The Lover's Children novel Chapter 4

JAMES

Michael, one ankle propped up on a knee, cups his mug. “So how are the wedding plans, Kirstie? All in good order?” He raises a forefinger. “By the way, I'm picking up my suit tomorrow.”

The tall, dark girl opens her mouth to speak …

Mitch interrupts. “Have you decided about the honeymoon yet? What your plans are?”

Kirstie's smile fades. Ryan’s looks strained, but his tone is off-hand. “We’re going to decide later. We have other priorities just now.” He grinds to a halt…

More to say?

But not speaking…

What’s wrong?

Kirstie picks up the line. “There's no point spending money for a few days holiday is there? Getting our home fit to live in is more important.”

I lay my hand on hers. “Of course, it is.”

Klempner watches all this in silence. But there’s something around his eyes. Michael sits back in his seat, cradling his cup, watching everything, saying nothing.

Richard breaks in, propped by his elbows on the table. “James, I'm seeing the mayor this afternoon. He wants to discuss company sponsorships for new apprentice positions. I was hoping I could have some input from you on what’s needed skills-wise. If you’re not doing anything else that is?”

Hmmm…

“You mean you want me to give you the bullets to fire, so you don’t find yourself paying for training in Medieval fly-fishing or flower-arranging?”

Richard chuckles. “That's about the size of it. That blasted wife of his thinks we’re a charity. I try to explain that I’m happy to sponsor training in computer sciences, engineering and business studies. Even basic literacy and numeracy. She wants me to fund a music college. I told her my taxes cover that sort of thing, but she doesn’t want to take no for an answer. Anyway, we can talk about it on the drive into the office...” He checks his watch. “… Speaking of which…” He rises from his seat, snagging the jacket hanging over the back.

Michael speaks. “Charlotte, in the New Year, do you think you could help out with the keep fit and self-defence classes for a couple of weeks? We're bound to get a ton of New Year’s resolution sign-ups. Chad could use some extra help. At least until the drop-aways… um… drop away.”

“Sure, if Mom and Beth will look after Cara while I’m doing it?” Charlotte turns, the question lifting her voice.

Michael nods down to my egg-covered daughter, currently pulling herself upright against the side of the playpen. “I thought actually, that Cara might like to come with me on my rounds. She’s big enough not to need you on hand all the time.”

“Um…” Doubt rings through Charlotte’s voice.

Michael throws a smile at Cara. “Want to come and help, Sweetie…?”

Cara burbles eggy approval: a smile lined with tiny pearl-whites, rimmed yellow, babbling and gurgling.

“… Of course you do. You can come with me today. We’ll try it out, shall we.”

Cara beams, but abruptly her face squeezes tight... Then flushes red... She starts wailing.

“Whoops! I think someone needs changing.” Michael hooks her under the arms, lifting her up and out of the pen. Charlotte makes to stand. “It’s okay, Charlotte. Finish your breakfast. I’ll do it.” Michael vanishes out from the kitchen carrying my bawling daughter.

Mitch has mischief in her voice. “Will you do the nappy changing too, Ryan? When it’s your turn?”

His eyes flick to Kirstie and he hesitates. A chasm to the bowels of the earth yawns wide under him. “Let’s take that one step at a time, shall we. We’re not actually married yet.”

Kirstie decides to join the game of man-tormenting. “How about you, Larry? Do you change nappies?”

Klempner’s expression doesn’t change, but perhaps a smile lurks behind his eyes. “If you ever need suggestions on how to dodge the authorities or move goods across borders… Perhaps even the organisation of a small revolution… Call me any time. Nappies… No. As James said, let’s all play to our strengths.”

Michael re-appears, a rolled-up package in one hand, Cara strapped to his chest in a papoose. Arms and legs dangling, her smile sunny, she gurgles her excitement. “That was… interesting... What have you been feeding her, Charlotte?” He rinses his hands under the tap, then reclaims his coffee.

Charlotte gives him a hard stare. “I’m trying different things. Seeing what she likes.” She stares in space… “Er… She had some grapes yesterday.”

Mitch chimes in. “And I gave her pureed carrots and cauliflower. She enjoyed them. And it’s good to train babies early to like vegetables.”

“I’ll give you that,” comments Michael. “But I saw the result. Perhaps the brassica experiment should wait until she’s a bit older? Or would you prefer to install some kind of bio-hazardous waste disposal facility?” He tosses the package into the fire, the hottest part of the ashes. Briefly, it flares brilliant yellow, then curls into black smoke.

Klempner stares down at his plate, where the remains of his eggs congeal, vivid yellow, on his plate.

Too much information?

Mitch is unaffected. “Michael, are you going to carry Cara around all day like that? In the hotel? She’s likely to be a handful.”

“Not a problem. It’ll be good for her to get out and about. Babies should have a lot of variety. And facing forward like this, she can see everything that’s going on.” He grins. “Actually, I’m rather looking forward to it. Now she’s old enough not to need Charlotte all the time, we can start doing things together…”

*****

KLEMPNER

Something jostles my elbow: Bear. He’s big enough to look down on my abandoned plate. He aims his snout down at my leftover egg… Up at me… Down at the egg… Groans…

I put my plate down on the floor and Bear rasps over the coagulated yolk with his tongue. Michael’s mutt dashes in for a share-grab. Bear moves over, claiming one side of the plate. I shift, ready to boot the thief aside, but then realise Mitch’s stare is fixed on me. Hard. Wide-eyed. Emerald turned to stone.

I settle back… Pick up my coffee… Look the other way…

Wasn’t going to do a thing…

… But from the corner of my eye, that granite-stare still glares.

Michael is still rattling out his enthusiasm, Jenny and Beth, goggle-eyed with attention…

Talk… Talk… Talk…

There can't be enough air in here for so many people…

It’s not as though I’m wearing a tie, but my throat is tight. My face heats and I shift in my seat.

Mitch is fussing with Vicky, my misdeeds apparently forgotten…

How to make a polite escape?

James is watching me.

What’s he thinking?

Then Mitch, still cradling Vicky, looks to me. The hardness has gone. She blinks slowly, her great green-eyed gaze holding mine and, all but imperceptibly, she raises her chin…

… and I can breathe again…

A clatter of dishes… A communal effort to clear the table… fill the dishwasher… wipe away grease and crumbs and baby-food…

Michael taps Ryan on the shoulder. “If you give me ten minutes, you can come with me and pick out which tree you’d like…”

James and Haswell pull on jackets, check briefcases, Haswell jangles car keys. James kisses Jenny. Haswell kisses Beth. “Enjoy your wedding plotting.”

Mitch, giving me a last speechless look, carrying Vicky, leaves the room. Kirstie trails behind, Jenny, and Beth with Adam, following. Moments later, footsteps grow quieter, heading upstairs.

Michael throws back the last of his coffee. “C’mon, Ryan. Catch you later, Larry…” The bang of the kitchen door rattles through the air.

Just like that, silence returns.

And I’m alone.

What now?

*****