Margaret was frying meat patties when a knock sounded at the front door. She slipped out of the kitchen to see who it was.
Mom, its for me, her daughter Emily called from the hallway. Ill answer.
Alright, I wasnt expecting anyone Margaret replied.
What are you waiting for? Keep cooking your patties, Emily snapped, glancing back from the doorway.
My patties? I bought the mince for the recipe Margaret protested.
Mom, close the door, Emily rolled her eyes.
If youd said so earlier, Margaret muttered, retreating to the kitchen and shutting the door behind her. She turned off the gas beneath the pan, lingered a moment, then removed her apron and left the room.
In the hallway, Emily was pulling on her coat. Standing nearby was Ian, a friend of her sister Sarah, whose eyes lingered on Emily with obvious affection.
Good evening, Ian. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner if you like, Margaret called.
Good evening, Ian replied with a smile, looking questioningly at Sarah.
Were in a hurry, Sarah said, not meeting her mothers gaze.
Maybe youll change your mind? Everythings ready, Margaret offered again. Ian hesitated.
No! Emily snapped. Lets go. She took Ians arm and opened the front door. Mom, could you shut it?
Margaret stepped to the door but left it ajar, hearing voices drifting from the garden.
Youre being downright rude, a neighbour called out. It smells wonderful, I wouldnt mind a bite of those patties.
Lets pop into the café then. Im tired of your patties, Emily muttered.
Theyre never enough for me, Ian said. I could eat your mothers patties every day.
Sarahs reply was lost in the din, and the voices on the stairwell faded away.
Margaret finally closed the door and went back inside. Her husband, Bernard, was seated before the television.
Bernard, lets eat while its still hot, she said.
What? he replied, getting up from the set and joining her at the table.
Whats on the menu tonight? he asked sharply.
Rice with patties and a side salad, Margaret answered, lifting the pan.
Ive told you a hundred times I dont eat fried patties, he complained.
I added a splash of water, so theyre almost steamed, Margaret said, holding the lid in one hand.
Fine, but this is the last time, he grumbled.
In our age its foolish to be dieting, Margaret remarked, placing a bowl of rice and patties before him.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. For a man thats the prime of wisdom and vigor. He speared a patty with his fork and took a bite.
Are you all conspiring against me? Emily shouted from the doorway, refusing to eat. Youre both acting like children. Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without me. Think the café foods better?
Then dont bother cooking. You should lose a few stones yourself, or youll never fit through the door, Bernard finished his patty and lifted another with his fork.
Is that how you see me? As too heavy? Margaret retorted, voice trembling with hurt. Ive given everything, and you treat me like a servant. My husband struts about like a youngster, while you call me fat. Who am I supposed to compare myself to?
Let me eat in peace, Bernard said, lowering his fork. Pass the ketchup, will you?
Margaret fetched a bottle of ketchup from the fridge, slammed it onto the tabletop with a little force, and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her own plate untouched.
She retreated to Emilys bedroom, sank onto the sofa, and tears welled up.
I cook, I try, and they they never thank me. My husband flirts with other women, calls me fat. My daughter looks at me as if Im just staff. If I were a pensioner, would they even notice me? I would work if they hadnt cut my hours. They say older workers arent needed, give the jobs to the young. What can the young possibly do?
I rise before anyone else, even though Im retired, just to make breakfast. I whirl about all day, never finding a moment to sit. Its my own fault for spoiling them. Now they sit on my neck and ride the world. The tears streamed down her cheeks; she wiped them away with trembling hands.
She had always believed they had a good familyimperfect, perhaps, but not worse than any other. Emily was doing well at university, Bernard didnt drink or smoke, the house was tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
Margaret examined herself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not terribly overweight. The wrinkles are softened by my round cheeks. Ive always loved a hearty meal, and I still cook well. They just dont appreciate it. When I worked, I curled my hair, did my nails. Now I tuck my hair back so it doesnt get in the way. Why should I be fussing over heels and hairstyles now? I should probably lose a bit of weight and maybe dye my hair.
She sat on the bed, lost in thought.
The next morning she didnt rise at her usual hour. She lingered in bed, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I can stay under the covers a little longer. Let them make their own breakfast.
The alarm rang. She shifted and turned toward the wall.
Are you ill? Bernard asked, his tone void of sympathy.
Yeah, Margaret replied, burying her face in the blanket.
Mom, are you sick? Emily entered the room.
Yes, you can have breakfast yourselves, Margaret croaked from under the covers.
Emily huffed and went to the kitchen. Soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door banged, and muffled voices rose from the kitchen. Margaret stayed hidden, playing the part of the ailing wife.
Bernard entered, his expensive cologne filling the hallwaythe same aftershave Margaret had bought for him years ago. He and Emily left one after another, and the house fell silent. Margaret pulled the blanket away, closed her eyes, and drifted to sleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Dirty cups sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She considered cleaning but thought, Im not a maid. She slipped into the bathroom, took a shower, then called an old school friend, Lucy.
Annie! Its you! How are you? Still enjoying retirement? Lucys voice was as bright as ever.
I miss you. Im tired of staying at home, and I havent visited Mum and Dads graves in ages, Margaret said. Would you mind if I stayed with you for a few days?
Of course, youre always welcome. When?
Right now, Ill catch the train to the station.
Perfect, Ill bake some pies.
Margaret packed a small bag, swept the crumbs to the side, and left a note on the kitchen table that shed gone to Lucys, not knowing when shed return.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Should I really leave? They never seem to value my effort. Yet she thought, If I cant get tickets, Ill come back. The ticket office was bustling, a queue snaked to the bus doors. She sighed, took her place at the end.
