Those Mid-Life Blues

by Caroline Campbell

  ‘He’ll live; he’s had one too many to drink and that’s it, he becomes his own worst enemy.’

  ‘Is that right Tony? Well, how did he know about the thigh-high boots and the Basque?’

  Tony shrugged his shoulders but within seconds he felt a pang of guilt and confessed. ‘Darling, I needed someone to talk to at the time, I was on edge baby, and I met up with the guys at Lorenzo’s. Mark was winding me up like he does – you know he can be a joker. Well, I just went off on one that day. I ended up blurting out my problems to him and Martin, but I’m glad I did because I wasn’t alone, see baby, Martin experienced the same sort of thing.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Are you angry with me baby, this was before I had any form of counselling from Tara.’

  ‘I’m not angry with you. It’s just that I think Mark may be having fantasies of me wearing those thigh-high boots.’

  Tony cracked a smile and pulled her close to him and they laughed about the whole thing.

  The steel band and orchestra were playing but the belly dancers minus Petra stole the show. There were so many guests and he was glad to see so many people enjoying themselves but he scanned the crowd for any glimpse of Christine and then he spotted her and Tom in the distance.

  ‘Darling, I’ll be back in a minute I just want to give my princess and her frog a kiss.’

  ‘Honey, please be nice to Tom.’

  ‘I know.’ He crept up behind Chrissie and shouted. ‘That was off the hook, man that was fly. You were the bomb.’ And his hands were aimlessly flying all over the place.

  ‘Are you OK Dad?’ Christine was slightly confused by her dad’s demeanour.

  ‘Isn’t that street talk for you were brilliant.’

  ‘It sure is Dad.’

  ‘Honey, I’m proud of you.’ Tom stood there looking geeky and totally zonked and Tony suspected he needed a chill pill.

  ‘Listen pal; I didn’t like you before and I’m not sure if I even like you now but you proved that you’re not such a jerk after all: it was a great performance, what can I say, your music rocks.’

  ‘Thanks Mr Manning, err ... that means a lot man.’

  Christine’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Her dad meant every word and she smiled at them both.

  The rest of the evening was awesome. Tony couldn’t have asked for a better, more exciting, more riveting birthday party, but then it was about to get even better. A familiar soundtrack was playing but it wasn’t the orchestra or the steel band, it was a loud sound coming in his direction.

  ‘Hey big spender … spend a little time with me … do do do do do. The minute you walked in the joint—’

  ‘It’s Shirley Bassey!’ screamed one guest. ‘Everyone, it’s Shirley Bassey.’

  Everyone put their glasses down, the steel band stopped playing, the choir singers debated between themselves if it was actually Shirley Bassey and when Mary made her way towards the sound she almost fainted. It was the real Shirley Bassey, no fake wannabe but Bassey in the flesh. Mary wondered how? Sadie read her mind and walked over to her. ‘Mary, a little surprise for you both, without the paparazzi.’ Sadie was beaming and Mary held out her hand to say thank you. Shirley was belting out those notes and swinging her stuff in sophistication and style and now the orchestra were behind her all the way.

  Mary watched Tony as he grabbed someone’s vodka and tonic and downed it in one quick gulp. He absolutely adored Shirley Bassey and here she was walking towards him.

  ‘The minute you walked in the joint Tony, I could see you were a man of distinction, a real big spender, good looking, so refined; say, wouldn't you like to know what's going on in my mind? So let me get right to the point, I don't pop my cork for every man I see—’ and the song went on to the end: ‘Hey big spender! Hey big spender! Hey big spender! Spend a little time with me.’

  This had to be the best birthday ever and Martin and Mark missed the best part, Shirley Bassey. It was their loss, thought Tony as he sat up in bed with a mug of cocoa and a slice of birthday cake made by Lorenzo. It was 2.30 am and all the guests had gone except for Mark who was fast asleep in the guest room.

  He looked over at Mary as she lay beside him as he watched her sleep. It had been a memorable day, a wonderful fortieth birthday. Tara was right, thought Tony, this was the beginning of a spiritual journey and the ride he was on felt great.

