Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) - Christopher Jackson-Ash (black female authors .txt) 📗

However, his shoulder length hair dominated the impression, as it always did because of its bright orange colour. It had earned him so many unpleasant nicknames during his school days: ‘carrot top,’ ‘traffic light,’ and ‘Beaker,’ to name but a few. The most dreadful irony of all was his adopted family name. Redhead by name, redhead by nature, his mother always said, when he came home in tears from school, cursing nature's cruel gift. She wanted him to be proud of his most distinctive feature. Now she would never comfort him again. He was alone in the world, with his strange genetic gifts from parents he had never known.

The funeral passed in a blur. It was cold in the church and Simon had to fold his arms across his chest and hold on to himself to stop the shivering. It was a non-denominational service. His mother had believed in a higher force, but not in a specific god. The world had seen a great schism in recent times into the more fundamentalist aspects of all the great religions. Simon eschewed them all. He saw no evidence for the existence of God. He was a firm atheist. What God would have taken two mothers from me before my twentieth birthday?

It was a small gathering, just close family and friends. Even so, Simon didn’t recognise a few of the people there. He stood at the doorway with Uncle Jack and shook the hands of everyone as they left the church. The dearth of people only reinforced how alone he now was. He supposed that he had been a mummy’s boy with few real friends. Now he was just a lonely boy. He did have two close friends, though and they had both been there. The three of them had been together since the first day of pre-school. Perhaps they had stuck together because of their physical differences from the rest of the class. It was easier to resist the bullying that way.

Jamie took his hand and then embraced him in a big squashing hug. He only came up to Simon’s chest and was shaped like a barrel with short arms and legs. His out of control curly black hair tickled Simon’s nose. “Thank you for coming,” Simon said for the umpteenth time.

Jamie released Simon from his bear hug. “I’m here for you, Simon, if you need anything. You know that, don’t you?” Simon nodded. Jamie hadn’t found his place in the world yet and seemed to be drifting aimlessly. He was always around when Simon needed a friend.

Christian was small too, slim and pale like Simon, but with thin blond, almost white hair. He was aiming to be an E-Pod news journalist. He gave Simon a hug too, but was much gentler than Jamie had been. “Keep your chin up, mate. We’ll see you later at the pub.”

Several of his mother’s distant relations passed by. He barely recognised them, but offered his thanks and received their platitudes dutifully. The last person to leave the church was an old man Simon didn’t recognise. He hobbled slowly, supporting himself on a stick. His back was hunched and he was wearing a full-length black coat that hid everything beneath. He had a shock of long white hair and a flowing white beard. If he had been dressed in red and had some stomach padding, Simon would have taken him for a department store Santa Claus. Despite everything, Simon smiled. The man smiled too and Simon was taken by light that seemed to radiate from his grey-green eyes. Simon offered his hand. “Thank you for coming. I don’t believe we have met?”

The old man took his hand in a firm warm handshake. He held it for a little longer than was strictly necessary. When he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate and wrap around Simon like comforting arms. “I knew your mother, Simon. I have watched your progress from a distance for many years. Keep up with your studies, my boy. We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure of that.”

Simon felt as if he were rooted to the spot. He tried to talk to the man but words wouldn’t come out. He stammered and spluttered and by the time he had regained his composure the man had hobbled off. Simon rushed outside after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t have moved so quickly. Uncle Jack was waiting for him. “Where did the old man with the stick go?” Simon asked.

“I didn’t see an old man with a stick,” his Uncle replied. “Come on, let’s go and join the wake at the pub. Have you thanked the vicar?”

Simon was more puzzled than ever. Surely, he couldn’t have imagined the old man. He remembered the almost tingling warmth of his handshake and the concern in his eyes. As he turned from the church with Uncle Jack, he could have sworn he heard the old man’s voice in his head. “I knew your mother, Simon.” The words seemed to carry an image with them. It wasn’t his mother. She was a pretty, young blonde girl, cooing over a baby in a pram. Simon saw such love in her eyes, directed at the baby, directed at him. He tried to reach out a tiny hand, but the vision evaporated. Try as he might, Simon couldn’t get it back. As they departed, Uncle Jack probably thought the tears in his eyes were the result of the service.

****

Simon thought the wake would never end. His mother’s distant family members seemed determined to drink the pub dry. His eyes repeatedly searched the room for the old man. He would have liked to talk more with him. Unfortunately, he didn’t join them. Uncle Jack got drunk and sang old Gaelic ballads that spoke of their family’s heritage. It only made Simon wonder where he had really come from. He’d asked his mother, of course. He’d asked many times after the shock of the initial revelation of his adoption had subsided. She had said that she knew nothing. He had come to them one hot January night in need of a safe refuge and they had provided it, was all he could get out of her.

