May 3rd
A wicker basket of fruit sits on the kitchen table, a mute reproach. I glance at it again, sighing heavily. From the adjoining room the television drones ona fishing programme that Jim cant seem to get enough of. Hes perfectly content with his hobby.
Emily, are you coming? The teas getting cold, Jim calls out.
I grimace. He cant even reheat his own tea.
Im on my way, I reply, fishing a jar of strawberry jam from the fridge.
Passing the hallway mirror I instinctively tuck back a stray grey strand. How quickly the years have flown. It feels as if only yesterday I walked down the aisle with Jim, and now were celebrating Roses sixtieth birthday.
Rose. The thought tightens my chest. Its been a week since we argued, and Rose hasnt called. As usual Im the one blamed for everything, even when I only meant well.
On the table, beside Jims unwashed mug, rests a simple woodenframed photograph of our weddingyoung, smiling, me in a flowing dress, Jim in a tux. Who could have guessed that forty years later our lives would settle into a routine of halfspoken words and lingering resentments?
You still stuck there? Jims voice cuts through again.
I push the memories aside and carry a tray of tea and jam into the living room.
What, still stewing over it? he asks, eyes glued to the screen.
And you, I see, are completely unbothered! I snap. You could have called Rose, apologised.
For what? Jim finally turns to me. Because of the gift? Thats absurd.
I set the tray down on the coffee table and perch on the edge of the sofa.
It was a terrible present, James. I know that now.
Its just an ordinary tea set, he shrugs. A nice one, actually. Cost us about thirty pounds.
Its not about the money, I breathe. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. She hated that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and gave it to her for her jubilee. She thought we were mocking her.
We werent! James snaps. We thought it was a lovely antique, almost a rarity.
I shake my head. Men never grasp the subtleties. That set was a wedding gift from distant relatives of his. I remember young Rose turning a cup over in her hands, saying, Mum, this is dreadfuleverything is covered in flowers, it looks more like a flowerbed than a cup. Since then the set had sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it resurfaced.
Times have changed, James insists. Vintage is in vogue now. All those hipsters are hunting for oldfashioned pieces.
Rose isnt a hipster! I exclaim. Shes the finance director of a serious firm. Her flat is minimalist, not a grandparents china cabinet.
So she could have simply said thanks and put it on a shelf, James mutters. Instead she made a scene in front of all the guests.
I recall the moment. Rose opened the box, stared silently at the set for a few seconds, then looked up at us.
Is this the same set from the sideboard? she asked softly.
Yes, dear! I had said cheerily. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Roses face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I couldnt stand it, and you both knew that.
Again youre exaggerating, James sipped his tea. A gift that isnt liked isnt the end of the world. Do we have any other problems?
Yes, we do, he replied. The biggest one is that we dont really know our own daughterwhat she likes, how she lives.
James sneered, Dont dramatise. Shes just a difficult character.
I was about to argue when the phone rang. I hurried to answer, hoping it was Rose.
Hello?
Nora? Its Margaret, a familiar neighbours voice crackled. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tablets, cant make heads or tails of the instructions.
Ill be there straight away, I said, hanging up.
Who was that? James asked.
Margaret Evans. Ill just step out for a bit; she needs help with her medication.
Your charitable runs again, he grumbled. Wholl cook dinner then?
I sighed. Theres a pot of soup in the fridge, just needs reheating.
I threw on a light cardigan and left the flat. The corridor smelled of fried fish from downstairs and cigarette smoke drifting up from the fifthfloor couple.
Margarets door opened instantly.
Come in, Nora, come in, the elderly lady chirped. Ive baked a cake, lets have some tea together.
I tried to decline, but she was insistent. While she bustled about, I stared at the family photos on her wallMargaret with her husband, daughter, grandchildren, all beaming.
Hows Rose? Margaret asked, setting down a tray of tea. Is she coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, I replied evasively.
And her son? Kierans at university now?
Yes, third year.
Margaret settled beside me, her eyes searching.
You look sad today. Something happened?
The floodgate opened. I told her everything: the cursed tea set, the argument with Rose, Jamess stubbornness.
You know, Margaret said when I finished, you just need to talk to Rosejust the two of you. Admit the gift was a mistake.
She wont pick up, I sighed.
Then go to her, Margaret said, as if it were obvious. She doesnt live far away.
It struck mewhy not just visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that weve become two outoftouch old folk?
