The friends showed up empty-handed to a table groaning with food, and I quietly closed the fridge.
Sam, are you sure three kilos of pork shoulder will be enough? I asked. Remember last time they polished off absolutely everything? Not even a crust of bread leftmopping up the gravy with it. And Lucy even asked for a container to take some home, for the dog, she said, but then she put pictures of my roast on social media, claiming it was her recipe.
Emma nervously twisted the corner of her tea towel, surveying the warzone that her kitchen had become. It was only midday, and she already felt as if shed run a marathon. Up since six: first the local butcher, to find the freshest cut, then to Waitrose for fine wine and delicacies, then all the chopping, boiling, roasting.
Sam, her husband, stood at the sink, peeling potatoes with slow resignation. The pile of peelings grew along with his silent irritation, which, all the same, he tried to hide.
How much more could they possibly want? he sighed, rinsing off another spud. Three kilos for the four of them and us two? Thats half a kilo each! Theyll burst. Youve gone all out alreadysmoked salmon, gravadlax, mounds of salads… Were not hosting a wedding, love, its a housewarming, albeit a belated one.
You dont understand, Emma protested, stirring a thick sauce on the hob. Its Sophie and Mark and Anna and Tomour old friends. Weve not seen them in ages; theyre travelling in from the other end of town. Wouldnt feel right if the spread looked stingy. Next thing you know, people whisper they buy a flat and start getting tight.
Hospitality was in Emmas blood, inherited perhaps from her grandmother, who could feed a regiment from an empty pantry. To her, an empty table was a personal affront. If guests came, it was a feast; if there was a celebration, the table must groan. Shed spent a week planning the menu, finding recipes, stashing away her wages so she could buy that Hine Cognac Mark loved and the Sancerre wine preferred by Sophie.
They could at least bring something themselves for once, Sam muttered. Last time at Toms birthday, we hauled in an expensive present, brought good wine, and you baked a cake. What about them? Remember that time we dropped in on them? Tea-bags and biscuits well past their best.
Dont be petty, Sam, Emma chided. They were having a tough spell then, what with the mortgage and redoing the kitchen. But now, things are looking up! Marks got that big promotion, Anna got herself a new coatshe made a big show of it. Maybe theyll even bring something this timea cake, some fruit. I hinted to Sophie I wasnt making dessert, so theyd bring something sweet.
By five oclock, their flat sparkled, and the dining room looked like the window in Fortnum & Mason. In the centre, a glazed tongue set in aspic; ringed by generous bowls of potato salad with crayfish, luxury cuts of home-cured ham, smoked trout; the oven held the aforementioned pork shoulder, roasting with mushrooms and new potatoes. The fridge chilled a bottle of Russian Standard vodka, fine Cognac, and three bottles of wine.
Exhausted but satisfied, Emma slipped into her best dress, tidied her hair, and settled into an armchair, waiting for the bell.
Im a bit jittery, she admitted to her husband, who was buttoning his shirt. First housewarming in our new flat. I just want everything to be perfect.
The bell rang dead on five. Their friends were nothing if not punctual.
Emma dashed to answer. A noisy bunch stood at the door. Sophie in her latest designer minkwhich cost about as much as half Emmas renovationsMark in leather, Anna with heavy make-up, and Tom already slightly tipsy.
Woo! Housewarming! shouted Sophie, breezing in and filling the hallway with expensive perfume. Lets see the palace!
Jackets and coats were peeled off and thrust into Sams hands at speed. Emma stood slightly to the side, smiling at her friends, eyes flickering to their hands.
All four were empty-handed. Not a bag, not a cake box, not a single bottle of wine or a bar of chocolate.
So, wheres Emma began, but clammed up. It felt awkward to ask. Maybe theyd left the gifts in the car or perhaps had something small stuffed away.
Emma, you look so thin! Anna pecked her on the cheek without removing her shoes and strolled in. And the decorating! Well, its… basic, but clean. Painted wallpaper? Reminds me of an office. Silk-finish would have been classier.
We like it minimalist, Sam said coolly. Lets move to the loungethe tables ready.
The group spilled into the dining room. Marks eyes lit up at the sight of the food.
Cor, what a spread! he rubbed his hands. Emma, you legend. Smart man, Sam. Weve not eaten a thing all day, kept ourselves sharp for that famous roast of yours.