  He played the previous day’s event in his mind which began when his father feigned sickness and then there was Mark’s drunken state and his tactless mention of Mary in her fierce thigh-high boots, which he feared was one of Mark’s secret fantasies. Family and friends, the orchestra, the steel band, the choir, the food, the atmosphere; his daughter singing and his all-time-favourite singer, Shirley Bassey performing. As long as he lived this would be a memory he’d always cherish and Mary made it happen; darling, adorable Mary.

  Chapter 13- Test of true love

  It was 4.30 pm and Martin had a few hours left to prepare a meal for Joan. It was a shame he couldn’t spend more time at Tony’s party. He suspected the party would continue way into the twilight hours. However, Joan wanted to talk and as much as he loved Tony, seeing Joan was far more important right now. Whilst waiting for the time to pass, he watched a repeat episode of Coronation Street; that took his mind off things, at least for a while.

  Joan arrived at 6.30 pm; looking rather chic. She wore a knee-length skirt and black suede boots, and a silk black top. Her hair was wrapped in an African head wrap and her lips were moistened with lip-gloss to go.

  Martin noted that on the last few occasions when they’d met, her fashion sense had somewhat changed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her granny wear, but he’d grown accustomed to her unique style. He’d love her if she had a paper bag over her head but lately she made more of an effort to look like a queen and today she was his queen.

  It was a little awkward at first. He wasn’t sure what to say so he played it cool and stuck to the safe subjects such as the weather, work and her health until she was ready to talk about the big subject, their friendship, or possibly a relationship. She enjoyed Martin’s gourmet cuisine; fish in garlic buttered sauce, seasoned potatoes and a medley of vegetables, with a chocolate and vanilla sponge mousse for dessert.

  She complimented his use of spices but Martin wasn’t too pleased. He’d overdone it with the garlic and his breath was a tad offensive he thought, so out popped a packet of chewing gum from his trouser pocket. He offered Joan a stick of gum but she was still tucking into her second helping of dessert.

  She pushed her empty plate to one side, wiped the side of her mouth with a napkin, and then smiled at him.

  ‘That was lovely, really lovely, thank you.’ He smiled back at her and suggested they sit in the lounge.

  Joan made herself comfortable on the big three-seater leather sofa and then without any warning she said, ‘Martin last week you told me you loved me.’ He wondered where she was taking this but he prepared himself for the worst.

  ‘That’s what I said, because I do. I’m in love with you, are you in love with me?’ He expected her to say no, of course I’m not in love with you; you heathen, you male menopausal, don’t know what you want person. So when she said she loved him he thought he heard wrong.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Joan was laughing. ‘I said I love you.’

  Automatically his heart leapt and he moved towards her, then he closed his eyes and aimed for her lips but she moved away.

  ‘I said I love you, Martin, but I didn’t say you could kiss me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘OK, this is how it’s going to be. I can’t marry you because you’re not a Christian. You tell me you believe in God. Well now you have the opportunity to do something about it. Commit yourself to God first and when you do that, if it’s God’s will, we’ll be together.’

  ‘It’s that simple, is it?’

  ‘Well, not quite, you need to commit to God for you, not for me, so think a
bout it Martin.’

  ‘Can I kiss you?’

  Joan laughed. ‘Of course you can, in your dreams and when you do, let me know how it was for you.’

  ‘That’s torture, sheer torture Joan.’

  ‘That’s how it is Martin.’

  ‘Don’t you want to kiss me Joan, give me a hug maybe?’ She laughed.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Martin, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to, but if I’m being completely honest, I’ve got to remember, if we’re meant to be together then God will work it out for me in his way and in his time; so called me old fashion but I won’t kiss you until we’re married.’

