Northern Spirit (31 page)

Standing at the back door, Kathy saw police marksmen everywhere; but
why were they here? As she ran across the yard towards the tower she saw David,
his face spattered with blood and his body trembling as he leant on the wall to
be sick. She ran to help him.

At the sight of his mother, David raised himself upright and forcefully
took her by the arm and led her away. ‘Don’t go in there . . . ! Come away!’ He
implored her and pulled her back to the farmhouse.

‘David . . . please. . . . What’s the matter . . . ? Whatever’s
happened? Are you hurt?’

David pushed his mother into the house and banged the door hard behind
her. He pulled her small body to him and frantically shook her and shouted,
‘Who am I? Who am I?’ He was close to tears as he spoke.

‘I don’t know what you mean, David. I don’t understand.’ Kathy was
terrified and tried to pull herself from his grasp.

‘You know exactly what I mean! That - that man, lying on the floor. . .
. Yes, your husband. . . . He’s DEAD! The police shot him. And he just told me
something, and I want to know the truth. Who am I, Mother . . . ? Who am I?’

‘You’re my son, Davey,’ and Kathy tried to calm him, yet she was
totally bewildered.

‘Aye, and who is my father?’

Kathy now understood the nature of his question, but she still couldn’t
comprehend how George could be here and how he could be dead.

‘Tell me . . . tell me. . . .’ He shook her again. ‘Answer me. Who am
I? Who is my father?’

Kathy started to moan words that were barely legible, ‘Oh, dear God,
what have I done! I don’t know David . . . ! I’m so sorry, I don’t know.’

‘Don’t lie to me. You must know!’

‘I don’t know who your father is David,’ she repeated.

‘So if I’m a bastard . . . ’ he shouted, ‘what does that make you?’

She went to slap his face but he grabbed her arm, holding her tightly
in his grip. They gained eye contact and a battle commenced as David held her
gaze, and it was Kathy who was compelled to turn away.

‘You’ve seen me suffer all these years, taunted by a man who I believed
to be my father . . . my own flesh and blood. You’ve seen me suffer and cringe
at the thought that I might one day end up like him, and you never told me . .
. never once reassured me. . . . All to save your own face. I’ve wasted all
that fear, that suffering!’ and he pushed her away in contempt.

As Kathy wept uncontrollably, David left her and ran outside, down the
lane, knowing he must find Joanne. He banged on the bungalow door and pushed it
with his shoulder, but it was locked. He shook the handle fiercely, loosening
the fastenings. He ran to the window and looked inside. He once again shouted
her name and ran around the bungalow peering into each window, stumbling over
the plants and shrubs, as thorns of the rose bushes tore his trousers and
scratched his hands and legs. He tried the back door, but still there was no
way of entering so, frustrated, he leant exhausted on the front porch.

He then heard her shout from inside. ‘Go away David. . . . Leave me
alone. I don’t want to see you again.’

‘Joanne, please. . . . I don’t know what this is all about. . . . Are
you okay?’

‘I hate you David . . . I hate you . . . !’

David fell back on the wall of the bungalow and knew that in a space of
a few short minutes, his whole life had changed. He’d been betrayed, assaulted,
reproached, all for no cause. He had been the scapegoat and now he would have
to leave.

Until today, David had never believed anything that George Keldas said
could be true. But if one thing was, then many other things could be too and
David then began to feel a kind of pity for the man lying dead. And he wondered
if he’d finally been liberated.

He slowly walked back home, looked down at his blood stained clothes
and said to a policeman. ‘Do you mind if I get changed.’

*       
*        *

During the quiet of the evening, David started to pack an overnight
bag. He put out a change of clothes and some underwear ready for the morning,
neatly folding them, as if for the rest of his life the decisions he made would
be of his own volition and carefully thought out. He took some soap and his
shaving things: deodorant, a comb, and a small mirror. He methodically looked
through his wardrobe and chest of drawers and took out various items of
clothing: a warm pullover, two t-shirts, two pairs of jeans. He looked through
his bedside cabinet for any of his personal belongings: cheque book, passport,
driving license. He took all his money from a small tin and pushed it in his
wallet. Then he glanced up at his bookcase and saw the small glass snow scene
globe. He reached for it and, without any hint of emotion, placed it carefully
into his bulging holdall.

