Chapter 133 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 25
JAMES
“I’ll see you out.” Richard apanies Stanton to the front door.
As the door swings closed behind them, Charlotte murmurs to her father, “Did you arrange it?”
“Arrange?” He stands, works through the drinks tray, then helps himself to another brandy. “Arrange
what?” He offers up the decanter. “Anyone else?”
“You know what.”
Klempner appears to address the wall. “I wouldn’t call it arranging. But I let it be known that Harkness is
no friend of mine. And the nature of the injury he inflicted on your mother. And that I’d consider that I’d
owe a favour to anyone who… took an interest. The natural inclinations of some of the hard-liners did
the rest.”
“Natural inclinations,” snorts Mitch. “Natural justice, more like. ”
“Even better. Natural justice.” Klempner raises his ss, and this time it’s definitely a toast. “Harkness,
destined for a life of soft food, soup and sodomisation. I’d say the glove fits. Wouldn’t you?” His eyes
glint.
“Justice?” says Richard. “Or revenge?”
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Klempner meets him, nd-faced, in the eye. “Sometimes, life offers the happy opportunity tobine
the two.” His gaze skirts Mitch’s face again. He takes arge swallow of the brandy, smacks his lips.
“Oldest principle of justice in the world. Leviticus. A tooth for a tooth.”
“If it gets too bad,” growls Richard, “the prison authorities will move him.”
“Perhaps his reputation will follow him,” says Charlotte.
“Perhaps it will,” agrees Klempner, ndly.
Charlotte winds a lock of hair around a finger, appearing to work through some internal conflict.
Unwinds it. Winds it back. “Dad… Did you have that kind of problem when you were inside?”
Klempner arches brows, lips twitching. “No.” He rocks his hand. “Not beyond the first twenty or thirty
minutes, anyway.”
“No one tried?”
He grins a shark-grin. “Oh, they tried.”
“Larry…” Mitch tucks her knitting into the Bag-of-Holding-All-Things. “I find I’m quite tired. I think I’d like
an early night.”
*****
Beth looks to Richard. “They might have gotten the money from somewhere else.”
Charlotte rolls eyes skyward. “You think? I''d say my dad’s happy to put out a signal on what will happen
to anyone who messes with his family.” She levels a finger at Beth. “That includes you.”
*****
MICHAEL
The air’s brisk and clear. Ice traces the edges of puddles. My woollen sweater, a thick cable-knit,
Mitch’s hand-made contribution, is cosy andfortable.
Extra nesting boxes constructed. An extension to the chicken run almostplete.
A good morning’s work…
And I can feel a coffeeing on…
Strolling into the kitchen, I’m not particrly intending to be quiet, but at the door, mid-stride, I halt…
And there it is. The sight that I, and the rest of the male family members, have learned means…
… Something…
Three red-topped heads, clustered together over the kitchen table. Mitch speaks rapidly and quietly, a
mug of her mint tea cupped between palms. Beth holds another. Charlotte''s mug drifts coffee-scented
steam, but sits untouched beside her.
Decaf?
Three heads. Whispering and nodding.
Hmmm…
A voice rumbles low close by my ear. James. “Do I scent conspiracy in the female contingent?”
I murmur a reply. “I’d say so. Think we should interrupt and investigate?”
“Oh, I’d say so.” James clears his throat. Three faces, each a mask of innocence, pop up. He ambles to
the hob, reaches for the coffee pot. His tone casual, “What were you talking about?”
Charlotte manifests a smile little short of cherubic: a suspicious act in its own right. Mitch paints on a
matching guileless expression. Beth speaks up. “It''s a lovely forecast for tomorrow. We might not get
many more days like this before winter moves in. We thought we might take a day off and go for a
pic. All of us. ”
A pic?
Sounds innocent enough…
James and I exchange nces…
“A pic?” He probes at the word, as though with a tongue at a loose filling.
“Yes, to the City park. Adam and Cara would love it and Vicky would enjoy the fresh air. It would be
good for her.”
