A Book In A Month - Chapter 16

The relief was palpable. Clara awoke on a wet and dismal Saturday, she could hear rain pelting against the tall, sash window. She felt warm and safe, rolled over and dozed. A clap of thunder jolted her awake. “Sorry,” someone called from the kitchen.

Clara threw back the duvet and rose delicately. Nothing hurt. This was a rarity for a Saturday. Over the last few weeks Clara had spent her weekends recovering from her Friday night fun. Today, she felt great. She would begin with a cup of tea, perhaps she would make drinks for everyone. Clara was in pyjamas, she could not remember changing into them, but she could remember putting them into the car first thing Friday morning. Clara found John in the kitchen, he was struggling with mugs, milk and a hangover. With one hand on the work surface, he shakily poured milk into the cups and onto the surrounding area. Milk ran down the doors of the kitchen units. He belched long and loudly, looked up and saw Clara standing in the doorway.

“D'you want me to do that for you?” Clara asked as she leant against the door frame.

“What, belch?”

Clara walked in, “How's about I do this and you go crash somewhere? D'you fancy a cuppa John?”

“”Uh, no. No! I feel like shit,” Whispered a feeble John as he felt his way out of the room.

Clara went from room to room, waking the dead with her offers of tea, coffee, toast. She was surprised at the size of Keiths' flat. For a bachelor pad, it had a lot of rooms, all of which were large and airy. Keith was well off, “Trustafarian,” Calra mumbled under her breathe. Wish my dad had the money to set me up like this, she thought as she sat on her sofa bed and drank her tea, lucky bugger.

As people gathered, they marvelled at Clara's perkiness. This was new. She liked this sort of attention, all praise, everybody impressed. It was a first and, she hoped, it would not be her last clear headed Saturday. They chatted amiably about the night before only to be cut short by Keith, who had nipped into a neighbouring room to grab his screaming mobile. He said the scream signified it was his big sister, Ruth, calling. It was a recording of a snippet of a performance she gave with her local amateur dramatic society. Some how, yoga guru Keith having a phone that screamed was an oxymoron.

“My sister Ruth's invited all of us over for lunch; a curry. Fancy coming?” He asked.

Silly question, everyone in the room wanted to join him and his sister. Everybody loves a curry, after all. The group ate toast, drank more teas and coffees and fell into conversation with Keith about his family. He was interesting, with his good looks, sophisticated lifestyle, and his sister who was willing to cater for over a dozen strangers, the newcomers to the gang wanted to know more. Keiths' old friends told Clara and Jane all about his life and how he came to own such a beautiful flat. Keith squirmed with embarrassment, “I'm not a poor little rich kid.” He protested, “We never knew there was money until mum died. I tell ya, it was like a bolt out of the blue. One day we were an ordinary family, the next we had no mother, an ordinary house to sell and a load of old paperwork to sift through.”

“The truth is,” cut in Alan, “Keiths' mum had been holding out on the family.”

“I don't think she held out on us exactly. It was more that she used her money to keep us comfortable. We all thought it was insurance from our fathers death. Turns out we were way off the mark.” Keith said quietly.

“Way off the mark barely covers it, Keith. Your mum was rolling in it.” Alan added.

“I know that now, but at the time, we were completely in the dark about it. We thought we'd split the value of the house between us, and that would be about it. We couldn't've been more wrong. It turned out that mum had investments that were really valuable.” He took a drink from his mug and bit a lump from his cold toast.

“You must have known about your mums investments. There would have been letters, meetings, all kinds of give away clues.” Jane said.

“Looking back, I suppose there was, but to us kids, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Mum didn't work, she was a regular, loving mum. That was it. Some things stand out now, like her going to London to see the bank manager. No one else had a mum that did that. But it turned out she had all these investments held in a trust fund. They were released to us kids when mum died. Dad had always worked. They weren't rich, because mum was given a regular amount of money every month, they were comfortable.” Keith trailed off.

