As Always
Elizabeth woke up at half five, though the alarm wasnt due for another half hour. It had always been this way on big dayswhen the to-do list for the day was long and the hours ahead seemed impossibly short. She lay there a minute, staring out at the pre-dawn darkness, then quietly slid from under the covers, wanting not to disturb Robert. He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over, pulling the duvet with him.
In the kitchen, Elizabeth switched on the light and closed the door softly behind her. The kettle, the cooker, her own hands moving to their familiar rhythm. The darkness outside clung to the frosted windows, the orange street lamps shining down on rows of snow-covered cars. It was the 28th of December. Three days to New Year, and only what shed managed yesterday was readya batch of cookie dough in the fridge, the shopping list still sat on the table.
Robert shuffled into the kitchen just after seven, already dressed, his aftershave lingering on the air. He sat down at the table and glanced at the mug of tea shed made him.
What are you up to today then? Elizabeth asked, pouring his tea.
I need to go into the plant, Robert replied, barely looking up from the newspaper. Got to hand some paperwork in. Ill be back tonight.
I meant for dinnerwhat would you like?
Oh, you know, the usual. He shrugged, eyes flicking over the headlines. Its all fine.
Elizabeth wanted to say something, to point out that the usual wasnt really an answer. That yesterday shed made meatballs, the day before that had been fish, and three days backbeef casserole. But she bit her tongue and reached for some eggs.
Lucyll ring today, she said, whisking the eggs with a fork. Said shes popping over at the weekend.
Mmm. Robert didnt look up from his paper.
The phone rang while she was scraping scrambled eggs from the pan. Elizabeth wiped her hands, picked up the phone. Lucy.
Hey, sweetheart.
Hi Mum! Listen, Ill be over on Saturday, alright? Probably about two?
Thats great, said Elizabeth, smiling though she knew Lucy couldnt see it. What would you like for lunch?
Oh, make my favourite, yeah? Chicken with mushrooms, you know the one.
Of course, I know.
Perfect! Gotta dashcall in a bit, love you!
Lucy hung up before Elizabeth could ask if shed be staying over. She looked at the phone, then back at the pan where the eggs still sizzled. Chicken with mushrooms. Rightfresh mushrooms, a good chicken breast from the butcher, and sour cream. Cant forget the sour cream.
Robert polished off his eggs and drained his tea, standing to leave. Elizabeth reached for his plate, but he was already at the hallway, bundling into his coat.
Ill see you tonight, then, he said, pulling the door shut behind him.
She wanted to say something, anything, but the door closed and she was left alone in the kitchen, surrounded by washing up and endless mental lists. The market run, then cooking, laundrythose crisp shirts of Roberts, picking up more baubles for the tree since Percy the cat had shattered half of last years, baking the rest of the biscuits, ringing Mum, whod surely sulk if she didnt hear soon.
That little splinter was there again, right in her chest. It was always present, but mostly Elizabeth ignored it. Only sometimes, like this morning, did it start to ache.
***
Elizabeth headed to the market after lunch, the bus winding its way through snowy streets. She pressed her forehead to the glass, watching the parade of terraced houses, corners shops, and familiar stops slip by. Twenty years shed lived in this part of Derby, and the way from home to market was etched in her bones. She stepped off at the high street, hitched her bag higher and threaded her way through the busy gates.
The market was bustling. People jostled among the stalls, vendors shouting their offers; the sharp, sweet smell of pine and roast meat hung in the air. Elizabeth skirted past the clothing stalls, past the flower-sellers, and stopped at the butchers. She picked out a plump chicken with rose-coloured skin, haggled because that was the done thing, though she knew the price was fair.
Anything else, love? the butcher asked, wrapping up the chicken.
Where can I get fresh mushrooms?
Top of the rowat Mrs. Harriss. She picks them herself, they’re good.
