A Book In A Month - Chapter 13

“Friday night's party night gal,” Yelled Jane as she came winging into Claras' consulting room.

“Oh God. You made me jump,” Clara was sorting her papers into a logical order. She double checked her diary as she went through her filing cabinet and pulled out another folder. “How's a girl supposed to work with you in the room?”

Jane was looking through the neat stack of folders. “What if some one breaks in? They would know all about your customers feet?” Jane was giggling at the thought of this huge security conundrum.

“For a start, I lock that pile of folders in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. And another thing, smart arse, I don't have my clients names on their folders. They are numbered.”

“Oo-oo, get you and your super dooper security system.” Cut in Jane.

“Laugh if you must,” Jane muttered as she swept the pile of documents off her desk and dropped them, with a clang, into the filing cabinet. Kicking the draw shut, with a crash, she turned around, looked straight at Jane and said, “Thank God its Friday.” She leant back against the filing cabinet in a melodramatic swoon.

The girls walked to their cars chatting all the while about the up coming weekend, only to realise that they had not brought Simon Simpsons' records with them. Clara turned about and rushed back into the practice. “See you at eight.” She waved a hand as she ran into the building.

*

“Hello Clara,” John called as he heard his daughter closing his front door as she entered his tiny hall. “How's you're day been?” He was in the kitchen, cooking.

“Dad?” Clara could smell food, a new experience for her, “What's going on?”

“Nothing darling,” He was smiling to himself, “You're always in a hurry on a Friday night, so, I thought I'd do the meal tonight.” He said this as if it was perfectly normal.

“Dad, you have never cooked anything in your life!” Clara marched into the kitchen to be confronted by her father, wearing a floral pinny and a sheepish grin. “Where's my phone?” Clara rummaged in her handbag and withdrew her mobile phone. “Smile.”

John frowned cheerfully and took a look at his image. “Wow, that's pretty good. I'd of made more effort with my outfit if I'd known you were going to take my picture.” He looked thoughtful for a scant second, “Please don't go showing that to anybody.”

“Dad. Would I?” Clara said with her head to one side.

“Probably.” He retorted.

Clara laughed, “OK. Break it to me gently. What's on the menu?”

“I'll show you.” John flourished an oven glove bent down and opened the oven. “Smells good.” He sniffed the air flamboyantly, “Looks good.” and he reached into the oven with his gloved hands. “And, by golly, It does you good.”

Clara was not particularly surprise at the vision before her; two ready meals on a baking tray.

“Lovely.” She sighed.

They ate from the containers. It was salty and left them both feeling hungry. They headed back into the kitchen in search of something to fill a hole. Clara thought she had never had such a relaxed and pleasant evening with her father in her whole life, and the cherry on the cake was the tin of sliced peaches dredged in condensed milk which constituted their dessert.

They chatted about their upcoming weekend. John felt that Clara and her friends should enjoy their weekend, rather than wade through Simons' records. He wanted Clara to carry on with tracing their family tree back as far as she could. “You're being side tracked darling. It's a waste of time.”

“But you've got interested in it too Dad,” Clara said, “I don't understand why you want me to stop, when you're as interested as I am?”

“I'm more interested in the history of India. It's something I can do, and at my age, that's a rare thing.” John laughed.

John was going to the climbing shop and the coffee shop. People watching. He liked to do that on a Saturday. Saturday was a busy day on the High Street, perfect for crowds.

Clara and John chatted about their plans until it was time for Clara to change into her outfit for the evening. It was a daring look for her and one that Jane had insisted she buy and wear tonight. According to Jane, Clara was a bit dull and needed to change her image if she was to 'pull'. Clara was not sure about this idea. |She was going to be out of her comfort zone.

Clara headed out of Johns flat wearing a short, fitted, strapless dress and killer heels. John had never seen her look lovelier. She's in love, I can tell, he thought to himself. It'll be a lucky man that lands my little girl. He was looking wistful as Clara stretched up to kiss him on his stubbly cheek.

“Penny for them.” She said.

“Oh,” He said, holding his right hand against her back and looking into her eyes, “I was just thinking how beautiful you look tonight. Fantastic. Your mother would be so proud of you. She loved you so much.

Clara held her father tight and whispered, “Thank you.”

*

Jane stood outside the pub, a pashmina wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Shuffling her feet, she considered her new found friends. In a matter of weeks she had transformed her social life. She wondered if Clara had been as lonely as she had been before Keith took them under his wing. She wondered if Clara really was gay, or, more likely, that she was shy. Certainly, Clara and Keith looked as if they should be together. They were made for each other.

“Hello.” It was Clara. “You all right?”

The two women walked into the pub together.

“You look fantastic in that dress.” Jane said.

“That's funny, that's what my dad said,” Clara said cheerfully, “So it must be true. I need all the help I can get tonight, after my puking session last weekend. I feel pretty nervous about seeing everyone again. What must they think of me?”

“You're a case, Clara. No one cares. Everyone does it. It's part and parcel of partying. You are now, officially, a party animal.” Jane said. “Look. There's the others.”

*

Clara blearily unwrapped herself form a pair of ankles that she was cuddling. Lifting her head she could see Janes mop of hair escaping from the duvet at the other end of the bed settee. Clara tickled Janes feet and whispered, “Coffee?”

“Only if you're getting it. I can't move. I feel like death on a stick.” Came Janes wavering voice from deep beneath the bed linen.

“Sounds like it's you're turn to throw up.” Clara said as she slid out of the bed. The flat was silent. Clara stood still, listening, “Where is everyone?” she asked as she looked around for her mobile phone. “Six. Six! What's wrong with me? I've never been up this early on a Saturday.” Clara sank back into bed.

“Aw cummon Clara, I'm gaspalating. I could murder a drink.” Janes' hand appeared and formed itself in readiness for a cup to arrive.

Clara expelled air through her pursed lips and rolled herself to the edge of the bed, put her feet to the floor and stood up for the second time that day.

*

Eventually the group gathered in the living room and, as ever, they drank coffee, ate toast and chatted away. Keith fished out his photo album to show his friends some pictures of his last holiday. They were surprised that he had spent his two weeks with his sisters and their families in Northumberland. It was not a very exciting way to spend time off. He told them that he was not a very exciting person. They browsed through the rest of the album, commenting on his past holidays and on his family. One picture made all members of the group laugh. It is a picture of Keiths mother, who looks very much like Clara. One person commented that it was not surprising that Clara and Keiths mum were alike as they were both tiny and Asian. Clara was stunned. She was not Asian, even though she was brown eyed and fairly dark. Now it was the turn of the group to be stunned, all of them had assumed she was Asian. Even Keith had assumed she was Asian. He pointed out that she even had India in her background, so why wouldn't she be Asian?

“Maybe we'll find an Asian link in your grand dads papers when we go through them next weekend.” Says Keith with a twinkle in his eye.