Where did you put the napkins? I called from the kitchen, my back to the door as I sliced lemons so thin you could almost see through them. I asked for the silver-trimmed onesthey match the tablecloth better.
Usually by nowlate afternoon on New Years Evemy wife, Margaret, would be fussing in the kitchen, and Id already be lounging in front of the telly, waiting for the evenings concert to start. But this year I was still at home, having lost myself in preparations. Our roast duck with Bramley apples was in the ovena family recipe handed down for generations. The flat sparkled, the Christmas tree twinkled with fairy lights, and the air was thick with anticipation, that special, warm kind you never seem to outgrow, not even at fifty.
Margaret was alone in the kitchen, chattering to herself as she got everything ready, checking the clock every now and then. Id told her I needed to pop back to the officeI said Id forgotten her present. In truth, I was trying to make the evening extra special. Twenty-five years together: our silver wedding anniversary. Wed decided to spend New Years Eve just the two of us, quietly for a change, no family, no boisterous parties, just us.
At long last, the front door creaked open. Margaret straightened her hair, slipped off her apron, revealing a festive velvet dress, and hurried to greet me.
James, where have you been? The ducks nearly” She stopped. Her face fell.
I wasnt alone. Standing beside me was a young woman, stamping the snow off her expensive looking fur coat. She was strikingflame-red hair, bright red lipstick. In one hand, she clutched a bag of clementines. My own hand was awkwardly clutching a bottle of champagne, my smile tense and obviously forced.
Happy New Year! I declared, much too loudly for our cosy little hall. Margaret, meet our guest! This is Emma. Emma Haywood, our new chief accountant.
Margaret froze, her face suddenly pale. She looked between me and Emma.
Good evening, she managed, voice rigid. Were were we expecting someone?
Emma, unfazed, smiled and held out a gloved hand.
Oh, Margaret, lovely to meet you! You wont believe the drama tonightabsolutely like an episode of EastEnders! Jamessorry, Mr. Cartwrightabsolutely rescued me. I cant thank him enough!
I hastily started to take off my shoes, avoiding Margarets gaze.
Well, love, its like this I stopped by the office for your gift, and theres Emma, in bits. You cant imagineabsolutely in tears. Her plumbings burst, flat flooded, no electrics, absolutely freezing. Cant call the repairman til after Bank Holiday. Nowhere to go for New Years Eveshes got no family in London, just on her own. I said to her, Come over! Margarets laid on an amazing spread, youll be more than welcome.
Margaret listened, stunned, watching as the world shed so carefully prepared unravelled. Twenty-five years. A romantic evening. The candles shed already arranged on the table. And now this miracle bundled up in fur.
Come in, then, she said, voice brittle and quiet. Since youre here.
Emma breezed into the flat, trailing a heavy, honeyed perfume that immediately swallowed up the scent of roast duck and pine.
Oh, its lovely in here! she chirped, peering around nosily. So retro. My gran had a sideboard just like that one. Loads of character, so vintage. Feels like stepping into a National Trust house.
Margaret gritted her teeth. The sideboard was Italian oak, bought brand new barely five years ago for a small fortune, but she wasnt about to explain that to someone young enough to be her daughter.
James, help our guest with her coat, Margaret muttered, retreating briskly to the kitchen. Her hands shook.
I followed after a moment, knowing I looked guilty but determined.
Come on, Margaret, dont kick off, I pleaded, closing the door gently behind me. She honestly had nowhere. Its New Years! Weve got to show some kindness. Shell have some food and a drink and Ill get her a taxi later. Or, worst caseshe can kip on the settee in the lounge
On the settee? Margaret whirled round, clutching a ladle so hard her knuckles whitened. Are you mad? We were meant to have an evening alone. And you bring a stranger, whos rude from the second she arrives? National Trust house, honestly!
She didnt mean it badly. Shes justyoung. Unfiltered. Margaret, please. Dont make me look daft in front of the office. Shell go back telling everyone I chucked her out in the street. I still have to work with her, for heavens sake.
She looked at me, unrecognisable: not the tender, loving woman who built this home with me, but someone closed off and hard, watching her world slip away to a man desperate to impress a new, much younger colleague.
Fine, she said at last, flatly. She can stay. But if she says one more word about my house
She wont! Ill see to it! I tried to lean in for a kiss, but she drew away.
Go on. Entertain your unfiltered friend. Ive got another place to lay.
