Dr Reed was pleased to see Kathy and thought she looked surprisingly well. Over the years of her turbulent marriage, Kathy had found she had made a good ally with this young and supportive doctor. He had seen her through a troubled pregnancy with Sarah, hoping that she wouldn’t have any more children. The young doctor had stood by her on many occasions, giving her the resolve to go on, despite the desperate situation she often found herself in.
As much as this young doctor liked Kathy, he had a great disliking for George Keldas. He found him difficult to handle and, although respecting his position as a good provider, he couldn’t comprehend how this attractive and articulate woman could abide to stay with such a man.
Michael Reed respectfully rose from his chair as Kathy entered his office. He took her hand and held it momentarily, then beckoned her to sit down. ‘You look well, Kathy, if I may say so. I thought you’d have been to see me sooner than this.’
‘Well, Michael, you’re the only one who thinks that. Everyone else thinks I’m worn out and only fit for the scrap heap.’ Kathy slid graciously into the chair.
‘Their words or yours? Perhaps that’s what they think you should be like.’ The young doctor grinned at her.
‘I hope this doesn’t sound awful, Michael, but I feel like I’ve had a great weight lifted off my shoulders - tragic though it’s been. I feel I can look forward to some kind of future.’
‘I wish more people could feel the same as you, and then my surgery wouldn’t be half as full. So whichever way you’re coping, keep doing it - it’s obviously working.’
The doctor dropped his pen down on his desk, sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘So what can I do for you today?’
‘It’s David… . ’ Kathy hesitated. ‘I don’t know if you can discuss his health with me, he being an adult. But I’m worried about him – he’s acting strange, almost suspiciously, like he’s hiding something from me.’
The doctor sat forward in his chair and tried not to appear alarmed, as the familiar subject he’d discussed in the past about George, seemed to be resuming about David.
‘He’s not sleeping, he’s jumpy, bad tempered, and he’s shutting himself away most of the time. David interrupted Alan Marsh and me doing some book-keeping yesterday, and I felt his eyes glare at me, just like a jealous husband. Yes, just like George. I was waiting for the accusations to start all over again.’ She rubbed her hand across her forehead, relieved she had unloaded this anxiety from her mind.
‘Maybe it’s you that’s overreacting now?’
‘Well, maybe so. I don’t know anymore. I was so used to the cold feelings between George and me, but now with David. I don’t think I can bear it again.’
‘What are you hinting at, like father - like son?’
Kathy was alarmed at his inference. ‘I know that’s what it sounds like, but no … I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry if it sounded like that. It’s just his nerves, I’m sure. If he could only get a good night’s sleep, then I know - I just know, he’ll be better.’
‘I can’t prescribe anything for David unless I see him, and I would like to see him. Could you persuade him to come in?’
‘He’ll never come, and what’s more, I daren’t tell him I’ve come here today.’
‘Then perhaps I could call at the farm sometime on a routine visit. It’s a while since I’ve been, so maybe he won’t be too suspicious. But Kathy,’ the doctor hesitated, ‘you must understand that David will have some trauma. And he’s lived with George’s influence – what, twenty years or more? He could be affected - all the children could be.’
‘Do you mean they could all turn out as evil as George?’ Kathy began to fidget in the chair and, much like her visit to the school weeks earlier, wished she hadn’t come.
‘I’m sorry, Kathy. I didn’t mean to alarm you; I can say this now as things are out of my hands, but I always found George to be awkward. I don’t even know if he could help himself.’
Kathy interrupted: ‘Awkward, is an understatement, Michael. There’s always been a dark side to this family. George could turn on the charm when he wanted, and then be downright wicked. Sometimes there was a fine line between the two!’
‘Well, whatever he did, Kathy, whether he intended it or not, you must understand that David, Linzi, Tom and Sarah could be badly affected by it in one way or another.’
Kathy was disappointed. ‘No, Michael… . None of my children have ever shown a hint of George’s behaviour.’
