The Lover's Children novel Chapter 20

JAMES

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…” … cocking 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. Cocking 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?”