A Book In A Month - Chapter 17

It burnt holes in Clara's dreams, making her sleep disjointed, her waking fitful. Why had her father been wrong about these important times in his life. These iconic events could not be mislaid, shifted out of the way, transmuted. No. Something here was wrong, or something was wrong with her father. She would have to find out where the truth lay soon, because this was driving her mad.

*

Clara called in on John as usual, food in a basket, ready to cook into a quick bolognese, and questions bursting from her head ready to be answered.

As Clara fried the meat, she decided to call out to John and see what he had to say about her discoverys. “Hey dad, you know we've been going through grand dads work papers?”

A muffled, somewhat disinterested “Hmm,” floated in from the cluttered living room.

“Well, it's a bit strange, but, well.....” Clara trailed off. Silence from the next room. Clara decides to crash on regardless, “Well, um, you know you said granny was around for my birth. You know, that mum wanted her mum to be at my birth?” She paused. Still a thick, oozing silence flowed from the next room. “Dad, the thing is. The thing is dad, that the paperwork implies that my gran dided way before I was born.” Clara stopped talking, waiting for a response. The silence was palpable. “Dad?” she called out, “You in there?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry darling, what did you say? What with my hearing aids being all waxed up and me reading, I didn't hear a word you said,” He struggled to his feet, “My legs hurt today, all day.” he groaned as he shuffled his slippered feet and made his slow way to the kitchen.

Clara repeated herself, more confidently this time. Some how putting the question, out loud to her father once had freed her up.

“Do you fancy a coffee? You came straight in and started the meal. You must be gasping.” Was the reply John offered to Clara's question.

“I'd love a coffee dad, and I'd love an explanation about grans death. Was she alive when I was born, or not? Clara was earnest.

“She was alive. You've probably misunderstood the records, that's all.” John bustled around the kitchen, gathering the things he needed for their drinks. He avoided his daughters gaze.

“There was something else dad, you remember said grand dad was at home for the birth, and then he wasn't?” She waited for a response. John stirred the coffees wildly, slopping it across the work surface.

“Pass us the dish cloth could you love?” He caught Clara's eye and instantly looked away, rubbing the work surface fastidiously.

“Dad, are you listening to me?” Clara said as she put down her spatula and looked at him, “Dad?”

“Yes, I'm listening, but this coffee's causing me problems.” He handed the cloth back to his daughter and said, “Sorry what were you saying?”

“Where was your father in law on the day I was born?” It's a simple question, but, well, I seem to turn up a different answer every time I look into it.”

“He was in Delhi, with me and your mum, as far as I can remember,” John said as he waved a hand at the mugs.

Clara took the hint, carried his mug to the living room for her father and said, “And gran. What about gran? Was gran there?”

“Of course she was. I told you that before.” was Johns curt reply.

“In that case, why does it say gran died?”

“Maybe it wasn't gran that died. Maybe it was another member of the family. Records aren't always right you know?” he said, looking her straight in the eye.

Her father had a point, Clara realised that. She agreed with him and said that she would look at the deaths in the family around that time to see if any one, other than her grand mother had died. After all she had records for most of the people in that generation. It should not be that difficult.

“Dad, there's some thing else that I'm a bit confused about,”

“What's that darling,” John asked lightly.

“It's grand dad, he keeps coming and going from my birth. His work records show him as being there, but your records have him as working away from home?” She waited. He was silent. “Like I said, I'm a bit confused.”

“To be honest, I can't remember. I know that sounds pretty bad love, but it's the truth.”

“Oh dad, how can you forget something like that?”

“Clara, it's not as if you were his child, you were, are, my child. I was wrapped up in you and your mum. I hardly noticed anyone else. I was so happy when you arrived. You were like a gift that we had never in our wildest dreams imagined having.”

“Oh dad,” Clara said as she gave him a hug and a big kiss on the cheek, “You are an old softy at heart.”

*

It was a bright, frosty, Monday morning and John got up early, as usual, and headed to the college. He planned to spend the entire day there. How difficult could it be to master the internet? he wondered. The thought of saving money on his central heating pleased him, if he was not at home, he would not need to use any fuel. Today he had decided to catch a bus to the college, which meant missing out on his coffee stops on the way, but, he had decided, would keep his aching bones warm. This cold weather always set off his rheumatism, a long walk was the last thing he needed.