“Where did I come from?” He asked Uncle Jack, who was taking a breather from his singing exploits on the stool across the table from him.”

“Well, lad, if you don’t know that by now there’s something amiss, by all accounts.” His uncle laughed at his own joke, and Jamie and Chris who were both nursing beers beside him on the red leather bench seat both smiled. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of you three with girlfriends. You should let Jack the lad take you out one night and show you how to chat up the ladies. What do you say?” Fortunately for the trio, Jack was dragged away by Great Aunt Maud who wanted to discuss the will and wanted to do it now. When Great Aunt Maud said jump, you didn’t even ask how high because you knew you couldn’t jump high enough to meet her expectations.

Jamie sighed. “He’s right though, our success rate is pretty poor.”

“Almost non-existent,” Christian agreed. “We should find a new hobby, one where we’ll meet lots of girls.”

“There are more girls than boys in Simon’s class. Some of them are real stunners too. It doesn’t seem to have done him any good, though,” Jamie teased.

“Perhaps Simon will throw a party and invite them all?” Christian said.

“Yes, a house-warming party. You’ll have to move now; they’ll sell the house for sure. Aunt Maud will demand it. Where will you go?”

A cold finger of dread tickled its way down Simon’s spine. “I hadn’t thought about it. I wanted to concentrate on my studies. Mum said I should do that and she’d look after me. I guess I’ll have to get a job to support myself now. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Well, you can always kip on my couch if you’re desperate,” Jamie said. “Anyone for another drink, after all Simon’s paying and it’s better spent now than Aunt Maud getting her hands on it.”

“I’ll get them,” Simon said. “I could do with a stretch, same again?” He stood up and moved to the bar. He ordered three beers, adding them to the tab, and turned to head back to the table. He noticed a strange man, propping up the corner of the bar watching him. He was tall and very pale, ill looking like his mother had been in recent weeks. His clothes were shabby and worn. His mouth curved upwards in a grin and showed several broken and rotten-looking teeth. Deep set, black eyes met his and locked on, unblinking.

Simon set down his glasses and approached the stranger, offering his hand. “I don’t believe we have met. I didn’t see you at the funeral. What relation are you?”

The man seemed reluctant to take Simon’s hand, but eventually took it and quickly released it. His hand felt cold and clammy. When he spoke, his voice was shrill and high-pitched. “I can’t abide churches. I had a bad experience in one once.”

Simon felt the urge to say ‘What, you got married?’ but resisted. Still the man's eyes were locked unblinking on Simon's. He was starting to give him the creeps.

The man licked his pallid lips. “You can call me Uncle Dring. I once knew your mother and father.” The black eyes suggested that he wanted to say more.

Simon shuddered and backed away to retrieve his beers. “Well, nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Twice today, Simon had met strange men. One had seemed kindly and the other creepy. They had both mentioned his parents and Simon had the distinct impression they didn’t mean the mother he was laying to rest today. I’m getting paranoid. There was one man who had been conspicuous by his absence. Simon felt the bile and his anger rising when he thought about it. He placed the beers in front of his friends and tried to smile.

“Who’s that creep?” Jamie asked.

“He looks like he’ll be next..,” Christian stopped in mid-sentence. “Sorry.” His pale face turned a bright red and he looked down sheepishly. For some reason that Simon couldn’t fathom he burst out laughing and his friends, at first hesitatingly, joined in.

****

Three days later, by which time Uncle Jack had sobered up and recovered from his hangover, the key family members gathered at the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will. Great Aunt Maud clucked around organising everyone into appropriate seats. She placed Simon right at the back, in a corner. She was his mother’s father’s sister and had never married. I expect that she never found the perfect man. She seemed to be of indeterminate age and indeterminate sex; though Simon felt that she must be ancient and a woman beneath her grey pinstriped trouser suit. Uncle Jack had explained how the family money from her brother had bypassed her to his mother. Now, since Simon was not a blood relation, she expected to get her hands on it at last.

Mr Jennings, his mother’s solicitor, was an avuncular man. His mother had always spoken warmly of him. With his trim moustache and balding head, he reminded Simon of a certain Belgian detective of long ago. Simon enjoyed classical crime thrillers and was thinking about a good role for Maud, preferably involving poison, when Mr Jennings cleared his throat and brought the gathering to order.

Before he could speak, Maud interrupted. “Please be brief, Jennings, we simply need to know who gets what. I have an appointment at the Estate Agents in ten minutes. I have a property to put on the market.”

Mr Jennings appeared to roll his eyes. “Well, if that’s alright by the rest of you?” He paused and stared at them. No one was game to challenge Great Aunt Maud. “In that case, I shall cut to the chase. The will is extremely simple.” Maud