Where did you put the napkins? I told you, the silver-patterned ones match the tablecloth much better, Margaret Porter murmured, not bothering to look up as she sliced lemons thin as paper.
On any other New Years Eve, her husband, Victor, would already be planted in front of the telly, waiting for the Royal Variety to start. But today, he was still nowhere to be seen. Margaret had been muttering into the emptiness of their spotless, warm kitchen, filling time before the chimes at midnight. Just three hours left. Already, her roast duck with Bramley applesher signature dish, a family recipewas filling the flat with mouthwatering aromas. The place glittered with tinsel and twinkling fairy lights, the tree cradling a stack of gifts, and Margaret was wrapped in the comforting glow of festive anticipation: a feeling untouched even at fifty.
She wiped her hands and glanced at the clock. Victor was latesaid hed pop by the office to pick up her forgotten present. She smiled, picturing him hunting for something special: this year was their silver wedding anniversary, twenty-five years together. Theyd planned a romantic New Year, just the two of themno big gatherings, no children, who were scattered with their own families now.
The front doors lock finally clicked. Margaret whisked off her apron, smoothed her hair and velvet dress, and hurried out to greet him.
Victor, where on earth have you?
Her voice caught. Victor was not alone. Beside him, stamping flakes off a luxurious mink coat, stood a vibrant young woman. Striking, with a mane of auburn hair and lips painted fire-red. She clutched a bag of satsumas, while Victor, flashing a sheepish yet unnaturally bright grin, held a bottle of champagne.
Margaret, weve got company! Victor bellowed, louder than their cosy hallway warranted. This is Alice. Alice Somerset, our new Chief Accountant.
Margaret froze; a chill ran through her veins. Her eyes darted from her husbands pink cheeks to their guest.
Good evening, she managed. Were we… expecting someone?
Alice, perfectly unruffled, extended a gloved hand. Oh, how do you do! What an ordeal Ive had tonightits honestly like something out of an old film! Victorsorry, Mr Porterabsolutely rescued me, I cant thank him enough.
Victor bent to untie his shoes, eyes fixed firmly on his laces.
Look, Margaret, heres the thing… I found Alice at the office in a statecrying her eyes out. Plumbing disaster, apparently, flats flooded, no electricity, freezing cold. Landlord cant send anyone till after the New Year. Shes got no one else in London. Couldnt let her spend New Years on a train platform, could I? So I thoughtAlice, come with me! Margarets laid out the finest spread, shes a real treasureyou wont be turned away.
Margaret listened to this wretched justification, feeling her carefully woven world unravel. Twenty-five years. An intimate evening. Candles carefully set. And nowthis painted surprise in her home.
Come in, she said crisply, her own voice sounding foreign. Since youre here.
Alice glided into the living room, trailing a heavy cloud of perfume that instantly drowned out the scent of roast duck and pine.
Oh, how charming! she trilled, brazenly surveying the room. So…retro. My gran had a sideboard just like this. Feels like a museumso atmospheric!
Margaret bit her tongue. That sideboard was Italian, solid oak, and had cost a small fortune five years back. Explaining as much to this girlyoung enough to be her daughterwas not worth her breath.
Victor, help Alice with her coat, Margaret barked, retreating to the kitchen to steady herself. Her hands shook.
Within moments, Victor crept in, carrying the look of a scolded schoolboy, but with a flicker of guiltless defiance.
Margaret, dont start, please, he whispered, keeping the kitchen door half-closed. Shes got nowhere else. Dont be cold. Its New Years! One meal, a drink, Ill order her a cab after, orshe can sleep on the sofa…
The sofa? Margaret spun, gripping a wooden spoon so tightly the knuckles turned white. Have you lost your mind, Victor? We meant to spend tonight together. Youve invited this stranger who insults my home the second she steps inside. Calls it a museum!
She didnt mean it! Shes just a bit young a bit straight-talking. Come on, love. Dont humiliate me in front of the team. If she leaves and tells everyone I turned her out, whatll they think? I still have to work with her.
Margaret gazed at this manher husband of decadesand saw a stranger: a tired, desperate peacock, showing off to a younger woman with his wifes hospitality.
Fine, she said, cold as frost. Let her stay. But if she says one more thing about my house…
She wont, she wont! Ill keep an eye out! Victor brightened, leaning in for a kiss, but Margaret sidestepped.
