The Late Present
The bus lurched and Mrs Nora Chambers gripped the handrail with both hands, feeling the battered yellow plastic give slightly under her fingers. Her shopping bag thumped against her knees, apples quietly rolling about within. She stood by the doors, silently tallying the stops left to hers.
One earbud hissed quietly in her earher granddaughter insisted she keep it in. Gran, just in case I call. The mobileheavy as a paving slabsat in the outer pocket of her handbag. Nora still checked the zip was fastened, just in case.
She was already picturing her return: setting the shopping bag on the hall stool, changing into slippers, hanging up her coat and carefully folding her scarf. Next, unpacking the groceries, planning the soup, tidying up the kitchen. Her son would stop by after work to collect the containershe was on night shifts again, no time to cook.
The bus braked, doors hissing open. Nora descended the steps gingerly, one hand on the rail, and stepped out into her street. In the courtyard, children zoomed about with a football; a little girl on a scooter nearly clipped her skirt, but veered off at the last moment. The familiar aroma of cat food and cigarette smoke wafted from the blocks entryway.
In the hallway, Nora placed down her shopping bag, removed her sensible shoes and nudged their toes towards the skirting out of habit. Coat on a peg, scarf on the shelf above. In the kitchen, she lined up her larder loot: carrots with the rest, chicken in the fridge, bread tucked into the breadbin. She filled a saucepan, stopping just when her palm was covered.
The phone vibrated across the table. She wiped her hands on a tea towel before pulling it nearer.
Yes, Alex? she said, leaning in as if proximity might conjure her sons voice.
Hi, Mum. You alright? his voice busy, someone mumbling in the background.
Im fine. Just putting a soup on. You popping in?
Yeah, in a couple of hours. Listen, Mum, weve got yet another whip-round at Lilys nurserysomething about redecorating her room. Any chance you could well, same as last time?
Noras hand was already drifting towards the drawer where her trusty Expenses Notebookgrey, battered, linedresided.
How much do you need? she asked.
If you can, thatd be three hundred. Pounds, obviously. He exhaled. Everyones chipping in but, you know its a struggle at the moment.
I understand, she said. Alright, Ill give it to you.
Thanks, Mum. Youre an absolute gem. Ill swing by this evening, get it and my favourite soup.
The call ended as the water threatened to boil over. Nora added the chicken, salt, a bay leaf or two. She sat and opened her notebook. Pension was there at the top, written in deliberate blue ballpoint; under it, bills, medication, grandchildren, emergencies.
She wrote in nursery fund, pausing with her pen tip pressed into the line. The numbers jostled up to accommodate the new guest on the list. Not quite as much left as shed likebut not a disaster either. Well manage, she thought, closing the book.
On the fridge, beneath a little calendar magnet, an advert read: Community Arts Centre: season passes available. Classical music, jazz, theatre. Discount for pensioners! The magnet was a gift from her neighbour, Mabel, whod brought cherry pie on Noras birthday.
Shed caught herself reading that ad several times while waiting for the kettle to boil. Again, her gaze snagged on the word passes. She remembered, long ago, before marriage, going to concerts with a friend. Tickets were a pittance then, though you had to queue in the draughty wind, stamping your feet for warmth and giggling over cold hands. She had long hair pulled into a bun, would wear her best dress and only pair of court shoes.
Now she pictured the auditorium, though she hadnt seen one in years. Her grandkids dragged her to nativity plays, but it wasnt the samejust clatter, party poppers and parents applause. She didnt even know what performances they put on these daysor who turned up.
She plucked the magnet from the fridge and flipped it over. There was a website and a phone number. The website meant nothing to her, but phone numbers always did. She set the magnet back, but the idea dug its stubborn heels in.
Silly, she scolded herself. I should set aside money for a coat for Sophie. Children grow, everything costs a fortune
She turned the flame down under the pan, then sat again but didnt reopen the notebook. Instead, she fished out her just-in-case envelope from the drawerthe rainy day fund. Notes squirrelled away over the months. Not much, but enough if she tightened her beltshould the washing machine conk out or the GP send her for tests.
She thumbed through the notes, the adverts jingle looping round her mind.
That evening Alex arrived, hung up his jacket on the dining chair, produced his plastic tubs.
Ooh, borscht, he said, delighted. Typical, Mum. Have you eaten?
I have, dont worry. Pour yourself a bowl. The money’s ready, she replied, extracting exactly three hundred pounds from the envelope with care.
Mum, you should jot down whats left, he said, taking the notes. In case you suddenly run out.
I do, Nora replied. Everythings in order.
