The hallway of the old council flat was narrow and stretched on like a wormhole. Yellowed floral wallpaper clung to the walls, and the floorboards creaked under every step they had been laid before the war. The air always smelled of boiled cabbage and cats, although no cat had ever lived in flat7.
Margaret Sinclair hesitated before opening the door. First she fiddled with the rusted lock, then she peered through the peephole for a long minute before finally pulling it open.
Finally! she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her daughter. I thought you wouldnt come. Come in quickly, the cake is in the oven.
Emily shuffled from foot to foot, a shopping bag clutched in her hands.
Mum, Ive got barely any time. Ive popped in to wish you happy birthday and then I must be back. Mark is waiting for me in the car.
Margarets face fell in an instant; delight turned to disappointment.
How can you pop in? Ive set the table, Ive cooked everything. Dorothy Jenkins from the fifth floor will be here, Helen with her granddaughter. Were waiting for you. Sixtyfive is not a joke.
Mum, Emily bit her lip, I told you on the phone. Today is my fatherinlaws seventieth birthday a big dinner at the restaurant. All the relatives, friends and colleagues are there. We cant possibly miss it.
So I can skip my own birthday? Margarets lips tightened. Am I worse than your fatherinlaw?
Please, Mum, what are you saying? Emily felt cornered. I suggested we move your celebration to tomorrow, keep it familyonly with cake and presents. But you stubbornly said today is the only day.
How can I move it? My birthdate is today, not tomorrow! Margaret flapped her hands. Dorothy is already prepared, the cake is baked. What am I supposed to tell them? That my own daughter prefers strangers to her mother?
The hallway grew stifling. The scent of the cake drifting from the kitchen made Emilys head spin or perhaps it was the relentless guilt that had haunted her all her life.
Theyre not strangers, Mum. Theyre my husbands family. We got the invitation a week ago, before you even thought of planning anything.
A week ago! And when was I born? Yesterday? Margaret snapped. A mothers birthday should be remembered forever, not after an invitation arrives.
Emily glanced at her watch. Mark had been waiting in the car for fifteen minutes. They were late.
Mum, I really cant argue now. Here, take the gift, she said, handing over the bag. Its the electric kettle you wanted, with temperature control. And she pulled an envelope from her purse, money for the new coat you liked at The Snow Queen.
Margaret refused both the present and the envelope.
I dont want your handouts, she snapped. I want my own daughters attention. What kind of attention is that? You didnt even bring little Lucy to say happy birthday to her own grandma.
Lucys running a fever, thirtyeight point five, Emily replied wearily. I told you this morning. The nanny is looking after her.
A nanny! Margaret wailed. So Im not good enough as a grandma? You think I cant handle my own granddaughter?
…
A knock sounded. At the door stood Dorothy Jenkins, the fifthfloor neighbour, Margarets agemate, dressed in a festive dress, a cake balanced in her hands.
Happy birthday, dear! she cried, then halted, noticing the tension between mother and daughter. Oh, am I early?
Come in, Dorothy! Margaret perked up. Right on time. Meet my daughter, Emily. Shes just popped in to wish me happy birthday and is already off to more important people.
Dorothy managed a nervous smile. Dont be hard on her, Margaret. Young people have their own lives. Dont hold them back.
Im not holding her! Margaret stepped aside dramatically, clearing a path to the hallway. Go, Emily, go. Let the fatherinlaw not be offended. And mumwhat mum? Mum will survive; shes used to it.
Emily stood there, clutching the gift and envelope, unsure what to do. Her phone buzzed in her pocketMark must have been wondering where she was.
Mum, please, Emily whispered. Lets not make a scene in front of strangers. Ill come back tomorrow with Lucy as soon as she feels better, and well have a proper family celebration.
Strangers? Margaret arched an eyebrow. Dorothy visits me, asks how I am. Some people only drop by for five minutes a month, shove a few pounds in, and think theyve done their duty. Not like that.
Dorothy shifted from foot to foot, clearly regretting being caught in the family drama.
