Northern Spirit (29 page)

The highly polished brass bed was covered with a pure white counterpane,
so neatly made that Tony daren’t touch it. He was transfixed and wanted to keep
silent as if someone were sleeping there. He stood still for a while as he
realised he’d entered the intimate sanctuary of his cousin’s life.

He stepped forward towards the bed and rubbed his fingers along its
brass structure, feeling the coolness of the metal on his hands. His heart
surged as he quickly walked around the bed, and thought of the elegant suits in
the high-class stores and hoped, if nothing else, one day he too could have a
brass bed.

Closing the door, Tony found the bathroom and washed. He made himself a
drink of tea and wanted to surrender to the tiredness that was creeping over
him. He was in no hurry to begin his new life; he had the apartment to himself;
he had a whole week to himself. He would sleep, change his clothes and then
search for a few landmarks to help him find his bearings.

*       
*        *

Tony woke up to the buzz of traffic noise below him; it was 1:30pm. He
was surprised and annoyed that he’d slept for so long, but never-the-less had
benefited and some colour had returned to his complexion. He soaked his aching
body in the deep water of a luxurious bath and started to plot out his plans
for the rest of the day.

As the spring sunshine cast into the apartment he took out his A-Z,
searched for the whereabouts of The Royal Albert Hall and decided to walk
again. The traffic had increased since the morning and the streets were alive.
Businessmen, wearing the same styled suits he’d seen, replaced the tradesmen.
He found the Royal Albert Hall and saw on the billboard just what he’d
expected: a charity concert next week, held for the benefit of the street
musicians in London. Buskers had been invited to play, their chance for some
recognition, and a chance for Tony to meet some contacts.

He bought a ticket.

*       
*        *

David hosed down the dairy, tirelessly removing debris and dung that
had accumulated from the morning’s milking. The cattle were settled and
munching hay in the foldyard. He loved to see them like this, as they rocked
from side to side on their feet, with steam rising from their bodies and
drifting up into the cool air. The cattle were chewing their cud, content,
oblivious to any danger and satisfied.

The sight of the contented animals had a revitalising effect on David
and lifted his spirits. He put away the hosepipe and set the dairy up ready for
the evening’s milking.

He’d had a quiet morning; he’d walked the fields and checked the
grassland, knowing that as soon as spring approached the cattle could go out to
graze. A few more calves had been born over the winter without any hitches, and
there were still several more cows due to calve. David had decided that he
needed to call Barry Fitzgerald out for a few necessary check-ups. One cow had
given birth and was sick with an infection. Two others, which David had thought
were in calf, were showing no signs whatsoever of a pregnancy, and there was
also a cow with mastitis; its udder had become hard and swollen with infected
milk, and David had been struggling to treat it himself. He would have all the
animals ready in the barn for Barry, whenever he called.

David was hungry and felt more satisfied with his work than he’d been
for some time. He started to whistle as he worked, talking gently and fondly to
the cattle as he moved them around and playfully patting them. Someone had
kindly taken the heavy weight from him today. He knew he’d have to have it
back, but hoped he could resist as long as possible.

When David entered the farmhouse kitchen ready for lunch, he was
surprised to see Tony’s father.

‘Davey . . . ?’ Kathy was the first to speak. ‘Did you know that Tony
was going to London?’

Removing his grubby overalls and out of breath with the exertion he
replied. ‘Er . . . yes. He told me on Tuesday. He didn’t say when, though.’

‘Then why on earth didn’t you say anything?’ Kathy said.

‘I didn’t think I needed to tell you everything that happens in my
life.’

Keith Milton quickly interrupted. ‘I’m just worried about his health
that’s all, Davey.’

‘Well, I shan’t be able to talk him out of it.’ David softened and went
to wash his hands. ‘He doesn’t listen to me anymore.’

‘It’s too late anyway, Davey. He’s already gone.’

David stopped what he was doing and looked at Keith Milton and his deep
blue eyes widened.

‘He packed and left last night. Just left me a note. He says he’s
staying with my sister’s lad in Knightsbridge.’

‘Well, that’s it then isn’t it? That’s probably my fault too!’