“Wow, did your mum inherit her money from her family?” Asked Clara, she was impressed.

“That's the thing. We have no idea where all that money came from. My mum never talked about her life before she met my dad. She always changed the subject, or, if we really pressed her on it, would clam up and refuse to answer. We made her cry a couple of times.” Once again Keith fell into silence.

“Didn't you find out where the money came from?” Asked Jane.

“The trust fund weren't allowed to tell Keith and his sisters, that was part of the trust, wasn't it Keith?” John offered.

“Yeh, yeh, it's frustrating. Truly frustrating. We don't know anything about our mum. Not really. That's why I've been to Dhaka a couple of times. It's where mum came from. I want to know where the money came from. Mum's family are poor. Really they're poor. It's a proper mystery.” Keith looked around the room. “I don't feel settled. So that's why I spend my holidays going to India. On a need to know basis, I need to know.”

*

They went to the coffee shop and chatted, then they took a little time looking around the shops in their big huddle. Then, of course, it was time for lunch. Off they all headed, to Keiths' sister Ruths place. Ruths home was an imposing, detached, black and white, Gothic home, built in the Edwardian era. Keiths sister Ruth, answered the door wearing an elegantly flowing linen suit, in contrast to the wet, wintery weather outside. She had promised to cook his 'gang' a proper Indian meal; not that she had ever been to India, but she had benefited from her mother's expertise and was, Keith reassured every body, a wonderful cook. They all trooped along the multi coloured quarry tiled hall into the large, pale, living room. The room became a clatter of voices as Keiths other two sisters, their husbands and children greeted the damp group. Seats were found, some people sat on the floor on cushions, with the children.

There was only one topic of conversation, Mary and Clara. Mary was Keiths middle sister. No one could quite believe haow alike Mary and Clara were. They look like sisters.

“Mary does look just mum.” Said Keith, “And I have to admit, I couldn't believe how alike you two are. It's a real shocker!”

The group was astonished. Of course if Clara looked like Keiths mum, it was not surprising that she would also resemble one of his sisters, in both face and stature.

“What are the chances?” Said Alan.

Once lunch is done they went their separate ways, but Keith, Jane and Clara headed back to Keiths flat. They ploughed through the papers for the rest of the day. Carried on through the evening, with the aid of wine and nibbles. Clara and Jane spent the night at Keiths ready to continue to study Simons work records on the Sunday.

By Sunday lunch time they were ready to share their information with each other, but Clara had to head to her fathers home to prepare his lunch. Jane and Keith decided to rustle up a meal together. They all agreed to discuss their notes later in the day.

*

When Clara arrived at her fathers home she found a very unhappy John. He was deeply concerned that he might end up with Dylis as his computer tutor.

“I asked to see her rota so I could avoid her and was given short shrift.” He said miserably.

“Look dad, if you encounter her, be polite, tell her it's a difficult situation, and ask her, politely, when she's working. Then you can agree to avoid each other; or act like an adult and work together.” Clara was stern with him. She felt that the two of them were behaving like old fools and should bury the hatchet.

“I'd love to bury the hatchet, love, preferably in her head.” John said with a twinkle in his eye.

*

Clara headed back to Keiths, where they'd had a quick pasta. They had saved a bit left for Clara. All sated and with good coffee in hand they head for the papers and their notes.

They read out the items that have caught their eye; for example, Simon seemed to be at home in Delhi when Clara was born. He had put for and been granted, a formal request for compassionate leave. Clara high lighted this fact. They also concurred that there is something odd about Vida's date of death. Simon was given leave to attend to his wifes funeral, this was in 1960. Clara always understood she died in 1974, twelve years before Claras birth. How strange this was as John had claimed that Violet wanted to be near her mother for Clara's birth. Clara had thought she was two years old when her grandmother had died.

Here they were, after several weeks of research, wondering why her father had said that her grandmother had attended her birth and that her grandfather had not. How could her father get those facts switched around?

Puzzled and confused, Clara has a few questions for her father.