The doctor was now bemused. What did she want him to say? She had just accused her eldest son of imitating his father and then, in almost the same breath, denied all knowledge. He was perplexed. ‘So how can I help you?’
Kathy realised she’d unwittingly contradicted herself. ‘Please, Michael. Please come and see him. Try and talk to him. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to David.’ And she looked completely helpless.
‘I will come to Keld Head, and soon. But I can’t make any promises of whether I can help. Some of that will have to come from David.’
Kathy looked at this young man, his sympathetic voice and kindness had helped her once again, and yet the subject of her concern was no longer her husband but her son.
She saw the familiar photographs of his wife and children placed on his desk, and she wondered how happy they were. What kind of home did they have? His dear little children would never have to suffer as hers did. Had life just dealt her a slap in the face, a restraint for her short-lived happiness?
Kathy left the surgery feeling trapped. Her momentary freedom had fled and the plan had backfired. Why didn’t she listen to her own mind instead of letting people persuade her to do other things? She was coping, and she was doing well. Then she found herself selfishly cursing David for his sensitivity and his weakness, and blaming him for losing her sense of freedom.
Kathy walked away from the surgery, blindly, looking at no one. She didn’t notice the rain touching her face. She wanted to cry as the muscles in her throat started to constrict, and thought she would choke if she didn’t release the tension, but the tears would not come. She hadn’t cried for George, or anyone else, and she would not cry for David.
She jumped into her parked car and, looking in the mirror, could see her bedraggled hair strewn in tatters about her face. Mascara had smeared about her eyes as she’d rubbed away the unwelcome moisture. She hoped no one had seen her, but she couldn’t be certain. Kathy tried to remember leaving the surgery, but her mind was blank. She must have crossed the main road at some stage, and shuddered at the thought of what could have happened. She must try and pull herself together and be calm and keep her visit confidential. She would tell no one of Michael Reed’s inference and just hoped that when he did eventually call at the farm, he would be professional enough to hide the motive for his visit.
She brushed her hair, wiped her face dry, powdered her nose, and set off for the short journey home.
When Kathy arrived back, she was surprised to see David in the kitchen and he didn’t appear to be unduly worried about her absence. When she saw her son sat contentedly in the kitchen, Kathy felt guilty about her thoughts. She wanted to hug him and tell him everything that had happened, but that would be impossible. She felt, more than ever, that she needed some masculine logic to reassure her. She wanted to feel David’s strong arms around her, to console her, but had to be content with his presence. And as he sat quietly in the chair, Kathy started to feel calmer inside as she could see he was having a better day. He told her that the morning’s milking had gone well, his voice was soft. As she peered into his face, she saw his eyes looked sleepy and he spoke without any emotion. He wasn’t looking at her at all, but appeared to be staring across towards the window. She hoped he could settle. He just had to.
*
At four o’clock, children’s voices sounded as Tom and Sarah passed the kitchen window home from school. There was no time for Kathy to dwell on gloomy thoughts. They mustn’t see any unhappiness in her speech and acti
ons. But she found herself observing their behaviour more than usual: Sarah so small, delicate and sensitive. She had missed her father dearly and would often weep with her head buried in Kathy’s lap, yet she could change as quickly, if she were offered a treat or a game to play. David had been good to her in trying to make her feel secure, but George had so overwhelmed her with love. David did help, but then Sarah would get angry with him and scream if he teased her.
Tom was different: he idolised David.
Kathy worried about Tom. He didn’t have many friends, but he didn’t seem to mind. He spent most of his time with David and would rush straight upstairs as soon as he was home from school to get changed, and help with the milking; something he never did when George was around. It was strange to see how their roles had all changed. They had all stepped up a place in the family unit. Kathy remembered watching David when he was a boy, following George. David would walk down the lane behind him, sometimes having to run to keep up, as George strode on regardless. She would watch David imitate his father’s posture. He would walk tall and straight-backed just like him, and with an air of arrogance, like they owned the very county, and not just the few fields that surrounded Keld Head. He would show David how to repair the stone walls, and how to mend the fencing. He taught him all he knew about animal husbandry: which cow to breed off and which to replace. He taught him how to tell when a cow was due to calve and how to deliver it. He showed him which fields were wet, and which were dry. Which meadow to cut for hay and which to leave. Kathy could see David teaching these self-same things to Tom, and he loved it. So consequently, friends to Tom were unnecessary; he had all the companionship he needed and that was with David.
