Familiarity Breeds Courage

“Come with me!” She pleaded for the umpteenth time. I looked deep into the azure of her eyes, searching for something I could catch hold of, that would pull me in; something that would convince me beyond doubt that I needed to escape all that grated on my tired body and mind.

‘All right then; give me six reasons why you should stay” Jenny demanded, hands on hips.

“That’s easy. One: there’s the mortgage to pay. Two: who’s going to look after the cat? Three: John would never forgive me. Four: I hate flying. Five: Dad’s retiring soon.”

Each explanation; especially the last one, seemed effortful; as though each word weighed a brick, as I pushed them off my lips. My imminent succession to the position of manager and owner of the family business had always been the expectation. It went without saying and my opinion was never sought. At family celebrations, there would always be a joke or a hint along the lines of: ‘when young Colin takes on the business…” It was as ingrained into the fabric of our family as tinsel is at Christmas.

  Dad’s imminent retirement loomed like a heavy storm cloud on the horizon. The thought of it had been following me around for months, like an endless shadow. Dad had been in the chocolatier’s industry since the age of 16, working as a packer, then a distributer and eventually set up his own small manufacturing business. Since my earliest memories; chocolate had defined our family. We tasted it, drank it, inserted it into power-point presentations, bathed with chocolate scented soap, gave it as Christmas presents, got bullied about it; (“oh here’s Willy Wonka”), it even surrounded us as we slept, in tall piles like the columns of a cathedral. We lived and breathed it. It was what made us: the Lymington’s.

“Colin, all those reasons are not enough, we’ve been over it before. We can get an extension on the mortgage, we can put the cat in a shelter, it’s not up to John, you’ll get over flying and the issue with the business; well we’ve been over and over it: Colin!”

 I shrugged, dismissive. We would have to agree to disagree once again. She was going and that was final. She’d been left a small fortune from her recently deceased great aunt, giving her a ticket to her realization of her dream to travel. She’d always had a fascination with the exotic. As the lines slowly blurred in our evolving relationship, and she’d started to move into my bachelor pad three years ago, she’d gradually brought her foreign ornament collection. They’d followed her in like a small personal float on the parade of her life’s journey. The African mask was the first arrival, taking pride of place above the mantlepiece, then the Chinese porcelain, the Peruvian rug; (I quite liked that one), the boomerang; oh, the artefacts were endless, some beautiful, some ugly, some with a story, some without. They’d all been passed to her from her great aunt who had travelled the world. Jenny had dreamed of following her footsteps and now she had her round the world ticket, in three weeks’ time I’d watch her petite frame disappear behind the gates of a Heathrow departure lounge. I’d come to a realization that there was little point in trying to stop her, and oh how I ached to go with her. She’d pleaded and pleaded that I’d join her; I had no doubt that she loved me; I just couldn’t imagine rearranging life as it was, simply to indulge in a childish whim.

“Darn it, look at the time!” I hastened, “we’ve got to get ready; the party starts in an hour!” I gasped, staring at my watch.

Jenny’s face fell into a cold, resolute expression and as she turned away, she signed. She wasn’t going to drag out the familiar, old argument any longer.

We were the last to arrive at the party I’d been dreading. The air hung, thick and heavy, strangely humid for a late autumn evening. As I approached the driveway of my parent’s home, the details of my surroundings seemed to pass me by in banal familiarity, as though I were on some life-size conveyer belt. The gravel repetitively ground and crunched under my feet. The faded red door post was in need of a fresh lick of paint, like an old, discarded dinghy on the beach. The ‘chime, chime’ of the fake- old fashioned, electronic doorbell seemed louder than usual, it almost hurt as it pounded in my ears. As the door squeaked open, I gently took Jenny’s hand, it felt damp, but I was the one sweating under my shirt and collar.

Everyone had taken a place at the dining room table. Paul Simon’s Graceland sung softly from the antiquated CD player. The children’s extended table frothed with giggles and excited chatter. As Jenny and I took our seats, a hush fell over the small crowd.

“New lipstick? It’s very, um, up front, isn’t it?’ The comment escaped my sister’s slightly sneering lips as her eyes did her usual dance over Jenny’s attire. My sister had never liked Jenny. “All talk and no action” she would say; “a dreamer without any real prospects- how long’s this one going to last?” she’d ask. She seemed to take a kind of refuge in announcing the limitations and failings of my track record of dead-end relationships.

