The Lover's Children

Chapter 77 – Solstice – Part 10

KLEMPNER

“That will do nicely,” announces Mitch, pointing to a bench by a kids’ play park. A picket fence

surrounds an area set out with swings, slides and small metal zoo animals on springs. “Adam and Cara

can play in there while we have our lunch. And I can give Vicky her feed too.”

Bear groans pleasure, padding around, sniffing at this and that before stretching out, full-length in a

sunny spot. Mitch decants Adam and Cara from their shared stroller. My daughter, I notice, has reins

pre-clipped onto a harness, I presume against attempts at a break for freedom.

I set Vicky’s buggy in a sunny spot next to the bench. Mitch immediately moves it into the shade of an

overhanging tree and raises the hood. “She’ll burn if you leave her in the sun like that.”

Unclipping the bag-of-holding-all-things she habitually carries, Mitch produces a length of thin cord,

strung with a collection of small wooden animals. They’re unlikely companions. Pigs, ponies and

parrots rub shoulders with kittens and cows, horses and hippos. Now I think about it, I think I saw her

painting the collection a few days ago in eye-grabbing shades of pink, green, yellow and blue.

Looping the cord across the hood, Mitch jiggles the collection at Vicky, who gurgles, beams and grabs,

tugging at a pony, sky blue with yellow polka dots. It’s not a good match for our daughter’s carroty hair.

Mitch aims a finger toward the gate. “There’s a burger stand just outside, at this end of the square. Why

don’t you go get food for everyone and I’ll…?” She pauses as Adam’s face abruptly changes hue. I’ve

seen aubergines that colour. I’d not realised the human face could achieve it.

Mitch sighs. “Someone needs changing.” She casts around, then spots the washroom block a little way

down the path. “Just hold onto Cara for a moment, will you…” She pushes Cara’s reins into my hand…

“I’ll take Adam to the bathroom.” Adam trots along beside her, quite placid, seeming perfectly happy.

Cara tries to run behind them, pulling up short against the reins. Turning back to me, she flaps an arm

after them. “Ganny!”

“They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Ganny! Addie!”

“Just wait. They’ll come back.”

She runs again, again pulls up short. I hang onto the reins as she tugs at the leather strapping with

fingers way too short to do the job.

Turning to face me, my granddaughter flings her mouth wide in a scream of defiance. Her face

screwing up with raw fury, shrieking and struggling against the reins, she tries once more to run. This

time, I tug up until she's hanging from my hand, her feet kicking an inch or so from the ground. “We’ve

been through this before, Cara.”

Dangling, scarlet-faced, neck craned up to me, she screeches defiance.

I’ve seen that expression before, on Jenny. At the time, we were still enemies, and she was facing me

down. A couple of minutes later, she smashed both my arms with a crowbar and knocked me

unconscious.

I didn’t expect to see the expression on a child not yet two years old.

The shrieks grow louder, more piercing. Bear’s ears press flat back onto his skull.

How does a kid her size produce that amount of noise?

I wait…

And she keeps screaming...

After a minute she's growing heavy, so I loop the reins around the branch of the overhanging tree.

Could be an oak. The branches are usefully horizontal.

At first, Cara doesn’t realise what I’ve done. The shrieks climb another octave. A dog turns, staring

uncertainly in our direction. I move to stand where my dangling granddaughter can see me. Arms

folded, I wait for her to notice.

Another minute and Cara stops squawking, looks up, looks at me. I could perch a clock on her lower

lip, but at least the racket has stopped.

So, I let her down.

Again, she tries to run, to chase after Mitch. And again, she yanks up short on the reins.

Hurling herself to the ground, she slams fists and feet at the turf. Once more, I yank her up off her feet

and let her hang, her feet clear of the ground. The screaming continues.

Some woman with a stroller gives me a sympathetic look as she passes. “They're dreadful at that age,

aren’t they?”

“It’s a new experience for me, I’ll grant you.”

She drops me a wink. “It gets better. You’ll love being a grandparent.”

“Is that so?” But she’s already moving on.

With no sign of the storm abating, once more, I loop the long reins around the tree branch, leaving

Cara with her feet two or three inches from the grass. Unfolding my newspaper, I sit by her on the

bench and wait for the weather to improve. I shake out the paper onto the City news pages.

Price of building land increases 6% in last quarter…

That won’t please Haswell…

?

Or does he already own it?

Cara helicopters arms and legs, bouncing the branch not a fraction with her efforts, all the while

yowling like a banshee with toothache.

