Chapter Fifteen - James
914 Words
Chapter Fifteen - James
Under the shadow of the roofless wheelhouse that will one day be Ryan and Kirstie’s home, we examine plans, my plans, rolled out atop a pallet, a brick pinning each corner.
I outline the area of interest with a forefinger. “Since you don’t have the time constraints now, Ryan. I had a couple of ideas about that roof area. It wouldn’t take much to add flooring and windows up there. There’s already the headroom.”
Despite the mud and the cold, there’s a smile back in Kirstie’s voice. “You mean, we could have a bedroom right at the top? With the views right over the river and the woods?”
“That’s right. And given the state of the works right now, it would cost almost nothing on top of…”
From beyond the fence, something hoots. Then again: a car horn. Or something bigger.
Ryan frowns. “Wonder who that is? I don’t think we were expecting anyone, were we?”
Kirstie shrugs. “No idea. I’ll get the gate.”
Muffled in layers of sweaters, the mud sucking at her rubber boots, she tramps towards the entrance.
Ryan turns back to the plans. “So, James, this window…”
“Windows.”
“Okay, windows…”
Whatever he was going to say is cut short by a squeal. Then a Whoop! “Oh, my God!” And Kirstie, dashing for the gate.
“What the hell?” Ryan mutters and scowls, then marches across.
Kirstie is scrabbling at the lock. The gates swing wide and in rattles Michael’s battered truck, Klempner at the wheel, Michael himself in the passenger seat. As the truck pulls up, Michael leans out of the window. “Got an early Christmas present for you.”
Klempner doesn’t say a word, simply jumping out, then picking his way through the mire to the back and dropping the tailgate. Nonetheless, a smile twitches over his lips.
Ryan stares in, hands outheld, jaw slack. “How…? Where…?” He spins. “Oh, my God, Michael. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Don't thank me. Father Christmas is over there...” He nods across to Klempner, trying to disentangle himself from where Kirstie is hanging from his neck, smacking a kiss onto his cheek. “… I was just one of Santa’s little helpers.”
I peer over the back of the truck. “I don’t think this lot came in from the North Pole.”
Michael lowers his voice. “Bet you didn't know Santa keeps a set of brass knuckles in his pocket either?”
“Er, noooo. I can’t say that thought had crossed my mind. Neither did I know that Santa's elves came six feet tall and built like a brick outhouse. Can we expect a visit from Will Stanton?”
Michael is all relaxed smiles. “I don’t think so. Santa simply took the toys away from the children on his naughty list and brought them back to the nice ones.” He laughs and nods toward Klempner, who returns a blank stare.
Doesn't get it.
Don’t suppose Santa ever came down his chimney when he was a kid….
Ryan, still looking utterly flabbergasted, heaves air, then clapping his hands together, breaks into a grin that matches Michael’s. “I can see from here, if you didn’t get all of it, you got most of it.”
Silently, Klempner reaches into a pocket, producing a roll of notes. “Whatever’s missing, should be covered by this, I think.”
“You got the money too? How…”
Klempner’s voice is dry. “It wasn’t open to discussion.”
Ryan spreads palms out wide. “What can I say? This calls for a celebration.”
*****
Mitch’s hand in decorating the room is obvious. Although the hall itself is still very basic, plain plastered walls, painted white, everything is festooned with lights and swags and sparkling Christmas paraphernalia.
The tree takes centre stage, set to one side of the great arched window, draped with tinsel and streamers, glittering with the ornaments Mitch and Charlotte have been working at. It’s completely OTT, but then, if there’s a time you’re allowed to go OTT, it’s on a Christmas tree.
And now that I stand back and take it all in, the tree is set at a very carefully chosen angle. To anyone seated inside the hall, the window showcases the view over the river, but the tree conceals the scaffolding by the old wheelhouse, the tarped-over pallets and the bricks stacked inside the wide covered porch area. You can see the mess and muck of the building work if you look, but not with a casual glance.
Michael stands, hand on hips, clicks his tongue. “A real home-made Christmas. I have to hand it to you, Ryan. It looks amazing. I didn’t see how you were going to pull it off in time, but you have.”
Ryan grimaces. “With a few shortcuts. I really did want…”
Kirstie cuts in. “Ryan, it doesn’t matter. We’ve discussed this. We’re going to have a wonderful Christmas, a wonderful wedding, and a wonderful New Year.”
He scuffs at the floor. “I wanted it to be perfect for you.”
“It will be perfect. You and I are getting married.” She takes his hands in hers, looking up into his face. “That’s the perfect part. Yes?”
He manages a smile, raises her hand and kisses the fingers. “Yes.”
She gives a decisive nod. “Glad that’s settled.” She shivers. “Sorry it’s so cold. In fact, you’ve arrived just in time for me to light the fire for the first time.”
Michael steps inside the enormous hearth, looking up and in. It’s large enough to lose chimney boys. “You know to keep it small the first few times, while you get the chimney brickwork warmed through?”
“Of course, yes.” Kirstie beams. “And while we’re getting it going, we’ll have that celebration. It’s too cold for champagne. Who’s for mulled wine?”
*****
- Writer
