The Lover's Children

Chapter 46 – The Idylls of March #18

CHARLOTTE

I’m still not used to it. Still don’t take it for granted. Shopping bags stashed in a corner, we sit together:

me, Mom, Dad, Vicky. My family. One part of it anyway.

Family…

Mom rocks Vicky, humming. After a few minutes, she puts her into her carrycot. “Keep an eye on her

would you, Jenny. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

“Sure, Mom. And yes, thanks.”

“Larry, you want tea?”

“I’ll have a coffee if you’re making it.”

Mom leaves, my father following her with his eyes as she exits. When she’s gone, his gaze drops to

where my little sister lies sleeping, bubbles blowing as she breathes out, deflating as her chest rises.

Almost never does he smile, and unlike my Master, I know that there is no smile hidden behind his

blank face. He sits to one side, expression hooded, but watchful. Nonetheless, something in that

expression is… odd…

Always since I’ve come to know him…

… to re-know him…

… if Mom is in the room, he watches her. All the time. Even if he’s talking with someone else, his eyes

repeatedly flick back to her. I don’t think it’s deliberate. I’m not sure even if he realises he does it. But

always, his attention centres on her.

But now, Mom’s not here, if only for a few minutes. And instead, he watches Vicky.

And I watch him…

He doesn’t notice.

After half a minute, “What is it?” I ask.

He blinks. “What’s what?”

“The way you’re looking at Vicky.”

He blinks again. Looks away. Doesn’t look back. His voice sounds faraway. “I don’t know. It feels…

unfamiliar…”

“What does?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That kid today. I think she’d been thrown out of her home, but she’s

someone’s daughter. And there’s some idiot on the loose cutting up women for fun.”

He stares down again at Vicky. “If anyone tried to hurt her, I'd rip their throat out with my teeth.”

I laugh. But it’s not a real laugh. “I believe you.”

And now, he looks back to me. “Jenny… I'm sorry. When you were a child…”

“It's done. It's past...” He nods, looking away again. “…You never touch Vicky. You could pick her up.

Give her a cuddle.”

He straightens up, suddenly un-weird again. “I think I'll leave that to your mother. And you. I might

break something. Let’s use the skills we have. Not the ones we don’t.”

“Skills? Mom does the cuddling? You do the throat ripping-out?”

He looks me in the eye, grins. “Pretty much, yes.”

*****

KLEMPNER

The deep of the night and it's the two of us. Just the two of us. Even Vicky, in her cot close by, is

asleep. Mitch lies beside me, bathing me with her body heat, her steady breathing calming me.

Something writhes and churns inside me, but like this, I know that whatever happens, it’s alright.

Really…

Everything’s alright.

So long as Mitch is here, nothing can go wrong.

I spoon up behind, wanting her closer, but stray hairs tickle at my face, making me want to sneeze.

Moving carefully, I ease long locks of hair to one side, but almost instantly, the rhythm of her breathing

changes and she rolls to face me. “Larry.” She smiles, reaches, touches my cheek.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m glad you did.” She moves, contouring herself to me, long graceful arms weaving around my

shoulders. She reaches for my mouth with hers and my groin jolts.

I smooth over her with my palm: long, soft strokes over her shoulders, the inward arc her waist then, as

she lies back, her neck and breasts. She sighs as I stoop to kiss a nipple, her fingers slipping into my

hair.

There’s no hurry, no urgency. She caresses the back of my head as, laying my cheek in her breast, I

continue stroking her.

The defined line of a hip.

The slight curve of her stomach.

Mitch shifts under me, her breath catching.

“Mitch?” She doesn’t speak. “Mitch, am I doing something wrong?”

She hesitates then, “No, it’s not you. It’s me.”

“You?”

?

?

“Mitch, did I misunderstand you? I… I thought you wanted to make love. If you don’t…”

“I do. It’s…” Her words dry up.

“Tell me. If something’s upsetting you…?”

She Tuts, but it doesn’t sound as though it’s aimed at me. Then, huffing, she sits up, flicking on her

sidelight, pulling the sheet around her like armour.

