**Diary Entry 23rd October**
*”I dont serve you anymore!”*
*”Im not your maid!”*
*”Hello, love! Ive got a big surprise for you! Make your signature dish for dinner tonight!”*
*”Whats happened?”* Margaret asked warily.
*”Everythings fine! Ill tell you this evening!”*
The call ended, and she glanced out the window, uneasy. It was a crisp October afternoon. Her husbands call did little to lift her spiritsafter twenty-five years of marriage, surprises werent his style, let alone *big* ones.
The doorbell rang just as she pulled her famous beef Wellington with secret gravy from the oven.
*”Hello, love! Smells divine!”* Peter boomed, slamming a bottle of wine onto the table. *”Set the table! The hunters home!”*
*”Why are you so worked up? Oh, hunter?”* She shot him a look.
*”Just washing up, then Ill pour.”*
As he filled their glasses, Peter raised his in a toast. *”To the best husband and father in the world! And to us and a fortnights holiday in a three-star seaside resort!”*
For a moment, Margaret almost smileduntil he added:
*”Did you know Marks got his scuba diving license?”*
*”What?”*
*”Come on, Mum! Markour darling Emilys husband!”*
*”Whats Mark got to do with this?”*
*”Really, Margaret? Been cooped up too long? Were *all* going. One big happy family!”*
She set her glass down untouched, exhausted. *”Who paid for this?”*
*”Me, of course!”* He thumped his chest proudly.
*”Twenty-five years of empty promises about a tropical getaway, and now you drag Emily and Mark along? I see them every *day*! They never cook because they know they can freeload here! You even buy their groceries and pay their rent because they cant handle *adulting*!”*
*”But Ems just”*
*”Ems *what*? I had her at eighteen! Sacrificed everything, thinking Id live *later*! And now? Forty-five. Never been anywhere. Work from home. Stuck at the sink.”*
Tears pricked her eyes. She loved Emilybut Mark? Useless. Adults should stand on their own feet. When *shed* fallen pregnant young, no one helped. Her husband, a lab assistant, earned peanuts. Shed trained as an accountant, juggling clients to keep them afloatyet the weight of their comfort always fell on *her*.
*”Margaret!”* Peters voice hardened. *”Stop whinging. We spend plenty of time together. The kids are still finding their waythey need help!”*
*”Did you ever think of *me*?”*
*”Of course! Youre coming too! Whats the issue?”*
*”The issues *me*, apparently.”* She stood and left.
—
Next day, Emily visited.
*”Hi, Mum! Brought pizza!”* She waved a frozen box.
*”Hi. Microwaves there.”* Margaret didnt look up from her laptop.
*”Mum, whats wrong? Marks coming soonthought youd whip up some soup and tea?”*
*”Kitchens *there*.”*
*”Why are you being like this? Dads upset you didnt appreciate his gift.”*
*”To understand me, youd have to *be* me,”* Margaret muttered.
*”Whats that supposed to mean? I come over, and you act like Im *air*! I thought wed go through your wardrobe, then hit the shops for holiday clothes. Thats why I brought Markto carry bags!”*
Margaret stood abruptly.
*”Listen, Emily. If you havent noticed, Im *working*. Twenty-seven years of working for *you*! So your dad can laze about with no ambition. So my daughter can treat me like a cook and cashpoint!”*
A knock interrupted her. Mark arrivedthirty, with a hipster beard and a hoverboard.
*”Hello, Aunt Marg! Brought a gift!”* He pulled a blender from his rucksack. *”Sorry, no boxwouldnt fit. But all attachments are here!”*
*”See, Mum? Perfect for a homemaker who *loves* cooking!”*
Margaret forced a smile and retreated to her room.
*”Whats *her* problem?”* Mark hissed.
*”No idea. Dads probably messed up. Lets go.”*
*”What? Not even eating?”*
*”Take the pizza.”*
*”I *hate* frozen pizza. Fresh pastries are better.”*
*”Then *bake some*!”* Emily snapped.
When they left, Margaret covered her face.
*”Maybe Im a terrible wife and mother”*
—
That night, dreams haunted herlittle Emily with a tummy ache, bullies in the playground, Peters pay cut, her picking up extra shifts Then, running. Mark chased her on his hoverboard.
Suddenlypeace. A hilltop. A winding river below, mountains beyond, sunset gilding their peaks.
She woke knowing what to do.
*”Hello, love! Im home! Howve you been? Emily said you refused shopping and hated the gift.”*
*”I dont *need* shopping.”*
*”What about swimsuits? A sunhat? Do *I* need shorts?”*
*”Go buy them. Im not coming. Not shopping. Not the seaside. Ive got my own ocean. Sort yourselves out. Dont disturb meIve work to do.”*
Peter froze. *”What about the money? Ive paid already!”*
*”Call it compensation for my sanity.”*
He snortedhis trademark *offended* soundand gave her the silent treatment. Margaret didnt mind.
Two days later, she finished her projects, packed warm clothes and her laptop, and called Peter.
*”Hello. Changed your mind? Ive forgiven you.”*
*”Your sulking means nothing, Peter,”* she said calmly. *”Im calling to say Im leaving for a work trip. Dont know how long. Check the post. Pay the rent.”*
Hanging up, she breathed easier. Smiling at her reflection, she walked out.
—
The flight didnt dampen her thrill. Hotel check-in, exploring amenitiesit all blurred past.
Then*there*. Smoking volcanoes on one side. Roaring ocean on the other. Margaret inhaled deeply, watching the sunset paint the Isle of Skye crimson.
Meanwhile, on a beach far away, Peter and Mark suffered their fourth day of food poisoning. Emily, frustrated, nursed them, seething at her dads *cheap* resortnothing like the luxury shed imagined. She ranted at Peter; he blamed her *selfishness*. Mark just itched. *Something* in his beard was driving him mad.
*”Do I have to *shave*?!”* He bolted to the loo. *”Do something!”*
*”What?”*
*”Get me medicine!”*
*”I dont know what”*
*”Call Mum! Shell know!”*
*”Mums phones off.”*
They regretted Margarets absenceand her switched-off phonecountless times. The holiday was *literally* flushed down the pan.
—
Margaret returned a month later. The flat smelled of burnt Victoria sponge and store-bought quiche.
*”Im moving to Skye,”* she announced. *”If anyone wants to join, well discuss it. The rest isnt up for debate.”*
*”No, no, well *visit*, Mum”* Emily huffed but let her go.
Peter raged, threatened, sulked. But Margaret wasnt living in the past. They divorced within months.
On the edge of the world, life had *flavour*salt wind on her face. Or perhaps shed find real happiness yet.
**Lesson:** A womans not a kitchen appliance. Use her one-sidedly long enough, and shell unplug herself. Permanently.
