A Book In A Month - Chapter 25

The little group of travellers checked through the considerable pile of hotel registers. They were looking for evidence of Simons visits. The dates had been supplied by the tobacco company, and those dates and the registers should tally. Over and over again Simon was present at the hotel, as expected; and so was another person. Her name was Mrs Mary Simpson, she shared a room with her husband, Simon Simpson.

“That can't be right. He was married to my grand mother.” Clara was exasperated. Simon had a lover and the records showed that they were regulars at the hotel for several years. Then they stopped. Simons work record had him visiting the area up until 1946. After that he no longer returned to Dhaka.

Keith explained that the change in routine probably had something to do with partition, the time when India and Pakistan became separate nations. It was a time of massive upheaval, that saw mass migration of people along religious grounds. It made sense that as these changes fell into place, Simon would stop going to Dhaka as it had been placed into the brand new country of Pakistan.

“Dhaka was in Pakistan?” Jane queried, “We;re not in Pakistan now though, are we?”

“We're in India, kind of. Dhaka removed itself from Pakistan in a bloody uprising. It was pretty awful my aunty told me last time I was here. Her family went through it all. The killing, the hand to hand fighting. No one was safe here at that time. It was grizzly.”

The group decided to record the dates from the registers. They set about looking for a photocopier, although they were concerned that if they asked the hotel if they could take copies, they would be refused. They smuggle out the books in a large bag and get into a taxi. For an exorbitant fee they were taken to a copy shop and brought back again by their overly attentive driver. He had adopted the group, gave them his card and repeatedly demanded that they call the number and ask for him by name. He would be their guide. He was the best taxi driver in Dhaka. The group booked him to collect them the next day so that they return to Keiths aunt to look through her family photos.

*

The next day the taxi arrived as arranged. The driver came into the hotel lobby to announce that their transport was ready. Clara was first to great the driver, followed by the other two. Keith had his small selection of photographs with him in readiness for the meeting.

At Keiths aunts luxurious home, A quite a large number of family members have arrived with photographs. It seems that every one wants to join in with this trip down memory lane. They don't seem too jolly.

Keiths aunt had tea and cookies served and they chatted about how they should proceed with the task ahead. Over tea it emerged that the best way would be to make a family tree, possibly on the floor. It would be large. It pleased Keith to find that he had many family members in Dhaka, when only a short time ago, he only had his immediate family in the UK. How quickly things had changed.

As images were laid down, Clara placed, them in a family tree style, starting with Keiths generation, his cousins. He had over forty cousins. This was a very big family. How could his mother have walked away from all this? He was burning to know what had happened, but it was clear that the Indian side of his family were reticent about the topic.

Family members shuffled snaps to find candidates to fit into each generation. There was laughter as images of themselves were placed with care their names added on post it stickers. Hand shakes and introductions marked the building up of the most recent generations. As people were named, Jane made herself useful by making a copy of the developing tree on a sheet of A4 paper. Keith was fascinated by the number of cousins and second cousins he has. They were all named and there were photos for most of them. Laborious. Where there are no photos, the name was placed.

Once the generations from Keith to the modern day was complete, it was time to go back one generation. They would now concentrate on his mothers generation. Again, they named each person.

“Natasha. I never knew your mum was called Natasha,” said Clara.

“Why would you, I always call her mum.” Keith responded with a tired smile. Natashas sisters and brothers were placed above their offspring. Their partners were added.

Keiths mother had married at nineteen years old and had six children. Keith repeats what he has just learnt as the pictures were placed one by one, “My mother had an Indian husband and 6 children. How could she leave them and never ever mention them again. I don't understand this. She was so loving. I don't understand any of this. Look, are you sure this is my mother?”

Keiths aunt was quiet, slow, what she was about to say pained her. She did not want to relive the days that led up to Natasha leaving the family. Those who had lived through the times never spoke of it, it was so painful even today.

Keith pressed her for information. He had no clue as to what had happened. His mother had six children in Dhaka and had walked out on them and her husband, married again in the UK and started all over again. There was a story here that he needed to be told.

“All dead. There was an uprising. It's in the past. Bangladesh wanted to be out of Pakistan. We fought for our nation. It was bitter and bloody. I mentioned it last time you came. It is a defining moment in your family.” There was silence as his aunt, tiny, huddled on the floor, talking in a scant whisper continued. “Your mother, Natasha, was a very pretty woman, like Clara here. So like Clara.” She fell into silence as she wiped away the tears that flowed discreetly. “Please forgive me.This is a difficult time for me to tell you about. So many bad things happened, but by far the worst, was what happened to my sister Natasha's family. All killed. Every last one. But first, first they raped her. Her husband and children were made to watch. When it was over they killed them all and beat my beautiful sister so badly that she was left for dead.” She wept silently.

Keith, uncomprehending looked at his aunt,”I don't understand. How could she be so normal. My mum couldn't have gone through all that and been so, so, ordinary.

A servant entered the room and cleared his throat. All eyes fell on him, barely grasping what he was. Keiths aunt nodded. “Lunch is served.” he said in a pompous manner.

They all trailed into the dining room to eat. It was a feast for a special occasion, but not a word was uttered for a quarter of an hour. At last the aunt raised her wine glass and offered a toast to Natasha and both her families. It broke the ice. People around the table began to relax. By the end of the lunch , which had several courses, the family had begun to enjoy themselves.