Dinner passed in stilted silence. Margaret silently set the table for three. Emma, now without her coat, perched at the table in a tight dress with a plunging neckline, wildly at odds with the homely setting. She draped her legs over the next chair, twirling a wine glass in her hand.
James, pop the champagne now? she purred, giving me a sultry look. Lets toast the end of the old yearIm absolutely parched!
James, she called me. My wife slammed down the salad bowl.
Its traditional to have champagne at midnight, when Big Ben strikes. For now, you can have some cranberry cordial. Homemade.
Emma sniffed. Cordial? Thats quaint. But sorry, I dont do sugary stuff. Got to watch the figure. Do you have any Brut? I read somewhere only people with no taste drink the sweet kind.
I scrambled. Ill find something. Ive a bottle of decent whisky in the cupboard. Want a nip, Emma?
If you insist. Might just take the chill offbit drafty, isnt it? Saving on the heating?
Margaret sat opposite us, looking like an outsider at her own table. I went into full host mode, pouring Emma drinks, serving her caviar, telling panto Christmas cracker jokes to lighten the moodshe laughed far too loudly, tossing her hair back for effect.
What about you, Margaret, do you work? Emma suddenly addressed my wife, pausing mid-mouthful.
I do, Margaret replied coolly. Im senior technologist at Cadburys.
Really? Emmas pencilled eyebrows shot up. Wouldnt have guessed. Youve got such a domestic air. Like youve spent life waiting for your husband to come home to a stew. James said youre amazing in the kitchen. He did say sometimes its a bit boring at home now, no real chat, but at least the bakings top notch.
The silence was deafening. The only sound was the clock and background hum of the telly. I nearly choked on my whisky, my face turning red.
I I never saidEmma, youre misremembering!
Margaret put her fork down. Something snapped. The slender thread holding her patience together finally broke. Nothing to say to her, was it? All these years, and now no real chat.
Please go on, Emma, Margaret said, eyes icy. What else did James tell you? Do share.
Emma looked alarmed, trying to take it backonly making it worse.
Oh, dont be upset! Men, you know what theyre likealways after a bit of excitement. James was the life of the party at our works do Friday! Best dancer thereeveryone watched us salsa. He said, Cant do that at homemy wifes always tired, its her feet, bless her.
Margaret glanced under the table at her feet. No achingexcept after three days standing in the kitchen preparing this wretched feast.
I could sense disaster incoming, but couldnt find the brakes.
Lets toast! I blurted. To peace and goodwill!
Margaret didnt take her eyes off Emma. Hold on. These pipes at your flat, Emmatell us again what happened?
Emma hesitated, faltered. Oh, right, yes. Burst pipes. Water everywhere! I panicked, called JamesMr. Cartwright. The real gent in the office, so reliable. Not like my ex.
Funny, Margaret mused. Its minus five outside. If youd had a hot water geyser and no electricity, youd hardly be here looking flawlessmanicure intact, smelling of perfume. Youd reek of damp, not designer shampoo and someone elses husband.
Emma bristled. How dare you! Im a guest! Jamessay something!
I shrank into my chair. Come on, Margaret, thats a bitmaybe she changed first
Dont, Margaret said quietly, every syllable a warning. She stood from the table. Ive overlooked your little run-arounds for years, James. Your sidelong glances, those late nights at work. I thought you valued what we havefamily. I thought we were close. But apparently, Im just the housekeeper youve nothing in common with.
She strode to the window, yanking the curtains aside, exposing the dark square outside and sporadic fireworks.
Right. Shows over. Emma Haywood, gather your clementines and leave.
Emma opened her mouth, ready to argue, but fell silent under Margarets glare, unnerved by the composure and cold resolve.
James! Are you going to let her throw me out, in the dead of night? Emma shrieked, making a final appeal.
I stiffenedmaybe Dutch courage from the whiskyand slammed my fist on the table.
Margaret, stop this nonsense! Its my home too! I invited a guest. Emmas staying. Well see in the New Year together like civilised people, not
Not what? Margaret nudged.
Not witches! I barked.
Margaret nodded, calm, measured. She opened our sideboard, fetching the large travel holdall we were using to pack Christmas presents for the children. She upended it, sweets cascading across the floor.
Your home, is it? She threw the bag into my lap. Good. Then Im off. But you should know, this flats in my parents name. Youre just listed on the paperwork. Ill file for divorce and see you removed the moment the council offices open. For now, you both need to leave.
What? I blanched, suddenly sober. Margaret, come onwhere are we meant to go?
