Northern Spirit (37 page)

One morning Betty was sitting at the kitchen table looking out into the
garden, David had stayed in bed most of the morning. He’d worked late the night
before. He’d slept well but he needed to, as he was working hard, maybe too
hard Betty thought. He didn’t go anywhere else other than the hotel, then the
garage or the cottage, or walking the fells. And, on the few evenings he was
home, he sat quietly and watched the television. Despite all its misgivings,
the idea of giving him the car had been a blessing, as it kept him occupied,
but Betty wondered how long he could keep up this isolation. Living with an old
woman wasn’t ideal. But this morning David had spent a couple of hours in the
garage and as she sat watching from the kitchen window, she heard him try to
start the car engine again. It turned over as it usually did, but didn’t start,
then this time - whoosh! Blue smoke drifted from the garage as the engine
spluttered in full flow.

Betty heard the engine start and it had an effect on her she hadn’t
anticipated. Something ran through her veins like the restoration of life, and
not just hers; it was Fred’s, and David had done it. Just like when he’d
breathed life into Fred on the day that George had shot him. It was David who’d
tried to resuscitate him and had kept him alive before the ambulance came. It
was David who’d pressed on the open wound and stopped the flow of blood. It was
David who’d wrenched the gun from George, risking his own life, as the man
laughed and then wept like a child, not regretting that he’d shot Fred, but
sorry that he’d missed David. Yes, that old engine ticking over reminded her of
a day she’d never dare recapture.

David rushed into the cottage, his face covered in oil and grime, the
whites of his eyes shone with vibrancy through the dirt. He didn’t notice that
the tears in Betty’s eyes were any different to the glaze of moisture her aged
eyes always had.

‘This calls for a celebration, Aunty.’ He went to the sideboard and
looked for a bottle of something to celebrate with. Betty wanted to share his
glory, but she couldn’t.

David didn’t discern the tone of seriousness to her voice as she asked
him: ‘Will you promise to take me to Kendal as soon as you can love?’

‘Of course I will . . . I’ll take you wherever you want to go - once I
know she’s safe, that is.’

*       
*        *

David quickly got into the routine of the hotel work, despite the
unsociable hours. The gift of the car, as old as it was, made his life easier.
The physical nature of the work was undemanding, apart from humping of beer
kegs up and down the cellar. He enjoyed the companionship too; the other
employees found David to be good company and easy going. The other members of
staff soon grew to like him despite him refusing any offers of a drink or an
evening out. He was a local lad, he fitted in well and caused little friction,
except, perhaps, between the waitresses.

Although no one ever spoke of it, it was soon passed around who David
really was. They all had read about George Keldas. They wondered why David
needed to do bar work and why he now lived near Hawkshead. Some assumed he was
living with a woman.

One evening David was working behind the bar, washing a few glasses,
when he noticed a young woman walk passed and go to the restaurant; she seemed
oblivious to this slim, tidy young barman with short-cropped hair. It was
Hannah Robson.

He watched her from the corner of his eye go to the restaurant and sit
with a man; the two of them becoming engrossed in each other.

His initial reaction was to freeze. She hadn’t spotted him and she
certainly hadn’t recognised him. He became embarrassed at his lowly status,
something he hadn’t anticipated.

‘Have you got your eye on that girl in the corner, Dave?’ the other
barman said.

David didn’t commit himself.

‘Come on, mate, admit it. . . . You’ve been watching her all evening.’

David didn’t know how to reply. ‘I just know her that’s all.’

‘Do you know the old guy she’s with then?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘You would wonder what a pretty girl like her would see in a guy like
him. He’s old enough to be her father.’

‘I don’t think it’s anything like that. . . .’ David knew to his cost
that sometimes young women did like older men but, never-the-less, he defended
Hannah, ‘you see she works with him.’

‘Aye . . . I know she does. Isn’t he the vet? They say his wife’s left
him because of her.’

David picked up a glass and started to rub it dry with a towel. ‘How do
you mean, I don’t understand?’