By the end of the lunch no body felt they want to do any more work on the family tree. It had been too traumatic for one day. They planned to resume in a couple of days time to finish off. Jane took a photo of the work so far, and a few close ups. Keith can't get the revelation about his mums disastrous Indian life out of his head.

*

Dylis and John had enjoyed a wonderful evening together at a very good restaurant. Considering their early dislike of each other, John was puzzled about their conversion from mortal enemies to lovers. Well, not actually lovers, but they were certainly a close couple now and he liked that.

During a session at the college, John attempted to befriend the two men he sat next to. He thought he should suggest a pub visit. He hoped they might say yes. He was determined to make some friends and could see no reason to put off the start of the project.

The two students were a little taken aback and joked that John and Dylis must have had a falling out. Why else would he suddenly be wanting to go to the pub with them? They arranged to meet up that evening at Johns local, not that he had been to it very often. Pubs were not much fun if you were on your own, but tonight would be different.

Dylis came to check that her students were on task and slipped a note to John inviting him to her place for a square meal that evening, as his daughter has gone away.

At coffee, John had to turn down the offer of a meal, but, luckily, Dylis will have her place to herself for a few days. He will tie up with her the following night. She wishes him luck with his date at the pub.

At Dylis' place, they looked through her photo album. Her late husband and the children and grand children were admired. John told her that he despaired of ever having grandchildren, and that is why he was so lonely. Now that he was widowed, a younger generation would be wonderful.

Dylis turns the conversation to his home, “It's very lovely,” she informs him “It's an upmarket development.” She was impressed and wanted to know what he had done for a living.

He was persuaded to tell Dylis about his work and explained he was not particularly well paid, but he and his wife had been fortunate to inherit a lot of money his wifes side of the family. Though it was not as much money as they were expecting. There were huge difficulties getting money out of India and some had been spent. He had no complaints, however s there was plenty left to give him a comfortable retirement.  

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.

A Book In A Month - Chapter 23

PART 2

In India.

Once they had found their Delhi hotel, the little group hit the ground running. It was a magnificently noisy, smelly, dusty and hot city. Clara marveled at the combination of grandeur and grinding poverty as they took one tuk tuk after another in their quest for Vidas' death certificate. Clara decided the heat was what made the officials demand one form of identification after another, one payment after another. It was their way of working slowly. Once all the documentation had been presented by Clara, she knew the person behind the grubby glass screen would have to get up and interrogate the archives, which she was sure hid in the basement; ranks of cobweb covered files. Who would want to go to all that trouble, if they could persuade a poor European run back and forth to their hotel room on one fools errand after another? And that was nothing when compared to the amount of money they had to part with. Every stage had a fee. These jobs were sought after, often, John had said, they were purchased, such was their value. One simply had to pay up, consider it a tax, not an imposition. Besides, John had also assured them, when compared with British money, these were tiny amounts and would not affect their budget in the slightest. Clara wiped the sweat from around her eyes and under her nose, and fumed, as she looked at the dirt that had come away on her tissue. “This country is filthy,” she muttered crossly. She and the others were hot and tired after three full days of battling with the Indian bureaucracy. They regrouped in the cool, marbled lobby of their hotel. The death certificate would be ready to collect the next day at three in the afternoon. There would be an inevitable fee, for the copy of the certificate and administrative charges. Clara shrugged and slurped her ice cold lassi, “I think we might be getting somewhere; at last.”

The next day they headed out to do some sight seeing. Finding the family home, somewhere in the vastness of this city would have to wait. One task at a time was their modusperandi. By the time they walked, dripping with sweat, into the records office, it was two forty five, almost time to take possession of this heavily anticipated document. They had seen India gate and had eaten lunch in a large, public park. They were praying that eating street food would not lay them low, but they knew it was a serious risk. “This certificate had better be ready for us today, because we may all be exploding tomorrow. We'll probably feel like death on a stick.” A very red, English abroad, Jane panted as she dabbed her neck with a large white handkerchief. She looked at the lethargic fans as they drew lazy circles above her head, “Mind you, I can't say I feel that well now.”

The other two looked at her in horror. “Not now, Jane. Oh please, don't get sick on us now.” Keith pleaded as he hooked his hand under her elbow and walked her to the nearest seat. “Clara, how about you get yourself in the queue. We'll be fine over there. I'll keep you posted on Janes condition,” He looked over his shoulder and winked at Clara as they made there way through the throng to the other side of the vast hall.

Over two hours later, Clara appeared before her two calm, relatively cool, friends who were sitting very still amidst a sea of people. She was hot, frustrated, and ecstatic and waving a large piece of paper from her copiously sweating hand. She had remained standing for the entire time, standing in a tight line, breathing in the sweat of her co-sufferers. Clara flopped down next to Jane and Keith. “I can't believe you guys waited for so long. I'm so sorry. Jane are you OK?”

“Yeh, I'm fine. I think I was overheating. I managed to drink all my water and Keiths. Now I feel better, apart from the headache that's coming on.” She gave a wan smile and waved a hand in front of her face. “What does it say?” Jane Pointed at Claras hand. “The death certificate. Who was right? When did you nan pass away?”

