Emma Clarke is the unpaid housekeeper for her family, until she flies abroad for business on the occasion of her anniversary.
Emma stands at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when Simon walks into the kitchen and drops an invitation on the table.
Your school reunion, he says, eyes glued to his phone. This Saturday.
She looks at the cardthirty years since graduationan elegant design with gilt lettering.
Are you really going? she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
Of course. Just make sure you look presentable, you look like a slovenly old hag. Dont embarrass the family.
The words hit her like a slap. Emma freezes, ladle in hand. Simon heads for the door just as their sons, James and Harry, appear in the doorway.
Mum, whats that? James asks, reaching for the card.
Its a reunion, Emma whispers.
Cool! Are you really going to show up in that same old bathrobe? Harry jokes.
Dont mock your mother, interjects Rose Clarke, the motherinlaw, entering with the air of someone ready to dispense wisdom. Youll need to work on yourself a bittint your hair, buy a decent dress. Appear respectable.
Emma nods silently and returns to the stove. A dull ache sits in her chest, but she hides it. Twentysix years of marriage have taught her to tuck resentment deep inside.
Dinners ready, she announces after half an hour.
The family gathers around. The borscht is perfecttangy, tender beef, fragrant herbsaccompanied by fresh rolls and cabbage pies.
Delicious, Simon grunts between spoonfuls.
As always, Rose adds. You do know how to cook.
Emma eats a few spoonfuls, then heads to wash the dishes. In the mirror above the sink she sees a weary woman in her midforties: grey at the roots, fine lines around her eyes, a dimmed gaze. When did she become so old?
On Saturday she rises at five a.m. First she prepares the dishes everyone is supposed to bring to the reunionsolyanka, herring under a fur coat, meat and cabbage pies, and for dessert a serving of birds milk. Her hands move on autopilotchopping, mixing, baking, decorating. Cooking is her sanctuary, the one place she commands respect.
Wow, youve made a lot, James says, descending at eleven.
For the reunion, Emma replies shortly.
Did you buy anything new for yourself?
Emma glances at the only decent black dress hanging on a chair.
Itll do.
By two p.m. everything is ready. She changes into the dress, applies a touch of makeup, and puts on the earrings Simon gave her for their tenth anniversary.
You look fine, Simon comments. Lets go.
Sophie Harpers countryside manor impresses with its size. A former classmate, she married a businessman and now hosts guests in a house with a swimming pool and a tennis court.
Emma! Sophie embraces her. Youve changed hardly at all! What have you brought?
A few dishes, Emma says, placing the containers on the table.
People have become richer, older, but they still recognize each other. Emma stays on the periphery, watching former classmates chat about their successes.
Who made that solyanka? Victor, the old class monitor, shouts. Its a masterpiece!
Its Emma, Sophie points out.
Lena! a short man with kind eyes approaches. Do you remember me? Paul Mitchell, we sat together in the third row.
Paul! Of course I do, Emma exclaims.
You made this solyanka? Im thrilled! And the pies Ive never tasted anything better.
Thank you, Emma says, a little embarrassed.
No joke, Ive lived in Dublin for ten years, and they love Russian food, but Ive never seen this level. Are you a professional chef?
Just a housewife.
Just? Thats not trueyou have real talent.
All evening people come to Emma for recipes, praise her cooking, and treat her like a star. For the first time in years she feels important, needed.
Meanwhile Simon talks about his garage business, occasionally glancing at Emma with surprisewhere does this popularity come from?
Monday begins as usualbreakfast, cleaning, laundry. Emma irons the boys shirts when the phone rings.
Hello?
Emma? Its Paul. We met on Saturday.
Hey, Paul, she says.
Ive got a business proposal. Want to meet? Talk?
About what?
Work in Dublin. I want to open a Russian restaurant and need a coordinatorsomeone with taste, who can train chefs and plan the menu. Good salary, plus a share of the profits.
Emma sits down, heart pounding.
Paul, I I dont know what to say.
Think it over. Call me tomorrow, okay?
The whole day she drifts through a fog. A restaurant in Dublin? Shes just a housewife.
At dinner she tries to explain to her family.
Guess what, they offered me a job
What job? snorts Harry. You cant do anything except cook.
They want me to cook in a restaurant in Dublin.
Dublin? Simon repeats, incredulous. What nonsense.
Mom, what are you talking about? How old are you? Fortyeight? James asks, setting down his fork.
