You’re the one to blame, Mum.
Margaret was frying pork cutlets when someone knocked at the front door. She stepped out of the kitchen to answer.
Mate, it’s for me, her daughter called, stopping her halfway. Ill let them in.
Alright then, I didnt know Margaret started.
Come on, get on with your cutlets, Poppy snapped, glancing back at her from the doorway, irritation in her tone.
Why your? I bought the minced meat myself
Mum, close the door, Poppy rolled her eyes.
Could’ve said that earlier, Margaret muttered, heading back to the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind her. She turned off the gas under the pan, slipped off her apron and left the kitchen.
In the hallway, Poppy was pulling on her coat. Ian Clarke, a friend of hers, lingered nearby, his eyes locked on her.
Hey, Ian. Where are you off to? Fancy dinner with us? Margaret called.
Hello, Ian answered with a smile, looking at Poppy questioningly.
Were in a rush, Poppy replied, not even glancing at her mother.
Maybe youd like to stay for dinner? Ive got everything ready, Margaret offered again.
Ian seemed to consider it.
No! Poppy snapped. Were off. She slipped her arm through Ians and swung the door open. Mum, could you close it?
Margaret walked over, but left it ajar, just enough to hear the chatter from the street.
Youre being rude to her, a voice called from the square. Smells great, I wouldnt mind a cutlet.
Lets pop into the café for a bite. Im fed up with her cutlets, Poppy muttered.
They could never get boring. I could eat your mums cutlets every day, Ian said.
What Poppy replied, Margaret didnt catch. Voices from the stairs faded away.
Margaret finally shut the door and drifted into the living room where George was glued to the telly.
George, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Right, lets go. He rose, walked past Margaret into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
Whats on the menu? he asked demanding.
Rice with cutlets and a simple salad, Margaret replied, lifting the pan.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried cutlets, George grumbled.
I added a splash of water, they turned out almost steamed, Margaret said, holding the lid.
Fine, then. But this is the last time.
At our age, losing weight isnt wise, Margaret remarked as she plated the rice and cutlets for him.
Your age? Im only fiftyseven. A mans prime, you know. He speared a cutlet, took a bite.
Are you both in on some plot? Poppy ran off, wont eat, youre acting like a child. Im done cooking, lets see how you survive without homecooked meals. Think the cafés healthier?
Fine, stop cooking then. You could lose a few stones yourself. You wont fit through the door any more, George finished his cutlet, reaching for another.
Excuse me? You think Im fat? Ive been trying to look after myselfbought new jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, even shaved my head to hide my baldness. Who am I doing this for? Certainly not you. Im still what you call bigbodied. Compare me to whom? Margaret said, hurt edging her voice.
Let me eat in peace, George muttered, stabbing at the rice but never bringing it to his mouth. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Margaret fetched the ketchup, slammed the jar on the table with a thud, and left the kitchen. Her plate stayed untouched.
She closed herself in Poppys room, collapsed onto the sofa, tears welling up.
I cook, I try, and its never enough. I do everything for them and get no thanks. George flirts with younger women. Im the fat one. Poppy looks at me like Im just staff. If I were retired, could they just shrug me off? Id still work if they didnt cut my hours. Experienced staff arent needed any more, they want fresh faces. What do those youngsters even know?
I get up before anyone else, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. Im always on the go, never a moment to sit. Its my own fault, I spoiled them. Now theyve all settled on me like a burden. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and she quickly rubbed them away, wiping her face with her palms.
Shed always believed they had a good familymaybe not perfect, but no worse than anyone else. Poppy was in university, doing well. George didnt drink or smoke, he earned a decent wage. The house was cosy, tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
She stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door, inspected herself. Sure, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not huge. Wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved food. I cook well, but they dont seem to care. When I worked, Id curl my hair, style it. Now I tie it back so it wont get in the way. Why should I be fussing over heels and hair? Maybe I should lose a few stones and dye my hair.
She sat back on the bed, lost in thought.
The next morning, she stayed in bed longer than usual, pretending to be asleep. Im retired, I can sleep in a bit. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm finally rang. She shifted and faced the wall.
Whats wrong? Youre ill? George asked, his tone flat.
Yeah, sure, Margaret replied, burying her face in the duvet.
Mom, are you alright? Poppy entered the room.
Just have your own breakfast, Margaret murmured from under the blankets.
Poppy huffed in annoyance and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sang, the fridge door slammed, and muffled voices floated from the kitchen. Margaret stayed under the covers, playing the sick role all the way through.
George drifted in, carrying the scent of an expensive cologne shed bought him years ago. He and Poppy left one after the other, the house fell silent. Margaret tossed the duvet aside, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and padded to the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She thought about tidying up but shivered, Im not a servant. She went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, then called an old school friend.
Emma! Its me, Anne. How are you? Not getting bored of retirement? Emmas voice was as bright as ever.
Anne confessed she missed getting out, hadnt visited her parents grave in ages, and wondered if she could crash at Emmas place.
Of course, come over. When?
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Oh dear, Ill start the pies then.
Anne packed a small bag for a few days, swept the crumbs to the side of the table, left a note saying shed be at her friends and didnt know when shed return.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Maybe theyll manage without me. They never appreciate what I do. But she decided, If there are no tickets, Ill go back. The ticket office was busy, a queue snaked around the bus doors. She sighed and slipped in at the back.
