The Lover's Children

Chapter 53 – April’s Tears #4

JAMES

Richard clicks his tongue. “Your call, James. We’re at the broad-brush stroke stage so far. And I’m

guessing rubbing shoulders with the Head of Social Services would bore you rigid?”

Hmmm…

“You’re not wrong. In that case, yes, thanks, Larry. If it’s convenient for you, I’d appreciate the lift.”

Klempner shrugs. “I’m taking Mitch into the City anyway. She wants to change something at one of the

stores. We can easily time it so I pick you up at the end of the day.”

“Yah!” Cara’s war-cry. She catapults a glob of yolk and egg-white from her chubby fist. Yellow goo

splats over trays, teapot and tablecloth. And Adam.

Adam retaliates with an answering yell, launching a blue Mickey Mouse spoon at his assailant.

“Christ!” mutters Klempner, fastidiously wiping a napkin over the gunk trickling down his lapel.

Beth and Charlotte rise as one, Beth whips away bowls, spoons and other weapons of mass

destruction. Charlotte snatches up napkins and a washcloth. “Cara Deanna Summerford. You stop that

right now!”

And Klempner bursts into a smile.

*****

Michael knocks back his coffee, yawns, stretches, then stands from the breakfast table. “Anyway, busy

morning ahead. Got my rounds to do first in the hotel, then I’ll be outside. I’ll catch you all at lunchtime.”

Richard folds up his newspaper. “What are you working on out there?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Project Chickens.”

Cara babbles from her high-chair, stretching out her arms. “Wanna…Wanna… Wanna…”

He lifts her from the chair, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Want to come with me, Sweetie? You can help

me at work today if you like?”

She gives him a toothy smile. “Ya… Ya… Ya… Help Daddy.”

“Come on then. We’ll see what we can find for you to do.”

Charlotte frowns. “You’re sure she won’t be in the way?”

Michael bounces Cara in his arms. “Nah… She’s fine. It’s good for kids to get out and about. She can

meet people in the hotel. It’ll develop her confidence.”

Klempner pours for himself from my coffee pot. “Need any help with your chicken project?”

“If you want to. The run and coop are up, but I’m working on making it fox-proof now. If you’re happy to

do a bit of digging, then yes, the help will be welcome.”

Mitch speaks in tones of silk and steel. “But not today, of course. We’ll be out shopping.”

Klempner looks glum. “No, not today.”

Richard snags his jacket from the back of the chair. “What’s the timescale for these chickens?”

“According to what I’ve read, twenty-one days…” Michael rocks outspread fingers… “Give or take a bit

depending on the breed. I’m not sure exactly, as I bought a mix, so they could hatch over a few days. I

got some general-purpose breeds, Australorps and Wyandottes, so they’re good for both meat and

eggs…”

Michael’s not a big talker. It’s not often we hear him in full flow. But his enthusiasm bubbles. Richard’s

eyes widen and he flicks a glance at me. Beth and Mitch hide smiles behind their hands. This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“… I ordered some Bantams because they make nice pets for the children. Then I thought I’d get some

Easter eggers for…” He pauses, “You’re not actually interested in any of this, are you?”

Richard’s expression unglazes. “Time for me to be off. I have a conference at half nine.” He kisses Beth

on the cheek, Charlotte on the top of her head. “See you later. James?”

“I’ll be right behind you. I just need to pull my papers together.”

*****

Where are the damn plans?

Annoyed at myself, I sort through drawers and cupboards, poke around forgotten corners of my

office…

Where the hell are they?

I’m already half an hour later than I meant to be…

“What are you looking for, Master?”

Charlotte stands in the doorway.

“The plans for the groundworks at F-Site. I’m supposed to be meeting with Sam Callaghan later and…”

“A1 plans? Rolled up in a cardboard tube?”

“That’s right. Where…?”

She dimples. “There’s a document tube downstairs by Richard’s desk. Weren’t you going over them

with him yesterday?”

I smack a kiss on her mouth. “You’re a lifesaver. I have to dash. See you later.”

Plans tucked under my arm, I head for the car.

My phone buzzes: Michael.

He’s a two-minute walk away.

Why would he phone me from the hotel?

“Hi, what’s…?”

His voice is a sort of hissed whisper. “James, I think you’d better come over. I’m in the lobby.”

“What…?”

But he’s rung off.

*****

Michael leans back against the reception counter, apparently chatting with the girl manning the desk,

but radiating everything’s-okay-but-not really. Cara, strapped in a papoose to his chest, beams and

babbles at the receptionist, currently fishing a lollipop from a jar. She says a few words to Michael, who

nods permission, and the receptionist…

What’s her name?

?

