Id been seeing Helen for nearly a year, never stingy when it came to her or her grandson. Yet it only took a simple request for some pies to bring home, and I quickly discovered exactly where I stood.
The waiter set down a plastic box in front of us, the untouched wedge of chocolate cake already nestled inside. Helen, clearly pleased, scooted the container towards herself. We were in a decent cafe right in the heart of Bath, a place with a low, gentle jazz humming through the air. But inside me grew a dull ache, some strange irritation bubbling up from nowhere.
Wed been together almost a year. I was fifty-eight, she fifty-four. Each with our own baggage of marriages, divorces, grown-up children, and inevitably, grandchildren. I had twoone boy, one girl. Helens pride and joy was her grandson, Jamie, a cherubic six-year-old who Id glimpsed only briefly, yet about whom I seemed to hear more than about my own cholesterol.
Tucking the cake into her bag, Helen shot me that soft smilethe one that long ago had sent my better judgement right out the window.
Jamie adores anything chocolate, she said dreamily. And Im rather full, honestly. No sense in letting it go to waste, is there?
I simply nodded, flagged the waiter, and settled the billfor the cake, my coffee, her salad. Money was nothing; it wouldnt ruin me. But it wasnt the pounds and pence. It was the rhythm wed fallen into these last six months. Id kept pretending it was just a grandmothers natural affection. At every opportunityand almost always on my dimeHelen snatched up bits to bring home, all for that cherished grandson.
The warning bells first sounded three months before, when we headed to see a hyped film at the local cinema. I bought the tickets, we stopped at concessions, and Helen asked for the biggest tub of caramel popcorn and a Coke.
This caught me off guard. Normally, she was so mindful of her figure, never indulging in sweets. I assumed she wanted to treat herself. We found our seats, the lights dimmed. I reached for the popcorn, grabbed a handful, and started munching. But Helen perched the tub firmly on her lap, lid secureda lid shed specially requested at the counterand didnt eat a single piece.
Why wont you have any? I whispered. Its good, you know.
Oh, I dont feel like it, she whispered back. Im taking it to Jamie. Hes staying over tonight, and he loves cinema popcorn. His parents never buy it.
I nearly choked on my drink. So, the popcorn wasnt for us; it was for her grandsonno need to discuss it, shed just decided. All through the showing, the tub sat guarded and off-limits. Afterwards, I drove her home, she hopped out with the popcorn, beaming, while I felt like a delivery driver whod even footed the bill for the treat.
It wasnt about Helen lacking money, mind you. She had a good job, dressed well, drove her own car. Need never came into it.
The final straw was last Saturday. Helen invited me for a homemade lunch, promising her legendary pastry pies, which Id heard about at length. I came bearing gifts: a nice bottle of wine, some grapes, and a tray of smoked salmonhoping to make things more festive. The air in her flat was thick with the heavenly scent of baking.
On the table sat an enormous bowl, shrouded by a tea towel. Underneatha veritable mountain of golden pies, glistening with butter. We took our seats, Helen poured the tea, then ladled five pies onto my plate.
Eat up, Alan, while theyre warm, she said with a gentle smile.
I demolished three meat, then two cabbage pies, leaving me full and content. We chatted, shared the wine, and for a moment, I found myself relaxeda warm, domestic kind of happiness.
Helen, your pies are magic, I sighed, leaning back. My grandkids are visiting tonightmy daughters bringing them over for the weekend. Could I take a few pies home for them? Theyre always eating shop rubbish, since my daughters not much for homemade.
What happened next was more startling than any dream logic could conjure.
Helens entire expression changed. Shed been smiling, all softness and lightand then, in an instant, the expression drained away, eyes narrowing, lips pressing in a tight line. She drew herself up, suddenly guarded.
Oh, Alan she began, apologetic but a little curt. Id love to, but I really cant spare many. Jamies coming over this eveningI mainly baked them for him, you know.
She walked over to the colossal bowlswear there were no less than thirty pies under that clothshuffled some around, found a clear bag, and placed inside three pies. Two cabbage, one meat.
There you go, she said, passing me the pitiful bundle. You can share those. Otherwise therell be nothing left for Jamies supper.
I stared at the three lonely pies, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. There, on the table, an untouched mountain. Id just brought wine, fruit, salmon. Not once had I ever been tight with her. Yet now she was jealously guarding pies from my grandkids as if they were the crown jewels?
But theres so many, I ventured, trying to sound casual despite the rising irritation. Surely Jamie cant eat all that. Give my two a couple eachtheres plenty.
Helen fixed her jaw, tucked her lips in, and covered the bowl with the tea toweldefensive as a brooding swan.
Alan, I planned these out carefully. I promised Jamie. Dont be cross, but I cant just hand out everything Ive made. Didnt you have enough? You liked them, didnt you? Good, then. The rest are for my grandson.
She called it handing out, as if Id shown up begging for scraps, not as someone whod just helped make her table impressive.
Why was it that in her private hierarchy, I came below a six-year-old?
Half an hour later, I leftexcusing myself with vague mutterings about errands. Those three pies sat on the passenger seat, their delicious scent now oddly tainted, not warming but somehow false. I kept turning it over in my mind, trying to make sense of itall the conclusions rather bleak.
Id always thought that in a healthy relationship, the grown-ups come first. Youre each others main focus. Kids and grandkids, of course, important, but after you. With Helen, everything spun a different way. At the core of her universe was Jamieeveryone else orbiting indefinitely. So what did that make me? A convenient patron? The chap who paid for cafe cake and cinema snacks to take away?
When Id paid for her grandsons cake, that was because were familyfunny how we were suddenly family after a year of dating. But when I asked for pies, it was I cant just go handing everything out. It was one-way charity. Jamie was heir apparent, treated to the best; mine, by the look of it, barely entitled to three pies between them. She didnt even see, I think, how humiliating it was to slip a grown man such a token, then cover up the pile as if shielding it from a magpie.
By the time my grandkids arrived, my daughter weary after work and unpacking groceries, the pies were all she could smell.
Oooh, Dad, is that homemade pie? she announced.
I fished out the tiny bag, feeling a twinge of shame.
Its from Helen. Have a try, I said, keeping my eyes lowered.
Gone in a minute. They were delicious, of course.
Any more? asked my granddaughter, licking her lips.
No, love, thats all, I replied before slipping out onto the balcony for a smoke.
Standing in the cold, the city crowning itself in evening lights, all I could think waswhat am I even doing? Why see a woman who deems my money communal when its for her grandson, but considers her pies sacrosanct? It was never about the foodI could order a delivery of anything, straight away. It was about the principle.
She never realised shed upset me. Later that night she called, bubbling: Jamies round, stuffed full, watching cartoons. I listened in silence. I wanted to say, My two asked if there were any more pies, and I had to tell them no. But I didnt.
Ever dealt with such double standards? Where the best is kept for them, but they expect only generosity from you? Should I bring this up? Or is it simply classic English parsimony, and me, just a grumpy old grandad making a mountain out of a molehill?