Emma greeted her with a hug, tea, and warm pies, and they chatted nonstop.
Tell me whats happened, Emma urged.
Anne poured her heart out, and Emma listened, nodding.
Right, maybe you should switch off your phone for a bit, Emma suggested.
Is that too drastic? Anne asked.
Just right, Emma said. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a makeover. Valentina works thereremember her from school? Shes booked solid now, but well fit you in. Well shop, turn you into a knockout. Let George bite his tongue.
That night Anne tossed and turned, wondering, Are they mad at me? Happy?
At the salon Valentina welcomed them, settled Anne into a chair, and began tweaking her hair, shaping her brows, even giving her a fresh cut. Anne fought the urge to fall asleep, but the night seemed endless. Valentina pressed for makeup, and although Anne wanted to stop, Emma coaxed her to finish.
When she finally looked in the mirror, Anne barely recognised the woman staring backyoung, striking, a complete transformation. Valentina was already arranging a nail appointment.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take any more, Anne pleaded.
Alright, well book you for eight oclock tomorrow. Dont be late, or the crowd will be out of patience, Valentina warned.
Emma marveled, Look at you! Who would have guessed? and they headed out to do some shopping.
Anne hesitated, Maybe another time? but Emma dragged her into the department store.
She emerged in loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, a sleek top, and a breezy sandcoloured coat, looking pleased despite the exhaustion. She lugged bags containing a new dress, a stylish jacket, and a box of heels, feeling younger, confident, even a bit slimmer. She was grateful Emma had nudged her toward change.
Outside Lucys house, a tall, whitehaired man with dark moustache approached. Hey ladies, he said, admiring Anne. You havent changed a bit, still looking smashing.
What? Anne asked, bewildered.
Its Peter Jones, Lucy clarified, the bloke from our old class.
Peter? Anne echoed.
Yes, the man confirmed, smiling at the effect hed caused. Hed once been lanky and plain at school.
Lucy suggested, Lets all go to my place, pop a bottle of wine, celebrate your new look. They settled at Lucys kitchen, sipped wine, and reminisced about school days. Anne flushed, half from the wine, half from the attention.
Hes still into you, Lucy teased when Peter left.
Give it a rest, hes been around forever, Anne muttered.
You look like someone I could fall for all over again, Lucy assured her.
Does he still live nearby? Anne asked, changing the subject.
No, hes a retired colonel, left the army years ago, came back after a serious injury overseas. Hes a bit lame now, so dont rush anything, Lucy advised.
Im married, Anne protested.
That night Anne decided to head home, but Lucy wouldnt let her go.
Just arrived and youre off already? Stay a bit, get a feel for things. Nothing will happen to you. Live a week here. By the way, Peter got theatre tickets. Whens the last time you went?
The youth theatre for the Christmas pantomime with Lucy, Anne said.
Lucy laughed, The youth theatre, eh? Lets parade that new dress around.
Three days later Annes phone finally buzzed.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quick, Poppy shouted.
Annes heart hammered. She grabbed her coat, and Peter drove her to the station.
Anne, if you need anything, Im here. Dont hesitate, he said.
Thanks, Peter, she replied.
On the bus, she called Poppy. The girl sounded shocked at her mothers sudden disappearance.
What about Dad? Anne asked.
Its hard to say, but hes been cheating. Ive seen him leave the block a few times. I tried not to tell you, Poppy said, voice trembling. When you vanished, he stopped coming over. Yesterday his new partners husband showed up, shouting. There was a fight, he broke a rib, but its not serious. He also had a brain bleed, but the ambulance got him in time. She paused. Its all settled now.
Anne listened, stunned, feeling she shouldnt have left. By evening she was back home, though it was too late for the hospital.
Youve changed so much, Mum. Hard to recognise you, Poppy said, her tone now respectful, staying by her side all evening, sharing news.
I was scared you wouldnt come back, thought youd found someone else, Anne confessed.
I didnt find anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You and Dad stopped seeing me as a person, Poppy replied.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into a old woman. Dad will be jealous now. Will you forgive him? Poppy babbled.
Anne scanned the room, feeling a warm sense of homethe familiar, the belonging.
The next morning she rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. George looked aged, his beard more silver than before. Seeing Anne, he burst into tears, begging forgiveness. She fed him spoonfuls of the broth.
Two weeks later George was discharged. As they stepped out of the taxi, a man and woman passed by. George flinched, turned away. The woman averted her gaze. Anne recognised her as his rivala slender, redhaired, younger woman. George slumped, trying to blend into the crowd.
Are you staying? he asked at home.
Am I not thin enough now? I havent lost weight, Anne replied cheekily.
I asked for forgiveness. I was foolish. Lets fire up those cutlets, yeah? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
Anne fried the cutlets, served a tasty dinner.
It smells amazing! Poppy exclaimed, returning from university.
They all sat together at the table, just like before, when Poppy was still in school, George never criticised Margaret, ate everything, praised her. Margaret was ready to stand at the stove for days just to please her husband.
Margaret looked at her family, grateful they were all alive, healthy, and that she mattered to them.
Family life isnt always smooth. Things get shuffled, especially as you get older. The body isnt what it was, but the spirit can stay young. Its hard to accept, and you want to hold onto the old strength.
Everyone learns their own lesson. The point is theyre together. You cant change the horse at the ferrysometimes you just have to ride it out.
A good wife, a cosy homewhat else does anyone need to face old age?