5
THE GLASS SNOWSCENE
Kathy wasn’t surprised that evening when Alan called. When she heard a car pull into the yard she knew it would be him. David hadn’t gone out, but was sitting alone in his room.
Alan lumbered across the kitchen towards Kathy as she sat at the table mending some of David’s work trousers.
‘You went to the doctor’s then?’ Alan said, standing tall above her and blocking out some light.
‘Yes, I did and I wish I’d never gone,’ Kathy softly replied, mindful of David sitting upstairs.
‘And why’s that?’
‘Oh, I just think I can manage better without any interference from doctors.’
‘What about Davey, did you tell him about Davey?’
‘Yes, I did, and he’s coming to see him, “discreetly” he says, and I hope he is discreet.’ Kathy continued to carefully thread her needle, holding it up towards the light.
‘Michael Reed would only be trying to help you - not interfering.’
Kathy knew full well that she could never tell Alan exactly what Michael Reed had said but understood Alan’s concern.
‘Sometimes I feel that everyone’s trying to steer this family in different directions and yet I’m the one that’s holding the reins.’
‘Oh, and I suppose I’m included in this am I?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that at all.’
‘The trouble is, you keep trying to push things aside and you can’t do that.’
‘I know - I know I do. Linzi said that once. I can’t help it though, things have been bad for so long. I can’t - I don’t want to fight any more. I don’t want to make any more excuses for our family. I want things to just go away so I can get on with my life.’
Alan paused before he spoke. He crouched low and held her by the shoulders and looked her square in the face. ‘Sometimes you have to face things - accept things. If you run away, problems only keep following you. If you can face up to things, have a good cry, dry your eyes and start again.’
‘What have I got to face up to?’ Kathy was frowning. ‘I thought all was solved.’
‘So where do you want me to start? What about this place? Those figures we looked at yesterday didn’t look too good.’ Alan stood up again to ease his aching knees.
‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Mum and Dad. All they want me to do is sell up and buy some bungalow in Windermere. Have you ever thought if I did that what would happen to David? This farm is his life, it’s his future not mine. I couldn’t sit back smug and see him waste his life struggling to find a job. He’d end up on the dole or something.’ Kathy stood up and couldn’t help but raise her voice.
Alan pressed his hands gently on her shoulders and sat her down again. ‘You say Linzi said this and your mother said that. Well maybe - just maybe – we’re all right.’
‘Oh I don’t know any more what to think. Don’t you see, we have the chance to be a normal family. Things will eventually settle down and Davey will get better.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ He took Kathy’s hand and gave it a squeeze and tears began to well up in her eyes.
‘Have you thought any more about a break, a short holiday or something?’ Alan took out a handkerchief, thinking she might cry at last.
‘I’ve thought of nothing, only my kids and my son.’
‘Well, I know this might sound pushy, but I wondered if I could take you away for a few days. We could go to Blackpool or some place. I realise you can’t go anywhere alone. It would all be above board. Just as friends - nothing more.’
Kathy pulled her hands away, realising the gesture from him was an honest one, but she was also aware that he had called a lot recently, and the funny thing was, she welcomed it. She needed the adult company and his strength and soundness of mind, but this new idea of his was overwhelming and Kathy wasn’t ready.
‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Alan. Besides, I want to see Davey better. I can’t leave him while he’s unwell, and although a holiday would be all above board to us, it wouldn’t be to other people and I don’t want to start any more gossip.’
‘Who needs to know? Your mother and Davey, that’s all. No one else.’
