Northern Spirit (36 page)

‘That’s good of you, Davey, but how will you get to Bowness?’

‘I’ll walk or maybe hitch a lift and then get the ferry.’

‘You could take the bus and go to Ambleside?’ she suggested.

He’d already thought of that, but that meant being closer to Keld Head.
‘I’ll be fine Aunty. . . . Don’t worry about me? I can find my way about here.
Now then, what can I bring us back for dinner?’ And he rubbed his hands
together.

Betty sat at the table with him and started to write a shopping list
with such a shaky hand that it was hardly legible. She fiddled in her purse and
insisted in giving him money for the fresh meat and vegetables. When David made
only a slight attempt to pay, she guessed he was broke.

Betty knew that she would now have a chance to ring Kathy and, as soon as
he was out of the cottage and she watched him walking down the lane, she
immediately picked up the telephone.

‘I had a little stray puppy stay with me last night!’

‘Did you. . . .’ Kathy sounded perplexed.

‘Yes, and he’s gone out for a walk and he’s coming back for his
dinner.’

‘Are you teasing me?’ and Kathy started to worry about Betty’s sanity.

‘I am love,’ she mused. ‘It’s
your
puppy that I’ve found.’

Kathy was confused for a moment. ‘My puppy . . . my puppy, what puppy?
What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Not what, but who!’

‘DAVID!’

‘Yes, David.’

‘Oh, Betty. . . . Thank goodness for that. Marian phoned to say he’d
left Scotland. I didn’t know where he would go next.’ She flopped down on a
chair by the phone. ‘Is he alone?’

‘Yes, he is love.’ Betty presumed she was referring to Tony.

‘Did he say anything about . . . ?’ she paused and then continued, ‘did
he tell you where he’s been all these weeks?’

‘No dear, and I haven’t asked him either, but you needn’t worry
anymore. You see he wants to stay with me for a while. And I’m afraid to say,
he won’t be coming home just yet.’

Kathy somehow expected that David wouldn’t be coming home just yet, and
was comforted to hear that he was back in England, alone and safe.

‘You must have had some argument? I’m afraid he doesn’t want to speak to
you, but he said I could phone you, if I wanted.’

‘We did have a huge row, I’m sorry to say. He was shocked at seeing his
father again, and then with the shooting, in the heat of the moment, we both
said things we’ll regret, and let’s put it this way, it’s all my fault. But
tell me, has he talked to you about the farm? I must speak to him about Keld
Head.’

‘I don’t think he’ll want to,’ Betty said.

‘Then will you ask him for me, please. I don’t know what else to do
with the cattle. We just can’t manage without him.’

‘I’m sorry, Kathy, but he said he didn’t want to come home- he
insisted. In fact he’s gone to Bowness just now to try and get a job.’

Kathy wanted to run from the house and drive to the lakeshore to meet
him and tell him how much she loved him. She wanted to plead with him for
forgiveness, but she knew that would be foolish. He was safe at Betty’s and he
would be loved. She still had faith in him to know she would, one day, see him
again.

‘I’ll have another talk with him when he gets back, but don’t worry. .
. . Don’t call me and whatever you do, don’t come to see him or he’ll fly
again, I just know it!’ Then Betty paused, ‘There is one more thing though . .
. .’

Kathy’s heart sunk heavy within her at the tone of Betty’s voice.

‘He’s not the same lad he was. He’s thin and looks badly.. . I’m not
sure if he’s altogether well. He insists that he’ll look after me, but I think
it’ll be the other way around.’

‘Is he agitated again or nervous?’

‘No, and that’s worrying. He’s the opposite - he’s calm - too calm, and
I haven’t seen him like this in years. He’s either changed or he’s still in
shock, but I don’t know which.’

With mixed feelings, Kathy put the receiver down. She started to cry,
and this time, uncontrollably; was it sheer relief, happiness, sadness or what,
she didn’t know. She went upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door behind her and
fell on the bed. It was sometime before she dared to come out. When she did,
her head ached and her eyes were sore. She tried to regain her composure. The
children were at home for the Easter holidays, so she quickly washed her face,
brushed her hair and went back downstairs.