Ill go to the kitchen and set the kettle, she muttered, retreating deeper into the flat.
Alright, Emily placed the kettle on the side table and set the envelope beside it. I understand, Mum. Im sorry I cant stay. Happy birthday. She kissed her mothers cheek and slipped out before another harsh word could be spoken. In the stairwell the air was damp and dusty; she leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself.
The phone buzzed again. This time she answered.
Yes, Mark, Im heading down now.
Whats taking so long? his voice sounded anxious. Were already twenty minutes late.
Same old story, Emily replied shortly. Ill explain later.
She descended the cracked stairs and stepped outside. Marks Toyota was parked at the curb, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.
Hows it going? he asked as she buckled up.
Didnt say happy birthday, Emily said, fastening her seatbelt. She told me Im not her daughter because Im going to my fatherinlaws birthday, not staying with her.
Mark sighed. Maybe you should have stayed.
And what would that have changed? Emily leaned back, exhausted. Tomorrow shed find another reason to be angrymy gift isnt right, Lucy is too noisy, I hardly visit. It never ends, Mark.
The car pulled away.
Do you remember last year? Emily began. I cancelled our seaside trip to organise a birthday for her. I set the table, invited her friends. She spent the whole evening sulking because the cake was storebought, not homemade. She said I didnt care about her health because the cake was full of chemicals.
Mark nodded. I remember. You were upset for a week.
And when Lucy was born? Emily stared out the window, seeing not passing houses but memories. Instead of helping with the baby, she critiqued everythinghow I fed her, how I dressed her, how I held her. Then shed be angry that I rarely asked her to look after Lucy.
Mark glanced at her. Maybe we should see a therapist? Together with your mum?
Emily forced a weak smile. Shed rather die than admit she has relationship problems. To her, a therapist is for crazy people.
They arrived at the grand hotel where Arthur Whitakers seventieth birthday was being celebrated. Guests in dress shirts and sparkling gowns streamed through illuminated doors.
Here we are, Mark said as he parked. Try not to think about your mum tonight, okay? Dads been looking forward to this for months.
Emily nodded, pulling out a lipstick and smoothing her face. A celebration was a celebration; no one should see her upset.
Inside, the hall buzzed with chatter. Arthur Whitaker, a tall silverhaired man with a military bearing, greeted them at the entrance.
My latecomers! he boomed, hugging his son and then Emily. You look radiant, Emily!
Happy birthday, Dad, she kissed her fatherinlaw on the cheek. Sorry were late, I I was held up at my mums.
Arthurs expression grew serious. How is she? Send her my regards. Its a strange coincidence that our birthdays clash.
Yes, a strange coincidence, Emily replied, trying to keep her tone light. Well celebrate with her another day.
What about Lucy? Mark mentioned. Shes been a bit under the weather.
Just a temperature, Emily said. Nothing serious, just a cold. We kept her at home just in case.
Right, a childs health comes first, Arthur agreed. Please, join us at the table; everyones waiting.
Music swelled, waiters wheeled trays of drinks, and guests laughed. Emily and Mark took their seats. Mark joined the conversation; Emily merely smiled, her thoughts drifting back to the shabby council flat, the yellow wallpaper, and the mother she imagined still complaining to Dorothy about an ungrateful daughter.
During a lull, Tatiana Mitchell, Marks mother, slipped into the seat beside Emily. She wore an elegant navy dress.
Emily, you look a little down today, she observed. Is something wrong?
No, nothing, Emily forced a grin. Im just worried about Lucy. The nanny called; her temperature isnt dropping.
I understand, Tatiana said gently. Kids get sick often; theyll be fine by morning, youll see.
She paused, then whispered, Mark told me about your mum and the birthday clash. I feel a bit awkward.
Emily sighed. What does it matter? A birthday is a birthday; you cant move it. My mum is just complicated.
I get it, Tatiana placed a hand on Emilys. My own mother was difficult. Whenever we visited, shed find something to criticizemy cooking, my parenting, even my clothes. I suffered for years. Eventually I realised I could not change her, only my reaction to her.
