In The Name Of My Father: Chapter One

A serious confrontation and the heightening of suspicion

The genesis of this story has its nebulous roots in veiled stories that were mooted, and puzzled me in my youth, hushed gossip that some villagers tend to engage in, ones that were never ever resolved, or broken open for someone as curious as I was. There is no character in this tale who ever existed, but there are certainly people in my youth, and my family, who displayed many of their characteristics. I loved piecing together a story where serendipity played such a pivotal role.

Some of this was posted to Illumination before Book Chapters was conceived by: Dr Mehmet Yildiz.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter One:

“It’s really not my problem Ailsa.”

Helen drew in her breath. Not usually so direct, she could already feel the elevation of her heartbeat, and the constriction of breath that routinely followed. Why was it that with her one daughter she always seemed to have to tread so carefully just to preserve any sort of relationship? She couldn’t quite remember when their day-to-day conversations had become so peppered with curve balls, ones she was forever dodging, but recently they had become relentless. Today however, she was determined not to be coerced into something that wasn’t of her making.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, please Mum. I’m pretty desperate and you’re the only one I can ask. I spent the whole damned week trying to work out what to do, not that you’d know. The place is still shambolic.”

“It’s a bit of an imposition on you too Ailsa, and a long way to come just to clean up your father’s apartment. Couldn’t he have used a reputable agency?”

“They just CLEAN!”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Correct, you don’t! We’re talking about borderline obsessive compulsive buying. Not even sure why I said borderline. If I didn’t know him better I’d say it’s a mental health issue I’m dealing with. The place is bursting with crap!”

As soon as the word had escaped her lips, Ailsa bitterly regretted her choice. Her father’s collection was far from rubbish.

“That doesn’t sound like your father!”

“Well, whatever you want to call it. And as far as cleaning is concerned, there’s no space for grime. No self-respecting critter would even dare to squeeze itself into any of the challenging spaces left…if there happened to be any…such a friggin mess,” she trailed off.

“Must you Ailsa?”

“What?”

“Swear?”

Ailsa mentally back-pedaled before responding. One day she was going to record the conversations between herself and her mother, for there was every possibility she could end up in court about something she’d casually said, but couldn’t for the life of her, recall. There was armory in her preparedness.

“Oh for heaven’s sake Mum, get a life. It’s just a word…crap, rubbish, detritus, debris…take your pick! It’s just a way to get you to understand the serious problem I’m trying to deal with. Being hauled up for my language isn’t part of it.”

Helen chose to ignore the outburst, however much on edge it put her, and gathering all her courage, she answered:

“You know I just don’t subscribe to the notion that it could be a health issue Ailsa. Your father’s as sane as the next person, and he’s always been fastidiously organized as far as work is concerned. He just needs to accept that it’s time to stop accumulating, and rein in his spending. All this inveterate buying has to stop. To be honest, a few lessons on minimalism wouldn’t go astray!”

“Oh right! So everyone has to change because YOU’D like them to fit in with your ideals. We’re all different Mum. And thank God for that”, she muttered to herself, eyes closed in frustration.

What she wanted to say was that hardly ANYONE was like her mother. As the self-proclaimed Marie Kondo of order and restraint, she had inadvertently become a full-time career girl, if you could call obsessive, compulsive perfectionism, a career. The ‘gospel according to Helen’ was one that her mother had a rigid conviction of. It was either her way or the highway. Everything had to have a place, and more than one purpose, and anything that didn’t fit into either category was destined to be donated to a needy charity, where possible, or consigned to the bin.

And because of this addiction to, her mother’s house had taken on the uncanny glow of the specialized side-rooms off a major art gallery, rather than a home. No superfluous knick-knacks were allowed, every nook and cranny shone dust-free and precise, and pictures hung at stiffer-than-stiff right angles, too scared to allow the natural movement that even a few specks of dust might cause.

Perfect order reigned.

