Eighteen Is A Difficult Age

EIGHTEEN IS A DIFFICULT AGE (4890 words)

“I always knew you were a hard man, Max, but I didn’t think you were a total bastard.”

My sister and I had a robust relationship and rarely saw eye to eye. She liked everything to be neat and tidy and come to a proper, logical conclusion. I took risks that she thought were unacceptable, and I had very little concern for tying up loose ends. Even with these acknowledged differences, I had difficulty accepting this attack, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Once more with clarity, please, Josie—and don’t forget, my parentage is no more in question than yours.”

Her set expression showed no intention of accepting my rebuttal. “Jenny Morgan wants to see you, and I think you have a responsibility to do so. She told me she has no doubt you are the father of her son, Ben, and I believe her. She gave me some pretty compelling information and all the evidence points in your direction.”

Jenny Morgan. My mind catapulted back eighteen years, vivid memories of this lovely girl surging into my mind, and I could still hear her soft voice with just a trace of a Welsh lilt, a legacy from her parents. Jenny and I had been together for a couple of years and we’d done almost everything together. Her warmth, enthusiasm and passion complemented my willingness to venture into the unknown, relying largely on instinct. Jenny and I had been a solid item, and it was a foregone conclusion we would marry and “live happily ever after.”

That is not to say there weren’t darker corners in our relationship. Jenny’s parents were rigidly moralistic and didn’t approve of me. In addition, Jenny had a jealous streak, a rather restricting possessiveness. I believed then, and still did, that her upbringing had given her little opportunity to develop her sense of herself, although it did become stronger as our relationship deepened. Her possessiveness seemed to mask a need to cling to someone who could offer her security, or so it seemed to me when I’d become a little wiser. How secure I would have been at that time was a matter for debate; maybe it was this perceived instability that put her parents offside.

Then our seemingly solid relationship blew up in a welter of accusations, tears, pain and resentment. Now it looked as if I would again be faced with this woman I once loved so deeply—and with whom I was now accused of having a son.

“Oh, I see. Jenny’s put you up to this, has she? Think what you like, Josie; this woman surfaces out of my past after nearly twenty years …”

“Eighteen.” Josie’s pedantry could be irritating.

“Have it your way, sis—she decides to claim I fathered a son by her eighteen years ago, and I’m supposed to say, ‘Oh dear, silly me, maybe I should do something about it; how much would you like to shut up and go away’?” I wasn’t going to be sandbagged into anything just because my sister said it was so.

“Why do you always reduce everything to money, Max? She wants to see you because Ben will be eighteen in a few weeks and Jenny feels he should know his father.”

“Yeah, right.” My experiences over the past eighteen years allowed me to smell a scam in the air at five parts per million, and I told myself this one stank to high heaven.

Josie’s partner, Dave, intervened. “Max, you do know the classical definition of a cynic, don’t you? ‘Someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing’. Seems to me, you’re starting to become a living definition of a cynic.”

“Listen, guys, you can paint me in any colours you choose—makes no difference to me. Jenny suddenly reappears claiming I’m her son’s father. No contact with me for eighteen years, no proof of paternity, no nothing, just a bunch of insinuations, claiming this, suggesting that. Sorry about this, but I just don’t want to know.”

“Max, you threw her over and …”

Josie paused, realising she’d gone too far; my deepening scowl and clenched teeth should have given her some clues.

“What the hell would you know about that, Josie, and who gave you the right to judge me?”

Dave tried to calm the situation, but I had no intention of giving them any satisfaction, slamming the door as I stormed out.

Back home, I grabbed a bottle of OP rum and swallowed a medicinal dose. Enough to help me calm down, but not nearly enough to anaesthetise me against all the memories storming through my mind. I knew that, deep down, Josie might be right and my conscience wouldn’t be appeased. Even deeper still, maybe, just maybe, I hoped she was right.

Some things you can’t cauterise out of your soul; I’d never been able to forget Jenny, and she often featured in my dreams of what might have been. I’d also discovered a painful lesson; worldly success is no substitute for a close and loving relationship. Most of my regrets centred on Jenny, how we broke up, and eighteen wasted years.

Sleep was also rejecting me, and I woke next morning with a toxic mixture of a blazing headache and an unhealthy dose of self-pity. But I prided myself on being a realist, and after aspirin had taken the edge off the headache, I realised there were only two options. Turn and run—again—as I had done after Jenny and I broke up. I spent over fifteen years overseas, accumulating a healthy nest egg by rather questionable methods. These wouldn’t have stood up to intense scrutiny but I came to recognise them as a form of reaction to our breakup. It didn’t solve my problems, though, and I still felt emotionally empty.

