Northern Spirit (10 page)

‘Michael Reed would only be trying to help you - not interfering.’

Kathy knew full well that she could never tell Alan exactly what
Michael Reed had said but understood Alan’s concern.

‘Sometimes I feel that everyone’s trying to steer this family in
different directions and yet I’m the one that’s holding the reins.’

‘Oh, and I suppose I’m included in this am I?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that at all.’

‘The trouble is, you keep trying to push things aside and you can’t do
that.’

‘I know - I know I do. Linzi said that once. I can’t help it though,
things have been bad for so long. I can’t - I don’t want to fight any more. I
don’t want to make any more excuses for our family. I want things to just go
away so I can get on with my life.’

Alan paused before he spoke. He crouched low and held her by the
shoulders and looked her square in the face. ‘Sometimes you have to face things
- accept things. If you run away, problems only keep following you. If you can
face up to things, have a good cry, dry your eyes and start again.’

‘What have I got to face up to?’ Kathy was frowning. ‘I thought all was
solved.’

‘So where do you want me to start? What about this place? Those figures
we looked at yesterday didn’t look too good.’ Alan stood up again to ease his
aching knees.

‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Mum and Dad. All they want me to do
is sell up and buy some bungalow in Windermere. Have you ever thought if I did
that what would happen to David? This farm is his life, it’s his future not
mine. I couldn’t sit back smug and see him waste his life struggling to find a
job. He’d end up on the dole or something.’ Kathy stood up and couldn’t help
but raise her voice.

Alan pressed his hands gently on her shoulders and sat her down again.
‘You say Linzi said this and your mother said that. Well maybe - just maybe –
we’re all right.’

‘Oh I don’t know any more what to think. Don’t you see, we have the
chance to be a normal family. Things will eventually settle down and Davey will
get better.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ He took Kathy’s hand and gave it a squeeze and
tears began to well up in her eyes.

‘Have you thought any more about a break, a short holiday or
something?’ Alan took out a handkerchief, thinking she might cry at last.

‘I’ve thought of nothing, only my kids and my son.’

‘Well, I know this might sound pushy, but I wondered if I could take
you away for a few days. We could go to Blackpool or some place. I realise you
can’t go anywhere alone. It would all be above board. Just as friends - nothing
more.’

Kathy pulled her hands away, realising the gesture from him was an
honest one, but she was also aware that he had called a lot recently, and the
funny thing was, she welcomed it. She needed the adult company and his strength
and soundness of mind, but this new idea of his was overwhelming and Kathy
wasn’t ready.

‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Alan. Besides, I want to see Davey
better. I can’t leave him while he’s unwell, and although a holiday would be
all above board to us, it wouldn’t be to other people and I don’t want to start
any more gossip.’

‘Who needs to know? Your mother and Davey, that’s all. No one else.’

Kathy got up and went to mend the fire. ‘Let’s just leave it Alan,
please.’

*        *
       *

David, up in his bedroom, was aware that Alan was here again. He didn’t
like the idea of his mother being alone with him, but neither did he have the
inclination to join them. He didn’t want to talk and he was desperately tired.

David had begun to dread the evenings. He looked at the clock and it
was nine-thirty. He was almost afraid to go to bed, lying there and not
sleeping. How could he face another day’s work, up at six-thirty and then slog
through it all when he was so tired? Why couldn’t he give in and go to sleep?
At one time in his life, he couldn’t keep awake. A busy day on the farm with
his father and he would easily fall asleep in the chair after tea, and even on
his day off he would have difficulty getting out of bed before lunch.

He wondered if he should give Tony a call and go out for a drink; that
would certainly pass some time. But to go to the pub meant having to talk, and
talking was the last thing he wanted to do. So David decided, although it was
late, he would go for a walk and, despite the darkness, there would be no
difficulty finding his way. It was a frosty evening and there was a good moon;
he would enjoy the fresh air and maybe feel like sleeping when he returned.

David didn’t go into the sitting room before he left, he just shouted
from the kitchen to say he was going out, making the excuse he was checking the
cattle.