Take the kitchen where the cutlery drawer held six of everything, no more, no less, all matching and arranged soldier-like and precise in the organizer of the drawer. That same magic number was evident in the china cupboard, and though there were a few pots and pans, in other drawers, they too were scant in number and too pristine to have acquired the blackened, used underbellies of pans belonging to those who see cooking as an art form, and maybe even essential for healthy living.

Impressively perfect as everything was, as far as Ailsa was concerned, her mother’s minimalism had become, not so much a design elegance, but a crippling way of life, the flimsy bonus for visitors being that there was no need to ring to make sure that it was okay to hop over for a coffee. The house would be impressive as always, and seemingly home-cooked pastries would be on offer.

Yet there was never even a hint that either the oven or the cook top had been used. Hers was as close as anyone might get to living in a miraculous self-cleaning house. But it seemed such a lonely, desolate place, totally devoid of those little imperfections that make a home a home.

Ailsa tried to imagine her three children, if she HAD three children, tearing through her mother’s hallway, spinning and tumbling, their faces or hands smeared in Vegemite or chocolate, tracking their chubby little fingers along the walls, a sure sign that they’d had fun, a signal that they’d been ALLOWED to be free spirits.

But that was beyond her imagination!

No muddy shoes or toys lay in disarray at the front door to welcome the unsuspecting guest, and no splashes of finger-painted pictures proudly displayed on the door of the fridge, as a clear sign that somebody had actually had pleasure there.

No life!

The house begged for the odd crumb or two to be left stranded on a bench, a speck of dust here, a footprint there, a spider’s web happily etched in the corner leg of a table, a chipped cup inadvertently left on a shelf, maybe even a couple of dead flies on a window sill, just to prove that some real form of life had been allowed to happen within the confines of its walls.

Still, she knew she mustn’t go there, to suggest that her mother’s situation was too far to the right for most people, for in this instant a little flattery rather than criticism wouldn’t go astray, and so she quickly added, “You know you’ll always be my favorite mum.”

Telephone calls are never easy, especially when the agenda is a plea bargain. Helen was no fool. She recognized it for what it was, so a quick response was not even on the cards, which left Ailsa impatiently waiting on her smart phone, drumming her newly-manicured nails in rhythmic frustration, wondering why trying to do the right thing where her mother was concerned, always seemed like climbing Mount Everest with a ball and chain on each ankle, whilst hefting a back pack of bricks…so damned insurmountable, and maybe hardly worth the effort!

Right now though, she had a problem, one she needed her mother’s help with. But, given that the very same mother was no pushover, it was vital that she steer the conversation carefully through the evident low tide of compassion. The right words might shift the outcome for both of them…’might’ being the operative word.

She wasn’t silly enough to bank on it.

Ailsa wondered how she herself could be so different from both her parents. However hard she looked she could see little resemblance to either one of them, not in personality, nor in looks, not that she worried about it too much…but maybe now!

Holding her phone close enough to hear Ailsa speak, Helen allowed herself to breathe more deeply. Things were just as difficult for her. There was no way that Ailsa could have had any notion of her level of anxiety right now, nor of her struggle to find the right words, so as not to offend.

She had no wish to alienate her daughter. She hated being at loggerheads, and the temptation to help her out was stronger than Ailsa could have imagined, but she kept that strictly to herself…for now.

What Helen could never fathom was that her two children, Ailsa and Craig, always tended to side with their father’s situation. Excuses abounded for his wayward past, about the reasons for their splitting up…that he had been young, just sewing his wild oats…and those endless trips overseas where he was bound to meet up with a whole manner of interesting people weren’t really his fault. The affair she had suspected wasn’t planned as such, so surely it was forgivable!

Amazingly both her children had each become authorities on affairs of the heart, on forgiveness and family life, and experts on advising her on how to turn the other cheek.

She had liked it so much better when they were young and could simply accept the excuses for her not living with John…that their parents had just decided they were happier living apart and now, wasn’t it great that they now had two homes, not just one like most kids!

But these days her kids knew better. Instead, they had become forces to be reckoned with, and each time the topic surfaced, and it did, more often than she would have chosen, Helen chose to bite her tongue. That didn’t mean she didn’t get upset by their one-sided opinion. That was something she neither needed nor invited…’wasn’t his fault’ indeed!

