I was the freehand housekeeper for my family until, on the occasion of my silver wedding anniversary, I drove off abroad for a business venture.
Helen Whitaker was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of stew, when Simon slipped into the kitchen and dropped an invitation on the table.
Your school reunion, he said without looking up from his phone. Saturday.
She stared at the card. Thirty years since leaving school. A glossy invitation with gold lettering.
Youre going, arent you? she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
Of course. Just make sure you look presentable, or youll look like a ragtag. Dont bring shame on the family.
The remark hit her like a cold splash. Helen froze, ladle in hand. Simon was already heading for the door when their sons, Michael and David, walked in.
Mum, whats that? Michael asked, taking the card.
A school reunion, she whispered.
Cool! Are you really going to show up in that old dressing gown? David laughed.
Dont mock your mother, intervened Rachel Parker, the motherinlaw, stepping into the kitchen with the air of someone ready to dole out sage advice. She just needs a bit of a makeover. Dye the hair, buy a decent dress. She must look respectable.
Helen nodded silently and returned to the stove. A dull ache settled in her chest, but she kept it hidden. After twentysix years of marriage she had learned to tuck resentment deep inside.
Dinners ready, she announced half an hour later.
The family gathered around the table. The stew was perfectjust the right tang, tender beef, fragrant herbs. With it came fresh bread and buttery cabbage pies.
Delicious, Simon grumbled between spoonfuls.
As always, added Rachel. You do know how to cook.
Helen ate a few spoonfuls and then went to wash the dishes. In the mirror above the sink she saw a weary face of a fortysevenyearold woman. Grey at the temples, fine lines around the eyes, a dimmed look. When had she grown so old?
On Saturday Helen rose at five in the morning. First she had to prepare dishes for the reunioneach guest was to bring something. She decided to make several things at once: a hearty bean soup, pickled herring under a blanket of grated beet, meat and cabbage pies, and for dessert, a batch of Eton mess.
Her hands seemed to know what to dochop, mix, bake, garnish. Cooking gave her peace. Here she was a master, free from criticism.
Wow, look at all youve prepared, Michael exclaimed as he descended the stairs at eleven.
For the reunion, Helen replied shortly.
Did you buy anything new for yourself?
Helen glanced at the only decent black dress hanging on a chair.
Itll do.
By two oclock everything was ready. Helen changed into the dress, applied a touch of makeup, even put on the earrings Simon had given her for their tenth anniversary.
You look decent, Simon remarked. Lets go.
The country house owned by Susan Irving was impressive. An old schoolmate who had married a businessman, she now entertained guests in a manor with a swimming pool and tennis courts.
Lena! Susan embraced her. You havent changed a bit! What did you bring?
A few dishes, Helen said, setting the containers on the buffet.
Some had become rich, some had grown old, but everyone still recognized each other. Helen lingered at the edge, watching former classmates chat about their successes.
Who made this soup? Victor Clarke, the former class monitor, shouted. Its a masterpiece!
Thats Helen, Susan pointed out.
Lenny! a short man with kind eyes approached. Do you remember me? Peter Marshall, we sat together in the third row.
Peter! Of course I do, she replied brightly.
You made that soup? Im amazed! And those pies Ive never tasted anything better.
Thanks, Helen blushed.
No, seriously. Ive lived in Belfast for ten years now; they love Russian food, there are plenty of Eastern European restaurants, but Ive never seen such quality. Are you a professional chef?
Just a housewife.
Just? Peter shook his head. You have real talent.
All evening people kept coming to Helen, asking for recipes, praising the food. She felt important. Needed. For the first time in many years.
Simon spent the evening talking about his garage, occasionally glancing at his wife with surprisewhere did this popularity come from?
Monday began as usualbreakfast, cleaning, laundry. Helen was ironing the boys shirts when the phone rang.
Hello?
Lena? Its Peter. We met on Saturday.
Hey, Peter, she said, surprised.
Ive been thinking I have a business proposal for you. Can we meet? Talk?
What about?
A job in Belfast. I want to open a Russianstyle restaurant and need a coordinatorsomeone with a good palate, who can train chefs, design the menu. Salary is solid, plus a share of the profits.
Helen sat down heavily. Her heart hammered.
Peter, I I dont know what to say.
Think it over. Call me tomorrow, okay?
The whole day she drifted like in a fog. A job in Belfast? A restaurant? She, a simple housewife?
At dinner she tried to explain to the family.
Imagine, they offered me a job
What kind of job? David sneered. You cant do anything besides cooking.
Its exactly cooking. In Belfast, at a restaurant.
Belfast? Simon repeated. What nonsense is that?
Mum, what are you talking about? Michael set his fork down. Youre fortyeight, arent you?
And besides, Rachel interjected, who will run the house? Keep it tidy? Cook?