Elizabeth nodded, hefted her bag, and moved on. The mushrooms were firm and earthy-smelling. She bought half a kilo, then picked up some sour cream, proper butter, fresh parsley. Her bag started to grow heavy, her shoulder throbbing beneath the weight. Shed need some satsumas for Lucy as wellthey were her favourite.
At the fruit stall, a thin old man in an ancient Barbour jacket and bobble hat was eyeing the clementines, glancing at the coins in his hand, then at the pile of fruit. Elizabeth knew that look straight awaydeciding if he could stretch to it.
A kilo of the easy-peelers, please, she said to the woman behind the stall, reaching into her purse.
Spanish or Moroccan, darling?
Spanish, Elizabeth replied, her eyes flicking to the old man. He stood aside, stuffed his money back in his pocket.
The stallholder weighed the fruit. Thats £2.50.
Elizabeth took out her purse but paused. The old man had moved over to look at the apples. There was a look in his eye that caught at her, not quite pity, but something closer to recognition.
Could I have another half kilo, please? Of the same ones.
For you?
Elizabeth nodded to the old man. For him.
The stallholder glanced between the two but made up another bag without comment. Elizabeth paid and brought the second bag over.
Here you go, sir. Happy Christmas.
He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise and something deeper.
OhIthank you. Thank you ever so much.
Elizabeth managed a smile, though suddenly her throat was tight. Its nothing. Just a little something for New Year.
He nodded, still clutching the bag as though it were spun glass. Happy New Year to you.
She hurried away, fingers gripping her bags so tightly her knuckles ached. Why had she done that? Money wasnt endless. But it wasnt about money. There had been a look of such gratitude on his facesuch a simple thank youthat something inside her squeezed painfully.
On the bus home, Elizabeth watched the drizzle of snow against the window. She kept thinking about that old man and his quiet thank you. At home, no matter how much she cooked, how much she cleaned or washed, nobody ever said a word. Everything just as always. Its all fine.
***
Saturday started at half six, just as every other day. Elizabeth found herself, as usual, the first up. Robert snored on, sprawled across the duvet. She slipped out, went to the kitchen. The chicken was thawing, mushrooms needed cleaningmushrooms first, then stuff the chicken and into the oven so it would be ready for two.
Slicing mushrooms, she found her mind wandering back to yesterdays market, that man’s eyes.
Why are you up so early? Its a weekend, Robert grumbled, shuffling into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes.
Need to start cooking. Lucys coming.
Oh, right.
He poured himself a mug of tea, turned on the little kitchen telly. The news burbled away: something about exchange rates, a weather warning, a nasty pile-up on the M1. Robert drank his tea, eyes fixed on the screen, saying nothing.
Robert, Elizabeth turned. Bin needs taking out. Its overflowing.
Mmm, after my tea, he mumbled, eyes never leaving the news.
And when will that be?
He shrugged, Soon. Which, Elizabeth knew well, would mean in an hour. Or two. Shed do it herself, as always.
The chicken came out golden and crisp, scented with mushrooms and garlic. She had it ready five minutes before two. Lucy breezed in at ten pastcheerful, smelling of cold December air and expensive perfume.
Mum! She hugged Elizabeth, planted a kiss on her cheek. How are you?
Im fine, Elizabeth smiled, looking her over. A new coatvery smart. Quality boots. Lucy looked well, happy.
Hi, Dad! Lucy called, ducking through to the lounge to thump Robert on the shoulder. Football on, is it?
Yeah, come and sit down.
Mum, is lunch nearly ready? Lucy called.
It is now.
Elizabeth set the table in the big room, brought out the chicken, potatoes, and salad. Lucy ate heartily, talking through mouthfuls, praising the food. Robert ate silently, nodding in rhythm with the television. Elizabeth sat with them, sipped her tea, watching her daughter. Lucy chatted about work, a new project, a trip to London. Elizabeth listened only half an ear, noticing instead how Lucy nodded and smiled, grabbing another piece of chickenher favourite, not even realising all the work she’d done to make it.
