‘The Threads That Bind’
By: Maria Rattray
Tags: Fiction Series, Fiction Writing, Drama, Forgiveness

Chapter One…

“It’s really not my problem Ailsa.”

Helen sucked in her breath, and held it. Not usually so direct she could already feel the elevation of her heartbeat, and the constriction in her chest that routinely followed. Why was it that with her one daughter she always had to tread so carefully just to preserve any sort of relationship? She couldn’t quite remember when their conversations had become so peppered with curve balls, ones she was forever dodging. 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. Who else am I going to ask? I spent the whole damned week trying to work out what to do, not that you’d know. The place is bloody 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 stuff. 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 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 backpedaled, breathing deeply to stay in control. 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 over something she’d casually said, but couldn’t for the life of her, remember.

There was armory in her preparedness. Still, as an adult she didn’t need anyone to tell her what she was allowed to say.

“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 what I need right now.”

Choosing to ignore the outburst, however on edge she felt, Helen garnered every ounce of courage, before answering.

“You know I just don’t subscribe to the notion that it‘s’ a health issue Ailsa. Your father’s as sane as the next person, and you know as well as I do, he’s always been fastidiously organized. 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 heavens 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…her way or the highway…a place for everything and all serving more than one purpose. Anything that didn’t fit into the category was destined to be donated to a needy charity, or consigned to a bin.

And because of this paralysis, her mother’s house had taken on the uncanny glow of one of those specialized side-rooms off a major art gallery, rather than a home. No superfluous knickknacks allowed, every nook and cranny shining 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 in the drawer organizer. 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 rarely used to have acquired the blackened underbellies of pans belonging to those who see cooking not just as an art form, but maybe essential for healthy living.

Impressively perfect as everything was, 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, with seemingly home-cooked pastries 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 was lonely, and desolate, totally devoid of those little imperfections that make a house 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 and hands smeared in Vegemite or chocolate, tracking their stubby little fingers along the walls, a sure sign that they’d had fun, and a signal that they’d been ALLOWED to be free spirits.

But that was beyond her imagination!

No muddy shoes or toys would ever lie in disarray at the front door to welcome the unsuspecting guest, and no splashes of finger-painted pictures ever displayed on the fridge, as clear signs 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 foot print there, a spider’s web happily etched in the corner leg of a table, a chipped cup inadvertently left on a shelf, (perish the thought!), 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 stringent for most people, for right now a little flattery rather than criticism wouldn’t go astray, and so she quickly added, “You know you’ll always be my favorite mum…please!”

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. This left Ailsa impatiently waiting on her mobile, 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, while hefting a back pack of bricks at the same time…so damned impossible, and hardly worthy of the effort!

Right now though, she had a problem, one she needed her mother’s help with. But, given that, that same mother was no pushover, it was vital that she steer the conversation carefully through the evident low tide of compassion. The right words could shift the outcome for both of them…could, being the operative word. She wasn’t silly enough to bank on it.

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

Holding her phone close enough to hear Ailsa speak, Helen allowed herself to breathe more easily. Things were just as difficult for her. There was no way that Ailsa could appreciate her level of anxiety, nor 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 ever imagine, but she kept that strictly to herself…for now.

She could never fathom why her two children always tended to side with their father. Excuses abounded for his wayward past, about 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!

Overnight both her children had 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 they were happier living apart and now, wasn’t it great that they (the children), were lucky enough to have two homes, not just one like most kids!

They’d bought the spin!

But these days her kids knew better. Now they had become a force 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 wasn’t upset by their bias. 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 harbored the notion that she could have done things so differently. She was the one saddled with the rigid, rigorous, thou-shalt-not 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 them to have just 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 the equation. It wasn’t in his grand plan.

HIS GRAND PLAN!

If only SHE’D had had one of those. It might 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 would have been!

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

One child they could easily have coped 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 expertise the company was looking for. Had he really wanted to, he could have curtailed his ambition, stayed home, and waited until the children were a little older, just a few years, when they would have appreciated and benefited 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 re-visit the shenanigans of what she determinedly saw as John’s less responsible side.

Still, 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, 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, unlike Helen, he could stay up well past midnight talking, eating and drinking, entertaining, or solving the problems of the world, and yet, rise the next day with his sunny countenance still intact.

They were polar opposites, she, 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…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 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 over the years, some things were better not to contemplate.

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 presently frail and in need of care. She truly was!

But it didn’t change her mind.