Northern Spirit (48 page)

‘Alan,’ she called him back. ‘Don’t go yet. There’s something I want to
tell you. It’s hard for me to say this.’

‘I don’t think you need to say anything, Kathy. . . . It’s you and
Barry isn’t it?’ And he held on to the door handle.

‘Oh Alan.’ She couldn’t stop herself from moving in close to him.
‘You’ve been a good friend. You’ve stuck with me through a lot, and I’ve always
been open with you about my feelings. I hope I’ve never led you on, have I?’

‘No, Kathy, you haven’t. I’ve led myself along,’ he sighed.

‘I don’t know what will happen between Barry and me - if we can catch
up after all these years. Will you be hurt if we can make it work?’

Alan pushed his shoulders back and took her hands. ‘Don’t even think
it, Kathy. Why should I deny you any happiness?’

‘Alan, you are a wonderful, wonderful man. And I love you dearly.’ She
kissed him on the forehead and he moved away.

*       
*        *

David continued his existence at Foxglove Cottage living in a kind of
euphoria because everyone that mattered loved him again. And the effect this
had on his well-being was apparent. And as spring turned into summer, David’s
skin tanned and his blue eyes shone, and he kept his hair short. He found some
lunchtime work at a bar in Hawkshead, which meant he didn’t have to worry about
being away from Betty for too long. It gave him the escape he needed from
caring for her, and enough money to pay some of the household bills and put
petrol in his car.

He rarely left Hawkshead for days at a time, except for the occasional
invitation to Barry’s house. Barry also called at the cottage regularly, as it
gave him some insight into Hannah’s life, as she wrote long letters to David.

Betty had welcomed Barry, and found something pleasing about him. He
reminded her of David. Perhaps that was why she liked him. But she couldn’t
understand why they met so often; he was too old to be David’s friend.

Kathy was never away from the cottage, bringing casseroles, cakes and
puddings and any home cooked food she had time to prepare. Betty felt this was
unnecessary, as she and David were happy living on sandwiches and soup.

David continued to do more work around the cottage. He painted the
outside of the house, spending long days up a ladder, stripped to the waist,
whitewashing the walls and painting the window frames. He repaired some of the
guttering, pointed some of the outside wall that had crumbled, with mortar. He
put some plants in the garden: marigolds and petunias; he chose Betty’s
favourites. And then when he was tired, they would sit together in the garden
under the hot sun, Betty beside him, wearing a large straw hat to shade her
from the heat. She slept long and contented now.

Mrs Challenor had to be called in to help her bathe. Kathy washed and
set her hair, and it was David’s job to clean the house and do the washing and
ironing. He even found time to paint the kitchen.

Betty’s jumping heart told her this would be her last summer; so she
spent the time completely indulged in her nephew. She felt that she’d reached a
happiness she had never known. But she had moments of confusion and sometimes
didn’t know if she was talking to David or her Freddie; she wondered why Fred
should have to work at the pub in the village at lunchtime. David agreed that
for one day a week he should have a day off, away from Betty, and even on those
days he could never return to Keld Head, so he just walked.

Betty was fragile as she entered her ninety-third year and David his
twenty-fourth. It was apparent that there were some things he could no longer
do for her. But her desire to stay in the cottage with him and see out the rest
of her days meant they had to bring in outside help. And in the long evenings
when she slept, David could only sit and watch, frustrated at his inability.

In those quiet evenings he wrote his letters to Hannah. She’d insisted
he tell her everything about the building repairs and the painting of the
cottage; almost every cup of coffee he had. One morning David collected the
mail from the hallway floor and, as he always did, read the handwriting on each
envelope first. There was nothing from Hannah, but there was a letter with an
Aberdeen postmark. He knew it was from Joanne.

His immediate response was to throw the letter on the fire, but he held
it for some time in his hand, staring at the writing, expecting more abuse or
emotional blackmail. He tapped the letter on his hand and then, in a desire to
prove himself undaunted, went to his bedroom, flopped down on the bed and
ripped the envelope open.

