Surprise! cried the family, turning up at my fortieth birthday without invitation. The feelings mutual, I replied. Surprises, as you know, are paid for by their organisers.
Evelyn shrugged the emerald strap of her gown back onto her shoulder and eyed herself in the mirror with a critical, then approving gaze. Forty. A number some might fear, but to her it meant freedom, financial independence, and at long last, the ability to firmly say no.
Eve, the cabs waiting, her husband, Charles, called from the hallway, his admiration barely disguised as he watched his wife. Are you sure were not inviting anyone?
Charles, weve been through this, she replied, picking up her clutch. No guests, no cooking, no chopping salads or finding slippers. Only you, me, a lovely restaurant, and blessed silence. I want a steak tonight without your mother offering a lecture on the proper way to chew.
Charles laughed. He knew full well that Evelyns relationship with Mrs. Margaret Parker was a drawn-out cold war: frosty silences punctuated by sudden bombardments of unsolicited advice.
Agreed. Your day, your rules, he said.
The Golden Pheasant had been chosen deliberatelya lavish restaurant festooned with mouldings, velvet curtains, and a menu that made any sensible wallet twitch. The perfect place to feel like a queen for an evening.
They entered, expecting a candle-lit table by the window. Smiling broadly, the maître d led them not toward the window, but into the heart of the room.
Your table is ready, he chirped, indicating an enormous setting for twelve.
Evelyn stopped in her tracks. Instead of an intimate corner, a great table lay groaning under platters, and it wasnt empty.
At its head, looking every bit the exiled empress, sat Margaret Parker in shimmering taffeta. Uncle Richard, barely a familiar face, was shovelling smoked trout into his mouth with gusto. To one side, Evelyns sister-in-law, Beatrice, was dabbing her youngests face with a napkin, while her elder boy stabbed the upholstery of an antique chair with a fork.
Surpriiise! Margaret intoned, catching the stunned couple in her gaze, her voice honed by years at the local council office.
Everyone turned. Charles paled, glanced at his wife. Evelyn was silent, eyes flickering with that icy glint which always presaged a reckoning.
Mum? Charles managed. What are you all doing here?
What do you think? exclaimed Margaret, arms flailing dangerously close to her wine glass. My darling daughter-in-laws birthday! Did you really think wed leave the poor girl alone? Were family! Sit, sit, weve already started!
Evelyn approached the table deliberately. The feast was Shakespeareansturgeon, charcuterie, bottles of fine cognac, oysters eyed with suspicion by Uncle Richard but consumed at impressive speed.
Mrs. Parker, Evelyn said evenly, we booked a table for two.
Oh, dont be such a grump, waved off Beatrice, pouring herself wine. Mother rang ahead, told them thered be more guests. Bit of a row, but they managed! Now, Evelyn, I dont know why youre showing off your back in that gown. At forty, modesty is more becoming. Peach skin no more, eh?
Beatrice, youve mayonnaise on your chin, Evelyn replied, ice in her smile, and your son is about to topple the sauce boat onto the eighteenth-century carpet.
A crash of broken crockery proved her prophetic. Beatrices boy had knocked over a vase.
No matter! Smashed crockery is good luck! Margaret boomed over the din. Waiter! Bring the crab salad and the mains!
Evelyn sat. Charles shrank to invisibility beside her, the look on his wifes face that of a marksman adjusting for wind.
So you decided to give me a surprise, Evelyn remarked, opening her napkin.
Indeed! Margaret exclaimed, tucking into her third slice of sturgeon. Youre always so thrifty, doing everything yourself. This, dear, is a proper do! The familys here! Uncle Richards come all the way from Kent and even took the day off work.
I lift crates for a living, wrecked my back, needed a rest, Richard chimed in. Fine cognac here, Evelyn. Not that stuff you serve at New Years.
Their impertinence only grew. Beatrice loudly mused that Evelyn ought to hurry up and have children, while the clock still ticks, or rather, cuckoos, and that careers were for men, not for wives who ought to be cooking. Margaret agreed, ordering the most expensive fare she could find.
Ill take lobster, Margaret declared. Never had it. Beatrice as well. Childrendessert, biggest portion!
Mum, thats a bit much, Charles said nervously.
Quiet! she snapped. Its your wifes birthday. Splash out!
The climax came an hour later. Margaret, flushed with drink, rose for a toast, rapping her fork on her glass.
Evelyn, she intoned with a pointed sweetness, forty already. Not long a womans prime, is it? May you stop thinking only of yourself. Just look at Beatricethree children, a husband, and a household, even if he does drink. And you? Offices, gyms. Selfish, you are. Still, we love you, of coursemagnanimously. To family!