Kathy got up and went to mend the fire. ‘Let’s just leave it Alan, please.’
*
David, up in his bedroom, was aware that Alan was here again. He didn’t like the idea of his mother being alone with him, but neither did he have the inclination to join them. He didn’t want to talk and he was desperately tired.
David had begun to dread the evenings. He looked at the clock and it was nine-thirty. He was almost afraid to go to bed, lying there and not sleeping. How could he face another day’s work, up at six-thirty and then slog through it all when he was so tired? Why couldn’t he give in and go to sleep? At one time in his life, he couldn’t keep awake. A busy day on the farm with his father and he would easily fall asleep in the chair after tea, and even on his day off he would have difficulty getting out of bed before lunch.
He wondered if he should give Tony a call and go out for a drink; that would certainly pass some time. But to go to the pub meant having to talk, and talking was the last thing he wanted to do. So David decided, although it was late, he would go for a walk and, despite the darkness, there would be no difficulty finding his way. It was a frosty evening and there was a good moon; he would enjoy the fresh air and maybe feel like sleeping when he returned.
David didn’t go into the sitting room before he left, he just shouted from the kitchen to say he was going out, making the excuse he was checking the cattle.
It was a beautiful January evening and David’s eyes soon became accustomed to the darkness and he started to enjoy his stroll. The faint traffic noise from a few cars on the main road below the village broke the silence, but the peace was welcoming. The night was already feeling milder and the moon had become as covered in filigree lace as clouds pushed in.
David wasn’t surprised when he felt a few specks of snow on his face, and as he walked the scene before him quickly changed to a winter landscape. Large snowflakes were falling as confetti all around him. The lane quickly whitened and the darkness turned to hazy light, as David was speckled in snow. And, as he walked, the fresh snow crunched under his feet as it compacted with
each step.
As the light improved, he decided to walk up the rocky ghyll. The energy used exhilarated him as he scrambled up the slippery path, and he wondered if this was a good idea after all, as instead of feeling tired he was beginning to feel wide awake. He only hoped that once he returned home, the warmth of the farmhouse would soothe him to sleep.
David struggled on up the ghyll, grasping at the rocks with his bare hands, his fingers tingling with the cold. His knees ached as his trousers were dampened with the melting snow. Reaching the fell top, David could see in the distance the lights of Grasmere flickering like tinsel in a little glass snow scene globe, like the ones as a child he would love to shake. He recalled his Great Aunt Betty always had a snow scene in her china cabinet. It was of Dove Cottage, and if he’d been good, he was allowed to play with it. She told him to shake the tinsel and watch it fall and imagine if you were ever troubled by things in life, watching the tinsel settle would show you how life could eventually turn out. He would hold it close to his eyes and allow himself to be mesmerised by the flickering tinsel, and remove himself from the real world around him. And he wanted to do that now.
David felt a shiver as the cold night cloaked him in eerie splendour. He jogged back down the cart track to the bottom of the fell and returned to the lane, his legs now numb with the rigours of the descent and the cold. As he walked back towards the farmhouse, he noticed his outgoing footprints already being covered with a light film of new snow.
With his head down and his chin on his chest, he suddenly noticed another set of footprints beside his, as if someone had walked with him. He assumed the footprints not to be his, but perhaps some fellwalkers out enjoying an evening’s stroll. But stamping his boot into the snow, sure enough, one set of prints matched his own. He carefully examined the other footprint and it was from a walking boot much like his, but smaller in size and the pace in between each step was shorter. David’s natural instinct was to look behind him, and a rush of fear shot through him, just to remind him he was still in this world that he so despised. He waited for a while expecting someone to catch him up and, concealing himself behind a tree, sat down on a broken branch, but no one appeared. He contemplated retracing his own tracks, but was beginning to feel tired and he violently shivered. David had never feared the fells; they had been his lifelong friends. He didn’t fear the dark, and the snow made this particular night welcoming. It was only his own thoughts that stupefied him.
Northern Spirit Page 7