A wicker basket of apples and pears lingered on the kitchen table, a silent accusation. Margaret Hawthorne, for the umpteenth time, glanced at it and let out a weary sigh. From the next room the low murmur of the television drifted inher husband, Arthur, was glued to another programme about coarsehook fishing. He, of course, was unfazed by everything.
Margie, you coming? The teas gone cold, called Arthur.
Margaret frowned. Even the tea was something he couldnt heat for himself.
Im on my way, she replied, pulling a jar of marmalade from the fridge.
As she passed the hallway mirror she smoothed the few silver strands that had begun to show. How swiftly time flew. It seemed only yesterday she had walked down the aisle with Arthur, and today they were marking their daughters sixtieth birthday.
The thought of Gwendolyn tightened Margarets chest. It had been a week since theyd quarreled, and Gwendolyn hadnt called. As usual, Margaret felt she was to blame for everything, though she had meant well.
On the table, beside Arthurs unwashed mug, lay a modest wooden frame holding a photograph of their wedding. Young, radiantMargaret in a fullskirted dress, Arthur in a formal suit. Who could have guessed that forty years later their lives would shrink into a routine of halfspoken words and lingering resentments?
You still stuck there? Arthurs voice cut through the reverie.
Margaret shook off the memory and carried a tray of tea and marmalade into the living room.
What, still stewing over it? Arthur asked without looking away from the screen.
And you, I see, arent at all! Margaret snapped. You could have called Gwendolyn, apologised.
What for? Arthur finally turned to her. For the present we gave her? Thats absurd.
She set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a dreadful present, Arthur. I know that now.
A plain tea set, he shrugged. Expensive, mind youthree hundred pounds, if you recall.
It isnt about the money, Margaret sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed rejected that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and gave it to her for her jubilee. She thought we were mocking her.
We werent! Arthur snapped. We thought it was a fine gift. Its a pretty, almost antique piece.
Margaret shook her head. Men rarely grasp the subtleties. The set had arrived at their wedding from distant relatives of Arthurs family. Margaret remembered young Gwendolyn turning a cup over in her hands and saying, Mum, this is what they called oldfashioned beauty? All the flowersmore like garden beds than cups. The set had sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it to their daughter resurfaced.
Taste changes, Arthur persisted stubbornly. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipsters are always hunting for old things.
Gwendolyn isnt a hipster! Margaret retorted. Shes the chief accountant at a respectable firm, and her flat is minimalist, not a grannys cabinet.
Then she could have simply said thank you and put it on a shelf, Arthur muttered. Instead of making a scene in front of all the guests.
Margaret recalled the moment. Gwendolyn opened the box, stared at the set in silence for a few seconds, then finally looked up at her parents.
Is this the same set from the sideboard? she asked quietly.
Yes, love! Margaret replied brightly, as if nothing had changed. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Gwendolyns face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I could never stand it, and you both knew that.
Ah, there you go again, exaggerating, Arthur said, sipping his tea. A bad gift isnt the end of the world. Do we have any other problems?
Yes, Arthur. The biggest one is that we dont know our own daughterwhat she likes, how she lives.
Arthur snorted. Dont dramatise. Shes just a difficult character, thats all.
Before Margaret could answer the phone rang. She rushed to answer, hoping it was Gwendolyn.
Hello?
Margie? Its Eleanor, a familiar neighbours voice chimed. Could you pop over? Im baffled by these new tablets, cant make heads or tails of the instructions.
Ill be there straight away, Margaret said, hanging up.
Whos that? Arthur asked.
Eleanor Finch. Im just stepping out for a bit; she needs help with her medication.
Again with your charity runs, Arthur grumbled. And wholl make dinner?
Margaret exhaled heavily. Theres borscht in the fridge, just needs reheating.
She threw on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted her with the familiar smells of fried fish from the downstairs flat and cigarette smoke from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Eleanor lived alone; she opened the door before Margaret could even knock.
Come in, Margaret, come in, the elderly woman babbled. Ive baked a cake, lets have a cuppa while were at it.
Margaret tried to decline, but Eleanors insistence was relentless. As the neighbour fussed about in the kitchen, Margarets eyes fell on photographs lining the wallsEleanor with her husband, her daughter, grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows Gwendolyn doing? Eleanor asked, setting a tray of tea down. She coping after the divorce?
Managing, Margaret answered evasively.
And her brother, Kirill? Hes at university now, isnt he?
Yes, third year.
Eleanor settled beside her and studied Margarets face.
You look a little down today. Something happen?
Margaret could no longer hold back. She poured out the whole story: the cursed tea set, the spat with her daughter, Arthurs obstinacy.
You know, Eleanor said when Margaret finished, you simply need to talk to Gwendolyn. Without Arthur. Own up to the mistake with the present.
She wont answer the phone, Margaret sighed.
Then go to her, Eleanor shrugged. She doesnt live far away.