“Don't ask. She died in 1960. That's twelve years before I was born. I don't get it. How could my dad get it wrong. The only reason my parents came here at that time, was so that I would be born with my gand mother present. The only reason.” Clara looked at them both. “What's it all about? My dad's either senile, or a liar. Both scare me.”

“I think it's best we head back to the hotel and gather our strength. It's been a hell of a day.” Keith suggested mildly.

The following day the little group took what felt like their millionth tuk tuk to the address in Claras note book. Clara had already spoken to her father about the information on the death certificate. He had promised her that he would make an appointment to go to the doctors. He was concerned about his brain. Was he developing senile dementia? He said the idea made him fearful, He did not want to end his days as a mindless wreck, sitting on a plastic coated high seat, in a careless nursing home. Clara wept as he spoke and reassured him it could not be any such thing as he had not shown any other sign of the condition as far as she could tell. She let her father know that she was planning to take a ride to the family pile and that she would take a photo for him and email it. Dylis would help him open his email and download the image. John had no idea what Clara had just said. She laughed, “I'll call Dylis once I've done it and she'll show you. It'll be fun.”

When they get to the house, it turns out to be a bungalow. Clara is thrilled. A real Indian bungalow; white, steps, veranda, perfection. The owner was a pleasant elderly Indian man who offers an open welcome. They drank tea as they discussed Claras mission.

“It is not every day an English girl washes up and claims to have been born in your house,” Claimed the house holder. He felt honoured that such a lovely young lady should have been born in his home. He described her as gracious. Clara was flattered and agreed to take his advice and talk to his neighbour, an elderly gentleman. He had been born in his house and had never left it. There was no doubt that he would remember her family. Unfortunately he was away, staying at his sons house, but would be back in a couple of weeks. They carefully draft a letter as they enjoy a coke in a local cafe. Before they leave the district they handed the brief letter to the elderly neighbours' daughter in law, stating their business and saying they'll be back in three weeks.

The group had done well. They had allowed a mere six days for this leg f the journey and they had needed it. Even with all the queuing and toing and froing, they had managed some sightseeing too. But now it was time to leave. They had to make their flight form Delhi to Dhaka. Leg two of their journey was about to begin. They were all hoping that they would learn a lot about Keiths family and that it would be cooler. Naturally, Keith pointed out that it would not. Dhaka was south of Delhi. Logic had it that it would be hotter.

*

The group made it to Dhaka. They booked into the hotel that Simon had used and asked the receptionist about Simon as they checked in. The manager came out of the back office to discuss Claras questions. As he walked into reception, the manager is a bit taken aback. He is an older man, and has been an employee at the hotel since he was nine years old. He does not want to show the group the old hotel registers, but eventually, after a tip, produces produces them. They cover the time in question. They take the registers to Clara and Janes room to study, after the obligatory fee.

They could not sleep. There was something compelling about the records. Simon appeared again and again. Always a double room. Always with Mrs Simpson – M Simpson. Dirty old sod, says Clara. “He was having an affair. Look how often he stayed with her. I can hardly believe it. He was so blatant. There was never an M Simpson.”

They decide that need to set about trying to trace M. Simpson. It wasn't much to go on. They are put in touch with older members of staff, who still, creakily work at the hotel. Both old workers greeted Clara warmly, saying she must be one of Marys family. Clara says that she has no relatives called Mary. But both of the old retainers recognised her instantly. 'She' was called Mary and was an Anglo Indian. They could tell they weren't married. She was always so nervous. Always looking over her shoulder.

Clara found the incident unsettling. There was something odd going on here. Keith laughed and said that she was making too much of it. The next day, after less than four hours sleep, they crawled out of their beds. They had arranged to rush off in a taxi to go to tea at one of Keiths Aunts house.

A Book In A Month - Chapter 22

For John, his computer course had delivered new skills and the chance of new love. With heating cranked up to full in his little apartment, he sorted through his photo collection to find the ones that Clara had selected as the most helpful. They had been piled up to one side of the rejected images, but, sadly, they had been intermingled when John had another attack of tidyitis, as he liked to call it. As He was going to take them with him today and learn the dark art of scanning. Dylis would help him, he was sure of that, even though it was not on the syllabus and he had not arranged this diversion with her. John was pretty sure that Dylis would help him as she was very taken with his research on India. Her romantic notions about the Silk Route had been the catalyst that bound them together, so she could refuse him nothing.

Photographs located and stuffed into his coat pocket, heating turned off, John left for a day at the college. He was so well muffled up that it would have been difficult for even his daughter to recognise him. The hard frost could not, would not, penetrate his defences. He began his slow walk to his lessons.

*

Keith, Clara and Jane were almost ready to go on their holiday. They decided that a night out would be a great idea. They could use it to finalise their plans, check all their bookings for accommodation and travel. The rest of the gang were planning a bit of a send off for their friends. It was going to be a Friday night to remember. The holiday makers had actually stayed sober. The freezing weather had cut them to the bone as they walked back to Keith's place. The drunken members of the group were oblivious to the cold, striding along with the help of each other, collapsing in intermittent bouts of hot giggles. The gang finally made their way to Keith's flat at three in the morning. Clara is fascinated as her friends sort themselves out for bed. Teas and coffees are made, and rooms selected. She had always been so drunk by this time of the night, that she had no recollection of it.