To family! bellowed Uncle Richard.
Beatrice giggled. Charles clenched his fists, ready to intervene, but Evelyn stilled him with a hand on his. She stood. The room quieted. Her smile was so disarming the waiter edged sideways.
Thank you, Mrs. Parker, Evelyn said loudly and clearly. Youve lifted the veil from my eyes. Truly, I was selfish, thinking birthdays are about the celebrant. But youve shown mefamily comes first.
Her mother-in-law beamed, pleased at this obvious confirmation.
And since were being generous with surprises Evelyn paused. Waiter!
The young man appeared instantly.
The bill, please, she said.
So soon? Beatrice asked, swallowing the last of her lobster. Desserts not yet served!
By all means, help yourselves, Evelyn said serenely.
The waiter brought the bill folder. Evelyn flicked it open: the sum was staggeringenough for a good second-hand car. In two hours, her relatives had made a years dent in a small countrys budget.
Goodness! Margaret whistled. Charles, fetch your card!
Evelyn snapped the bill shut and gave it back to the waiter.
Excuse me, she said for all to hear, My husband and I have separate finances. Please split the bill: two Caesar salads, two rib-eyes, and mineral water. That was our order.
Silence. You could have heard the fly buzzing above the aspic.
Is this some kind of joke? Margarets face turned red as port.
No joke at all, Evelyn replied, tapping her card. Beep. Paid.
You cant do this! Beatrice shrieked. Its your birthday! You invited us!
Me? Evelyn raised her brows. I didnt invite you. You said it yourselves: Surprise!
She rose, adjusted her dress, fixed her mother-in-law with a calm hauteur.
You crashed my celebration without invitation, ordered dishes I never chose, insulted and goaded me on my birthday. Heres how it works, dears: surprises are wonderful things. But remembersurprises are paid for by those who arrange them.
Charles! Margaret wailed, clutching her chest theatrically. Your wife has lost her mind! Do something! My blood pressure!
Charles stood slowly, surveying the scenethe mother working herself up, Uncle Richard stashing his half-empty bottle of cognac under the table, and Beatrice with her sauce-smeared children.
Mum, he said quietly, unmoved by theatrics, Evelyns right. If you wanted to throw a party, youve had it. Enjoy yourselves. We have plans of our own.
He gently took Evelyns arm and led her out.
Ungrateful brutes! Margaret howled, instantly forgetting her ailments. Ill curse you! May you never have a penny to your name! Beatrice, ring the police!
Theres no need for that, interjected the manager, a broad man with a headset, flanked by two burly bouncers. But Im afraid the bill must be settled. In full. At once.
Evelyn and Charles crossed the threshold to a chorus of accusations and laments.
I havent got that sort of money! Beatrice screeched, waving her hands. Richard, you ate the most, you pay!
Me?! Richard protested, red-faced. I only tried the salad! All the big orders were hers!
Who are you calling her?! Margaret thundered, lost for words.
Out in the cool night, Evelyn paused and breathed in deeply. Relief washed over her.
You all right? Charles asked, slinging an arm over her shoulders.
You know, she said, her smile now light and genuine, its the best birthday present I couldve received. Like dropping a rucksack of bricks Id carried ten years.
Theyll never forgive us, Charles smirked.
I sincerely hope not, Evelyn replied. Now they know: surprise can fly both ways.
Epiloguea Week Later
Margaret Parkers number had long been blocked, but word of their comeuppance filtered through mutual acquaintances. Retribution struck swiftly and firmly: naturally, not a one had the cash. The row in the Golden Pheasant lasted two hours.
The manager was a man of strict principle. In the end, Uncle Richard had to leave his treasured gold pocket watch as collateral and sign a receipt. Beatrice was forced to call her husband, who arrived furious and let loose in the car park upon hearing the billmoney he had set aside for winter tyres and gearbox repairs, leaving Beatrice to taste a long, lean, and joyless period of thrift.
And Margaret? The matriarch attempted a dramatic heart attack, but the paramedics diagnosed acute overindulgence and tipsiness. Her emergency savings, once destined for a fur coat, found a new life at the restaurant.
But the real satisfaction? The relatives, who once marched in lockstep against Evelyn, soon turned on each other. Beatrice blamed Margaret for ringleading, Margaret blamed Richards drinking, Richard demanded his watch back. The anti-Evelyn alliance had devoured itself.
Sipping coffee at her kitchen table, a book in hand, Evelyn revelled in the quiet. No one demanded money, doled out advice, or passed judgement.
Justice, she reflected, was a dish best served cold. And ideally, with a separate bill.