Hmmm…
But it’s hard to read anything rming into a pic with the children.
“Yourst pic in the park was interrupted,” Iment.
“So it was,” agrees Mitch. “I''m sure Larry won''t repeat his mistake.”
*****
“They want a pic with the kids?” Klempner shrugs. “What could you possibly read into that? I don’t
see the problem.”
“I think,” says Richard, “It’s implicit that we…” He winds a circle in the air around our group… “…
should all attend and remain in attendance.”
Klempner sniffs and rubs his nose. “Yes, message received loud and clear on that point after thest
time.”
*****
The forecastes true in a ze of autumn gold: that final gilded kiss of the sun you get when winter
looms and you know there are only a few days before thest crisped leaves fall and the mornings turn
silver.
In the kitchen, I assemble strollers, nkets, and a cheap kickabout ball. James chops and cuts at the
counter. Klempner looms behind him. “I thought we were going for a pic. Not setting out on a military
campaign.”
James continues dicing fruit into a stic container, nodding to where Mitch is packing sandwiches for
an army into a carryall. “I suggest you discuss it with your wife.”
Klempner rocks on his heels. “I’ve learned better than that.”
James flicks eyes sidelong, his cheeks hollowing. “Wise man.”
He scrapes bread crusts into a bowl, fruit cores, peel and veggie stalks into the chicken bucket. Then,
in response to the twin groans from beneath the counter, scraps of ham fat and cheese rind off the
board and down. “Anything else, Mitch?”
Rummaging through the Bag-of-Holding-All-Things, she pops up, surveying the stack on the table;
“Something dainty for Adam and Cara? Finger-rolls maybe?”
“Already packed.”
“In that case, it’s just Vicky’s bottle and I’m good to go.”
Beth tucks a rolled-up tartan nket into the pack, filling gaps with tubes of sun cream in Factor-Block-
The-Lot.
Klempner wears that baffled expression he gets. “Do we really need all this?”
“Autumn days can be hot,” I point out. “Small children can burn easily. And both Adam and Cara have
fair skin. Vicky even more so.”
*****
The day is glorious. In the park, we’re not the only ones taking advantage, couples and families,
cyclists and joggers and walkers, oldsters on benches watching youngsters ying on slides and
swings.
My ball is an instant hit with Adam and Cara. I kick and they run after it, screaming. The rules of the
game are unclear, bing more so when Scruffy and Bear join the game. Since Scruffy''s
interpretation of the football rules consist of him getting the ball and keeping it as long as possible, the
game grinds to a halt until I produce the second ball, kicking it off into the blue yonder for the dogs to
retrieve.
Charlotte sits propped against a tree trunk, one hand cupping her stomach, the other holding a book.
James reads too, his head in herp. Elizabeth and Mitch sit by Vicky, ying with brightly painted
wooden animals on the tartan rug. Flipping through glossy magazines, they sip chilled wine as they
chat. Snatches of conversation drift by. “So, what do you think of the blue one?”
“It''s a bit fussy don''t you think? All thatce.”
“Maybe you''re right… How about that one, in the green?”
“Much better. A bit too in actually. Could do with essorising…”
This was a great idea…
So, what was it all about yesterday?
It’s hard to see what could possibly have produced the conspiratorial red-headed huddle I saw the
previous day.
Klempner and Richard share a nearby bench. Richard shakes open his paper and, one ankle cocked
onto a knee, Hmmms satisfaction as he scans the financial pages. Briefly, he squints upward, then tugs
his hat forward, shading his eyes.
Klempner simply sits and stares. Leaning back, arms outstretched left and right on the back rail, his
vacant gaze alternates between Mitch and somewhere lost ‘out there’. But he doesn’t look unhappy.
His eyes are soft, his breathing even.
Red-faced and panting, Cara flops down by Charlotte. Adam by Beth. Mitch murmurs to Beth, who in
turn catches Charlotte''s eye.
