Northern Spirit (45 page)

‘Please, officer . . . please sit down.’

‘No that’s okay, Mrs?’ he hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know your
name?’

‘Mrs Keldas . . . Betty Keldas.’

‘Ah . . . right. Mrs Keldas. We’re just making house to house enquiries
. . . perhaps you can help us?’

Betty was relieved by his reassurance.

‘A young woman was attacked up in the forest on Wednesday morning,’ he
said. ‘Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously or heard anything?’

‘No . . . . Certainly not.’ Betty told him. ‘Many people come this way,
because of the footpath.’

‘Do you live here alone Mrs Keldas?’

‘No . . . . My nephew lives with me . . . he’s a good lad, there’s not
many that would take care of an old woman like me. Oh, look, here he is now.’
Betty saw David’s car pull into the driveway and as he walked through the
garden his lameness was obvious.

The policeman waited for him to enter, and having time to examine
David’s face wasn’t sure if he knew him or not.

David threw his keys on the table, put down his rucksack and spoke
abruptly. ‘What can we do for you officer?’ David could see a look of distress
on Betty’s face and continued to speak authoritatively. ‘Is everything all
right?’

‘So you must be Mrs Keldas’s nephew?’

‘She’s my great-aunt actually. . . .’ David tried to be clever and continued
to look scornfully at the policeman.

‘And what’s your name then, son?’

‘David . . . David Keldas.’

The policeman came forward to formally shake his hand. ‘Ah, I thought I
recognised you. You’re from Keld Head, aren’t you?’

David nodded in response, as he in return recognised the policeman as
one of many that had called at the farm over the last few months.

The policeman asked David the same question he’d asked Betty, but this
time he worded it differently. ‘Were you in the area, or did you see anything
suspicious on Wednesday morning?’

David was in a trap and cautiously replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

The peculiar look on David’s face and his manner irritated the
policeman. ‘Just answer the question, please?’

Betty had been watching for David’s reaction and quickly interrupted.
‘He’s been sick. . . . He’s been in bed all week.’

‘Is that right? So you haven’t seen anyone acting suspiciously?’

In sheer disbelief at how his aunt had replied David repeated. ‘No . .
. no
why
?’

‘And where do you work?’

‘I’m off sick at the moment. . . . I’m a barman.’

‘A young woman was attacked up in these woods and I wondered if you
knew anything about it?’

David denied all knowledge.

‘Well, that will be all for now, Sir . . . but if you do hear of
anything, please call us won’t you. We want these hills to be a safe place for
people to enjoy.’

The policeman returned to his car and met his colleague on the lane.
‘Do you remember the lad from Keld Head? George Keldas’s son. Well, he’s in
there. He’s got scratches on his hands and face, and has a bad leg. . . . I
don’t trust him at all. The old woman covered for him.’

*       
*        *

Betty saw David wipe his brow as the policeman left. He grabbed his bag
to go upstairs and change. ‘Don’t you dare go anywhere young man. . . .’ Much
strengthened, she rose to her feet. ‘You come right here and sit down now!’

Fearing her wrath more than the policeman’s, David knew he was in
trouble. Yes, his elderly aunt had covered for him and, although she was very
old, she certainly wasn’t stupid.

‘Now you tell me about your day?’ as she resumed her place at the table
and David was compelled to join her.

As he sat before her, he put his hands nervously behind his head and
then brushed his fingers through his dark hair, making the short black strands
stand on end.

‘I’ve had a brilliant day with Hannah. . . . We didn’t make Scafell, my
back was too bad. I’ve taken her home and that’s all. . . .’ He raised his
eyebrows arrogantly.

But that certainly wasn’t all; he had no desire to confuse his aunt and
tell her that he’d learned Barry Fitzgerald was his real father.

‘And that’s it, is it?’ she replied. ‘So what about Wednesday, David?’
her look was determined. ‘I want you to tell me about Wednesday? What really
happened up in that forest?’

David glared back at her unable to answer. He couldn’t lie - not to
her. He just sighed and shook his head.

But Betty was a match for him and cruelly waited, knowing he would feel
compelled to fill the silence.

He sat forward in his chair and came closer to her. ‘Aunty, I can’t
tell you what happened but, please, trust me.’