David left Keld Head early the next morning in the same way that Tony
Milton had a few weeks before, silently and without notice. He had no reason to
see his mother or to speak to her again. All the anger had gone. And as he
quietly walked down the lane, he was pleased he’d been able to leave without
being spotted.

Kathy was sitting in the parlour with Alan Marsh, who’d been drafted in
again and was now consoling her. They were huddled together on the sofa and
David had no inclination to disturb their intimate conversation. They were so
engrossed in each other that it was the last piece of justification David
needed to go. Alan had as much right to be at Keld Head as he did.

He walked to the bus stop and leant on the wall, the early morning
sunshine was touching his face. He glanced across to the hills and saw the
juniper bushes and gorse bushes climbing up the fell side. He could just see
the froth on the waterfalls. And so in the quiet cool air, he waited and
meditated. He didn’t know when he would return, he would have to one day, but
whether he would stay would be another matter. There was just one person he had
to speak to, so he could fit together the last pieces of this jigsaw and
complete its grim picture.

*       
*        *

David took the stairway to the top of Rievaulx House, he was breathless
as he climbed, and he realised he hadn’t had enough to eat; the meal on the
train had been a meagre one. He’d slept most of the journey and yet wished he
hadn’t. He’d dreamt of nothing else but guns and hills. He desperately hoped
that he could find Tony and if he had one ounce of friendship left for him,
David could seek some refuge and the answer to some of his questions.

Tony’s cousin was surprised to see David standing at his door. He
easily recognised him from his youth, as the sturdy young man with dark hair
and dazzling eyes. As a child, Peter had spent some of his school holidays at
Keld Head, staying at the Milton’s bungalow and, as children, playing together
on the Keldas farm. But David stood before him now as a man.

Peter Milton welcomed David and fed him. They sat and enjoyed some
light chatter, without David revealing his grim news. Peter told David that
Tony had only stayed with him a few days, and that he hadn’t seen him since. He
said he’d taken a flat in Wandsworth and had promised Tony he would help him if
needed; he was always welcome to return.

David left for the underground and unlike Tony found the bustling
streets of London overwhelming. As he stood, looking at the tall houses lining
the street, an overweight woman with a baby in a pushchair reluctantly pointed
the way. She must have been only about seventeen. Her baby was dirty and
scruffy looking, and she herself was poorly dressed and scantily clad, her fat,
bare legs looked blotchy and cold.

Most of the houses in the street had their bay windows boarded up, the
grand exteriors, were reduced to crumbling masonry. People were sitting on
walls and steps. Men were smoking and swearing and idly talking; no work to go
to; no fault of their own. The women were gossiping, oblivious to their children
playing on the street corners and in the roads. David wondered if he’d taken a
wrong turning. He checked the address from the note that Peter Milton had given
him and continued to follow the numbers on the houses, some no longer
discernible.

He found a young black youth sitting on some steps, who eyed David
cautiously when he asked for the house number. The youth looked David up and
down.

‘I’m looking for Tony Milton,’ David quietly spoke. ‘Does he live
here?’

There was a long silence so David continued, ‘He has long red hair.’

‘Yeh, yeh . . . top floor. . . . You mean Tinkerman?’

David smiled at the name, remembering how much Tony used to hate it as
a boy. And as David was about to walk away, the youth pulled out of his pocket
a harmonica and blew through it. The screeching noise was meant to intimidate
and it grated on David’s tired nerves.

He reluctantly thanked the boy and pushed past him to stride through
the doorway.

‘I haven’t seen him for two days though,’ the boy shouted back.

David covered his mouth with his hand from a disgusting stench in the
hallway. He climbed the murky stairway, his feet crunching on broken glass and
litter. Sitting on the first landing was an elderly man playing a banjo, who
ignored David as he squeezed passed him. There was a stench of stale alcohol
and urine. David climbed the next flight of stairs and there was only one more
door on the landing. David knocked and getting no reply, pushed it open.