Oh, yes…

Alyssa…

… Alyssa peels cellophane from the lolly and hands it to my little daughter. It’s a shade of blue never

seen in nature, at least not in anything you could eat. God knows what colour her tongue and her

insides will be after eating the thing.

I stroll across, casual as I can be. As Cara sees me, still clutching her lollipop, her arms and legs

starfish and she breaks into a gaping pearl-toothed smile. Bouncing up and down in the papoose, her

ginger-dark mop of hair bounces with her. Eyes sparkling, she flings sticky blue hands forward. "Nunky!

Nunky Jammy!"

I'd dearly love to take my daughter and give her the hug she wants, but suspect it’s not the time. I settle

for taking one of the tiny hands and giving it a squeeze. "Hello, Sweetie. Having fun helping Daddy?"

The smile grows, if anything, wider. "Ya... Ya... Yahhhh..."

Keeping my voice neutral, I turn to Michael. “Problem?”

He slides eyes sidelong to the seating area, backing it up with a jerk of the head. “Alyssa here says

she’s been here over an hour and is refusing to move.” I follow his gaze.

Ah… Crap…

The receptionist babbles more than Cara. “I’m so sorry, Mr Alexanders. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,

but…”

I raise a palm. “Calm down. You’re not the cause of any trouble. Leave this to me.” Michael lays his

hand on hers, murmurs something which I guess is reassurance.

Deliberately still strolling, I take a seat opposite the unwelcome face. "Marlene. What are you doing

here?"

My ex-wife’s face sets as she sees me. "I suppose you were bound to turn up. I came to see Georgie. I

suppose that is alright, is it?" She drips sarcasm. "To see my own daughter?"

Conscious that eyes are on us, I hang on to my neutral tone too. "That's entirely Georgie's choice. If

she wants to visit you she's entirely welcome to do so."

Marlene never pulled off an attractive pout in her life. Less so now that her face has soured with age.

… a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil…

Who said that?

?

Undeterred, my unlamented ex pouts. "I've barely seen her for months. What have you said to her?"

"Just what I told you I would, Marlene, after your thoughtlessness last year endangered her, and a lot of

other people as well. I set Georgie right on a few truths. Gave her the facts about the circumstances of

our divorce."

Marlene grows louder, becoming shrill. "What did you tell her?" Heads turn in the lobby, hotel guests I

assume. At the reception desk, Michael’s expression hardens.

"I told her nothing that wasn't true, Marlene. And I showed her the paperwork to prove it. Now, this isn't

the place for this discussion..."

"How could you?” She rises from her seat. “She's all I have..." Her voice rises further, becoming a

screech. In the background voices mutter.

I rise too. Grabbing her elbow, I steer her close, hissing, "Do you never learn? You’re making a

spectacle of yourself."

A shadow looms. Michael, Cara still hanging from his chest. “Would you mind lowering your tone,

Madam. You’re disturbing the other guests.”

Marlene spawns a crocodile smile. "What a beautiful child." She tickles Cara under the chin, turning

what she imagines is her charm onto Michael. "You're very lucky to be able to keep your daughter so

close."

"Yeesss..." He shoots a glance at me. "James, if the two of you want to talk, why don't you use my

office? This isn't really..." He gestures around the lobby at the pretending-not-to-stare faces.

"Thanks. We'll do that. Marlene..." I hold a hand toward the back office. "... this way."

*****

Hands on hips, I face her. "So, Marlene, what do you want?"

"I told you, I came to see Georgie. That receptionist wouldn’t give me the key to her room."

"Hardly a surprise. That would have been most improper of her, handing out a guest’s key to a

complete stranger. And I don't believe Georgie’s here. At this hour, I imagine she's at work. They tell

me you’ve been here some time, therefore you already know that. So, I have to assume that you came

to see me. Now…” I lean forward, fists on the desktop… “… What do you want?"

"I want my daughter back. You have to to tell her to come and see me. Why have you stopped her?

You didn't need to do that."

"I haven't stopped her. What Georgie chooses to do is her own decision. I simply laid out the facts for

her to reach that decision."

"You've stolen my daughter."

"Our daughter. And, no, I haven't stolen her. It was you that stole her from me, all those years ago. And

for no better reason that I could ever see, than spite."

"You divorced me."

"You started it, Marlene. Was I supposed to ignore your infidelity? You wanted the divorce first. You

only changed your mind when you realised you were killing the golden goose. By then, I'd had enough

of your spendthrift habits and your lies and your constant efforts to keep me away from Georgie. She

was my daughter too, and you didn't like that."

Her face screws up. "What was I supposed to do? It was always ‘Daddy this’ and ‘Daddy that’. Then

later, it was ‘Dad this’ and ‘Dad that’. Her perfect father. As though you're a role model for anyone."