The Lover's Children novel Chapter 67

MICHAEL

The clatter of James in the kitchen drifts up the stairs. Peeling myself from the embrace of my lovely wife…

…my lovely pregnant wife…

… I tug on jeans and a working shirt. “Think you could spare me an hour or so today? I could use an extra pair of hands in the garden for a while.”

Charlotte yawns and stretches. “Sure, no problem. When do you wa…” Her words cut short at a sound from downstairs. A scream. A child’s scream.

Cara.

It’s not a happy squeal, but a real shriek of rage and fear. “No! No!… Noooo.”

Pelting down, I take the stairs three steps at a time, Charlotte right behind me. Mitch bursts from the lounge, Klempner behind her, reaching under his jacket for something.

Bear charges down the hall, overtaking all of us. Scruffy skitters behind him.

Cara’s howls are coming from the kitchen. “No! No! Nunky Jammy… No…”

James?

Not under any conceivable circumstances would James harm a child. Or even punish her hard enough to produce this howling, horrified reaction.

I burst into the kitchen, the door bouncing back on its hinges. James is squatting down by the hob, Cara hurling herself hysterically at him, little fists banging his arms and chest as he tries to calm her down.

“Bear! No!” Klempner’s urgent command brings the huge dog skidding to a halt, just shy of impacting James. “What the hell’s going on?”

James looks up from where he is fruitlessly trying to calm our distraught daughter. “Just a misunderstanding. Shhh, Cara, it’s alright. Shhh… It’s alright. I wasn’t hurting any of your chikkies.”

Cara wails, bawls, then pointing up to the work counter, bursts into tears. “Dada… Chikkies… Nunky Jammy… Chikkies…”

On the hob, a frying pan, hot enough to smoke, contains two eggs, popping and sizzling, cooked all but solid. On the counter, a third egg lies smashed, the contents trickling down to the floor.

Cara, scarlet-faced, streaming tears, totters towards me, waving one short arm up to the hob. I sweep her up into my arms and she buries her face into my chest. “Shhh… Cara. Everything’s alright. There’s no little chickens inside the eggs. Uncle Jamie hasn’t hurt the chikkies.”

She sobs, wiping grubby hands over her eyes. “No chikkies?”

“No. No chikkies. Let him show you. See for yourself.”

Gently, I pass her to James, who angles her toward the pan and its congealed contents. His voice is very soft. “See? No chikkies, Cara. I was just cooking eggs for breakfast.”

She sobs and sniffles as he rocks her quiet. “You see? They have to be special eggs for the chikkies to grow in. These are just ordinary eggs. Now why don’t you go with Mommie and Granny and have your breakfast. Like you usually do. If you like, I’ll do some more ordinary eggs and you can have dippy toast.”

Still rubbing fists into teary eyes, Cara nods as he passes her to Charlotte. Mitch makes a show and a fuss of sitting her at the table.

Klempner is already in his place, his expression semi-amused. “Catastrophe averted?” Despite the amusement, his knife lies on the tabletop and he’s slotting something into a holster under his jacket.

“Averted.” I shake my head. “It never occurred to me to think a toddler wouldn’t know the difference.”

James set a boiled egg and toast in front of the little girl. Mitch slices the top off the egg while Charlotte slices the toast into strips. Chomping happily, Cara dunks into the yolk, as usual getting more down her front and chin than into her mouth.

James produces coffee and teapots. “I’d no idea what she was so upset about. I thought she was trying to tell me she didn’t want an egg for breakfast. Then, when she saw me crack one into the pan, she went berserk.”

“She thought you were cooking her babies,” I point out. “She was defending them.”

Klempner huffs. “She couldn’t actually have done much damage.”

James muses, then smiles. “Just like her mother. Doing what she sees as the right thing, regardless of the odds.”

Richard and Beth appear at the door. “Have we missed something?”

*****

JAMES

Breakfast…

My extended, if slightly eccentric family gathers around the table…

Noise and chatter.

What will we all be doing?

Plans…

Happenings…

Mitch and Beth exchanging notes on clothes: for adults, for infants, for toddlers…

Charlotte attacking her customary gargantuan meal with her customary gusto…

I consider her plate…

Bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms…

Pregnant…

Scooping mixed berries into a bowl, I set it by her with the yoghurt pot. Mouth full, she flashes eyebrows and a smile at me.

Klempner…

Poached eggs… Three…

His daily habit, grown almost a holy ritual by now.

Michael crunches on toast, swilling it down with orange juice. “Mitch, Larry, I was thinking. Where you're living, by the stables. It was originally meant to be my office…”

Mitch’s face falls. “I know. I’m sorry. We've been imposing on your hospitality too long.”

“No…” Michael waves agitated hands… “That’s not what I meant at all. You haven't imposed at all. And that's not what I was going to say. The thing is, it's not suitable for you now. Or not for too much longer anyway. It was fine when you first came here with just you in there. But with you and Larry together. And a baby too. Vicky will grow up fast. A one-bedroomed apartment won’t work for you for much longer…”

Klempner pauses halfway into scooping up an egg. “What’s in your mind?”

“I was thinking that there’s no reason it has to stay a one-bedroomed apartment. There’s plenty of space to the rear to extend. You could have as big a home as you wanted there. If we fence it off you can have a garden.There’s mature trees growing already. We just need to clear the bramble thickets.”

Mitch’s face lights up. “We could have a swing for Vicky and somewhere for her to play with Bear and…”

Klempner takes one look at Mitch’s face. “Done! Let me know how much cash you need and when.”