He’d barely spoken to her since the night on the fells and a melancholy silence had returned to Keld Head. The only conversation they’d had was when he told her the reason for Tom’s bullying, and he’d done this in such a matter-of-fact way that he had hardly told the true story about the name-calling. The seriousness of the situation had also diminished with the selfish yearnings of his own life.
David was startled by the sudden noise of a vehicle pulling into the lay-by behind him. The headlights shone brightly in his rearview mirror. Not wanting to be spotted, he started up the engine and sped away, the wheels spinning on the wet gravel, flinging it up into the air as he drove on to his original destination. The danger had passed, the moment in his life that could have changed the future. But David’s future was still on course.
He arrived at the hospital and found Tony’s bed empty, then David heard laughter coming from the dayroom. Several nurses were with Tony. He was still dressed in his striped pyjamas and standing on a small table, singing loudly and performing a private cabaret; Frank Sinatra.
‘… And so … I did it my way.’
David stood and watched but didn’t have the spirit to intrude, so he eased down on to a chair by the door. But his presence broke up the party and the nurses quickly dispersed. Completely alone with Tony, David was the first to speak: ‘You’re obviously feeling better then?’
Tony jumped down off the makeshift stage and went across to a coffee table and picked up some books and flicked through their pages. ‘What have you done to my audience?’ he asked. ‘You’re about as popular as a dead rat!’ And turning his back on David, still humming the melody, he took the books across to a bookcase.
David continued, ‘You’ve made a few more friends then?’
‘Yes, and it’s more than you’ve done, Turnip Head! You’ve driven them all away!’
‘Well, that’s the story of my life isn’t it?’ And he stood up to leave; he couldn’t take any more abuse. He’d done his duty and was no longer required. As David stood and turned for the door, Tony said. ‘They say I can go home tomorrow.’
David stopped and leant on the partly opened door as Tony continued to speak. ‘Could you come and collect me then?’
‘Depends what time; I can sort something if you want me to. How will you manage at home alone?’
‘I’m not staying at home… . I’ve decided to go to London. I only need to sort a few things out, and I’ll catch the overnight sleeper and leave at the weekend.’
‘Are you well enough to travel?’ David turned to Tony who was now sitting by the window, looking out into the night sky watching an ambulance scream in.
‘I’m going stagnant here… . I’ve had plenty of time to think. If I don’t go now, I never will.’
‘What will your Dad say?’
‘Who cares … ?’ With that, Tony picked up a tangerine from a bowl, tossed it in the air and then started to peel it.
‘Where will you stay?’
‘Remember my cousin, Pete Milton? He’s just come back from South Africa. He has a plush flat in Knightsbridge and a good job in advertising. He said he could put me up until I find somewhere myself. He may have some contacts. I’ll try and sell a few of my songs.’
There was an unpleasant pause in the conversation as Tony continued to fiddle with the orange and David stood motionless. ‘Look mate …’ David pleaded. ‘If this is because of me, I’m sorry - you know that. But you just can’t leave like this, not when you’re sick.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself to think this is about you … ! You’re a fool, Dave, but then I suppose, I am, too.’ Tony threw a small segment of the tangerine up into the air and tried to catch it with his open mouth. ‘Do what you like with my sister… . I suppose she’ll be better off with you than with anyone else, but if you hurt her anymore … ? There’s nothing here in the Lakes for me - it’s dead. A poxy job in Keswick, selling records to teenies. I’m worth more than that, I know I am.’
And David knew he was, but he didn’t think this idea of Tony’s was a particularly good one; who was he to say what was good or bad, when he was contemplating the most foolish decision of his life. Perhaps they would both completely mess up their lives. David didn’t feel there was any more he could do, so without looking at him said, ‘Let me know what time you’ll be discharged, and either me or Mum will come and get you.’
‘Maybe little Hannah will drive me home, eh?’
‘I doubt it … !’
*
Hannah Robson had seen the red-coloured Rover parked in the lay-by and she wasn’t certain if it was the Keldas car or not. The thought that someone may be in trouble or broken down crossed her mind. This had niggled at her conscience (unlike David, who weeks earlier had left her standing in the rain at the bus stop). She had driven right round the roundabout, double backed on herself and, recognising the number plate, pulled into the lay-by. She didn’t know if the driver had spotted her nor did she know who the driver was. But before she could step out of her car the Rover sped away, flicking gravel and muck onto her windscreen, and she had guessed by the speed that it must have been David.
Hannah wondered whether he’d known it was her, and was unaware that in stopping behind him she had saved David from making a rash decision.
She’d borrowed Eleanor’s car to drive to the university to attend the lecture. It hadn’t been her intention to go out but, she couldn’t think of any other excuse to tell David; she had to go out to justify herself.
