The Lover's Children

Chapter 4: What Now? - 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?

*****

MICHAEL

Shrugging off my jacket, Ryan following, I enter the lounge. "Ryan's picked out your tree, Kirstie. It's a beauty..."

I trail off. Charlotte and Mitch sit together with Kirstie, their heads close...

Suspiciously close...

What's cooking?

Beth enters, carrying Adam. "Charlotte, I... Oh! Hello. Didn't realise you two were back. I thought you were out hunting Christmas trees. And I forgot my phone."

"It's in the kitchen," says Charlotte. "On the table." But she says no more. All four women gaze at me with the kind of innocent expressions guaranteed to make a man's blood run cold.

Hmmm...

I know plotting when I see it

Should I ask?

Is there any point?

Doubtless, I'll not learn anything until they're ready to tell me.

*****

"How's it going, Sally? Everything under control?. I'll be out and about later this morning, so if you need anything, I can call by the cash and carry."

My head chef Hmmms, scanning the kitchen. "Another turkey? Or two or three?" She laughs. "I saw from the bookings that you'd squeezed in a couple of extra tables."

"Why not? I'll buy them frozen and if they don't get used over the holidays, we can serve them up in February after people have recovered from a surfeit of turkey."

"Fine... Um... More parsnips if they have them in. They always go down well roasted..." She stares into space, crossing off some invisible checklist. "There're plenty of potatoes. Oh, but I'm short on onions. You could bring in a couple of sacks..."

Her gaze drops to my chest. "I see you have a helper. Sally bends at the knee, bringing her face level with Cara's tickling her under the chin. How's Daddy's girl then? Are we helping him at work now?"

Cara burbles and giggles. "Da... da... da.. da..."

Sally straightens up, brow wrinkling. "Is that comfortable? Carrying her around in a papoose?"

"She's a bit small to let her run around on her own. And it's good for kiddies to get out and about."

"And when she's bored?"

"She goes out like a light and doesn't even know it when I put her back in her cot."

"Ga... ga... ga... ga..."

Sally casts around the kitchen. "Are we allowed a treat? A bit of apple, maybe?

"Just a bit. So long as there's not too much sugar in it."

"No sugar at all. It's slices. I just softened them a few minutes ago to start the sauce. They're nice and squidgy. If they've cooled down..."

She reaches into a steamer, then tugs back her fingers. "Just a minute..." She stabs out a couple of slices with a fork and runs them under the cold tap for a few seconds, then touches them to her wrist... "That's better. Cara... Want a sweetie? They're nice..." She pops one slice into her mouth and offers the other to Cara.

Cara grabs the slice and paws it up to her face, chomping at it with tiny pearly-whites. "Ba... ba... ba... ba..."

*****

In reception, Morwenna has everything under control. "Booked up solid, Michael, even with the extra tables. Afternoon and evening sittings." She blows a sigh. "The phone keeps ringing with requests for room bookings and I have to tell them no."

"Maybe next Christmas, but not this year. Everyone's entitled to a holiday and we'll have our hands full with the wedding we're helping out with. The restaurant will bring in the cash we need."

"It's going to be a busy few days for you."

"So it is, but that's the right problem to have, isn't it."

On the desk is a jar full of candy, there for any guest to help themselves. The brightly-coloured contents draw Cara's eyes like a magnet. Little hands fling out, trying to grab. "Da da da ma mamamama."

Morwenna watches the performance. "Would Cara like a lollipop?"

"She'd like one, yes, but she can't have one. She'll be having her lunch when I get back."

*****

Back in the house, I deliver Cara to Mitch. As predicted, she's sound asleep and doesn't even notice as Mitch pulls the covers over her.

What now?

My muscles are tight. Until I thought about it, I'd not realised I'm tensed up.

I could do with some exercise. But the gym is packed out with women in lycra. The swimming pool has a kid's Christmas party going on and...

And...

And?

I just feel like some in-my-own-head time...

Go for a run?

But the mist and the chill and, most of all, the underfoot mud, hardly entice me outdoors.

Ah, yes...

I make my way to the wood-shed.

