Northern Spirit (43 page)

The laughing stopped and Joanne began to sob pitifully. David loosened
his grip and she propped herself up.

‘Oh, but I loved you, yet you didn’t care, did you, just like him? I
thought you were kinder, but you weren’t - you were just the same, so I started
to follow you. I drove you crazy, didn’t I?’

‘Then you’ll follow me no more!’ David didn’t want to hear any more and
he started to pull himself away, but she grabbed him by the collar.

‘That’s right. . . . Leave me here in this filth! That just suits you
doesn’t it?’

But David no longer cared. He pushed her away, struggled to his feet
and walked away. He realised how wet and cold he was. His leg was aching more
than ever and he felt numb with pain.

David slowly walked down the hill and through the trees, away from her
foolishness. He no longer cared, he wanted another woman and the chances of her
loving him were a mere glimmer and he didn’t want to do anything that would put
out that spark; thinking of Hannah - nothing but Hannah; her soft hair, her gentle
manner, her large brown eyes. He wanted to say her name in reassurance, to
protect himself from his own evil thoughts.
Oh my, how this hurts, how this
hurts!
He staggered on like a man lost. His eyes wide open, yet walking
blindly. He must get home and wash himself free of this disgust.

A blow hit him so hard in the back that he fell to the ground, gasping
for breath, and his lungs stupefied in a spasm. David fell onto his knees,
grasping his chest and, as he turned, he saw Joanne standing over him, holding
a stump of wood in her hand.

Every ounce of strength left in his body surged as he threw himself at
her again, knocking her to the ground. His whole body weight bearing down on
her as she screamed. ‘Oh, yes, that’s it. That’s it, Davey. . . . Why not finish
me off? You can’t take any more can you? You’re weak, you are, just like your
father, and look how he ended up?’

‘He was a fool Joanne, but he wasn’t weak. . . . You killed him!’

‘Aye, but he killed me first.’

As eye met eye, and David reflected on what she had just said, his
eyelids lowered. Then she continued, ‘I saw him point that gun at me, Davey. He
wanted me out of the way. But you wouldn’t harm me would you? You’re different
in that!’ He was so close to her she could smell him. ‘Huh, but then maybe he
was telling the truth for once. Maybe you’re not even his son. What a shock for
you, eh?’ And Joanne’s breathing laboured as David put his hands around her
throat and tightened his grip.

‘Stop it . . . stop it. You’re hurting me!’ She clasped her hands
around his wrists, but he was too strong for her.

David couldn’t resist. He desperately wanted her to stop talking - he
must silence her, but she wouldn’t stop.

‘That would be some secret, Davey. . . . Some secret, if I let it out!’
her voice was fading.

‘God have mercy on us, Jo!’ And he squeezed her neck tighter.

David’s eighth life passed before him, and he’d survived. His only hope
rested in the hands of this girl. He wanted to stop her slander and silence her
forever, so he squeezed his hands tighter around her throat and saw the very
life start to drain out of her.

Joanne stopped talking, her eyes reddened and she looked mercifully at
him; her face turning blue. She squeezed her hands on his; desperately trying
to pull them off her neck. She reached up and touched his face and managed to
claw her fingernails into the soft tissue of his cheek and scratch at his eyes.
It was the last pain David could endure.

Joanne struggled free as David fell over on the wet earth. She stumbled
away from him, gasping, sobbing and crying out loud.

David crawled on hands and knees to find a dry piece of ground, his
breathing was heavy and laboured and his jaw quivered with shock, as he propped
himself up against a tree to support his back. He had so much to take in, yet
his head was wet and cold; he couldn’t think straight. Once again Joanne Milton
had got the better of him. Was it truth or lies she’d told; he no longer cared.
She must do as she likes; say what she wants, he didn’t mind. All he knew was
that he must see Hannah again and take her to the mountains. He would walk the
valleys and hills with her and hope she would love him the more for it.

David struggled to his feet and as his knees trembled under his
bodyweight, the pain in his back, intense. He realised he was totally lost.

He took off his wet coat and rubbed some of the excess moisture from
his trousers, then wiping his face with a handkerchief, he saw it was smeared
with mud and streaks of blood.

