what you wanted or expected for me and I’m sorry for that, but you’ve always taught me that it’s important to do what you love –’
‘Within reason,’ Andrew interjected.
‘OK, well, I know I’m good at schoolwork and exams –’
‘You’re more than “good”, Max. You’re academically gifted. Your teachers are talking about Oxbridge.’
‘Dad, please let me finish. I might be good at school but I don’t love it.’
‘What do you love?’ Caroline asked.
‘I love being part of a team. I love sports and being captain of rugby and people respond to me, Mum, they do. I’m a good leader. I like that about myself. But most of all I like the thought of doing something that counts. That really, truly counts for something.’
‘Oh come on, Max,’ said Andrew. ‘Wanting to make a difference is not the same thing as offering yourself up to get killed.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Max looked at them both steadily, still slouched on the table, his chin propped on his hand as if this were the most casual discussion in the world.
Neither Caroline nor Andrew knew what to say to that.
‘How can you truly change anything unless you’re willing to die for it?’ Max asked and it sounded like something he had heard, a phrase to be played with like a picked-up pebble.
‘Well, that’s very philosophical of you, Max, but I don’t think you know what you’re talking about . . .’
‘Have you thought of going to university first and then making a decision?’ Caroline suggested. ‘At least then you can leave your options open.’
But she could tell, even as she was mouthing the words, that there was nothing either of them could do to change his mind. There was something about the way Max was talking, something about the utter certitude with which he met his father’s eye, that made Caroline realise he thought he had found his vocation. She had never heard him so determined.
They found out later that a serving officer had been to speak at the school, invited by the politically correct careers department who were no doubt keen to introduce the pupils to a representative cross-section of society. In the same month, the school also hosted talks by a high court judge and the home affairs editor of a national newspaper. For whatever reason, Max was not enthused by what these two had to say. It was the army officer who inspired him and, as with the model airplanes and tennis practice and as with Adam, his best friend, Max had given himself over entirely to the idea of becoming a soldier and would remain loyal to it until he died.
To Caroline’s surprise, Elsa gave her unequivocal backing to Max’s decision. Part of her wondered whether her mother-in-law was doing it deliberately, to show her up for her failings, to show her that she had never deserved the privilege of being Max’s mother or Andrew’s wife.
Elsa’s phone call came on a weekday morning, when she must have known Andrew would be at work. Caroline immediately assumed her brightest telephone manner, obscurely flattered by the fact Elsa had chosen to speak to her and her alone. Normally, she would only have gone through the motions with Caroline – how are you, how’s Max, how’s the garden, what are you having for supper, that kind of thing – until, after a reasonable interlude, she could ask to speak to Andrew, as if Caroline were simply some sort of conversational gatekeeper that had to be got through. But on this day, it was different.
‘Caroline, it’s Elsa,’ she said, even though the kitchen telephone had already flashed up with her number.
‘Hello, Elsa. How are –’
‘You simply must allow Max to join the army,’ she said, cutting in. ‘He’s told me all about it.’
‘Max has told you about it?’ Caroline asked, incredulous. When had he done that?
‘Yes, he called me last night and he says you and Andrew are opposed to it.’
Caroline felt her shoulders tense. ‘We’re not opposed,’ and a note of defensiveness
‘Within reason,’ Andrew interjected.
‘OK, well, I know I’m good at schoolwork and exams –’
‘You’re more than “good”, Max. You’re academically gifted. Your teachers are talking about Oxbridge.’
‘Dad, please let me finish. I might be good at school but I don’t love it.’
‘What do you love?’ Caroline asked.
‘I love being part of a team. I love sports and being captain of rugby and people respond to me, Mum, they do. I’m a good leader. I like that about myself. But most of all I like the thought of doing something that counts. That really, truly counts for something.’
‘Oh come on, Max,’ said Andrew. ‘Wanting to make a difference is not the same thing as offering yourself up to get killed.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Max looked at them both steadily, still slouched on the table, his chin propped on his hand as if this were the most casual discussion in the world.
Neither Caroline nor Andrew knew what to say to that.
‘How can you truly change anything unless you’re willing to die for it?’ Max asked and it sounded like something he had heard, a phrase to be played with like a picked-up pebble.
‘Well, that’s very philosophical of you, Max, but I don’t think you know what you’re talking about . . .’
‘Have you thought of going to university first and then making a decision?’ Caroline suggested. ‘At least then you can leave your options open.’
But she could tell, even as she was mouthing the words, that there was nothing either of them could do to change his mind. There was something about the way Max was talking, something about the utter certitude with which he met his father’s eye, that made Caroline realise he thought he had found his vocation. She had never heard him so determined.
They found out later that a serving officer had been to speak at the school, invited by the politically correct careers department who were no doubt keen to introduce the pupils to a representative cross-section of society. In the same month, the school also hosted talks by a high court judge and the home affairs editor of a national newspaper. For whatever reason, Max was not enthused by what these two had to say. It was the army officer who inspired him and, as with the model airplanes and tennis practice and as with Adam, his best friend, Max had given himself over entirely to the idea of becoming a soldier and would remain loyal to it until he died.
To Caroline’s surprise, Elsa gave her unequivocal backing to Max’s decision. Part of her wondered whether her mother-in-law was doing it deliberately, to show her up for her failings, to show her that she had never deserved the privilege of being Max’s mother or Andrew’s wife.
Elsa’s phone call came on a weekday morning, when she must have known Andrew would be at work. Caroline immediately assumed her brightest telephone manner, obscurely flattered by the fact Elsa had chosen to speak to her and her alone. Normally, she would only have gone through the motions with Caroline – how are you, how’s Max, how’s the garden, what are you having for supper, that kind of thing – until, after a reasonable interlude, she could ask to speak to Andrew, as if Caroline were simply some sort of conversational gatekeeper that had to be got through. But on this day, it was different.
‘Caroline, it’s Elsa,’ she said, even though the kitchen telephone had already flashed up with her number.
‘Hello, Elsa. How are –’
‘You simply must allow Max to join the army,’ she said, cutting in. ‘He’s told me all about it.’
‘Max has told you about it?’ Caroline asked, incredulous. When had he done that?
‘Yes, he called me last night and he says you and Andrew are opposed to it.’
Caroline felt her shoulders tense. ‘We’re not opposed,’ and a note of defensiveness
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