How? Emily asked.
Its simple, Tatiana replied. Stop expecting someone to give you what they cannot. Accept them as they are, flaws and all. Set your own boundaries. Your mum will never be the perfect mother from a storybook; she will sulk, feel hurt, manipulate. Thats her choice. Your choice is how you respond.
Emily reflected. The words rang true, yet she felt a knot tighten.
I still feel sorry for her, she admitted. She sits alone on her birthday, hurt and upset.
She isnt alone, Tatiana reminded her. She has her neighbour, Dorothy, right now. She chose to stay bitter rather than accept. Thats her right, but you also have the right to live your own life, make your own decisions.
A toast interrupted them. Everyone rose, glasses clinking. The room filled with speeches about family values and the importance of kin.
Emily smiled mechanically, nodding. In her mind she still saw her mothers angry, lonely face. When the crowd sat down again, she slipped a quick text to the nanny: Hows Lucy? The reply arrived instantly: Sleeping. Temp 37.4°C. No worries.
She then sent a message to Margaret: Happy birthday, Mum. I love you. Ill be back tomorrow with Lucy as soon as she feels better.
For a while there was no reply. Emily thought her mother had ignored her until the phone finally chimed.
Thanks for the wishes. Dorothys cake was awfulfull of chemicals. Yours would have been better. Love, Mum.
Emily couldnt help a small smile. It was the closest thing to reconciliation her mother could manage.
Whats that? Mark asked, noticing her grin.
Mum wrote, Emily showed him the text. Shes nearly not angry.
Mark snorted, For your mum thats practically an admission of love.
The party rolled ontoast after toast, dancing, a few games. Gradually Emily relaxed and even began to enjoy the evening. She realised her motherinlaws words held truth: you cannot keep blaming yourself for never living up to someone elses expectations, even if that someone is your own mother.
When they finally left, the night air was cool. The nanny called to say Lucy had slept through the night and her temperature was almost normal.
Tomorrow morning well go to Grandmas, Emily said, tucking a blanket around Lucy. Well give her a proper birthday.
Sure? Mark asked, loosening his tie. Maybe give her a few more days of being upset so she appreciates when youre there.
No, Emily answered firmly. Shes my mother, with all her flaws. I dont want a grudge between us. Lifes too short for that.
The next morning Emily baked a honey cakeher mothers favouritedressed Lucy in a pretty dress, and they set off for the celebration. On the way she bought a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, her mums beloved flowers.
Margaret opened the front door instantly, as if waiting for them. She wore a fresh dress and her hair was styled for the occasion.
Grandma! Lucy squealed, throwing herself into Margarets arms. Happy birthday! Look what we brought you!
She handed over a clumsily wrapped box of beads shed chosen herself.
Margarets face lit up. She lifted Lucy onto her lap. Lucy dear, I thought you were still ill!
Im fine now! the little girl declared proudly. The doctor said Im a champion.
Emily placed the cake on the side table and handed Margaret the bouquet.
Happy birthday, Mum, she said, embracing her mother. In that hug Emily felt the old resentment melt away, at least for the moment.
Come in, quickly, Margaret buzzed, bustling to the kitchen. Tea is ready and the scones are fresh. Yesterday Dorothy brought that dreadful storebought cakefull of chemicals. We barely finished it.
Emily exchanged a glance with Lucy and winked. Everything felt ordinary, and that ordinary warmth made her smile. Her mother was still her mother, with quirks and a stubborn streak, but the moments they shared were precious and fleeting.
Tell me about the fancy dinner you had, Margaret said, pouring tea. Was it as glamorous as the restaurant?
Emily laughed. Your scones beat any fivestar restaurant. Those moments with you are the ones Ill remember.
The day ended with the simple truth that families are messy, birthdays will clash, and expectations can clash even harder. Yet, by accepting each others imperfections and choosing love over resentment, we keep the most valuable thing intact: the time we have together. This is the lesson that stays with us long after the candles are blown out.
