Why havent I heard a peep from anyone this evening? Maybe theres a problem with the signal? Or do you think theyve muddled the date up somehow? I cant believe theyve just forgotten, Mark. Its a special dateforty isnt just another birthday, Rebecca said, turning a glass of red wine in her hands as she stared at her silent smartphone on the crisp white tablecloth.
Her husband, Mark, looked down at his plate of roast duck with a guilty frown. He chewed carefully, as if it might somehow delay his reply. The living room was softly lit with candles, gentle music mingling with the scent of pine and orangesRebeccas birthday always fell in December, right before Christmas. The table groaned under the weight of canapés and nibbles shed spent two days preparing, expecting her husbands family to drop by as usual. Or at the very least, to call.
You know what my mums like, Mark finally mumbled, putting down his fork. Shes probably got high blood pressure playing up again, or shes busy with her gardeningwell, not gardening in December. Anyway, shes probably just forgotten. She is getting on a bit. And as for Emilyshes got year-end reports due again.
Emilys year-end seems to last twelve months when it suits her, Rebecca replied drily. Yet when she needs someone to babysit her children or lend her money till payday, she always finds the time to ring me.
With a sigh, Rebecca rose from the table and walked to the window. Fat flakes of snow danced outside in the night. She was forty. A milestone. A time for a woman to take stock. And tonights verdict was clear: after fifteen years of being the familys rockchef, chauffeur, bloody therapisther husbands family had erased her from their own calendar.
Dont be upset, Mark said, coming up behind her and putting his arms across her shoulders. The important thing is that were together. I did remember, didnt I? And I got you that nice present.
It was a lovely gifta voucher for the spa retreat shed always fancied. Mark did love her, she knew. But he was a soft touchutterly unable to stand up to his mother, Janet, or the bold entitlement of his younger sister Emily. He preferred the ostrich methodignore it and hope it all blows over.
Im not upset, Mark, Rebecca whispered, staring at her own reflection in the glass, just drawing conclusions.
And honestly, those conclusions had been brewing for years. She recalled last year when shed planned Janets sixty-fifth birthday basha major event. She took unpaid leave, booked the village hall, haggled for discounts, chose the menu, baked an enormous, homemade cake herself to cut down on costs, and spent countless nights compiling a moving family slideshow.
And what did she get? A flat, Thank you, you couldve used more cream in the cake, and a cheap shower gel, complete with the sale sticker left on, from the corner shops buy-one-get-one-free deal.
Emily? As always, she treated Rebeccas help as her divine right. Becks, pick up the kids from nursery, my hair appointments overrun. Becks, help me with my assignment, youre good with words. Becks, lend me a dress for the Christmas do. And Rebecca always did. She thought thats what family waskindness returned in kind.
But the phone never rang. Not that night, not the next day. Not even a basic message with a stock bouquet GIFthe type theyd eagerly mass-forwarded for every bank holiday or church festival.
A heavy week of silence dragged on. Rebecca waited, curious to see whenor iftheyd remember her. Finally, on the seventh day, her mobile lit up with Emily.
Hey, birthday girl! Emily chirped, not a hint of guilt in her voice. Listen, help us out? Me and Simon thought wed have a quick trip to Brighton this weekend. Could you take Max for us? He adores you, wont fret about. Dog hotels charge an absolute fortune, its daylight robbery!
Rebecca paused, the phone in her hand, flour up to her elbows as she kneaded dough.
Hello, Emily, she said, her voice even and measured. Is there nothing you wanted to say to me about last week?
What was last week? Emily replied, genuinely puzzled. Oh! You mean your birthday? Oh, Becks, sorry! Everythings just been crazy busy and it totally slipped my mind. You wont hold it against me, yeah? Were family. Happy belated! Loads of love and all that. So, about Max? Simon can drop him Friday night.
Max was their enormous, boisterous labrador, who last time had chewed through Rebeccas new heels and shredded the hallway wallpaper.
No, Rebecca said softly.
No what? Emily sounded thrown.
No, Im not looking after Max.
There was a thudding silence down the line. Stunned.
What do you mean, youre not? Becks, come on! Are we supposed to cancel everything? Weve paid for the hotel! You always took him before!
I always did, Rebecca replied calmly, but not anymore. I have plans. The dog hotel is open all hours.
Youre sulking over a birthday card? Emilys tone turned shrill and sharp. Really, Rebecca? Forty years old and youre pitching a fit over a greeting? Didnt think youd be so petty. Ill tell Mum how youre treating us.
Do, Rebecca said, and she hung up.
Her hands shook a little. But deep inside, there blossomed an unfamiliar sense of freedom. Shed finally said “no.” The world hadnt ended. The ceiling hadnt caved in. Only her dough was peacefully rising under the teatowel.
That evening, Mark came home, looking sheepish. Clearly, his mum and sister had been on the warpath.
