The Lover's Children

Chapter 3: Do We Know Each Other? - Georgie

Just what I need...

On the prowl...

Glass in hand, I turn to face him, square on. As he sees me staring, he turns too, looking at me properly.

He's a handsome man, visually striking; some variety of Scandinavian, with silver-blond hair and eyes that passed through the blue of the sky and settled in the glacier. His forehead furrows. "I'm sorry, but do we know each other?"

Oh... God...

"That's a bit of a tired line, isn't it? I mean, it's hardly original."

He blinks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean... But you seem familiar..."

"Oh, give me a break."

His eyes widen. He lets out air. "Well, excuse me..."

I take another gulp of the whisky, then slap the empty tumbler onto the bar. Silently, the barman slides the glass away from me. I expect him to ask if I want a refill, but he doesn't speak.

Crap...

I shouldn't have done that...

I turn back to the silver-haired man. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just..." But his back is turned to me. Beyond him, his friend meets my eye, raising brows, then also looks away.

*****

KLEMPNER

Mitch leads the way to breakfast. I follow her, carrying Vicky in her travel-cot.

My wife...

My daughter...

Ahead of us, the kitchen is a cacophony of clamour and clatter and chatter, echoing down the hall.

My mouth is dry...

Why?

A normal life...

I wanted this...

James, in jeans and a cable-knit pullover, sleeves rolled up, is at the hob, moving between pans and plates and grill like a conjurer on speed. He flashes a smile at Mitch as she enters; nods an acknowledgement to me as I hesitate in the doorway, then pauses, looking fixedly at me for a moment.

Mitch takes a seat next to Jenny, pulling up a side-table...

My other daughter...

... who is occupied with feeding Cara...

My grandchild...

Seated in a highchair, her face and bib are spattered yellow as Jenny spoons something eggy into her mouth. The tray of the chair swims with God-knows-what.

Right next to Cara, Beth feeds Adam bright orange mush. It's a messy process. His tray too, and the plastic mat on the floor, accommodating both chairs, is a slush-bespattered disaster zone.

Jenny holds back a bright green Mickey Mouse spoon, loaded with egg. "Here comes the aeroplane..." The spoon makes an arc through the air and Cara, burbling, opens her mouth wide.

At the last moment, chubby fingers grab the spoon from Jenny, aiming more-or-less at their owner's face. A small portion of the food is delivered to her mouth. The remainder slops down face, bib and tray. Cara tries again, jabbing down into the bowl of egg with the spoon, scooping up a little, spilling most. Next to her, Adam has lost interest in his orange slop, stretching out wriggling fingers to Cara's bowl.

Jenny watches with critical eye, then slices toast into finger-sized pieces, giving one to Cara and offering another to Adam. He grabs it, then champs at the end, not so much eating it, as pulverising it.

Mitch pats the side-table. "Just pop Vicky down here, would you, Larry." As I set down the cot, she produces her bag of baby-feeding kit.

At the other side of the table, Michael is telling some tale to Haswell, illustrating his words with waves of a toast-clutching hand. He breaks off halfway through as Adam raises a wail of protest, pudgy arms still grabbing toward Cara's bowl.

Normal life?

Complete f*****g chaos...

James, poking at a sizzling frying pan, flicks eyes to mine, away to his pan, then back to me, once more holding for a moment. He sweeps the room with his gaze. Returns to me. Head inclining, he smiles slightly and nods me to a seat. "Larry, poached eggs?"

"Thank you, yes."

"Two or three?"

"Two, please. But I'll do it. I can see you have your hands full."

He wavers, reluctance shining out. "It's not a problem. I can manage. Take a seat."

"I'm happy to help..." Still, he hesitates... "I didn't realise your control issues extended to the kitchen."

James' expression darkens. Mitch coughs and lays a hand on my arm. "Larry, it's James' kitchen. He's in charge here."

Was that rude of me?

Perhaps...

Injecting the joke into my voice, "My plans for world domination didn't include ousting James from his beloved hob. I was just trying to..."

James awards me a dry look, then turns for the fridge. "Poached eggs coming up. Let's all play to our strengths." The toaster clicks and four golden slices pop up. "Help yourself to toast." He regards the toaster critically, sucking in his cheeks. "I need to get a bigger one, don't I."

The doorbell rings. Michael stands, half a slice of toast in hand, still chewing. "I'll get it. Are we expecting anyone?"

Mitch looks up from Vicky's bottle. "I'm giving Kirstie the final fitting for her wedding dress this morning. Ryan's probably with her."

As Michael exits the kitchen, Cara bangs on the tray of her high chair, with her spoon, setting the plastic bowl rattling. Vicky burbles and hiccups. Beside Beth, Adam joins in with Cara, banging his own spoon.

Michael returns with a smiling Ryan, a beaming Kirstie.

"Kirstie! Ryan!" Voices rise. Chairs scrape back from the table to make space as Michael pulls in one extra chair, Haswell another.

James cracks eggs into simmering water, then puts the lid on the pan and sets it to one side. "You two joining us for breakfast?"

Ryan rubs at his arms. "Thanks. Don't mind if I do, James. It's cold out there."

Mugs and plates clatter. Adam and Cara start a mush-throwing contest. Jenny and Beth relieve them of their spoons and bowls, then lift them out of the highchairs, placing them in a playpen set to one side.

How do people stand this all the time?

Two perfectly poached eggs, nestled on golden toast, are set before me, two more in front of Kirstie and Ryan, and James finally sits down to his own breakfast, actually just a slice of toast and black coffee. "So, if it's not world domination today, Larry, what's on your timetable?"

I pour myself more coffee, keeping my attention on pot and mug. "Nothing in particular."

In truth, the day yawns ahead of me. Boredom is a new experience.

What do people do with their time?

A normal life...

*****

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..."

*****