On New Years Eve, the neighbour dropped by, her voice hesitating: Could I come in for half an hour?
Havent been paid yetnothing at home, not even biscuits for the childrens tea.
Just me and the boys, wishing for something festive
Margaret stood at the cooker, admiring a duck glazed in marmalade, freshly removed from the oven.
The aroma wafted through the kitchenshe felt the urge to close her eyes and breathe it in.
Shed spent the whole morning tending to it: basting, fussing, not leaving its side for a moment.
The result was perfect.
Tom, come and have a look! she called to her husband.
Tom popped his head in, whistled and gave a nod of approval.
Marg, this is worthy of a posh restaurant!
Margaret smiled with satisfaction.
Well, why not?
Let me plate it, sprinkle some herbs, and itll be stunning.
She carefully placed the duck onto a large porcelain platter, arranged marmalade orange segments beside it, and dotted rosemary sprigs around.
The scene looked like something out of a glossy cooking magazine.
The table was already laden: three saladscoronation chicken, prawn cocktail, and a crisp green salad, sandwiches with salmon, beautifully sliced cheddar and Camembert, fruit piled in a bowlgrapes and kiwis.
A tray sat apart with homemade meatballs and roast potatoes.
Are we opening a banquet hall? Tom joked.
No, Margaret replied calmly.
I just want a proper New Years.
Weve grafted all year, we deserve a good night.
Her husband squeezed her shoulder.
Agreed.
Havent celebrated like this in ages.
Indeed, the past few years theyd cut back on everything, saving for renovations.
Now that was behind them, their finances stable, so tonight, finally, they could allow themselves some indulgence.
Margaret laid out crystal glasses from a cabinet where theyd gathered dust.
Every detail matteredeverything needed to look festive and real.
By ten oclock, the table was ready.
They changed into smart attire and sat opposite, Tom pouring drinks.
So To us?
To us.
They clinked glasses.
Margaret tried the saladit was superb.
Tom, with duck on his plate, rolled his eyes in delight.
This is divine, Margyoure magic.
Margaret felt content.
The table, the warmth, the quiet, the luxury of not rushing anywhereit all seemed the very essence of happiness.
Exactly at eleven, the doorbell chimed.
They glanced at each other.
Who could be knocking so late?
Tom went to answer.
Standing outside was their neighbour, Susan, with her two sons.
She looked bewildered, eyes red.
Sorry, Tom, this is awkward she stumbled.
Is it alright if we stay a bit?
Im really struggling.
Whats happened? he asked, concerned.
Everything at once Susan sobbed.
I havent been paid.
The jobs cash-in-handthey let me go before Christmas.
Empty cupboards, nothing for the boys, not even tea biscuits.
My friends promised to visit, but nobody did, and the lads just want a bit of a party
The boys stood behind herthin, wearing worn jumpers, silent.
Tom was thrown.
To send Susan and her children back out on New Years would be heartless.
Come in, he said.
Ill fetch Margaret.
Margaret emerged from the kitchen and saw the guests.
Instantly, she knew their evening had changed.
Hello, Susan Hello boys.
Sorry for barging in, Marg, Susan wiped her eyes nervously.
We really have nowhere else to go.
Just twenty minutes, if you dont mind?
Margaret looked at the children.
They said nothing, but their gaze stuck firmly to the tables tempting smells.
Take your seats, she sighed.
The guests satand chaos ensued.
Mum, look at this! gasped the elder boy.
So much food!
Can I have salmon? piped up the younger.
Sit down, Margaret said curtly.
The boys climbed onto the chairs.
The elder seized a duck leg with his hand: Aunt Marg, may I? Not waiting for approval, he bit in.
The younger dug into the salmon sandwiches.
Tasty! he declared, grinning.
Can I have some more, Mum?
Susan didnt stop her sons, instead piling food onto their plates.
Eat up, boys, go on.
Weve only had pasta at homeyou need a proper meal.
