Northern Spirit (28 page)

There was an unpleasant pause in the conversation as Tony continued to
fiddle with the orange and David stood motionless. ‘Look mate . . .’ David pleaded.
‘If this is because of me, I’m sorry - you know that. But you just can’t leave
like this, not when you’re sick.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself to think this is about you . . . ! You’re a
fool, Dave, but then I suppose, I am, too.’ Tony threw a small segment of the
tangerine up into the air and tried to catch it with his open mouth. ‘Do what
you like with my sister. . . . I suppose she’ll be better off with you than
with anyone else, but if you hurt her anymore . . . ? There’s nothing here in
the Lakes for me - it’s dead. A poxy job in Keswick, selling records to
teenies. I’m worth more than that, I know I am.’

And David knew he was, but he didn’t think this idea of Tony’s was a
particularly good one; who was he to say what was good or bad, when he was
contemplating the most foolish decision of his life. Perhaps they would both
completely mess up their lives. David didn’t feel there was any more he could
do, so without looking at him said, ‘Let me know what time you’ll be
discharged, and either me or Mum will come and get you.’

‘Maybe little Hannah will drive me home, eh?’

‘I doubt it . . . !’

*       
*        *

Hannah Robson had seen the red-coloured Rover parked in the lay-by and
she wasn’t certain if it was the Keldas car or not. The thought that someone
may be in trouble or broken down crossed her mind. This had niggled at her
conscience (unlike David, who weeks earlier had left her standing in the rain
at the bus stop). She had driven right round the roundabout, double backed on
herself and, recognising the number plate, pulled into the lay-by. She didn’t
know if the driver had spotted her nor did she know who the driver was. But
before she could step out of her car the Rover sped away, flicking gravel and
muck onto her windscreen, and she had guessed by the speed that it must have
been David.

Hannah wondered whether he’d known it was her, and was unaware that in
stopping behind him she had saved David from making a rash decision.

She’d borrowed Eleanor’s car to drive to the university to attend the
lecture. It hadn’t been her intention to go out but, she couldn’t think of any
other excuse to tell David; she had to go out to justify herself.

It was the letter! If she hadn’t received it from Linzi she might have
gone with him. However, not only had she been told the full truth about the
Keldas family by Barry, but she’d also been given an unwanted secret to keep.
It had crossed her mind that David could be as wayward as his father and that
would explain his roller-coaster lifestyle and mentality.

She felt, understandably, that she could no longer cope with this, and
any further intimacy with David would not only cause her to feel she was
betraying Linzi’s confidence, but also be dishonest with him. This situation
was far too difficult for her to deal with. She must keep out of his way. And,
if David had seen her tonight and had fled away from her, then her decision was
well founded.

Hannah didn’t want to play any more of his games.

14

THE BRASS BED

Tony Milton sat with his back to the window of the overnight bus and
tried to stretch his thin legs out in front of him, but this position hurt his
neck. He twisted again and sat with his head back, but this position crushed
his knees into the seat in front. He twisted to one side but this hurt his back
and, as the night hours passed and daylight approached without him getting much
sleep, Tony was glad when the coach approached London. He would soon be in
Victoria and then a ride on the underground or a brisk walk and he would be
safely installed in Knightsbridge.

It hadn’t troubled Tony to leave Cumbria in fact, he was glad of it.
Yes, the blue rocks and fells were beautiful, and although he’d lived with them
all his life he thought the stone and the architecture of the city had more
appeal. He wasn’t so naive to believe that London’s streets were paved in the
proverbial gold, but felt this might be the chance to make a career in the
music industry. Tony knew his songs were good and working in the city would
stand him a better chance of success. It was also time he broke free from the
security and restrictions of family and friends. For some that would mean
marriage but, for Tony, although being twenty-three years old, he was still
immature and could barely look after himself, let alone a wife. He wasn’t
indecisive, as he believed David was. He hadn’t been cosseted all his life by
an adoring mother and he wouldn’t have wanted that, even if it had been
offered. And Tony didn’t hate the life at Keld Head as David once did. He
recalled David’s tearful plea in Blackpool,
never to return to the farm
,
and then, as if to justify his actions in leaving his home and his friends, he
found himself thinking more of David and despising him.

