SOLSTICE – BOOK FOUR OF 'THE LOVER'S CHILDREN'
In the bedroom, Michael holds Charlotte, stroking her hair, talking quietly. "Shhh... It's alright, Babe. It's just one of those things." Gently, he rocks her as she weeps into his chest.
We leave them to themselves; give them the privacy they need for a while.
On the scale of things, ranged against wars and famines, terrorism or natural disasters, their tragedy is a small one; Charlotte's miscarriage of Michael's child. But it's not small for them.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.
Downstairs, in the lounge, Klempner stands, hands clasped behind, his back to the fire, swaying from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again.
Cara napping by her side, Mitch knits: tiny blue gloves, now no longer needed by their intended owner. Perio