Alternatively, I could face up to Jenny; if it was a scam, I’d have the moral high ground and could relax. If not, well, I would need to take some sort of responsibility. Hell taking responsibility would be tough; I specialised in running away from responsibility and I’d been practising it for most of my life.

I couldn’t placate the demons, so I rang Josie later. She did deign to listen long enough for me to get my message across although her voice would have frozen hell over.

“Okay, Max, you’re prepared to talk to Jenny at our place but without Ben being present. Is that your best offer?”

Ignoring the sarcasm as best I could, I mumbled, “Yes”. Josie told me in no uncertain terms, “I’ll speak to Jenny and get back to you about date and time. You’d better be here,” and I heard the phone click off in an unspoken commentary on Josie’s current view of her brother.

The following day I had a call from Josie. “Dinner, Saturday, seven p.m. Don’t be late, and for god’s sake, try to look vaguely presentable,” a further comment on her attitude towards me.

I had a couple of days to psych myself up for this encounter, and in spite of my reputation in the family as a “hard man”, I paced the house, went out for long walks and started talking to myself, a habit I thought I’d broken years ago.

By Saturday, a hollow feeling in my stomach and tension in my neck and shoulders reflected my stress and fears for the evening. Nevertheless, I arrived at Dave and Josie’s place a few minutes early with a placatory bunch of flowers which Josie accepted with a slim smile.

Jenny arrived a few minutes after seven and we shook hands as if we’d never met before. She had changed. Her deep brown eyes, which I used to call “doe-eyes” were filmed with pain and defeat. Her figure was still slim, but more from deprivation than working out, I suspected, and her attractive face was marked by stress lines. Jenny had clearly done it hard, and I couldn’t help my inner cynic becoming active. ‘Just what does she want?’ I wondered to myself.

We talked about the past in a desultory way, carefully avoiding the main subject. As I expected, Josie prepared a delicious meal which Jenny devoured as if she hadn’t eaten for days.

Dave cleared away and then disappeared. Josie took control, as I knew she would, “Okay, Max, what do you have to say to Jenny?”

“Whoa, just one minute, sis, I’m going to pretend I don’t have a clue about what’s going on here. I think the general principle is ‘innocent until proven guilty’, and I’d like to hear the charges before I’m forced to defend myself.”

Josie made a derisory noise but Jenny took over. “Okay, Max, the facts are simple. My son, Ben, was born nine months after we last had sex and after you told me our relationship was over when I accused you of cheating on me. And before you make unfounded accusations, I hadn’t slept with anyone else since before you moved in to my place.”

“I see,” I could barely control myself at this point; nobody had had the courtesy of even listening to my side of the story, and I needed to set the record straight. “This time, you people WILL listen to what I have to say, even if I have to barricade the doors to keep you in.”

“Firstly, Jenny, you seem to have a quite distorted view of the facts as they were eighteen years ago. But I will never forget what happened. I arrived home late on a Saturday afternoon to find you in an uncontrolled rage. Your exact words, and I won’t forget them either, were, ‘You cheating bastard, I saw you in the arms of some floozy, kissing and cuddling her. So you can get the hell out of my house and out of my life. I don’t want you anywhere near me any more’.”

“I tried to explain, but you weren’t willing to listen and you threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave immediately. I picked up what I needed and left. The next day I rang you, hoping you’d calmed down a bit, but your response was still to tell me to go to hell.”

“Now what I have to tell you is the unvarnished truth, and you can believe me or not as you please. Yes, I was holding a young woman. Her name was Joanne Porter—ring any bells, Josie?”

Pain swept across my sister’s face as a distressing memory flooded to the surface. She simply nodded her head.

“Yes, well, Joanne was a friend of the family, but a very vulnerable, very damaged young woman. Mum and dad had befriended her after she’d gone through some hideous experiences with her family and abusive partners. She caught up with me as I was heading home and broke down inconsolably, so I held her to comfort her, then walked her back to mum and dad’s place where they attempted to help her. In the longer run it was all in vain; she overdosed three weeks later.”

“So that’s the story, Jenny, take it or leave it. I accept what you say about not having slept with anyone else. The part about our break-up you know to be true, in spite of this distorted story you seem to be determined to put about how I threw you over. The part about Joanne you’ll either believe or not, and quite frankly, I don’t really give a damn which it is.”

