Yesterday
“Where on earth are you putting that salad bowl? Its blocking the cold meats! And could you move the wine glasses, pleaseEdwards coming soon, and you know how he likes to have space to wave his arms about when he talks.”
Victor fussed around the dining table, rearranging the cut glass bowls and nearly dropping the forks in his haste. Gloria sighed deeply, wiping her hands on her apron. She had been on her feet since morning; her legs ached as if filled with bricks, and a familiar twinge pinched her lower back. But there was no time to moan. Tonight, their star guest was comingthe husbands younger brother, Edward.
“Vic, will you calm down?” she asked, determined to keep her voice even. “The table looks perfect. Now tell me, did you pick up the wholemeal bread? Last time Edward complained that all we had was white, and hes apparently watching his figure now.”
“I bought it, I bought itthe seeded one he likes,” Victor darted to the bread bin. “Gloria, the roastare you sure the meats ready? You know how he is, always going out to restaurants. You wont impress him with plain beef patties.”
Gloria pressed her lips together. She knew all too well. Edward, at forty, a confirmed bachelor who styled himself a freelance artist but who mostly scraped by with odd jobs and the generosity of their ageing mother, fancied himself a connoisseur. Every visit from Edward felt to Gloria like an examination she was destined to fail.
“Ive roasted the pork with honey and mustard,” she replied crisply. “Fresh from the market; cost me eighteen pounds for the lot. If he doesnt like this, I wash my hands of it.”
“Dont jump to conclusions,” Victor grimaced. “He hasnt been over for half a year. He misses usjust wants a proper family meal. Give him a chance, all right? Hes having a rough patch. Trying to find himself.”
“More like trying to find someone elses cash,” thought Gloria but kept silent. Victor worshipped his younger brother and bristled at any hint of criticism.
The doorbell rang at seven sharp. Gloria hurried to untie her apron, checked her hair in the hallway mirror and arranged a practiced smile. Victor was already opening the front door, beaming.
“Ted! Old boy! At last!”
Edward was standing on the doorstep. He certainly cut a figure: expensive coat flung open, scarf artfully draped over one shoulder, the sort of designer stubble that was intended, no doubt, to suggest rugged masculinity. He threw his arms wide for Victors embracethough he only patted his brothers shoulder in return.
Gloria glanced down at Edwards hands. Empty. No bag, no box of chocolates, not even the humblest bunch of flowers. He had come to their home after six months, to a table groaning with food, and had brought absolutely nothing. Not so much as a chocolate bar for their childrenwho were fortunately at their grandmothers tonight.
“Hello, Gloria,” Edward nodded, strolling in, looking about the hallway without bothering to remove his shoes straight away. “New wallpaper? Bit hospital-y, if you ask me. But never mindso long as you like it.”
“Evening, Edward,” Gloria replied evenly. “Wash your hands, please. I bought new slippers just for you.”
“I didnt bring mine. Ill just stick to socksshared slippers give you athletes foot,” Edward shrugged. “The floors clean, I hope?”
Gloria felt her irritation bubble up. Shed washed those floors twice in anticipation.
“Spotless, Edward. Come along to the table.”
They gathered in the sitting room. The table did look splendid: gleaming white cloth, fancy napkins, three types of salad, cold cuts of meat and cheese, gleaming salmon roe, and Glorias own pickled mushrooms from last autumn, arranged at the centre with the freshly roasted meat steaming temptingly.
Edward lounged in his chair, surveying the spread. Victor fussed with a bottle of brandya fine five-year-old, bought only yesterday in Edwards honour.
“Cheers, to family!” Victor proclaimed, pouring generous measures all around.
Edward took his glass, swirling it, inspecting the colour, sniffing it.
“Its Spanish?” he grimaced. “Hmm. I do prefer French brandymuch subtler bouquet. This just tastes of alcohol. Still, never look a gift horse in the mouth”
He tossed the drink back in one go and immediately reached for the most expensive slice of gammon with his fork.
“Help yourself,” Gloria said, nudging the salad towards him. “Thats prawn and avocadonew recipe.”
Edward prodded a prawn, holding it up to the light as though examining fine jewellery.
“These were frozen, werent they?”
“Obviouslywere not by the coast,” Gloria replied, a little put out. “King prawns, from the grocers.”
“Tough as old boots,” Edward announced, dropping the prawn back into the salad. “Youve overcooked them, Gloria. Prawns should be plunged in boiling water for exactly two minutes. These are chewy. And the avocados underripecrunchy.”
Victor, halfway to serving himself salad, hesitated, spoon held aloft.
“Oh, go on Tedit tastes fine! I tried it earlier, it was lovely.”
“You have to cultivate a palate, Victor,” Edward lectured. “If you spend your life on substitutes, youll never know real cuisine. Only last week I was at the opening of a new restaurantscallop ceviche, sublime texture! And this well, is the mayonnaise at least homemade?”
Gloria felt her cheeks flush. The mayonnaise was shop-bought, “Rich and Creamy”she simply hadnt the time to beat eggs and oil by hand.
“From the supermarket,” she answered flatly.
