Margaret was tidying the kitchen towelsfresh ones with a delicate rose patternwhen her phone buzzed. She sighed: four missed calls from Claire, a colleague. Probably nothing urgent. Margaret went back to arranging the cupboard, but the phone buzzed again.
“Meg, why arent you answering?” Claire chattered. “Did you know Edith is having a celebration on Saturday?”
Margaret froze, gripping the towel in her hand.
“What celebration?”
“Shes turning seventy-five. Sarah rang meshes invited with David. Says Edith sent invites weeks ago.”
The towel slipped from Margarets fingers. Thirty-two years married to Richard, and shed never missed a family event. But now, Ediths milestoneand nothing.
“Perhaps it slipped their minds?” Margaret whispered, though she didnt believe it.
“Slipped their minds? Sarah says theres a guest list of twenty. Everyones invited: Richards brothers, their wives, even their old neighbour from down the road.”
Margaret sank onto a stool. Memories flooded back: caring for Edith after her hip operation, using her holiday days so Edith could get new glasses, minding the grandchildren when others were busy.
“Between you and me,” Claire went on, “its all because of that trifle last Christmas. Remember when you bought the wrong one?”
“Claire, the trifle has nothing to do with it. Shes never really accepted me.”
The front door clickedRichard was home. Margaret hurriedly ended the call.
Her husband walked into the kitchen, shaking rain from his coat like a schoolboy. She studied the lines around his eyes, the familiar face. Thirty-two years together. And stillan outsider.
“Richard, is your mother having a celebration on Saturday?” she asked, steadying her voice.
He paused by the fridge, his back to her.
“Yes, a small gathering.”
“Why didnt you mention it?”
Richard opened the fridge, staring inside as if it held answers.
“Mum didnt want a fuss. Just close family.”
“Close family,” Margaret repeated. “And Im not part of that?”
“Meg, dont start. You know how she is.”
“How she is?” Margarets chest tightened. “Ive put up with her ways for thirty-two years! These arent quirks, Richard, this is this is”
She waved a hand, lost for words.
“I looked after her when you were in Manchester. I gave up my holiday so she could get those glasses. I minded the kids when Lucy went to Spain. Thirty-two years of trying. And this is my thanks?”
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Must you tally every favour? Whos keeping score?”
“Im not keeping score!” Her voice cracked. “I just want to belong. To your family. Is that too much?”
Richard sighed and sat heavily.
“Youre blowing this out of proportion. Mum just wants it quiet.”
“Quiet? With twenty people?” The words scraped her throat. “Even the neighbours invited!”
“How do you?”
“Does it matter how?” She snatched a towel, scrubbing the spotless counter. “Thirty-two years, Richard! What did I do wrong? Tell me!”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Meg, you know Mum. She still thinks you stole me from her.”
“Stole you?” She laughed bitterly. “You were twenty-five when we met! Not a child!”
She recalled her first visit to Ediths house, baking a Victoria sponge from her nans recipe. Her mother-in-law had pursed her lips and said, “We dont make it like that here.”
“All my life,” Margaret continued, “Ive tried to please her. And whats she done? Remember when she told everyone I was raising James wrong? Or when she said to my parents I couldnt roast a chicken? And youve never said a word! Always neutral!”
“What do you want me to do?” Richard snapped. “Pick a fight with my mother over a party?”
“Not the party!” she cried. “The way she treats me! That your mothers excluded me for thirty-two years, and youve let her!”
She turned to the window. Outside, rain fell in dreary sheets, matching her mood.
“Meg, stop being dramatic,” Richard said, awkwardly embracing her. “Want me to talk to her? Maybe its a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” She stepped free. “No, Richard. That would be if it were the first time. This? This is a slap in the face.”
The following days passed in a haze. At work, Margaret forced smiles. At home, silence. Richard tried to mend things, but each attempt deepened the hurt.
“Youve no idea how upset she was about that trifle,” he said over supper. “Mum thinks you did it deliberately.”
“Deliberately?” She set her fork down. “I went to three shops for a sugar-free one because of her diabetes!”
“But you know she only likes custard, and you got the jelly one.”
“Because theyd sold out!” Tears pricked her eyes. “Do you honestly think Id waste half a day just to spite her?”
Richard fell silent, and that silence said everything.
On Friday evening, Margaret visited her sons room. James was home for the weekend, glued to his phone.
“James, Grandmas celebration is tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking up. “Dad mentioned it.”
“And youre going?”
James finally glanced at her.
“Grandma asked me. Shouldnt I go?”
Margaret nodded, hiding her hurt. Even her son didnt see the injustice.
“Of course,” she murmured. “Of course, go.”
Saturday arrived, and the house emptied. Richard and James left early, laden with gifts. Margaret wandered aimlessly. In every photo, Edith stood slightly apart.
She traced a family picture from five years agoJamess wedding. Shed worn lavender, Richard in his best suit, the newlyweds radiant. Edith looked like shed bitten a lemon.
“Even then,” Margaret whispered to the photo. “Even on his wedding day.”
She remembered Edith pulling James aside, announcing loud enough for all to hear, “At least my grandson married properly, unlike some.” And Richard, silent as ever.
That evening, Richard and James returned, merry and tipsy, smelling of Ediths perfume.
“How was it?” Margaret asked evenly.
“Brilliant!” Richard slumped into a chair. “Mum was over the moon. You shouldve seen her when”
He stopped, catching her expression.
“Sorry, Meg. That was thoughtless.”
James shuffled awkwardly.
“Think Ill turn in,” he mumbled, disappearing.
“Give your mum my regards,” Richard added lamely.
“Regards?” Margarets stomach knotted. “She remembers I exist?”
“Oh, come off it”
“No, you come off it!” She couldnt hold back. “Stop pretending this is fine. Your mother humiliated me. Again! And you dont care!”
“I do care,” Richard stood. “I just hate being caught in the middle. You two”
“We two what?” she cut in. “Finish that sentence!”
Richard rubbed his temples.
“You both blow things out of proportion.”
“Ah,” she gave a bitter smile. “So my pain is blowing things out of proportion?”
She turned and shut the bedroom door firmly.
Ten days passed.
Margaret and Richard spoke in clipped tones. James left. Life resumed.
Margaret stopped her Sunday calls to Edith. Stopped asking after her health. Oddly, instead of guilt, relief washed over herlike shedding a weight carried for decades.
On the eleventh day, her phone rang. “Edith” flashed on the screen. Margaret hesitated, staring as if it were a wasp. Finally, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Margaret, dear,” Ediths voice was uncharacteristically sweet. “How are you, love?”
Margaret closed her eyes. “Love.” In thirty-two years, Edith had never called her that.
“Hello, Edith. Im well, thank you.”
“Ive been ever so poorly,” Edith wheedled. “After the do, I took ill. Blood pressures dreadful, my hearts all aflutter, can barely walk.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Margaret said. “Seen a doctor?”
“Doctors? Useless, the lot. I need a spa retreat to recuperate. Richard said youve holiday time saved?”
A chill ran down Margarets spine. Now she understood.
“Yes, we were saving for Cornwall,” she said carefully.
“Darling,” Edith simpered, “you know how fond I am of you. Like a daughter, really. Id never ask, but Im desperate”
“Like a daughter,” Margaret thought. Thirty-two years, never once called “daughter.” Until now.
“Does Richard know youre asking?”
“Oh, dont trouble him!” Edith fretted. “He worries so. Just us girls sorting it, eh?”
Margaret said nothing. Images flashed: handing over money, cancelling
