The Lover's Children novel Chapter 41

KLEMPNER

Haswell’s face lifts and behind the lenses, his eye crease. "Yes, you are. It comes with the marriage ritual. What did you think you were signing up for?"

I digest this. "How often is this part of the ritual played out? Exactly?"

His lips twitch. “As often as required.”

"Why the hell am I here at all? Mitch doesn't need me to choose clothes. She's dressed herself all her life."

"And beautifully too. Mitch’s taste is outstanding. You are here to make Ooh Aah noises on cue and produce your wallet on demand. As luck would have it..." He aims a finger across the floor... "... you won't be saddled with carrying the bags..."

I follow the finger. Haswell's driver, Ross, sits in an ice cream bar area, perched on a stool, a glass of something frothy on the counter next to him. Pen in hand, he's intent of what could be a crossword. As I watch, he chews at a lip then, giving a small, satisfied nod, pencils something in.

Hmmm...

A man who's done this before...

I wind my thumbs again. "Think I'll go for a stroll." I start to haul myself up out of the seat, apparently designed with dwarves and five-year-olds in mind.

Haswell doesn't look up. His paper rustles as he turns to the next page. "On your head be it."

I hover, semi-upright. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. When wives say Stay There, what they mean is, Be There When I Come Back."

Hmmm…

Clockwise again.

“How long will they be?”

“A while...” Haswell flips over the page. Share prices. “… But don't worry. They'll be out before you lose the will to live.”

“Oh…”

Anti-clockwise…

Husband…

Without meaning to, I huff a laugh under my breath.

Haswell’s paper lowers an inch. He regards me over the top of his spectacles. “What’s funny?”

I shrug. “Being here. Being married. Doing… married things… It’s not a situation I ever expected to find myself in…” His mouth twitches again… “Sitting in a department store, with you for Christ’s sake. It’s hardly as though we have much common ground.”

He folds the paper onto his lap. “Did you imagine that, in your role as husband, you’d be in charge? That somehow you owned your wife?”

“No, I didn’t. I don't own Mitch. I never wanted to…” Scepticism marches over his features… “Alright, yes, I was a trafficker. I've owned more women than you can imagine. But I never wanted to own Mitch. I wanted… I wanted her to want me. To give herself to me.”

Mitch and Beth appear, ignoring us, comparing reflections, nodding and discussing some detail or other. After a few moments, apparently in agreement, they vanish behind the curtains again.

Haswell watches the performance. “Perhaps we have more common ground than you think, Mr Waterman.”

For a moment I’m confused. The new label still sits uneasily on my shoulders. Then I remember… Lars Waterman… The name I was born with.

But my confusion must have shown. Haswell inclines his head. "Still finding it odd with the change of name?"

I shrug. "What's in a name? Anyone that knows who I am isn't going to be thrown by it. Anyone who doesn't simply sees Larry Waterman, respectable businessman."

"Respectable?" Haswell grimaces, a caustic expression that sets my teeth on edge.

"Respectable enough..." He snorts, then smiles... "... Don't you find it confusing when your wife calls you Master?" Haswell’s smile withers. "... You think I haven't heard it? When she thinks you're in private. Jenny’s the same. She tries to call him James if other people are around, but she doesn't always remember. For that matter, she's Jenny to me and Mitch, but Charlotte to everyone else who knows her. Mitch too. She went through a good part of her life known as Shelley."

Haswell ponders. Nods. “True enough.”

"Did they call you Dicky as a kid?"

He winces. "Richie actually, until I was old enough to insist on a bit of respect."

My tone bland, "You didn't like Richie?"

"Hated it." He folds arms, sits back. "Even when I was small, I would always introduce myself as Richard, but every single adult called me Richie until one day, when I was... oh, seventeen maybe, I threw my dummy out of the pram and insisted on being Richard."

"Really…?” Oneupmanship wars with curiosity…

I’ve scored my points…

Curiosity wins. “What did you do?"

Haswell casts a glance around, lowers his voice. "I was in my father's office. The secretary called me Richie one time too many that day, and I lost it. Threw the hole punch at the wall and missed. It hit the window, smashed the glass and scared the bejeezus out of the cat sleeping in the rosebed just outside. After that, everyone called me Richard."