Helen Spent the Entire Day in the Kitchen. Suddenly, the Doorbell Rang—Tony’s Relatives Arrived and Gathered Around the Table.

30th December

I must admit, today has been a marathon in the kitchen. I barely sat down, what with all the chopping, stirring and popping things in the oven. And then, just as I was wiping down the worktop, the doorbell rang. Andrews relatives had arrived, making themselves comfortable around the table, barely waiting for coats to be hung. Immediately, Aunt Margaret peered at the dishes and asked, Wheres the beef?

I tried to keep my tone cheerful. Theres a stuffed goose, just there. But Margaret stood up, dramatically, Well, Im sorry, but thats simply inedible. Were going home, Fred. Andrew followed quickly, muttering, Well, you can live on your own if you cant even cook! and started shoving his clothes into an overnight bag.

I cant say I was surprised, but it still stung.

New Years Eve

I needed a friend, so I phoned Grace. The signal was terrible. I almost shouted into the mobile, Hello, Grace, its me, Helen.

She asked why I was ringing. I told her: I wont be coming to your place this year for New Years. No, really. Why? Well, whats the point? Youve got Victor, your daughter, her husband, and their kids. And me? Ill just fill up on salad and then fork out for an expensive New Years taxi home again. You know I cant sleep over in someone elses house.

She wanted to speak, but the line crackled with noises. You wanted to ring me too? Youre travelling? Where? Leeds, to Victors aunt. Safe travels and all that. A pause. Whats the problem? Whos coming over? Sasha? Whos that? A niece? The connection was awful. You want me to put someone up for a few days? I hesitated, because I dont like having strangers in the house. But Grace sounded desperate. Fine, she can come. The line went dead. Irritated, I banged the phone down.

But a strange thing happenedI suddenly didnt feel so gloomy. Maybe it wasnt so bad not being alone for once. Still, I ought to make a salad at least. A guest deserves better than a sandwich. I put vegetables on to boil and started chopping parsley, my mind drifting.

Funny how things change. When I was married to Andrew, it was chaos by the 30thhis whole countryside family would descend on the house. The kitchen became unrecognisable: steam everywhere, the window open, but it did little good. Boiling jellied beef, baking pies, frying endless cutlets: everything swamped in fat. I was relegated to running dishes out or peeling veg, never allowed actually to cook after the disastrous avocado salad I made once.

Thats revolting, Aunt Margaret declared, and naturally everyone joined in.

But I always thought their feast of mayonnaise-drenched everything was just as bad. And then the men would immediately pile in, eager to sample the homemade liqueur. By New Years Eve, everyone was exhausted.

By the 2nd of January, without cleaning up, theyd leave, having cleared the cupboards and the bottles. The mess, of course, was mine to face alone. I would spend a week scraping, wiping, and sorting, while Andrew partied on in Suffolk until he returned, hungover, scruffy and irritable, grumbling that hed married a woman who couldnt properly cook. It always ended in a row. Hed mention Vera, whom he claimed Id stolen him from, and blame me for not living up to her standards.

The truth is, I never learnt how to cook the rich, fatty food he grew up with. All I could do was complain to Grace, my childhood friend. Shed roll her eyes and, one year, insisted I lay down the law: Id cook the entire holiday dinner, but the family had to arrive just for New Years Eve. Together we spent the whole day making light but filling dishes. The relatives sat down, unimpressed.

Wheres the meat? Aunt Margaret pressed.

Theres a stuffed goose, I said.

And the mash? she continued.

With a tut, she branded my meal as cow feed. Everyone got up and bustled out in a cloud of offended dignity.

Andrew shrugged. Well, I wont stay alonelets see how you like it. He stuffed his things into a bag and slammed the door.

Later, as the kitchen filled with steam, I shook myself out of my thoughts. Just then, the bell rang. That must be Sasha, I thought, and opened the door.

A man, early forties, smiled. Hello, Im Alexander Michaelson, Victors nephew. Thought Id surprise them for New Years, only to discover theyve gone to Leeds. You must be Helen?

Bewildered, I nodded. Grace did mention a niece… I realised the garbled call had confused us both.

He smiled, putting me at ease. Must have been the line. May I come in?

He explained, My return tickets for tomorrow nightcouldnt get an earlier one. I wont be any bother.

I wandered back to the kitchen to finish prepping the salad. Alexander peered in. Is this the celebration? Just one salad?

I bristled. Did you expect a grand spread? A mountain of potato salad, heaps of roast beef?

He laughed. Gosh, no. Im actually more of a fish man myself.

I shrugged. No fish here, and I always get it wrong anyway.

Alexander pulled his coat on, half-turning at the door. Leave it with me. Ill be right back. Click! The door closed behind him. I couldnt help but laugh at the absurdity.

For an hour and a half, I waited, worrying hed got lost. Finally, I heard a thump at the door. I swung it open, ready to scold himbut he simply smiled, holding a little fir tree and several bulging shopping bags.

Whatevers all this?

He set up the tree in the corner. Cant have New Years without it, can we?

I breathed in the resinous scent, a rare treat in London. We both laughed. All we need are tangerines, I said, remembering childhoods.

Sorted! Champagne and all, Alexander declared gleefully. Come on, help with the bagsweve got a feast to make.

We dressed the tree together, giggling, and prepped food. Under Alexanders patient guidance I peeled prawns and filleted the fish, watching him make a magnificent baked carp.

By midnight, everything was ready; bubbly was poured. We clinked glasses. Heres to the New Year, and to new beginnings! we cheered.

Later, when conversation turned honest, I surprised myself with how much I revealed. He was so different when we met. Kinder, I suppose. But love blinds you. Then came the complaintsnothing done right. I stopped and smiled thinly. But enough about me. What about you? Are you married?

Alexander sighed. Not anymore. Just your average storylife at sea, home to discover shes moved on. Ill file for divorce once Im back. But lets talk about happier thingshow about childhood mischief?

We shared stories long into the early hoursmine about getting stuck up a tree, his about gluing the headmasters chair at school and earning a hiding from his father. We laughed so much that tears rolled down my cheeks.

Finally, Alexander said, Weve talked ourselves into the morning. Off to bed nowyou must be exhausted.

Yawning, I insisted I should clear the table, but he told me firmly, Leave it. Ill do it in the morning.

And so, I went to my room and drifted instantly to sleep.

I awoke to gentle shaking. Helen, time to get up. I have to catch my train, can you see me out?

I bolted upright. Is it evening? Why didnt you wake me sooner?

He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead with a soft smile. You were sleeping so soundlyI couldnt bear to. But I must go, or Ill miss my connection.

I walked with him to the door. Goodbye, Alexander. Thank you. Really.

He hesitated, then asked, Can I come visit again? When Im free?

Smiling, heart racing, I replied, Youd be very welcome… before he kissed me, whispering, Then until next time!

Long after he left, I stood in the hallway, touching my lips and grinning. Funny how you can know someone for years and they disappoint you, yet a stranger can walk in and feel like home.

They say New Years is a time for miracles. This year, I believe themfor a twist of fate can bring not only new beginnings, but the stirrings of happiness you thought had passed you by.