I flip to the next page…

Police Commissioner under increased pressure in serial-killer debacle…

Hmmm…

No wonder he asked for help…

The screams drop to whimpers. Still scanning the headlines, I say, in conversational tone, “I'm a lot

bigger than you. Who do you think’s going to win this?”

Silence falls and I look my granddaughter in the face. Her mouth pushes into a pout and she stares at

her feet.

Then the face lifts. In seconds, the colour fades to a normal pink. Smiling toothily, she holds out her

hands to me, exuding candy ‘n spice charm. “Gandy Kay.”

Your mother’s daughter for sure…

“If I let you down, will you behave?”

She beams, nodding. “Ya… ya… ya…”

“Fine. If I let you down and you start that again, you’ll spend the rest of the day hanging from that tree.”

Another toothy grin.

Setting my paper down on the bench, I unwind the reins and let her down. She sits on the grass by

Vicky, plucking at the string of animals, showing Bear how to push a pink plastic hippopotamus up and

down the slide.

The clip of footsteps announces Mitch’s return, holding Adam’s hand. “All done,” she says briskly.

“Everything alright?”

“Never better.”

*****

From the Bag-Of-Holding, Mitch produces a sub-bag, tipping the contents out onto her lap. Balls of pale

green yarn tangle with knitting needles and what looks as though it’s going to be some sort of hat or

balaclava.

Why put rabbit ears on a balaclava?

But I know better than to ask.

Still, the sun is bright, and the sky is blue. A warm breeze plays through Mitch’s hair, ruffling it in a way

that catches the sunshine in glossy copper highlights and wafts her scent to me. In the play area, Cara

and Adam squabble over the rights to a spring-loaded rocking horse before Adam concedes

possession and moves on to the sandpit. Cara climbs off the horse and follows.

It feels completely alien, almost bizarre.

But…

This was a good idea…

Opening my paper again, I settle to enjoy the surreal experience. From the corner of an eye, I see

Mitch glancing my way. She smiles, moving close to peck a kiss on my cheek.

I skim the politics section: the usual set of corrupt idiots shouting abuse at each other over policy but

not doing anything about it themselves… This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

Sport…

Yeah, Right

I find myself settling on the ‘Books and Reviews’ section.

Beach Reads...

Best Thrillers of the Year…

It dawns that something on the edge of my subconscious is shouting and waving, yelling for my

attention.

My attention jolts to the playground, but Cara and Adam look happy enough. She’s digging holes in the

sandpit with a plastic spade she’s unearthed from somewhere, apparently showing Adam the technique

for tunnelling to Australia. He looks bored, wandering off to develop his mountaineering skills on a four-

foot-high slide.

Nothing wrong there…

By my side, needles click as Mitch mutters to herself. “Knit one… Purl one… Knit two… Purl two…

Damn!”

I don’t know what the ‘Damn’ was about. I’m happy to leave my wife to explore the inner mysteries of

knitting be-eared balaclavas.

For long seconds, I look over the top of my newspaper, unmoving, scanning, eyes only…

Aaahhh…

A familiar figure…

A flash of grey…

Is that him?

Wearing a grey hoodie, hands shoved in pockets, he’s sitting on a bench looking outward, toward the

square.

Injecting nonchalance into my voice, I fold up my paper. “Back in a minute.”

Mitch pauses in her knitting, her forehead creasing. “Where are you going?”

“Too much coffee. Won’t be long.”

Sauntering toward the washrooms then, I shoot a look back over my shoulder to be sure Mitch’s

attention is elsewhere, then take a sharp side-turn behind a shrubbery and down the hill.

But when I re-emerge to the thicket edge, the bench is unoccupied, and Hoodie has vanished from

sight.

Fuck…

From my lurking point, I don’t see him anywhere. But for sure, if I step out, Mitch can’t miss me.

*****

Mitch raises a hand, shielding her eyes against the sun. “Where have you been? I was getting ready to

send out search parties.”

I shrug. “Some things take longer than others.”

*****

My newspaper has entirely lost its appeal.

Letting my imagination run away with me?

How many grey hoodies can there be in the City?

But am I convincing myself?

I can't settle back to my paper. “How long are we staying?”

Mitch's reply is casual. “Oh, a while longer than this, I think.”

“Is there a reason we're here?”

She looks pityingly at me. “You can be so dense sometimes.”

Hmmm…

Cara tugs at my trouser leg. “Quack quacks.”