Chapter Twenty-Four - Klempner
1513 Words
Chapter Twenty-Four - Klempner
In the background, the photographer keeps snapping away, coming up with ever more inventive combinations of guests, family, kids…
Keeping them entertained…
Extracting tables from the mess of splintered wood, smashed glass and broken metal isn’t easy. Sawing at a fir branch, I’m hot. I took my jacket off twenty minutes ago, banging a nail into some woodwork to hang it and protect it from the worst. But still, despite the cold blast from the gaping window, I’m overheating with the exercise and my forehead and cheeks are flushed. Perversely, chill sweat trickles down my back. And everything I touch is stuck over with f*****g resin.
I could have kept this up for hours once. My months of imprisonment took their toll. Lack of exercise apart, without doubt, I survived starvation as long as I did by consuming my own muscle tissue…
My saw breaks through, the branch drops in two, and the mess of lights it was tangled into falls away.
… It could have been worse. A least my vital organs didn’t take too bad a hit.
Not recovered fully yet…
Need to rebuild some muscle.
Perhaps I should use a gym?
Michael would be happy to let me use his.
I clip the wiring apart, disentangle it from the table legs, and the table’s free. As I lift and heave, another pair of hands appears, taking one end: the blond man whose injury Georgie dressed. Half his face is covered with a napkin, band-aided into place. “Got it,” he says. “We’re nearly done now. Why don’t you take a break?”
Kirstie, in her ramshackle wedding dress, picks her way through to me, tugging at her skirts where they snag on a branch. “Larry, I wanted to say thank you for looking after Paulie like that. I don’t know how I’d ever have faced his mother if…” She stalls. “You are okay? You weren’t hurt?”
“I’m fine. Never better.” Close up, I scan the rips in her trashed wedding gown. “I take it the dress took most of the damage?”
“Yes, who’d have thought of a boned corset for body armour?”
“Who indeed?” She’s a little sallow, her face sheened. “I thought you were going up to James’ and Michael’s place with Ryan?”
“We are. We’re just waiting for Richard. He’s going to drive us, but he’s making some phone calls first.”
“You’re really alright? You’re not hurt?”
“No, not hurt, but…” She hugs herself. “… Um… I’m a bit shaky if I'm honest. I’m… er… I’m trying not to let Ryan see it. It upsets him.”
I jerk my thumb at the wreckage of tree and tables. “You've seen worse than this. I know you have.”
“Ben you mean...” She jolts a glance across at Michael, but his attention is elsewhere as he drags tables out from under the debris, passing them back along the line. A small chain has formed, ferrying out to the truck. Georgie is directing kids of all sizes to the small stuff: undamaged chairs, crockery, floral arrangements, and anything else conceivably usable for a wedding celebration.
“Just so. Michael’s brother made everything personal. This isn't personal. It's just bad weather. And bad luck.”
She snorts, rubbing at her bare upper arms. “Mother Nature at her best.”
“And now you know why they call her a mother.” A small smile limps over her lips. “Here…” I snag my jacket from its nail, draping it over her shoulders, then… “’Scuse me…” I reach past her laced bosom to the inside pocket, fishing out my hipflask and unscrewing the top. “Have some of this.”
She blinks at the flask, not accepting it. “You carry a hipflask at a wedding?”
“Yes. Sorry, but sweet sherry's not my thing. Have a couple of swigs.” She extends fingers to the flask, pulls back, her eyes flicking one way and another, then takes it. A small swallow: she gulps and blows air. “God, that’s warm…”
“Which will do you good right now.”
“Dutch courage.”
“That was James’ comment once. However, unlike his case, Dutch courage is all you need here.”
“James?”
“Actually, the brandy's his…” I wrinkle my nose, rolling my eyes sidelong. The man himself, I notice, one tier of the wedding cake in his arms, is watching the pair of us from across the hall. “…but you don't need to tell him that.”
Her face finally twitches to a real smile and she takes a longer gulp, then waves across the devastation that was meant to be her wedding day. “It’s got a funny side, hasn’t it.”
“It has. I’m glad you see it. And you’ll have the wedding story of all stories to tell afterwards.”
