Northern Spirit (46 page)

‘Joanne’s a strange girl. . . . She does things to herself.’ David
foolishly continued remembering Linzi’s former explanation. ‘Anyway, she
shouldn’t walk the fells alone. It’s not safe.’

‘You’re irritating me now, David! Did you assault Joanne Milton on
Wednesday the 3rd of May?’

David paused, he’d remained firm, he hadn’t lied so far and he didn’t
want to lie, but what could he say. Whatever he said would condemn him. He was
trapped and completely lost. He didn’t know what time it was; surely, he should
be with Hannah by now. What would she think of him if she knew he was here? If
she knew he’d been minutes away from murder. Yet he could not let her go, this
still wasn’t his fault, his only hope would be lost if he told the truth.

‘I did not.’ he lied.

The detective slapped his hand down again on the table. ‘Get him out of
my sight!’

David was pulled up out of the chair by the arm and led to a small room
with just a bed and a hard chair. ‘You’re not going home yet. So don’t think
we’ve finished with you. I can hold you as long as I like.’

As the door banged shut behind him, David went across to the bed, sat
on the mattress and put his head into his hands. He wondered how low he’d sunk
and felt humiliated to be treated like a criminal. This was all Joanne’s fault.
She had thrown a wild card, and she may have succeeded in getting her revenge.
Was he also to be punished for the sins of George Keldas?

He didn’t know what Joanne had told the police. Had she spoke the
truth? Did they really know it was him that had assaulted her? And now he too
had lied, he was worth nothing. He had sunk as low as all the others: his
mother, George Keldas and Joanne. He had despised them for their deception and
now he despised himself.

David fell back on the bed, resting his arms under his head as a pillow
and stared at the ceiling. He lay quietly for what must have been hours. He was
alone with his destructive thoughts with no concept of the time. Hannah lost;
the farm lost; probably his job; he was disowned by all; even his real father
would surely hate him now.

David heard a woman’s voice outside as the door unlocked and it
immediately comforted him. He sat up on the bed and waited, expectantly. His
mother came into the room, with a tall man wearing a pinstriped suit.

David got up, his head bent low, and moved slowly across the room and
hugged her; she pulled his head close to her bosom.

‘Davey - Davey. What are we to do with you?’

She lifted his head and looked him in his eyes. ‘Come on, son, we must
talk.’

David looked up at the tall man and recognised Angus Piercy, Betty’s
solicitor.

He took David’s hand and shook it. But David was ashamed to stand
before this immaculately dressed, elderly man.

‘David . . . please sit down. . . . We’ve come to help you.’

‘Just tell us what happened. I know you couldn’t have possibly hurt
that girl.’ Kathy said. ‘You can trust us . . . please tell us.’

‘It’s true….I’ve been arrested for assault. It would be better if we
were alone, Mum.’ David spoke in soft and broken tones.

‘I think it’s time we did some straight talking, David, and Mr Piercy
should stay. . . . He can help you.’

‘Then if that’s what you want,’ and David began.

David took hold of his mother’s hand. ‘If I tell you the truth, it’ll
hurt you so much, but I don’t think I can keep it inside any longer. I’m sorry
it has to be this way . . . I’m so sorry.’

His face was pale and his eyes looked grave. Kathy wondered what he’d
done that could upset her so much and she looked questionably at Angus Piercy.

‘I did hurt Joanne. . . . I tried to kill her. . . . I wanted to kill
her. I could have done it with my bare hands!’

Kathy rose from the chair, but David gently held her arm and sat her
down again. ‘No, you have to listen. . . . You must know why I did it. You must
trust me.’

David told them everything. Of Joanne’s affair with George Keldas. How
she said he’d abused her and then how she’d stalked him in retribution. How
David had unwittingly kissed Joanne, and how she’d followed him and pestered
him ever since. He told them about the night on the fells, when Joanne refused
to come home if he didn’t give her a promise of marriage. Then there were the
endless letters she’d sent him when he was still at Keld Head. The phone calls
and her diary, explicitly describing the relationship with George Keldas and
the love and fantasies about himself. And finally, how they had met on Claife
Heights, when she had taunted him. How she’d struck him on the back with a
heavy branch of wood; a blow so strong that David thought it could have killed
him if it was any higher, or on his head, which he was certain it was intended
to be. That she’d blackmailed him, saying she knew George wasn’t his real
father, and threatened to expose it to everyone. And that he now knew the
identity of his real father.

