The Dinosaur Feather

Obviously Clive had been meticulous when he measured it in 1999. It was the most beautiful little bird in the whole world.
    Clive sat down in the conservatory to proofread his text. His plan was to have it ready by the time he flew to Denmark.
    He was deep in thought when there was a knock on the door. Someone put a key in the lock and Franz appeared.
    ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said, quickly.
    Clive straightened up, and reached out for the manuscript which had slipped into his lap.
    ‘Hello, Franz,’ he replied, pushing up his glasses. ‘Do you want some coffee?’
    Franz hesitated, then he shook his head.
    ‘No, I’m a bit busy,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to pick up some clothes and books for Mum.’ He went upstairs. Clive stayed where he was and pretended to read. When Franz came back down he was holding a bag in one hand and, draped over his other arm, a garment bag containing Kay’s black dress with polished anthracite stones. Clive loved that dress. It hugged Kay’s hips and on the rare occasions when she wore it, she let her hair down and it would curl around her shoulders. The last time they had had sex, had been an evening she had worn it. That was a very long time ago.
    ‘What are you doing with that dress?’ he demanded, hoarsely.
    ‘Mum asked me to get it,’ Franz replied.
    ‘No,’ Clive said. ‘That dress stays here.’ He grabbed the garment bag.
    ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Franz said, firmly. ‘Mum needs it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Molly and Jack are taking her to the theatre,’ Franz replied.
    ‘No,’ Clive said, snatching the dress.
    Franz got mad and yanked the dress back from Clive. He stopped in the doorway and looked at his father.
    ‘I don’t understand you any more,’ he said. ‘Not that I everreally have. But now I don’t understand you at all.’ And he was gone.
    Clive spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to think about Kay going to the theatre with Molly and Jack. It was impossible. Jack in black tie, clean-shaven, his hair freshly cut, a look of concentration in his guarded eyes, his mouth relaxed and soft for once. Next to him, Kay in that black dress, pale and beautiful, sitting in an upholstered seat surrounded by expectant theatre-goers, Molly’s hand resting on hers in sympathy.
    The four of them had been to the opera that spring, and it had been a magical evening. In the interval, they had drunk a little too much prosecco and after the interval, Kay accidentally sat down first, so Clive ended up between her and Jack. Clive was so thrilled to be sitting between the two people who meant the most to him in all the world that he could barely concentrate on the second act. Kay had slipped her hand in his, and all down his right side he could feel a quivering heat from Jack when he shifted in his seat, when he laughed, when he leaned forwards.
    Jack and Kay going to the theatre without him was an unforgivable act of betrayal.
    This conclusion calmed him down. The human animal was fundamentally lonely, but in contrast to sentimental daydreamers, he had faced up to it. His priority now was the restoration of his professional reputation. Kay would come back sooner or later. Besides, she had no money.
    Three weeks later, Clive was back at the Department of Bird Evolution, Palaeobiology and Systematics. He cycled to theuniversity and strode down the corridor. Michael emerged from his laboratory.
    ‘Clive, my man,’ he said. ‘Good to have you back.’
    ‘Good morning,’ Clive said, marching past the younger man to his office. The air was dusty and stuffy, so he opened the windows. His secretary entered shortly afterwards with a pile of letters. Rumours of his return spread quickly and at lunchtime, Clive accepted Michael’s invitation to join him and the rest of the team in the refectory. They were all delighted to see him.
    After lunch they started preparatory work on their poster. Clive and Michael reviewed the results from the cartilage condensation experiment, which looked very hopeful. Michael showed him microscope images of the various developmental stages. It was clear that the primary cartilage formation in embryonic birds resulted in the carpal bone, the fourth metacarpal bone and the development of the fourth finger, which meant that the bird hand couldn’t have evolved from the dinosaur hand,
unless
it was an example of mutation in both the symmetry of the fingers
and
in the hand’s existing central axis, and that was highly unlikely – obviously. Clive