The Lover's Children novel Chapter 22

GEORGIE

Michael raises cupped hands to his mouth, bawling out over the milling masses. “Right, listen to me everyone. This wedding is not off…”

Guests move and murmur and shuffle…

“…I repeat. The reception is going ahead. The bride and groom have been safely married... “He grins… “… That’s the important part as I’m sure you’ll all agree. For the rest, the timetable’s moving along a bit, that’s all…”

The murmuring grows, puzzled glances exchanged.

“… For now, can you all please keep to the back of the room and wrap up warm. Kyle and the ladies will be coming round with hot punch while we make arrangements to move everyone…”

… then I spot Charlotte at the bar, gaily glugging bottles of martini and rum into an enormous pan. Next to her Beth is slicing leftover lemons and tipping them into the devil’s brew.

A white-coated caterer appears, dumping a crate on a nearby table, red wine by the look of it. Another sets out a gas-ring, a large scale version of the kind a camper might use. One more shuffles through the door backward with a butane-bottle on a sack-truck.

The scents of cloves and cinnamon are already spiking through the air…

Gonna be a few hangovers tomorrow…

Can’t be helped…

Collateral damage…

The crowd makes a general surge towards Charlotte’s thrown-together booze stand.

Michael appears at my side, Mitch and Georgie following. “James, you’re with me.”

“Doing what?”

“Rescuing what we can from here, then getting it back to the hotel. We’re opening up again. We have wedding guests to feed and party. James, you take charge of the kitchen.”

“Party? Where? You said the restaurant is booked up.”

“The gym. Rescue whatever’s useable, then get yourself up there. Take Mitch with you. Georgie, I need you to organise getting the tables from here to there. Mitch, you’re in charge of setting out the dining. Get the tables laid out, then find some way of decorating them. The gym itself too if possible. Make it look like we’re having a party.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Michael flashes eyebrows. “First off, I have a coach driver to bribe. There’s at least three of them up at the hotel that have been ferrying in the big office Christmas outings. There’s bound to be someone who’ll turn out if we pay him enough.”

Georgie’s eyes scour the hall. “How do I get the tables there?”

“Use the truck.”

“I can’t drive a truck.”

Klempner pushes forward, a small boy in his wake. “I can. Georgie, see if you can round up half a dozen men to take the tables down and pack them into the van.”

Borje drifts in from left-of-field, hand raised. “One volunteer reporting for duty. I’ll pull in some of the other guys too.”

Michael slaps a hand on his shoulder. “Good man. Now, all we have to do is find a way of getting Kirstie and Ryan up to the hotel in style.”

“I’m here.” Richard tugs his waistcoat straight. “Leave that one to me…” He turns, scanning. “Where’s Ross?”

Richard’s driver appears as though by magic. “Here, Mr Haswell.”

“Ah, yes, Ross. Get hold of whoever’s manning the offices today. Tell them to raid the hospitality suites for drinks. Wine, spirits and especially champagne. Anything else that’s there too. Snacks, nuts, chips. Whatever’s to hand.”

“Yes, Mr Haswell… Um... The roads…”

“Find out who I have to… um… incentivise… to keep that snowplough moving up and down the mountain for the next couple of hours. You can let them know I’ll be very appreciative of their help in keeping that road open.”

*****

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 fucking 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.