David looked into his mother’s eyes and witnessed the reaction he had
waited long months to see.

‘This is all my fault, Davey. I’m so sorry. . . . It’s not your fault.
You shouldn’t have to go through this hell.’ She shook her head; her heart now
heavy.

Angus Piercy interrupted. ‘David. . . . Do the police know any of
this?’

David looked at the kindly man, and strengthened by his mother’s
apology said, ‘No, I don’t think so . . . but I don’t know what Joanne’s told
them.’

‘Have you admitted anything?’

‘No, I lied.’

The solicitor shook his head. ‘Do they have any evidence against you -
anything that could prove you were with her?’

‘But I’m guilty. . . . I did hurt her.’

‘Then it must be self-defence - you were provoked. If they have no
evidence, they cannot keep you here long. Leave this to me. You must come too,
Mrs Keldas, please.’

David paced the floor of the small room and wondered if he had any hope
left. He remembered the clock in the interview room and knew he should have
been with Hannah by now. He cursed and gently banged his head against the cold
wall.

*       
*        *

It was some time later in the evening when the door was opened again
and one of the policemen called him. ‘Right, Keldas. . . . Out!’

David slipped from the bed expecting another interrogation.

‘You’re let off this time. . . . But don’t go anywhere near that girl
again. You’re both lying and we know it. She insists she doesn’t know her
attacker and she says it certainly wasn’t you. But we know it’s you all right .
. . she’s dropped all charges. I don’t believe either of you, and you’ve both
wasted our time.’

David found it hard to believe he was actually free and was stunned as
he wandered into the dark hallway of the police station. Kathy was sitting
alone on a small bench.

‘Come on, son. . . . Let’s get you home.’ She led David out into the
cool night air, holding firmly on to his arm as if to guide him.

He took a deep breath to fill his lungs and remove the stagnant air of
the police cell from his body. Then the beaming headlights of a car shone
across the car park and David saw a Mercedes waiting, with its engine running.

Barry Fitzgerald came over and put his arm across his son’s back and
guided him to the rear seat. As they drove away, David could hear his mother’s
voice quietly talking to Barry, as she sat beside him in the front seat. David
fell asleep. He didn’t know where he was going; he didn’t really care.

*       
*        *

The large bed was snug and warm; David slipped under the covers. A hot
bath had rested his muscles and the chicken broth his mother had made, reminded
him of life back at Keld Head; the glass of brandy Barry had given him, stood
empty at his side. The cotton sheets felt soft and comforting to his body.
David had said very little as he entered his father’s house.

As daybreak crept into the bedroom, David lay awake, not knowing if he
had slept. And as he listened to the dawn chorus, he looked around at the
opulence he found himself in. His soiled clothes still lay in a neatly folded
pile on the chair beside him. He heard a few cars driving by and the clinking
sound of milk bottles as a milkman delivered.

He began to contemplate, that, if not for his mother, he would probably
still be in the prison cell. He attempted to sleep again but the more he tried
the more sleep fled from him. He wondered where Hannah was; was he close to her
room? Yet, he had no desire to look for her.

Through half-closed eyelids, David looked at the plush carpets, the
soft furnishings of turquoise jacquard and lace. He wondered what life would
have been like if this had been his home, and he’d been reared by his real
father. And, as he mused over his surroundings, a shivering feeling stole
through his body as if he had been woven in the womb and re-born, like he had
come into the world with just the skin on his body, and through a hard labour.

David heard the bedroom door open as it brushed on the fibres of the
deep shag pile carpet. He sat up in bed, stretched and brushed his hair
straight with his fingers.

‘I’m sorry it’s early, Davey, but I couldn’t sleep.’ Barry lifted
David’s folded-up clothes off the chair and put them on the floor. He sat
beside him on the bedside chair and handed him a mug of tea.

