The Lover's Children - Box Set One

Chapter Twenty-One - James

Chapter Twenty-One - James

The hall looks stunning.

Well done, Mitch…

Flowers on every table. The place settings beautifully hand-made. The log-stacked fire (Thank you, Michael) roars. The hearth is swagged with holly and mistletoe which I know Charlotte spent hours picking and arranging. Fairy-lights twinkle and glimmer, framing the tree and the vast picture window.

I’m rather proud of that window. It’s always good to have an idea, but seeing it become reality is even better. I’ll admit it, at least to myself. I’m feeling smug.

For now, the room is mainly taken up with the dining tables. Later, they’ll be cleared and the band will set up for an evening of music and dancing.

From the side-door, the caterer raises his hand, catching my eye.

Good to go?

I give him a thumbs-up, then raise another thumb to Kyle, Ryan’s brother and Best Man.

He stands, tapping his glass with a spoon. “Excuse me, everyone. May I have your attention, please. I believe our meal is ready, so if you’d all like to take your seats…”

I don’t sit. Kyle may be Best Man, but I’m here as well, to ensure things run smoothly. Michael and Richard too. One old aunty gets herself lost. I guide her to her place. Then I reunite a small boy with his mother.

I see Michael, clearing the way for a young woman with a toddler in a buggy, pulling out her chair at the table by the window. Richard, at the far end of the same table, is showing a couple with their boy to their seats opposite Klempner and Mitch.

Charlotte and Beth are at the head table with the Bride and Groom of course. Charlotte gives me a wave and a grin.

Yes, it is going rather well…

Ranks of waiters file out from either side of the hall, loaded with platters and dishes.

Very professional…

A good practice run for Ryan and Kirstie if they really want to open it as a restaurant…

More waiters enter, now with the wine…

What was it they chose?

Oh, yes. Riesling and Merlot...

Not my own first choice, but then, it’s not my wedding; two wines that make for easy drinking and suit most palates.

Everyone found their place?

Yup…

Satisfied that everything is as it should be, I take my seat, just down from the head table, unfolding the napkin. A waiter sets my starter in front of me. Cold weather: I opted for the soup: broccoli.

A cheese crust bubbles on the top. Savoury steam rises from the bowl.

Smells good…

Other fragrances drift deliciously in, dill from the salmon, ginger and herbs from the mushroom wellington chosen as the veggie option, garlic from the chicken kiev that was my own choice…

… At the front, by the main window, the door bangs open, bringing the wind with it, along with dust and snow and whatever other crap it’s carrying. Georgie barges into the hall, yelling and waving her arms.

What the Hell?

I can’t hear what she’s saying, but snow swirls through behind her, the draught whisking up tablecloths and making the tree ornaments bob and glitter and jingle.

What’s she playing at?

Always the f*****g centre of attention…

Faces turn. At the head table, Ryan stands, consternation written large. He glances my way, brows raising in question.

My temper snaps and I shout over the hall. “Georgie, close the damn door and sit down!”

She ignores me, bawling out at the top of her voice. “Back! Everybody get back!”

What?

Michael’s eyes meet mine and he shrugs. But there’s anger there. My self-centred daughter has thoroughly overstepped the mark this time. Slapping my napkin at the side of my plate, I rise, picking my way between tables, trying to be discreet about making my way across the room. “Georgie!”

She’s still shouting. Charging across to the tables near the great window, she glances my way, but only just. “Get away from the window. Move!”

I shout again. “Georgie, what the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

She spins, widening her eyes at me, pointing out through the window. “The tower! The scaffolding! Dad, get them back. Tell them!” Then, ignoring me again, she bolts along the table aisle. “Get away. Get back.”

Guests are standing, murmuring among themselves, but no-one moves. The old lady I seated, Georgie all but lifts from her chair. “Move! Get away from here. Get to the back of the room.”

And now, as I follow where her finger pointed, I see it; the tarpaulin, ragged in the billowing gale, whiplashing freely with the force of the sails that once took galleons around the world…

Christ!

The scaffolding tower is rocking, the movement growing moment by moment, the swing of the top larger with every pass.

Michael follows my gaze and his mouth drops open, frozen for a splintered second. Then he too, yells. “Move! Away from the window. Everyone. Right now.”