I sit up with her. “Something is upsetting you. What is it? Have you quarrelled with Jenny?”

She turns her face away, eyes closing for a moment, then turns back, resting a hand over her stomach.

“It's the stretch marks. I didn't get any the first time with Jenny, but this time, my skin’s older. When you

touched me there…” She falters, falls silent.

I want to hold her, but I’m not sure if I should.

I do it anyway, pulling her to me, her head resting against my chest as I kiss her hair. “Shhh... Don't be

foolish. We're both older. I'm hardly untouched by the years. And you’re as beautiful as the day I met

you.”

“I thought… I… Larry, you're not having regrets, are you?”

“Regrets?” I’m baffled.

Where has this come from?

“… What kind of regrets?”

“This…” She sits up again, sweeps a hand across the room. “Vicky. Me. You said you wanted to marry

me. You've not changed your mind?”

“No. Of course I haven't. Why would you even ask that?”

“You… You never... When we make love...” She stutters to a halt again.

Wtf?

“You don't like my love making?”

“No... Yes… No… I mean, yes, you're a wonderful lover. You always were.”

“So...?”

“Larry, you… You never initiate sex. It’s always me. I’m… I’m not as young as I was. I’m aging and I…

wondered if perhaps you didn't want me anymore. I know you thought you wanted me, but now…”

I cut her short. “Mitch, I spent twenty years looking for you. And now you think I'm bored?” Despite

myself, I chuckle.

Points of colour flush onto her cheeks. “It's not funny. Don't mock me.”

“I'm not mocking you. I’m mocking what you’re saying. It’s ridiculous.”

How to do this…

What would James do? Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

I take her hand, sandwiching it between my own. “Mitch, I want you. I have always wanted you. I still

want you.”

Her voice trembles. “If that’s true, why do you never start our love making?”

Ah… fuck…

“Because if I wait for you to start, I know that you want me.”

She stares at me…

… then bursts out laughing.

*****

Later, in the dimness of a single candle, she lies in my arms, her face resting against mine, scented of

our lovemaking, and a little of the mint tea she often drinks.

She traces a finger over my chest. “Where did you get all your scars?”

“Oh, here and there. Mainly there.”

“How about this one?” She draws a fingernail over a six-inch white pucker which cuts across my ribs.

“That one? Knife wound. Corrupt customs official at the Tanzanian border. Changed his mind about

how big a bribe he wanted.”

“It looks as though it was painful.”

“Could have been worse. It slashed over my ribs instead of going through.”

“What were you taking across the borders?”

“You know what I was taking, Mitch. I was a trafficker. I've left it behind. Is this something you want to

talk about?”

“But you miss it.” It's not a question.

“No. At least, not the trafficking part, if that's what you mean. It was never more than a trade for me. I

didn't get a kick out if it. But…”

“But?”

“But... I don't know. I'm not sure.” I kiss the top of her head. Perhaps the conversation will go away.

“Larry?”

“Hmmm?”

“Talk to me.”

“What about?”

“You're stressed.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. What's bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me.” She twists her face to mine, arches a brow. “Really, there’s nothing. I have

everything I ever hoped for. Everything I ever wanted. What could be stressing me?”

Her breath washes over my skin. “You're suffocating.”

I swallow. “Mitch, what are we talking about?”

She sits up, looks down at me. “I mean it. You're suffocating. You wanted this life, but you’re not used

to living like this. I know you're trying, but you miss the freedom. You need to breathe.”

Stomach roiling, I sit up beside her. “What are you saying?”

“Why don't you take some time for yourself? Visit the City. Take a walk. Have a drink.”

“Without you?”

“Without anyone. Be yourself for a while.”

“You wouldn't mind?”

“Why would I mind?” She palms my cheek. “It's not as though I don't know you'll come back.”

My mouth is dry. “I'll always come back, Mitch.”

“I know…” She chuckles, low and throaty. Presses her lips to mine. “… I know.”

What did I do to deserve you?

“You came back.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

She dimples. “You did. Now, tomorrow, go. Get some air.”

*****