“I know,” Jane whispered, “It's all new to me too. Although, obviously, I've never been as drunk as you.”

“Do you think I drink too much, Jane?”

“When you drink, you drink to the point of oblivion. You're like a teenager.” Came the response.

“I'm going to cut back. After this holiday, I'm going to be a new girl.” Clara vowed earnestly.

“Hey, what's brought this on. I didn't want to go out with a bloody nun.” Jane said as she closed in to give Clara a hug.

Keith breezed through the living room, sober, tidying up his flat. He glanced at the embracing women “That's one way to keep warm; me, I'm having a hot water bottle. ” he called out as he disappeared into the kitchen with empty mugs. “I'll just do this and then get out of your hair.” Night girls,

The girls, in mid hug, watched him from the safety of their embrace, snatched a kiss and broke off. They needed to get ready for bed. There would be a lot to do on Saturday. They knew that they would need to be up early in the morning, or at least, at some point in the morning. The others would not manage to crawl out of their pits until lunch time, as usual.

Keith popped his head around the kitchen door, “Is it safe to come in?” He was holding a couple of hot water bottles to his chest. “If I had a girlfriend I wouldn't need these. Night you two.” He padded his way back across the room, as the girls laughed at him.

*

By the time the gang has crawled out of bed, Keith, Clara and Jane had checked all the details surrounding their trip. Keith was in need of a photocopier, he had decided to take some copies of his mothers photos with him. He had, with the help of the other two, chosen images of his mother at various ages and some of his family. He hoped that his relatives in India might like to look at them and, perhaps, have some to keep. He might also be able to track down other people who had known his mother if he had a few spares with him. It was a trip into town for the group. Naturally they all found their way to the bookshop and in particular, the coffee shop with it's aroma of cinnamon and vanilla tempting them to have cake as well as the coffee that they had come in for.

The photocopying had been done. Short of the final hand baggage packing, they were ready to go. In three days their normal nine-til-five routine would be wiped away, replaced, instead, by what Jane had described as 'purposeful holidaying'. The group chattered on, and customers came and went. The constant clatter of mugs and plates, combined with the rumble of voices and the sweet smell of food flooded their senses with all things western. Jane looked away from her friends for a moment to take in the scene. The cafe was packed and muggy. She studied the people at the other tables; a multi-cultural gathering that probably represented every continent on the planet. The back of an old mans' head caught her eye. “Clara.” she said, “Look over there. Isn't that your dad?”

Clara swivelled in her seat and, as people do when they have an intimate knowledge of some one, she spotted her father immediately. “Dad!” she yelled across the heads of at least a dozen other customers. He did not respond. “Bloody hearing aid,” Clara bemoaned to her audience of fellow coffee aficionados. “Sorry.” She was embarrassed to have the eyes of most of the cafe upon her. Clara apologised to her friends and began to pick her way through the maze of chairs with their engrossed occupants and the maze formed by the clumsily dropped bags and boxes of shopping.

John and Dylis were sitting in comfortable silence, drinking coffee and staring into space.

“Dad.” Clara said as she put her hand on his shoulder. He started out of his revere, Dylis smile as recognition drizzled into her. “Hello you two.”

Dylis was so excited to meet Clara again that she held her in feverish conversation about the upcoming holiday. Eventually the gang decided to join John, Dylis and Clara and they surged across the cafe by any available route in order to get to them. Some brought their chairs with them, the others lived in hope that this jam packed little coffee shop would still have a few spare seats. John and Dylis were overwhelmed by almost ten thirty and forty somethings. They relished the attention, they relished being part of the excitement that was this group of 'young people'. Dylis insists on hearing the full itinerary Alan insists on fresh coffee all round, on him. Their corner of the cafe took on a party air with the chatter centring on the Dhaka area and it's links to both families. Clara was particularly pleased that the hotel Simon had used was still trading, although it was used by Indians, rather than westerners and would be 'very basic', she had said. If it was too awful, they could decamp to a more modern place, once they had made their investigation. Keith insisted that some of his family members were keen to show hospitality to the holiday makers.

Keith explains his mothers' secrecy and says he wants to know what the problem was that made her want to get away. Certainly her departure was said to have brought great shame on the family. Her marriage had been arranged and she simply ran away. He said he also wouldn't mind knowing where her money came from, because her family in India were not that well off, although they were Anglo Indian, and comfortable by Indian standards. Conversely his mother was well off by British standards. John tells him there will be an explanation, he must be brave enough to ask about it. He says that since his mother died he is free to enquire. His sisters are curious too and have, he says given him some money towards his trip. That was how he and the others had been able to take so long away from their practises. The three of them had put the gift of money into their 'holiday pot'. It was how they had also been able to afford to tour some of the iconic sites the country had to offer. It was a very generous gift.

Dylis was enchanted by the plans and offered a near perfect swoon when Jane listed the tourist sites they planned to visit after the Delhi and Dhaka legs of the holiday.

“Oh, how wonderful. I have always held onto a dream that I might, one day, see the Taj Mahal. Too old now. Too romantic for an oldie like me.” Dylis was quietly spoken, theatrically so.