“I … I did … didn’t kn … know,” Jenny stammered, wide eyed with what appeared to be horror, maybe guilt.

Unfortunately, I had built up a head of vengeful steam and was only interested in ramming my point home. “Yeah, you didn’t know and didn’t care enough to find out the truth and jumped to a wrong conclusion. So you decided to let Ben’s existence remain hidden from me until I come back into town, and I must seem an easy mark.”

Her continued silence and jumpiness, squirming as if she was trying to avoid a wholly unpalatable truth irritated me and I lashed out, seeming to want to hurt her in retaliation. “Okay, Jenny, now we come to the crunch. How much do you want from me in cold, hard cash?”

I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth I’d pole vaulted clear over any half way reasonable response, and I deserved Jenny’s reaction. She leapt out of her chair and rushed at me, screaming “You bastard, you foul pig,” and then took a round arm swing at me. Her clawed hand tore into the left side of my face, leaving four bloody tracks.

Everything seemed to go into slow motion, giving me the space to resist the temptation to react, instead I simply stared at Jenny without speaking, without moving. Her complexion had turned a dirty gray and she flinched and shuddered as if anticipating a beating.

With blood still trickling down my face, I turned to Josie and in a flat voice told her, “I’m leaving now, Josie. You shouldn’t have too much trouble washing the blood out,” and left without further ceremony.

The next few days were purgatory. I knew I’d done the wrong thing. I knew I’d been callous and insensitive. I tried to justify myself and rationalise words and actions, but none of this would hold water as I chewed on the bitter gristle of my own stupidity. Josie rang several times and even Dave tried once or twice, but I’d turned my answering machine on and wasn’t taking any calls.

This was a time for re-evaluation; this was a time for me to look at myself with all the barriers down, and I didn’t like what I saw. I was forty; given ordinary luck, I had another forty, maybe forty five years, and what was I going to do with them? My health was good and I was financially secure, but I had managed to isolate myself emotionally behind a barrier of bravado and aggression. I’d built a wall to keep out anyone who might possibly care about becoming close to me.

I knew Jenny was the only person I really wanted to let in, and if I was able to do so, the wall might just possibly come tumbling down. But the pain of our separation could still twist a knife inside me, even after eighteen years. The more so after our brief and traumatic recent meeting.

Did I want to risk trying to reconnect with Jenny? Could I handle the probable rejection of a woman scorned? Did I have the guts to go for something I knew could save me, but for which the penalty for failure meant forty years in an emotional wilderness?

I almost convinced myself I had ruined any chance of inviting Jenny back into my life, and for probably the first time ever I sat and cried, tears of failure, tears of remorse.

Redemption sometimes comes in unexpected packages, and mine was a perfect example. While sorting through some old family photos, I was taken back to when life was less complicated. Among them were pictures of Josie and our parents at birthdays, on holiday, and one of me taken after I finished high school. Gazing at this last photo, I could see myself as I was then, tall and slim with curly brown hair—carefree and hopeful.

Late in the afternoon I was engaged in some serious self-pity when a rather hesitant knock on my door startled me out of my despondency. A young man in his late teens stood in front of me; tall, slim, with curly brown hair and brown apprehensive eyes. I knew I had never seen him before, but I was equally sure of his identity.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, uncertainty showing in his tense face and clenched fists. “Are you Mr Max Chalmers?”

“The very same,” I replied, “And you are Ben Morgan.”

Tension gave way to astonishment. “How did you know … ?”

“Come with me, Ben,” I forestalled further queries and led him into the lounge where he sat on the edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room. “Take a look at this photo.”

He gasped. “Where did you get a photo of me … wait, that’s not a picture of me, is it? It’s you …”

“Quite right, Ben, taken when I was about the age you are now. I guess there’s no real query about who your dad is.”

His stare gradually became uncomfortable, but he eventually shook his head like a dog leaving water. “Yes, I guess so, but finding my dad isn’t the main reason I came to see you. It’s about mum.”

I raised an eyebrow in reply but remained silent.

“Mum is hurting—not physically, but inside. I think she’s always experienced some emotional pain, but since she met you again, the pain has become a lot worse. She cries a lot, and I know that, deep down, she really cares about you. Then what you said the other night tore her apart. Mr Chalmers …”

“Ben, you can call me Max if it helps.”