Mum called, he sighed. Emilys in tears, trips ruined. Are you sure you wont just take the dog? Itd only be for the weekend.
Rebecca gazed at him steadily.
Mark, they forgot my fortieth. Not just a birthday. Forty. They didnt even apologise. Emily only rang because she needed to palm the dog off. Doesnt it seem a bit one-sided to you?
He sighed. Yeah, it does. But they are family
And family should respect each other. Im not the hired help. From now on, things change.
Mark didnt argue. And they didnt take the dog. Emily had to fork out for the kennel, and for two weeks, Rebecca was persona non grata. They gave her the silent treatment, gossiped behind her back, branded her bitter and dramatic.
But time passed, and the grand event of the year in Marks family loomed: Janets seventieth.
This was to be a showstopper. His mum, forever the queen bee, wanted every relative, ex-colleague, and neighbour round at the new country house Mark had spent five years building with his own hands.
Usually these family parties followed a strict routine: two weeks ahead, Janet would ring Rebecca with a shopping list and menu. As the most practical and the only one with a car, Rebecca always had to buy everything, transport it, and then spend two days in the kitchen preppingendless bowls of potato salad and joints of roast meatwhile the birthday girl and Emily got glammed up and welcomed the guests.
The call came mid-January.
Rebecca, darling! How are you both? Not ill, I hope? Janets syrupy voice gave no hint of Max-gate. So, about the party: best get prepping. Ive drafted a list, jot this down. Three tins of red caviar not the cheap stuff, mind half a kilo of smoked salmon, ten kilos of pork shoulder for roasting, five types of salad
Rebecca listened, coffee in hand, pen untouched on the table.
Janet, she calmly cut in at the bit about which mayonnaise to buy. Sorry to interrupt. Whos cooking all of this, exactly?
Who do you think? Janet spluttered. Us, of course. Well, you in the kitchen, me directing. My legs cant take standing, you know. Emily will help set the table when she gets here.
Im afraid I cant help you this time, Rebecca replied, with a cool politeness. I have other plans that weekend. Ill come as a guest. For the scheduled start time.
There was a leaden silence. You could have sliced it up and served it on crackers.
Plans? Janets voice was ice. What on earth could be more important than your mother-in-laws milestone birthday? Whos supposed to cook? Mean old, sick woman? Or Emily, whos just had her nails done?
Well, you could order catering in, or delivery from one of the gastropubs, suggested Rebecca, They bring everything ready-plated these days. So convenient.
A restaurant? Have you seen those prices? My pension wont stretch. Home foods better, anyway. Rebecca, thats enough of this silly business. Youre just sulking over the dog. Well move onits a party, after all. I expect you up here Friday evening with the food. Ill send Mark the shopping listsince youre apparently so busy.
She hung up.
When Mark got home, he was pale.
Mums beside herself. She sent me this list two hundred pounds worth! She wants us up there Friday with the lot. What should we do?
You can go if you want, Rebecca said, flicking through her magazine. Buy everything on her list if you like. But I wont be going. And I wont be cooking. Ive told your mum.
But itll be a disaster! Guestsll arrive and therell be nothing to eat! Shell have my head!
Rebecca fixed him with a level stare. Think back to my birthday. Was the table empty? No, it was covered. The empty seats were the people who should have been there. I spent days cooking and waitingbut you all just forgot me. So now Ill do as you did. Ill turn up to the party, say hellobut Im nobodys kitchen help. If your mum wants a feast, she can hire a chef, or ask her daughter.
Mark dithered all evening, whispering and arguing over the phone to various relatives, then grudgingly did the shopping himself. But he was hopeless in the kitchen. Emily flat out refused to ruin her manicure with potato peelings.
The big day rolled round.
Rebecca slept in, took a leisurely bath, pampered herself with a face mask, and wore her loveliest midnight-blue dress. She styled her hair to perfection and felt fantastic.
Mark had left for the country house at dawn, harried and faced with chaos. He called Rebecca five times: Darling, please come early, its a nightmare Mums screaming, the meats untouched, nothings ready!
Ill arrive at two, as per the invite, Rebecca replied, and hung up.
She called for a business-class cab, stopped at the florists for an understated but tasteful bunch of chrysanthemums, and picked up a small gift.
Arriving at the house, she saw guests cars already lining the drive. Through open windows came not the sound of music, but shrieks and clattering dishes.
Inside, the scene was almost comic. Janet, in her dressing gown and rollers, red-faced and stressed, dashed about the kitchen. Emily, scowling in a frocky dress with an apron on top, was ruining her manicure trying (and failing) to get a tin of peas open. Mark, covered in ash and looking frazzled, struggled with the barbecue outside.
The guestsvarious aunts and unclessat awkwardly around an empty table, with only plates and bottles of water before them, exchanging nervous glances.