“I see,” Edward sighed as if hearing bad news from the doctor. “Vinegar, stabilisers, starchpure poison. Lets try your meat, please. I trust youve not ruined that too?”
Without a word, Gloria plated a generous serving of pork, drizzled it with sauce, and set crisp rosemary potatoes beside it. The aroma alone should have won praisebut Edward prided himself as a critic.
He nibbled a piece, chewing contemplatively while staring at the ceiling. Gloria and Victor waited suspensefully; Victor hopeful, Gloria simmering with rising irritation.
“Dry,” Edward finally pronounced. “And the saucehoney overwhelms everything. Far too sweet. Meat should taste like meat. This is practically a dessert. And you didnt marinate it long enoughthe fibres are still tough. It needed a full day in kiwi or sparkling water.”
“I marinated it overnight, with mustard and spices,” Gloria said quietly. “Everybodys always liked it.”
“Everybodywell, thats subjective. Maybe your friends at the office enjoy it; their idea of excitement is carrot sticks. Im being objective. You could eat it out of desperation, of course, but its a chore.”
He pushed aside the untouched pork, worth nearly eight pounds, and reached for the mushrooms.
“Are these yours, or Chinese tinned?”
“Ours,” Gloria muttered. “We picked and salted them ourselves.”
Edward popped one into his mouth and made a face.
“Lots of vinegar. Youll wreck your stomach. Too salty, too. You must be in love, Gloria, to salt things like this!” he laughed at his own joke. “Victor, mind your blood pressure, with this diet youll be lucky to last another year.”
Victor gave a nervous laugh, attempting to smooth things over.
“Oh, theyre lovely mushrooms, Ted. Top notch with a drop of vodka. Pour us another, will you?”
They drank. Edward turned redder, loosened his scarf, but kept his coat on, as though to signal his fleeting presence was a favour to the household.
“Were you unable to get decent caviar, then?” he asked, picking at a sandwich. “This is the small stufffull of skins. Was it on sale?”
“Edward, its keta roecost us sixty pounds a kilo,” Gloria snapped, her voice trembling. “We bought a jar just for you; we dont eat it ourselves, we save up.”
“Skimping on food is a mistake,” Edward mused, shovelling another sandwich with the “inferior” caviar. “You are what you eat. Me, Id never buy cheap sausage. Id rather go hungry. But youfill the fridge up with junk from clearance shelves, then wonder why you feel lethargic and look pale.”
Gloria looked at her husband. Victor gazed silently at his plate, feigning absorption in the meal. His silence stung more than Edwards words. Once again, he was hiding behind his brother, unwilling to defend her.
“Vic,” Gloria asked, “Do you think the meats dry too?”
Victor choked.
“E-er no, darling, its delicious. Truly. Its just that Ted is so discerninghe has such a refined taste.”
“Oh, refined,” Gloria set her fork down; the metal clanged against porcelain like a gunshot. “So, my taste is coarse and crude. And my cookings poison.”
“Gloria, dont start a scene,” Edward drawled, weary. “Its constructive criticisma chance for you to improve. A thank you wouldnt go amiss. Youve got complacentVictor praises everything, youve lost your edge. A woman should keep learning.”
“Thank you?” echoed Gloria. “You want me to say thank you?”
She rose. The chair scraped harshly as she pushed back.
“Gloria, where are you going?” Victor asked, panicked. “Weve barely started!”
“Ill fetch dessert,” she said, voice oddly calm. “Edward likes something sweet.”
She retreated to the kitchen. There, on the counter, stood her homemade Napoleon cake, baked the night before, into the early hourstwelve delicate layers, custard filling with fresh egg yolks, vanillait looked magnificent. Gloria stared at it, then at the bin.
Her hands trembled. Years of pent-up hurt threatened to overwhelm her. How many times had this man come, eaten, drunk, borrowed money never repaid? How many times had he criticised her decor, clothes, children? And Victoralways silent, always excusing Edward as “creative, sensitive.” Gloria was evidently the “iron woman.”
She didnt touch the cake. Instead, she grabbed a large tray and returned to the dining room.
“Dessert at last?” Edward perked up, craning his neck. “Lets hope its not a shop-bought Swiss roll.”
Gloria began calmly, methodically, clearing away the plates. First went the roast. Then the rubbery prawn salad. The cold cuts next.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Edward protested as the sandwiches slid away. “I havent finished!”
“Why would you want more?” Gloria asked, looking directly at him. “Its all inedible, you saiddry meat, toxic salad, tough prawns and poor roe. I wouldnt want a treasured guest to risk his health on such fare. Id not dream of poisoning you.”
Victor leapt up.
“Gloria! Stop it, put the food back! Dont make a scene!”
“No, Victor, this isnt a scene. A scene is someone arriving empty-handed, sitting at a table that cost a quarter of your salary, and insulting the hostess.”
“I didnt insult anyone!” Edward spat, his face blotched. “I simply expressed an opinion! Its a free country!”
“Free, precisely,” Gloria said, stacking plates. “So Im free to choose whom I feed in my own home. You said youd rather starve than eat subpar food, did you not? Consider your wishes respected.”