Go on thenentertain your guest. Ill set a third place at the table.
Dinner began under a curtain of tension. Margaret moved in silence, laying out plates. Alice, now rid of her coat, flaunted a form-fitting, low-cut dress, absurdly out of place. She lounged back, swirling her glass languidly.
Victor darling, why dont you open the bubbly now? To say goodbye to the old year, she purred, casting Victor a sultry glance. Im parched.
Victor darling. That nearly made Margaret drop the salad bowl. She set the herring under a fur coat on the tabletoo hard.
We open champagne with the midnight chimes in this house, she said sharply. For now, have some cranberry cordial. Homemade.
Alice pursed her lips. Cordial? How quaint. I hardly touch sweet drinks, you seewatching my figure! Have you any brut? They do say sweets for those with unrefined tastes.
Victor leapt up, flustered. No problemI have excellent brandy in the cabinet. Alice, would you care for some?
Oh, go on, just a dropbit nippy in here, you know. Do you keep the heating off to save money?
Margaret sat, jaw rigid, opposite the pair. Victor played to his audience, pouring Alices glass, dolloping caviar onto her toast, guffawing at old jokes Alice laughed at much too loudly, head thrown back.
So, Margaret, do you work? Alice suddenly asked her hostess, pausing mid-bite.
I do, Margaret replied calmly. Im the lead product developer at a confectionery firm.
Really? Alice arched a pencilled eyebrow. Gosh, you seem so…domestic! Like those wives you see waiting at home with a stew for their husbands. Victor was always saying your hands are magic in the kitchen. Though, apparently, youre not much for conversationall routine, he saidbut your cakes are delicious!
The silence that followed buzzed as loud as static. The tick of the clock and drone of the telly filled the edges.
I never said that! Victor choked on brandy, thumping his chest. Alice, youre mistaken!
Margaret set down her fork slowly. Something inside her snapped, a final, taut string breaking with a metallic ping. No conversation? Just small talk and cakes?
Go on, Alice, Margaret said, lips ice-tinged. What else did Victor say? Id love to know.
Alice, sensing shed gone too far, tried to retreat, but only dug deeper.
Oh, dont be cross! Men, they crave excitementspur-of-the-moment things. Victor was the life of the party last Friday! Danced the samba with me, the whole office clapped! Said, At home, cant dance like this. Wifes always tired, sore feet and all.
Margaret glanced at her own feet under the table. They only ached after days on her feet, crafting a feast for her beloved.
Victor looked like a man condemned, crimson and shaking. He saw disaster and was helpless to halt it.
Lets have a toast! he pleaded. To peace across the world!
Wait. Margaret fixed Alice in her gaze. Tell me about those pipeswhat really happened at your flat?
The pipes? Alice faltered, eyes darting. Ah, yes! Burst pipe, water everywherea geyser! I panicked, rang VictorMr Porter. A real man, dependable. Not like my ex.
Strange, Margaret mused. Its minus five outside. If you had a burst pipe and no power, you wouldnt be here with immaculate hair and nails. Youd reek of damp, or of the emergency crew. But all I smell is the salon… and the scent of another woman circling my husband.
Alice flushed bright pink.
How dare you! Im a guest! she snapped. Victor, will you say something?
Victor just shrank into his seat.
Maybe she changed her clothes… he mumbled.
Enough, Victor, Margaret said softly but firmly. She stood. Twenty-five years I ignored your little indiscretionsyour wandering eye, the long hours. I thought you valued our home. Our life. Turns out Im just the cook, not much good for chat.
She strode to the window, yanking the curtain and exposing the darkness beyond, punctuated by the occasional fireworks.
All right, she announced, turning back. Shows over. Alice Somerset, collect your oranges and leave.
Alices mouth gaped with outrage, but at a glimpse of Margarets icy resolve, she wilted. Something in those eyes frightened her.
Victor! Are you seriously letting her throw me out on New Years Eve? she shrieked.
Victor, emboldened (or just tipsy), smacked his palm against the table. Margaret, stop the drama! This is my home as well! I brought a guest. Alice is staying. Well see in the New Year properly, like
Like what? Margaret prompted, tone lethal. Go on.
Like a shrew! he blurted.
Margaret nodded, serene and dry-eyed. She fetched a large holdall from the sideboard, meant for Christmas gifts for the grandchildren, and dumped its contentsboxes of Quality Streetonto the floor.