Somewhere with excitement, a bit of salsa. Emmas place. Maybe shes still got water everywhere. You can help clear upyoure reliable, remember. Here its boring, just the National Trust.
Wait! I scrambled after her, nearly spilling the bag. I was wrong! Im an idiot! Shes just a colleague, nothing more! Let her go, just the two of us!
Margaret looked at meas if over a bad smell. One minute Id been ready to defend Emma; now, facing consequences, I dropped her without a thought.
No, James. The salads gone offjust like our marriage. Get moving. You have five minutes.
Emma realised the drama was finished, and that she didnt fancy starring in a divorce scandal. She wordlessly gathered her things and headed for the foyer.
Nutcase, she muttered, yanking on her coat. James, Ill order my own taxi. You can sort yourself out. No need for a gentleman with this much baggage.
The front door slammed. The cloying scent of perfume and something dirty lingered.
I stood in the middle of the sitting room, clutching the empty bag.
Margaret I began weakly. Shes gone. Lets just forgettheres duck getting cold.
Margaret went to the oven, pulled out the tray dripping with golden juices and baked apples. The smell, previously mouth-watering, now seemed sickening.
Forget? she echoed. You brought your mistress into our home on our silver anniversary. You gossiped behind my back. You let her insult me in my own kitchen.
She picked up the heavy serving dish.
Go, James. Im not joking. If you dont leave right now, Ill ring the police. Tell them youre drunk and threatening me. And I promise you, theyll believe me.
She looked at me, and suddenly I knew: she really would.
I trudged off to the bedroom, noisily snatching clothes and stuffing them into the bag. I left, shuffling in my hastily thrown-on coat, a shirt sleeve flopping out like a white flag of surrender.
Youll regret this, Margaret! I called lamely from the hallway, trying to salvage a shred of pride. Youll be on your own! Who wants you at fifty?
Myself, she replied, and double-locked the door behind me.
The flat fell silent at lastblessedly so. Margaret leaned against the door, sliding to the floor. She expected tears, but none came. Instead, there was a strange sense of emptiness, like someone had finally moved out a huge, ugly piece of furniture thatd taken up half her life, leaving the air suddenly clear.
She stood, made her way back to the kitchen. The table was set for three. Salads, caviar, roast duck. It all looked like an abandoned theatre set for a cancelled play.
She picked up Emmas platethe lipstick-marked sandwichand lobbed it straight into the rubbish. The satisfying smash sounded like music.
Next, my plate: straight in as well.
She packed away the third setting, leaving only her favourite, the one with the gold rim. She poured herself a generous glass of icy champagne.
On the telly, the Prime Minister began the New Years address. Big Ben was ready to chime out the last seconds of the yearone that had torn away old illusions but given her back her pride.
Happy New Year, Margaret, she said quietly to her own reflection in the window.
She cut herself the ducks crispiest leg, spooned some saladperfectly steeped, not a hint of spoilage.
Her phone pingedher daughter, Kate: Happy New Year, Mum! Dad and I love you! Expect the grandkids next week!
Margaret smiled. Real life wasnt gone. She had her children, her grandkids, her work, her beloved home. The things that had dropped away? Theyd been rotten anyway.
She sipped her champagne, the bubbles bursting on her tongue. For the first time in years, she wasnt fussing over everyone elses glasses. She simply enjoyed the moment.
Outside, the neighbours cheered, fireworks exploding overhead. The world celebratedand so did she: her new freedom.
An hour later, she boxed up the leftoverstomorrow shed take them round to Mrs. Wilson, the porter, and Mr. Green, the caretaker. Honest, good peoplelet them share in the feast.
And the duckshed eat every last bit. Shed earned it.
Before bed, Margaret stood at the mirror, wiping off her makeup. Reflected back was a beautiful woman, a little sad perhaps, but wholly alive. No frumpy apron-wearer.
More excitement, was it, James? Margaret gave a wry smile. Well, now youll have more excitement than you can handlenew flat, splitting possessions, explaining to the kids.
She slipped into her side of the king-size bednow hers alone. The linens smelled of lavender and freshness.
In the morning, sunlight woke her, and the first thing she thought wasnt must make my husbands breakfast, but fancy some coffee and cake at that new place round the corner. It was a marvellous thought.
She didnt know what came nextdivorce, difficult conversations, lawyers. That would come in time. For now, she had a whole day, full of silence, good food, and peace. And no one could ever again call her house a museum, or her life dull.
If you enjoyed this story, do follow and leave a commentwhat would you have done in her place?