Mum, why so quiet? Lucy asked, pausing with a mouthful of chicken. You look tired.
No, Im all right.
Because Ive another favourcan you wash my blouse? I need it first thing tomorrow. I left it in the car, hang on a sec.
Lucy dashed out, returned with a balled-up blouse in a carrier bag. Elizabeth shook it out: yellow stain on the collar, probably sweat. It needed a proper soak.
Thanks, Mumyoure the best! Lucy hugged her again and then rushed off. Gotta runmeeting friends tonight. You know how it is.
Off already? Youve only just got here…
Lucy grinned. You know how it is, Mum. See you New Years, though. Dont make too much food! Remember last timetook us days to finish it all.
Fine, Elizabeth zipped up her daughters coat, just as she used to when Lucy was little. Take care on the drive.
Bye, Mum!
The door slammed. Elizabeth stood for a minute, then cleared the table. Robert was already stretched on the settee, flicking channels. She loaded the dishwasher, filled the sink with water. Lucy’s blouse sat on the chaira reminder. Shed wash it, iron it, fold it, have it ready for when Lucy dashed by to collect it.
As she scrubbed the collar, the lump rose in her throat again. The same one from the market. Why had a stranger been so grateful for a bag of clementines, while her own daughterwho she cooked for, cleaned for, did everything forbarely noticed, and left dirty laundry without even thinking? Why did Robert not even comment on the meal? Why did nobody see the work she did?
Liz! Robert called from the lounge. Can you bring me some tea?
She shut her eyes, clenched her fists. Then, with a sigh, she washed her hands and put the kettle on.
***
The thirty-first of December was mapped out long ago. Elizabeths list had nearly ticked itself offsalads, trifle, pies, roast chicken, the usual nibbles. Roberts favourite was brawn; Lucy loved potato salad. Elizabeth herself always preferred beetroot in vinegar. Soone of everything, as usual.
On the 29th, she made another trip to the marketmore meat, beetroot, cured fish, ham for the cold cuts. The next day was wall-to-wall chopping, mixing, and prepping. Her hands smelled of onions and herring, her back was one throbbing ache.
How much longer will you be? Robert appeared at the kitchen door. The TVs not working rightcome have a look.
Im a bit busy, Robert.
Only take a minute, just twiddle the aerial.
She wiped her hands, did as he asked. The TV buzzed back to life; Robert grunted, settled down on the sofa. She went back to shredding cabbage, her mind echoing his wordsOnly a minute. As if she simply loitered in the kitchen.
By evening, everything was nearly readyjust the chicken for tomorrow, waiting in the fridge until Lucy arrived. Elizabeth sat alone with a mug of tea, gazed at the full fridge: salads, brawn, sliced meats, all stacked and ready to go. She pictured tomorrowtable set with the snow-white cloth, bowls and platters, Lucy talking about work, Robert nodding, herself hopping up and down, seeing to everyone. And then, when all were full and scattered, shed stay late into the night, scrubbing pans and wiping surfaces.
The phone rangMum.
You all set for the big night? her mother asked.
All ready, Mum.
Well done. I dont know how you do ithonestly, I just think whats the point? Nobody ever says thank you. They just expect it.
Mum, dont.
But its true, love. You do it all, and they dont even notice. Just take it for granted.
Elizabeth listened, warmth rising insiderecognition, not joy. Mum was talking about herself, but it could have been about Elizabeth, about every woman lost in chores, invisible beyond her apron.
Come see us, will you? she asked. If not tomorrow, then the day after?
Oh, what would I do there? Ill be finewatching the telly.
Dont stay on your own. Come round, Mum.
Well see. Youve got plenty to do. Ring if you get a moment, but dont overdo it.
Love you, Mum.
She sat a long time after the call, staring at the wintery world outside, as snow drifted down past the orange glow of the streetlamp. So quiet and beautiful, and somehow the ache inside grewas if that splinter had turned into a heavy stone.