*****

JAMES

They've not heard me coming, too busy talking among themselves, three redheads close together, speaking quietly. And apparently, Kirstie's in on it too.

Something's cooking...

I stand in the doorway, telling myself I'm not eavesdropping. I'm in full view if anyone looks up, but no-one does. Nonetheless, try as I might, I can't pick out the words.

Damn...

I give it another few seconds, then deliberately clear my throat.

Three heads of red hair, and one black, pop up like slices from a toaster.

"Good morning. You all seemed very intent on something there. What were you talking about?"

All four answer together...

"Shopping..."

"The wedding..."

"Books..."

"The flowers..."

... then look at each other.

Mitch reaches into the newspaper rack, producing some glossy Sunday periodical...

... How to spend it...

... "As you can see, James. We were looking through a catalogue, helping Kirstie put together her wedding list. We don't want her to end up with five toasters and no cutlery."

Hmmm...

I offer Charlotte a long look, but she refuses to meet my eye.

From upstairs, comes a wail; Cara. Charlotte immediately stands from her seat.

"I'll put some coffee on, shall I." I retreat around the door, waiting in the hall. As Charlotte steps through, I snag her by the wrist, holding tight. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing." She glances up the stairs, Cara's demands growing louder. "Master, I..."

"Cara's fine for a moment. I don't like being lied to, especially not by all four of you. What were you talking about?"

Colour rises up her neck. Her head hangs. "Master, I was going to talk to you. But later, when it was just you and me." She looks up, meets my eye once more." I promised Michael that when I felt ready, I would have a second baby, for him."

Ahhh...

"Do I take it you feel ready now?"

"Um, yes." Her fingers knot together. "Is that alright?"

"Of course it is..." A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. "... We all know what was agreed. You and I have discussed this many times. You only had to say so."

"Yes, but it means, um... When we... Er... You and I..." She dries up, cheeks blazing.

"You're off your contraception?"

"Yes, I am."

"That's fine, then. So long as I know." I kiss her forehead. Now, go see to Cara. It sounds as though she's hungry."

*****

MICHAEL

It feels good.

There's something about chopping timber; using the body in a way where muscle-memory does all the heavy lifting. And the woodshed is a good place, with its homely scents of shavings, pine resin and the hay up in the loft. Even though it's cold, my bare forearms goosing, exercise warms me from the inside.

Muscles loosening with the repeated stretch, swing and Chop of the axe, I ease into my rhythm. It's mechanical, but in a good way; my body doing what is asked of it with no need for instruction, a familiar task which frees my mind to float.

When James wants to let his thoughts roam, he moves into the kitchen. I see him sometimes, slicing onions or tasting some sauce. But behind his eyes, he's far away.

Some might take cuckoo clocks apart. Klempner takes guns apart, then reassembles them. And I've seen Mitch, knitting, her fingers counting stitches while she stares into the fire, physically with us, but spiritually, somewhere else entirely.

The axe-edge impacts, bites, and the timber slab splits; the round cross-section of a pine, six inches deep, eighteen across; two neat halves falling to one side and the other of my tree-stump anvil.

Setting one half back atop the stump, I stand clear, swing, and bring my axe down in a clean strike that splits the half to quarters.

And again...

Rinse and repeat...

Only a couple of minutes, and I'm too warm in my sheepskin vest. Cosy warmth turns to sweaty heat, perversely beading perspiration to chill my forehead.

Hanging the vest on a nail, I work in my tee-shirt, sweat streaking a cold line down my spine. But on my heating skin, the coolth is welcome.

Back to my task...

The smooth warmth of hickory in my hand...

... the heft and balance as I swing...

... the momentary stretch...

... the wordless coordination between eye and edge, taking the axe-head in a smooth arc...

The blade cracks into the pine and once more it splits, dropping with a clunk to the frozen ground.

That's enough. Tossing stove-lengths onto the woodpile, I turn to take the next wood slice and...

... She's there, watching me: leaning against the doorpost, muffled up against the cold, her breath a blue cloud.

"Charlotte, I didn't see you there."