The Dinosaur Feather

hit Kay. Until now. He looked out at the grey capital and cursed Jack. Jack was responsible for the vast majority of drama in Clive’s life. He was like a curse which had lasted nearly thirty years and refused to release him. Clive had never suffered as much as he did when Jack became a teenager, lost interest in him and moved away. Not even his intellectual clash with his father had cost him so dear. He had been unable to sleep and had desperately wished for Jack to come back. The anguish faded only slowly. He thought it must be fate when he met Jack again. Clive was a scientist and didn’t believe in fate, but when he spotted Jack in the university lobby, he refused to accept it was a coincidence. Their paths kept crossing and all they had to do was reach out. But Jack didn’t reach out. Clive had given him hundreds of chances, but Jack hadn’t followed him since childhood.
    Clive massaged his eyebrows. He wouldn’t think about Jack. His lecture was at six o’clock and before that there was Helland’s funeral.
    The church was full to the rafters when Michael and Clive entered. The tall superintendent, Marhauge, sat right inside the door, in the last row, and he nodded kindly to Clive. The verger took his flowers and Clive looked for a vacant pew. Michael fell behind, but Clive was pushed forward and ended up sitting quite near the front. At least two hundred people were present. The coffin, decorated with flowers, shone brightly in front of the altar. In the first pew, to the right, were two distraught-looking women in black who spoke in hushed voices. They had to be Helland’s family. Clive foundit unreal that Helland had a family. Helland, that evil man. Several men sat in the front pew to the left, suggesting Helland had been one of several brothers. He had certainly had many friends and colleagues.
    Diagonally behind him, Clive spotted a young woman who was looking in his direction. She had light brown hair in a bob, plimsolls on her feet, and wore jeans and an inappropriate army jacket with a hood. She seemed very angry.
    What on earth was she staring at? He tried to follow her gaze, but no one stood out in the sea of people in front of him. Everyone was busy taking off their coats and opening hymn books. He realised the young woman was staring at him. At that moment the service began.
    Later, at the Bella Centre, Clive noted to his delight that around one hundred and twenty people had turned up to hear him speak. He trawled the audience for familiar faces, but found none. A heated debate followed the lecture. Clive knew the routine and had, by now, been on the receiving end of so many attacks that he would have been very surprised if his audience had responded with silence. Yet he noticed that the results of the cartilage condensation experiment weren’t considered as revolutionary as Michael and he had hoped.
    ‘It’s an interesting experiment,’ someone said. ‘But it doesn’t cancel out the 286 apomorphies which link modern birds to dinosaurs.’
    ‘I agree,’ another said, nodding in Clive’s direction. ‘The ontogenesis of the bird hand is one of the weakest areas of the dinosaur theory. But we have to live with that. We can’tknow the embryonic development of dinosaurs, for obvious reasons. But even without an insight into embryonic development, we have more than sufficient evidence to conclude that there’s a relationship. We really do, Professor Freeman.’
    ‘Yes,’ a third person called out. ‘It’s the equivalent of doing a thousand-piece jigsaw of the New York skyline. Only one piece is missing, and yet you claim that you can’t see which city it is.’
    ‘I agree,’ a fourth person said.
    Clive inevitably reached the point where he simply stuck to his guns and dismissed all criticism. Two people walked out, fewer than usual. He wasn’t facing a polite and sympathetic crowd who lapped up his every word, but they weren’t bad, either. He thought their eyes showed evidence of genuine interest.
    One hour later the room was deserted. Clive couldn’t hide his disappointment. A few members of the audience had come down to shake his hand, but he didn’t feel that the cartilage condensation experiment had won over anyone. He couldn’t see why. It was a good experiment.
    ‘What do you think?’ he asked Michael. ‘It felt like they didn’t quite follow.’ Clive shook his head with frustration. Michael seemed distracted by something. He had been busy taking down the