Was it HER fault that she had been left at home with two children barely eighteen months apart?

But then, she decided, maybe it was. Deep down, she knew she could have done things so differently. She was the one saddled with the rigid, rigorous Catholic upbringing. It was she who had determined that they shouldn’t use protection, that they should take things as they came.

John had been quite explicit in wanting to have a few years together, time to enjoy a bit of freedom, to factor in some travel, have a bit of fun, be carefree, and for him, adding to his family right away simply hadn’t entered into the equation. It wasn’t in his grand plan.

HIS GRAND PLAN!

If only SHE had had one of those. It might well have included a traveling governess, one of those angels who would wake to the children in the night, so that she could enjoy at least a few nights of undisturbed sleep.

What a PLAN that might have been!

Oh he had loved the children alright. There was no disputing that, and for a time they had gelled as a family…when he was home to be part of one! There was no doubt about that. He just would have liked more time…that bit of freedom that comes with the first flush of love…some traipsing around the world, drinking in some sunsets on foreign shores, enjoying romantic dinners , sleeping in on weekends…and freely making love.

One child they could easily cope with, but not two…especially so close in age. That had been a large part of the problem.

And then there was his job…his career! Suddenly it had been magnified out of all proportion…the company needing him here, there and wherever else. It seemed to her at the time that if everything he said was true, the firm was paying one salary and reaping four times the benefit!

Of course he could have put the trips off! If he’d really wanted to, he could have explained about his young family and how he needed to be there as they reached their respective milestones and amazed him with their developing abilities.

He could have.

But he didn’t!

Helen recognized a particular arrogance in John’s belief that he was the only one person in the world with the requisite expertise for the company. Had he really wanted to, he could have put off his personal ambition, he could have stayed home, and he could have waited until the children were a little older, just a few years, when they would have been better able to understand and benefit from the travel and culture that he enjoyed.

He could have.

But he didn’t!

And as the absentee father, the children simply became her charges, and he the part-time, but doting dad, proffering the fun, the breaking of rules, the late night romps that always excited the children so they couldn’t sleep…and she was left to deal with things.

No wonder they adored him!

Well, no point in regurgitating it now. It was much too late for that. So much water had gurgled through their lives. The past was the past and she had no wish to revisit the shenanigans of what she determinedly saw as John’s less responsible side.

Still, over the years she occasionally allowed herself to wonder just why on earth she had allowed their lives to play out as they had. It wasn’t that he had been so dashingly handsome, or, indeed, the perfect partner. She could attest to that. But, she had to admit he was charming to a tee, he was a consummate story teller, and for that very reason, ladies were drawn to him like bees to the honey pot.

No doubt he enjoyed the adulation. Who could blame him? He reveled in the parties where he met them all, rendezvous where, unlike Helen, he could stay up well past midnight talking, eating and drinking, entertaining anyone around, or solving the problems of the world, and yet, rise the next day with his usual sunny countenance still intact.

She, on the other hand, was more inclined to pull the sheets over her head the morning after parties, begging to be allowed to sleep at least until the year was out. They were clearly two very different species, from mismatched planets, and consequently, destined not to be together.

As his job had ‘demanded’ that he travel regularly, it came with a generous per diem, which effectively meant he had money to burn, so much so that it wasn’t so hard to imagine why all his late night meetings had so easily flowed on to dinner and wine, and good company…and whatever else.

She closed her mind as to what ‘whatever else’ might have taken place. Even today it was too painful to think about it. With a wild imagination that she’d deliberately kept polished and shiny over the years, some things were better not to contemplate too often.

It was for all of this history that she determined, even after the passing of so much time, not to be dragged into a drama that was not of her making! Sure, she was sorry that John was now in hospital, concerned that he was being subjected to a battery of tests that didn’t bode well, and sad that he was considered to be presently frail and in need of care. She truly was!

But it didn’t change her mind. That would mean her delving into the past and estimating the level of her honesty. Still her conscience plagued her…