It was a beautiful January evening and David’s eyes soon became
accustomed to the darkness and he started to enjoy his stroll. The faint
traffic noise from a few cars on the main road below the village broke the
silence, but the peace was welcoming. The night was already feeling milder and
the moon had become as covered in filigree lace as clouds pushed in.

David wasn’t surprised when he felt a few specks of snow on his face,
and as he walked the scene before him quickly changed to a winter landscape.
Large snowflakes were falling as confetti all around him. The lane quickly
whitened and the darkness turned to hazy light, as David was speckled in snow.
And, as he walked, the fresh snow crunched under his feet as it compacted with
each step.

As the light improved, he decided to walk up the rocky ghyll. The
energy used exhilarated him as he scrambled up the slippery path, and he
wondered if this was a good idea after all, as instead of feeling tired he was
beginning to feel wide awake. He only hoped that once he returned home, the
warmth of the farmhouse would soothe him to sleep.

David struggled on up the ghyll, grasping at the rocks with his bare
hands, his fingers tingling with the cold. His knees ached as his trousers were
dampened with the melting snow. Reaching the fell top, David could see in the
distance the lights of Grasmere flickering like tinsel in a little glass snow
scene globe, like the ones as a child he would love to shake. He recalled his
Great Aunt Betty always had a snow scene in her china cabinet. It was of Dove
Cottage, and if he’d been good, he was allowed to play with it. She told him to
shake the tinsel and watch it fall and imagine if you were ever troubled by
things in life, watching the tinsel settle would show you how life could
eventually turn out. He would hold it close to his eyes and allow himself to be
mesmerised by the flickering tinsel, and remove himself from the real world
around him. And he wanted to do that now.

David felt a shiver as the cold night cloaked him in eerie splendour.
He jogged back down the cart track to the bottom of the fell and returned to
the lane, his legs now numb with the rigours of the descent and the cold. As he
walked back towards the farmhouse, he noticed his outgoing footprints already
being covered with a light film of new snow.

With his head down and his chin on his chest, he suddenly noticed
another set of footprints beside his, as if someone had walked with him. He
assumed the footprints not to be his, but perhaps some fell-walkers out
enjoying an evening’s stroll. But stamping his boot into the snow, sure enough,
one set of prints matched his own. He carefully examined the other footprint
and it was from a walking boot much like his, but smaller in size and the pace
in between each step was shorter. David’s natural instinct was to look behind
him, and a rush of fear shot through him, just to remind him he was still in
this world that he so despised. He waited for a while expecting someone to
catch him up and, concealing himself behind a tree, sat down on a broken
branch, but no one appeared. He contemplated retracing his own tracks, but was
beginning to feel tired and he violently shivered. David had never feared the
fells; they had been his lifelong friends. He didn’t fear the dark, and the
snow made this particular night welcoming. It was only his own thoughts that
stupefied him.

He must have crouched there for a good half-hour with still no signs of
any one, when he heard the faint chime of the clock on the village church
strike eleven and, feeling colder than ever, David stood, his knees clicking as
they straightened, and headed back to the house.

When he opened the back door, Alan had gone; Kathy was sitting alone in
the parlour waiting. She smiled as David came across and stood in front of the
fire to warm his hands, blocking all the heat. Then he softly questioned her.
‘Have you been out, Mum?’

‘No love, why?’

‘Oh, nothing really. When did Alan go?’

‘He left only minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see his car leave.
Are the animals all okay?’

David mumbled a reply and encouraged Kathy to go to bed.

Once she’d gone, he settled down on the sofa and stared into the fire,
feeling the warm glow as he’d anticipated, and soon began to relax. And sitting
quietly, musing over his mystery, without realising it, David missed the moment
that he fell asleep.

He was still there at six-thirty the next morning when Kathy came back
downstairs.

*       
*        *

Keld Head was in full splendour that morning as the turrets on the
tower held a good covering of snow. Azure blue sky framed the hillside beyond.
Fronds of dead bracken and moss peeped through the blanket, with hints of
bronze and green.

