.
Stop expecting her to give you what she cant, Victoria said simply. Accept her as she is, flaws and all, and set your own boundaries. Your mum will never be the perfect mother from a novel, but you can decide how much her words affect you.
Emma absorbed the advice, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt.
I still feel sorry for her, she admitted. Shes alone on her birthday, upset, probably feeling abandoned.
She isnt alone, Victoria replied. She has a neighbour, Eleanor, who visits. She chose to stay angry, thats her right. But you have the right to your own life, your own choices.
A clink of glasses interrupted them; a toast rose, voices swelling in unison. Emma forced a mechanical smile, nodding as the room erupted in applause. She slipped her phone from her clutch, texted the nanny: Hows Lucy? The reply came instantly: Sleeping. Temp 37.4°C. No worries.
She then typed a quick message to her mother: Happy birthday, Mum. I love you. Ill be back tomorrow with Lucy as soon as she feels better.
Minutes stretched. Finally, her phone chimed with a reply: Thanks for the wishes. Zenas cake was terriblefull of chemicals. Yours would have been better. Love, Mum.
Emmas lips twitched into a faint smile. It was the closest thing to reconciliation Margaret ever managed.
Whats that? Victor asked, noticing her grin.
Mum wrote back, Emma showed him the screen. She isnt completely angry.
Victor snorted. For your mum, thats practically a love letter.
The evening moved ontoast after toast, dancing, a few cheeky games. Gradually, Emmas tension eased; the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses began to lift the heaviness. She realised Victorias words held truth: she couldnt spend her life trying to meet impossible expectations, even from her own mother.
When they finally left, the night air was cool. The nanny later called to say Lucys fever had settled.
Tomorrow morning well go to Grandma, Emma told her, smoothing the blanket over her sleeping daughter. Well give her the celebration she deserves.
Victor, unfastening his tie, asked, Are you sure? Maybe give her a few more days to be upset, so she appreciates you more.
No, Emma replied firmly. Shes my mum, flaws and all. I dont want a rift between us. Lifes too short for that.
The next morning, Emma baked her mothers favourite honey cake, dressed Lucy in a pretty dress, and headed to the suburban cottage where Margaret waited. On the way she bought a bouquet of white chrysanthemumsher mothers favourite flowers.
Margaret opened the door instantly, as if expecting them. She wore a fresh dress, hair neatly styled for the occasion.
Grandma! Lucy shrieked, flinging herself into Margarets arms. Happy birthday! Look what we brought you!
She handed over a clumsily wrapped box of handmade beads.
Margarets face softened, she lifted Lucy onto her lap. Lucy, I thought you were still ill!
Im fine now! the little girl declared proudly. The doctor said Im a champion.
Emma set the honey cake on the side table and placed the chrysanthemum bouquet in her mothers hands.
Happy birthday, Mum, she whispered, hugging her tightly.
Margaret pressed Emma close, the embrace lingering. For a moment, the old grievances seemed to melt away.
Come in, love, Margaret chirped, bustling to the kitchen. Teas ready, and Ive baked fresh scones. Yesterday Zenas storebought cake was a disasterfull of chemicals. We barely finished it.
Emma exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance with Lucy, and a warm smile spread across her face. The day unfolded with ordinary chatter, tea, and laughter. The tensions of the previous night felt distant, replaced by the simple comfort of family.
In the quiet after the guests left, Emma rested her head on Margarets shoulder. Your scones are better than any restaurants dessert, she said softly. These moments wont last forever, but theyre enough.
Margaret squeezed her hand. Tell me about the night out, she prompted, eyes twinkling. Was the restaurant as glittering as you say?
Emma laughed, the sound light and genuine. It was lovely, but nothing beats a homemade cake and a chat over tea.
They lingered in the kitchen, the honey cake cooling on the counter, the scent of fresh tea filling the rooma quiet, perfect ending to a day that had begun with a clash but ended in a tender reconciliation.
