Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 26

Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

The air is glacial, but although the breeze whips through my hair, I’m not cold. Instead, invigorated, I feel strong and ready for anything.

Standing by the frozen sea, I watch the wind drawing snow across the ice in a whirling dervish of frozen granules that lash around my feet. And I think of the last time I did this, here, with her.

Valentine’s Day coming up… I’ll be back in time.

Get her a present…

What would she like?

Something regional? She loved Helsinki…

Some of the local food?

Then I remember her bending over the porcelain, throwing up gravlax and vodka in equal measure…

Maybe not…

Jewellery?

Still persuading her to wear the emeralds I gave her…

A piece of art?

?

?

Perfect.

I head for the town centre, searching for galleries and craft shops, not knowing just what I’m looking for.

But I’ll know it when I see it…

Most are full of the kind of useless knick-knacks that are met with an ‘Oh, how lovely. You shouldn’t have.” greeting, then get pushed to the back of the cupboard: I-Heart-Helsinki fridge-magnets, overpriced chocolates and tee-shirts, dolls in fake Laplander costumes.

Weirdly, some of the gift shops are stocked with mementoes which seem to me completely out of place. Who comes to Helsinki to buy posters of London buses or ‘New York They named it twice’ tee-shirts?

Am I missing something?

Nope…

And then, there it is.

Beautifully painted by some local artist with more Js and Ks in the name than English allows: a scene of the frozen sea, painted from almost where I stood only a couple of hours ago with ice grit-blasting my clothes. A couple stand hand-in-hand looking out over a glinting scene of white and blue, and in the distance, a lone figure sits fishing.

The price, like everything in Helsinki, is horrendous, but who cares? Money is nothing. Mitch is…

… Mitch.

Padded and carefully gift-wrapped, I tuck the package under my arm and head back for the ferry port.

Time to go home…

Home?

When did I ever think of home before?

She’s waiting.

*****

Michael

“How is she?”

James props himself, both hands knuckled on the kitchen table, head bowed. “The same. Not good. I’d say she’s gotten past denial, but I almost wish she’d cry… Get it out of her system. Instead, she behaves as though she’s in shock.”

He's mourning the loss of a daughter…

She's panicking over gaining a father...

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

“Shock is probably the right word…” I say. “… Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent. It’s going to take time and support to get her past it.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “I think,” he says, “part of the problem is that not knowing much about him, she’s cooked up some idealised vision of Conners in her imagination…”

“The perfect father who never was?”

“As it turns out, yes.” He rubs at the back of his head. “How the hell do we deal with this?”

“Time may be the only thing that deals with it. We simply wait for her to come out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What we might try is to deal with the practicalities.”

“Like?”

“Like, when did she last have a bath? Or a proper meal?”

“Don't think she's had a bath since we got back. Just sits there wallowing in pizza boxes and boil-in-a-minute noodles. I’m happy to cook anything we can get down her, but first, we have to get her attention.” He jerks his chin towards the lounge. “You want to get in there again? Give it another try? I think this needs your touch.”

I pull up a seat, rock the chair back, cross my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this occasion, I think she needs what you give her.”

His eyes shift to mine. “You think?”

“Yes, I think. Hugs aren’t carrying this one. She needs knocking back into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might like to know,” I add, “that I turned on the heating downstairs first thing this morning.”

He Ahhhs in silence, then, “Maybe you’re right.” He stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come on then. You’d better be there too but stay in the background if you prefer.”

I follow him through to the lounge. Charlotte sits on the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced into the fire. She doesn’t appear to notice us.

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?