short story
When her family lets her down, Margie decides on a complete change of plan
Two days before Christmas, the phone rang. Alice said: “I’m sorry, Mum, but I know you’ll understand. Ian’s got all the symptoms of the latest variant and I can’t risk you catching it.”
Margie closed her eyes for a second. She always knew when her daughter was lying. Taking a deep breath, she tried to sound suitably sympathetic. “Oh dear, poor Ian. You are quite right, better not risk it.”
She could hear the relief in Alice’s voice as she went on: “Anyway, Mum, David will be there so the two of you can have a good old catch-up without us interrupting.”
Margie glanced across the room to where a large bouquet awaited her attention. The printed label said: ‘Have to cancel my trip up north, Mum, an urgent meeting has come up. See you in January when things have quietened down a bit. Love, David xx’.
Rolling her eyes, Margie said: “OK, darling, I’ll keep your presents here for when you can make it. All the best to Ian. Wish him well from me.”
She put the phone down and said to Millie, her rescue dog: “My guess is they’ve had a better offer of Christmas lunch elsewhere. What do you think?” Millie wagged her tail in silent sympathy.
She had to admit she was quite relieved
Pouring herself a glass of wine, Margie contemplated the carefully wrapped presents under the tree. Expensive perfume for Alice because she liked the finer things in life. Socks for Ian. They were good-quality socks, but Margie felt this boringly predictable gift reflected her true feelings for her pompous son-in-law. For David she’d chosen a book token although she doubted his high-powered job left him with much time for reading these days.
Opening the door of the fridge, she thanked heaven that she hadn’t bought a turkey. She could freeze the beef but what would she do with the pâté, the cheeses, the Parma ham and the trifle?
Margie was determined not to cry although she could hardly believe that both her children had cancelled so callously at the last minute. She had made up the spare bed for Alice and Ian and put fresh sheets on her own bed for David while she slept on the sofa. She knew that any vague hope of David insisting he take the sofa was unlikely.
After her initial disappointment had evaporated, she had to admit she was quite relieved. She was spared all the prep, all that cooking, juggling the timing of meat and veg, setting a festive table with candles and the best china. Her children – both successful, well-heeled adults – never offered to help. They took it for granted that she liked nothing better than fussing over them.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, she woke up in the happy knowledge that she didn’t have to do any last-minute dusting or run the vacuum round. It