She saw David’s skin glowing with colour from the sun and the exertion
of the day, and it belied the fear of his sin being discovered, as he appeared
less strained than he had been in weeks.

‘I may be in serious trouble. . . . You see, I met a friend in the
forest. . . . Someone who has a grudge against me and, shall we say, things got
out of control. . . . Thankfully, I’ve harmed no one, though, you must believe
me.’ David was relieved that Joanne’s strength had prevented him. ‘I’ve
probably been hurt more than anyone has. . . . If I have to suffer for being
human, then so be it, but please believe me, none of this - none of it, is my
fault.’

‘David. . . . You’re not making any sense?’ Betty softened.

‘You must trust me, then. I can’t tell you what happened, but I’m so
sorry if I’ve worried you.’

‘If you insist you can’t tell me, I can’t make you, but when will all
this end?’

‘I don’t know . . . I just don’t know . . . I wish I did. I feel I’m
being punished for something - for someone. I don’t know what. . . . There’s a
bitter after-taste in my mouth from the things my father did. . . . But I’ve
had a great day with Hannah, and I think a lot of her and I hope she feels the
same way about me. I want to rebuild my life. I thought after today things
would be better, but I’m not sure anymore.’

‘Davey . . . if you can’t speak to me about what’s happened, please
speak to someone. . . . Your mother . . . this Hannah.’

‘There’s no one else I can talk to about the trouble I might be in.’
David knew there was someone, and that was Tony Milton, but he was hundreds of
miles away in Edinburgh, yet how could he tell him he’d tried to strangle his
sister. He also knew if he were found out, he might lose Hannah and, for the
chance to keep her, he would do anything - anything. But why should he bother
to preserve George Keldas’s name and keep silent about his abuse. He had done
nothing for him only abuse him too. But it wasn’t just his name, he had his
mother and his sisters and his brother, and then there was Betty; there was
Keld Head and everything he’d ever known. He cursed the man; he despised him,
and began to pity Joanne the more. If what she’d said was true, she wasn’t
totally to blame, and perhaps her way of handling things was a just punishment
for a wicked man. But to punish him as she’d done; how could she? She had
driven him to violence, and must despise him now.

David knew he must fight. He mustn’t let go. Hope was in his grasp and
it was so real and close, that he could touch its warmth.

He wished now he’d stayed longer with Hannah, but her revelation about
Barry had made it awkward for them both. David felt he couldn’t see Barry; he
would have to be mentally prepared, and Hannah would have to let him know she’d
told David the truth. Barry was still a friend and David knew, eventually,
their relationship could change.

He recalled Barry’s kindness to him, how they had often worked
together, laughing and cursing at the cattle, struggling with their various
ailments. How Barry knew all the time that David was his own flesh and blood.
He remembered sitting with him on the straw bale in the loosebox; the intimacy
they had as he’d unburdened his mind about George Keldas’s trial. What must he
have thought? Did he say anything that would have hurt him? Had Barry enjoyed
their meal together, and David wondered how he’d felt, sitting with his son and
the girl he wished was his daughter. Yet David never once considered why Barry
hadn’t told him the truth.

He’d had some wild ideas at one point that Alan Marsh could have been
his father, but had never considered Barry Fitzgerald. He knew they’d all been
friends as young people, and knew that his mother did have some kind of a
relationship with Alan, but he had cringed at the thought.

Then the question arose of why his mother actually married George, and
why did they decide never to tell him the truth. Was it just as George had
said, and he had kept his promise not to tell? But now David’s new heritage had
at last given him a sense of respect and a full identity. But this latest
incident with Joanne, if the police discovered the truth, gave him further
reasons to worry. How could he possibly hurt Barry; he would wish he’d never
fathered him at all. Even though the reproach would be silent, it would hurt.

*       
*        *

David spent the following morning tidying the garden. Despite the fact
that his leg and back were still aching, he cut the grass and washed the car.
As late morning approached, he knelt on the lawn to clean the mower. He’d
carelessly smeared grass and oil over his t-shirt and jeans. He was still
unshaven and looked grubby; he smelt of newly cut grass.