‘Don’t worry. . . . Neither could I.’ David yawned. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s five-thirty and I have to be in Kentmere by seven. I wanted to
speak to you before I left. . . . This is a funny kind of meeting place isn’t
it? I never dreamt one day you’d be sleeping under my own roof.’ Barry looked
closely at David expecting to find a clue to his feelings, but found none.

David leant back on the softly padded headboard and sipped his tea.
‘Thank you for looking after me.’

‘It’s something I should have done years ago.’

David smiled and Barry knew he could continue.

‘I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry - if you can accept my apology.
But I wanted to tell you not to hate us, especially not your mother. I’m just
as guilty.’

‘Please . . . please don’t. You don’t have to do this.’

‘No, you’re wrong. I do have to do this. I couldn’t bear for you to
think badly of your mother and me. Please don’t speak now, and just hear me out.
I must explain.’

David looked at Barry and for the first time in his life, saw the face
of a father he respected, and tried to see himself in the man’s eyes. Although
David’s own eyes were heavy through lack of sleep, they widened as he saw a
mirror of his own reflection and wondered why he’d never noticed it before.

‘Your mother and I were young. . . . I was still at university and she
was already engaged to George. We made a big mistake, Davey, and although we
dearly loved one another, it was too late. She told George she was pregnant by
me, and that she must break off their engagement, but he pleaded with her. He
promised her he would look after you as if you were his own and never tell a
soul. It broke my heart to see her marry him. I felt helpless. I had years of
studying in front of me and at the time couldn’t have given you the life you
deserved. I finished my training and married Eleanor and I stayed here so I
could be near to you. I tried to help you with the farm bills, not to make them
so high. . . . Eleanor never wanted any children, but that didn’t matter
because I had you. I could satisfy myself by coming to the farm now and again -
that made me happy. Before George was taken to prison, even before he tried to
shoot you, I could see you were unhappy. I argued with your mother that we
should tell you - in fact, I begged her, but she thought, and perhaps wrongly,
it would hurt you more if you knew the truth. We made a bad decision, Davey,
and I’ve found it hard to live with, and I guess so have you.’

David listened to every word he said, trying to put the jigsaw pieces
of his life together. Although Barry’s explanation wasn’t complete, it was
sufficient to satisfy him; he guessed one day he could learn more.

‘I hope someday you can forgive me, I can’t stand it, that you might
think badly of me,’ he repeated.

David didn’t realise, but Barry’s desire for love reflected his own.
They had both been denied it and as David listened, he knew why he’d always
felt comfortable with this man.

‘Your mother thinks we should still keep things quiet, but that’s up to
you, now.’

‘I don’t want anything to change. I’ve had a rough time, but I feel
safe now. I don’t even feel I deserve this attention.’

Barry stood up and collected the empty beakers. ‘Then stay with me a
day or so. Hannah leaves on Tuesday and I think you’ll want to be with her as
much as I do. Oh, by the way, we’ve told her everything. She’s in surgery this
morning, but I’ve given her the rest of the day off. Get some rest and make
yourself at home, because that’s how I want you to think of this place if you
can.’

Hope was within grasp.

After Barry left him, David felt peace return. He belonged to someone,
he was loved again and everything he had ever wanted was in his hands and ready
for the taking. But this luxury could never be his home; he’d thought Foxglove
Cottage to be a haven and Betty was the only one who’d loved him when he needed
it. David didn’t know if he should stay long with Barry; he loved Betty too
much.

He slipped back down under the sheets and, finally, slept.

*       
*        *

Hannah had taken full control of Barry’s kitchen. She had tidied the
cupboards, re-stocked the fridge and cleaned the cooker and worktops; all that
Eleanor had neglected.

She started to prepare some bacon, carefully removing the rinds with
scissors. She washed some mushrooms and tomatoes, put coffee in the percolator
and poured two large glasses of orange juice. The sun poured down into the
kitchen and onto her face. Hannah felt a kind of euphoria today and she knew
why.