*       
*        *

Betty pulled a few dead leaves away from the red geraniums on her
kitchen windowsill, and their fragrance delighted what few senses she had left.
She watered them and placed them back on the windowsill, then she saw David
coming into the garden with his coat folded up in a bundle and held under his
arm. He looked wet and dirty and, with the dim eyesight she had, she saw blood
on his face.

He bent over awkwardly by the door and tried to kick off his boots;
throwing his coat down on the floor in the porch. David didn’t look at Betty,
and acted as if she was invisible and went straight over to the kitchen sink,
ran the hot tap and washed his hands and face, recklessly splashing water
everywhere. Barely clean, he dried himself on a towel, soiling it with blood
and grime.

‘Do - do you think I could have some more painkillers, Aunty?’ still
not looking at her.

Betty put down the small watering can and went to look at him closely.
‘Whatever’s the matter? Have you fallen?’ Then she hobbled away to find her
handbag and gave him the carton of pills. His hands were shaking as he fumbled
to open the seal on the container and poured several pills into his hand.

‘Don’t take too many!’ Betty reached across to take the carton from his
hand. ‘Oh my goodness! What have you done? You’re hurt?’ She came up close to
his face and peered into his eyes.

‘I’m okay . . . I’m going to have a bath.’

David put his head down in shame and moved away, leaving Betty alone
with her thoughts. Something was seriously wrong, and she had a feeling he
wasn’t going to tell her what it was.

Poor Betty; unaccustomed and frustrated with the lives of young people,
put the kettle on to make him a hot drink, but David never returned to receive
it.

She heard the bath water running, then she heard it emptying, and then
there was silence. She shouted upstairs: ‘Davey . . . Davey. I’ve made you a
drink! You have to be at work soon.’ But he didn’t reply.

Betty knew it was futile to coax him downstairs. David knew that he was
well out of her reach.

It was late in the evening before she heard him stir, and as he crept
down the stairs wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans, he looked solemn as he stood
at the door. His skin was grey and his eyes were reddened.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve brought nothing but trouble for you,
haven’t I?’ And he stood shivering in front of her.

‘You’re hurt, Davey. . . . Let me help you. Come and sit down by the
fire. You’re no trouble.’

David sat down and held his aching back. Betty bustled into her
makeshift bedroom and brought out a pink eiderdown and lovingly covered him with
it.

He wanted to laugh at it, but couldn’t.

‘Let me call a doctor . . . or your mother?’

‘No, please . . .’ speaking in low tones. ‘It’s just my back again,
that’s all. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

‘Did you fall?’ she asked him for the second time.

‘Yes - yes I fell. I slipped on some rocks on the hillside.’ He hated
to lie to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth; he didn’t know the truth.
Joanne had confused him with her ramblings, that he no longer understood
anything. So he wrongly believed what he said didn’t matter, either.

‘Do you want to me to telephone the hotel?’

‘No - no please it’ll be okay,’ he insisted.

Betty knew it wouldn’t be okay. He should have been at work two hours
ago. He had let the hotel down and that wasn’t like him.

She went into the kitchen and started to cut a piece of ham off the
bone, nearly cutting her fingers. She buttered some bread and opened yet
another tin of tomato soup. She spilt half of the contents of the teapot on the
kitchen table; her hands shaking, not just with age, but with anxiety.

Betty placed the meagre meal on a tray and set it down on his lap. He
was laid back in the armchair, his head was on one side and his eyes were
closed.

‘Please eat it, love. . . . It’ll do you good.’

Although David knew the meal had been lovingly prepared, he looked at
it with contempt and wanted to push it away. He hadn’t eaten all day, yet he
felt no hunger, only sickness.

*        *
       *

Betty didn’t see much more of him for the next few days. He stayed away
from work; he stayed in bed most of the time, coming down only to eat a few
slices of toast or for more painkillers. Then one evening, David came
downstairs fully dressed. He was clean-shaven, rested and looked better. Betty
finally managed to make him smile as she warmly stroked his face. The grazes on
his cheek and his forehead were beginning to heal, but leaving dark lines where
the skin had scabbed over.