*       
*        *

When Tony awoke from his sleep, he didn’t raise his head but just
opened his eyes and saw the strong body and clean skin of David Keldas standing
over him. Tony raised his arm and beckoned him. His dream had come true.

‘It is you, isn’t it, Dave?’

‘Yes . . . I’m maybe not as pretty as your little nurse, but I’m here.’

‘No, maybe not, but I’m glad to see you.’

David went across to his friend who was lying on an old mattress on the
floor, covered with a dirty blanket. Neither spoke for some time. David knelt
beside him and touched Tony’s pale forehead and wiped some moisture away with a
clean handkerchief. Tony started to cough uncontrollably and he turned on his
side for relief and grasped his hand onto a stone cold radiator behind him as
he coughed. ‘Is this a brass bed, Dave?’

‘Aye, it’s brass all right mate. . . . Oh man, I’ll get a doctor.’
David whispered and shook his head.

‘No . . . no. . . . They’re not welcome here. Besides, they wouldn’t
come anyway.’

‘But look at you, you’re still sick. . . . You need help. When did you
last eat? I’ll get you some food.’

‘I haven’t felt hungry . . . I had two telephone numbers in my pocket,
one’s yours and one’s Kelly’s, that little nurse from Lancaster, and I haven’t
had the strength to ring either of you. Don’t bring a doctor here, Dave, please
. . . call Kelly and she’ll tell you what to do.’

‘After I get you out of here I will.’

‘No, man . . . just leave me . . . I’ll be okay.’

David left Tony and promised to return quickly, knowing he was making a
bad decision. He found the nearest chemist for some remedies, bought some brandy
and food and took them back. It was well into the evening before he eventually
managed to contact Kelly and she was as concerned as David was, and reluctantly
gave him some instructions.

That evening the two men slept side by side on the same old mattress.
David didn’t ask Tony how he’d got into such a state, squatting in this old
house, and neither could he tell his friend his motive in coming in the first
place; he would have to wait.

David decided that as soon as he could move Tony, he would try and get
him to Peter’s flat or back to Cumbria. Straight away he started the process of
nursing him. He bought a small gas burner and a pan to boil water and food in.
He regularly gave him liquids as Kelly suggested, holding his head in his hands
as he helped him to eat and drink. He gave him warm soup and fresh bread and
yet, through all the hours of intimate care, Tony never once asked David why
he’d come. He only knew as one day drifted into another, that David had
probably saved his life.

Tony was nursed for three weeks with the help of Banjo the old man and
Twist the black youth. They were Tony’s friends. They were buskers and they’d
all met at the Royal Albert Hall. Banjo had invited them to share his flat, and
Tony had willingly joined him without realising it was only a squat. They
played on the cold London streets together trying to earn some money; that was
until the pneumonia returned. They had earned some money from their takings,
but Banjo had stolen most of it and squandered it on alcohol and gambling and
had become incapable of looking after himself. He was now remorseful and
depressed at the way he had let Tony down. He’d begged David to let him help,
but David took charge and felt he was more of a liability.

The boy, Twist, had been more helpful, and one evening returned with a
pocketful of drugs and penicillin. David guessed they were probably from a
dubious source, but gratefully accepted the medicine and refused the rest.

The two men barely separated except for David’s trips to the supermarket
for food. And David soon found himself feeding the whole household, as the
others realised he had money. He couldn’t see the boy and the old man go hungry
while he and Tony were satisfied.

The four of them sat and played cards late into the night. Laughing at
the old man, telling stories of living rough, busking when he was well and
sleeping in hostels when he was poorly. The boy was talented and would sing and
play Tony’s guitar to entertain them, but then disappear for hours at a time on
some nameless errand.

Twist and Banjo soon began to trust David, just as they had trusted
Tony. David felt at ease, being accepted for who he really was. He was no
longer a victim and much like all of them, felt free, and had no concerns for
the future. Each day was enough to satisfy them. They could eat, sleep and
occasionally laugh. David didn’t think about his family or the farm at all. His
main concern was to see Tony get better. But he knew he couldn’t stay. He
didn’t want to live like this, amongst the muck and the squalor, the cold
nights and the long days. No fresh water, no baths, and the filthy toilets.