The Lover's Children novel Chapter 98

MICHAEL

In the house, all seems well. As it turns out, Mitch and Beth were doing double-duty between them to babysit, taking turns for a catnap whilst Cara and Adam, safely in their pen, play together. Which is to say, as we arrive, Cara is beating Adam over the head with a foam-rubber hammer. He retaliates with a squawk, lobbing plastic building bricks at her. Vicky watches from the side-lines by Mitch, goggle-eyed.

“In fact,” comments Beth, “having two of them isn’t really double the work, because they entertain each other.”

James sucks his cheeks to hollows. “That’s entertainment, is it?”

Apparently dissatisfied with its potential for violence, Cara abandons the foam hammer, instead grabbing Adam’s bricks to launch back at him.

Then, right on cue, Cara’s face screws up, turning a shade of purple more suited to an eggplant. Her wartime footing with Adam forgotten, mouth wide, she issues a wail like an air-raid siren.

“Whoops!” Charlotte swoops, scooping up the toddler. “Someone needs changing.” She kisses her on the forehead then wrinkles her nose, but nonetheless, Charlotte’s smile is back. “How’s Mom’s best girl? Come on...” Then, bouncing Cara in her arms… “…Let’s get rid of that nasty nappy, shall we.” The pair exit towards the bathroom.

Five minutes later, they’re back, Cara now happily gurgling. But as they enter, Cara sees Adam in the pen, doing something complicated with a fluffy blue elephant. With a screech, her arms fling out, and as her feet touch base in the pen, she muscles across for possession of the elephant. Adam latches on to his prize, chubby arms wrapped around, squalling defiance until Mitch steps in, pushing a knitted pink and purple rabbit into Cara’s clutches.

James’ voice is dry. “She’s going to be a handful, isn’t she, our daughter…” Charlotte Tuts exasperation… “…She takes after her mother…”

“Or maybe her father,” I add.

“Maybe.” James slants me a glance, mouth twitching. “I missed most of this first time around.”

“Enjoying it?”

“You have no idea.” The twitch morphs to a grin. He slaps a hand onto my shoulder. “Your turn next.”

Charlotte regards us with cool eyes, then murmurs something to Beth, who listens, then nods. Pulling the door closed behind her, Charlotte leaves, Beth’s eyes following her.

What was that about?

“Yay!” Adam yells, lobbing a green foam brick, mortar-style, up out of the pen, followed by another in yellow. Beth snatches both of them, mid-air, with the practiced skill of a pro-fielder. But she won’t meet my eye.

Hmmm…

“Mitch,” I say, “Have you and Larry gotten any further with your ideas on how you’d like your apartment extending? And that area at the back.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, yes. We’ve been talking about it.” Then she looks away, flushing. “Actually, after you cleared the scrub, I’ve been talking about it. Larry just nods, agrees to everything I say and tells me to let him know when you need some money off him.”

“A free hand, then. If Beth and James here are happy to take over baby-sitting duty, why don’t you walk me around what you want.”

*****

Half an hour later, to the rear of Mitch’s apartment, a mass of string and pea canes mark the layout for water supply, drainage, and power cables.

“Here?” I prop my latest cane upright on the ‘lawn’, actually a bramble patch cut, slashed and macheted down to ground level.

Mitch angles her hand. “A bit to the left. Otherwise, the fountain will be too close to the tree.”

Fountain?

Nice idea though…

My phone bleeps. Incoming message. As I read it, “Um, you’ll have to excuse me for a while, Mitch. Charlotte wants me.”

Her mouth twitches. “Of course.”

Walking away, I keep the smile off my face, but can’t help the way the heat blooms inside at Charlotte’s message: a single word.

Now.

I know what that means.

Can it really be that accurate?

I don’t know, but I’m not about to argue. I just tap in a reply.

On my way.

Popping my head around Charlotte’s study door, she’s not there. But her chart is, pinned to the wall, tracking her body temperature. Sure enough, it shows a rise over the last twenty-four hours or so. There’s another one too, a scatter chart going back some weeks. I’m less sure what it’s illustrating, but the left axis is marked: ‘Dry’, ‘Creamy’, ‘Wet’, ‘Egg white’.

There are some mysteries of the female physiology I prefer not to explore too deeply. Still, the dots run up and down in a cycle, and the last one or two are ringed in red felt tip.

I scratch my scalp, considering that information.

Time to make my own contribution.

Bedroom…

*****

Charlotte’s waiting for me, a sheet drawn up covering up over her breasts. Her wealth of hair lies loose, a copper-red contrast to the white linen. And she’s made-up her face, but only just: a hint of colour at cheeks and lips. A bare darkening of lashes and lids. Her eyes, green and glorious, are all my Charlotte needs.

“Hi, Babe.”

She draws back the sheet, inviting me in and my shaft nudges to life. “I’m sweaty. Let me have a quick shower first.”

Sucking at her lips, she gives a small nod. Her expression…

Serious…

Almost sombre…

Normally her face would glow with anticipation. The knowledge of what we are about to do.

Worrying?

I’d intended to dash in and out of the shower. Instead, I take an extra minute or two, give myself time to think.

Facing up into the stream from the jets, water sluices down, taking sweat and grime with it. But I’m not easy. Normally by now, I’d be at full mast. Instead, my erection rises half-hearted and tentative.

Is this getting out of hand?

Still, confident that I’m once more ‘nice to know’, I rinse off, throw on a robe and wander back into the bedroom, scrubbing a towel over my hair.

Charlotte follows me with her gaze as I perch a hip beside her. “I checked my temperature this morning and it’s the right time and…”

“Hey, Babe. Relax. Chill out.” I tilt up her chin with a finger. “It's just us now.”

“But… I promised you a baby…” Her voice quakes… “And it’s important to you. And…”

“Charlotte, we'll have one, but relax. It's me.” It’s not just her voice. Her chin and lip are trembling too.

When did you ever tremble?

Never…

Not through pain or fear or even what must have been the outright terror of when, in the throes of labour with her first child, Charlotte was imprisoned in barbaric conditions.

Never have I known her to tremble.

“You're taking this too seriously…”