Besides, Rose adds, who will run the household? Keep the house tidy? Cook?
Maybe someones joking, Simon waves his hand.
Emma falls silent. Maybe theyre right. Maybe its a joke.
The next day the same argument repeats over breakfast. Simon, eyeing her critically, says,
Youve changed, you need to start exercising.
Mom, by the way, Harry says, spreading butter on bread, dont come to my graduation, alright?
Why not? Emma asks, surprised.
Because all the other parents are stylish, and youre outdated.
Harrys right, James backs him up. Dont be offended; we just dont want the kids to talk about you.
Rose nods in agreement:
People say you have to look after yourself. Nowadays women stay beautiful into old age.
Emma gets up, walks to her room, and with trembling hands dials Paul.
Paul? Its Emma. Ill take the job.
Really? Pauls voice bursts with joy. Thats wonderful! But I warn youthe work will be hard, huge responsibility, long hours, tough decisions. Are you ready?
Im ready, Emma says firmly. When do I start?
In a month. Well sort the paperwork and visa. Ill help with everything.
A month flies by. Emma processes documents, studies a bit of Irish, drafts a menu. Her family remains skeptical, calling it a fleeting fancy.
Shell live to regret it, Simon tells his mates.
The main thing is she doesnt lose money, Rose adds.
The boys treat her plans as a joke. To them she is part of the décorcooking, cleaning, washing. What could she possibly do in another country?
On the day of departure Emma rises early, prepares a weeks worth of meals, leaves notes on laundry and cleaning. She heads to the airport alone; everyone else is busy.
Keep in touch, Simon mutters as she leaves.
Dublin greets her with rain and new scents. Paul waits at arrivals with a bouquet and a wide grin.
Welcome to your new life, he says, hugging her.
The following months blur. Emma hires staff, finalises the menu, discovers she can lead as well as she can cook.
The first customers arrive three months later. The dining room is packed, queues form outside. Borscht, solyanka, dumplings, pancakes disappear in minutes.
You have golden hands and a brilliant mind, Paul remarks. Weve created something special.
Emma watches satisfied faces, hears compliments, and realises she has finally found herself. At fortyeight she begins anew.
Six months later Simon calls.
Emma, hows it going? When are you coming home?
Fine, Im working.
When will you be back? Were barely managing here.
Hire a housekeeper.
What kind of pay?
The same you earned for twentysix years.
What do you mean?
Nothing special. I was the free housekeeper for my family until my anniversary when I left for business abroad.
Silence hangs on the line.
Lena, can we talk without the blame?
No hard feelings, Sergey. Im just living. For the first time, Im alive.
Her sons react similarly. They cant grasp how their mother suddenly became independent, successful, needed by others.
Mum, stop playing business lady, James says. The house falls apart without you.
Learn to live on your own, Emma replies. Youre already twentyfive.
Simon doesnt contest divorce; it merely records the reality thats already happened.
A year later the restaurant Moscow is one of Dublins most popular spots. Investors approach her to open a chain, TV chefs invite her onto cooking shows, critics write glowing reviews.
The Russian woman who conquered Dublin, reads a headline in a local paper.
On the restaurants anniversary Paul proposes. Emma thinks it over before saying yesnot because she doubts him, but because she values her independence.
I wont cook for you every day or wash your shirts, she warns.
The next day Simon arrives with the boys. Seeing Emma in a sharp business suit, accepting compliments from local celebrities, they are stunned.
Mum, you youve changed, Harry murmurs.
You look beautiful, James adds.
Im finally me, Emma says.
Simon spends the evening silent, stealing surprised glances at his former wife. After the guests leave he approaches her.
Im sorry, Lena. I never saw you as a person, only as part of the home.
No anger, just sadness for the years lost, Emma replies.
Shall we start over? he asks.
No, Sergey. My life is different now.
Today Emma is fifty. She runs a chain of restaurants, hosts her own cooking programme on Irish television, and has a bestselling recipe book. Shes married to a man who values her as an individual, not as free labour.
Her sons call now and then, proud of their mother, wanting to visit. She enjoys hearing from them but no longer feels guilty for living for herself.
Sometimes 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 in that old bathrobe? She quickly brushes the thought away. Life gives a second chance to few; she was lucky enough to use it.
Starting over at fortyeight is terrifying, but it turns out to be the only way to truly know who you are.