Heads turn, looking out, and the screams start. Panicking people push and shove, fighting to get up from the seats, legs caught between tables and chairs, scrambling to get away from the window.

The wind gusts, the tower rocks again, and from beyond the hall, something slaps at the glass…

The tarp…

… then clatters as ropes, trailing metal pegs, sweep an arc through the air like some lunatic bola, blunted blades impacting the glass.

Michael clears a tabletop with a single sweep of his arm, then hurls it to one side, opening a passageway.

Young and old alike stampede through, charging for the back of the hall. I see Klempner, clutching Vicky’s carrycot in one hand, shoving another table away, creating a second exit for the milling, panicking crowd. Pushing the cot into Mitch’s arms, he thrusts her through the gap, ahead of himself and away.

Cara…

Where’s Cara?

Mitch had her…

I’m barging forward now, but I’m fighting against the flow and people stream past me

But outside…

Time’s up…

The tower shudders then rises, the wind-borne tarp lifting tons of metal bodily. Only by an inch or so, but enough to all but clear the feet from the semi-frozen ground…

As though in some movie slow-motion action scene, the tower pivots on a single support, holds for a brief-endless moment, apparently motionless, then spins in toward the window. Even over the wind, the screech of tortured metal screams. Almost gracefully, it tilts, topples and falls, three-inch wide steel tubing impacting, head-on against the great arch,

… punching through…

… and the window explodes into the hall…

Time speeds up again.

Glass shatters inwards, the corner of the tower driving through, twisting as it tumbles. Tangling with a string of fairy lights, as the tower crashes down, the tree comes with it, smashing onto the tables. Plates and serving dishes spin and smash. Cutlery spins away in all directions.

People shriek and scatter, their voices mixing with the whistle of the wind that wails through the shattered window.

Georgie has some toddler in her arms. I don’t know who the kiddie is, but…

Cara…

I’m pushing forward, fighting against the crowd. And I’m not alone. Charlotte dashes from the high table at the far side of the hall, creamy gauze skirts lifted to her knees, shrieking. “Cara! Cara!”

Dodging between the wreckage of tables and flowers and food, plunging through any gap she finds, she forces her way toward me.

Another woman I don't recognise scrabbles by her. “Paulie! Paulie! Where is he?” Tears stream down her face, streaking mascara. A man is with her, his previously white shirt splashed with food. The pair run one way and another, calling, scrambling amidst the wreckage of tables and metal and pine branches. Glass crunches underfoot, shards like knife-blades lodged amid needles and branches.

Abruptly, the lights go out and we’re plunged into gloom. Charlotte goes berserk. “Cara! Cara!”

But despite the darkness, most of the guests are now to the back of the hall. The only people to the front are myself and Charlotte, and the couple calling for their boy.

Charlotte halts, almost screeching to a standstill, holding up a hand... “Shhh…” … c*****g her head to one side.

People murmur and mutter.

I raise a hand. “Quiet!”

Somewhere to the rear, Ryan’s voice rises. “Quiet, please everyone. Let them hear.” The murmuring subsides.

Something bangs close by me, a metallic sound. But not now the scream of falling scaffolding. More of a tinny clatter. “We're here.” The clattering again…

A spoon banging on metal? Or a ladle?

“What?” Charlotte swivels toward the sound. The other woman hasn't heard it yet, but Charlotte snatches at her wrist, pointing.

“We're here. Under here.” The words, shouted but somehow muffled, fizz with irritation.

Klempner?

I revolve, trying to triangulate on the sound. “Larry? Where's here? Who are you with?”

“We’re under a table. Near the wall, with the tree jammed over us.”

“Who's us? Is anyone hurt?”

“I've got Cara and...” … His voice breaks off, then turns to a low muttering… “… A boy called Paul…”

“Paulie!” The strange woman shrieks, dashing forward…

“… No-one’s hurt.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” The boy’s voice, also muffled, is piping but unworried, sounding more excited than fearful. “I’m with Cara’s Grandad K.”

Michael appears at my side. “Don’t worry about the electric,” he says. “That was me. As soon as it happened I turned off the supply at the mains.”

“Good thinking.”

Paul’s mother is very much underfoot. With a quiet word or two, Michael eases her gently out of the way then, stripping off his jacket and tie, moves in. “Larry, keep talking. Where the hell are you?”