Lucy greeted her with a warm hug, tea, and freshly baked pies. They talked endlessly.
Tell me everything thats happened, Lucy urged.
Margaret poured out the whole saga, from the kitchen battles to Bernards harsh words.
Good thing youre out, Lucy said. Youll get the fresh start you need. Turn off your phone for a while.
Is that too drastic? Margaret asked.
Just right, Lucy assured. Tomorrow well visit the salon, give you a new look. Valentina works thereremember her from school? Shes popular now. Well shop, turn you into a dazzling lady. Your husband will be left speechless.
That night Margaret lay awake, wondering whether they were angry or relieved to see her.
At the salon Valentina greeted her warmly, settled her into a chair, and began repainting her hair and shaping her brows. The process was long, and Margaret almost fell asleep. Valentina insisted on makeup; Lucy coaxed her to see it through.
When Margaret looked in the mirror, a younger, striking woman stared back. Valentina was already arranging a nail technician.
Ive had enough for today, Margaret begged.
Alright, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, or youll miss the crowd, Valentina warned.
Lucy marveled, Look at you! Who would have thought? They left the salon and headed to the high street.
Lets go another time? Margaret suggested.
No, we must go now. A new haircut needs the right outfit, Lucy replied, pulling her along to the shopping centre.
Margaret emerged in loose-fitting trousers, a light cardigan, and a soft blouse. She felt refreshed, though tired from the days bustle.
She carried bags with a new dress, a stylish jacket, and a box of shoes. For the first time in years she felt youthful, confident, even slimmer. She thanked Lucy for nudging her toward change.
Outside Lucys house, a tall man with stark white hair and dark moustache approached. Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Margaret. You look splendid.
Who are you? Margaret asked, surprised.
Pashka Jones, Lucy supplied, your old schoolmate.
Pashka? Margaret repeated.
He nodded. In school he had been skinny and unremarkable, but now he was robust and charismatic.
Lucy invited them in to celebrate Margarets transformation, offering a bottle of wine. They sat together, drinking and reminiscing about school days. Margaret flushed, perhaps from the wine or from the attention.
Hes still in love with you, Lucy whispered as Pashka left.
Stop it, Margaret scolded. Its been years.
You could fall for you again, Lucy insisted.
Does he still live nearby? Margaret asked.
No, hes a retired colonel, served abroad, came back two years ago after a serious wound. His wife left him, but hes managing. He limps when he walks a lot. Lucy advised, Take your time, dont rush into anything.
Im married, Margaret protested.
Later that night she decided to return home, but Lucy refused to let her go.
Just arrived and youre leaving? Show some resolve. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. Pashka got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
To the youth theatre for the Christmas show with Sarah, Margaret replied.
Lucy teased, The youth theatre, eh? Lets parade that new dress.
Three days later Margarets phone rang.
Mom, where are you? Dads in the hospital! Come quickly, her daughter Sarah shouted.
Margarets heart pounded. She hurried to collect her things, and Pashka drove her to the station.
Im here for you, Annie, he said. Dont hesitate to call.
On the bus she phoned Sarah, who told her how shocked she was by her mothers sudden departure. And Dad? Margaret asked.
Hard to hear, but hes been unfaithful. I saw him leave the neighbours flat several times. He never came home after you vanished. Yesterday his other wife showed up, arguing. He works on a shift system, the whole block heard them shouting. He broke two ribs, but its nothing serious. He also had a brain hemorrhage, but the ambulance got him in time, Sarah explained, her voice trembling.
Margaret listened, feeling the weight of the news. She decided she must stay. By evening she was back home; it was too late to go to the hospital.
Mom, youve changed so much. I barely recognize you, Sarah said, her tone now respectful, staying close all evening and sharing updates.
I was frightened youd never return, that youd find someone else, Margaret admitted.
I didnt find anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped caring for yourself and turned into an old woman, Sarah chided. Do you think your father will be jealous? Will you forgive him?
Margaret looked around the familiar room, grateful for the comfort of home.
The next morning she rose early, made a chicken broth, and went to the hospital. Bernard, his beard now greying, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him a spoonful of broth.
Two weeks later Bernard left the hospital. As they stepped out of the taxi, a man and woman passed by; Bernard flinched, the woman averted her eyes. Margaret recognised her as the rivalslim, redhaired, much younger. Bernard bowed his head, trying to disappear.
Are you not leaving now? he asked at home.
Am I not thinner? I havent lost weight, Margaret replied, laughing despite herself.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry those patties again, will you? I miss your cooking, he said.
Margaret fried the patties, preparing a hearty dinner.
Smells wonderful! Sarah, now back from university, exclaimed as she entered the kitchen.
They all sat together at the table as they once had, when Emily was still at school and Bernard never critiqued her cooking. Margaret could stand at the stove for hours just to please her husband.
She gazed at her family, grateful they were all alive, mostly well, and that she still mattered.
Life in a family is never all smooth. Age brings change, bodies weaken, yet the spirit can stay youthful. Accepting that is hard, but one tries to hold onto former strength.
Each learned a lesson; the important thing is that they remain together. One cannot change the horses at the river crossing, just as one cannot cling forever to a reckless youth. Yet, there is honour in growing old beside someone who does not make you wish to kill him, and who leaves no scar of humiliation.
A good wife, a good homewhat else does a person need for old age?