25ClaireTerrace

Aberdeen

Dear David

Tony has insisted that I write to you, he has been playing “Big
Brother” again. It’s a few weeks since I met you in the forest and I’m sorry to
hear that you have a bad back. I hope it’s better, and I hope I didn’t
aggravate it too much.

Tony is back with us again for a little while. He’s well, and
surprise, surprise is earning good money as a session’s guitarist. We were
relieved that you didn’t have any more trouble with the police. Tony insisted that
I apologise to you, but I cannot do that.

I just wanted to tell you that I never intended you to get into
trouble. After you left me, I sat by a tree and tried to breathe properly again
- you did hurt me, Davey. I tried to clean myself up a bit and dry myself. I
think I was crying, when a couple walking their dog passed by. They were
worried about me. They walked me back to their car and took me to the hospital
and they must have called the police. It was the police who forced me into
making the charges.

I was sent back to Aberdeen, to stay with Aunty Marian again. When
Tony arrived and we had another row and he insisted that I dropped all charges.
The police asked me if it was you that had hurt me, but I lied and said I
didn’t know my attacker. But I was still angry with you Davey.

By the way, I hear you are going out with Hannah Robson. I hope she
can make you happy.

I don’t know if I can ever say sorry for what I did. You’ll never
know what it feels like to be pushed around and hated. Everyone loves you,
Davey. My Mum left, Dad’s never at home, Tony’s always teasing me. Then there
was George, then you. I never loved him, Davey, I hated him. I only ever loved
you. I only wanted to be loved like you are, but I guess I don’t deserve that
now.

Incidentally, Dad is selling the bungalow. He says it’s of no use to
us anymore.

Tony said I had to tell you he’s coming down to see you soon. Please
try not to hate me Davey, will you. I will always love you.

Joanne

David placed the letter down on his chest and wondered at its
sincerity. He knew Tony would never have asked her to write; that was another
lie she’d told.

If Tony had been the instigator of his freedom, he inwardly thanked
him. But he would find it hard not to hate Joanne. She had done him so much
harm, but he did pity her, she was only eighteen and just a kid. He feared she
would never trust anyone again because of George’s badness and his own loose
conduct.

He tore the letter into small pieces; he wouldn’t tell Hannah she’d
written.

*       
*        *

Linzi buttered the bread, spreading it thinly in an attempt to make it
go further, and then piled the slices on the plate. Her mother was beside her
at the kitchen table, filling the slices with egg mayonnaise, some with grated
cheese or a layer of ham and tomato. She cut them in half and arranged them on
a large blue plate. There were pork pies, cut into quarters, and a few bowls of
crisps and green salad garnishes.

‘I hope we’ve done enough.’ Linzi brushed her hair from her eyes trying
not to coat herself with butter.

‘Well, they’re not coming for the food. A cup of tea and a sandwich is
all I can offer. If it helps sell the cattle, it’ll be worth it.’

‘I still feel uneasy about it. . . . What time do you think they’ll
start to arrive?’

‘Well, knowing these farmers, they’ll want a good look at the cattle
first. The catalogue was well written, but your Dad always liked to weigh an
animal up long and hard before he spent any money.’

‘I hope we’re not doing wrong by him.’

‘Look, Linzi . . . this is your farm now. If you want to get up at six
each morning to milk these dairy cows, we’ll keep them; but you can’t can you?
None of us can. Besides, we can’t afford to keep paying the relief milkers. . .
. No, love, I’m certain we’re doing what’s best. With all the upheaval in
Europe as well; your Dad said it would spoil farming.’ But Kathy knew that
Linzi’s concern ran deeper than the money.

‘It’ll be sad to see them go, all the same.’ Linzi continued to moan.
‘All the hard work that went into breeding them and our Davey’s not interested
anymore.’

‘Oh, he’s probably switched off, Linzi. You know what he’s like. It’ll
bring back too many bad memories to think of Keld Head. . . . Anyway, he’ll be
pining for Hannah, and Betty will be driving him crazy.’ Kathy smiled as she
thought of David trying to satisfy Betty’s finicky ways, making breakfast and
getting into trouble for putting too much butter and marmalade on her toast and
putting too much milk in her tea.