“Thank you, sir, but I need to keep this formal or I won’t be able to go on. Mum and I have always looked out for each other, but I know she’s lonely, and this truly isn’t about money. It’s not; I know mum inside out, and I know she’d rather starve than beg. She wants … no, she needs someone she can rely on, someone to hold her hand and tell her she’s alright. I can do a little bit of that, but I’m her son and our relationship is different. She needs someone she knows and can trust, someone she can relax with and not have to be in control and responsible all the time.”

“Mum has often talked about you, and I think she wants to see you again, even after what you said to her. But it would have to be on her terms. After your confrontation the other night, she told me the truth about how you two broke up. She said she made up the story about you cheating on her because she didn’t want me to believe she’d forced my father to walk out on me. You weren’t around and well, it seemed like a harmless explanation …”

I felt a surge of release, as if chains had suddenly dropped from my body and freed me from some looming horror. I knew then what had to happen and after the release I felt bathed in joy and excited expectation.

“Ben, I accept absolutely everything you say, and what I said to your mother the other night was unforgiveable and I’m really ashamed of myself. Yes, I know, what I’ve just said are only words and they don’t mean much. She’s obviously got a very loyal supporter, although perhaps you don’t know the full depth of what happened in our relationship. I admit I wasn’t there for you, but in my defence, I could claim I simply didn’t know about you.”

Ben started to bridle, but I hastened to reassure him.

“Ben, I don’t want to resurrect the past. What’s done is done, and there is no way to undo it. I’m not into apportioning blame or finding fault, but it might just be possible to look at some sort of new beginning. I do care about your mum, more and more deeply as time goes by. I’ve been chewing over a lot of stuff recently, and I’m going to lay it all out in front of your mum and try to … to repair some of the damage. My only problem is when, where and how, but I guess I’m almost adult enough to find a workable answer.”

He relaxed and smiled for the first time. “Thank you, Mr Chalmers; I think I could try for “Max”, but “dad” is a step too far. At least, for now.”

I called out to him as he left, “Say hi to your mum for me” and heard his laughter as he walked away.

When and where were soon resolved; I knew Jenny did shifts as a waitress at a local café and I found a table there mid-morning. The Starlight Café was a small, cosy eatery, much favoured by the locals, and it seemed to reflect what I remembered of Jenny’s personality.

“Good morning, sir, what can I get you,” her voice professional and without emotion until she realised who she was talking to. Jenny’s hand went to her mouth and she gasped, but I didn’t want to get drawn into a confrontation, and replied, “I’ll have a café latte in a mug with a shot of hazelnut syrup, please, and one of those repulsive things in the cabinet, masquerading as a blueberry muffin, thank you. And can I talk to you, just for a minute, please?”

“Thank you sir, your order won’t be long.”

Jenny was soon back with the coffee and muffin. “No more than five minutes,” she said, sitting opposite me. “Well?”

“Jenny, I’m so very sorry about what I said to you the other evening; I felt like cutting my tongue out. Then I had a visit from a very mature and persuasive young man yesterday and … well, I’d really like to talk to you, Jenny, just you and me; no Ben, no Josie, just the two of us, and on neutral ground if you like. We could go out for a meal or a drive somewhere quiet, or …”

“If you’re serious, Max, come to my place say six thirty on Saturday; I’ll cook us a meal and we can talk.” A hint of a smile touched her eyes before she continued, “Now I’d better get back to work. Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”

I finished my coffee and left, walking on air. On Saturday I presented myself at Jenny’s unit accompanied by the mandatory bunch of flowers. The unit itself had a cared for ambience in spite of being, well, shall we say, “compact”. Everything was in its place and clearly Jenny had taken pains to keep it neat and welcoming. She greeted me with a cool smile and led the way to her lounge. She was dressed demurely looking calm and in complete control.

“Jenny, I …”

“Max, we will talk, but food first, I think.”

“Okay, you’re the boss, but could I just say how ashamed I am at the way I treated you the other night. Is it possible you might find even a tiny place in your heart where you might be able to start to forgive me?”

Her fingers touched the scars on my cheek as she said, “Thank you, Max, I do appreciate that, but food first, then we’ll talk.”

The meal was excellent; Jenny was a great cook. After we cleared away, we talked. I held forth at length, apologising profusely for my crass and boorish response to her, and Jenny listened with the half smile which I found quite enchanting.

