The Lover's Children

Chapter 68 – Solstice – Part 1

JAMES

In the bedroom, Michael holds Charlotte, stroking her hair, talking quietly. “Shhh… It’s alright, Babe. It’s

just one of those things.” Gently, he rocks her as she weeps into his chest.

We leave them to themselves; give them the privacy they need for a while.

On the scale of things, ranged against wars and famines, terrorism or natural disasters, their tragedy is

a small one; Charlotte’s miscarriage of Michael’s child. But it’s not small for them.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

Downstairs, in the lounge, Klempner stands, hands clasped behind, his back to the fire, swaying from

the balls of his feet to his heels and back again.

Cara napping by her side, Mitch knits: tiny blue gloves, now no longer needed by their intended owner.

Periodically she puts the work down on her lap to draw a finger under her eyes, then takes it up again,

the needles clicking rhythmically. Klempner watches her sidelong, frowning. His mouth opens as

though to speak, but then snaps shut as I give a quick shake of the head.

Beth, on the settee, feeds a contently gurgling Adam. Richard, seated next to her, makes a show of

reading his paper. But he’s been reading the same page, the same quarter of a page, for twenty

minutes now. Eventually, sighing, he folds it away and simply sits, staring into the fire.

Even the dogs are subdued, picking up the vibes from the rest of us I suppose. Bear pads across to sit

by Mitch, groans, then drops his head onto her lap. Scruffy circles on the hearthrug by Klempner’s feet,

circles again, then drops down, his nose tucked under his tail.

The clock ticks.

Forty-five minutes…

An hour…

Time to check them out…

Back upstairs, I push the bedroom door open, quietly, just in case, and wait, framed by the doorway.

They’re still sitting together on the bed, part-turned away from me. Charlotte nods at something he

says, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know. It happens all the time. Like you say, it was

probably for the best…”

Then she shudders and sobs again… Michael’s grip on her tightens… But she straightens up, resting

her palm against his chest. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine…” She sniffles… “It was… just a shock. You’re

right. It happens all the time. And it’s not as though it was far along. Too small to be a proper baby yet.”

Michael says little. Kisses her hair. Holds her. Strokes her. Murmurs something quiet.

Am I intruding?

Too soon yet?

Uncertain, I shift and the floorboards creak under my feet. Michael half-turns, looking over his shoulder.

“James? It’s alright. Come in.”

Charlotte draws in breath, wipes palms over her cheeks, obviously trying to make herself presentable.

“Master?” Tears still swim in her voice.

*****

CHARLOTTE

I’m not exactly crying anymore, but somehow, my eyes still leak tears down my cheeks. Michael’s body

is warm against mine. “Shhh… It’s not great, Babe. We both know that. I’m disappointed too. And I do

understand that it’s harder for you. But these things happen. We’ll get past it. You’ll see. We’ll try again

and, in a year, maybe, you’ll be introducing Cara to her sister or brother.”

His closeness, his heat, the sweet-spicy scent of him is soothing, drawing me back to reality. “I know.”

But I’m still snivelling. I swipe the back of my hand over streaming eyes and nose.

From behind us, the creak of floorboards. Michael shifts, half-turning to look over his shoulder. “James?

It’s alright. Come in.”

“Master…” I don’t know what to say. The words won’t come yet.

“Charlotte?” He sits beside me, takes my tear-dampened hand and kisses the fingers.

Michael stands. “Why don’t I leave you two for a while. You can have a chat.” He brushes fingers over

my cheek. “You’ll feel better for that.”

“Michael…”

But he clicks his tongue, drops me a wink. “It’s fine, Babe. You two have some time together. I’ll only be

downstairs if you want me.” Stooping, he presses his lips to mine, then ambles out.

My eyes are swollen and I’m blinking to see properly. “Sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to make such a fuss.

It’s just…” And a sob shakes loose from my throat before I swallow it again.

The grip on my hand tightens. “Sorry? You have nothing to apologise for. And everything to feel upset

about.” He tilts up my chin, raising my eyes to his: soft, liquid, dark as a moonless night. “You look

terrible, you know.”

“I know.” I’m sniffling again and drag my sleeve over my nose and eyes again.

He tuts, snagging my fingers. “That’s a very unattractive habit, you know.” Prising the fingers open, he

presses something into my hand. “A lady may always ask a gentleman for the use of his handkerchief.”

Despite myself, I find myself laughing as I clean my face. “Sorry.”

“That’s better.” He draws a thumb over my cheek, wiping under my eyes. “Your mascara’s all to hell

too.”

I swipe under my eyes, drawing black streaks across the previously white linen, then wind the

handkerchief tight in my fingers.

He extracts it gently from my hands. “A great improvement.” He kisses my forehead, then once more

takes my fingers in his. “So, how are you feeling now?”