  Martin was struggling with this a little. He couldn’t quite get his head around it all. It was simple, he loved her. Miraculously she felt the same so they were meant to kiss and seal the moment, not debate over one little kiss for crying out loud. Mark was right, thought Martin. There was so much to think about and if he was serious about Joan, he’d have to consider becoming a Christian, but as she rightly said, it had to be because he wanted to do it; for the right reasons and not because he wanted her. He’d do anything, absolutely anything to be with her but she was right: if he did it for all the wrong reasons, it wouldn’t work out, simply because they were so very different.

  ‘OK Joan, so where do we go from here?’

  ‘I pray and ask God’s guidance, I speak to my pastor about us. If you want to you can come to church, that would be great but see how you feel about it. Start praying to God, feel the connection for yourself.’

  Just listening to Joan stirred up one of his recurring visions, where he’s sitting in church, the music’s playing, everyone’s clapping and praising God, then suddenly all eyes are upon him because he’s standing up clapping too. The eyes are burning several holes in his suit and her brother Dennis stands up and points a finger at him because he’s discerned his intentions towards his sister.

  ‘Are you alright Martin?’

  ‘Yeah I’m fine just taking it all in. I suppose I didn’t think love was supposed to be this complicated and maybe that’s what I was afraid of? Falling in love.’ Joan rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I do love you Martin, and I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want anybody else, I want you and I hear what you’re saying. I know this is hard for you but it’s hard for me too. You’ve got to understand this is my faith and I can’t compromise my beliefs, even though I love you. I’ve tried not to love you, God knows’

  ‘Oh, thanks Joan, but hey, yep, I understand.’

  ‘Do you Martin? Do you really understand?’

  ‘I do, I understand more than you think. Here I am, a guy who used to be a gigolo, or a player for want of a better word. I wasn’t a good player but hey, I was a player nonetheless. That was until I met you and ever since then I’ve changed. I’m not the kind of guy you’d probably go for, I realise that.’

  ‘Explain?’

  ‘I’m white.’

  ‘Race doesn’t bother me Martin.’

  ‘I’m middle-aged and bald.’

  ‘I like bald men.’

  ‘I’ve got a huge stomach.’

  Joan laughed. ‘No bigger than mine.’

  ‘I’m not a Christian.’

  ‘We can work on that.’

  ‘I reckon our relationship would be even more solid than it is now, if we shared the same beliefs and enjoyed the same faith. I mean we’ve never had problems communicating before but it’d be better, spiritually better for me and you.’ ‘Amen.’ Joan was laughing.

  ‘You see, I do understand.’

  They spent the rest of the evening, reminiscing about the first time they’d met; their first impressions of each other and what they liked about each other. She spoke of her love of God and the church and they shared some of their childhood experiences and their relationships with particular family members.

  It took a while to for her to compose herself when it came to her first impressions of him. She described him as a Robert De Niro lookalike but without the hair. Martin was not impressed, but she was joking. She thought he was attractive, not quite her type, she liked men who were muscular but not too muscular. He was a little too confident to the point of being arrogant but she liked his smile, his wit, his voice, and he appeared to be intelligent. He could hold a conversation and not bore her to death and lastly she liked his fingernails.

  She’d never known a man to have such clean fingernails.

  He described his first impression of her. She was loud, had a great laugh and beautiful skin. She was confident, intelligent, funny yet guarded; had a gorgeous figure, curvaceous and sexy all rolled into one but her granny clothes as he described it, hid it all.

  Then she described her first experience with God. She was fifteen. She wasn’t brought up in church, her mother didn’t go to church, and her father didn’t go either but their next door neighbour did. Every Sunday a bright red church van would pull up outside 49 Sycamore drive. The driver would toot the horn and Miss Marie and her three children would open the van door and take their seats on the bus. They looked so pretty and they smelled so good. She recalled how everyone in the van would sing. It was a happy memory.

  One day she asked her mother if she could go to church with the neighbours; her mum said yes and that was it, she never looked back. She had a brief fling eight years ago with a guy called Derek. He was a choir leader and admittedly she felt like a hypocrite; singing and dancing in church, knowing she’d fallen off the wagon, so she ended that relationship and never dated again. Derek was now married with five kids and has recently been ordained as a minister in the church.

