Kite Spirit

by Sita Brahmachari

  ‘If you’ve got breath enough to whistle at the lasses, then you should be running faster!’ the boy in front called back in a soft Lake District accent. It was the boy who had been driving the tractor. When he recognized the car he looked inside and smiled at Kite with his sparkling grey eyes.

  ‘Do you know her?’ the boy behind called to him in a thick Birmingham accent.

  ‘Not yet!’ she heard him reply as Seth negotiated his way over the cattle-grid.

  ‘Do you think you might start running again, when you feel a bit stronger?’ Seth asked.

  Kite shrugged as she looked through the side mirror at the farmer boy urging the others on into a sprint.

  The Carrec Arms was a limewashed stone building positioned in the middle of a hamlet of tiny cottages. Inscribed on an ancient stone lintel above the pub’s low doorway was the date (1606) in Roman numerals. Seth ducked and went through. Inside there was only a single room, with a bar at the far end. Even the colours of the place, bathed in soft amber light, seemed to soothe. There was nothing bright or dazzling or new here. The beams were dark oak, all gnarled and knotted. Copper and silver pennies had been wedged into the gaps between the beams. In one thick opening someone had lodged a line of £1 coins. Kite wondered how long these would have lasted in a London pub.

  The windows were so tiny and deepset that hardly any light from the bright day outside filtered through. A small fire burned in a blackened grate at one end of the room despite the heat of the day. One long ancient oak table, benches on either side, dominated the room. The wood was smooth and indented where generations of bottoms must have worn down the surface. Two grand-looking chairs were placed at either end of the table, one housing an old man who was dozing. A vase of wild summer flowers sat in the middle. The room smelt of sweet cow parsley, burning wood, ale and herbs.

  In the other chair a small, middle-aged Indian-looking man with a jovial round face and wavy black hair turned and smiled at Kite. It made her feel more at home that he looked so comfortably ensconced here. She had a hunch that he might feel pleased to see her too, and all of this odd logic seemed to be contained in the nod that passed between them.

  ‘What can I get you?’ a pretty blonde woman with rosy cheeks asked Seth, pulling herself away from a sink full of washing-up. She was wearing a worn old-fashioned apron dotted with flowers.

  Seth ordered a beer, and a cider for Kite.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’ he asked the Indian man, who smiled in answer and held out his hand to shake as Seth and Kite nudged along the bench.

  ‘Ajay Sherpa.’ He offered Seth a firm handshake.

  ‘My name’s Ellie,’ the woman from behind the bar called over.

  Seth introduced himself and paused for a moment to see if Kite would follow his lead. But she stayed silent, and so he introduced her too. Seth had always been able to put people at their ease and slip into a conversation. In fact Kite and Seth were usually a bit of a double act. Since the Falling Day, though, Kite had become almost silent in company. And as soon as Kite discovered that Ajay Sherpa was the local doctor, she decided that she would not say a word. She could see it all panning out. The next thing, she knew, Seth would be trying to make an appointment for her.

  As Seth chatted away Kite peered at the old man dozing at the head of the table. The lines on his face were deeply scored. Kite had never really looked at such an ancient face before. Compared to this man, Grandma Grace looked youthful, with her big swirl of grey hair and smooth, oiled skin. The old man’s mouth drooped slightly and saliva trickled down his chin as he wheezed in his sleep.

  ‘Jack used to run this pub. Ellie over there’s his granddaughter,’ explained Dr Sherpa. ‘He pretty much brought her up. He’ll be getting his letter from the Queen soon – not that he’s waiting for that!’ he joked in a soft sing-song mixture of Indian and Northern accents that Kite had never heard before.

  Kite couldn’t help staring at the old man. As he slept, he began to resemble the oak beams that surrounded him, she thought, as she tuned in and out of Dr Sherpa’s stories of growing up in Nepal.

  ‘No better place for a mountain goat like me,’ he was saying now. ‘You know, I can’t believe it was twenty-five years ago that I came here. Nobody else wanted the job of travelling between the villages and farms in all weathers. So I moved here with my family and we converted our barn. You must come and eat with us!’ Dr Sherpa turned to Kite, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. ‘Sorry to say that we’re a bit of an ageing population around here – apart from you summer visitors. I hope we don’t bore you to death!’