Everyone sat down. Emma darted to the kitchen to fetch hot startersmini mushroom gratins. In her head, the thought wouldnt stop: Maybe theyre giving cash in a card? Thats why they arrived empty-handed?
When she returned with the tray, her friends were already digging into the salads with gusto, not bothering to wait for a toast.
Mm, this potato salads a winner! Tom mumbled with his mouth full. Sam, pour us a drink, will you? My throats drier than a nuns.
Sam poured vodka for the men and wine for the women.
To your new home! Mark toasted. May the walls stay up, and the neighbours not spring leaks. Cheers!
He knocked his shot back, wiped his mouth on his sleeve (despite the linen napkins), then immediately started in on the smoked fish.
Emma, he said, whys the vodka barely cold? Shouldve bunged it in the freezer.
Its been in the fridge, Mark, five degreesjust as it should be, Emma replied, struggling to hide her first irritation.
Needs to be freezing, love. Never mind. Got any Cognac? Would wash this down nicely.
I do, said Emma, but can we eat first?
One thing doesnt rule out the other! Tom cackled.
The meal picked up speed. Food disappeared at an alarming rate. They ate as if they hadnt seen a hot meal in months, and yet, managed to criticise.
The beetroot salads a bit dry, Sophie observed, helping herself to a third serving. Did you skimp on the mayo?
I made it freshits lighter than shop stuff, Emma explained.
Oh, bother with that carry-on, Anna waved her off. Just buy a jar and dump it in. Quicker, tastier. And the caviarsmall eggs, is it pink salmon? Shouldve gone for keta, bigger eggs.
Emma and Sam exchanged glances. Sam sat pink-faced, gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles whitening.
So, how have you lot been? Sam tried to steer things elsewhere. Sophie, were you off in Dubai recently?
Oh, yes! Sophie rolled her eyes rapturously. It was heaven. Five-star hotel, champagne, lobster. Picked up a real Louis Vuittoncost me two grand, but worth it! Mark grumbled, but I said, You only live once.
Women, always spending, Mark agreed, helping himself to more Cognac unasked. Im eyeing up a new motora top-end SUV. Nearly there with the savings. We dont spend on nonsense like decorating.
Nonsense? Emma queried.
Yeah, you knowwalls are walls, Anna clarified. Weve still got Grandmas wallpaper from when we moved in ten years ago. Better to splash out on holidays, designer clothes, restaurants. You two, always putting money into bricks and mortar. Boring, really.
Speaking of restaurants, Tom interrupted, dabbing greasy lips and chucking his napkin onto the tablecloth, we had dinner at Claridges yesterday. Blew fifteen hundred quid on the meal, but what a standard! Not your home-cooked stuff. Emma, whens the meat ready? These salads barely count; I want a proper main.
Emma got up to clear the plates, shaking with anger. These people were bragging about handbags worth thousands and dinners that cost hundreds, yet had come to her home empty-handed. Not even a pot plant. Not even a bar of chocolate for tea.
She walked out to the kitchen and was quickly followed by Sophie, allegedly to help, but really just to gossip.
I say, Emma, splendid table, but you can tell its been a stretch, Sophie whispered, leaning against the doorframe. Wines all right but a bit basic. We only have this sort down at our cottage with a BBQ. You could have splashed out a bit more for the guests.
Its French, it was £25 a bottle, Emma muttered, starting the dishwasher.
No! You were ripped off! Sour as vinegar. Anywayany chance of a doggy bag for us? Bit of the roast, leftover salad? Youve cooked mountains, just the two of you, itll only go off.
Emma froze with a plate in hand. She slowly turned to her erstwhile friend.
You want me to package up the leftovers for you?
Yeah, whats the problem? We always do that. Saves money! Sophie giggled. Oh, and dessert? In the mood for something sweet. You made cake?
I thought you were bringing the cake Emma said quietly.
Me?! When did I ever say that? On a diet, darling, dont buy sweets. I thought youd bake your famous Victoria sponge. Or at least buy something nice. We came empty-handed because we thought youd have it all covered. Youve bought a flat nowobviously rolling in it. Whereas were scrimping for the Maldives this year. Anyway, best bring the roast outboys are practically banging their forks.
Emma placed the plate back on the counter. The sound of it rang out like a gunshot.
So, you just assumed wed have everything, and that were rolling in it
Well, of course! Sophie obliviously carried on. New flat, renovationspractically minted. Were the poor relations in comparison! Now, come on, bring on the grub. Were starving.