“Under the table that was directly in front of the window. There’s scaffolding to the left of us and the tree square on top.” A pause then, “Look down at floor level. I’m waving the torchlight on my phone. Can you see it?”

Michael drops to his knees, manoeuvring between splinters and shards. “Keep waving, Larry… Ah, yes. Gotcha now. Keep well under shelter. We’re going to have to shift the tree and it’s tangled with lights and scaffolding and God-knows-what.”

Charlotte presses forward. I slap a hand against her chest. “You, stay out of the way, you’re not dressed for this. Any glass would go right through those shoes. Let Michael and the other men handle it.”

Her eyes are wide. “Cara…”

Klempner’s voice again. “Tell Jenny that Cara’s fine. She’s slept through it all.”

The tree seemed huge when it was upright. But now, horizontal, entangled with the twisted struts of the tower and the debris of tables, food, cutlery, glasses and bottles, it’s a vast, snarled, knotted structure.

His feet crunching over a glittering mosaic of broken glass, shattered baubles and scattered pine needles, Ryan appears at my elbow, his arms full. “Here, I’ve got cutting tools, saws, whatever I could put my hands on.” His morning suit is plastered with mud and snowflakes are melting into his hair.

“Ryan, your wedding day. I’m so sorry…”

He cuts me short. “Save your sympathy for Kirstie. I’m fine. The main thing is that no-one’s hurt.”

“Seriously? No-one?”

“Not so far as I can tell. Except for one of Kirstie’s friends who was hit by some flying debris, there’s nothing more serious than a couple of scratches. Georgie dashing in like that saved the day. God knows what would have happened if the tower had come down with everyone still sitting under the window, but they were already out of the way of the worst.”

Georgie…

And I was set to blast her…

I turn, scanning the room, to find my daughter’s eyes on me. She lifts her chin, defiance in her eye. I drop her a wink and sunshine flashes over her face.

My gaze strays further…

Kirstie…

She must be devastated…

Then I see the tall, dark-haired bride, her dress splashed and stained, with a tray of mugs, doling them out to elderly friends and relatives.

The younger men among the wedding guests are stripping off ties and jackets, moving in with shears and saws. A branch at a time, the Christmas tree is dismantled, minute by minute becoming mere glittering debris.

“You still okay under there, Larry?”

“All good here.” I listen carefully for any doubt or waver, but Klempner sounds perfectly calm. c*****g my ear, he’s still speaking, low enough that I can’t pick out the words.

There’s only space for so many in the rescue zone. A chain has formed, those at the front cutting wood, dismantling metal, passing it back along the line. Concluding that I’m surplus to need, I stand back and let the youngsters handle it.

Mitch joins me, Vicky cradled in her arms.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine. Larry dropped Vicky in my arms and pushed me out of the way.” She watches the rescue party for a few moments. “This is one wedding day they’ll not forget.”

“That’s true.” It’s Kirstie. Her gown is a disaster area. Cheese smears down one side. Red wine has soaked into the bodice. Broccoli soup drips from the creamy satin. She brushes herself down. “Red, green and white,” she huffs. “Very festive.”

“But you’re not hurt?”

“No. I think the main casualty is Ryan. He tried so hard to make it perfect and now…” She lifts palms, blowing air.

“We’ve got them!” The shout comes from one of the rescuers. The rest part one side and the other as we make our way forward.

The tablecloth, once fine white linen, now a resin-streaked rag, lifts, and from underneath a carrycot pushes out. Charlotte darts forward… “Cara!” …snatching up our daughter.

Coming behind, crawling on hands and knees a small boy emerges, wreathed in smiles.

“Paulie! Paulie!” His mother sweeps him up, wrapping her arms around him, lifting him from his feet. A man joins her, embracing them both.

The boy wears a pumpkin grin, spilling out his enthusiasm. “It was brilliant! Cara's Grandad K pushed us under the table, then squashed down there with us.”

Mother and father exchange baffled expressions. “Weren’t you scared?”