He made no further attempts to go to work, but took his muddy walking
boots and cleaned them over the fireplace.

*        *       
*

The following morning David was up early and dressed before Betty was
even awake. She heard the engine of the Volvo start up. He had left her a note
on the table:

Gone to Scafell with Hannah Robson. Don’t wait up for me.

David.

Betty was fast running out of patience with him and slapped his note
down on the table. ‘Oh you silly boy! You silly, silly boy!’

*       
*        *

David arrived at the surgery and swung the car around in the driveway,
flicking gravel and stones across the yard. He was early, so he didn’t knock
the door but waited in the car. Hannah soon appeared and just to see her face
was a boost for him. He was relieved she hadn’t changed her mind.

Hannah had been ready and waiting for some time. She was excited about
her day and hoped that David hadn’t changed
his
mind.

She had made sandwiches, bought fruit and chocolate, and done a flask
of coffee and some juice, just as promised. Hannah was well prepared and David
was pleased she’d been sensible in what she’d chosen to wear.

He edged out of the car to help and hoped she didn’t notice his bad
back. But she did see it. She saw it straight away. Hannah also noticed he
appeared nervous, and could see scratches on his face and he looked vague and
distant.

David barely greeted her as he put her things in the boot of the car.
He packed away the foodstuffs into one rucksack, intending to carry most of the
weight himself.

They sped off to Keswick, quickly through Dunmail Raise; he was driving
far too fast. When he spoke to her, he spoke erratically, and his sentences
were disjointed; almost rude.

Hannah was disappointed in him. She had looked forward to this day;
butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach at the thought of seeing him
again. Then there was the excitement of the walk; to see new places and to
climb the highest mountain in England. But it was David’s presence that excited
her most. Yet, today, he appeared to be his old self: the moody young man that
she’d first met and, if he remained the same, she doubted she could enjoy her
day at all. But Hannah was committed.

They parked on a small lane with a few other cars, and lifting her
things from the boot of the car, David spoke softly, ‘Are you ready for this,
then?’

Unbeknown to Hannah, David also felt nervous. All he’d hoped for was to
be here with her. Doubts of her intentions flooded relentlessly in his head and
he felt unworthy to take Hannah anywhere, and wrongly thought that she’d agreed
to come, only because it was a chance to walk the high fells. He had been
fooling himself in thinking it was him she wanted.

As he lifted the larger of the two rucksacks onto his shoulder, Hannah
noticed him wince; there was definitely something wrong. She then remembered
how he’d struggled to stand up when she had met him in Betty’s field.

‘David, are you sure you’re alright to carry that?’

He was embarrassed at her questioning and didn’t reply.

He set off at pace through the small farmyard and on to Stockley
Bridge. Hannah striding out to keep just one pace behind him. She watched his
elegant stride, as he walked tall and fast in front of her, yet there was still
a slight limp that she hadn’t noticed before.

They walked up the gradients to Sty Head Ghyll, and despite his limp,
David was certainly fitter than Hannah. She stopped several times to catch her
breath and he politely waited for her and then as soon as she was rested, he
would ask if she were okay, then start up again, yet he continued to limp.

When Hannah stopped to take another rest, she shouted to him, ‘David.
You’re limping. Are you sure you’re okay?’ She was insistent this time.

David wasn’t okay. His back was already aching and he could feel a
burning sensation down the back of his leg. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ve had a bad
back that’s all, but I’m used to it now,’ he snapped back at her.

Hannah was irritated at his manner and her eyes widened as she too lost
patience with him. ‘We’re not going to play these silly games again are we!’

Her words struck him hard. She was right to give him the discipline; he
knew he was being a fool. Taking a step back onto the soft grass, David sat and
waited for her. He lay back on the grass to ease his back and Hannah came and
sat beside him.

‘I’m sorry, Hannah. All I wanted was to take you on this walk.’ He
couldn’t look at her face, so just looked up at the blue sky. ‘My Aunt Betty
thinks I’ve got sciatica. She’s been plying me with painkillers for three days
now, but I’m not feeling much better.’