Emma just stared at her. Memories flashed bylike all the times shed lent Sophie money for a last-minute holiday and it would take months to get it back; how Mark once begged Sam to help move house and never even paid for petrol. How for every birthday or party theyd come, eating for three, but their own invites were rare and accompanied by cheap takeaway pizza.
She opened the ovenfragrant roast meat, herby, golden, perfecthalf a days effort and a good deal of cash.
She looked at the fridge, where a huge berry pavlova£60 from the best bakery in townwaited as a secret treat, just in case.
She shut the oven, turned off the gas, closed the fridge tightly.
Therell be no roast, she said clearly.
What? Sophie blinked. Its burnt?
No. Not burnt. There just wont be any.
Emma strode back to the living room. The men were pouring more drinks, arguing about politics. Sam sat glumly among them.
Ladies and gentlemen, Emmas voice carried through the flat, taut as a violin string, the party is over.
Everyone fell silent. Mark froze with his glass mid-air.
Emma, what are you talking about? he spluttered. Weve only just started! You promised a roast!
I did, Emma nodded, but Ive changed my mind.
Changed your mind? Anna huffed. Were hungry! Salad isnt food. Bring out the meat!
The roast is staying in the oven. And thats where itll stay. Now, I think you should all gather up your things and be off. Or maybe go to Claridges for dinner, where you can pay fifteen hundred for your meal. Youll get fed there.
Are you drunk? Tom shouted. Sam, control your wife! This is nuts, were your guests!
Sam stood up, looked first at Emma, then at their old friends. He saw the trembling, the tears in Emmas eyes. And understood.
Emmas not drunk, he said with quiet strength. Emmas just reached her limit. You came to our home, brought nothing, drank our expensive spirits, criticised my wifes cooking, called our wine vinegar, and our home an office. And now youre demanding the main course?
Oh, come off it, we were joking! Sophie wailed. So, we forgot the cake, big deal! We brought our company! Were the fun!
Fun at our expense. Emma smiled coldly. Thats enough, thank you. I spent half my wages on this meal. I wanted to treat you. Instead, youve been nothing but freeloaders. The kind who think nothing of splashing out in Dubai or Claridges, but cant be bothered to bring a bar of Dairy Milk for your host.
Oh, is that how it is? Mark leapt up, knocking his chair over. Mean with your crumbs, are you? Shove your roast! Come on, lets leave. Wont see us darken your door again, you stingy cow!
Please, make sure you take your containers, Sam said levelly, holding the door wide. Empty, of course.
The friends stormed out with plenty of huff and bluster. Sophie yelled about how Emma was no friend, that everyone would hear about her stinginess. Anna moaned about her ruined evening; the men cursed.
After the front door slammed behind the last of them, the flat was blissfully quiet. Emma surveyed the wreck of the dining table: dirty dishes, wine stains, screwed-up napkins.
Sam slipped an arm around her.
How are you doing? he asked softly.
My hands are shaking, she admitted. Sam… was I really so mean? Should I just have fed them and held my tongue? They were guests, after all
You, mean? No, Emma. For once, you stood up for yourself. Im proud of you. To be honest, Id have asked them to leave myself, but you beat me to it. They went too far.
She exhaled, leaning into his shoulder.
And the roast? Sam grinned, sniffing the air. Is it really all there? Smells amazing… making my mouth water.
Emma laughedproperly, for the first time that day.
Its all there, Sam. And the cake. Huge, with berries.
They sat at that same table, just the two of them, pushing aside dirty plates. Emma fetched the sizzling roast from the oven, brought out the pavlova, poured more of that vinegary winewhich, in truth, was a lovely, velvet-smooth Bordeaux.
To us, Sam said, raising his glass. And to only having people in our home who bring honest hearts, not just empty forks.
They tucked into the roast, revelling in the peace, describing the meal as the best theyd ever shared.
An hour later, Emmas phone pingeda message from Sophie: Well, youre a right cow! Were at McDonalds, choking down burgers because of you! Hope your conscience nags you to death!
Emma smiled, hit Block, and did the same to Anna, Mark, and Toms numbers.
Her contact list got four names shorter, but the air felt clearer. And her fridge, brimming with delicious food, would last Sam and her for a weekshared only with those who appreciated it.
This story reminds us that friendship must be mutual, and sometimes the best way to protect your self-respect is simply to shut the fridge.