Tom and Sarah were sat in the parlour watching television. When Sarah
saw her mother, she came to her and hugged her around the waist. ‘What’s the
matter, Mummy? Why are you crying?’ Sarah didn’t want to let her go and clung
on to her arm. ‘Are you crying because of Daddy?’

Kathy no longer wanted to lie, ‘I’m missing Davey, my love, that’s
all.’

‘I miss him too . . . he’s gone away forever, like Daddy, hasn’t he?’

‘No love.’

‘Then I’ll smack him when he gets back for making you cry.’

The little girl went back to the parlour, sat down beside her brother
and whispered in his ear, ‘Tom . . . I think Davey must be in prison like Daddy
was, and that’s why Mummy’s crying.’

‘Don’t be stupid. . . . He’s gone because he hates Mum, he hated Dad
and he hates us as well!’ and with that he picked up a small plastic toy and
threw it at the television set.

*       
*        *

The first stop was the barber’s shop and being unfamiliar with such
places David hesitated as he walked into the small room and asked for a good
haircut. The elderly barber was glad of the challenge to attack the young man’s
head with his clippers as David sat and watched his dark hair fall to the
floor. In the mirror he could see the true lines of his face emerge. He
wondered at the man he saw and found it hard to recognise himself. His loss of
weight had drawn his face out of recognition, with his short cropped hair and
pale skin; his face much thinner, revealed even more his unusual eyebrows and
deep set, blue eyes.

‘Well young man,’ the barber was triumphant, ‘you look a bit more
presentable now.’

David fumbled in his pockets for some loose change. ‘That’s good,
because I need to get a job.’

‘What line of work are you looking for?’ The barber knew who David was.

‘Doesn’t matter really. . . . Bar work, driving, I’ll have a go at
anything.’

‘Jack of all trades, eh?’

David hesitated, ‘well sort of.’

‘Get yourself to the hotel across the road. They’re looking for a
barman. Tell them I sent you and you’ll probably get the job.’ He wanted to
tell David not to mention his real name because with the new haircut, he was
unrecognisable as the surly young man everyone had seen in the newspapers.

*       
*        *

The next few days were spent cleaning and washing. David cut the grass
and weeded the garden; the semi-isolation of Foxglove Cottage suited him with
no one to interfere with his life. He bought a post-card from the village Post
Office and sent it to Tony, with a cryptic message as to his whereabouts. He
made several trips to Bowness, shopping and doing errands for his aunt. Betty
had a new lease of life with his presence; she was eating better, her house was
cleaner and her mental anguish had subsided.

One evening after David had cooked a makeshift meal, they sat together
at the table talking and eating, as had become their custom. ‘I spoke to your
mother the other day.’

David was non-committal.

‘She’s glad you’re safe and with me . . . but she needs to ask you
about the farm.’

David was uncharacteristically rude to her and stayed silent.

‘She wants to know if you’re going back, if not she’ll have to sell the
cattle.’

This suggestion surprised him; he wanted to reply but only out of
politeness. ‘She doesn’t need my advice, she can do what she likes with the
farm; it’s hers not mine.’

‘So you
do
know about your father’s will?’

Of course David didn’t know, in fact, it hadn’t even entered his head
that George Keldas’s will would have been opened in the first place. ‘I’m sorry
. . . I don’t get what you mean.’ And the familiar quizzical look returned to
his face.

‘David. . . . You do know there’s a problem with your father’s will.
You know he’s not left you anything, don’t you?’

The words hit him like a sharp sword through his heart. This was the
last cutting of any ties: the last insult. No son - no farm - no choice!

At one time, the anger would have made him run, but now he only froze
with the realisation of what he’d just been told. He was slow to reply. ‘Then
I’ve made the right decision. . . . I’ll start work at the hotel on Saturday
and earn us a bit of money.’

Betty could see as he pushed his plate of food away, the sadness in his
face. He was deeply hurt. He had clearly not known about the contents of the
will. The poor lad, what more could be done for him she wondered? She took hold
of his hand. ‘You will still stay with me won’t you? You won’t go away again
and leave me?’

