Lorraine hurriedly set out the napkins and arranged the cutlery. Today was her husband Edward’s birthday. Though not a milestone, it mattered. Their daughters had promised to visit with their families, and the grandchildren had begged for a “proper celebration, like the old days.” Lorraine’s mind drifted back to the past, to the nineties…
Back then, everything was a struggle. Money was tight, groceries were a battle. But she always pushed through—for her family, for the warmth and joy in their home. Especially before the holidays.
It started with a simple request that year. The girls, Emily and Sophie, came home from school with dull eyes. Good grades, but no cheer. Then Emily confessed:
“Mum, all the girls at school have angora berets. Only we’re stuck in old hats. Please, can we get some?”
Lorraine gave in. They weren’t well-off, but her daughters were bright, hardworking, helpful. She rushed to the market, scraped together her last pounds, and bought them. The girls’ delight was worth it. But now there was nothing left for the celebration.
Fate intervened. The next day, someone in the supermarket shouted—”Bacon!”—and the crowd surged forward. Lorraine managed to grab two packs of their favourite smoked rashers. On Saturday, she secured a block of butter—the cashier whispered when the next batch would “go out.” With ration coupons and the girls in tow, she made it happen.
By Sunday, the table was set—like the old golden days. At the centre, a golden roast chicken, crisp and gleaming, nestled on a bed of rice. The father-in-law particularly favoured the salad of melted cheese, eggs, and garlic. The apple crumble was a triumph—her mother-in-law even begged for the recipe.
Now—the present. The girls were grown, each with a family of their own. Edward and Lorraine’s parents were long gone. But here it was—Sunday again, another birthday. Edward had taken their spaniel, Alfie, for a walk, while Lorraine laid out the table. No takeaway pizza or sushi—just a proper home-cooked meal. Warm, familiar, full of heart.
The guests arrived almost all at once. The grandchildren chattered in the hallway, kicking off their trainers, while Emily and Sophie hugged their mother.
“Mum, what’s that amazing smell?” Emily asked.
“We don’t want pizza!” the grandchildren yelled from the corridor.
Edward was the last to step inside. Everyone rushed to greet him.
“Well then, let’s eat,” Lorraine smiled.
When they entered the dining room, the whole family froze.
“Mum,” Sophie breathed, “it’s just like when we were little… The chicken—just like back then, your special salad, the rice…”
Laughter, toasts, tea with cake. Just like before. Only wiser.
Once everyone had left, Edward wrapped an arm around Lorraine.
“Thank you, love,” he murmured. “You took me right back. We were happy then, weren’t we? Even saving a year for the sofa, never getting the patio doors fixed. But we had each other. Still do. That’s what counts.”
“Happy birthday, darling. Here’s to many, many more.”
