The Lover's Children

Chapter 23 - Winter Wedding #22

KLEMPNER

There’re plenty of hands on the work now. I stand back and watch.

James appears at my side. “How much of my brandy did you dose Kirstie with? And yes, I’ve noticed

the level in the bottle falling. Now I know where it was going.”

“To a good cause, I think you’ll agree.”

“How much has she drunk?”

I give the flask a shake. It sloshes inside. “Maybe half. Want to help me with the rest?” I tip back a

small sip then pass him the bottle.

He pulls a face, then glancing furtively around. “Oh, fuck it.” The flask tips back and empties with a

small sucking sound.

Ryan appears at my shoulder. “What did you say to Kirstie? Whatever it was…” He leans forward,

sniffing. “Brandy?”

“Yup. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope. Look at her…”

To a backdrop of the smashed window and the river, the crashed tree and the scaffolding, the chain of

volunteers is rescuing the remains of the rescuable from the debris. In the foreground, a conveyor belt

of aged aunts is lining up with small children to take their turn at having their pictures taken with a

smiling Kirstie.

“It’s going to be a unique photo album,” comments James.

Ryan slaps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Larry. I can handle this…” He waves a hand across the

devastated dining hall…. “… this shite… But I wanted this to be Kirstie’s day and…”

A short kid with a handful of cake and about as much again smeared over his face rushes out of the

line and up to me. “You Cara’s Grandad K?”

“That’s right. Why d’you ask?”

“Is it right about the maggots?”

Ryan and James exchange glances… Hearing ice creaking under my feet, I reply carefully. “Yes, it’s

true.”

“They wuz coming out her eyeballs?”

“Yeeesss…”

“Just her eyeballs? Or wuz it like her nose and her mouth too?” The cake aimed roughly at his mouth,

another layer of chocolate veneer is plastered over his face.

“Yes. Her mouth and nose too.”

“That’s totally sick!” He breaks into a pumpkin grin. “Hey, can I stand next to you for my photo?”

The ground shifts under my feet. “I suppose so.”

“Great!” He thrusts a sticky hand at mine. “C’mon… Hey! I’m having my photo with Grandad K!”

Some elderly harridan in purple stamps forward, a tissue gripped in one hand. Advancing with purpose

in her eyes, she snags him by the arm, bringing him screeching to a halt. Stooping to his eye level, she

spits on the tissue then uses it to clean away the chocolate pebble-dashing his face.

The outer doors swing open and Michael enters with Haswell. His voice raised. “Alright everyone, the

coaches are here. Everyone on board please.”

Haswell makes a bow and a flourish of the arm to Kirstie. “Your carriage awaits. Elizabeth, perhaps you

could help Kirstie get to the car without wreaking any more damage on Mitch's workmanship. Ryan,

would you like to accompany your wife please.”

*****

JAMES

Children cluster around Klempner. His eyes dart, one way and the other, his expression is… hunted…

Close by, foot tapping, Mitch watches him.

“'lo.”

Klempner looks around, then down, to where a small figure of indeterminate sex tugs at his trouser leg.

It could be a girl. “Paulie sez you was with a maggoty lady and I sez that int true. So, is it true? She

was all maggoty?”

Pain flits across his face. “Yes, it's true.”

Her mouth opens to an O. “Wicked!” She rushes off, arms waving. “It IS true.”

Do I take pity on him?

Making my way through the throng of wedding guests, I stand close by him. My voice low. “What are

you looking for?”

His lips barely move. “A legitimate reason to not be here.”

I run that through my social translators… “Legitimate meaning, acceptable to Mitch?”

“That’s about it, yes.”

I raise my voice, slap him on the shoulder. “Larry, I'm shorthanded in the kitchen. Can I borrow you?”

His eyes widen. “Abso-lutely.”

Mitch’s eyes narrow as she watches us leave.

*****

Sally’s expression is horrified. “How many? I can’t accommodate that many covers. James, we’re

already fully booked. We don’t have the tables, the staff, the stores…”

“Calm down, Sally. I’m sorry to drop this on you, but there’s no alternative. We’re not going to see

Kirstie and Ryan’s wedding day ruined when there’s something we can do about it. We’ll figure

something out.”