David took her tiny, thin hands in his. ‘I’ll have to stay now, won’t I.
I think the world of you and I love this cottage - we’ll get on just fine, you
and me. . . . I chose to come here last week, and although you’re no flesh and
blood of mine,’ (she presumed he meant because she was only his aunt through
marriage). ‘I’ve come to realise that blood isn’t thicker than water, as they
say. I’ve been shown more love by strangers and friends recently than by my own
family.’

*       
*        *

The following day was Saturday and David was due to start his new job
that evening. He’d bought a pair of black trousers, some brogue shoes and two
white shirts. He’d nearly spent all his reserves of money and a trip to the
bank confirmed that. He would have to take on as much work as he could get,
firstly to pay some maintenance to his aunt, as he couldn’t continue to presume
on her kindness, and then, for his own self respect.

When he got up that morning Betty was, as usual, up and dressed and
hobbling around the kitchen with her two sticks. The back door was wide open
and fresh, clean air was bursting in. The birds had been fed and the cat was
still hovering for food. As he always did, David came to her, kissed her on the
cheek and then went to the cupboard to find a bowl and fill it with cornflakes.

‘Come here, Davey . . . there’s something I want to show you.’

He could see she was excited as she pulled from her apron pocket a
bunch of keys.

‘Come with me . . . come with me,’ she beckoned him.

He followed her down the garden path, passed the flowerbeds and neatly
cut lawn. Concealed in a yard at the back of the cottage was a dilapidated
wooden garage, painted with the remnants of flaky, yellow and green paint, and
covered in ivy.

‘Open the door, Davey.’

She gave him the keys and he unlocked the fragile door.

‘Now pull it open . . . be careful . . . be careful, it may be rotten.’

David could see it was rotten and, as he slid the door ajar, she pushed
passed him and tried to open it further.

‘Let’s get some light in here.’

David was wondering, yet smiling at her enthusiasm, and held her
fragile arm to steady her.

The garage was full of old junk: paint tins, tools and bits of
machinery, metal and wood, but taking up most of the space was a large object
in the middle.

‘Now pull the cover off?’ she asked.

David tugged at the tarpaulin. Dust and cobwebs drifted over him, so he
put his hand to his nose to stop himself from sneezing.

‘She’s yours now, do you want her?’

David saw his Uncle Fred’s Volvo Amazon. He hadn’t seen the old maroon
coloured car in months. He slid his fingers across the rounded bonnet as he
admired the coachwork and the large headlamps of the long forgotten car.

‘See if you can start her, Davey, please,’ and handed him the keys.

‘She won’t start now!’ he laughed. ‘Has she been stood in here since
Uncle Fred died?’

He unlocked the car doors and jumped inside onto the cold leather
seats. He held firmly onto the steering wheel and grinned. Then he slid outside
again and found the catch to release the bonnet. He looked at her and rubbed
his hand on his mouth, ‘you mean I can have this?’

‘Well, I’ve been saving her for you. . . . Freddie always said that if
anything happened to him, that you should have her. You do want her don’t you?’

He immediately fiddled under the bonnet. ‘Of course I want her, she’ll
do me fine.’

‘Can you get her going then?’

‘I hope so, but not today. She’ll maybe need a new battery, an oil
change and spark plugs. . . . The brakes might be seized up,’ then he
hesitated, stopped and closed the bonnet. ‘I can mend her . . . but not just
yet, anyway.’

‘You will if I pay for it! If you can do the work, I’ll tax her and
test her and pay the insurance. I can’t have you walking and hitchhiking all
the way to that ferry every day.’

David left the garage, and tightly held the keys in his hand and
restrained himself from throwing them up in the air.

*       
*        *

David spent the whole of the next week under the bonnet of the old car
and, as he neglected his household duties, Betty wondered if it had been a good
idea to give it to him straight away. She missed his company, as he spent most
of his time in the garage, then the rest at the hotel. But Betty liked the idea
of having a man around the house again, despite him littering her kitchen table
with carburettors, air-filters and oily rags as he patiently cleaned them. He so
much reminded her of Fred.

David absorbed himself in his new job too. He either walked or hitched
a lift to the ferry each afternoon and then caught a taxi home. Most evenings,
Betty was still alone. Sometimes, it was the early hours of the morning when
she heard him come in and, if he did a split shift, he would stay in Bowness
all day.