Her yearning statement pulled the group to a natural lull. Both the chatter and coffee had become low, the group said that they had nothing else to do in town today, as they had finished the photocopying. Dylis demanded a view of the pictures that Keith planned to take away with him. She had, after all, seen the ones that Clara would take. Keith produced his wallet and showed Dylis and John the small set of s. He had several copies of each image so that he could give them away. Dylis comments on his beautiful sisters and how lovely his mother looked.

John, who was agreeing with Dylis about the obvious charms of Keith's siblings suddenly choked violently on his coffee as a picture of Keith's mother was revealed. Tears streamed down his reddened face, his voice came in a squeak. He kept shaking his head as he coughed loudly. The other customers began to stare at him. He put his cup down shakily and whispers hoarsely, “That can't be your mother?”

“I know”, says Keith, “Clara is the image of her, and, if it comes to that she looks just like one of my sisters too! I should have warned you.” John re-composed himself. Beneath the table, he gripped his knees tightly, as he tried stop his fingers trembling and, also, to prevent the rising tide of adrenalin from making his legs disappear from under him. He wanted to run out of the place. He said faintly, “I don't know why, but that really was a shock. I am a silly old fool.”

Dylis then took a second look. She pointed out that, in her opinion, it was less that Clara looked Asian and more that Keith's mum was not fully Asian, and, of course, he and his sisters have even less Asian blood running through them. “Its a strong resemblance,” she told them with her usual high authority, “No more than that. We see what we want to see.”

They all go their separate ways after that. Keith is really impressed with Johns' reaction to the photo. He said, “It's as if your dad had seen a ghost.”

After a silence that drifted along The High Street and on through time, Jane said, “Well, perhaps, to him, that's how it felt. He was seeing Clara in 30 years time. That has to be pretty freaky by any standards. Worse than that, because your mum has passed away, John was seeing the mortality of Clara in hard print.” They accuse her of going overboard on the psychobabble and step up their pace.

Dylis was enchanted by the plans and offered a near perfect swoon when Jane listed the tourist sites they planned to visit after the Delhi and Dhaka legs of the holiday.

“Oh, how wonderful. I have always held onto a dream that I might, one day, see the Taj Mahal. Too old now. Too romantic for an oldie like me.” Dylis was quietly spoken, theatrically so.

They run through their itinerary and say they've booked in at the hotel in Dhaka used by Simon. Keith and John get into conversation about India, the places they've been and their family ties.

They were flying out in three days and agree to meet up on Monday at work to organise the pictures they were taking with them and to make a record of addresses and dates that they might need to reference while they were away. List what taking.

A Book In A Month - Chapter 21

The three co-workers spend their lunch breaks in a huddle over books and maps, trying to decide exactly where in India they might go during their month. Where will they go and why? How long should they spend in each place and what will they do there? Where will they stay, and how will they travel? These were the questions they were trying to answer. There was nothing difficult about it,it was simply that they had a lot to do.

For Keith the journey will be a deeply personal one, he will try to s to know find out more about his mums life before she left India. This was a time that she never spoke of. Now that he had met members of his extended family he felt he might be able to ask them about his mothers' past. To do this he had to go to Dhaka and talk to as many family members as he could. He wanted to see the Taj Mahal.

Clara wanted to find out when Vida died, what from and where. She assumed that the answers would be found in Dheli. She to, wanted to get to Dakha to take a look, to assess whether Simon had owned the bird book, to visit the hotel that he used to stay in when there for work. Clara wondered if there might be an ageing member of staff who could remember Simon and tell her a little about him. It was worth a try. Like Keith she really wants to visit the Taj Mahal and also adds the Red Fort to her list.

Jane was not too concerned about the itinerary. She would be happy to be with Clara, no matter where that was on the planet. Jane wonders about Keith, will he be made to feel like a gooseberry, as he tags along with the two lovers.

Their exploration of their holiday possibilities continues apace as the week drizzles on.

*

Later that week, John and Clara decide to sort out the photos that might go on the Indian trip with Clara. She had decided to take copies of photos with her and flash them, like the private investigators she had seen on the cheesy American TV shows. For John, this was a rather silly idea, as the people who would have been around when Simon was alive would now all be dead. He could see little point in bothering to make up a small album. In fact he could see little point in Claras determination to find out about the details of her grand mothers death and also visit the family home in India. As for the hotel in Dakha, there was no possibility of finding anyone alive who had ever set eyes on Simon, let alone finding the hotel itself. “It will be a festering ruin by now,” John had said.

“Why not leave it and have a holiday, make a holiday of it. You'll bore your friends if you make them hang about while you rummage through a load of dusty old papers. I'm just saying, is all,” he finished.

Clara went over her feelings an the matter and those of her colleagues, Her father looked far from convinced.

“Poor Jane,” he said. All she'll do is hang about as you and Keith, drag all over India on a wild goose chase. Selfish, I call it.”

She could not under stand her fathers lack of enthusiasm for the trip. Not that he was ever that enthusiastic about their genealogy hobby. He had only taken any kind of interest in the matter after he had bought the box at an auction, and even then, he ran hot and cold on the project. It was a puzzle to her. Here was a man she had never felt close to, a man who always worked long hours and never cuddled cuddled her. He had been dutiful, as men of his age were. He had been a good provider, but he had never been loving and now that they had something in common, he kept pouring cold water on it. It was frustrating. If Jane could be here with her and John, in the flat, she would be able to interpret his behaviour, which might help Clara to hold her tongue. Right now, she thought, I could happily strangle him, the miserable old git.