  Kite shook her head politely. There was the ‘death’ word again. How many births and deaths had Dr Sherpa attended? If it was an old population, it was probably more deaths than births. He seemed like such a contented person, she couldn’t imagine that he had ever had to face something as traumatic as a young girl taking her own life. For the first time Kite thought about all the people who might have touched Dawn’s body after she died, examining her, prodding her, dressing her, finding out the cause of death, the time of death. She had always been such a private person; it made Kite want to heave.

  Ellie brought Dr Sherpa a fresh cup of tea and sat down on the opposite side of the bench. Kite looked up at Seth, who was still smiling and laughing. It must be a relief for him to be among this welcoming collection of strangers, away from her sadness and silence.

  ‘I’ll be happy to come and play a gig, if you’ll have me!’ he was saying to Ellie.

  ‘Not exactly the O2, but you’d be surprised how many folk we can cram in! Once the younger folk get to hear of it, we get the campers and the kids from the outward-bound school up the road; some of them even come in from town on a Saturday night,’ Ellie chatted on.

  After a while Seth took Agnes Landseer’s cryptic notes from his pocket. At the sight of them, Ellie and Dr Sherpa exchanged a knowing glance. According to the doctor, Agnes was a bit of a recluse, but Kite had the impression that he was holding back. She supposed he was not allowed to talk about his patients.

  ‘You probably don’t know this, but she’s your landlady – even though the place is let through an agency. No one really understands what happened to Agnes. She fought so hard to get Mirror Falls built; you would have thought her life depended on it. It was supposed to be her dream home. She’s a famous architect, got buildings all over Europe,’ Dr Sherpa explained.

  Kite tried to square the picture of the strange old woman they’d met on the road with this description.

  ‘We’re talking about Craggy Aggie, Grandad! She’s been unsettling the visitors again – sending her addled notes,’ Ellie shouted over to Jack. With his right hand he wiped his mouth, adjusted something in his ear and snorted, sending a spray of saliva across the table. Kite noticed that his left hand lay flat and lifeless by his side. She thought how strange it must feel to have only one side of yourself that you could control. Ellie let out a little embarrassed laugh, then gently wiped away his spittle with a cloth. Jack’s old eyes opened again and settled on Seth, who shifted slightly on the bench.

  ‘In the end, Grandad fought against that building going up. He got that het up about it, we all think it was the cause of his stroke,’ Ellie spoke this quietly, turning away from Jack, and then back to him, raising her voice once more. ‘You’re no great fan of Craggy Aggie, are you, Grandad? Shame you had to sell her the land in the first place.’

  The old man banged his good hand on the table, as if ordering Ellie to stop talking. It was surprising how much strength was still held in his ancient body.

  ‘Don’t get yourself all worked up about it again. I suppose we’ll never know now what went on.’

  The old man nodded, closing his eyes tight.

  Dr Sherpa poured tea into his saucer and took a great slurp. ‘I don’t know why, but somehow it always tastes better like this!’ He smiled. ‘We all have our odd ways. I suppose Agnes is to birds what I am to humans!’ Dr Sherpa let out a hearty laugh as if he�
��d said something funny. ‘She calls on me from time to time on her way to the vet’s, and of course I go over there to check on her. It must be a lonely life,’ he confided. ‘Birds, her garden, her dog and her grandson are pretty much all she cares about. If you saw the way she looks out for the injured owls she picks up here and there, you’d know she means no harm.’

  A vision of Agnes carrying her hessian sack entered Kite’s mind. Maybe she’d been hunting around under Mirror Falls and picked up the Dawn owl too.

  ‘We had an owl fly into our window last night. It left a perfect print.’ Seth said to Dr Sherpa, glancing tentatively at Kite as if he was afraid of upsetting her.

  ‘Aggie explained to me once how they make their mark,’ Dr Sherpa mused. ‘Something about the oil and the powder on the feathers sticking to the glass like a fingerprint.’

  ‘You know what they say when a great bird like that flies at you!’ Ellie spread her plump arms out in a mock scary pose.