After milking, David decided to finish the dry-stone wall he’d been
repairing. It was too beautiful a day to stay indoors. He felt refreshed from
the best night’s sleep he’d had in weeks, despite being on the sofa.

He went back up the lane where he’d walked the night before, but
couldn’t find any trace of the footprints he’d seen, only little paw prints
from a rabbit ahead of him. He wondered if he’d dreamt going for a walk last
night. Did he climb the ghyll or not? In the clear light of day, things
appeared to be more logical.

He set his tools down and cleared some snow away with his hands from
where he’d been working, re-set his line and started to sort through the stones
to repair the wall.

David enjoyed his work and became so absorbed in it, that his thoughts
were fully focused on the repairs.

The young doctor could see David at the head of the lane and,
anticipating a pleasant stroll, locked his medicine bag in the car as to look
less formal.

As he approached, David was startled so much that he almost fell
backwards on the rocks.

‘I’m sorry, David. I thought you must have heard me.’

David laid his hands on his chest to try and steady his rapid beating
heart. ‘Oh, man. . . . Hello Michael . . . I must have been miles away then.
You could have dropped out of the sky for all I knew. What are you doing up
here on a day like this?’

‘Exactly the same as you, I suspect. To take in some fresh air and get
away from that germ ridden surgery.’

‘Have you been to see my mum?’ David asked, too slow in thought to
understand the real reason for the doctor’s visit.

‘My next port of call.’ Michael didn’t lie.

‘Well, she’s about somewhere, I think.’

And as David was speaking, Michael Reed began to observe his behaviour.
The first thing he noticed was that David was edgy, and this was
uncharacteristic of a lad who only a few months ago was steady and unruffled
despite the family problems he had. Nevertheless, David did look well. His face
was fresh and ruddy, stimulated by the winter’s chill. The eyes, though, looked
tired and heavy and perhaps a little reddened, but his general appearance was
the thing that alarmed the doctor the most. David’s hair had grown long, and
this didn’t suit him, and it made him look wild. Even his clothes appeared more
ruffled and dirtier than was usual, and Michael Reed could understand why Kathy
was worried about her son.

‘How’s your mother doing?’ The young doctor questioned him.

‘Everyone says she’s doing fine, but I’m not so sure.’ David replied,
nervously fidgeting with the trowel in his hand.

‘And what does everyone say about you?’

‘I would imagine they’re saying I’m acting crazy!’ He looked at Michael
with eyes that pleaded for a reply.

‘And is that true?’

David leant back on the wall and, with a wry smile, said, ‘They say a
man with no conscience doesn’t know when he’s doing wrong. He thinks all the
others are self-righteous fools.’

‘And is that what you think, Davey?’

‘Huh . . . my thoughts tell me I’m probably as evil as my father.’

Michael Reed put his hand to his chin and replied. ‘Then you do have a
conscience, David. And by your own theory, you mustn’t really be as bad as you
think.’

David laughed, ‘I suppose you must be right,’ but inwardly, David
didn’t agree; he couldn’t possibly tell the doctor, he believed everything that
had happened to his family was his fault, and he’d proved it by being reckless
with Joanne.

‘So if you’re not evil, David, what are you?’

‘I’m a tired man, that can’t sleep, who worries about his mother and
thinks people are following him all the time.’

Michael Reed, through a process of elimination, knew that there was no
reason for guilt in David Keldas, and his comments were those of an over-tired
and wearied man. But he did wonder why David alluded to someone following him.
That thought niggled him.

Michael liked David. He sincerely hoped that nothing would be wrong
with him. He didn’t want to think David was deluded, and neither did he want to
think he was speaking the truth, and yet George Keldas had often said the same.
But no, the truth must be that David was a level-headed young man, who was
suffering some considerable strain from having to look after a farm and a small
family at a young age.

Yes, that was the diagnosis - the prognosis? -well, that had to be a good
one. He would recommend medication on a short-term basis to help him rest. Give
some practical advice on how to relax, and hope his family life would settle.