John was oblivious of his effect on Clara, even though he could tell she was excited about her trip, he knew she was taking on too much and that would lead to disappointment. He offered a coffee and changed the subject onto Dylis. This week they had been out to lunch every day and he had started to learn all about databases. He could not believe how much Dylis knew about computers. All that knowledge, at her age, had made him feel inadequate. All he had managed to do in the recent past was move into a retirement flat and fill it with junk.

There was such a lot to do before Clara was due to fly out. Johns messy flat was top of the list, despite having worked on it every night that week, it was a disaster. The more they did, the more they found to do. She could not believe that her father had amassed so much stuff in such a short space of time. Clara knew that, here in the midst of the bitter cold, streaming wet, winter, she would have to make repeated trips to their local tip. The very thought made her shiver. She did not relish the idea of rushing about in the elements emptying a load of boxes into huge, labelled skips. Clara knew she would have to put in a few extra hours every night. If she did not, Johns flat would still be a cluttered and dirty as she left on her holiday. By the time she returned, John might have gone cold on the idea of having a lovely home. Claras extra duties at her fathers home, filling his freezer with pre-cooked meals and scrubbing out added to the pressure of the holiday preparations that her friends were undertaking. Clara was planning to make double everything and freeze half, she intended to do this right up to her departure date. On top of all this she found herself pondering her fathers new found love, wondering if her father was grooming Dylis into being his carer during Claras travels. It was a mean thing to think, but Clara was feeling very mean as she sipped her coffee and looked through the old family pictures.

*

The group were planning on heading out at the weekend to look into booking their flights and making their travel arrangements so that they get around India and visit all the places on their ever lengthening list. The holiday was looming large and they had not even looked at the nitty gritty. They would have to complete their visa applications and check up about vaccinations and malaria pills. After a Friday night out at the local pub and club, they would have to knuckle down. This was the make or break weekend. There was a lot to do and no time left to do it.

A Book In A Month - Chapter 20

This was to be a big day for John. He had decided to see if he could buy Dylis lunch. Would the Ice Maiden melt? He rubbed his hands together to warm them as he ascended to the heaven that was the IT room. He floated into the room, with the help of his walking stick, an angel in an old mans' body and shuffled to his usual seat. The others, Sid and Bert had not arrived. Like him, this was not only a chance to learn how to use a computer, no it was also their way to keep down their heating costs. The three elderly men all thought they had been especially canny until they looked around the room at the other students, all of whom were probably on the same ruse.

Although John had now finished his word processing module, he still had a test to complete. Dylis bustled over, assessment sheet in hand. “This will set your grade.” She told him as she fluttered both it and her eyelashes at him. “Try your hardest for me John.”

How could he do otherwise. He had swivelled his seat so that he could see her, “What if I fail?” He asked her in genuine agony at the thought of looking stupid in her eyes.

“We lose funding whenever a student doesn't make the grade. Too many poor grades, and it's curtains for the course. Don't let me down.” She patted him on the shoulder, “You can take as long as you want, but you must not discuss the test with any one. It should be exam conditions.”

“What if I need a wee?”

“Or food,” she added, “Put up your hand and someone will escort you.”

“It's rather a serious undertaking, this exam lark. I feel like I'm back at school.” He added as he turned himself to face the screen and began to read the test sheet.

John had to choose a topic to write about, type it up and then alter it according to his instructions on the exam paper. He decided his written piece would take the form of an apology to Dylis for his behaviour the first few times that they had encountered each other. He hoped that if any other tutors on the course read it, they would not realise it was about Dylis. He Knew that if she read it, and he would make sure she did, that she would immediately know it was about her. His final hope was, as he cracked his knuckles before beginning to type, that Dylis would accept his apology. He had been a silly old fool. She had been magnanimous even though she had every right to remain permanently offended. He felt he was certainly lucky to be given another chance.

Lunch time loomed large and John had to break off to eat. He had alreadyntaken two toilet breaks, one with a coffee break, now he was famished and in need of the toilet again. He raised his hand, waited in silence for Dylis to come to his aid and handed her a page of text.

“No, no, you don't hand it in yet. Well, unless you've finished, off course?” Dylis said as she took the paper from him.

“This is a bit of extra curricular. Read it.” He said.

Dylis went through the paper, commenting on his centring, the use of tabs, the bold text. “Ah yes, the bold text.” she repeats in a whisper, as she absorbs the full meaning of the content. “In response to the PS: I take it, this is about us?” John nodded, “Yes, I see. In that case, in response to the PS, I'd love you to take me to lunch at the book shop. As long as you don't embarrass me while we're there, Besides, you have to be escorted when you're not at your computer. I'll go and clear it with my boss. Wont be a mo.” And with that she was gone, still clutching the apology.

Who'd of thought it, mused John. We couldn't stand each other when we first met, now we're thick as thieves.

*

The two maps sit on Johns living room table. It had taken him several evenings of careful effort to copy one to the other, without too many mistakes. He was glad of his new glasses which had been so expensive, but had enabled him to complete the task with relative ease. Clara would be able to take it with her tonight, once she had cooked him a meal and they had eaten it together. John folds both maps carefully and places one on top of the other on the dining table so that they form a neat pile. They were incongruous amongst the muddle that was his life. He looked at his home with some concern, What if I invite Dylis back sometime? I've got to get this place straight. What the hell would she think. What would she think?