  Seth stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll have another beer!’ he interjected, walking over to the bar. Kite could tell by his hushed whisper that he was filling Ellie in on what had happened to Dawn.

  ‘Of course it’s all a lot of folklore and ghosting tales!’ Ellie muttered as she returned to wipe the table.

  ‘What do they say?’ asked Kite.

  ‘No, nothing. I told you, it’s a lot of nonsense I was talking. I’m so sorry about your friend,’ Ellie said softly. ‘I lost my parents in an accident years ago, so sadness is no stranger at my door.’

  Kite raised her hand to her scar and pulled her hair down over it. She wanted to stand up right now and run as far away from these people as it was possible to get. What business had Seth to tell these strangers about Dawn? They couldn’t know anything about how she was feeling. Dr Sherpa shot a questioning look from Seth to Kite. She felt as if he was examining her.

  ‘Can we go now?’ Kite whispered.

  ‘When we’ve been introduced.’ Seth nodded towards Jack, who was staring at Seth as if he was trying to remember where he’d seen him before.

  ‘Have you joined us, Jack? This is Seth and Kite,’ said Dr Sherpa. ‘Your hearing aid working all right now, Jack?’ he asked, tapping his own ear.

  A smile spread over Jack’s face as he looked at Kite. He lifted his stick and pointed to a faded sepia photo among the gallery on the wall behind him. Ellie reached up, took the photo off the wall and placed it in Jack’s hands. The image was of a group of mud-smeared young men in long shorts, with bare feet and chests, rain lashing their faces. One of them, running ahead of the others, was flying a kite.

  ‘Grandad was a fell runner in his time. “King of the Fells” they named him. The winner always gets to fly the Carrec kite – isn’t that so, Grandad?’

  Kite stared into the image and back to Jack, whose smile was still recognizable. She thought she could trace something in the fine paper-thin lines of his face that was still, after all this time, strong and full of energy.

  Jack swallowed hard as if he was desperate to speak.

  ‘Kite’s a keen runner too.’

  ‘Not really!’ Kite mumbled. She wished Seth would stop trying to draw her into the conversation. Now the doctor was definitely shooting her inquisitive glances.

  ‘No doubt Grandad would have given you a run for your money!’ Ellie joked, but the old man had pushed the photo aside now.

  ‘Seth’s been telling me his mam’s family were from around here,’ Dr Sherpa said loudly and clearly.

  Suddenly Jack propped himself up in his chair, his back bolt upright, holding his right hand in the air like a claw and twisting it this way and that.

  ‘That’s a question,’ explained Dr Sherpa.

  Jack patted his chest.

  ‘Now you’ve got him following a scent!’ Ellie said. ‘Grandad’s helped folk who’ve turned up from all over the spot coming here to find their roots. I always said he should have written a book.’

  Jack tapped Ellie’s hand.

  ‘What was your mam’s name?’

  ‘Jackson,’ Seth answered automatically.

  The old man scrunched his brow and shook his head from side to side.

  ‘Sorry, I mean Storey . . . my mum’s name was Storey. She grew up in a children’s home in Sheffield, but I think her parents came from around here.’

  On hearing the name Storey, the old man shuffled back in his chair and attempted to stand. Dr Sherpa walked around the table to help him and Jack placed an arm over his shoulder. Then he took a step towards Seth and held out his hand. Seth shook it gently. People are meant to grow old, thought Kite, staring at Jack’s hands; a map of blue veins and jutting bones. How many concerts would Dawn have played if she’d lived until she was as old as Jack?

  ‘Storey’s a local name all right,’ said Ellie. ‘If he or any of his friends knows anything, he’ll find a way of telling you. Even though he can’t write or talk, he makes himself understood. The photos help.’

  Seth nodded and walked over to the gallery. Here was Jack, standing in a boat with a fly-fishing rod, proudly holding up his catch; a gathering of men, sleeves rolled up, a pile of sheep fleeces in front of them as they each raised a glass to the camera; a waterfall; a smiling, moustached Jack wearing khaki uniform, his arms wrapped around a pretty girl; a whole series of pictures charting the building of an enormous wall.

