The Lover's Children novel Chapter 9

KLEMPNER

A Christmas tree takes up an entire corner of the lounge, the star at the top brushing the ceiling. It’s highly decorated, but not with anything purchased from a store. Mitch and Jenny both go for the Homemade Christmas look. Paper birds folded origami-style dangle from many of the branches. Mitch’s hand shows in a bewildering array of painted and glinting pine cones, acorns, clove-studded oranges and apples. The effect is striking, especially teamed up with the matching tree in the dining room and the monster that rears up in the hall. She and Jenny sit at the table, making yet more of their ornaments.

Why?

Why do people do this stuff?

I’m fooling myself. Mitch loves Christmas. I know that from long ago…

Maybe I should take her to Finland again?

Perhaps next year, when Vicky’s older…

Haswell folds up his newspaper, tosses it to one side with a snort, then sits, scowling, hands folded, thumbs orbiting each other. “Here we are, Christmas just around the corner and there’s nothing but bad news being reported. You'd think they could come up with one feel-good story.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Help yourself.”

I unfold the paper, scan the headlines. He has a point.

Terrorist attack in Mumbai…

Traffic pile-up in winter weather. Police blame speeding drivers…

Slasher killer takes third City prostitute…

Do you suffer from the winter blues?

Haswell looks over his spectacles at me. “See what I mean?”

“Mmmm… yes.”

James strides in; clean shirt, suit pressed, shoes polished.” Ready?”

Haswell checks his watch. Sighs. “I suppose. Wish I could duck out of that lunch meeting.”

From somewhere in the house, a baby starts bawling. Then a second wail rises.

Oh God...

Michael’s mongrel, Scruffy sits up from his basket by the hearth…

Looks like a badly-stitched doormat…

… aims its snout at the ceiling and joins the howl.

Lying over my feet, Bear shifts...

“Not you...” I growl…

... then subsides with a rumble, ears flattening.

How do people stand this?

… This… this… domesticity?

“Think I'll go for a walk.”

“Perfect timing.” Michael stands in the doorway. “Larry, if you’re at a loose end, can you spare me a couple of hours? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“What with?”

“Got a tree to cut.”

“Another one?”

He follows my swivelling head to the tree in the corner and grins. “Yeah, but not for us. This one’s for Ryan and Kirstie. I promised I’d provide the tree for their dining room. Want to help?”

“Why not?”

Knotting the rope on itself, I tie in an alpine butterfly, taking the end of the rope under the sidebar, then back through the loop of the butterfly. Returning it around the hook, I re-tension everything, then tighten it further with a series of half-hitches.

Michael pushes at the trunk. “Nope, that’s not going anywhere.” He eyes my knotwork. “You’ve done that before too.”

“I’ve moved a few awkward loads in my time, if that’s what you mean, yes. And knotwork is a useful skill for almost any way of life.” I eye the tree. “This dining room of Kirstie’s, how big is it? I know that mill she and Ryan bought is a big place, but…”

He gives me a good-natured grin. “Perhaps ‘dining room’ is the wrong phrase. Dining hall would be better. On the side facing the river, they’ve opened up the loading bays and merged them into one giant window. It’s huge. But the view is amazing. And they’ve built around it to scale. The ground floor is one enormous space, and they’ve opened part of it up to the next floor so they get a kind of minstrel gallery effect.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“They asked James for his advice on how to convert it. I think he decided to get creative.”

“I can imagine. But it sounds a bit over-sized for a family home.”

“It is, but I think their long-term plan is to convert one of the out-buildings into their actual home. They have plans to run the main building as a restaurant. But for now, they’re holding their wedding reception there. They’ve got guests flying in from here, there and everywhere.”

“And you’re providing the tree?”

“Among other things. They asked us to help with the wedding. We’re helping. C’mon, let’s move before the weather gets any worse.” He fumbles in a pocket for keys. “So, you’ve driven one of these before?”

“Many times.”

“Good.” He tosses me the keys. “I’ll play passenger then.”

In the driver’s seat, I turn the key, wondering what to expect from Michael’s antiquated vehicle. But the starter turns smoothly and the engine sputters to life, rattling the dashboard.

Pulling himself up into the seat next to me, Michael closes his door with a slam, clips in his belt, then relaxes back, wearing a huge grin.

He’s very cheerful…

I try the knob on the dash. “Any heating?”

“Just the blower, I’m afraid. Here…” He produces a rag of a towel from somewhere near his feet, swipes mist from his side of the windscreen then passes it to me. Tugging his jacket tighter around himself, tunelessly, he hums.