Yesterday
Where are you putting that salad bowl? Its blocking the sandwiches! And move the wine glasses, will you? Toms coming soon and you know he likes space to wave his arms about when he talks.
Edward was fussing with the crystal dishes on the table, nearly dropping a fork in the process. Jane sighed heavily, wiping her hands on her apron. Shed been at the stove since early morning; her feet ached as if they were made of lead and her back throbbed in its usual spot just below the shoulder blades. But there was no time for moaning. Today the star guest was arriving her husbands younger brother, Tom.
Ed, calm down, she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. The tables perfect. Tell me instead did you get the granary loaf? Last time Tom complained we only had white bread, and of course, hes watching his figure.
Yes, yes, I got it, granary, with caraway seeds, just the way he likes, Edward dashed to the bread bin. Jane, what about the roast? Its definitely ready? You know hes picky, always eating out, you wont impress him with just burgers.
Jane pressed her lips together. Of course she knew. Tom, a forty-year-old bachelor who called himself a freelancer, but more often scraped by on odd jobs and help from his elderly mother, fancied himself a grand gourmet. Every visit felt like an exam to Jane, and she always went into it convinced shed fail.
I made honey-mustard glazed roast pork, she replied crisply. Fresh meat, straight from the market, cost me seven pounds a kilo. If he doesnt like it, he can do without.
No need to start off like that, Edward winced. He hasn’t been round for half a year, misses us. Wants a proper family get-together. Just try your best, okay? Hes going through a rough patch, you know, finding himself.
Finding his wallet, more like, Jane thought, but kept silent. Edward idolised his younger brother, insisted he was some misunderstood genius, and bristled at any criticism of him.
The doorbell rang dead on seven. Jane quickly took off her apron, checked her hair in the hallway mirror, and fixed on her practiced smile. Edward was already opening the door, beaming like a polished teapot.
Tom! Mate! At last!
Tom appeared on the threshold. He did look rather striking: trendy coat flung open, scarf tossed lazily over one shoulder, designer stubble meant to seem rugged. He stretched his arms wide for Edwards embrace, but only patted his brothers back in response.
Jane scanned his hands. Empty. No shopping bag, no cake box, not even a wilting daffodil. Here he was, a guest who hadnt visited for six months, sitting down to a feast, and he hadnt brought a single thing. Not even a bar of chocolate for the kids, who thankfully were at Grandmas tonight.
Evening, Jane, he nodded, stepping inside and glancing around the hallway, not bothering to take his shoes off at first. Changed the wallpaper, have you? Bit clinical that colour, but, well, so long as you like it.
Hello, Tom, Jane replied coolly. Wash your hands, please. These are new slippers.
Didnt bring mine. Dont fancy picking up athletes foot in someone elses, he waved away the offer. Socks will do. Floors clean enough, I hope?
Jane felt her irritation rising. Shed mopped the floors twice especially for him.
Theyre spotless, Tom. Come through to the table.
They gathered in the sitting room. The table did look impressive: snow-white cloth, fancy napkins, three kinds of salad, a platter of cold meats and cheeses, red caviar, home-pickled mushrooms from last autumn. In the centre, piping hot roast.
Tom sprawled back in his chair, surveying the spread. Edward busied himself opening a bottle of cognac, bought especially for Tom top shelf, five years aged.
A toast to us! Edward declared, pouring drinks.
Tom lifted his glass, turned it in the light, sniffed.
Armenian? he grimaced. Hmm. I prefer French, subtler bouquet. This tastes of meths. Well, never look a gift horse in the mouth…
He downed it in one go, barely tasting, and reached for the meat platter. Jane noticed he took the priciest bit.
Please, help yourself, Tom, she said, sliding the salad bowl towards him. Heres prawn and avocado salad, new recipe.
Tom speared a prawn, scrutinising it as if it were a Fabergé egg.
Frozen prawns, right?
Well, obviously, were miles from any coast, Jane answered, surprised. Bought at the shop, king prawns.
Chewy, Tom judged, dropping the prawn back. Jane, youve overcooked them. Two minutes in boiling water, thats all. This… tough fibres. And the avocados underripe. Crunches.
Edward, about to serve himself, paused midair with the spoon.
Oh, come on Tom, it tastes lovely! I tried it, honestly, its great.
Ed, taste needs cultivating, Tom said patronisingly. You can live off substitutes your whole life and never know real food. Last week I was at a restaurant opening, they served scallop ceviche. Now thats texture! And this… Is at least the mayo homemade?
Jane felt heat rush to her cheeks. The mayonnaise was ordinary, store-bought. She simply hadnt time to whisk anything from scratch.