Charlotte nods and stirs, folding away her book, disturbing James, saying something quiet to him.
Mitch rises, folding up nkets, packing away magazines and snacks. “Come along, Larry.”
He blinks back to life. “Where are we going?”
“To feed the ducks.”
His forehead wrinkles. “But we did thatst time.”
“And we were interrupted if you recall. Cara and Adam would like to do it again.”
Klempner shrugs and stands, Richard with him. James exchanges a nce with me, but tucking a slip
of paper into the pages of his book, he finds his feet.
The women work in a kind of unspoken coordination. As Beth finishes packing the hamper, Richard
takes it from her. “What’s going on?” he murmurs.
Sea-green eyes rise to meet him. “Perhaps nothing,” she says, “But let''s see.”
“Elizabeth…”
“Master, please. Shhh... This is for Mitch.” Richard pauses, then demurs.
James interrogates Charlotte with a nce, but tight-lipped, she meets his gaze with a steady eye.
So, strolling down to the pool, Cara and Adam toddling ahead of us over tight green turf, we have to be
content with that.
*****
KLEMPNER
There’s an odd mood as we head downhill. Mitch wears an indefinable air of determination. And it’s
rubbed off on Jenny and Beth. The three walk side-by-side, their men trailing behind. I carry Vicky.
Cara charges ahead. Adam rides Haswell’s shoulders.
Haswell and James seem thoughtful. Michael has a kind of wondering look around his eyes.
Down by the paddling pool, gaggles of children are gathered with families, some already tossing in
scraps of bread to a pping, quacking, onught of ducks.
A boy of maybe six or seven wades through the water trying to persuade the breeze to fill the sails of
his toy yacht. A girl, a bit younger, tows arge stic duck behind her, bright yellow, its beak gaping in
an inane grin.
As she realises where we’re headed, Cara raises a yell, galloping to the pool as fast as short legs will
carry her. Adam, seeing her dash away, shrieks to be let down, then follows in her wake. Btedly,
Cara u-turns back to Mitch. “Quack-quacks, Gammy! Quack-quacks!”
Mitch is prepared, doling out handfuls of bread crusts, left-over sandwiches and scraps of pastry.
Clutching their prizes, my granddaughter and her ‘brother’ dash in to meet the vee-formation of ducks
abandoning their previous benefactors, ploughing a wake to the water’s edge.
Cara executes possibly the worst overarm bowl in history, lobbing her entire fistful of crumbs in one go.
Her missile fragments mid-air, into a starburst of doughy shrapnel which drops about two feet from
where it started. Adam copies her, with much the same result.
Ducks wing in by the squadron, skidding, sliding and swooping down from all directions. The two
toddlers quaver. Beth stands behind Adam, a hand on his shoulder.
Cara turns uncertainly to Mitch, who crouches down with her. “They can''t hurt you, Sweetheart. They''re
only ducks, remember. They''re just hungry. Here…" She squats on her haunches, one arm around
Cara''s shoulders, the other hand tossing in crumbs a bit at a time. Ducks careen through the water,
quacking raucously…
Something in my head spins and swirls…
…and, in a shock of memory, the Present hurtles to the Past, carrying me in its wake…
“They can''t hurt you, Sweetie. They''re only ducks.”
“Duckies?”
“That''s right. The duckies won''t hurt you.”
Curly brown hair…
Laughing eyes…
“More bread, Mommy?
Frozen, I follow the memory, trapped in time.
Mitch pauses, turns to look up at me then, eyes softening, she cants her head. “The memory?” She
“Yes, I do… She did this.”
“She? Your mother?”
“My mother, yes. She did just what you did. Said what you just said. That the ducks couldn’t hurt me.”
“Is there anything else?”
“No…” My chest is tight. It’s hard to breathe. “Not yet.”
Mitch offers me her hand and I help her upright. Standing by me, she slips her hand into mine,
squeezing gently. “Just watch the children. Maybe you’ll get all of it this time.”