She thought again of the old man at the marketjust a stranger, but hed looked her in the eye, thanked her. Here, at home, she was seen only as a feature of the furniture. Essential, but invisible.
***
The thirty-first of December didnt start as usual. Elizabeth got up and didnt move from bed for a long time. She listened to Roberts snores and watched the ceiling. In the silence, the decision came calmly, almost gentlyshe just wouldnt.
She wouldnt cook the chicken, wouldnt lay out a feast, wouldnt stand at the stove all day for a tableful of people who never noticed. Today, enough.
Robert yawned awake at eight, scratched his head, and looked around.
Are you only just up? Bit of a lie-in, isnt it?
Ive been up a while, Elizabeth was sat in the kitchen with her tea, just the one mug. Robert came in, looked at the bare countertop.
Breakfast?
Make your own, Robert. Theres bread, eggs in the fridge.
He stared. Are you alright?
Im fine.
He frowned, but took some eggs and banged the pan about regardless. Elizabeth watched as he burned the eggs, scraping them onto a plate. He ate in silence. She finished her tea and left him to it.
At one oclock, Lucy called.
Mum? Ill be there in an hour, alright?
Lucy, Elizabeth took a breath, Im not cooking today.
What? Mum, are you joking?
No. Not today.
But… what will we eat?
Order something. Cook something yourselves.
Mum! Its New Years Eveyou always cook.
I know. Not this year.
But why?
Because Im tired, Lucy. Very tired.
A pause. Youll spoil everything.
Elizabeth squeezed the phone.
Do you know, Id quite like a party too? One where I don’t spend all day in the kitchen. Where I get to enjoy itsit down, have a laugh, like everyone else?
Mum, I dont know whats happened.
You dont need to. Come if you want. But Im not cooking tonight.
She hung up, her hands shaking. For the first time, shed said it out loud, named the pain. Lucy would be cross, Robert toobut she couldnt do it again. Couldnt stand at that stove as nobody noticed.
Robert appeared, brow creased.
What did you say to Lucy?
I told her the truth.
What truth?
Im not cooking tonight.
He stared at her as though shed grown another head. Dont be ridiculous. New Years Eve!
You can cook, if you want. Or Lucy can. Im sitting down for a change.
He opened and closed his mouth, then stomped off and slammed a door. Elizabeth remained at the table, her heart pounding, the old splinter now a boulder. But she didnt cry. She sat, watched flakes swirl outside.
***
Lucy arrived quietly at three, her face uncertain.
Mum, are you alright?
I am, now.
But… whats going on?
Elizabeth looked at herthe well-fed, confident daughter, the expensive coat, the carefully done hair. She was a good girl. But just like her father, she never noticed. Elizabeth cooked and cleaned and fixed, and they all accepted it as a fact of life.
Lucy, when you come home, you act like its a restaurant. You eat, drop off washing, and go. Have you ever asked how I am? If Im tired?
I do ask
No, you ask how are you and expect fine, thanks. You dont want details. Youve never considered how much work goes into your favourites.
Lucy was quiet, fiddling with her gloves. Elizabeth sighed.
Ive had enough of being invisible. I want to be seen. Not just the house, not just a set of hands.
Mum, its not fair to say
Whats not fair? That Ive cooked and cleaned for twenty years and nobodys noticed?
Lucy only nodded, silent.
Robert appeared, stood by the door.
So what now? Are we going to argue all night?
No, Elizabeth said. Tonight, you can sort yourselves. Theres salad and brawn in the fridgeyou can eat that. Or order a takeaway. Im not making the chicken.
Robert shook his head, left the room. Lucy sat down, wide-eyed.
Mum… you really wont?
Im really not.
Lucy sighed. Ill nip to Sainsburys. Well figure something out.
She left and Elizabeth was alone on the kitchen chair, head in hands. She was scaredwhat if they never forgave her? But somehow it felt lighter, like a weight gone.
