The Lover's Children novel Chapter 21

GEORGIE

Astonishingly, almost no-one is hurt. Despite the apparent complete devastation, the only serious damage is to the window itself.

Ryan is already brushing off sympathy. “It’s fine. That’s what insurance is for, isn’t it.”

Larry, radiating bafflement, has a cluster of small children gathered around him, tugging at his trouser leg, demanding attention.

In fact, the only significant damage seems to be to the silver-blond man. And I’m the practical type. I always have a small supply of life’s emergency necessities with me. My purse pinned under one elbow, I delve inside for the tissues and band-aids that I know are lurking somewhere at the bottom.

“Sit down. Let me look at that for you…” His eyes roll as he sees it’s me... “I know you don’t like me, but I only want to clean up that cut on your cheek.” He’s bleeding freely in the way of injuries to the face, even small ones. “Do you know what hit you?” Whatever it was caught him hard enough to leave an impression marked onto his skin running from cheek to temple, rapidly bruising blue.

His expression is neutral “It could have been one of the pegs from a guy rope. Might have been something from the tree. Or flying glass maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Okay. The cut looks like a clean slice, so I don’t think there’ll be too much dirt in there. Just let me…”

Sparkling water isn’t a classic surgical agent, but it’s what’s to hand. Working from the outside, I dab away the blood. “Could have been a lot worse. It’s caught you on the side of the face. I’m sure it’s making your head ring, but if it had caught you square on, it could have smashed your nose or taken an eye.”

“Instead, I’m left with the kind of scar duellists used to brag about.” He swallows. “I owe you an apology.”

I pause in my dabbing… “Do you?” … then toss the red-stained tissue into a dish where it soaks up the remains of a cream and mustard sauce.

“I think I do...”

He tries to turn to face me, but I snap out a hand, pinning his chin. “Keep still. It’ll sting if I get the wrong spot.”

He winces, then lets out air. After several seconds, “Yes, I think I do. You saved the day back there. At the least, I should acknowledge that.”

I rub at a bit of crusting blood. “I yelled.” Then to some random body standing beside me, “Is there any vodka around here?”

“Yes,” he says. “You yelled. And everyone moved. No-one else had seen what was happening. Another half a minute and a lot of people would have been in the path of the scaffold and the glass as it came through. Not to mention the tree. You bought them that half-minute.”

“I suppose I did. But anyone else would have done the same.”

“Of course they would. But it was you…”

“Here…” Something is thrust into my hand: half a bottle of vodka… I check the label; 40% ABV.

“Thanks.” Upending the bottle over a fresh tissue, I work at the cut… With a better view of the damage, it’s more of a gash. “I’ll dress it for now, but it might need stitches.”

“Maybe.” His tone is non-committal. “But it’ll wait for now.” He’s side-on to me as I work into the wound. The bleeding is slowing but it’s a messy business.

Eyes sliding my way, “I have a confession. It was your drink. The barman set me right. Properly right, I might add. He gave me the sharp side of his tongue. I tried to find you, but you’d vanished.”

“I went outside,” I whisper.

“Just as well that you did. If you hadn’t a lot of people could have been hurt. As it is, almost no-one was.”

“Just you.”

“Yes, just me. And here you are again, putting it right.”

His hand snaps out, grabbing my wrist and, quite irresistibly, drawing it down from his face. He turns to face me. “Borje.” He releases my wrist, extends his hand to shake.

“What?”

“Borje. My name.”

A bit uncertainly, I take the hand, squeeze it, “Georgie.”

“Nice to meet you, Georgie. Perhaps we got off to a bad start?” He smiles, and it’s like the splash of sunshine on this face. The ice in his eyes shades to sky.

Something shifts behind me and a palm drops onto my shoulder. “Georgie, here you are. I’ve been looking for you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry about me.” I talk back over my shoulder, but before me, Borje’s face freezes then cracks into a broad grin. “No wonder you looked familiar. You’re James’ daughter, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. I… Oh!” Realisation dawns. “When you asked if we knew each other…”

“Yes… I wasn’t trying for a cheap chat line. I really thought you seemed familiar. And look at you. The pair of you. Side-by-side…” He waves his hand between me and my dad, still chuckling.