  ‘Those are of the construction of the Haweswater Dam,’ she explained. ‘Somewhere under all that water is the farm where Grandad grew up. Lots of these families around here did. Maybe yours too,’ Ellie told Seth. ‘You should take a walk down there, see what you make of it. Folk are saying the last time it dried right out like this was a good twenty-five years back.’

  Kite’s attention was caught by a row of tiny black-and-white photographs of Indian women carrying pots on their heads; a turbaned man having a shave on a street pavement; a naked bald man holding his copper begging bowl; and a sleeping brown-eared dog under the shade of a tree. Dr Sherpa followed Kite’s gaze.

  ‘These are from Jack’s service in India. He shared so many stories of his time there with me, before he lost his speech. You should look after these, Ellie; they must be quite a rare collection.’

  Kite felt that she had been wrong to assume that these people belonged to an inward-looking world. Whatever was happening to her, she knew one thing for sure – that she had come here to learn. Perhaps it was the place and its people that had drawn Dawn’s spirit here too.

  At a certain point the photographs moved into colour, but even these seemed to be faded now. There were pictures of Jack proudly holding a baby; of children running wild on the fells carrying baskets full of giant mushrooms and sitting on walls like gatherings of birds waiting to fly. Jack raised his arm and ran his hand along the row of children as if he was trying to remember who was who. He bashed the side of his head in frustration.

  ‘If only he could write things down, but his good hand is so riddled with arthritis he can’t hold a pen,’ explained Ellie, taking the photo off the wall and laying it on the table.

  Jack shook his head as if he was lost somewhere in the past. That’s how it was supposed to be, thought Kite; you should get so old that you can look back across time and only vaguely remember what happened in different parts of your life. As far as she knew, the last photo of the two of them together was taken on Dawn’s birthday. Kite wondered if Hazel and Jimmy would be able to bring themselves to line the walls of their new flat with all those captured moments of Dawn’s life. For her part Kite couldn’t stand to look at any photos of the two of them now. She’d brought none with her.

  ‘Please, can we go?’ Kite whispered to Seth.

  ‘Don’t you worry!’ Ellie reassured Seth as they were leaving. ‘If your grandma lived around here, Grandad’s sure to have some information for you.’

  Jack patted Seth’s hand and his mouth stretched into the widest of smiles, revealing a motley collection of higgledy-piggledy teeth that were hanging on for dear life.


  ‘Kite!’ Ellie called after her. Seth was watching and she felt that it would be rude to ignore her, so she walked reluctantly over to the bar. ‘You know if you need to talk to someone, it was Dr Sherpa who helped me more than anyone else when my parents died.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kite uncomfortably, and headed for the door.

  ‘I’d better be going too, as Jack seems in fine fettle today,’ Dr Sherpa scraped back his chair. ‘So I’ll pop in to see you at Mirror Falls.’

  Seth nodded pointedly as if he’d made a definite appointment.

  It was as she’d feared. Thanks to Seth, they all knew – and they were all going to try to help.

  Owl Lore

  On the way home Kite had to listen to Seth moaning on about how frustrating it was that he couldn’t get an Internet connection to do more research.

  ‘I’ll have to drive to a library and maybe even a town hall tomorrow to look things up in the book of births, deaths and marriages.’

  ‘Good! Then maybe it’ll stop you blabbing about Dawn to everyone.’

  He looked hurt, and once again she immediately felt sorry for being so vicious. Seth drove along in silence, then switched on the radio; a dance beat throbbed out – the sort of thing that Kite usually loved and Seth hated. Instead of switching channel he glanced over at Kite and tapped on the steering wheel as if he was enjoying it. A few months ago she would have cranked the track up as loud as possible. It was the kind of beat that once it got under your skin could take you over, but now it did the opposite, jarring her nerves and making her head pound with tiredness.

  Kite hit the radio button with a flat hand to silence the low insistent beat, then plugged herself into Dawn’s iPod. Listening to recordings of Dawn’s playing felt a bit like reading a book where Dawn had made notes in the margins or folded over the corner of a page, like witnessing Dawn’s thoughts and emotions in action. She turned up the volume and let the deep, familiar music calm her.