A Book In A Month - Chapter 24

After a very hot mosquito infested night in their dingy hotel, the group are glad to step into the glare of the street. Tuk tuks and mopeds beep about straying randomly to every part of the road. They flag down a tuk tuk for themselves, “Let me do the talking,” Keith said, “I'm the most Indian out of us. He wont over charge us, I hope.”

They wizz through the crammed streets, horn blaring as the tuk tuk dodges all the other vehicles on the street. “It feels like the fair. Bumper cars.” Jane yells above the clamour.

“More like a white knuckle ride.” Keith shouted back.

The others agreed and laughed as they followed each others gaze to their hands which were hanging on for dear life to the metal work of the tuk tuk. They were bounced and jostled all the way to Keiths aunties house, which was just off the centre of the city. They had an apartment in a modern block. They owned it, Keith said, which in India is a a mark of your status. They took the glamorous mirrored lift up to the twentieth floor. The lift doors slid open and the motley group stepped out into a glittering space, ochres and cream, and glass, floor to ceiling glass.

“Wow!” Jane whispered, “I thought you said that your folks were fairly well off by Indian standards?”

“Aunt Rachel,” Keith hugged a tiny, jewel of a woman who seemed to have materialized from the ether. She was dressed in a dazzling azure, silk dress. The fabric was typically Asian, sheer, heavily embellished in with metal fibres and small semi precious stones, it sparkled as she reached up to kiss Keith on the cheek. The style was a Jaqui O shift, simple and neat. An opulent fusion of cultures.

Keith introduced his two friends, Jane, still looking hot and clammy from their ride to the apartment, shook Rachels elegantly manicured hand. Rachel leant in and gave her a welcoming peck. Jane felt shabby as the cool cheek and gentle perfume brushed her face.

Clara was brought forward to meet Rachel. They stared at each other for the barest of moments, in stunned silence before Rachel said, “How charming you all look.” She had grasped Claras hand and lead her into the massive room.

The group had been vaguely aware of other people on the far side of the room as they were drawn towards them by Rachel, who chattered incessantly, they could see that all were exquisitely dressed. There was barely time to register the disparity between themselves and their hosts. Rachel placed her free hand on top of Claras hand that she was holding and said to her, “I don't wish for you to be alarmed, but I think you are going to cause a storm my dear.”

Keith and Jane, walked behind Clara and Rachel and found themselves left on the outside of the circle that enveloped Rachel and Clara. The two outsiders watched as Clara was picked over, kissed, twirled and questioned. The whole process was conducted in a reverential murmur. It was a full five minutes before the family focussed upon the other two who had been transfixed by the reaction people were having to Clara. It was like a great home coming. The elderly men of the family take Keith to one side. The women of the family continue paw over Clara. Jane watches on as a servant offers her a drink from an ornate silver tray.

As things settle down it becomes apparent that Keiths family had thought that Clara was a member of the family on the English side. They had been thrilled at her resemblance to them all. Generally there was a slight air of disappointment once her relationship to Keith had been clarified.

They eat and drink. They admire the view, and in the case of Clara and Jane, want to know where all this money came from. These people were exceptionally wealthy.

Keith decides to bite the bullet and ask about his mothers' reasons for leaving India. He asked about his mums life in India before she left for England. He knew nothing of her past, only of her life with his father. He had only found out about the existence of his Indian family from a few scraps of paper his sister had found at the back of a drawer. His sister had been picking through her mothers' things after her death. She had hidden her past so well that there was one name and one address, in Dhaka.

His aunt arranges to get out old photos and tell him what she knows – in a couple of days time, but that he must be prepared for a bit of a shock. “It is all shameful,” she says and refuses to say more in front of the family. The conversation turned to their holiday and the places they planned to visit. It felt like much safer territory.

They do the tourist thing, tantalized the shameful past of Keiths mother.

*

The next morning Jane wandered into the hotel lobby to have a cooling drink. She was blotchy with the heat and the gnat bites and felt miserable. As she sat on the oversized sofa, sipping her drink to the thrum of the outside world, one of the old men who seemed to be employed to do nothing in particular, stood beside her. She looked up at him and he bowed politely to her.

“Can I help you,” Jane asked him

He wobbled his head reverentially as he mumbled a question to Jane who could not make out what he had said. She had better luck interpreting his second attempt. He had sought out Jane to ask her if Clara was the grand daughter, or great grand daughter of Mary. Jane explained that Clara was Vidas grand daughter. She was pretty sure that the other grand mother was not called Mary.

The wizzened old retainer shakes his head and says, “Oh, no, no, no, mem sahib, she comes from Mary.”

Jane decided not to share the snippet with the others. It felt disturbing. This place gives me the creeps, she thought to herself as the man shuffled about his business.

*

John was thrilled to receive a post card from Clara. She had taken the trouble to address it to Dylis as well, which he thought was a kind touch. Posted in Delhi, it had taken over a week to arrive and he slumped in his chair to enjoy it. After the usual weather report and wish you were here, Clara had repeated her concern over the date of Vidas death. Had he been to the doctors yet? What had the doctor said about his memory lapses? John put a shaking hand up to his head. How could he explain to Clara his confusion over Vidas death. She would think he had dementia. She would think he was dying.

John struggled to his feet, and made his unsteady way across his beautifully tidy living room. Picking up his telephone from its' cradle and a piece of paper with a number scrawled across it , he begins to dial. He has never phoned Dylis before, even though she has called him several times since Clara went away, to see how he was. Dylis answers, “Wildensmitt residence,”

Nervously John explains who he is, which makes Dylis laugh. He is surprised that she does not need much persuasion to bring her scuttling to his home. Thank goodness Clara cleaned up the place, he thought as he glanced around smugly, you'd never know that only a couple of weeks ago it was a proper pig stye. So glad I've got a daughter. Yeh, she's a god lass, my Clara.

John put on the kettle and sorted out a tea tray, a couple of clean cups and saucers, milk jug, and sugar bowl. He delved into his cutlery draw for 'the clean teaspoons', his best ones, the ones he kept for guests; the guests he never had. He had not realised how isolated he had become in recent years. He had no social circle at all. Standing alone in his galley kitchen resting on his perching stool, he decided that he would build himself a group of friends, just as Clara had. Why he had chosen to give up and die he did not know, but now he knew that he had been sliding away. If Clara had not been therre, he was sure that he would be dead by now.

The doorbell chimed and he snapped to. The sudden sound made him jump a little. He must get to the door. He must see Dylis.

John opens the door to well wrapped up Dylis. There are speckles of rain on her coat and her closed up umbrella is still dripping furiously. “Darling,” Dylis effused, “It's tipping down out there. Ghastly,” He took her coat to reveal a very seductively dressed Dylis in maroon crushed velvet.

“Oh Dylis,” He said, “You look gorgeous.” She held his hand, kissed him on the cheek and told him she was thrilled to be invited over. In rather serious tones, she asked him how she could be of help.

The two old timers spent over an hour chatting and Dylis, with her usual pragmatism offered “We all forget things from time to time.”

She took his hand and suggested they head out for a meal somewhere. She had her car with her, they could go somewhere nice. And they did.