Popping his head around the IT rooms' door, John had a sneaky look around the room to see if Dylis was anywhere to be seen. There was no sign of her. John felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Despite knowing that he would eventually have to encounter the wicked witch of the classroom, he secretly hoped that the hideous day would never come. Maybe the old bag will break her hip before we meet up, he thought to himself as he selected his seat. Almost as soon as he had let the thought slip into his consciousness, he regretted it. Broken hips are no laughing matter at our age he pondered as he peeled off his gloves, his many layers of clothing, then his hat and his scarf and put them all with his jacket on the back of 'his' seat. He sat down, looked at the swirling screen and tried to remember how to make the thing work.

“Hello, how nice to see you again,” It was his tutor from the previous lesson, “Can you remember what to do?”

“I think so, though I'm a bit nervous,”

“That's what we're here for. Just collect your thoughts and talk me through what you think you need to do to get started.”

John was pleasantly surprised that given a little support he was able to repeat the skills he had be taught last time. His tutor asked him to begin to work through the course material he had been given. If he encountered any difficulties, all he needed to do was to raise his hand and a tutor would come over as soon as possible.

It did not take long for John to have that sinking feeling. He really could not battle on, the jargon, the myriad of options on the writing package. Lesson two and he was thoroughly stuck. He raised his hand and felt that he would never get onto Strand Three, The Internet. This was torture.

“Ah, John isn't it?” Dylis leant over Johns shoulder and peered at his screen.

John froze, “Hello Dylis, Um nice to see you again.” Not that he was looking at her. He could not rotate far enough to look her in the eye. Frankly, he was relieved.

“How can I help you, John,” She asked in a clipped tones.

Uggghhh! Thought john, I can feel her fiery breath on my neck. He outlined his problem, which precipitated Dylis slowly grabbing the nearest vacant seat and sitting down next to him. “Now, let me see what we can do for you, she said, as she brushed shoulders with him and took the mouse from him for a moment.

Johns morning progressed quite well. So well in fact, that Dylis suggested, firmly, that he should take a break. He did not know where to go for a break. She did. She offered to take him to the college coffee shop and offered to buy him a coffee. Swallowing his astonishment, he managed to squeeze out a faint, “That would be very nice thank you, but I'll pay.” They argued about who should pick up the tab and why all the way to the counter of the coffee shop. Dylis paid. They both laughed. It was the first time John had laughed with any person since his wife had died. He did not really laugh with Clara; not like this.

Dylis asked John about his 'motivation for learning'. Once she had translated her question into English, he was able to explain about his reasons for attempting his research into Indian history. “I can understand that,” said Dylis,”Your daughter is part Indian, I would imagine”

John looked at her, “No, my daughter Clara isn't Indian. She is dark, quite like her mum, actually. But there's no Indian blood in her.” He sunk his face into his coffee mug for a calming moment.

“Well you've picked a very interesting topic to study. India... now that's a country I would dearly love to visit. So romantic, so visceral, raw.” Her voice slipped into a thoughtful silence.

John did not notice her revere, “You can say that again. It's a filthy snake pit. I can't say I enjoyed it there that much. It was my late wifes' home, not mine.”

“Would you consider returning to India?”

“Never. Wild dogs couldn't drag me back.” John was emphatic.

Dylis suggested they returned to the lesson as the conversation had firmly ended.

*

Whist John sips coffee with Dylis, the little group of friends get together in Claras consulting room.

Keith and Jane want to know what John had to say about the date of her mums' death and her grand dad at first being around for her birth and then not. Clara outlined Johns responses and the gang felt that the reasons given for the queries were fair and encourage Clara should accept them. She said she would check her family tree for a 1960 death around the time of Simons compassionate leave. She would also seek documentation for Vidas death, the date of which she had always accepted as a given.

Clara hoped that the truth lay in her fathers great age which, she imagined, was sure to bring with it bouts of forgetfulness. What other explanation was there for this small, but important muddles?