**Diary Entry – 12th April**
*”We werent expecting you,”* my daughter said as she opened the door on my birthday. Her voice was sharp, laced with irritation.
*”Why do you always interfere?”* Emilys tone was icy. *”Im thirty-seven, Mum. A grown woman!”*
*”Im not interfering,”* Margaret replied helplessly, her hands fluttering in the air. *”I only asked why you and James split up. Im your motherits natural to worry.”*
*”Exactlyyoure my mother, not an investigator,”* Emily snapped, turning towards the window. *”I have my own life. My own reasons.”*
Margaret sighed, carefully folding the half-knitted scarf into her bag. Another strained conversation with her daughter. The wall between them seemed to grow taller every year.
*”Alright, I wont ask again,”* she said softly. *”I just thought you two were happy…”*
*”Mum!”* Emily whirled around. *”Lets drop it, alright? Dont ruin the first family dinner weve had in a month.”*
Margaret nodded and fell silent. She visited less and less these daysEmily was always busy: work, friends, gym, some new course. There was hardly ever time for her mother.
Leaving her daughters flat that evening, Margaret felt lonelier than ever. Sixty next week, and no one to celebrate with. Her husband had passed three years ago, her closest friends had moved away, and her daughter was wrapped up in her own world. Maybe it wasnt worth marking the occasion at all.
But at home, sifting through old photos, she found one of a young Emily blowing out candles on a cake, cheeks flushed with joy. Back then, Margaret had worked as an accountant, barely making ends meet, but shed always made sure birthdays were specialcake, presents, friends.
*”My birthdays in a week,”* she thought, *”and even my own daughters forgotten. Should I remind her?”*
She reached for her phone, then hesitated. No, she wouldnt beg for attention. If Emily forgot, so be it. What difference did sixty make, really? Just another day on the calendar.
Yet the thought gnawed at her. Days later, she finally called.
*”Hi, Mum,”* Emilys voice was distracted, as if she were multitasking. *”Everything alright?”*
*”Yes, nothings wrong,”* Margaret faltered. *”I just wanted to saymy birthdays on Saturday. Sixty.”*
*”Oh! Really?”* Surprise flickered in Emilys voice. *”It completely slipped my mind. Works been mad…”*
*”Its fine,”* Margaret said quickly. *”Just thought Id mention it.”*
*”Sorry, Mum,”* Emilys tone softened. *”Ill try to stop byaround five?”*
*”Of course, love,”* Margaret brightened. *”Ill bake your favouritecherry pie.”*
*”Perfect. Gotta runwell talk later.”*
Hanging up, Margaret felt a surge of hope. She hadnt been forgotten after all.
Saturday dawned unseasonably bright for April. She rose early, tidied the house, baked the pie, even treated herself to a haircut. She bought a bottle of wine, Emilys favourite cheese, fresh fruitshe wanted the evening to be warm, special, maybe even bridge the distance between them.
But five oclock came and went. Six, then seven. No Emily. Her calls went straight to voicemail.
*”Maybe shes stuck at work,”* Margaret thought, glancing at the clock. *”Or traffics awful. Central Londons always gridlocked.”*
By eight, worry gnawed at her. What if something had happened? Images flashedan accident, a mugging, sudden illness…
Unable to bear it, she took a cab to Emilys. Perhaps her daughter had simply forgotten. Or mixed up the dates. With her hectic schedule, it wouldnt be surprising.
Pulling up to the building, she spotted several cars outsideone looked like Emilys. So she was home. Nothing terrible had happened. Just… forgotten?
Her heart heavy, Margaret climbed to the fifth floor and rang the bell. After a long pause, footsteps approached, and the door swung open.
Emily stood theredressed up, hair done, makeup flawless. Behind her, laughter and chatter spilled from the flat.
*”Mum?”* Emily blinked in shock. *”We werent expecting you…”*
Margaret stood frozen, clutching a bouquet shed bought herselfa pitiful attempt to brighten a lonely evening.
*”II was worried,”* she stammered. *”You didnt come. Didnt answer your phone…”*
A man appeared behind Emilytall, bearded, in a crisp shirt and jeans.
*”Em, who is it?”* he asked, then spotted Margaret. *”Oh! Hello!”*
*”This is my mum,”* Emily said, then turned back. *”Mum, this is Andrew. Were… seeing each other.”*
*”Lovely to meet you,”* Margaret managed, shaking his hand.
Andrew smiled warmly. *”Pleasure! Emilys told me so much about you.”*
From inside, a womans voice called, *”Em, hurry up! The pastas getting cold!”*
*”Coming!”* Emily shouted, then guiltily met her mothers eyes. *”Weve got a little gathering. I completely forgot about our plansIm so sorry.”*
Margarets throat tightened. On her birthday, her daughter was hosting a party. Forgotten.