Oh, shes finally here! shrieked Janet the moment she spotted Rebecca. Look at her! Queen of Sheba! Were run off our feet, people starving, and she swans in all glamorouswheres your sense of decency?
Good afternoon, Janet! Rebecca beamed, handing over the flowers and a neat little box. Congratulations on your special birthday! Wishing you health and happiness.
Janet gripped the present, barely acknowledging the bouquet. Whats this? Trying to be funny? Get yourself into the kitchenlook at this chaos! Theres potatoes to boil, cold meats to slice! Guests are waiting!
Janet, Im a guest, Rebecca announced, loud enough for the living room to hear. Im here to celebrate, not to cook. I told you two weeks agoI wouldnt be catering. You said it would be fine.
Janet spluttered furiously. How dare you! In front of everyone! Youre humiliating me!
Emily slammed down the tin. Honestly, Becks, are you serious? Ive broken a nail because of you! Get your backside in here and help, were drowning!
Its your mums birthday, Emily, Rebecca replied. Makes sense you help her. As for me, Im the in-law. The outsider, as you lot are always so quick to remind meat will readings or family meetings. So now, treat me as a guest.
Rebecca walked into the lounge and sat on an empty chair.
Good afternoon, everyone, she greeted the bemused relatives. Lovely day, isnt it? Pity about the lack of starters, but Im sure the birthday lady has something spectacular up her sleeve.
Mark appeared at that moment, covered in charcoal.
Ive ruined the barbecue, he confessed. Was too distracted by Emilys phone call. Burnt the lot.
A hush. Twenty hungry guests stared at the hosts. Janet sat down heavily, clutching her chestnot theatrically this time, but in gut-wrenching despair.
Its all her fault! she screamed, jabbing a finger at Rebecca. She did this on purpose, denied me help just to shame me! I took her in and sheshes a snake!
Janet, Rebecca interrupted, standing. This isnt about shaming you. Im simply behaving exactly as you all did to me. You ignored my fortieth, treated me like I didnt existjust a kitchen robot. Im reminding you Im a person too, and I have special days. Here, open your present.
Janet tore open the box. Inside was a cheap wall calendarthe kind with kittens on every page.
Whats this? she asked faintly.
A calendar. Ive circled all the family birthdays in red marker this timemine included. So next year, you wont forget to call me. Memory is a fickle thing, after all. Consider it an equal exchangeyou gave me a one-pound shower gel. Im giving you a calendar. All square.
A low chuckle came from one corner. Uncle Dave, Janets brother, burst out laughing.
Shes got you there, Jan! Always telling everyone what a saint of a daughter-in-law she is, yet you forgot her fortieth? Poor show!
Oh, shut up! Janet snapped at him.
The party was a disaster. The only food was a hasty plate of sliced sausage, a couple of tins of sardines, and the infamous peas. No hot food at all. People sat, glum, drinking vodka theyd squirreled away, muttering.
An hour later, Rebecca ordered a cab.
I think Ill be off, Mark, she said quietly. I dont feel comfortablenot very festive here.
Youve ruined me, he whispered, walking her to the door. Mum will never let me forget this.
Maybe now you all understand what my years of effort and kindness were worth, Mark, she replied. Nobody appreciated it when it was there. Now youre without it, maybe youll finally see it. Come home when youve finishedall this. Ill order some decent pizza.
She left.
The fallout rumbled for a month. Janet didnt speak to Rebecca; Emily called her selfish.
But a strange thing happened. Mark changed. Something about witnessing his formidable mother helpless, the family fortunes turned upside-down, finally got through to him.
He saw the sharp difference between his own homewarm, peaceful, and cared for by Rebeccaand his mothers, full of noise, demands, and disorder.
A month later, Mark came home midweek with a huge bouquet of roses.
These are for you, he said. And I told Mum were not going up to dig the veg patch at Easter. Were going to Bath Spa. Just us two. Ive booked it.
Rebecca took a deep breath of the flowers and smiled.
And the potatoes?
Well buy them at the supermarket, Mark said, his voice steady. And as for familyno more buying affection with hard graft. You were right, Becky. Respect should go both ways.
Janet and Emily nursed their grievance for ages. But come the next Mothering Sunday, Rebecca found a message from Emily: Happy Mothers Day, Becks! Wishing you a lovely spring! Accompanied by a tulip emoji.
A small victory. Rebecca didnt become Emilys new best friend; Janet didnt develop glowing affection overnight. But they eventually understood one key thing: they couldnt take advantage of Rebecca anymore. That shop was closed, and from now on, the doors only opened with mutual respectplus a red marker in the diary for the right birthdays.
And, as Mark later revealed, the kitten calendar now hangs in pride of place at Janets, with Rebeccas birthday circled in thick, red penjust in case.
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