The Lover's Children novel Chapter 54

JAMES

“… As though you're a role model for anyone."

"You mean I encouraged Georgie to be herself? To grow up strong and make her way in the world. To achieve things for herself. And despite all your efforts to turn her into your puppet, she has. Look at her. PhD. Self-supporting. A place at the university.” I straighten up, fold my arms. “She's not out there trying to milk some man for funds to pay her way."

Sarcasm was always wasted on Marlene. "Why shouldn’t she do that? Georgie might want to be a wife and a mother and look after a home."

"She might indeed. But if she does, then she'll do it on her own terms, instead of resorting to it because she has no skills of her own. It will be her own choice what she does with her life."

Her lower lip trembles. I’m unimpressed. That one stopped fooling me around the third time I paid off her credit card. Arms still folded, I wait.

Her eyes narrow. “So you won’t let me see her.”

“It’s not a question of me not letting you. I told you. I don’t believe Georgie’s here. Next time, why don’t you call her beforehand and arrange a meeting, instead of turning up on spec?”

“She’s not answering my calls. And she doesn’t return my messages.”

“Really? I wonder why that would be?”

“I want to see her!”

“Then I suggest you get Georgie’s agreement. Meanwhile Marlene, please leave…” Her head lifts and her chin juts… “… or would you like me to ask Michael to have you escorted off the premises?”

The lip-tremble thing again. Perhaps this time it’s genuine. She u-turns, stamping out of the office then across the lobby. I follow her, holding the door open, then closing it behind her.

Michael magically appears by my side. “James,” he murmurs. “D’you have any problem with it if I give instructions to refuse her entry? One or two of the guests were upset by that.”

“No problem at all. Can I help with the guests?”

He sniffs, shakes his head. “It’s okay. I calmed them down with some free massage and pamper sessions. But I’d rather not have to do that.”

“I’ll message Marlene; make sure she knows she’s not welcome. If she wants to see Georgie she’ll have to arrange it elsewhere.” It dawns on me that I’m looking at just Michael. “Where’s Cara?”

He grins, cocking his head back. “See for yourself.”

In the waiting area, my little girl, gripping a clutch of shiny leaflets to her chest, toddles to a guest, shoves a leaflet at her. “Ga… Ga… Ga…”

The guest, a well-dressed middle-class looking type beams. “Why thank you, Dear.” She beams across to Michael. “Helping Daddy already? That’s very good.”

“Ya… Ya… Ya…” Cara toddles to an older man, thrusts a leaflet, slightly screwed up, at him. Eyes creasing, he accepts it. “Thank you, Sweetie. That’s very nice.”

Michael hooks thumbs into his pockets, gives a short nod. “Told you it would be good for her confidence.”

“Good for her? At this rate, she’ll be taking over the world before it takes two puffs to blow out the candles.”

*****

KLEMPNER

At the department store where Haswell decided to gift me marriage advice a few days ago, Mitch displays her exchange: a pair of green court shoes. “Much better, don’t you think? They’ll be a far better match for the dress.”

I eye the shoes, identical to the ones returned. And since any clothes Mitch hangs on herself automatically look good, the whole affair seems to me to be a complete waste of time.

What would Haswell say?

“I’m sure they will.” I check my watch. “Time to pick up James.”

*****

In the Haswell offices, Kirstie greets us from the lobby desk with a smile. “Hi, Larry. Hi, Mitch. James told me to expect you. Go straight up.”

On the directors’ floor, we’re met by Haswell’s PA, an attractive woman, if slightly prim-looking. “Mr Waterman is it? And Mrs Waterman? Mr Alexanders said to tell you he’ll be a few minutes yet.”

She nods through an internal window to where James, shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie and top button loosened, stoops over a conference table. Spread with rolled-out plans, pinned at two corners with a day-glo yellow hard hat and a stapler, and at the others with a steel-capped boot on each, he’s in deep discussion with a man in rough working clothes. Looking briefly up, he flashes brows, touches his wrist and raises five fingers.

The PA ushers us to a waiting area set out with the ubiquitous too-low seating and table designed for midgets and amputees. “Would you like a coffee while you’re waiting?”

“Yes, I would…?”

“Francis.”

“Thank you, Francis. Yes, coffee would be good. Black.”

“Mrs Waterman?”

“It’s Mitch. And yes, thank you. Milk.”

“Lydia, two coffees please, for Mr and Mrs Waterman.” The request is addressed to the crouched back of a figure, working slowly and uncertainly through the drawer of a filing cabinet.

“Yes, Mrs Colby.” The figure straightens up, making for the coffee machine, then pauses as she sees me. “Oh!” She breaks into a simpering smile. “It’s you.”

?

??

Mitch Tuts and jabs her elbow into my ribs. “Hello, Lydia. I see you’re settling in.”

He shoots me a look that would wither fruit on the stem, but Mitch joins me, thumping his shoulder from behind. “Oh, God, Larry. I’ve never seen you looking so terrified. You’ve faced down gunmen, gangsters and psychotics in your time, but you were felled by one little girl.”

He growls. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mitch is not intimidated. “The great Larry Klempner, running from a schoolgirl crush.”

I clamp my jaws, opting for diplomatic silence.

“Shut the fuck up, James,” he mutters.

“I never said a word.”

“Your silence was deafening.”

I turn away, aiming my smile out of the passenger window.

*****

PAT

I enjoy my night strolls, cruising the streets, the heart of the City, seeing what there is to be seen. The contrast. The contradictions. The Yin and the Yang.

Tonight’s not unusual. Moonless, dark with rain, bright with the dazzle of traffic and neon. The roads and sidewalks are black with the night, shiny with the wet, marbled with long reflections in red and orange.

Only trouble is, the rain’s sending the street-hookers into hiding. Doubtless, they’ll be out again later, most of them charged up on vodka and whatever hit is the current favourite.

The rain falls harder, hard enough to rebound from the sidewalks, sluicing gutters and battering windshields, and I take temporary shelter under the awning of a burger stand.

Nearby, a couple share an umbrella at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at cinema boardings. She’s making Ooh-Ahh noises at a chick-flick. He wants to watch some all-action-effects-and-no-script heap of crap.

Whatever they might have decided is lost as a taxi swooshes past through the puddled gutters. Water arcs up, drenching the pair. She stands gasping like a stranded fish. He spins, yelling abuse at the vanishing vehicle.

“That’s not funny.”

I turn to face the source of the comment. The stallholder, a weaselly type except for the long nose he’s looking at me over, flips burgers on the hotplate. Already overcooked, they don’t look fit for dog food. Stirring onions over the hotplate, he purses a mouth like a cat’s asshole. “You shouldn’t laugh at them. It’s ruined their evening.”

I shrug. “Their problem.”

His expression hardens. “You going to buy something? What with using my stand and blocking the way for other customers.”

“There ain’t no other customers. It’s raining like God’s taking a piss.”