  Martin was truly amazed at the fact that she’d been in the church for so long and she’d remained true to her beliefs. She had a joy within her that went beyond any human emotion and that was special.

  OK, so she fell off the wagon for a while, thought Martin, but for most of his life he was struggling to be faithful to anything much less anyone; that was until now.

  During his lifetime, he’d been to church a total of six times. This included his own christening and his uncle’s wedding. Uncle Percy had been married in church three times and of course there was the funeral service of his mother at a Catholic church three years ago and lastly when he visited Joan’s church for their annual festival.

  He opened up to Joan about his distant relationship with his father and this played a great part in his inability to show his true emotions or commit to a woman until now.

  ‘My dad was a ladies man, my mother used to call him a handsome rogue and that’s what he was. It was mum who I felt sorry for. She knew he wasn’t faithful to her. He wasn’t exactly discreet about it, if the truth be told. I remember waking up in the night to go to the bathroom and I’d hear Mum crying downstairs in the kitchen. She always cried when Dad didn’t come home; that’s how it was for years. He didn’t express his love to me or my sisters or my brother and of course he didn’t have an ounce of love or respect for Mum. He came, he went; that was until Mum finally had enough. She packed his bags and changed the locks. It had taken her fifteen years or so to do that Joan. You see, I became like my dad. I distanced myself from women. I didn’t allow myself to get too close to women and if I thought for one moment I was becoming too involved, well, I’d back off. For me it was easy just to have sex.

  No ties, no strings, just pure and simple sexual gratification but after a while I hated that life. It made me miserable, it really did. The missing piece of puzzle in my life was love but now I’ve found love. Joan, I found you!’

  She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘Where’s your dad now?’

  ‘He lives in Barkingside; on his own with a dog and I don’t mean dog as in a pet.’

  ‘Now come on, that’s not very nice.’

  ‘It’s not nice but it’s true. I don’t have a relationship with him Joan. He doesn’t know how to show love; actually come to think of it, he’s never told me: I love you son, but do you kno
w what? That’s life.’

  Martins’ eyes filled up and he buried his head in his hand.

  ‘It’s OK to cry Martin, honestly, it’s OK.’ She held him in her arms and in turn he allowed her love to sweep over him and it did; he felt loved by her as she held him close.

  ‘Martin, I’m sure he loves you. I’m sure at some stage he loved your mum, it’s just that at times people are unable to show love because they don’t know how and that’s not to excuse what he did to you or your mum, that’s just the way it is.’

  ‘I don’t want to be like him but I am.’

  ‘No Martin, you didn’t marry a woman then have five children with her. You didn’t commit to anyone. You didn’t have children and not love them.’

  ‘Yeah, Joan, but that’s just it, isn’t it. I couldn’t commit to anyone; maybe I would have hurt the woman and if we had a kid, who knows I may have hurt the kid. I might have walked out on them, just like my dad did.’

  ‘Are you telling me that if we ever married, there’s a possibility you could do that to me, Mr Truman?’

  ‘No … Joan … I don’t mean it like that. I’d never do that.’ And then he pulled her closer to him. ‘It wasn’t until I met you that I understood what love was. I’m saying that I give my life to you. I give my heart to you because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t need to wonder what if, or think to myself what if I’m unfaithful. Joan I’ve spent most of my life ducking and diving but I’m content now; more than I’ve ever been and you made the difference but I don’t think you realise just how much I love you.’

  ‘I do Martin.’

  ‘I love you Joan.’

  ‘I love you too.’ Spontaneously he knelt down on one knee, took her left hand and looked into her eyes but Joan was laughing as he attempted a rendition of Whitney Houston’s love song, ‘I Will Always Love You’.

  ‘And I will always love youoooooooo. I will always love youooooo.’

  ‘Joan Anderson, I love you! You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I will always love you. I don’t know what the future holds, but whatever it holds Joan, I pray that we’ll be together; so I’m taking this opportunity to ask you in advance, “Will you, Joan Anderson, my beautiful queen, my ray of sunshine that brightens up my day, will you marry me?”