***
That night, the table held salad from the fridge, a shop-bought rotisserie chicken, and chips in a paper box. Robert barely spoke. Lucy tried to lighten the mood but her jokes fell flat.
Elizabeth sat with them. She stayed at the table, didnt run to the kitchen every five minutes, didnt leap up to refill every glass. She just ate, quietly.
Mum, Lucy poured her a glass of apple juice. Have some.
Thank you, Lucy.
Robert ate a forkful of chicken. After a moment, he said quietly, Yours is better.
Elizabeth met his eyeshe didnt look up, but she saw it, an apology at the corners of his mouth.
I know, she replied.
They watched an old British comedy on the telly. The chimes went at midnight; Lucy handed around champagne. To a new year, she said, hugging Elizabeth tightly. Im sorry, Mum. Ill try to do better.
Elizabeth nodded. She doubted things would change overnight, but something had shifted. She could feel ita minute but certain shift.
After midnight, Lucy stood and began to clear the plates.
What are you doing? Elizabeth asked.
Tidying up. Mum, you sit down.
Robert looked at his daughter, then at Elizabeth. He got up and carried his plate out as well. Elizabeth sat quietly, listening to them running water, discussing which cupboard things went back to. After a while, she joined them.
Cutlery in that drawerand rinse the plates before the dishwasher, she said, slipping in beside them.
They washed up together, awkward but united. Robert scrubbed, Lucy dried, and Elizabeth put things away. For the first time in years, there was warmth therenot happiness, but something like hope.
***
Lucy stayed the night. On New Years Day, they all had breakfast together; Elizabeth made pancakes, Robert brewed coffee, Lucy set the table and bantered.
Mum, can I pop over on Wednesday? Ill cook next time, if youll show me how.
Elizabeth looked at her daughterthere was something in her eyes, a willing attentiveness.
Of course.
Show me too, said Robert. Been burning my eggs for yearstime I learned to do it properly.
Elizabeth smiledthis time, a real smile.
Ill teach you both.
Lucy headed off after lunch, promising to check-in that evening. Robert watched the telly with the volume off, thoughtful. Later, from the lounge, he called:
Elizabeth, come here a minute.
She went in, drying her hands. Robert was staring out at the garden.
Sit with me a moment.
Elizabeth sat. He took her hand in his, held it snugly.
I thought about what you said. About being invisible.
She waited.
You were right. I just… it never crossed my mind. I suppose I always thought you didnt mind. That it was just the way things were.
I minded. For a long time. Im tired, Robert.
He squeezed her handfor the first time in longer than she could recall.
Ill do my best, Lizzie. I wont get it perfect, but Ill try to help. Ill try to see you.
She nodded, feeling relief, and something like forgiveness.
They sat another few minutes, simply quiet, watching the frost outside. Then Robert got up, returned with two mugs of tea. He put one in front of her.
Here. Hot.
Thank you.
They sat quietly, still. For once, the quiet was companionablegentle.
***
On the second of January, Elizabeth called her mum.
All survived then? her mother chuckled.
We did, mum. Not as usual, but… we survived.
Elizabeth told her the truthfor once, every bit. The trip to the market, the tantrum, the awkwardness, the growing together again. Mum listened, then let out a surprising laugh.
Youre braver than me, darling. Id never have dared.
It was scary.
But necessary. You cant spend life as a doormat. They needed a shake.
Come by for tea today, Mum? We can talk, just us.
I will. See you by three.
Her mother arrived with a pie and a bunch of carnations. Over tea and slices of pie, she chatted about her village, old friends, gossip. Elizabeth listened and, for once, felt light.
Robert stuck his head in, took a slice of pie.
Very nice, Mrs. Brown, he said. Thank you.
Her mother glanced in surprise. Elizabeth smiled, as if to say, Told you.
When Mum had gone, Robert called her to the kitchen.
Liz, look.
He opened the ovena roast chicken, crispy-skinned, perhaps not as pretty as hers, but it smelled good.
You did this?