It was the letter! If she hadn’t received it from Linzi she might have gone with him. However, not only had she been told the full truth about the Keldas family by Barry, but she’d also been given an unwanted secret to keep. It had crossed her mind that David could be as wayward as his father and that would explain his roller-coaster lifestyle and mentality.
She felt, understandably, that she could no longer cope with this, and any further intimacy with David would not only cause her to feel she was betraying Linzi’s confidence, but also be dishonest with him. This situation was far too difficult for her to deal with. She must keep out of his way. And, if David had seen her tonight and had fled away from her, then her decision was well founded.
Hannah didn’t want to play any more of his games.
14
THE BRASS BED
Tony Milton sat with his back to the window of the overnight bus and tried to stretch his thin legs out in front of him, but this position hurt his neck. He twisted again and sat with his head back, but this position crushed his knees into the seat in front. He twisted to one side but this hurt his back and, as the night hours passed and daylight approached without him getting much sleep, Tony was glad when the coach approached London. He would soon be in Victoria and then a ride on the underground or a brisk walk and he would be safely installed in Knightsbridge.
It hadn’t troubled Tony to leave Cumbria in fact, he was glad of it. Yes, the blue rocks and fells were beautiful, and although he’d lived with them all his life he thought the stone and the architecture of the city had more appeal. He wasn’t so naive to believe that London’s streets were paved in the proverbial gold, but felt this might be the chance to make a career in the music industry. Tony knew his songs were good and working in the city would stand him a better chance of success. It was also time he broke free from the security and restrictions of family and friends. For some that would mean marriage but, for Tony, although being twenty-three years old, he was still immature and could barely look after himself, let alone a wife. He wasn’t indecisive, as he believed David was. He hadn’t been cosseted all his life by an adoring mother and he wouldn’t have wanted that, even if it had been offered. And Tony didn’t hate the life at Keld Head as David once did. He recalled David’s tearful plea in Blackpool, never to return to the farm, and then, as if to justify his actions in leaving his home and his friends, he found himself thinking more of David and despising him.
Tony had been planning this move for sometime; much earlie
r than that dreadful night on the fells searching for his sister. And the many nights in the hospital staring at the ceiling had given him further desire to do something else with his life. He’d spent much of his waking hours composing and writing new chords, humming songs and melodies to himself and others.
He’d wondered as a boy what his future might be, but as a child could never envisage any life without the influence of the Keldas family; his exploits with David; his love for Linzi; the kindness of their mother and the impropriety of their father. And, in some ways, that would be the hardest thing to leave. His bungalow was never really a home; his own father was never there. Tony had long suspected he was having an affair with some woman up north, but had never dared to ask. And neither did he feel any more responsibility toward Joanne. She was always telling him she needed to be treated as an adult and no longer wanted him interfering in her life and her foolish craving for David had led her to this conclusion. And this was the turning point for Tony’s decision.
Things were also starting to change for David. Tony was once proud to be his friend as David’s strong body had protected him many times and his gentle disposition had steadied him. David’s popularity had also drawn the admirers; especially the women. But this was all changing as David was. Tony could see David was becoming irrational in his thinking, sitting alone, brooding. He felt David was taking over from where George Keldas had left off. His handsome features were turning into a face lined and rugged, and torn with anguish.
Tony also thought it best to leave before his own father returned from Scotland. He knew he would object and he didn’t want an argument. So, after just leaving a note on the kitchen table and a contact number, he left.
He was surprised that David hadn’t called to see him the first evening he was home from hospital. He guessed that it must have been for genuine reasons as it was Kathy that had brought him home. It had been late in the afternoon when he’d been discharged and that would have meant David would be working. Tony knew it was cruel not to see David before he left, and maybe one day he would reconcile himself to him again but, just now, he’d had enough. Tony knew his sudden departure would hurt David, but Tony didn’t care; David needed to be treated in the way he’d treated others.
As Tony had left Keld Head at 5:00 pm yesterday evening and he’d walked down the hill, the only noise he heard was coming from the pulsator of the milking machine. Tony thought David would be washing down the dairy and tidying up for the night. He could have so easily called in for just a few minutes, for one last goodbye, but no. It was best this way, he thought; Joanne was safe in Aberdeen, barred from returning and irritated to have to stay with her aunt. And, as far as Tony was aware, she still had no clue of David’s intentions for her. This was a decision that he knew David would dither about for a while and Tony didn’t want to be around to await the outcome.
The coach pulled into Victoria and Tony clambered down the steps, throwing his hand-baggage in front of him and carrying his guitar in its case over his shoulder. He was glad of the chance to stretch out his aching body.