Kathy heard the despair in his voice. She knew David and Tony had been
at odds with one another of late and that perhaps Joanne was the cause. Things
were slowly being pieced together, but Kathy felt she hadn’t seen the full
picture. She’d also heard more gossip in the village. A neighbour had taken
pleasure in telling her, and all those present in the Post Office, that she’d
seen a man, much like David, dragging a young woman out in the snow at an
ungodly hour. If it hadn’t been necessary for the woman to get up and “spend a
penny” she would have missed it all. The woman said she’d peeped through the
window when she heard the girl and had feared for her safety. She hadn’t known
whether to call for help, but then seeing the blue flashing lights up at Keld
Head, “
again
”, guessed the situation must be in hand. Kathy had refused
to let her anger show and wouldn’t be sucked into the woman’s fact finding
mission, so she calmly asked for her purchases and left the shop, knowing full
well, the gossip would continue and soon this whole village would turn against
her son as they had done her husband.

‘Come on, Davey. . . . Have your tea. This is NOT your fault.’

But that was the problem, David imagined everything was his fault.
Somewhere along the lines he blamed himself for his father’s attitude, thinking
he’d driven him to shoot to kill.

*       
*        *

Barry Fitzgerald put his equipment back in the boot of his car. In the
cold of the farmyard, he stripped to the waist, carefully removing his soiled
green waterproof overalls; his job was now done at Keld Head. He was just
mulling over the news that David had given him, surprised to hear that David’s
friend, Tony Milton, had gone to London. It mattered to him that David was
worried.

He hadn’t rushed his job today, wanting to pacify David. He’d taken a
retained after-birth from the newly calved cow, and diagnosed that one of the
dairy cows wasn’t in calf. Barry could see David was disappointed, as it was
too late to try and mate her again and she would have to be sold.

David was also disappointed that Hannah wasn’t with Barry as he’d
expected. He’d hoped the reason was because she was nursing some poorly
creature elsewhere, rather than the fact that she was avoiding him.

The dimly lit loosebox was warm and dry and a strong wind was blowing
outside. David wasn’t normally affected by the cold but had found of late he
had an increasing disliking for it. He had intended to invite Barry into the
farmhouse for a drink, but after man-handling three boisterous animals for an
hour or more, he’d felt a wave of dizziness come over him, and the straw bale
behind him was a convenient seat.

The more he sat, the more comfortable he became and an overwhelming
tiredness crept over him. In his mind he felt he was just being bone-idle, but
he’d had these dizzy spells for a few days now and today he felt a tightness
grip his chest. David felt some of the life drain out of him and thought if he
could see himself in a mirror he would look pale. These new feelings didn’t
worry him because he didn’t care anymore.

But David did care about Hannah and he wanted to ask after her, but had
resisted, and now as he sat quietly, he recalled the promise he’d made to
himself on the day of Uncle Fred’s funeral, and realised he was failing himself
and his mother if he married Joanne. If Joanne hadn’t have been so persistent,
and if he hadn’t have been so reckless, he could have kept his promise. And now
there were thoughts of Hannah constantly coming back to his mind. Her influence
on him he hadn’t expected at all. He’d had other girlfriends who’d been fun to
be with, but none of them got to him as she did. Some girls he’d used and some
had used him. Some had given him up because of his belligerent father and some,
much like Joanne, still adored him. But he guessed that these feelings for
Hannah were different, not just flashing moments of desire. And although he
hardly knew her, he had little chance of getting to know her better. Why was
it, that the girl he wanted didn’t seem to care, but the one he didn’t want,
cared too much?

He’d also had two letters from Joanne since she left Keld Head, which
he couldn’t bring himself to reply to. At one time the anxiety of all this
would have made him walk away, or even run, but all he could do was sit. There
would be no one to go and look for him anyway, as he’d done for his father; his
dear uncle was dead and Tom was too young. So David slapped his hands down on
his knees, realising he’d allowed his mind to go deeper into the mire than was
good for him.

He was about to stand, when Barry returned and sat close beside him on
the straw bale. ‘Not too disappointed about the barren cow are you, Davey?’

‘Ah no. … Not too much anyway. Some you win - some you lose.’ There was
no eye contact as David stared at the floor.