*”Its fine,”* she forced a smile. *”Ill go. Dont want to intrude.”*
*”Dont be silly,”* Emily frowned. *”Since youre here, come in. Meet everyone.”*
Margaret hesitated, then stepped inside. The flat buzzed with energyvoices, clinking glasses, the hum of a happy crowd.
*”Were rehearsing a surprise for Lucy,”* Emily explained, taking her coat. *”Her fortieths next week.”*
*”But you forgot mine,”* Margaret thought but said nothing. Why spoil her daughters night?
In the kitchen, a lively group huddled over scripts and propstwo women around Emilys age and another man.
*”Everyone, this is my mum,”* Emily announced. *”Mum, this is Charlotte, Sophie, and Tom.”*
A chorus of cheerful greetings followed. Margaret nodded, feeling out of place.
*”Hungry, Mum?”* Emily asked. *”Andrew made seafood pasta and salad.”*
*”No, no, I ate earlier,”* Margaret retreated. *”I should go”*
*”Stay for tea, at least,”* Andrew cut in. *”Weve got cake.”*
Margaret spotted itchocolate-glazed, elegant. Not for her.
*”Thank you, but I really must go,”* she turned to Emily. *”Can we talk a moment?”*
In the hallway, she pulled an envelope from her bag. *”For your new coat. You mentioned needing one.”*
*”Mum, you dont have to”* Emily frowned. *”I earn plenty.”*
*”Its a gift,”* Margaret insisted. *”From me to you. Please.”*
Reluctantly, Emily tucked it into her pocket. *”Thanks. But you shouldnt.”*
Margaret forced a smile. *”Enjoy your evening.”*
*”Wait,”* Emilys brow furrowed. *”Why did you come? Is something wrong?”*
Margaret froze. Had she truly forgotten?
*”Its my birthday, love,”* she said quietly. *”Sixty. You promised to come at five.”*
Emilys face drained of colour. Shock, realisation, horrorall flickered in her eyes.
*”Oh God,”* she whispered. *”Mum, Im so sorry! With Lucys party planningit completely slipped my mind!”*
Margaret shrugged, feigning nonchalance. *”Its just a birthday.”*
*”No! Its your sixtieth!”* Emily grabbed her hands. *”And IGod, Im awful!”*
She dashed to the kitchen, returning moments later with the group in tow.
*”Margaret,”* Andrew said warmly, *”were throwing you an impromptu birthday dinner!”*
*”Absolutely!”* Charlotte chimed in. *”Well rearrange everything!”*
*”Oh, no, dont trouble yourselves”* Margaret protested.
*”No trouble,”* Emily cut in. *”Mum, stay. Were celebrating you!”*
Before she knew it, Margaret was seated at the table, champagne poured, cake adorned with tea lights (the closest they had to candles).
Andrew raised his glass. *”Margaret, though weve just met, I can already see what an incredible woman you are. No wonder Emilys so wonderful. Happy birthdayhealth, joy, and many more years!”*
*”And may your daughter remember next time,”* Tom added, earning an elbow from Emily.
Laughter filled the room. The evening transformedwarm, genuine. They asked about her life, her knitting, her youth. Emily dug out photo albums, and they pored over memories, laughing at childhood antics.
*”Remember this?”* Emily showed a seaside snapshot. *”My first time seeing the oceanI refused to leave!”*
*”You were convinced itd vanish by morning,”* Margaret smiled.
*”I was a proper oddball,”* Emily laughed.
*”A child with a grand imagination,”* Margaret corrected gently.
Andrew drove her home late that night, Emily insisting on coming along.
*”Mum, I could stay,”* she offered at the door. *”Talk properly…”*
*”Another time, love,”* Margaret said. *”Im tired.”*
But inside, over cherry pie and tea, Emily apologised properlyfor forgetting, for drifting apart.
*”Lets meet weekly,”* she said. *”Lunch, teawhatever. And dont wait for an invite. Just come. Youve got keys.”*
They talked until dawnabout James (not ready for commitment), Andrew (met in a bookshop, reaching for the same novel), Emilys dream of opening a design studio.
Three days later, Emily returnedwith cake, flowers, and a real gift: a seaside holiday for them both that summer.
*”Like when I was little,”* she said, grinning. *”But this time, Im paying.”*
*”You dont have to”*
*”I want to,”* Emily said firmly. *”Youve done so much for me. Now its my turn.”*
As they sat planning their trip, Margaret realised: sometimes, you must arrive uninvited to remind someone you exist. And even if you werent expectedit doesnt mean you arent wanted.