Your home, is it? She thrust the bag at Victors knees. Fine. Then Im leaving. Though, dont forget, Victorthis flat is my parents. Youre only on the deed. Come the first working day, Ill file for divorce and have you struck off the registry. For now you both must go.
Victors face lost all colour. The brandys bravado evaporated.
Margaret, what are you doing? Where would we go?
Where theres life. Go dance the samba with Alice at her place. Help fix her plumbing! she replied. You said yourselfheres only routine, only a museum.
Margaret, wait! Victor scrambled up, tipping his chair. Im a foolshes just a colleague, nothing more! Just send her away, lets put it behind usplease!
Margaret looked at him with pure contempt. His loyalty evaporated as soon as it got uncomfortable.
Too late, Victor. Salads gone off. So have we. Get a move on. Five minutes.
Alice, sensing the night was irreparably soured, marched to the hallway in silence.
Madwoman, she spat, donning her coat. Ill order myself a cab, Victor. And I dont need your dependability with this sort of baggage.
The door slammed. Her perfume lingered, a taint in the air.
Victor stood by the table, holdall in hand, utterly lost.
Margaret he whimpered. Shes gone. Can we forget it? Look, the duckll be cold
Without a word, Margaret took the roasting tray from the oven. The smell of apples and cinnamonher favouritenow churned her stomach.
Forget it? she repeated. You brought your lover here on our silver wedding eve. You undermined me to her, let her belittle me in my home.
She lifted the heavy ceramic dish. Victor, go. I mean it. If you dont, Ill call the police and say youre drunk and threatening. And theyll believe me.
Victor stared at her, finally understandingshe would.
He trudged into the bedroom; cupboards thumped, clothes landed in the holdall. He emerged in a hurry, coat askew, a shirt cuff dangling ludicrously from the zip.
Youll regret this! he blustered from the doorway, seeking to save face. Youll be all alone at fiftywholl want you, then?
Myself, she answered, slamming the door, double-locking it.
Silence. Blissful silence. Margaret rested against the door, sliding down to the floor. Shed expected tears, but felt only a vast, clean emptiness. As if someone had cleared out old, sagging furniture and left peace behind.
She stood, returned to the kitchen. Three place settings, now pointless. Salads, caviar, ducka banquet for ghosts.
Margaret seized Alices plateher untouched snack bearing a crimson lipstick printand hurled it into the bin. Shards sang. Victors plate met the same end.
She put away the third setting, leaving only her own cherished plate rimmed in gold. She poured herself a full glass of icy champagne.
On the television, the Prime Minister was taking the stage. The countdown was beginning. This was the year that had stolen her illusions, but given her back respectand herself.
Happy New Year, Margaret, she toasted her reflection in the darkened windowpane.
She carved herself the best cut of duckcrisp, golden leg. A scoop of salad, beautifully matured. She ate slowly, at last.
Her phone chimed with a message from Kate, her daughter: Happy New Year, Mum! We both love yougrandkids will visit next week!
Margaret smiled. Real life was still herschildren, grandchildren, job, a home she loved. Anything lost tonight must have been rotten already.
She sipped her champagne, fizz tingling on her tongue. For the first time in years, she wasnt fussing, serving, topping up others glasses. She was simply present.
From outside, fireworks burst and neighbours whooped. The world was celebrating. Margaret celebrated, tooher freedom.
An hour later, she cleared uppacked all the leftovers into containers. Tomorrow, shed take them down to Mrs Valentine, the concierge, and Michael, the caretaker. Let them enjoy bounty, too.
But the duckshed finish that herself. She deserved it.
Before bed, Margaret stood at her mirror, washed away her make-up. A handsome, dignified woman gazed backeyes a touch sad, yes, but lively. No dowdy frump here.
He wanted excitement, Margaret murmured. Well, Victor, youll have plenty nownew flat, lawyers, face the kids.
She sprawled in the middle of their great bed, claiming space once split with a snoring husband. The fresh linen smelt of lavender and hope.
Morning brought sunlight. Her first thought wasnt must make Victors breakfast, but I fancy coffee and a slice of cake from that new café. A glorious thought.
Who knew what would comedivorce, hard talks, shared assets. That was tomorrows concern. For now, she had a day of peace, good food, and calm. And never again would anyone dare call her home a museumor her life small.