Youre our household finance minister, he grinned. By the way, could you look after the grandkids again Saturday? Tania and I need to hit the supermarket, and theres no one else to watch them.
Of course, she nodded. As if Ive anywhere better to be.
He shared titbits about worknew management, ever-changing rules. In the hallway, tying his laces, he called over his shoulder:
Mum, do you ever actually buy anything for yourself? Or is it all us and the grandkids?
I have what I need, she insisted. What would I want?
He waved her off.
Alright, have it your way. Ill pop round next week.
When the door closed behind him, the flat fell into its familiar hush. Nora washed up, wiped down the table, and studied the fridge magnet again. Her sons question echoed: Do you ever get anything for yourself?
The following morning she lay staring at the ceiling for a long time. The grandkids were at school and nursery, Alex and Tania at work. Nobody expected her until evening. The day stretched outon paper free, but in truth heavy with chores: watering plants, a spot of vacuuming, sorting the growing heap of old magazines.
She did the stretches the GP recommended: arms above head, twist left and right, gently roll her neck. Teapot on, teabags into the cup. Waiting for the boil, she lifted the magnet again.
Community Arts Centre. Passes
She dialled the minuscule number, heart nudging up a gear. The line trilled a few times, then a cheerful voice answered: Community Arts, Box Office.
Er, hello, Nora managed, mouth suddenly dry. Im enquiring about the season passes?
Certainly! Which programme are you interested in?
I To be honest, Im not sure. What do you have?
The woman explained: orchestras, chamber music, romantic evenings, childrens matinees.
Pensioner rates, of course, she added. Four concerts per pass, but it is a bit dearthough a bargain, really.
And single tickets? Nora asked.
Yes, though they work out more expensive. The season pass is the best value.
Nora pictured the figures in her notebook, her rainy day savings. She braced herself and asked the price. The sum landed heavily in her minda possible yes, but it would thin out that safety pot.
Think it over, the woman encouraged. Passes go quickly.
Thank you, Nora answered, and hung up.
The kettle was in full screech. She poured the hot water and sat, pulling the notebook close. On a fresh page she wrote Concert Pass. Next to it, the amount. Underneath: Four concerts.
How much per month, split across four? she wondered. Not so terrifying, after all. She mentally crossed out some smaller luxuries: buy fewer biscuits, skip the hairdressergive her own fringe a trim.
Faces of her grandchildren flitted by. Jeremy had wanted a new Lego set for ages, Sophie needed trainers for dance. Alex and Tania sighed over their mortgage endlessly. And then, her own wish, which seemed not so much selfish as indecentlike sneaking out somewhere secretly naughty, not just a concert.
She closed the notebook undecided, swept the floor, sorted laundry, pegged socks to the radiator. Still, that image of the auditorium wouldnt budge.
After lunch, the intercom chimed. It was Mabel, clutching a jar of pickled onions.
Here we are, she said, bustling into the kitchen. No more room in my cupboard. How are things?
Getting on, Nora smiled. Ive been thinking, actually
She hesitated, cheeks colouring.
What about? Mabel plopped herself at the table, knitting already in hand.
A concert, Nora exhaled. The Arts Centres selling passes. I used to love concerts, years ago. But its expensive.
Mabel lifted her brows.
And you want my opinion? Its you wholl have to go, love. If you want todo it.
But its the money Nora began.
Oh, money, money, Mabel waved her off. Youve looked after everyone all your life. Didnt you just bail out Alex again? And presents for the grandkids? And what about you? Still wearing that old shawl that saw off the Blitz, trundling to the Co-op in the same coat. Dont tell me a bit of musics too much.
It wouldnt be the first time, Nora retorted. Ive been before.
Yeswhen ice lollies were ten pence! Its a different world now. Youre not begging them for itits your own.
Theyll think its frivolous, Nora muttered. Say I ought to buy something for the grandchildren instead.
Dont tell them then, Mabel shrugged. Make up a visit to the GP. Althoughwhy should you hide it? Youre not a child.
Something about those words stunga blend of indignation and shame.
I visit the GP plenty as it is, Nora said. But well, still, what if I dont manage, what if there are steps, what if my heart
Theres a lift, Mabel grumbled. And youll be sitting! I went to the theatre last monthlegs ached, but worth every twinge.
They lingered over news, traded outrage about prescription charges. Once Mabel left, Nora seized the phone and called before she could second-guess herself.
Id like to book a romantic evenings pass, please.
Instructions followed: bring ID, pass available at the centre. Nora wrote the address and box office hours on a slip of paper, stuck it to the fridge. Her heart thumped like it did decades ago before the first day of school.
