The Lover's Children novel Chapter 10

MICHAEL

Arriving at the mill, we pull in to a sea of mud. It’s not raining right now, but it was five minutes ago, and the clouds are threatening another downpour any time now. The temperature’s falling fast and mist swirls in from the river.

Klempner stamps out of the cab. Within a few steps, his boots are heavy with clay. He casts around with a doubtful eye, slapping his arms around himself. “When is it they’re having this wedding?”

“December twenty-ninth.”

“Hmmm.” Both face and tone remain neutral. Cold pinches at his face, turning his nose red and his skin ruddy. Although he’s more or less recovered from his underground ordeal, courtesy of that maniac Juliana, he’s not recovered all his weight yet and he’s still gaunt. Despite the blondish beard, there’s a faint hollow to his cheeks and a deep set to his eyes, which gives him the look of Scandinavia's answer to Christopher Lee.

“It’s this way.” I lead toward the main door, fronting the river. Planking acts as a rough walkway, laid out over the sea of sludge. We clunk along, the timber giving under our weight, sucking at the ground underneath.

As we round the corner to the terrace, raised voices ring out. Well, one raised voice: Ryan’s. From his tone, pitched-battle threatens.

Ryan, in gumboots and waxed jacket, scarlet-faced, stands eyeball-to-eyeball with an older man in workboots and overalls. “Won’t be finished? What d’you mean, not finished? I’m getting married in a fortnight. We’re having our reception here. You’re the foreman. You said…”

Klempner murmurs, “Perhaps we should come back?”

“Perhaps we should…”

… but the older man has seen us. Ryan follows his gaze, nods a curt Hello, then turns back.

Ryan is a striking-looking man and it is easy to see why Kirstie is attracted to him. But today… Shadow-eyed, he sags at the shoulders, his movement is heavy - even allowing for the six inches of ooze clagging up his boots

The foreman shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Dougherty. We’ve done our best, but what with all the time lost, stolen equipment, half the crew down with flu and the weather, we’ve just lost too much time on the project. We’re never going to be able to get the roof on in time.”

“Hire equipment. Hire more men…”

“I’ve done that, but there’s only so many you can put on the job at once. Especially for a roof. And the forecast is for more rain. And then snow. Even if we got the roof watertight, we’d still have to plaster inside, and in this weather, it’d never dry in time. If you slept guests in there, they’d be down with pneumonia by morning. The best I’m going to be able to do is get the roof tarped over and keep it dry inside so we can start on it again in the New Year…”

Ryan’s hands are fisting…

“… Maybe you should have decided to get married at a different time of year. You could always put it off ‘til the Spring.”

Ryan turns his back on the man, shaking his head in disbelief, now talking to me. He jabs a thumb backwards. “He promised me everything would be ready…”

The foreman shakes his head, his face sour…

“… He promised me. Oh, God, Kirstie…” Ryan rubs at his forehead. “What the hell do I tell her?”

Klempner, arms folded, looks up, around about, his eye evaluating, brow furrowing.

So do I. “Ryan, what exactly is unfinished? The last I saw, you had the roof fixed up, the door and windows in place. The electricity is working…” The great arched window overlooking the river is brightly lit, a warm glow spilling from the inside. “… So, what’s such a problem?”

“Yes…” Tension shimmers through his voice… “… all that’s done. But only in the main building. The wheelhouse is being converted into accommodation. One day, it’s where Kirstie and I plan to live eventually. But for now, we were supposed to be putting up some of the family in there for the wedding. It should have been ready. At least good enough for sleeping. Now Howards there tells me the roof won’t be in place.”

“Where are you living now?” says Klempner. “Can’t you put your guests in there?”

Ryan snorts. “Hardly.” He jerks a thumb at the battered trailer that he and Kirstie have been living in for most of the year. “You can barely swing a cat in there, even with just the two of us.”

“How many guests are we talking about?” I ask. “All of them?”

“Um, no.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. “Most are booked into hotels in the City. But Kirstie’s got family travelling from God-knows-where. There’s my family flying in from Ireland and some from Italy. They’ve booked tickets. Paid for the flights. They’ll never get accommodation this close to the New Year…”

“Ryan, stop flapping. How many?”

“Um…” He stares upward, counting fingers… “Sixteen… No, eighteen.”

“Just eighteen? The rest are all booked in elsewhere?”

“That’s right.”

“End of problem, then. At the end of the evening, they come up to our place and stay in the hotel.”

He stares at me. “I thought you said you were booked solid for Christmas and New Year?”