Youre right, I said finally. Ill go today.
Good, Margaret nodded. Now have some cake.
Back home I found James still glued to the TV.
James, Im heading to Roses.
Why? he asked, surprised.
To apologise for the gift.
Again youre on your own! James turned to me. A little mishap with a tea set isnt the end of the world. Shell grow out of her artistic taste someday.
It isnt about the set, I said quietly. Its that we dont hear each other, that we dont hear our own daughter.
Fine, he grudgingly agreed. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think the present was fine.
I only shook my head. Forty years together and his stubbornness hadnt faded a gram.
Rose lived in a new housing estate, a sleek highrise. I boarded the bus and watched the town roll past, thinking how hard it can be to communicate with those we love most.
The flatdoor opened to reveal Sam, my grandson.
Grandma? he asked, surprised. Why didnt you call before coming?
Just wanted to surprise you, I smiled, handing him a bag of scones. Is Mum at home?
Shes in her office, Sam said, taking the bag. Give me a minute, Ill get her.
I walked into the living room. Roses flat always gave me mixed feelingsadmiration and a touch of melancholy. Everything was modern, minimalist, bathed in light. No sideboards, no crystal, no floral wallpaper. A different era, different values.
Rose emerged from her study, looking tense.
Mum? Something wrong?
Nothing, I said calmly. I just came to talk.
She glanced at the clock.
I have a video call with London in thirty minutes.
Ill be quick, I sat on the couch. Rose, Im here to apologise for that tea set. You were rightit was foolish.
She raised an eyebrow.
Youre apologising for the set?
Not just the set, I clasped my hands. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Rose sank into the chair opposite me.
Mum, its not really about the set. Its a symbol. It shows you both dont know who I am, what I live for, what I love.
Its true, I whispered. Were stuck in the past, still seeing you as the little girl who once lived with us.
She sighed.
The most hurtful thing is you never try to find out the real me. In all these years you never asked what music I listen to, what books I read, what films I love. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre absolutely right, I felt a knot in my throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate lives.
Exactly! Roses voice lit up. Im also at fault. I never ask what youre doing, what matters to you. I just drop by once a month with groceries and leave. It feels like a duty.
Were all to blame, I said, a smile breaking through tears. But its not too late to fix it, is it?
Not at all.
Then tell mewhat music are you listening to now? I asked. What are you reading?
She laughed.
Youre serious?
Completely serious, I nodded. Weve got twenty minutes before your call, then Ill let you get back to work.
Alright, she said after a pause. Im into jazzespecially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals, but for pleasure I love detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I dream of going to Barcelona.
Listening to her felt like meeting a new person for the first time. How much had I missed over the years?
What about your love life? I asked gently. Its been three years since the divorce
She gave a shy smile.
Theres someone. Hes seven years younger than me, Ive been scared to tell you both.
Were oldfashioned, but not blind, I said. What matters is hes a good person.
Hes good, Rose agreed. He teaches history at the university. Sam likes him.
Invite him over for dinner, I suggested. No more tea sets, I promise!
We both laughed.
You know, Rose said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually beautiful, very Provençal. Vintage pieces are prized now.
Dont excuse me, I shook my head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! she declared. Im even thinking of putting it in the garden cottage. We bought a plot last year, remember?
No, shame prickled me. See how little we know about each other?
Lets catch up, Rose proposed, checking her watch. I have to get ready for the call, but come over this weekend, bring Dad. Ill show you the cottage photos.
We hugged, and I felt something important returning to my lifesomething I had almost lost through my own blindness.
On the way back, I bought a bottle of good red wine and a box of chocolates. James met me at the door, looking worried.
How did it go?
Made up, I said, handing him the bag. And guess what? Rose now likes the set; she wants to place it at the cottage.
There you go! he exclaimed triumphantly. I told you it was a good gift!
I just smiled. Let him think hes won. The peace in the family matters more than any tea set or pride.
James, I said as I walked into the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and plans to go to Barcelona?
No way! he replied, astonished. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, I said, pulling out the glasses. And neither does ours. Maybe we should learn something new, too.
He looked doubtful.
Like what?
Like listening to each other, I poured the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not from a sideboard.
Deal, he raised his glass. To a new chapter for us.
The fruit basket still sits on the table, but now I see it differently. Even the worstchosen present can spark something genuine and important.