Later, Tania rang.
Nora, you really can manage Saturday? We need to dash to Argoshuge deals on vacuum cleaners.
Of course, Nora promised.
Thank you so much. Well bring you something nicea tin of tea? Towels, maybe?
No need, Nora insisted. I have everything I want.
After the call, she checked the address again. Box office closed at sixshed need to set off in good time.
That night she dreamed of the concert hall: plush seats, gentle lighting, people in dark wool coats. She sat mid-row, clutching a programme, afraid to fidget lest she annoy a neighbour.
Come morning, she awoke with a gentle dread. Why did I start this? What a palaver
But the paper with the address remained where it was stuck. After breakfast, she fetched her best coatbrushed it down, checked all the buttons were tight. She chose a thick scarf, sturdy boots. Into her bag went passport, purse, reading glasses, her blood pressure meds and a small bottle of water.
She sat on the hallway stool for a minute, taking stock. No dizzy head, legs steady. Come on, youll be fine, she encouraged herself, locking the door behind her.
The walk to the stop wasnt far, but she shuffled gently, counting steps. The bus appeared swiftly. It was crowded, but a young man gave up his seat for her. She thanked him and sat by the window, clutching her bag to her knees.
The arts centre, tall and impressive, was only two stops from the high street. Posters lined its fa çade. Two women stood at the doors having an argument about something or other. Inside, it smelt of dust, ageing wood, and sweet tea from the café beyond.
The box office was to her right, glassed-in. Nora passed her passport over, repeating her choice.
Lucky timing, the cashier said cheerfully. Lovely seats left in the middle rows for pensioners passes.
She gestured at a seating plantiny squares, all but meaningless to Nora. She just nodded.
The price, when spoken, made Noras hand tremble slightly. She counted out the notes, caught for a second on a sudden impulse to say, Never mind, Ill come another day. But the queue shifted, someone coughed, and she paid up.
Theres your pass, the woman said, slipping a satisfyingly sturdy card through. First concerts in two weeks. Do come early to find your seat.
It was a handsome thing, the passphotographs on the cover, tidy rows of printed dates within. Nora slotted it in her bag between her passport and her little cookbook, which travelled everywhere with her.
Stepping outside, she felt her legs wobble. She sat on the bench, sipped her water. Nearby, two teenagers discussed some band shed never heard of. She caught a few wordsnot understanding, but enjoying the noise.
Well, she thought. Bought nowtoo late to change my mind.
Two weeks flew by. The grandkids had snifflesshe nursed them with apple squash and cooled brows. Alex brought shopping, took away soup. More than once she nearly confessed about the concert, but each time something stopped her.
On the day of her debut, she rose early, stomach fluttering like exam day. She prepped dinner in advance, freeing her evening. She rang Alex.
Ill be out tonight, she said. Let me know if you need anything.
Where are you going? Alex was bemused.
She hesitatednot wanting to lie, not quite brave enough to say.
Im going to the Arts Centre, she decided. Theres a concert.
A beat of silence.
A concert? Mum, do you really need that? Itll be noisy, crowded
Its not a disco, she said, keeping her voice even. Its romantic songs.
Who talked you into that?
No one, she said. I bought the pass myself.
There was a longer pause.
Mum, are you sure? I mean, things are tightyou could have put that towards
I know. But its my money.
The words rang out firmer than she expected, even in her own ears. She gripped the phone, braced for protest.
Alright, Alex sighed. Youre right, your money. Just dont complain if you end up skint. And wrap up, will you? At your age
At my age, I can sit down and enjoy music, she retorted. Im not scaling Ben Nevis.
Another, gentler sigh.
Fine. Just give me a ring when youre home.
I will.
She stayed at the table a while, looking at the pass. Her hands trembled. She felt adventurous and faintly wickedno going back.
By evening, she was dressed in her very bestnavy dress, neat collar, her only ladder-free tights, the trusty flats. She fussed over her hair a full ten minutes.
It was already dusk as she set off. Shop windows shimmered; the crowd at the stop grew. Nora clutched her bag (pass, ID, tissues, pills inside).
The bus was busy. Someone trod on her footapologised. She stood, counting stops. When the digital voice called hers, she squeezed through and disembarked.
At the centre entrance, a mix of people waitedolder couples, younger women, even a handful of twenty-somethings in jeans. She relaxed a fractionshe wasnt the oldest.
She handed her coat to the attendant, received a token, lingered uncertainwhere next? A sign pointed: Auditorium.
Inside, low light, rows of upholstered seats, gentle buzz. An usher checked her pass.