“Max,” she said at last, “I didn’t realise I was pregnant for several weeks after we parted, and, in any case, I had calmed down a lot and tried to find you. But you’d disappeared off the face of the earth; your parents didn’t know where you’d gone, nor did Josie. All they had was a cryptic note saying, ‘Don’t worry about me; I’m going to find myself and to find some meaning in my life. I’ll try to keep in touch, but don’t worry if you don’t hear.’ And nothing more.”

“I never stopped thinking about you, Max, and after those first couple of weeks, I … well, I realised how much I cared about you. I never stopped really, although time and circumstances did cause it to become a bit tattered.” She looked at me, again with her half smile. “In the dark times, I cursed you for not being around, but even so, I couldn’t forget you. My parents effectively disowned me; I had broken their moral code, you see. Even so, Josie and your parents did what they could for me, and I will always be grateful to them for all their help. I got by on waitressing jobs, sometimes two at a time, but Ben was always my first priority, and I made sure he was loved and supported to the vey best of my ability. But all my insecurities about myself had become burned out of me by the need to provide both for Ben and for myself; being an isolated single mother left no scope for luxuries like self-pity.”

I watched Jenny closely to see if this was a veiled criticism, and I think she must have read my mind. “Yes, Max,” she continued, “there were times, although only a few, when I hated you for walking away and leaving me with the responsibility of a young child. But I could never maintain the rage, so to speak, and I did come to realise that you couldn’t have known about Ben.”

“When I heard you’d returned, I wanted Ben to know his father, and I hoped so much you’d be okay with that. I hadn’t reckoned with the acid in your soul though, and I almost despaired. After all I’d been through, your sarcasm over money flared inside me, and I saw red. Then Ben told me about meeting you and how you reacted, and I felt a tiny spark rekindle. Seeing you at the café the other day fanned the spark into a flame and I hoped … I hoped for something like what is happening now.”

I knew then there would be little point in yet more apologies, so I told Jenny something about my travels, my self-hatred and my attempts to change myself into somebody alien and unconvincing. I told her about bigger and more dangerous risks I took for no better reason than to convince myself I was still alive, although I glossed over the not insignificant financial rewards generated by many of those risks.

The evening passed in what seemed like just a few minutes. As we talked, the mood lightened and it reached a point where I seemed to be cocooned in her captivating laughter.

Jenny yawned and I only realised how time had flown when the clock showed 2.00 a.m. “Jenny, I’m so sorry, keeping you up like this. Thank you for a lovely evening, but one thing still bothers me. I’m too materialistic and you won’t accept charity, but I do want to do something for you and Ben in some practical way. Not just to make up for a lost past, but to help make a better future for all three of us.”

“Thank you Max, your offer does mean a lot to me and I’ll think about it.”

“Jenny, there is one way we might try, but it does involve you taking a hell of a risk.”

Her face showed complete ignorance of the direction our conversation was heading so, like a parachutist making a first jump, I closed my eyes and leapt.

“Jenny, will you marry me?”

Her eyes seemed about to pop out of her head as she stared at me in amazement. And then she fainted. I held her gently and she soon recovered. “Max, did I hear you right? Did you just propose to me?”

“Nothing wrong with your hearing, Jenny, that’s exactly what I did.”

“Oh my god, this is so unexpected. Max, I’m completely blown away, but I have to say right at the moment, I just don’t know. I need to talk to Ben—he’s been so important to me, and I want him to know about this and for him to be comfortable with the idea, plus I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. I promise I’ll give you an answer very soon, but please, Max, don’t pressure me in the meantime.”

“Deal, sweet Jenny, on one condition. Please don’t say anything to anyone else other than Ben, including Josie and Dave. Oh, and if it will help Ben make up his mind, I’d like him to be my best man.”

Jenny laughed and, unexpectedly, gave me a sweet, warm kiss before I left, wondering how I was going to get through the next few days.

On the following Friday, Jenny and I visited Josie and Dave. Jenny was finding it almost impossible to suppress her giggles as she trembled with barely contained excitement. “Josie,” I started with a very straight face and sombre voice. “We have something particularly serious and significant to talk to you about.”

“Oh god,” Josie jumped to the wrong conclusion, as I had hoped she would. “You two have had a big argument and are breaking up for good.”

“Not quite, Josie,” Jenny could no longer contain her laughter. “I’d really appreciate it if you would please be my matron of honour.”

Josie’s eyes seemed about to pop out of her head as she stared at us in amazement. And then she fainted. “Must be a woman thing,” I laughed at Dave as he held her gently until she recovered.