28April
I was in the kitchen frying meatballs when the frontdoor bell rang. Grace, my wife, stepped out of the kitchen to answer it.
Mom, its for me, our daughter Molly called from the hallway, stopping midstep. Ill let you in.
Alright, I didnt know Grace began.
What are you doing standing there? Keep cooking your meatballs, Molly snapped, glancing back at her mother from the doorway.
Why your meatballs? I bought the mince myself Grace replied, a little bewildered.
Mum, shut the door, Molly rolled her eyes.
Fine, Ill say it straight away, Grace muttered, retreating 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 entry hall Molly was pulling on her coat. Beside her stood Ian, a friend of Lucys, eyeing her with a shy grin.
Good evening, Ian. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner, would you? Grace called from the kitchen.
Good evening, Ian smiled, looking at Lucy with a questioning glance.
Were in a hurry, Lucy answered, not looking at her mother.
Maybe youll stay after all? Everythings ready, Grace repeated. Ian hesitated.
No! Molly shouted abruptly. Lets go. She took Ians arm, opened the front door and turned to her mother. Mum, could you close it?
Grace reached for the door but left a little crack, listening to the voices drifting from the street.
Why are you so harsh with her? It smells wonderful, I wouldnt mind a meatball, a neighbour called from the pavement.
Were heading to the café. Im fed up with her meatballs, Molly muttered.
Can they really get boring? I love your mothers meatballs, I could eat them every day, Ian replied.
Lucys answer was lost in the din as the footsteps on the staircase faded away.
Grace finally shut the door completely and stepped into the living room where I was perched in front of the telly.
Boris, lets have supper while its still hot, I said.
Right, I rose from the sofa, passed Grace in the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
Whats on the menu tonight? I asked, demanding.
Rice with meatballs and a side salad, Grace announced, lifting the pan.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried meatballs, I grumbled.
I added a splash of water, they turned out almost steamed, she said, holding the lid in her hands.
Fine, but thats the last time, I warned.
In our age, losing weight isnt wise, she remarked, placing a plate of rice and meatballs before me.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. Its the prime of a mans life, I retorted, spearing a meatball and taking a generous bite.
Are you all in on some conspiracy? Lucy ran off, you left the table, Im fed up. Stop cooking, see how you manage without it. You think a café serves healthier food?
Then dont bother cooking. You could stand to slim down yourself. You wont fit through the door soon enough, I said, polishing off the meatball with a fork.
You think Im fat? Ive busted my head over everything, and now youre suddenly watching my figure. I bought new jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, even shaved the top of my head to hide my receding hair. Who am I trying to impress? Definitely not you. Yes, Im plump. Whats there to compare me with? I asked, halfhurt.
Let me eat in peace, Boris said, lifting a forkful of rice but dropping it back onto the plate. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Grace fetched a jar of ketchup, slammed it on the table with a thud and left the kitchen, leaving my plate untouched.
I retreated to my bedroom, sank onto the sofa and let the tears flow.
All the effort, the cooking, and nothing but ingratitude. My husband flirts with younger women. He sees me as the big lady. My daughter treats me like a waitress. If Im retired, can they stare me down like that? I would still work if they hadnt cut my hours. They say Im too old for the job, but what can the youngsters do?
I rise before everyone else each morning, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. I spend the whole day running errands, never finding a moment to rest. Its my own fault, I think, Ive spoiled them, and now they sit on my throat like a weight.
The tears ran down my cheeks, but I blinked them away, wiping my face with my palms. I always believed we had a good familynot perfect, but solid. Molly was doing well at university, I didnt drink, didnt smoke, earned a decent wage. The house was tidy, the food was tasty. What more could a man want?
I stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door, inspected myself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not massive. The wrinkles are soft around my round cheeks. Ive always loved a good meal, and I can still cook a decent dish. When I worked, I used to style my hair, curl it. Now I keep it short so it doesnt get in the way. Maybe I should lose a few stones and colour my hair.
The next morning I lingered in bed, feigning sleep. Im retired; I can stay under the covers a little longer. Let them make their own breakfast, I thought.
The alarm finally buzzed. I shifted and faced the wall.
Are you ill? I heard my wife ask, tone lacking any sympathy.
Just a little, I replied, burying my face in the duvet.
Mate, are you sick? Molly entered the room.
Yes, have breakfast yourselves, I whispered from under the blankets.
Molly huffed in displeasure and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sputtered, the fridge door clanged, and muffled voices rose from the sitting room. I stayed tucked in, playing the part of the sick man to the very end.
Boris entered, his expensive cologne filling the airsomething I had bought for him once. He lingered a moment, then left with Lucy. Silence settled. I pulled the duvet off, closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.
An hour later I awoke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty cups lay in the sink, crumbs scattered across the table. I thought of cleaning, but dismissed it. Im not a servant, I muttered, then slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Later, an old school friend, Lily, called.