Probably someone just joked, Simon waved his hand.
Helen fell silent. Were they right? Was this just a joke?
The next day the same pattern repeated. At breakfast Simon gave her a critical look.
Youve changed, need to work out more, he said.
By the way, Mum, David spread butter on his toast, dont come to my graduation, alright?
Why not? Helen asked.
Well, all the parents are so stylish, and you you look a bit outdated.
Davids right, Michael added. Dont take it personally, just dont want the kids talking about you.
Rachel nodded in agreement.
Exactly, you have to look after yourself. Women nowadays stay beautiful even into old age.
Helen got up from the table and went to her room. With trembling hands she dialed Peter.
Peter? Its Lena. Im in.
Really? his voice cracked with joy. Helen, thats wonderful! But I must warn youthis wont be easy. Its a big responsibility, a lot of work, decisions to make. Are you ready?
Ready, she said firmly. When do we start?
In a month. Well sort the paperwork, the visa. Ill help with everything.
A month flew by. Helen sorted documents, brushed up on some basic Gaelic, drafted a menu for the future restaurant. The family treated the idea with scepticism, seeing it as a fleeting fancy.
After a month or two shell realise home is better, Simon told his mates.
The important thing is she doesnt lose money, Rachel added.
The boys didnt take her plans seriously at all. To them she was part of the décorcooking, washing, cleaning. What could she possibly do in another country?
On the day of departure Helen rose early, prepared a weeks worth of meals, left notes on laundry and cleaning. She headed to the airport aloneeveryone else was busy.
Well keep in touch, Simon muttered as she left.
Belfast greeted her with rain and unfamiliar scents. Peter met her at the arrivals hall with a bouquet and a wide grin.
Welcome to your new life, he said, pulling her into an embrace.
The following months passed in a blur. Helen recruited staff, refined the menu. She discovered she could not only cook but also lead, plan, make decisions.
The first customers arrived after three months. The dining room was packed, people lining up. Beef stew, bean soup, dumplings, pancakeseverything vanished in minutes.
You have golden hands, Peter said. And a sharp mind. Weve created something special.
Helen watched the satisfied faces, heard the compliments, and realised she had finally found herself. At fortyeight she was starting afresh.
Six months later Simon called.
Lena, hows it going? When are you coming home?
Fine, works going well.
When will you be back? Were barely coping here.
Hire a housekeeper.
Who? How much?
The same amount I earned for twentysix years.
What do you mean?
Nothing fancy. I was a freehand housekeeper for my family until my silver anniversary when I left for a business venture abroad.
Silence lingered on the line.
Lena, can we talk properly? No hard feelings?
Im not offended, Simon. Im just living. For the first time in my lifeIm living.
The boys calls sounded the same. They couldnt grasp how their mother could suddenly become independent, successful, needed by others besides them.
Mom, stop playing businesslady, Michael said. The house falls apart without you.
Learn to manage on your own, Helen replied. Youre already twentyfive.
Simon didnt object to a divorce; it was merely a legal acknowledgement of what had already happened.
A year later the restaurant London was one of Belfasts most popular eateries. Investors knocked on her door to open a chain, TV chefs invited her onto cooking shows, critics wrote glowing reviews.
A British woman who conquered Belfast, she read in a local paper.
Peter proposed on the restaurants anniversary. Helen thought it over before saying yes. It wasnt distrusthe was a good manbut she liked being on her own terms.
I wont cook for you every day or wash shirts, she warned.
On the second anniversary of the restaurant Simon arrived with the boys. Seeing their mother, now confident in a sharp business suit, accepting congratulations from local celebrities, left them speechless.
Mum, you youve changed, David muttered.
Shes beautiful now, Michael added.
Ive become myself, Helen corrected.
Simon spent the evening quiet, casting surprised glances at his former wife. When the guests finally left, he approached her.
Sorry, Lena. I never understood
What?
That youre a person, with talent, dreams, needs. I saw you only as part of the household, the home.
Helen nodded. No anger, just a sorrow for lost years.
Shall we start again? he asked.
No, Simon. My life is different now.
Helen is now fifty. She runs a chain of restaurants, hosts her own cooking programme on regional television, and has a bestselling recipe book. Shes married to a man who values her as a person, not as a freehand housekeeper.
Sometimes her sons call, telling her theyre proud, that theyve learned a lot, that they want to visit. Shes glad to hear it, but she no longer feels guilty for living for herself.
Often she stands in the kitchen of her flagship restaurant, watches the chefs prepare her signature dishes, and thinks, What if I hadnt taken that step? What if Id stayed a ragtag in an old dressing gown?
She quickly drives those thoughts away. Not everyone gets a second chance. She was luckyand she made the most of it.
Starting over at fortyeight was terrifying. Yet it turned out to be the only way to truly discover who you are.