Tony had been planning this move for sometime; much earlier than that
dreadful night on the fells searching for his sister. And the many nights in
the hospital staring at the ceiling had given him further desire to do
something else with his life. He’d spent much of his waking hours composing and
writing new chords, humming songs and melodies to himself and others.

He’d wondered as a boy what his future might be, but as a child could
never envisage any life without the influence of the Keldas family; his
exploits with David; his love for Linzi; the kindness of their mother and the
impropriety of their father. And, in some ways, that would be the hardest thing
to leave. His bungalow was never really a home; his own father was never there.
Tony had long suspected he was having an affair with some woman up north, but
had never dared to ask. And neither did he feel any more responsibility toward
Joanne. She was always telling him she needed to be treated as an adult and no
longer wanted him interfering in her life and her foolish craving for David had
led her to this conclusion. And this was the turning point for Tony’s decision.

Things were also starting to change for David. Tony was once proud to
be his friend as David’s strong body had protected him many times and his
gentle disposition had steadied him. David’s popularity had also drawn the
admirers; especially the women. But this was all changing as David was. Tony
could see David was becoming irrational in his thinking, sitting alone,
brooding. He felt David was taking over from where George Keldas had left off.
His handsome features were turning into a face lined and rugged, and torn with
anguish.

Tony also thought it best to leave before his own father returned from
Scotland. He knew he would object and he didn’t want an argument. So, after
just leaving a note on the kitchen table and a contact number, he left.

He was surprised that David hadn’t called to see him the first evening
he was home from hospital. He guessed that it must have been for genuine
reasons as it was Kathy that had brought him home. It had been late in the
afternoon when he’d been discharged and that would have meant David would be
working. Tony knew it was cruel not to see David before he left, and maybe one
day he would reconcile himself to him again but, just now, he’d had enough.
Tony knew his sudden departure would hurt David, but Tony didn’t care; David
needed to be treated in the way he’d treated others.

As Tony had left Keld Head at 5:00 pm yesterday evening and he’d walked
down the hill, the only noise he heard was coming from the pulsator of the
milking machine. Tony thought David would be washing down the dairy and tidying
up for the night. He could have so easily called in for just a few minutes, for
one last goodbye, but no. It was best this way, he thought; Joanne was safe in
Aberdeen, barred from returning and irritated to have to stay with her aunt.
And, as far as Tony was aware, she still had no clue of David’s intentions for
her. This was a decision that he knew David would dither about for a while and
Tony didn’t want to be around to await the outcome.

The coach pulled into Victoria and Tony clambered down the steps,
throwing his hand-baggage in front of him and carrying his guitar in its case
over his shoulder. He was glad of the chance to stretch out his aching body.

It was a fine morning and the sun was just beginning to rise. He was
happy to be leaving the stinking smell of the diesel filled coach station
behind him; the fresh air enticed him, so he decided to walk all the way to
Knightsbridge. It was too early in the morning to waken his cousin and the walk
would pass some time and revive him.

The cool city air lifted his spirits and he started to hum to himself
as he pulled out from his bag an A-Z and searched for the way to his cousin’s
apartment. He thought of Keld Head and, ironically, the only person up and
awake would be David doing the early morning’s milking. The only other movement
would be from the daffodils wagging their heads in the March breezes. But
London was alive with street cleaners, dustmen, postmen and milkmen. The bag
people were already leaving the warmth of the coach station and begging for
money and a hot drink.

The smell of frying sausages coming from a diner tempted him. He
ordered a coffee and a bacon roll while he sat at the table with all his
worldly goods splayed on the floor.