The girl towing her toy duckughs and points as a hundred examples of the real thing ssh and dive
around her…
“The toy…”
Mitch frowns. “Toy?”
“The girl with the yellow stic duck…”
“What about her?”
“That time… You remember… in Helsinki… All those years ago… We were in the bath, you and I, and I
remembered her, my mother, for the first time. She was singing to me, very small, in the bath…”
“I remember. So…”
“There were ducks there too, in the bath. Little yellow stic ducks, bobbing in the water.”
“That sounds like a good memory.”
My breathing eases. “Yes…”
*****
JAMES
Klempner looks spaced-out, almost high. His eyes are dted wide, staring between nothing and the
micro-drama unfolding in the paddling pool.
Cara, mouth and eyes wide with delight, dashes to Klempner, tugging at his trouser leg. “Quack
quacks, Gandy Kay.” She points with one hand, offering him a grubby clutch of squashed crumbs with
the other. “Quack quacks!”
Moving like someone in a dream, Klempner hunkers down beside her with the bread, and, one armid
on his granddaughter’s little shoulder, tosses bread into the water with her.
Another small armada of birds flies in, settling onto the water, then en masse, paddling with intent
toward Cara. Face crumpling, she backs away uncertainly.
Klempner says, “They can''t hurt you. They''re only ducks. And if they could hurt you, you don''t run
away. Don’t ever do that. They''ll just chase you. If you’re scared, you face them and you scare them
back.”
Michael pulls a face, muttering. “For God’s sake, she''s barely two years old. How much of that stuff do
you imagine he thinks she understands?”
I shrug. “No idea. Who knows what a child that age understands? He had to grow up early. And
remember, children that age are sponges for knowledge. Even if Cara doesn''t fully understand it, it will
be part of the jigsaw in her head.”
He shoots me a look, narrow-eyed, but then backs off, scowling.
Klempner reaches out, offering a palmful of crumbs to the squadrons. Squabbling and shoving, they
peck and pluck and gobble direct from his hand. Ducks bob and flutter, tilting down in a bottoms-up
dive for escaped bits. All the while, Cara watches with wide-eyed astonishment. Then, “Me wanna,
Gandy Kay! Cara wanna.”
“Hold out your hand, then.” Klempner crumbles a bit of pastry crust into her waiting palm. Charlotte
steps forward but I stay her with a hand across her chest. “She''s never been safer,” I murmur. She
shoots me a look, but subsides.
A swan ps down, sshing to a gracelessnding on the water surface before, tucking ruffled
feathers smoothly in, serene again, it glides across the water to join the bread-guzzling ducks.
The huge bird hisses, bullying a channel through its much smaller brethren, jabbing with its beak to
send them scuttering away before they settle in a rough circle, just out of range. All around, kids back
away uncertainly, or mothers pull them away.
The swan centres on Cara and her handful of bread, sliding across the water toward her. Cara wavers,
looking to her grandfather.
“That''s a bit big for you yet,” says Klempner, “but this is how you do it.”
The swan moves in, wings pping, beak open, hissing like a coffee pot.
Klempner rises smoothly off his haunches, flings his arm wide, in imitation of the bird, and hisses back.
Hshshsshhh!!!
It’s difficult to skid on open water, but the swan pulls it off, executing a smart u-turn. Wings tucking in, it
halts, reverses, then beats a hasty, if strategic, retreat.
Cara, jumping and pointing at the fleeing bird, breaks into delighted chortling.
Klempner pauses, watching the routed swan break into a pping, running,unch over the water, then
hightail it for less challenging skies.
He squats down again, speaking to Cara, eye to eye. “You see…” he says… “… When someone tries
to bully you, all you have to do is speak in anguage they understand.”
Heys an arm around little shoulders. “Don''t you worry. I''ll show you how it''s done.”
*****
This is the final part of ‘The Lover’s Children’,
But Charlotte, James, Michael and their family and friends
will return.
The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and
continue reading tomorrow, everyone!