Eyes roll in scorn… “Nah...” Then turn to sheepishness… “Well.. Maybe a bit. Just at first. But then Grandad K told me about how he'd been in this much, much worse place. An’ there was this dead body… and it was all melted and yucky… And there wuz maggots crawling out of her eyeballs.” He rattles on…

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, head stooped under the table, Klempner doesn’t so much exit, as unfold. Long arms and legs emerge in instalments before the tall man is finally able to stand. Rising from the debris like some prop from The Nightmare Before Christmas, he brushes himself down, dislodging tinsel and fragments of bread and cheese.

“You okay?”

He sniffs. “Never better. Mitch and Vicky?”

“They’re fine. Waiting over there for you.” I wave towards the pair. My voice low, I talk out of the corner of my mouth. “Grandad K?”

His lips quirk. “I believe you gave me the title.”

“And so you decided to tell a six-year-old boy about Juliana’s corpse?”

“It kept his interest. Stopped him worrying. Anyway…” He nods towards the boy… “Look at him. It’s not real for him. Just a story.” He shrugs. “We’re going to have to break this habit of you rescuing me from confinement.”

*****

Kyle, his arm thrown around Ryan’s shoulders, throws a beseeching look my way. Ryan’s expression is distraught.

A quick look around for Kirstie…

She standing off to one side, her eyes bright and glossy. Winding the gold band around and around her finger. Beth, Charlotte and Mitch are clustered around her, Beth holding her hand. Charlotte, by the look on her face, is cracking some off-colour joke. Mitch trying to make something of the ruined wedding gown. A variety of aunts in silly hats are converging…

She’s fine…

For now…

“Ryan, are you okay? Not hurt?”

“No… but Kirstie. It’s supposed to be her day. I wanted everything perfect for her. She’ll be devastated…”

I jerk my thumb backwards over the gaggle of women.

“Kirstie’s fine. The women are looking after her. Now, before you go fussing over her, get your head together. You’re her husband…” I lower my voice… “… And her Dom… Cool, calm and collected. Everything is, if not under control, at least being handled.”

“But…”

“Ryan, the Groom has several duties on his wedding day. Dealing with collapsed scaffolding isn't among them. Looking after the Bride is. So, stop flapping and handle your end of things. You asked me, Michael and Richard, to help out. So, let us handle our end of things.”

“But…” He waves arms over the debris of smashed timber and twisted metal… “It’s a disaster…”

“No. It’s a f*****g inconvenience and a mess. It’s not a disaster. Almost no-one’s been hurt. Borje isn’t going to die of a black eye. The window’s history, yes. But it’s just a window. The insurance will cover you. Now… Take a deep breath… That’s it. And another… And another. Calm down. Plug in your brain.”

Kirstie’s handsome husband visibly calms, then he huffs a laugh. “Thanks, James. Sometimes you need your friends to give a bit of perspective.”

“That’s what friends are for. Now, Ryan. You are going to collect your wife and go with Richard who will take you to the hotel and settle you into a room. Once there, I suggest you have a soothing soak in the jacuzzi that will be waiting for you, a glass of champagne and perhaps an hour or so of what newly-weds are supposed to do with each other.”

He looks wildly around. “The guests…”

“… will be also transported to the hotel. Richard is handling that side of things too. As for the rest, leave that to us. Now, go to Kirstie and tell her that Cinders will be going to the ball after all. There is simply a change of venue. Yes?”

He breathes again. “Yes.”

“Good man. Now…” I cup his elbow, and with a nod to his brother, between us, we ease him toward Kirstie.

As we approach, she’s already trying to speak.

“You…” Michael points a finger at her… “… and you, Ryan, are going to stay out of the way of all this. Kyle, go among the guests. Calm them down. Let them know there’s a change of venue. Richard…” He spins, looking…

Kirstie blinks, swallows and turns away. Ryan makes to follow then turns back. “Michael, I won’t forget this. I so wanted to give Kirstie…”

Michael cuts him short. “I get it. I wanted to give Charlotte a home too. My wife is helping today. You go look after yours.”

Beth raises questioning eyes as we approach. Raising my voice, “Ryan’s a bit shocked by it all, Charlotte. Can you help him get Kirstie to Richard’s car. He’s going to drive them to the hotel…”

As the wedding pair are eased out of the way, “Charlotte, take a look around and raid whatever there you can find. Throw something together that can be served hot to all the guests while we get things organised.”

“What’s happening?”

“We’re moving venue.”

*****