When Tony started to walk again, he struggled with his luggage and
wished he’d taken the tube. He was weaker than he’d anticipated, as this was
only his first full day out of hospital. The cold March air hit the back of his
throat and felt like it would cut his lungs to shreds. He started to cough and
had to stop to hold his aching side.

As he approached Knightsbridge, the prosperity of the area was clear.
He passed some high-class stores and looked longingly through the windows:
suits, ties, leather goods, all with designer labels, un-priced and, as Tony
guessed, unaffordable, at least to him; his own appearance was now out of
place. In the Lake District, he would have blended in well with his green army
surplus coat and flared denim jeans. He had a hope, one day, if his dreams came
true, he could afford to shop here. Maybe buy a new suit and tie and have his
own apartment like his cousin.

He checked the street names with his map, he checked the numbers on the
doors; admired the beautiful iron railings and the majestic Georgian exteriors
of these tall houses; slowly wandering along the tree-lined avenues as early
blossom like confetti, peppered the streets. Tony counted the numbers. The
buildings grew larger and grander with steps and terraces leading up to front doors
with polished brass fittings on glossy paintwork. This was it. This was
Rievaulx House.

Glancing at his wristwatch, he pressed the brass doorbell and waited,
hoping by this time his cousin would be up and dressed; it was 7:35am. With no
reply, he pushed open the heavy front door and entered a hallway, paved with
black and white mosaic tiles and walls of panelled oak. There was a large
hallstand holding a heavy vase filled with fresh and exotic flowers. A gold
framed mirror highlighted Tony’s unkempt appearance and caused this ordinary
lad from up north to comb his red and curly hair. He pulled back the metal
shutters on the lift and pressed the button for the second floor and Flat 6b.
The flat was soon in front of him but taped on the door was a white envelope
addressed to him.

He ripped it open:

Dear Tony,

I’ve gone to Edinburgh for the week on business. I’m sorry I wasn’t
here to welcome you. The key is at 6a. Please make yourself at home. You’re in
the blue room.

Regards.

Peter Andrew Milton.

He collected the key from the young man at 6a. Tony was easily
recognisable as Peter Milton’s cousin as they both had the same red hair,
except that Tony’s was much longer.

Disappointed that Peter was away, Tony entered the flat; the early
contacts he’d hoped for would have to wait. He was also disappointed at his
recovery; when he’d been discharged from the hospital, he’d felt well, but
today after his walk he was weaker, in fact, quite unwell. The pain in his back
had returned. He felt feverish and he knew he looked sickly. He was always
pale; that never changed, but he didn’t usually have this deathly grey look
about him and today his eyes were reddened and tired looking.

Tony’s bungalow in Cumbria seemed a lifetime away from the wealth here
in Knightsbridge and he couldn’t help but compare. The untidy and grubby
condition of their bungalow, (partly his own doing,) stood in stark contrast.

Overlooking the street below was a spacious lounge. It was decorated
with just a few choice items: a large red Chesterfield sofa was strewn with
velvet cushions. White muslin drapes decked the windows, with heavy velvet
curtains cascading to the floor. A cream coloured shag-pile carpet was covered
with a deerskin rug. There was a black and chrome Hi-Fi system in one corner and
masks and carvings from Africa on the walls. Tony checked his shoes and he
didn’t want to step inside the room, in case he soiled the carpet.

He continued to explore and found the kitchen and a blue painted
bedroom, which he assumed was to be his. The blue room was neat and yet sparse,
just a single bed, a wicker chair and a small portable television standing on a
coffee table. He went for his holdall and threw it on the floor and immediately
made the place look lived in. He would stay a month; that was the agreement
until he could find a place of his own.

There was only the bathroom to find, and one other room left in the
apartment. Out of pure curiosity Tony opened the next door and found a large
double bedroom fitted with glass panelled wardrobes. There was a sheepskin rug
on the floor, and a few modern prints of Van Gogh and Andy Warhol hung on the
wall. But the focal point of this room was a large brass bed standing stately
in the middle.