A Book In A Month - Chapter 5

Once again Clara was at her dads. Things between them had improved since he had found the box at the auction. A common purpose had opened the door to conversations about the family and their links to it. The things they have in common with past relatives, interests, work, looks. The photographs were an insight into a family she had researched, but never seen. For Clara this vision of the past was mesmerising. For her father, these last two weeks had been an opportunity to socialize with his daughter, something he did not think he had ever done, despite seeing her for over an hour every day.

Between the two of them, they had managed to attach names to almost three quarters of the people in the photographs. This tin was all from Simon Simpsons' line. There was another tin, gaily coloured and even older than the Simpson tin that contained photographs and papers from Johns side of the family. They devoured his family pictures, John naming long dead ancestors as their images were drawn from the tin. John used his memory of family members, of course, but also of family events. The clothes people were wearing added a strong clue to the decade of each picture and to the jobs they held, and to their class. Clara noted that they looked quite comfortably off on both sides of the family, but that might be as a result of the sets and backdrops that the photographers used at the time to add an air of affluence.

Over the last two weeks, they had settled into a routine. John would have out, the unexplored pictures, all explored ones having been numbered and stored separately. They had prepared a note book where the details of each photograph was listed against its' number. Where there were no details, only a number and a basic description was entered. Clara had brought over a copy of her 'family file' as a reference tool. She kept her original at home as she was still adding to it, although the information was becoming much harder to trace now she was tracking so far back along both branches of her family tree.

They began their evening with a coffee and a chat about the previous evenings' research Clara had completed at home, mostly drawing blanks, and how far John had got with updating the personal information in the notebook. Then they began work on the Simpsons' photographs. John and Clara habitually pulled out a handful of papers and spread them out on the table, turning any that were the wrong way up , so they could see what was there. It was generally at this stage in the proceedings that Clara would head into the kitchen and begin to prepare the evening meal. Meanwhile John had the role of numbering each photograph and piece of paper and updating the notebook.

Clara would pop in and out of the kitchen to tend the food and check on her fathers' progress for the half an hour it took for the food to cook. Then, amidst the papers and tins, they would place their plates and eat. This was a time they had started to enjoy and yet, two weeks ago, Clara could honestly say that since the death of her mother nearly ten years ago, she had not sat at a table with her father. Now it was happening every night, and she was loving it. Once they had eaten, talking all the while, they would clear up, together. John had never in his life thought to help in the kitchen, it was womens' work in his opinion and, therefore, nothing to do with him. Clara had done nothing to appraise him of the century in which he was now living, the century which had allowed him to live in the style to which he had become accustomed. Now, suddenly and without any pushing, John had begun to dry the dishes and put them away. He was enjoying the company and, moreover, the conversation and it meant that, if he pulled his weight, they could get back to their research more quickly.

'What we need is a wedding picture of Simon and Violet,' Clara said, 'We may see that hanky in it?' John said he had thought of that, but as his eyesight was so poor, he did not think he would ever be able to see a tiny handkerchief in a small photograph. He said to Clara, ' Great idea, but your job. I can't see that kind of detail.'

Clara laughed and looked at him, 'I'm making you an appointment at the opticians because this is ridiculous.' John of course, said he was concerned about his finances, and knew that the glasses he would be prescribed would cost him dearly, over a hundred pounds. She decided she would pop out between clients and get him booked in. If she timed it well, she could go with him. Perhaps, she wondered, they could order a reasonably priced pair of spectacles from the internet. Then her father could fully appreciate the detail of the family images.

Clara normally stayed for about an hour after their meal and then went home to get on the internet. This was their routine. One that anyone meeting them for the first time would think that they had always been a close and loving father and daughter. No one would guess that they had been self contained, honouring their duties, but not really interested in, or loving, each other. Clara was reeling from the pleasant change she was experiencing in her relationship with her father.

*

Jane, Claras' friend who worked as an acupuncturist three consulting rooms further along the corridor, had listened to Claras' account of her and her fathers' search. Because Clara had been working hard on her research, Jane had eventually decided to sought her out. Their regular meetings had suddenly stopped, with no real explanation, which annoyed Jane and made her seek an explanation. At the beginning of the second week of Claras' purdah, Jane wandered along the corridor at their usual meeting time, herb teas in hand, and tapped on Claras consulting room door. They spent their social meetings for the following week chasing clues and bouncing ideas off of each other. Jane had caught the ancestor hunting bug. Today, the beginning of week four, was to be no different. Jane had turned up, with her netbook and was ready to Google anything that Clara needed help with. But Clara was down fallen.

'We're getting no where,' She said, 'I don't know? Maybe there was no secret daughter. It's typical of me. I've just run away with a stupid, naive idea that has no grounding in reality. It's a waste of time.'

Jane was resolute, 'You might well be right, I guess, but we don't know if you are. It may be that you're missing something obvious.'

'If it's that bloody obvious, we would've spotted it, wouldn't we?'

'Well, I've been thinking about that. We're looking for this fictitious Natasha. How about we accept that she might not be called Simpson?' Jane was cut off abruptly.

'We know she might be any old Natasha who's necklace box ended up in an auction along with a load of other odds and ends. Which is where I am now. Surrounded by odds and ends of information and all of it says there is no Natasha Simpson in the UK at this time, or place. She never existed.'

'No, no, you don't get it. Sorry, that was a bit harsh. What I mean is, I was wondering if your grand dad had an affair?' asked Jane, gently.

'Oh blimey. If he did we'd never be able to track down an illegitimate child. Well we could, but it would take some doing. The mother would've had to put his name on the birth certificate to make it possible to do a trace. Single mums didn't, and still don't, always do that. I reckon we'll be clutching at straws to go on a hunt for grand dads name on some birth certificate.' Clara shrugged and slurped on her Camomile Tea.

'Why don't we have a go at that for, say, another week. If we don't get anywhere, we'll give up on her and accept that the box was a random collection of things that you and your dad wanted to link together. We'll accept that, what ever her last name might have been, Natasha was not the daughter of your grand dad.' Jane said, 'What d'you think?'

'Well, it's a plan.' Said a somewhat more cheerful Clara.

'But is it a plan you can live with, Clara?' asked Jane.

'Yes, it is. I guess I like the idea of 'Natasha the mystery girl', and I know that if we draw a blank, I lose a member of my family and a possible branch of it too. For some reason that feels really important to me. I don't know why. It never was before all this.' Clara looked at Jane. 'Strange creatures, aren't we?'

Jane laughed, 'Oh yeh. Some of us are stranger than others.'

The decision was made. They would meet up over a few more break times and Jane would carry on at home too. She was as hooked on the project as Clara.