She swept the food out to the kitchen. The silence left behind was deafening.
“Youre mad,” Victor hissed, rushing after his wife. “Youre humiliating me in front of my brother! Bring the food back! Apologise!”
Gloria set the tray down and turned to Victor. Her eyes were ice, not tears.
“So Im humiliating you? What about when you sat there nodding as he tore me apartwas that dignity? Are you a man or a doormat, Victor? He scoffed down fifty quids worth of roe in minutes and called it rubbish. Have you ever bought me anything like that, just because? No. We always save the best for guests. And all this guest does is mock us.”
“Hes my brother! My own flesh and blood!”
“And Im your wife. Ten years Ive cooked, cleaned, done your laundry. Last night I stood at the hob till midnight. For what? To hear my skills are lacking? If you dont stop blaming me, Ill put that Napoleon cake on your headI mean it, Victor.”
Victor shrank back. His wife had always been gentle, accommodating. Now she was a fury, ready to destroy.
Edward poked his head into the kitchen, looking lost and wounded.
“Well! I must say, Ive never encountered such hospitality. I come in good faith and you begrudge me a slice of bread?”
“You come in good faith?” Gloria snorted. “Wheres the goodwillyour empty hands? Have you ever brought anything to our house? Even a box of tea? You only come here to eat and to sneer.”
“IIm skint right now! Just a rough patch!”
“Your rough patch has lasted twenty years. Yet you manage new coats and pricey scarves, and attend all the restaurant launches. But borrowing five hundred quid from your brother and forgetting to pay him back is sacred, isnt it?”
“Gloria, thats enough!” Victor shouted. “Dont count other peoples money!”
“Its not someone elses money, its ours! Its family money, taken from us and the kids to keep this self-appointed gourmet fed!”
Edward clutched his chest in melodramatic fashion.
“Thats it. Ive had enough. In all my days, Ive never met anyone so coarse. Victor, I never thought youd marry a woman like this. Ill not darken your doorway again.”
He stormed out into the hall. Victor followed desperately.
“Ted, wait! Ignore hershes just hormonal, tired from work! Give her a minute!”
“No, brother,” Edward intoned grandly, slipping his shoes on over his socks. “This insult cant be washed away. Im leaving. Dont call until she apologises.”
The door slammed.
Victor stood in the hall staring as if at the gates of paradise closing. Then slowly he turned and shuffled back to the kitchen, where Gloria was quietly packing the pork away.
“Are you pleased now?” he mumbled. “Youve set my only brother against me.”
“Ive freed us of a freeloader,” she replied without turning. “Sit down, eat. The meats still warm. Or is it also too dry for your taste?”
Victor slumped at the table, burying his head in his hands.
“How could you? He was our guest”
“Guests are guests if they behave like guestsnot environmental health inspectors. Listen to me, Victornever again, NEVER, will I lay on a spread for your brother. If you want to see him, dine outor at his. But not with my money or my effort.”
“Youve become so hard,” he muttered.
“Ive become fair. Eat. Or shall I tidy up?”
Victor eyed the roast pork, stomach rumbling treacherously. He was hungry; despite the row, the smell was irresistible. He hesitantly picked up his fork, cut a slice, tasted it.
The meat was blissful, practically melting; the sauce piquant and sweet, the mustard sharp. It was superb.
“Well?” Gloria asked, watching him savour it.
“Its delicious,” he admitted quietly. “Really lovely, Gloria.”
“Good. And your brothers just a bitter loser who likes to feel clever at our expense. Face the truth at last.”
Victor ate and thought. For the first time it struck him that perhaps his wife was right. He remembered Edwards empty hands, his mocking tone, the way it always felt awkward when Edward sneered at their food.
“And the cake?” he ventured. “Shall we have the cake?”
Gloria smiledher first genuine smile of the night.
“We shall. And some tea, with thyme, the way you like it.”
She brought out the magnificent Napoleon cake, sliced it up generously. They sat together in the kitchen, drank tea, ate cake, and the tension retreated.
“You know,” Victor said, finishing his second slice, “he didnt even buy Mum a birthday present last month. Said his presence was present enough.”
“There you go,” Gloria nodded. “At last youre seeing it.”
Victors phone buzzed. A message from Edward: ‘You could have packed me a couple of sandwichesI left hungry. You owe me £100 for emotional distress.’
Victor read it aloud. Gloria arched an eyebrow.
“And whats your answer?”
Victor looked at her, at the inviting kitchen, at the glorious cake. Then at his phone. Slowly and deliberately, he typed: ‘Dine at a restaurant, youre such a connoisseur. No spare cash.’ Then pressed ‘Block’.
“What did you say?” Gloria asked.
“I said its bedtime.”
Gloria pretended to believe him, although she glimpsed the screen. She came over and embraced him from behind.
“Youre a good man, Vic. Just slow to act.”
That evening, they understood something important about each other. Sometimes, to protect your family, you have to let some people goeven if theyre relatives. And the pork, for what it was worth, was truly marvellous, regardless of the verdict of penniless “experts.”