‘I still feel angry with him though. He could have at least come to
help us today.’ Linzi slapped the last piece of ham on the sandwich and placed
it with the others.

‘If he’d have wanted to come, he would have.’

‘Then he must really hate this place.’

Linzi still didn’t understand why David had left, and assumed he was
afraid. She too found it hard working among the buildings that her father had
once worked, not because of fear, but because of the memories. But Linzi never
saw her father with a shotgun in his hand. She wasn’t there to witness his
death or to hear the great noise as the gun went off, or see his dead body.
Linzi often sat alone in the tower, crying; she knew her father took his last
breath there, and she would sit and wonder how she could give it him back. She
once asked her mother if David ever mentioned his final words. But Kathy had
lied, saying David was more interested in protecting Joanne than listen to
anything that George had said. So Linzi had to be content with the last words
her father had spoken to her at the prison, and then it all made sense: “
Davey’s
laughing at me, isn’t he? It’s as well he doesn’t come or I’ll finish the job
off proper. Take his money now, because he’ll soon have none!”
Linzi knew
David had been punished by her father’s death; he had no money, and her father
had got his wish: his death was the only way he could have succeeded.

*       
*        *

Farmers were talking, grouped together in corners of the yard, some
swearing, and some laughing. A few of them were dressed smartly in tweed and
green jackets, and others looked like they’d just fallen into a midden. Blue
smoke was drifting in the air from cigarettes and pipes. A small queue formed
to inspect the cattle, which were eating the clean straw, unaware that they
were about to leave their home. Kathy watched the farmers wandering about the
farm buildings; many had never set foot in Keld Head because of her dead
husband’s suspicious nature. Some had only come to see what sort of a job the
Keldas women had made of the place and to see for themselves, if the rumours
were true, that David Keldas had abandoned his family.

Before the bidding was due to start Kathy came indoors to make more tea
and fill the urns with hot water. She had set up a makeshift dining area under
the hay barn and had put out a trestle table, spread with the pies and
sandwiches.

She stopped and looked out of the kitchen window as she waited for the
kettles to boil. Linzi was right: George would have hated this; strangers on
his farm, with cars parked in the yard and lining the lane. She also had
worried if they were making a mistake, but it was too late to change their
minds; soon the bidding would start and Kathy knew that by three o’clock that
afternoon, most of George’s cattle would be scattered the length of the county.

Kathy had promised the children a celebration meal that evening. She’d
put a large piece of sirloin in the Aga, and later she would make some
Yorkshire Puddings and a trifle, she’d even bought a bottle of Champagne.

As she stood watching, waiting for the kettles to boil, more people
arrived. She looked out and saw a small group of young men over by the tower,
laughing. She saw Darren Watson, David’s friend from college, and she guessed
he’d come to see Linzi; there was definitely something going on between them.
She watched them thumbing through their catalogues and arguing the details;
John Cardwell the auctioneer was with them.

A kettle started to boil so she went across to fill some flasks with
hot water and then returned to her vantage-point at the kitchen window. The
laughing continued and Kathy lifted her hand to her mouth as she spotted David
with Darren Watson, he was pointing at the catalogue. Somebody else approached
and shook David’s hand, another came and patted his head.

‘Oh, thank you, God. . . . Thank you, he’s come,’ she whispered.

*       
*        *

David took off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves and sat back on
the dining chair. Moss jumped up at him and licked his hands and face, sniffing
at his body.

‘Would you like to stay for tea Mr Cardwell?’

‘No thank you Mrs Keldas. I think you all need a bit of peace and quiet
now. No need to worry about milking anymore eh, Davey?’

David didn’t reply, but just politely smiled and continued to play with
the dog. He couldn’t speak, as he too was choked inside to see some of their best
dairy cows bundled into the back of a wagon, never to be seen again.

Linzi and Alan came in laughing at some joke a farmer had told them.
She went to David and flung her arms around his neck and smothered him.