“It suits her, doesn’t it” I was ready to launch my defence of my lovely Jenny, so grateful she was willing to accompany me to my father’s retirement dinner.

Small talk cheerfully unravelled as rather dry roast beef was served. Floury roast potatoes piled into a dull mound on my plate. Soggy vegetables were passed around. The four beige walls of my parents’ dining room engulfed us, heavy and boring like the colour of office filing cabinets. The tablecloth, also beige, stretched out, clean, crisp, starched and joyless.

‘Clink, clink’ came the sound of a spoon knocking against a glass. Dad stood up and cleared his throat.

‘Well; now that I have all your attention”

It was happening; this was the moment I’d been dreading. I felt the blood drain from my face. My mouth went dry. I spilled a little water as I shakily took a sip from my glass.

“At the end of this era, it is with mixed feelings that I now leave the business we love and have grown together.” Dad went on…

“Lymington’s chocolates will always run in my veins. But it is with great excitement and pride that I…”

My tongue felt swollen, it wanted to break out of my mouth and grab my Dad’s words, lasso them and bury them under the carpet.

“I leave my chocolatiers business to my first born: Colin” His face was rosy with wine. His contrastingly white beard seemed to stand on end like arms ready poised for a personal applaud.

The iron frame surrounding the mirror above the mantel piece seemed to bear down on me, crushing me like prison bars. I could barely breath. All eyes were on me now, my blood was rising, then a flush across my cheeks. I felt stripped bare like a baby on a changing mat. The CD jarred and Paul Simon started to repeat the same line over and over “he’s a poor boy, empty as a pocket…” The atmosphere swelled with tension and then as sudden and sharp as a balloon popping, Jenny’s voice broke the air:

“let’s make a toast” she suggested.

“No! Jenny- wait,” words clunked awkwardly off my tongue.

“I have a few words to say.”

“D...d…d dad, I spluttered…

“I am full of awe and appreciation for how you have successfully handled your business over the years, how it has fed and clothed us and bound us in our identity. Lymington’s chocolates will live on, I’m sure. Just because you’re passing over the baton doesn’t mean you’ve completed the race, the legacy of Lymington’s Chocolates will thrive, in our cupboards, in our easter egg celebrations, in our hot chocolate mugs, and in our hearts. But…but...”

I sat down

“…but I’m not going to be succeeding you and taking on the business.” I glanced at Jenny.

“As some of you know; Jenny is going to be taking the next year off to pursue her passion to travel; it’s something that her great aunt would have desired for her. I have decided to join her.”

I heard Jenny inhale quickly. Her hand reached for mine and our fingers entwined like a pastry lattice.

No one spoke. Mum wore a pained expression. Cousin Jan stared at his plate. Katie was engrossed in pushing her meat around with her fork. I watched a small sparrow land on a branch at the window- pane; then fly off. I wished I could follow it; wings spread in carefree abandonment.

Jenny and I stood up and left the room. We walked quietly, arm and arm, back towards our flat. A warm, comfortable silence folded around us like a cosy blanket as we began to pack our belongings. I felt wealthy in love and our sense of commitment. Jenny and I would travel together, all of life’s burdens and strains seemed to fade as I realized what was truly the most important aspect of my life.

Three weeks later…

‘Calling all passengers for Athens” A lady’s voice boomed out from the airport intercom. Jenny and I were bursting with excitement, like school children on the first day of summer holidays. We were about to embark on our first leg of travel and had just taken our place in the queue for passport control, when a throaty voice called from the back of the lounge:

“Colin, Jenny…Colin, wait...”

To my surprise; Dad is standing there, a little out of breath, his beard twitching into a smile. His arms embrace me.

“Have the best time.”

“Thanks Dad,” I awkwardly but gladly return his hug.

“I wanted to give you something for your travels” he hands me a box of Lymington’s classic collection.

“Don’t eat them all at once’ he winks. I take the box and place them snugly in my hand luggage.

We hug again and wave our goodbyes. As we board the plane, amongst a faint whiff of chocolatey aromas, I could smell the whimsical fragrance of exotic flowers, and with it, the sweet scent of change.