I did. Lucy talked me through it over the phone. Not too bad, I think.
She watched him, apron on, a bit embarrassed, looking for approval.
Its lovely.
They ate together, quietly. Robert told her how hed burned the gravy, how the instructions didnt match their oven. Elizabeth listened and thought: This is it. A start, not the finish, but a beginning.
Lucy turned up for lunch the next day, laden with ingredients.
Right, Mumteach me the potato salad, she grinned.
Elizabeth showed herthe chopping, the seasoning. Robert hovered in the doorway, then was drafted in to peel potatoes. The three of them cooked and laughed, making mistakesover-salted eggs, odd chunks of spud. In the end, it was theirs.
Tastes not the same, but I like it, Lucy said at the table.
Thats because we made it together, said Elizabeth. Thats how it should be.
They cleared up side by side, talking about the futuremaking plans to divide jobs, to call more often, to see one another.
As the sun set, Elizabeth sat with Robert in the kitchen.
Liz, he began, thank you. For speaking up. If you hadnt, we wouldve carried onme on the sofa, you at the stove, until we all forgot how to see each other.
They sat, hands clasped, fifty years of life etched in lines and silver hair.
I dont want that, Robert, she said softly.
Nor do I. Well keep trying.
She smiled, feeling as though a weight had lifted, not forever, but for now.
***
On the morning of the fourth of January, Elizabeth found Robert already at the table with two hot coffees.
I made you one, he said. Still piping.
Thank you.
They gazed at the frost outside. After a moment, Robert said, Fancy a walk later? Down by the river path, maybe.
Elizabeth couldnt recall the last time theyd walked together, just them.
Id like that.
So they wrapped up, walked arm-in-arm along the snowy path, just as they might have decades ago. Children sledged on the hill, and Robert took her hand as they crossed the icy stretchslipping his glove onto her cold fingers.
When they were home again, Elizabeth watched him make tea, awkward but determined, watched as he poured and then sat down beside her.
I suppose I used to think bringing in a wage was enough, he said. That the home was… well, a womans lot. But thats not fair. I see that now.
He cleared his throat, awkward. Ill try to say so more. You deserve that.
More than anything, it was the words that meant something. Words that said: I see you. You matter.
***
The days ticked byordinary, mostly. Robert helped with housework, Lucy called regularly, sometimes came by to bake. There were slipsa forgotten promise, a cross wordbut they kept trying. Elizabeth found herself speaking up more, asking for help, letting herself be seen.
One evening, Lucy suggested for the next New Year, Well all put our fair share in, yeah? Everyone makes a dish, and we all eat together.
Deal, said Robert. Ill be in charge of the brawn. Youll show me, Liz?
She grinned. Ill show you.
As they talked and planned, Elizabeth glanced from one beloved face to the other and realised: it hadnt all been for nothing. Their little family was changing, bit by bit, into something more.
***
By the end of January, the snow began to melt and the promise of spring hung in the air. Elizabeth stood by the window, watching.
Robert came to her side, slid an arm around her shoulders.
Thinking?
That things have changed.
For the better?
I think so. Yes.
The phone rangLucy.
Mum, Ill come by this afternoon. I want to help with the windowsthe ones you said you hate doing alone.
Come on over, love. Well do them together.
She hung up, turned to Robert.
Lucys helping with the windows.
Well do them together, then.
They went back to the kitchen. Robert busied himself with the tea, setting out the biscuits. Elizabeth watched, gratefulimperfect, human, but still trying.
He slid her a mug. Herefinish it while its hot.
Thank you, she said. For everything.
No, Lizzie, thank you. For speaking up. For giving us a chance to do better.
Elizabeth smiledsnow melting, the world turning towards spring. Their life was no fairytale, but it was real, and warming, and new. They saw her now. And that was enough.
Its taken me so many years to learn: sometimes, being seen is the bravest thing in the world. Even when you fear youll lose everything, sometimes you gain the only thing that really mattersa place at your own table.