Row G, seat 9, she said. Just down there.
Nora inched along the row, murmuring apologies as people squeezed their knees aside. She finally reached her seat, settled, bag on lap. Her heart poundednot with fear, but with anticipation.
Around her, people chattedbrowsed programmes. She thumbed hers, whispering the unfamiliar song titles. At the bottom, a composers name she remembered from BBC Radio as a girl.
The lights dimmed. The host said a few opening words Nora didnt quite registereverything was about the thrill of being here, not chained to home or kettle.
When the music began, a shiver ran up her back. The singers voice was rich, slightly rougha voice that spoke of lost love and long journeys. Nora remembered other halls, different cities, sharing a concert with someone long gone.
Her eyes prickled but she didnt cry. She sat, knuckles tight around her bag, and listened. Slowly, her body eased, breath steadying out. The music filled up the room, and in it, her life stopped being only a chain of thrift and duty.
At the interval, her legs ached, her back complainedbut she stepped out into the foyer. People milled, some discussing the music, others wolfing down cupcakes or sipping tea. She bought herself a small chocolate bara treat shed normally snub as frivolous.
Tasty, she murmured, breaking off a square.
Next to her, a woman her age in a pale blue suit smiled.
Good concert, isnt it? she said.
It is, Nora agreed. Its been years for me, really.
Oh, same here, the woman laughed. Theres always somethinggrandkids, the garden. But you have to seize the day now, dont you?
A quick chat about the singer and season followed, then the bell sounded for the second half.
It went by in a flash. Nora stopped thinking about costs, about whether her children would approve. She simply sat and listened. The applause at the end was thunderous. She clapped until her hands stung.
Outside, the air was sharp and pleasant. She made her way home, legs tired, but a warm contentment blooming inside hernot joy or triumph, but the slow realisation shed done something for herself, even if small.
She called Alex as soon as she got in.
Im home, she said. No problems.
How was it? Not too cold out?
No, Nora replied. It was lovely.
He paused, then said, Well, thats the main thing. Just dont make a habit of splashing out. We still need to save for the extension, you know.
I remember, she smiled. But I bought the pass, Alex. Three more concerts to come.
Three?! He sounded genuinely surprised. Well fair enough, since you have it. Just take care, please.
Afterwards, she hung up her coat, set her bag down. She made tea and sat at the kitchen table. The pass was a bit frayed at the corners now, so she copied the next concert dates into her wall calendar, circling each one in red biro.
The following week, when Alex requested another loan for god-knows-what fund, she opened her notebook and paused. Finally she said,
I can give half. I need the rest.
What for? he asked without thinking.
She looked at himsaw the fatigue etched into his face, the darkness beneath his eyes.
For myself, she replied calmly. There are things I need too.
He considered her, opened his mouth, then shrugged.
Alright, Mum. Whatever you say.
That night, left alone, she found her old photo album. In it: herself, young, in a white dress outside a distant symphony hall, programme clutched, shy smile glowing.
Long she gazed at that face, trying to bridge the decades to her reflection in the mirror. Then she returned the album to its shelf.
On the fridge, beside the calendar magnet, she fixed an extra note: Next concert15th. Underneath, larger letters: Leave on time!
Her routine did not revolutionise: she still simmered soup, washed and ironed, went to the GP, picked up Sophie and Jeremy. Alex still called for help, and she helped where she could. But now, in a corner of herself, she had her own somethinga patch of time she didnt need to justify.
Shed catch herself, passing the fridge, touching the little scrap with the date, feeling it: she was still alive, she still had the right to want.
One evening idly flicking through the local paper, she found an advert: Free beginners English class for pensionersenrol at your local library. No fee; just a name on a list.
She tore out the snippet, folded and tucked it beside her concert pass. Then she poured tea and wondered perhaps that was a step too bold.
Ill see out my concerts first, she decided. Then well see.
She secured the clipping in her notebook, but the ideathat learning something new wasnt beyond herno longer seemed farfetched. Before bed, she stood at the window, curtain tugged aside. The car parks lamp flooded the pavement where a teenager strolled with headphones in, a small boy bounced a ball on the tarmac.
Nora stood, hand pressing the cold sill, a pooling calm in her chest. Life outside carried onbills, worries, small joys, rarely easy. But shed carved out her own four evenings in a concert hall and, perhaps, some new words to learn.
She flipped out the kitchen light, padded to bed and tucked herself in. Tomorrow would look just the same: corner shop, calls, cooking. But the little red circle on her calendar meant something had quietly changedeven if only she was there to notice it.