‘Ah ha. . . . There you are; you do fancy her. . . . I knew it!’

David flushed.

‘His wife left him recently and he’s been seen with that girl, holding
hands and walking out with her. My mate who works at the hotel at Rydal fancies
her too. She vaccinated his dog. He saw them together on White Moss Common.’

David’s instinct was to defend Hannah and Barry, but perhaps some of
this was true; a lot could have happened in the few weeks he’d been away, and
then living in isolation with Betty. He knew Barry had been unhappy. It was no
secret that he and Eleanor led separate lives. But Hannah and Barry: no, that
couldn’t be true.

He continued to rub the beer glass and the force of his grip broke it
clean in two, cutting his hand. ‘Ow . . . !’ David gasped.

‘Steady, Dave. . . . You’re cracking up, mate.’

With blood dripping from his hand, David went to the restroom. He put
his hand under the cold water in the washbasin. He took a paper towel and held
it tightly over the wound. David leant back on the wall, looked at his
reflection in the mirror in front of him, and wondered if he liked the man he
now was. Why worry about Hannah and Barry; they must do what they want with
their lives, as he must do with his. And as he looked hard into his own face,
scowling as he did so, he no longer saw the image of George Keldas. His eyes
were different than his, also his teeth and his mouth. But the face he saw, he
still didn’t recognise. And not for the first time, he wondered who the man was
who’d given him this life. Did he know or care about a long lost son? The
loneliness had returned and he wished that Tony Milton was here; he would know
what to do, he would help him. And everything he’d ever known had fled away
from him as he clung to the love of an old woman.

David reluctantly returned to the bar; he couldn’t risk losing his job,
and so, with his hand securely taped in Elastoplast, he continued his work and
hoped that Barry and Hannah wouldn’t come to him for their drinks.

He watched them for some time as they had coffee and then just as
another customer arrived and David served him, they walked passed the bar and
only Barry raised his head to say goodnight to the barmen.

Barry Fitzgerald looked back at the dark haired young man and thought
he reminded him of someone.

*       
*        *

Behind Foxglove Cottage were two small fields, their stone walls
reaching high up to the forest. The sheep grazed constantly, filling their
bellies ready for the lambs, which would arrive soon. The sturdy little sheep
were not afraid of David as he sat on the rocky outcrop above them. The
footpath through their territory was well used; these sheep were used to
fellwalkers and backpackers.

David sat watching the sheep grazing and looking at the life below him.
In the distance, he could see the cars arriving, one after another, to
Hawkshead.

This walk got him out of the cottage, out of Mrs Challenor’s way. She
had come to do Betty’s "private" washing. But David knew she would
want to fuel the village gossip about him. He also knew Betty would be discreet
when Mrs Challenor fished for knowledge about him. So this piece of England
that Betty owned, these two fields, were safe territory for David. The very
grass he sat on belonged to his aunt. The sheep were there by right too. Betty
had let out the field to a local farmer to graze his ewes and the return she
got other than the rental, was to see what remained of Fred’s land being put to
good use and the chance of being able to watch the livestock graze from her
window.

Today, as Betty sat in her usual position in the window, she watched
David; he had taken to the fells again. He walked the hills a lot, yet despite
this, his skin was pale and his body was still thin. He had some appetite, but
hadn’t put on the weight that he should have by now, during the time he’d
stayed with her. The hard work saw to that.

David had also become quieter of late and almost distant, she didn’t
know why and wondered if something had happened. It was as if something had
suddenly changed. She wished he would see his mother and make amends. Bitterness
was no way to live a life. She’d tried to suggest it, but he’d rebuffed her and
then, in remorse, apologised for his behaviour and kissed her.

The thought struck Betty that he wanted to leave; yet she dare not
think it. As changeable and moody as he was, she dreaded him leaving her; to
go, just as quickly as he had come.

She prayed for him night and day that he might find some peace of mind.
Then she wondered if she was being selfish and should insist that he go home;
he perhaps felt obliged to her. Then she thought that he’d come here willingly
and, if he should want to leave, he should leave willingly. Betty would not
hold him here against his will, and yet she wished she could.