Shop-bought, she said dryly.
Figures, Tom sighed as if hed just been told he had six months to live. Vinegar, additives, starch, pure poison. Well, lets try your meat. Hope thats not ruined.
Jane quietly plated him a generous slab of roast, spooned over the sauce, added potatoes with rosemary. The aroma alone would make anyones mouth water. But Tom wasnt just anyone; he was a connoisseur.
He sawed off a slice, chewed, gazing at the ceiling. Jane and Edward waited for the verdict. Edward watched with hope, Jane with growing fury.
Dry, Tom finally pronounced. And the sauce… honey drowns everything. Too sweet. Meat ought to taste like meat, Jane, not dessert. Also, you didnt marinate long enough. The fibres are tough. Shouldve kept it in kiwi or maybe mineral water for a day.
I marinated it overnight, in spices and mustard, Jane whispered. Everyone always loves it.
Well, everyone is vague, isnt it? Your office mates, maybe, but Im objective. Edible in a pinch but not enjoyable.
He pushed the plate away, barely touched, and reached for the mushrooms.
At least these are homemade, not tinned from China?
Ours, Jane said through her teeth. We picked and jarred them ourselves.
Tom popped one in, winced.
Too much vinegar. Youll burn your stomach lining. And salty! Jane, you must be in love, salting like that, he chuckled, pleased with himself. Ed, watch your blood pressure, youll never last on this diet.
Edward nervously laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Oh, come on mate, these mushrooms are spot on. Perfect with a shot. How about another round?
They drank. Tom flushed, loosened his scarf, but kept his coat on, hinting he wouldnt be staying long, as if his company was a royal favour.
Couldnt get proper caviar, could you? he probed a sandwich. This ones tiny, full of bits. Got it on discount?
Tom, its salmon caviar, six thousand pounds a kilo, Jane snapped, her voice trembling. We bought it especially for you. We never indulge, we scrimp and save.
Skimping on food is a mistake, Tom replied, popping another inferior caviar sandwich in his mouth. We are what we eat. Id rather go hungry than buy cheap sausage. But you lot fill the fridge with bargain rubbish, then moan about having no energy or chucking jobs left and right.
Jane glanced at her husband. Edward chewed in silence, eyes fixed on his plate. He pretended nothing unusual was happening. His silence stung more than Toms words once again, hiding, refusing to stand up to dear little brother.
Ed, Jane said, finally, do you think the roast is dry too?
Edward choked slightly.
Er… no, Janey, its delicious. Really. Just, you know, Toms got a more refined palate…
Oh, refined, Jane put her fork down. The metal clattered on the china, almost like a gunshot. So mines crude and thick. And my hands are clumsy. And what I make is poison.
Jane, dont start making a scene, Tom sighed. Im giving constructive criticism. For your development. You should say thank you. Ed just eats anything and praises it, no wonder youre lazy. A woman should evolve.
Thank you? Jane repeated. You want me to thank you?
She got up from the table, the chair scraping deafeningly.
Jane? Where are you going? Edward panicked. Weve barely started!
Ill be back, she said strangely. Ill bring dessert. Tom loves sweets, after all.
She returned to the kitchen. Her signature Napoleon was waiting, baked yesterday till 2am. Twelve wafer-thin layers, homemade custard, vanilla… She looked at the cake. Then at the empty bin.
Her hands shook. Years of swallowed bitterness flooded over. How many times had this man come, eaten, drunk, borrowed money and never returned it? Criticised her decor, her clothes, her kids? And Edward, always silent. Always excusing. Hes creative, hes sensitive. And her, Jane iron?
She didnt touch the cake. Instead she loaded a big serving tray.
Here comes pudding? Tom brightened, craning his neck. Not a shop swiss roll, I hope?
Jane walked in, calmly started clearing the table: first the roast, then the rubbery salad, then the cold cuts.
Eh, what are you doing? Tom protested as the sandwiches went. Im still eating!
Why bother? Jane blinked at him. Its all inedible anyway. Meats dry, salads poisonous, prawns rubbery, caviar bad. I cant let my dear guest be poisoned, now, can I?
Edward jumped up.
Jane! Stop it! Put everything back! Apologise now!
No, Ed, this isnt a performance. Its a circus when someone comes here empty-handed, sits down to a table that cost a quarter of your wages, and pours insults on the hostess.
I didnt insult! Tom bristled, his face blotchy. I just stated my opinion! We live in a free country!
Free, Jane kept calm, loading dishes. So I freely decide who eats in my house. You said youd rather go hungry than eat poor food? Consider your choice respected.
