The Lover's Children novel Chapter 77

KLEMPNER

“That will do nicely,” announces Mitch, pointing to a bench by a kids’ play park. A picket fence surrounds an area set out with swings, slides and small metal zoo animals on springs. “Adam and Cara can play in there while we have our lunch. And I can give Vicky her feed too.”

Bear groans pleasure, padding around, sniffing at this and that before stretching out, full-length in a sunny spot. Mitch decants Adam and Cara from their shared stroller. My daughter, I notice, has reins pre-clipped onto a harness, I presume against attempts at a break for freedom.

I set Vicky’s buggy in a sunny spot next to the bench. Mitch immediately moves it into the shade of an overhanging tree and raises the hood. “She’ll burn if you leave her in the sun like that.”

Unclipping the bag-of-holding-all-things she habitually carries, Mitch produces a length of thin cord, strung with a collection of small wooden animals. They’re unlikely companions. Pigs, ponies and parrots rub shoulders with kittens and cows, horses and hippos. Now I think about it, I think I saw her painting the collection a few days ago in eye-grabbing shades of pink, green, yellow and blue.

Looping the cord across the hood, Mitch jiggles the collection at Vicky, who gurgles, beams and grabs, tugging at a pony, sky blue with yellow polka dots. It’s not a good match for our daughter’s carroty hair.

Mitch aims a finger toward the gate. “There’s a burger stand just outside, at this end of the square. Why don’t you go get food for everyone and I’ll…?” She pauses as Adam’s face abruptly changes hue. I’ve seen aubergines that colour. I’d not realised the human face could achieve it.

Mitch sighs. “Someone needs changing.” She casts around, then spots the washroom block a little way down the path. “Just hold onto Cara for a moment, will you…” She pushes Cara’s reins into my hand… “I’ll take Adam to the bathroom.” Adam trots along beside her, quite placid, seeming perfectly happy.

Cara tries to run behind them, pulling up short against the reins. Turning back to me, she flaps an arm after them. “Ganny!”

“They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Ganny! Addie!”

“Just wait. They’ll come back.”

She runs again, again pulls up short. I hang onto the reins as she tugs at the leather strapping with fingers way too short to do the job.

Turning to face me, my granddaughter flings her mouth wide in a scream of defiance. Her face screwing up with raw fury, shrieking and struggling against the reins, she tries once more to run. This time, I tug up until she's hanging from my hand, her feet kicking an inch or so from the ground. “We’ve been through this before, Cara.”

Dangling, scarlet-faced, neck craned up to me, she screeches defiance.

I’ve seen that expression before, on Jenny. At the time, we were still enemies, and she was facing me down. A couple of minutes later, she smashed both my arms with a crowbar and knocked me unconscious.

I didn’t expect to see the expression on a child not yet two years old.

The shrieks grow louder, more piercing. Bear’s ears press flat back onto his skull.

How does a kid her size produce that amount of noise?

I wait…

And she keeps screaming...

After a minute she's growing heavy, so I loop the reins around the branch of the overhanging tree. Could be an oak. The branches are usefully horizontal.

At first, Cara doesn’t realise what I’ve done. The shrieks climb another octave. A dog turns, staring uncertainly in our direction. I move to stand where my dangling granddaughter can see me. Arms folded, I wait for her to notice.

Another minute and Cara stops squawking, looks up, looks at me. I could perch a clock on her lower lip, but at least the racket has stopped.

So, I let her down.

Again, she tries to run, to chase after Mitch. And again, she yanks up short on the reins.

Hurling herself to the ground, she slams fists and feet at the turf. Once more, I yank her up off her feet and let her hang, her feet clear of the ground. The screaming continues.

Some woman with a stroller gives me a sympathetic look as she passes. “They're dreadful at that age, aren’t they?”

“It’s a new experience for me, I’ll grant you.”

She drops me a wink. “It gets better. You’ll love being a grandparent.”

“Is that so?” But she’s already moving on.

With no sign of the storm abating, once more, I loop the long reins around the tree branch, leaving Cara with her feet two or three inches from the grass. Unfolding my newspaper, I sit by her on the bench and wait for the weather to improve. I shake out the paper onto the City news pages.

Price of building land increases 6% in last quarter…

That won’t please Haswell…

?

Or does he already own it?

Cara helicopters arms and legs, bouncing the branch not a fraction with her efforts, all the while yowling like a banshee with toothache.

I flip to the next page…

Police Commissioner under increased pressure in serial-killer debacle…

Hmmm…

No wonder he asked for help…

The screams drop to whimpers. Still scanning the headlines, I say, in conversational tone, “I'm a lot bigger than you. Who do you think’s going to win this?”

Silence falls and I look my granddaughter in the face. Her mouth pushes into a pout and she stares at her feet.

Then the face lifts. In seconds, the colour fades to a normal pink. Smiling toothily, she holds out her hands to me, exuding candy ‘n spice charm. “Gandy Kay.”

Your mother’s daughter for sure…

“If I let you down, will you behave?”

She beams, nodding. “Ya… ya… ya…”

“Fine. If I let you down and you start that again, you’ll spend the rest of the day hanging from that tree.”

Another toothy grin.