Id been seeing Linda for almost a year, and lets just say, Id never hesitated to be generouswith her, and with her precious grandson. But the moment I dared to ask for a few pies to take home, the curtain abruptly fell, and I was instantly reminded of my place in her grand scheme.
The waiter approached our little table in a cosy café near Piccadilly, carefully handing us a sturdy plastic container holding a barely touched slice of chocolate cake. Linda, with the air of a woman who knows both her rights and privileges, slid the box towards herself with a satisfied smile. While mellow jazz played softly in the background and Londoners bustled around us, a vague sense of annoyance started simmering deep inside me.
Linda and Iboth mature, both survivors of marriages and divorces, with a legacy of children and, naturally, adorable grandchildren. Im fifty-eight, shes fifty-four. I have twoboy and girl. Linda has one: Harry, a six-year-old ray of sunshine who, despite my meeting him only twice in passing, I now know more about than my own cholesterol levels.
She tucked the cake box away in her bag and bestowed upon me that gentle smileyes, the very one that had clouded my common sense the year before.
Harry just adores anything with chocolate, she cooed, and Ive had quite enough. Shame to let it go to waste, dont you think?
I nodded wordlessly, flagged down the waiter and paidnot just for the cake, but also for my cappuccino and her grilled chicken salad. Money wasnt the point. I wasnt counting pennies. What gnawed at me was the rather questionable system that had materialised over the last six months or so. Id been steadfastly pretending nothing peculiar was going on, chalking it up to a grandmothers love. But the pattern was clear: whenever possibleand on my tab, if you pleaseLinda would spirit home anything not nailed down. All, of course, to delight her darling grandson.
I should have been more alarmed three months ago on our cinema trip to Leicester Square. Id bought the tickets, and Linda insisted on the largest bucket of caramel popcorn and a jumbo Coke.
Now, Linda usually watches her waist and isnt one for sugary treats. I figured she was allowing herself a cheeky indulgence. We found our seats, lights went down, the film began. I reached for a handful of popcorn, but Linda kept the bucket tightly shut with the lid shed specifically requested at the counter, and she didnt touch a single kernel.
Not peckish? I whispered.
Oh, I dont fancy any, she replied quietly. Ill save it for Harry. Hes staying with me tonight and goes mad for cinema popcorn. His parents barely ever get it for him.
I nearly snorted Coke through my nose. So, apparently, Id forked out for a novelty treat for her grandsonnot for us. Shed simply decided thats how things would be. The rest of the film I just felt awkward, my access to popcorn under heavy surveillance. After the credits rolled, I dropped her home; she strolled off, bucket in tow, radiating satisfaction, and I simply felt like Deliverooexcept Id even paid for the order.
It wasnt about her finances, either. Lindas got a decent job, dresses well, has her own carshes by no means in need of handouts.
But the real revelation came the past Saturday. Linda invited me over for lunch, promising homemade pies shed been bragging about for ages. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, I picked up a nice bottle of wine, a generous punnet of strawberries, and a pack of smoked salmonhoping to make the meal a little special. The flat practically hummed with the aroma of baking, and I was practically floating with anticipation.
In her kitchen, a sizeable bowl sat under a dish towel, wafting goodness into the air. Id estimate at least thirty pies in that pile. We sat, she brewed the tea, and placed five piping-hot pies on my plate.
Tuck in, David, while theyre still warm, she said sweetly.
They were delicioustwo with cabbage, three with minced beefI ate until I was fit to burst, feeling warm and content. We chatted over wine, feeling properly domestic; a homey little tableau.
Linda, those are absolutely brilliant, I said, relaxing back in my chair. My two are coming over this eveningmy daughters offloading the grandkids for the weekend. Mind if I take a few pies for them? They only ever get supermarket stuff; my daughters not really into kitchens.
And thats when the atmosphere changed. Drastically.
In a split second, Lindas warmth vanished. She looked apologetic, but not particularly soher gaze hardening, her body going rather rigid.
Oh David I would, honestly, but theres not much to spare. Harrys popping over later and, really, I baked them mostly for him.
She rose, uncovered the vast bowl, making quite a show of rummaging inside, before producing a measly little sandwich bag. She depositedcount themthree pies: two cabbage, one beef.
There you go, she said, handing me the paltry offering, something for them to try. Cant leave Harry with nothing for dinner, can I?
I stared at them, my cheeks burning. Thirty pies in the bowl and Id just contributed half the Waitrose deli. Never stinted for heror her grandson. And apparently my grandkids deserved only rationed handouts.
Linda, theres tons left, I tried, trying to sound reasonable, though the prickles inside were multiplying. Harrys not going to plough through all that. Just give mine a couple eachtheres two of them.
She pressed her lips together, popped the towel protectively back over the bowl, and declared,
I planned the shopping, David. I promised Harry. Dont take it personally, but I cant just dish out everything I make. You had your fill, didnt you? Thats enough. The rest is for my grandson.
She really said dish out. As if I were some stray popping in for handoutsnot the bloke stocking her fridge with goodies and supplying adult company.
Why am I lower in her pecking order than a six-year-old?
I made my excuses and left half an hour later, those three pies now radiating passive aggression from the passenger seat. Somehow, the lovely aroma had turned a bit offless cozy, more artificial. On the drive home I tried to work out what was going on in her head, and the resulting answers werent exactly uplifting.
I always thought the point of a proper relationship is that the two adults come first. Kids and grandkids are crucial, absolutely, but after us. Lindas universe circles entirely around Harryhes Priority One and everything else (including me) is strictly secondary. So what am I here, then? Free ATM? The bloke who provides chocolate cake, cinema popcorn and perhaps the occasional emotional supportbut only in the manner approved by family regulations?
When Im handing over cake for her grandson, thats were a family, although really, a year of dating isnt exactly a lifelong bond. But when I request a few pies for mine, suddenly its I cant just start giving things away. Funny, that. Her grandchild gets the top-shelf stuff, mine get leftovers and best not make a scene. And she didnt even notice how small I must have appeared, taking away a sad, miniature sandwich bagwhile she covered a bowlful with the sanctity of the Crown Jewels.
When I got home, the grandkids had already arrived. My daughter, looking knackered, was unloading bags in the kitchen.
Mmm, it smells like pies in here, Dad!
I pulled out the rather sorry little package, feeling sheepish.
Thats from Linda, I muttered, avoiding eye contact. Tuck in.
The pies vanished in under a minute, no surprise there.
Are there any more? my granddaughter asked, licking her fingers.
No, love, thats it, I replied and made for the garden to smoke.
Standing in the cold, watching the neighbours windows light up, I wondered: why am I doing this to myself? Why am I supporting someone who treats my wallet as communal property when her pies are clearly a national treasure? Its not about the food. I can buy anything from Deliveroo in five minutes flat. Its about the principle.
She didnt have a clue shed upset merang that evening, chirping away: Harrys over, absolutely stuffed, watching cartoons, happy as a clam! I stayed quiet. I wanted to say, My lot asked if there were more, and I had to say no. But I didnt.
Ever found yourself up against this sort of double standard? When everything good goes to their side and all thats expected of you is generosity? Should I bring this up? Or am I just being a grumpy old manand is this all just normal English thrift?
