A Book In A Month - Chapter 12

On Sunday, Clara popped into her fathers flat on her way home; it was gone six in the evening. John was sitting with the original map spread out on the table, he snatched it from the surface of the table when he heard her put her key into his door. He had not been expecting her to arrive at that time. He had been engrossed in completing the recording of Simons' work routes and the bird book owners travels and thought it was about four pm. His heart pounded as he scrambled to crumple up the map and through it under the table. He grabbed his empty, cold mug and attempted to look calm and relaxed.

Clara walked in to be confronted by her father sitting bolt upright at the dining table, mug in hand, staring at the wall. “Oh my God dad, are you alright? Dad?” She made a bee line for him, arms outstretched. She thought he had had a stroke. Her mind raced as she threw her arms around his shoulders; how long had he been sitting here like this? “Dad?”

“Oh, hello love. It's OK, I'm fine. Just thinking, like you do.”

“My God Dad, don' ever do that again!”

“What, think? They laughed and headed towards the kitchen, John with his filthy mug in his hand. “Thinking's the thing that gets us into trouble.” Said John.

Later, as the two of them sat and chatted John slipped a fact into the conversation that disappointed Clara. They had moved through the subject of the previous day, Clara recounted her vomit horrors and John regaled her with his story about Dilys. After that they had put on a ready meal and eaten it. It was during this meal that John had dropped his bomb shell, there was no link between the journey log and the bird book. Clara was astonished, because on Friday John had given her the impression that there might be a link. Now there was nothing. Not that it mattered, because she was enjoying following Simon and Vida's life in India, it was interesting.

They looked at the map together, the new map. John had reproduced a few of the journeys, the ones where there was little or no link between the two documents. He had left the the closely related routes out.

“I must say it's a bit disappointing to find no link at all. Strange thing is, though, that I could of sworn that you did a different route for the first one. You know, I saw it the other night. It went up here some where. It's not there now. God, am I going potty Dad?” Said Clara who was clearly mystified.

“No, this is it, so far. But I reckon it's not really worth bothering with. There's no link here. It's a waste of time.” Said John, “It probably means,” He paused to sip his coffee, “That the whole thing is fanciful.”

“The whole thing? What do you mean, the whole thing?” Clara cut in.

“The way Simon worked, his life in India and this Natasha person. Why bother with it? You have the basic facts you need for your family tree. Why not leave it there?”

“Why not leave it there? Why would I leave it there? It's interesting, that's why. Even you've got the bug. You want to know more about them; mums' side of the family and so do I. It's interesting. They're interesting. India's interesting. You can see that, can't you? Clara was surprised at her impassioned tone.

“Ok, ok, keep your hair on love. I'll tell you what, if it makes you happy I'll finish putting the stuff from the bird book and Simons' travels onto the map. How about that?” John patted Claras' knee and then began to struggle to unfold himself into a standing position. ”Must be time to put dinner on.” He said with a groan as he forced his unwilling body upright. They both headed to the kitchen. John looked back into the living room and caught a glimpse of the original map, lying in a contorted bundle under the table.

“Back in a sec,” he said, and walked back into the room. He had to dispose of the map, but where? John struggled down wards and reached under the table, stretching his creaking back, extending his reach. With one hand and one knee on the floor and his head pressed against the underside of the table, he was eventually able to gain a tenuous purchase on the map. He dragged it out as he dragged himself out of the tiny space.

“What you doin' dad?” called Clara from the safety of the kitchen.

“Just a bit of housework. We'll need a space cleared at the table. That's all.” He replied, feeling rather proud of how normal he sounded considering he was still on his knees. John shuffled the short distance to the wast bin. He was still on his knees. He lifted out a fat handful of papers and popped in the map, pushing it down firmly. Finally he arranged the handful of waste paper so that it completely hid his original map. Carefully standing up, he made his way to the table, better get on with it then, he thought to himself.

*

Monday brought with it a bright and sunny day. A day that Clara had been dreading. She was not sure how Jane and Keith would be able to bare being with her after her vomiting incident. Although she had to admit that everyone had been very kind to her; to her face. It was how they really felt about her that Clara was worrying about. She looked out of her consulting room window wistfully. Her next customer was on the way and all she wanted to do was hide. She felt such a fool.

Of course there was no hiding from Jane and Keith, who appeared promptly at eleven oclock, mugs in hand. Jane had a packet of Hob Nobs, Keith, a happy grin. It seemed the weekend was not a problem. They asked if she was better and did it in such a way that she got the distinct impression that they were genuinely concerned about her.

The tea was made, the packet of biscuits opened and the box of papers taken from the walk in cupboard in the corner of the room. Clara, Jane and Keith settle down to half an hour of study. All that could be heard was the rustle of papers and the crunch of biscuits. The papers from the tobacco company had been read and reread. The career path that Simon followed from a humble sales man to area manager had been plotted and remarked upon. They had noticed several letters asking for a transfer to the Dhaka office, which Keith felt was very odd indeed.

At lunch time, after another batch of clients had passed through their hands, the trio regrouped. Keith raised the matter of Simon repeatedly wanting to work out of the Dhaka office. He wondered what reason Simon would have for wanting to move away from Delhi. The girls are puzzled as to why Keith insists there must be a reason for this. They proffer that maybe Simon and Vida fancied the Dhaka region, perhaps it was nicer than Delhi.

Keith insists, “That doesn't sound convincing. My family were from Dhaka, it's so provincial compared to Delhi. It has few, if any great features when set against Delhi.”

For the rest of the week they spent their breaks opening copies of wage and bonus ledgers, expenses forms, details of hotels and hospitalities and general correspondence between Simon the field operative and head office, and later, Simon in head office to his field operatives. There was nothing to explain the dozen requests for a transfer to Dhaka. The request was never granted.

*

John spent an intense week, which began with the safe disposal of the original map in a bin in the local park. And ended with him having redrawn the map, making sure there was no tangible link between the bird book and Simons' work routine.

Clara was concerned that her father had gone off the idea of researching their family history. She had enjoyed getting to know John better and wondered how to sustain their new found friendship if this vehicle was lost to them. Every evening, over their meal together, she would attempt to persuade him to take up her idea that he should learn to use a computer. It would be a way of rekindling his interest in the project. By the end of the week, she had managed to convince him that there were a whole range of reasons why a computer would be useful to him. He promised that on Monday he would pop into the library and have a chat about the matter. He hoped that Dylis would not be there again. How strange it was that this woman, who he was sure he had never seen before, should suddenly be everywhere he went, except the climbing shop. Perhaps she was stalking him. Perhaps he would never see her again. He could only live in hope.