The idea settled in Margarets mind. Why not simply visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that she and Arthur had become two clueless old folk, unable to understand their own child?
Youre right, she admitted. Ill go today.
Eleanor smiled. Good. Now have some cake.
When Margaret returned home she found Arthur still planted before the television.
Arthur, Im off to Gwendolyns.
Why? he asked, surprised.
To apologise for the gift.
Again youre on your own, he snapped, turning to face her. A tea set not liked? She just doesnt have the taste for it yet.
It isnt about the set, Margaret said, settling on the sofas edge. Its about us not hearing each other, not hearing our daughter.
Fine, Arthur relented unexpectedly. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think the gift was fine.
Margaret merely shook her head. Forty years together and the stubbornness hadnt faded a gram.
Gwendolyn lived in a new estate, a sleek block of flats. Margaret boarded a bus, watching the English countryside roll past, pondering how hard it could be to speak plainly with those you love most.
The front door opened to reveal Kirill, her grandson.
Grandma? he asked, bewildered. Why didnt you call before coming?
A surprise, Margaret replied, handing him a bag of scones. Is Mum at home?
Shes at work, Kirill said, taking the bag. Ill call her in.
Margaret smiled and stepped into the living room. The flat felt both modern and oddly alienminimalist, lightcoloured, no heavy sideboards or floral wallpaper, just clean lines.
Gwendolyn emerged from her study, a tight expression on her face.
Mum? Something wrong?
Nothing, Margaret said calmly. I just came to talk.
Gwendolyn glanced at her watch.
I have a video conference with London in half an hour.
Ill be quick, Margaret settled onto a chair. Im here to apologise for that present. You were rightit was foolish.
Gwendolyn raised an eyebrow. Youre apologising for a tea set?
Not only the tea set, Margaret interlaced her fingers. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Gwendolyn sank into an armchair opposite her.
Mum, its not the set, she began slowly. Its a symbol. A symbol that you never really know who I am, what I do, what I love.
Thats true, Margaret whispered. Were stuck in yesterday. To us youre still that girl who used to live with us.
Gwendolyn sighed. The worst part is you never try to discover the real me. In all these years you never asked what music I listen to, which books I read, which films I enjoy. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, Margaret felt a lump form in her throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Exactly! Gwendolyn said, brightening slightly. Im partly at fault too. I never ask what youre up to, what worries you. I just pop in once a month, drop off groceries and leave, as if it were a duty.
Were all at fault, Margaret smiled through tears. But its not too late to mend things, is it?
Not at all, Gwendolyn agreed.
Then tell me, what music are you listening to these days? Margaret asked. And what are you reading?
Gwendolyn laughed. Seriously?
Very seriously, Margaret nodded. We have about twenty minutes before my call, then Ill step out so I dont disturb you.
Well, Gwendolyn considered, Im into jazz, especially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals for work, but for pleasure Im hooked on detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I want to visit Barcelona.
Margaret listened, feeling as if she were meeting a new person for the first time. How much she had missed.
What about your love life? she ventured gently. Its been three years since the divorce
Gwendolyn smiled shyly. There is someone. Hes seven years younger, but Im scared you and Arthur wont understand.
Were oldfashioned, but not stoneage, Margaret said. It matters that hes a good man.
He is, Gwendolyn affirmed. He teaches history at university. Kirill likes him.
Invite him over for dinner, Margaret suggested. No more tea sets as gifts, I promise!
They both laughed.
You know, Gwendolyn said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually lovely, a proper Provençal piece. Vintage is all the rage now.
Dont try to make me feel better, Margaret shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Gwendolyn exclaimed. Im even thinking of putting it in the cottage we bought last year. I didnt tell you we have a plot yet.
No, Margaret felt a sting of shame. See how little we know about each other?
Lets catch up, Gwendolyn said, checking her watch. I must get ready for the conference, but youre welcome to visit this weekend. Bring Arthur, and Ill show you the cottage photos.
They embraced, and Margaret sensed something important returning to her lifesomething she had nearly lost through her own blindness.
On the way home she stopped at the corner shop, buying a bottle of good red wine and a box of chocolates. Arthur met her at the door, his face a mixture of curiosity and worry.
How did it go? he asked.
Were mended, Margaret said, handing him the bag. And you know what? Gwendolyn says she now likes the set and wants to keep it at the cottage.
See? I told you it was a fine gift! Arthur declared triumphantly.
Margaret just smiled. Let him think hes won. What mattered was that peace had returned to the family, far beyond any porcelain.
Arthur, she said, moving to the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and hopes to go to Barcelona?
No way! he exclaimed. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, Margaret replied, pulling out the glasses. And neither does ours. Maybe we should learn something new ourselves.
Arthur looked doubtful. Like what?
Like listening to each other, Margaret poured the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not just from the sideboard.
Agreed, he raised his glass. To a new chapter for us.
The fruit basket still sat on the table, but now Margaret regarded it with fresh eyes. Even the most illjudged present could become the seed of something genuine and lasting.