The teenagers ate fast, ravenous.
The elder demolished half the chicken salad; the younger scoffed all the salmon.
Then they tore into the cheese, cold cuts, and ham.
Within minutes, the platter was gone.
Margaret watched, transfixed, as if trapped in a nightmare.
Tom tried to lighten the mood: Youve quite an appetite, lads!
No one heard him.
Theyd moved to the duck.
Large chunks vanished swiftly.
Got any bread? the elder asked.
Margaret silently fetched the loaf.
The boys piled sandwiches.
Susan helped herself toosampling salads, duck, meatballs.
Sorry, but you seehungry children, Susan mumbled with her mouth full.
Twenty minutes later, festive table was stripped bare.
Salads gone, duck vanished, salmon, cheese, ham, fruitall devoured by unexpected guests.
Margaret sat frozen, face drained.
Shed spent two days in the kitchen, poured in pounds, effort, heart, dreaming of a quiet celebration with Tom.
In the end, that dream ended in something far different.
By quarter to midnight, Susan got up: Right, we should go.
Thank you so muchyou really saved us tonight!
The boys started gathering themselves.
The younger grabbed a cake on his way out: Can I take this?
Take it, Margaret replied, not bothering to look.
They left with hurried thanks.
The door closed.
Margaret and Tom lingered in the kitchen, silently staring at what was left of their festive table.
On platescrumbs.
Empty salad bowls, fruit wiped out, not even a grape left.
Only three clementines remained in the bowl.
Did you see that? Margaret whispered.
I did, Tom replied, equally low.
They ate everything.
Every single thing I cooked for days.
Marg
They didnt even thank us properly.
Just grabbed, chewed, and wanted more.
Tom hugged her.
Margaret didnt cryshe stared at empty plates, trying to process what had happened.
As the clock struck midnight, they clinked glasses again.
The celebration was irretrievably ruined, so was her mood.
The next day, Margaret cleaned the kitchen: washed up, tidied what little remained.
Or what could be called leftovers.
You know, Tom, she said, I get that people have hard times.
Not being paid is rough.
But why couldnt she stop the boys?
Why not say, Thats enough, lads, its not ours?
No idea, Tom shrugged.
They mustve been terribly hungry.
Hungers one thing, Margaret replied quietly.
Greeds another.
They didnt eatthey seized, as if thered never be food again.
Tom stayed silent.
She couldnt help herself:
And Susan sighing, acting sorrowful, but just handing plates to her kids: Eat, boys. Did she even think about us?
What wed eat afterwards?
On the evening of New Years Day, Margaret bumped into Susan in the stairwell.
Susan gave a cheery smile: Happy New Year again!
Thanks for yesterdaysuch hospitality!
Margaret looked at Susans pleased faceand something finally snapped inside.
Hello, she replied stiffly, and walked past.
Susan watched her, puzzled.
Margaret took out the rubbish and returned.
Did you see Susan? Tom asked.
I did.
And?
I wont chat with her again.
Let her find another benefactor.
A week passed.
Margaret met Susan in the lift and on the landing several times.
Every time, she turned away, pretending not to notice.
Susan tried to strike up conversation, but silence was the only answer.
Marg, are you going to sulk forever? Tom asked once.
Im not sulking, she said quietly.
I realised: pity is a poor adviser.
We pitied them, let them inand got a wrecked table and a ruined celebration.
But their situation was dire
Tom, Margaret said seriously, Hardship doesnt grant permission to forget manners.
They couldve asked for tea and some food, not cleared everything.
Not one proper apology.
Tom sighedpointless to argue.
A month went by.
Relations with Susan remained cold.
Margaret would greet her briefly, sometimes not at all.
Susan complained to neighbours that Margaret had got above herself, but Margaret didnt care.
That New Years stuck in Margarets memory.
An empty table, satisfied faces of uninvited guests, and her own feeling of emptiness.
And she decided firmly: never again would she let in those who confuse kindness with opportunity.
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