It began to rain, and the fine mist swept across the fell wetting
David’s face. The sheep made no move, they just continued eating. David pulled
up the collar of his jacket and slowly walked back down the hill to the
cottage.

‘What shall we have for tea, Aunty? I’m starving.’ He hung his wet coat
on the chair by the fire.

Betty was brave. ‘You don’t have to eat with me. . . . Why don’t you
have a run out, get some fish and chips or something - have a drink with your
friends.’

David appeared not to hear her and walked to the kitchen and pulled
open the fridge door then shouted back. ‘My mates are up on that fell side and
they don’t like fish and chips!’

18

THE VISITOR.

Kathy Keldas ran into the blue-stone hay barn to shelter from the rain;
she was breathless. ‘For goodness sake, Linzi, come inside…. You’ll be soaked.’

Linzi joined her mother in the security of the barn, and fell down in
the straw and laughed. ‘I thought we were going to lose them then, Mum. Why on
earth didn’t you stop them?’

‘Linzi. . . .’ Kathy was exasperated, ‘those heifers can run a lot
faster than I can, anyway, they’re bigger than me; they could have knocked me
down.’

‘We should have used the dog, you know.’

‘Oh, Linzi…. Only David or you father could work with that dog. Anyway,
we’ve managed. There’s plenty of grass for them now in this paddock.’

The realisation that each small task they did was a challenge for
Kathy; things she’d seen David do and had taken for granted. The skill of her
son and her dead husband far out-shone anything she or Linzi could manage. At
least today they had something to laugh about.

They had lost a dairy cow last week; it had to be put down. It had
safely calved but, with a weakness in her pelvis, she had slipped and fallen on
the wet concrete yard and was unable to stand. Linzi was distraught at the
animal’s predicament. Alan had tried to help by tying some soft rope around its
ankles to support it, but the idea failed. And as a last resort Barry
Fitzgerald was called, but there was nothing he could do and suggested the
animal be shot. And then Silver had been sick again. She’d developed mastitis
in one quarter of her udder. The infection had been missed and had become too
severe to be treated. Barry gave her some penicillin, but told them to expect
she would lose all productivity on that quarter and would become near useless.

Kathy had wept in frustration because of how much Silver meant to
David, and now their best yielding animal would become an expensive burden if
they kept her.

She knew if David had been here he would have spotted the infection
sooner, and Kathy inwardly cursed him for abandoning her. Linzi and Alan were
more open and dared to criticise David’s inconsiderate behaviour to her face.
Something had to be done, and soon, before the farm fell into ruin. She had to
ease the workload for all of them.

They looked out of the barn into the rain as drifts of clouds swept
across the sky; some black, some grey, and bringing along with them more water.
The fields that were already wet had become sodden and covered the two women in
mud.

Wet and dishevelled they made their way back to the farmhouse, walking
quickly down the lanes, jumping over the puddles and the small stream that
funnelled its way across the path.

‘I saw the auctioneer yesterday. He said if we decide soon whether to
sell the cattle, he could have an auction arranged for sometime next month.’

‘Oh, Mum . . . Dad wouldn’t have wanted that.’

‘Who knows what your father really wanted, Linzi.’ Yet she knew George
had got his way in one thing, in leaving David with nothing.

And although Linzi was disappointed, she knew her mother was right.
They couldn’t farm this place properly between them. Alan had suggested they
buy some more sucklers with the money they would make. They already had four
heifer calves they could rear on, and they could hopefully make a living at selling
a few beef cattle rather than have the hassle of running the dairy herd. They
could even buy a few more sheep.

‘I know you’re right, Mum, but I don’t think we should do anything
until we’ve spoken to David.’ As she rubbed her face, rain water ran down her
nose.

‘If I could talk to him you know I would, but how can I?’ Kathy was
serious - Oh, how she longed to see him. ‘Betty’s convinced that he’ll leave if
we push him. She says he’s already unsettled.’