She breaks into a grin. “You’re right.” She takes another swallow, her throat rippling. James, still watching, widens his eyes.
Kirstie huffs, then blows. “God, that feels better. Thanks. Just what I needed.” She wipes the neck with a grubby palm and offers back the flask.
“Thanks. So…” I take a sip and pass it back… She tilts her head back, throat glugging... “How are you finding married life so far?”
She coughs out enough brandy to be a fire hazard if we were any closer to the hearth, then cracks out laughing. “Eventful. And exciting in ways they don’t mention in the glossy magazines.” She takes another mouthful of brandy, getting it down her throat this time. “How about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. How are you finding married life?”
“Ahh… Less eventful that I’m accustomed to.”
She gives me a long look and passes back the flask. “Having trouble adjusting?”
I like Kirstie. James introduced me to her, with a side warning that she’s apt to shoot off her mouth without engaging her brain first. The flip side of the coin is that she tells it like it is. I can see why he considers her a friend. She’s good to talk to. All the friendship without any emotional complications.
“It's what I wanted. What I wished for. When I was trapped in that hole in the ground, most of what I thought about was Mitch and getting back to her.”
“You were there a long time. Months. Surely you were ready for some peace and quiet when James and Michael rescued you?”
I’m saved from having to answer. The photographer calls out. “Kirstie, could I have you back, please. I’d like some shots of you and Ryan against the window while we still have some daylight.”
*****
There’re plenty of hands on the work now. I stand back and watch.
James appears at my side. “How much of my brandy did you dose Kirstie with? And yes, I’ve noticed the level in the bottle falling. Now I know where it was going.”
“To a good cause, I think you’ll agree.”
“How much has she drunk?”
I give the flask a shake. It sloshes inside. “Maybe half. Want to help me with the rest?” I tip back a small sip then pass him the bottle.
He pulls a face, then glancing furtively around. “Oh, f**k it.” The flask tips back and empties with a small sucking sound.
Ryan appears at my shoulder. “What did you say to Kirstie? Whatever it was…” He leans forward, sniffing. “Brandy?”
“Yup. Got a problem with that?”
“Nope. Look at her…”
To a backdrop of the smashed window and the river, the crashed tree and the scaffolding, the chain of volunteers is rescuing the remains of the rescuable from the debris. In the foreground, a conveyor belt of aged aunts is lining up with small children to take their turn at having their pictures taken with a smiling Kirstie.
“It’s going to be a unique photo album,” comments James.
Ryan slaps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Larry. I can handle this…” He waves a hand across the devastated dining hall…. “… this shite… But I wanted this to be Kirstie’s day and…”
A short kid with a handful of cake and about as much again smeared over his face rushes out of the line and up to me. “You Cara’s Grandad K?”
“That’s right. Why d’you ask?”
“Is it right about the maggots?”
Ryan and James exchange glances… Hearing ice creaking under my feet, I reply carefully. “Yes, it’s true.”
“They wuz coming out her eyeballs?”
“Yeeesss…”
“Just her eyeballs? Or wuz it like her nose and her mouth too?” The cake aimed roughly at his mouth, another layer of chocolate veneer is plastered over his face.
“Yes. Her mouth and nose too.”
“That’s totally sick!” He breaks into a pumpkin grin. “Hey, can I stand next to you for my photo?”
The ground shifts under my feet. “I suppose so.”
“Great!” He thrusts a sticky hand at mine. “C’mon… Hey! I’m having my photo with Grandad K!”
Some elderly harridan in purple stamps forward, a tissue gripped in one hand. Advancing with purpose in her eyes, she snags him by the arm, bringing him screeching to a halt. Stooping to his eye level, she spits on the tissue then uses it to clean away the chocolate pebble-dashing his face.
The outer doors swing open and Michael enters with Haswell. His voice raised. “Alright everyone, the coaches are here. Everyone on board please.”
Haswell makes a bow and a flourish of the arm to Kirstie. “Your carriage awaits. Elizabeth, perhaps you could help Kirstie get to the car without wreaking any more damage on Mitch's workmanship. Ryan, would you like to accompany your wife please.”
*****
- Writer