By the time Clara walked through the door John had cleared his dining table and all the seats of the detritus that constituted his life. It was now all in one pile, almost a metre high, with a couple of full carrier bags next to it. He was busy filling a third carrier bag. A second small pile of papers, magazines and books rested by his left foot. This was his keeper pile, he would put them away later.

Clara was aghast. The flat had never looked so tidy. “You should keep all your stuff in one huge pile dad. It looks so much better like this.”

Poor John tells Clara about his possible problem in the vain hope that his daughter will give up part of an evening, or even a weekend to help him have a total sort out. Clara is not too keen on the idea as Johns' possessions are both present in overwhelming amounts and he was pathologically attached to every single item, as far as she could tell. They chat about the mess and the possible solutions, which include the faint chance that Dylis might take pity on his situation and clean up the for him. Clara, not surprisingly, offers to help in out in exchange for the copy of the map.

“One place I know you'll be going is Dhaka,” John tells her as they drain their coffees for the second time that evening, “All roads seem to lead there.”

“Strange,” comments Clara, “As he doesn't have to go there for work, so he must be going out of his way.”

“Well, it's to see birds.” Said John ironically. As he had decided that there was no link between the bird book and Simons journeys for work., he thought it was an amusing thing to say.

Clara wondered why a man would go to a distant city without good reason. The birds can not have been so fantastic that they kept drawing him back, especially as he was not a bird watcher. She had wondered if her mother had been sent there for her education, but Simons work record showed that that was not the case. Her school fees were recorded and met by the tobacco company, and supported by detailed documentation. There was no obvious reason for him to keep going there. The company paperwork showed he was there from time to time and that he stayed in one particular hotel. The map from the bird book told a different story. Despite John saying that the two records were not linked, Clara felt that they were. She intended to study the map very closely to ascertain the truth.

A Book In A Month - Chapter 19

The group headed out for their, now usual, Friday night of clubbing with a plan in mind. The plan, unbeknown to Clara and Keith was to match make them. The moment the girls make a massed advance on the toilets, the men begin to work on Keith. They would not hear of his pleas that she was far too old for him. Nor were they impressed with his cries of, look at her, she's the wrong height for me. They insisted that the two of them got along so well and that far from looking wrong together, they actually looked perfect as a couple.

Meanwhile in the ladies toilets, the girls were attempting to weave their magic on Clara, who was having none of it. She did not tell them that she was gay, preferring to dwell on the same faults with the idea that Keith was expounding at the bar. Both of them say that if they were nearer in age, that they might be a little more interested. Age is no defence, was yelled simultaneously in the ladies and at the bar. People looked around, confused about the source of the noise. Each gender finally insist that they're perfect for each other and had better get on with it this evening, or they would have to face the consequences. It was all in good humour, but the threat bore down on the two friends and by the end of the night they have a smooch together,to whoops and hollars from the rest of the group.

Clara whispered in Keiths ear, ”You know, it's nothing personal, but.... I'm gay.”

He laughed and said, “Nice try.” Kissing her tenderly on her naked shoulder, he held her more tightly. She protested discreetly. Looking over Keiths shoulder for some help and support, Clara caught sight of the others who were enjoying the show. Clara felt embarrassed about her new situation. It was clear that she would have to come clean about her sexuality. Clara felt a knot developing in the pit of her stomach. She would chat to Jane about it first. With Jane for support perhaps they could raise the subject together.

Jane handed a cocktail to Clara as she and Keith stepped off the dance floor together and Clara grabbed her by the elbow, hissing, “Loo. Now!”

Off they swooped, leaving Keith to the ravening group.

“I need to chat to you about the Keith thing,” Clara said. “It's Keith, I told him I'm gay.” Jane laughs. “Jane, I wasn't joking.”

“Oh. God, why didn't you say so?”

“Life's never that easy.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“I need to let the group know the truth,”Clara took a long slurp from her cocktail, “Or at least, to get well drunk.”

*

Clara woke up in a dreamy haze. She reached for her clock, but couldn't find it. Opening one eye, she scanned the bedside cabinet, a low table. Reality seeped into her. A bedroom. That is unusual. A hand brushed her naked side. It drifted over her hip and came to a gentle rest on her buttock. Clara slamed her eye shut. Don't panic. Who the hell am I in bed with? Bloody hell. Speak to her. Him? Oh God. “Morning,” Clara burbled huskily.

“Mornin my lovely,” Janes voice echoed.

Clara was in bed with Jane. Naked. Touching. Private. Blimey!

“Morning Jane.” Clara could think of nothing to say that would not give away the complete void in her memory.

“Fancy a drink?” Jane asked brightly. “I'm pretty sure I heard someone out there doing the coffee thing.

“Um, yeh, OK. Yeh, that'd be nice. Thank you.” Was all that Clara could muster.

Jane pinched Claras' bottom as she removed her hand from it and slipped out of bed. She picked up her pashmina from the floor and swirled it around her nakedness. “Hmm, that looks pretty good. I might wear it like this more often. What dya think?”