‘You must come over to my place sometime. . . . Now that Tony’s gone,
you and I can have a drink together. Eleanor doesn’t want my company much these
days and I guess I need a good drinking partner.’

‘And you think I’d be good company?’

‘Ah, you young ones. . . . I don’t know what’s the matter with you all.
I’ve another one like you back at the surgery.’

David knew he was referring to Hannah and his senses sharpened.

‘Yeh, she’s moping around just like you. Hannah used to cheer me up,
but now she’s miserable, and I don’t think it’s Tony Milton she’s missing.’

‘Is she ill?’ David asked. ‘I thought she might have come today.’

‘No, she’s not ill, she’s studying. . . . Hannah’s got a lot of exams
to sit this year, and she has her head stuck in medical books. It’s good to
take your career seriously but I think she’s going a bit overboard. She needs a
break.’

Both men fell silent, thinking about the troublesome women in their
lives. Barry wanted to tell David about his failing marriage to Eleanor, but
didn’t want to burden him. David wanted to tell Barry of his confused feelings
for Hannah, but guessed he would think he was being improper - she was far
above him. And then there was this crazy plan to marry Joanne. David reasoned
Barry too would think he was being a fool: adoring one woman and yet intending
to marry another.

It was Barry who spoke next. ‘Do you have a date for your father’s
trial yet, Davey?’

Shocked at his bluntness, David replied, ‘No . . . no. . . . It keeps
being put off. They’ve finally diagnosed Dad’s stomach trouble – he’s got
gallstones or something. And until he’s well, they won’t send him for trial. He
has to have surgery and then more waiting, I guess.’

‘I bet you wish you could just get it over and done with? I can see
you’re anxious.’

‘To be honest Barry, I daren’t think much about it. . . . I keep trying
to push it to the back of my mind.’

Then David looked intently into the older man’s kindly face. ‘You see .
. . it all hinges on me, doesn’t it? If I say Dad was trying to shoot me, he
could go down for attempted murder and a manslaughter charge for killing Uncle
Fred. But if I say it was all an accident, Dad will be given a lighter
sentence. And for an accidental death verdict, his conviction would be much
shorter, if any! And then we’ll have to start all over again, him tormenting
Mum and me, for goodness knows how long, or until he does something stupid
again, and I’m sure he would.’

David paused to take a breath and then continued as Barry listened.
‘And then there’s Keld Head . . . ? What will happen to the farm if Dad gets
life or something? Mum will have no say in what happens to it - it’s not her
farm and I doubt he would give it to me. So we’re like sitting tenants really.
Legally, none of us can sell the place unless Dad allows it, or he signs it
over to one of us, and he’s not likely to do that either.’ David didn’t stir,
only his head and his eyes moved, firstly looking at Barry and then glancing
down at the straw under his feet. ‘If Mum divorced Dad, she would be entitled
to a lot of money and the farm would have to be sold, but then what will happen
to her and Sarah and Tom?’

‘And what about you, Davey?’

‘I don’t care what happens to me. . . . I’ve no particular love for
this place any more, but I wanted to be loyal to my mum, but I don’t know if I
can. Life’s a mess Barry - it really is, and I don’t know what to do.’

‘You must tell the truth for a start - for your safety and your
mother’s.’

David raised his voice. ‘Will they believe me, though. Maybe they’ll
say it was all my fault anyway - making up crazy stories about him. Besides,
how can I stand there and say that my own father was trying to kill me. But I
saw him Barry. . . . He held the gun at me. He said he’d shoot and he did. And
besides, I couldn’t look him in the eyes. He’s stronger than I am. He would
look at me with those cold eyes of his and wish me dead! Oh, why does
everything depend on me?’

Barry put his arm across David’s back and he responded by dropping his
head.

‘It doesn’t all depend on you. . . . They’ll question your mother too.
. . . She’ll tell the truth. . . . She knew what he was trying to do.’

*       
*        *

Kathy stood shivering outside by the loosebox door, holding a tray of
coffee in her hand. She could hear the soft voices of the two men talking. She
wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but when she heard David raise his voice and, this
time at Barry, Kathy stopped to hear him as he poured out his real feelings.