How do I feel?

I slump, letting out air. “A bit of a failure. I’ve let Michael down. He works so hard to make everything

here perfect and…”

“That’s utter nonsense, and you know it.” Irritation crackles in his voice, but it’s soft and quickly muted.

“I’ve never failed at anything before…” It’s hard to express how I’m feeling… “… Not if I really wanted to

do it.”

His tone turns crisp. “And you haven’t failed now, either. You’ve just had a setback. It happens. Come

on, cheer up.” He slings an arm around my shoulder, squeezes. “It's not a disaster, just a glitch. When

you’re feeling yourself again, Michael will spend another few weeks pinning your brains to the bedhead

two or three times a day. Then you'll find you’re pregnant again and you'll forget this even happened.”

“Yeah… You’re right. And I will feel better, I know. But right now, I feel useless.”

He chuckles. “Charlotte, you are the least useless woman I have ever known, but you do need

cheering up, I think.” He scratches an eyebrow. “With any other woman I'd say go out for the day with

your mother and Beth, and I'd fund a shopping trip...”

Despite myself, I grimace...

His voice turns dry… “In your case, however, what say we go check out that new bookstore that

opened up in town? Everyone can come, and we'll call it a family day out.”

“That sounds… nice…”

“Good. That’s agreed, then. So, for now… You didn’t finish your breakfast. I’ll make you something to

eat, and if you want, you can have it in bed. But I thought you might like to have a soak in the hot tub.

It’s a bit early, but a glass of wine might help too. We can all join you if you’d like. Or… we can leave

you and Michael together if you’d prefer.”

A pale imitation of a smile flits over her face. “I’d like that, yes.”

“Richard and Beth, too?”

She sucks at her lower lip, nods.

“Fine. Come downstairs then. You can eat while I run the tub.”

*****

JAMES

Michael accompanies Charlotte, pale-faced, red-eyed, but composed, into the wet room. He slips the

towelling robe from her shoulders, holding her hand in support as she lowers herself into warm

bubbles. Beth, already soaking herself, shuffles closer along the step, giving Charlotte’s hand a

squeeze.

Richard slides along to sit the other side of her. “Feeling a bit better now?”

Nodding, she forces a smile. “A bit.”

“Here…” I pass a glass of wine to Richard, then step down into steaming, perfumed water. Michael

joins me.

Richard sets the glass in Charlotte’s free hand then, slipping his hand around her shoulder, kisses her

forehead. “It will be fine. You will be fine. You’ll see. You and Michael will try again, and the next time,

you’ll have a fine, bouncing brother or sister for Cara.”

He tips the glass from under the stem. “Drink your wine. Get this one inside you. Then James will pour

you another, and we’ll all just relax and enjoy each other’s company Alright?”

Her smile is a bit wan but is looking more genuine. “Alright.” She settles back, some of her tension

easing.

This was the right thing to do…

It was always my hope that when, as will inevitably happen in anyone’s life, disaster strikes our

household, we all would have each other for support. And now, it’s proving itself to be so. Sipping wine,

surrounded by the people she loves, a faint ray of sunshine brightens Charlotte’s smile.

Family…

*****

KLEMPNER

Jenny eventually emerges from hiding, enveloped in a vast towelling robe, about five sizes too large for

her…

Michael’s?

Probably…

She curls up onto the settee, and Mitch descends on her in comforting angel mode, fussing at her,

fluffing up cushions, smothering her with hot chocolate and cookies, pressing some book into her hand.

“Can I do anything?”

Jenny gives me a watery smile, but Mitch, just a quick shake of her head. Neither says anything more

and after a few minutes, it dawns on me that I’m surplus to requirement.

“I’ll… um… I’ll go take a walk. Anything I can fetch while I’m out?”

“No, we’re fine,” says Mitch, but she flashes me a brief look of gratitude.

Hmmm…

In fact, I was rather comfortable by the fire. In the hall I hover, deciding what to do with my unsought

freedom.

Where are the men?

Haswell and his wife are nowhere in sight, but from the kitchen comes the Clunk! of metal on wood. I

meander after the sound, Bear padding behind me.

I find James, a heavy-bladed knife in hand, at his chopping board. A huge basket of onions sits to one

side, a mountainous bowl of diced onions to the other. As I watch, he brings the knife down on the next

victim with gratuitous violence, and the onion drops into two halves

“They can’t fight back, you know.”

“What?” James looks up, but the knife thunks down again, and two quarter-onions fly over the board in

opposite directions, then skid off the counter. “Fuck!” Stooping to retrieve the quarters, he rinses them

under the faucet, then replaces them on the board. Finally, he looks back to me, his expression tight.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘they can’t fight back’. And dismembering an innocent victim qualifies as wanton brutality.”