Clara rolled over and took a look. “Gorgeous,” fell from her mouth. Yes, Jane did look gorgeous. Truly gorgeous.

“Jane giggled and said, “Thanks,” as she slipped out of the bedroom.

Clara sat up dragging the duvet up to her shoulders as she did so.

Within minutes Jane breezed back into the room with a couple of mugs of coffee, flicking the door closed with her heel. Lifting both elbows, she allowed the pashmina to regain it's home on the floor. Jane placed the coffees onto the bedside table and got back into bed.

They drank most of their coffee in silence. Clara felt at a distinct disadvantage. Jane was clearly comfortable with their situation. Clara was not. She had no idea how she came to be in bed with her friend. Every Saturday brought a shock. Having friends was fraught with dangers. She broached the subject of the night before.

“You said you were gay. Well, me too. So I decided to test the water, as they say. You said come on in, the water's lovely. And here we are.” Jane said. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Probably. Look Jane, I'll be honest, I don't remember a thing.” Clara replied, looking deep into her coffee.

“To be honest, there's nothing to remember. We snogged, on the dance floor, on the way back here and carried on snogging when we got here. That's how we got the room. The others thought we should have some privacy. Then we undressed together which we seemed to find hilarious. We fell into bed in a lovely, tight cuddle and you fell asleep. Out cold. Funny.” Jane bumped her shoulder against Claras', held up her mug and said, “Cheers.”

They sipped their coffees.

“What happens now?” Asked Clara.

“The others think we're an item. How do you feel about that?” Jane replied.

“I don;t mind.” Clara replied.

“In that case, give us a kiss.” Jane said.

Sunday is the lovely time when the group chatter over coffee and toast. Today they had so much to discuss, Jane and Clara, who would have thought it? Alan claimed to be miffed as he insisted that he really fancied Jane and was about to make his move.

“Too late mate.” Jane burbled happily.

“Oh, I don't know,” Alan responds with a twinkle in his eye, “Now I know you're gay, I can help but fancy you even more.”

The conversation moved onto the trip to India, which the trio discussed with the group. Despite selling the ideas behind the journey, the quest for the two family histories, as well as the sight seeing, none of their friends wants to join them. For most it would take them away from work for far too long. One or two friends simply did not like the idea of of visiting a country that has so much poverty. There was always the looming concern over disease. There was genuine shock when Clara mentioned that having been born in India, she felt a need not only to settle the two questions her research had thrown up, but also to see the places that had formed her. There was surprise once the group had taken on board that Clara, the woman they had all assumed was Asian, but who was adamant that she was not, should now reveal that she was born there, in India.. Once the general chatter about Claras' place of birth had been exhausted, and the reasons for the holiday had been thoroughly picked over, the consensus was that her father was definitely hiding something from her. For Clara, it was nothing to worry about, and their love of a good conspiracy theory was not going to force her into mistrusting her ancient father.

*

Despite her faith in Johns, Clara could not resist mentioning that her friends thought that he was holding back something from her. They had been sitting in the living room, drinking coffee together when she raised the matter with him. John glanced into his mug, swirled the coffee that looked greyly back at him, and said, “My coffee's cold. I'll make another. D'you fancy another?” Struggling to his feet, he picks up his mug from the table and holds out a hand for Claras. He totters into his tiny kitchen. It still had a lingering smell of cottage pie. The dense aroma crammed into his nose , making him fancy eating some more of it. Having put on the kettle, John took a spoon and scooped out a generous portion of the meaty feast which had been left to cool, in readiness for freezing later. The flavour of the tepid food filled his entire head,. He swallowed and considered having more, but it was time to add the coffee granules to the mugs, as the water in the kettle is near boiling point. Having made the coffee John walked carefully back into the living room, carrying the two overfull mugs. He slopped drops of coffee as he walked. Once seated and sipping their hot, comforting , grey coffee, Clara broke the silence and asked her father about his memory. “How,” she wanted to know, “Could you forget when your mother in law died and whether, or not your father in law was around when I was born.”

John was hurt by her fixation on these points and told her not to be silly. The only thing he was hiding from her was his memory; “I've lost it!” He said. “That's why I've started this computer course. I need to exercise my brain.” He looked at Clara who was smiling at him. “I'm not kidding I'm around ninety, I can;t be too careful at my age.”

“Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to harp on about it. It just that my friends felt you were holding out on me for some reason. I don't think they have a clue how old you are.”

“Great! Now You're saying I'm senile. You don't think I am, do you?” He says.

They glance at each other, and burst out laughing. “There's no way you're losing your marbles dad. No way at all.”

“That's what Dylis said the other day. I asked her after you made such a fuss about this before.” John had begun to wonder if he was developing dementia. Dylis had reassured him that, as far as she could tell, he was perfectly normal. Somehow she had made him feel ten feet tall when she said it. He did not know why he felt that way, but he did and he loved it. “Dylis wasn't too bad,” he told Clara, “If you like that sort of thing.”

The evening had passed quickly and Clara needed to go home. She had hoped to take the copy of the map with her that night. John did not want her to have his original copy. He told her he would make her a copy of her own. Then she could keep it, rather than having to return it to him later. He was happy to work on it for Clara as it would give him something to do for the week and it would save her having to do it in her spare time. He planned a week at the college meeting up with Dylis, and at home with the map of Simons' journeys.