David had been humming to himself and whistling, when he heard a car
pull up on the lane and stop outside the cottage. He looked up and saw the same
policeman that had called yesterday. The man approached and stood tall above
David as he continued to kneel on the grass.

‘Good morning, David,’ the policeman had a partner standing with him.

David didn’t rise and, kneeling on the damp grass, felt totally
defeated. He’d hoped they wouldn’t return, but to come today at this time, just
when he was about to wash and change and meet Hannah.

‘So then, young man. . . .’ the policeman began.

David struggled to his feet holding his aching back.

‘Some of your neighbours tell me that you’re partial to walking up in
these woods. In fact, some have gone as far to say that you probably walk these
woods every day. Is that so?’

‘I walk up the Heights a lot . . . yes.’

‘So could I ask you again, if you were up in these woods on Wednesday,
May the 3rd?’ The look was serious.

‘I possibly was. . . . I can’t remember.’

‘Then why did your Aunt tell us you were at home and sick in bed?’

‘I have been sick. . . . I have a bad back. My aunt’s an old lady, she
must have been mistaken by the date.’

‘Then if you were sick, why didn’t you call work to tell them. They’d
no idea where you were.’

David was pained to know that the police had been checking up on him.

‘I think it might be an idea, son, if we talk about this a bit more!’
The policeman looked at the cottage door wide open and, guessing that Betty was
inside, continued. ‘We either do it here or - you know the rest!’

There was no escape for David; he was in deep trouble and not wanting
to cause his aunt any more worry, relented. ‘I’ll come with you . . . but
please let me tell her where I’m going.’

David went indoors and kissed his aunt goodbye. Betty had seen him
talking to the policemen and she knew why they’d returned.

‘Please don’t worry, Aunty. . . . It’ll be all right. I’ll sort it.’

But Betty was worried; she was desperately anxious for him, and felt he
was walking out on her life for good. She’d guessed this time would come, but
not in this way and not with these men. She watched them drive away and
immediately went to the telephone and did something she should have done days
earlier, and called David’s mother.

*       
*        *

‘Right David. . . . Just answer our questions and you’ll be home before
you know it.’

The cold room smelt of disinfectant and was lit only by an artificial
light. David was sitting on a hard chair, his hands clenched together and
resting on the table in front of him. His eyes were piercing the table; he was
a faded mirror image of George Keldas.

‘On the 3rd of May, a young woman was assaulted on Claife Heights, and
was left injured and soaked to the skin. If not for a couple of passers-by, she
could have died of exposure. Now lad, I’ll ask you again. Were you up in the
forest on Wednesday morning?’

‘Yes . . . I was.’ David quietly replied.

‘And did you meet anyone?’

‘I was alone.’

‘And did you meet anyone one!’ the policeman repeated.

‘I saw a few people, yes.’

‘Did you talk to anyone?’

‘I may have done.’

The detective banged his fist down on the table. ‘Answer me properly,
lad!’

David was shocked at this outburst and ashamed. He felt disgusted at
his own attitude and appearance. These two men were smartly dressed: one in a
uniform, the other in a suit, and yet he was in old, dirty clothes and he could
smell the grass cuttings and body odour on himself. He looked wretched.

‘You have some scratches on your hands and face,’ the policeman
continued. ‘Where did you get these?’

‘I caught myself on some branches.’

‘Stand up – take off your shirt?’

David felt humiliated by this question and reluctantly rose to his feet
and complied. And as he stood before the two men, cold and semi-naked, he
wanted to cross his arms over his body to cover himself, despite knowing his
chest was clear of marks.

‘Move closer.…Turn around?’

David obeyed and one of the men came up close to examine his back.

‘How did you get this bruising?’

‘I fell against a tree.’

‘Put your shirt back on and sit down.’ The policeman resumed. ‘Do you
know a young woman called Joanne Milton?’

There was a long pause before David could continue.

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘In December last year, you were involved in an incident, where Joanne
and her brother were admitted to hospital suffering from hypothermia. The
nurses told us Joanne had bruising on her arms and back and you were with her
that night. On Wednesday, that same young woman was assaulted on Claife
Heights. She was admitted to the same hospital with bruising on her neck! Now,
David, can you tell us about this, please?’