Wringing her hands, “James, I’m not trying to be difficult, but we don’t have enough in stock. We’re

booked right through the New Year.”

“If you empty the stocks today, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go into the City tomorrow and restock with anything

you need.”

Her mouth quirks. “You mean you’ll send me out with a shopping list to the supermarket. The

wholesalers are closed now until January.”

“Fair enough…”

“Staff?” she says. “The kitchen staff are knocking off in an hour. They have homes to go to.”

“Any that stay will be paid double-time. I’ll be here as long as I’m needed. Larry’s here to help. Now…

what do we have plenty of?

Her reply is prompt. “Turkey.”

Of course we do…

“Alright, let’s strip those carcasses. I'll make curry.” I turn, scouring the kitchen for ideas. “There’s not

the time to oven-roast whole turkeys so…”

Sally folds her arms. “Not everyone likes curry, James. Especially the older ones.”

Klempner sniffs. “How about the original idea. Kiev?”

“Turkey Kiev? The breasts are huge.”

He shrugs. “So cook them in the normal way and serve them sliced.”

“Good idea.”

Sally is looking more relaxed. “What about the children?”

“Larry, take the turkey legs, slice them up into finger-sized pieces and we’ll serve them as nuggets for

the kids.”

Sally shouts across the kitchen. “Billy, get that stale bread from the larder. Mr Alexanders is going to

need breadcrumbs. Then whisk up half a dozen eggs with milk. Then...”

I return my attention to Klempner. “What are your cooking skills like?” This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

“I can feed myself if that's what you mean, but I'm not up to your standard. Just tell me what you need

doing.”

The door bangs open and Michael marches in. “James, got some more recruits for you. This is Ryan’s

Uncle Guido. He’s the chef at Luigi’s restaurant in the City. And this is Ryan’s Aunt Eileen. They’ve both

come to help out...”

“All volunteers are welcome…”

“… and I’d like to take Larry off you. We can use his skills better in the gym. You can rig up the lighting

for us, can’t you, Larry?”

Klempner unravels his apron… “Certainly well enough for an evening.” …and Eileen all but snatches it

from his hand… “… Lead the way.” As the doors swing closed behind them, I hear Klempner’s voice.

“Are you on single phase or three-phase out there?”

I turn to our latest staff members. “Let me introduce you. This is our head chef, Sally. Given the

circumstances, there’s no particular menu. Just cook what you’re good at and that we can turn out

quickly for hungry mouths.”

Guido’s eye sears across the kitchen. He sniffs then, heavily accented, speaks. “What do we have to

work with?”

Eileen pipes up. “Do you have potatoes?”

Sally’s face clears. “Yes, sacks of them. Out in the roots cellar. Billy,” she yells. “Take Eileen and Guido

through our supplies. Show them what we have.”

*****

Twenty minutes later, I’m more confident we might have a servable meal for our unexpected party.

Sally rises to the challenge of having another chef in her kitchen, although I notice that they work as far

from each other as space allows.

Eileen peers over Guido’s shoulder. “What’s that you have boilin’ away there?”

He barely looks at her. “Gnocchi.”

Her jaw slackens. “What’s nokki?”

Guido comes to life. “Gnocchi is a delicacy of my home country…” He raises hands, punctuating his

words with chops to the air… “…often described as a substitute for pasta, but that does it insufficient

justice. Properly served, it is a vehicle for the most…” He rings thumb and forefinger to his lips… “…

delicate of accompaniments. Ricotta and spinach are my personal favourites. It may incorporate

semolina or polenta…” His arms are waving like the maddened conductor of some orchestra… “…and

may be served layered with butter or a fine quality cheese…”

I cut him off before he delights us with the entire encyclopedia of Italian cuisine. “Eileen, it’s a potato

dumpling, served with the sauce of your choice.”

“Why couldn’t he just say so? I’d have understood right off then.”