She carried the food off. Silence rang in the lounge.
Youve lost your mind! Edward hissed, chasing after her. Youve humiliated me before my brother! Put the food back! Apologise!
Jane set the tray down, faced her husband with icy resolve.
Im humiliating you? And what about you sitting there nodding as he sneered at me? Isnt that humiliating yourself? Are you a man, or a doormat, Ed? He just wolfed down fifty quids worth of caviar and declared it rubbish. Did you ever buy me caviar, even once, without a special occasion? No. We save the best for guests. And the guest wipes his feet on us.
Hes my brother! Blood!
And Im your wife! For ten years I’ve cooked, cleaned, washed for you. Last night I toiled at the stove till after midnight. For what? To be told Im useless? If you dont shut up and stop blaming me, Ill stick the Napoleon on your head. Im not joking, Ed.
Edward flinched. Hed never seen Jane like this. She was always soft, accommodating, easy. Now she was a tempest, ready to raze the kitchen.
Tom peered in, no longer smug confused, wounded.
Well, I must say… he drawled. Never seen hospitality like this. I came with an open heart, and you throw bread in my face?
You came with an open heart? Jane smirked. Where was it? In your empty hands? Have you ever brought anything to our house, even tea bags? You only come to eat and criticise.
I… Im skint! Its temporary!
Your temporary dry patch has lasted twenty years. Yet theres a new coat and expensive scarf, and youre swanning round launches. But asking for a fiver till payday and forgetting about it always.
Jane, shut it! Edward shouted. Stop counting other peoples money!
Its not someone elses, its ours! Its our family money spent feeding this gourmet!
Tom clutched his chest theatrically.
Enough, Im leaving. Never expected youd marry such a fishwife, Ed. You wont see me here again.
He marched to the hall. Edward hurried after.
Tom, wait! Ignore her, its the hormones or a bad day at work! Shell calm down!
No, mate, Tom groaned, tugging on his shoes still in socks. That wound wont heal. Im off. Dont call till she apologises.
The door slammed.
Edward stood, staring at the shut door as if salvation lay beyond it. Then he turned and shuffled to the kitchen, where Jane was calmly boxing up the roast.
Are you happy now? Youve made me fall out with my only brother.
Ive saved us from a freeloader, she said, not turning. Sit down and eat. Its still warm. Or is it dry for you too?
Edward sank into his chair, head in hands.
How could you? He was a guest…
Guests should act like guests, not health inspectors. Ed, listen. I will never, ever host a meal for him again. If you want to see him, go to him. Or a café. But with your money. Not my effort, not my budget.
Youve become cruel, he muttered.
Ive become fair. Eat, or shall I put it away?
Edward eyed the roast hungrily. He picked up his fork, sliced off a piece, tasted.
The meat was divine, melting in his mouth. The sauce imparted delicate sweetness, mustard a subtle heat. It was perfect.
Well? Jane asked, noticing him close his eyes in pleasure.
Its delicious, he admitted quietly. Really delicious, Jane.
Good, then. Your brothers just a jealous failure who likes putting others down. See that at last.
Edward chewed, thinking. For the first time, a flicker of doubt about Tom emerged. He remembered Toms empty hands, snooty tone, how hed always felt embarrassed by the criticism.
And the cake? he asked suddenly. Shall we have it?
Jane smiled, genuinely for the first time that evening.
Of course we shall. Ill put the kettle on. With thyme, like you love.
She fetched the Napoleon, grand and gorgeous. Sliced generous wedges. They sat together, drinking tea, eating cake, and the tension faded.
You know, Edward said, finishing a second slice, he didnt even give Mum a birthday present last month. Said his presence was the best gift.
See? Jane nodded. At last, youre seeing sense.
Edwards phone buzzed. A message from Tom appeared: You couldve let me take a couple of sandwiches, I left hungry. Transfer me five hundred for emotional damages.
Edward read it aloud. Silence. Jane raised her eyebrows.
And what will you reply?
Edward glanced at his wife, the cozy kitchen, the superb cake, then at his phone, and carefully typed back: Eat at a restaurant, youre the gourmet. Ive no spare cash. He hit Block.
What did you write? Jane asked.
Said were off to bed.
Jane pretended to believe him, although shed seen the screen. She came round and hugged him from behind.
Youre a good man, Ed. Even if you take your time about things.
That evening, they discovered something vital. To protect a family, sometimes you need to exclude certain people. Even if theyre relatives. And the roast really was splendid, whatever so-called experts with empty pockets say.