Ellie! Its been ages, love. How are you? Still enjoying retirement? she chimed brightly.
I told her I missed getting out, that I hadnt visited my parents graves in years, and asked if I could crash at her place.
Of course, youre always welcome. When will you be here? she asked.
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Great, Ill bake some scones for you.
I gathered a few belongings for a short trip, swept the crumbs to the side of the table, and left a note that Id be staying with Lily for a few days. On the way to the bus station I hesitated. Will they manage without me? They never appreciate my work, I wondered, but decided, If I cant get a ticket, Ill return home. The queue was long, but I got a seat near the back.
Lily greeted me with a hug, we sipped tea, and ate warm scones, chatting nonstop.
Youve come a long way. Tell me everything, she urged.
I recounted the whole mess, and she listened, nodding.
Right, you need a change. Tomorrow well hit the salon, give you a fresh look. Valerie works there; remember when we both failed that math exam? Shes a star now, bookings fill up fast. Lets turn you into a knockout. Your husband will be green with envy.
That night I lay awake, wondering whether they were angry or pleased at my sudden disappearance.
Valerie greeted us warmly at the salon, settled me into a chair, and began tinting my hair and shaping my eyebrows. She spent ages on my haircut, while I tried to stay awake. Eventually she insisted on a full makeup session. I wanted to quit, but Lily coaxed me to see it through.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognised the woman staring backa younger, striking version of myself. Valerie already arranged a nail technician for the next step.
No, thats enough for today, I pleaded.
Fine, well book you for eight oclock tomorrow. Dont be late, or the rest will have to wait, she ordered.
We look at you, arent we? Who would have guessed, Lily laughed as we left. Now onto the shops.
I suggested another day, but Lily was insistent. Beauty demands sacrifice, she said, dragging me into the shopping centre.
I emerged wearing loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, and a crisp sandcoloured coat. I felt lighter, more confident, as if Id reclaimed a part of myself that had been hidden for years.
Outside Lilys house a distinguished gentleman with snowwhite hair and a neatly trimmed beard approached.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring me. You look splendid.
Who are you? I asked, puzzled.
Pasha Zuk, remember? From school? Lily supplied.
Yes, that Pasha, I replied, a smile forming.
He invited us over for a glass of wine to celebrate my transformation. We sat together, drank, and reminisced about school days. I blushed, whether from the wine or the attention, I couldnt tell.
Hes still fond of you, Lily whispered as Pasha left.
Im married, you know, I huffed.
Later that night I decided to head home, but Lily wouldnt let me go.
You just arrived and youre leaving? Show some resolve. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. By the way, Pasha has tickets for the theatre. When was the last time you went?
The school play at the youth theatre, with Lucy, I replied.
Ah, the youth theatre. Lets dress you up for that, Lily teased.
Three days later my phone rang.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, Lucy shouted.
My heart raced. I rushed to collect my things, and Pasha drove me to the station.
Ellie, if you need anything, Im here, he said.
Thanks, Pasha, I replied.
On the bus I called Lucy. She revealed that her father had been unfaithful, that she had seen him leave with another woman, and that hed been in a fight at work that left him with a broken rib and a brain bleed. I listened, stunned.
When I finally got home that evening, the hospital was already closed.
Mum, youve changed so much. I barely recognise you, Lucy said, her tone suddenly respectful.
I was scared youd never come back, that youd find someone else, I admitted.
No one else. I just wanted to teach you both a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person, she said.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame for this mess. You retired, stopped looking after yourself, turned into an old lady. Do you think Dad will ever forgive you? Lucy trailed off.
I gazed around the room, grateful for the familiar walls, the people I loved.
The next morning I rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Borisnow looking older with a grey beardcried when he saw me, begging forgiveness. I fed him broth from a spoon.
Two weeks later they discharged Boris. As we left the taxi, a man and a woman passed us. Boris flinched, turned away. The woman avoided my eyes. I realised she was the rival Id heard abouta slim, redhaired young woman. Boris bowed his head, looking ashamed.
Are you staying longer? he asked at home.
Am I still fat? I havent lost any weight, I replied, trying to sound cheerful.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry the meatballs again, will you? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
I fried the meatballs, served a hearty dinner.
How good that smells! Lucy, now back from university, exclaimed.
We sat together at the table, just as we used to when Molly was still at school, Boris never criticising my cooking, praising everything. I felt content, ready to stand at the stove for hours if it meant keeping my family happy.
Looking at my loved ones, I realised that life isnt always smooth, especially as age creeps in. The body changes, but the spirit can stay youthful. Acceptance is hard, but necessary.
Lesson learned: a good marriage and a warm home are enough to meet old age with dignity, and the most valuable thing we can give ourselves is to keep caring for who we are, no matter how the years turn.