It was a fine morning and the sun was just beginning to rise. He was happy to be leaving the stinking smell of the diesel filled coach station behind him; the fresh air enticed him, so he decided to walk all the way to Knightsbridge. It was too early in the morning to waken his cousin and the walk would pass some time and revive him.
The cool city air lifted his spirits and he started to hum to himself as he pulled out from his bag an A-Z and searched for the way to his cousin’s apartment. He thought of Keld Head and, ironically, the only person up and awake would be David doing the early morning’s milking. The only other movement would be from the daffodils wagging their heads in the March breezes. But London was alive with street cleaners, dustmen, postmen and milkmen. The bag people were already leaving the warmth of the coach station and begging for money and a hot drink.
The smell of frying sausages coming from a diner tempted him. He ordered a coffee and a bacon roll while he sat at the table with all his worldly goods splayed on the floor.
When Tony started to walk again, he struggled with his luggage and wished he’d taken the tube. He was weaker than he’d anticipated, as this was only his first full day out of hospital. The cold March air hit the back of his throat and felt like it would cut his lungs to shreds. He started to cough and had to stop to hold his aching side.
As he approached Knightsbridge, the prosperity of the area was clear. He passed some high-class stores and looked longingly through the windows: suits, ties, leather goods, all with designer labels, un-priced and, as Tony guessed, unaffordable, at least to him; his own appearance was now out of place. In the Lake District, he would have blended in well with his green army surplus coat and flared denim jeans. He had a hope, one day, if his dreams came true, he could afford to shop here. Maybe buy a new suit and tie and have his own apartment like his cousin.
He checked the street names with his map, he checked the numbers on the doors; admired the beautiful iron railings and the majestic Georgian exteriors of these tall houses; slowly wandering along the tree-lined avenues as early blossom like confetti, peppered the streets. Tony counted the numbers. The buildings grew larger and grander with steps and terraces leading up to front doors with polished brass fittings on glossy paintwork. This was it. This was Rievaulx House.
Glancing at his wristwatch, he pressed the brass doorbell and waited, hoping by this time his cousin would be up and dressed; it was 7:35am. With no reply, he pushed open the heavy front door and entered a hallway, paved with black and white mosaic tiles and walls of panelled oak. There was a large hallstand holding a heavy vase filled with fresh and exotic flowers. A gold framed mirror highlighted Tony’s unkempt appearance and caused this ordinary lad from up north to comb his red and curly hair. He pulled back the metal shutters on the lift and pressed the button for the second floor and Flat 6b. The flat was soon in front of him but taped on the door was a white envelope addressed to him.
He ripped it open:
Dear Tony,
I’ve gone to Edinburgh for the week on business. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you. The key is at 6a. Please make yourself at home. You’re in the blue room.
Regards.
Peter Andrew Milton.
He collected the key from the young man at 6a. Tony was easily recognisable as Peter Milton’s cousin as they both had the same red hair, except that Tony’s was much longer.
Disappointed that Peter was away, Tony entered the flat; the early contacts he’d hoped for would have to wait. He was also disappointed at his recovery; when he’d been discharged from the hospital, he’d felt well, but today after his walk he was weaker, in fact, quite unwell. The pain in his back had returned. He felt feverish and he knew he looked sickly. He was always pale; that never changed, but he didn’t usually have this deathly grey look about him and today his eyes were reddened and tired looking.
Tony’s bungalow in Cumbria seemed a lifetime away from the wealth here in Knightsbridge and he couldn’t help but compare. The untidy and grubby condition of their bungalow, (partly his own doing,) stood in stark contrast.
Overlooking the street below was a spacious lounge. It was decorated with just a few choice items: a large red Chesterfield sofa was strewn with velvet cushions. White muslin drapes decked the windows, with heavy velvet curtains cascading to the floor. A cream coloured shag-pile carpet was covered with a deerskin rug. There was a black and chrome Hi-Fi system in one corner and masks and carvings from Africa on the walls. Tony checked his shoes and he didn’t want to step inside the room, in case he soiled the carpet.
He continued to explore and found the kitchen and a blue painted bedroom, which he assumed was to be his. The blue room was neat and yet sparse, just a single bed, a wicker chair and a small portable television standing on a coffee table. He went for his holdall and threw it on the floor and immediately made the place look lived in. He would stay a month; that was the agreement until he c
ould find a place of his own.
There was only the bathroom to find, and one other room left in the apartment. Out of pure curiosity Tony opened the next door and found a large double bedroom fitted with glass panelled wardrobes. There was a sheepskin rug on the floor, and a few modern prints of Van Gogh and Andy Warhol hung on the wall. But the focal point of this room was a large brass bed standing stately in the middle.
The highly polished brass bed was covered with a pure white counterpane, so neatly made that Tony daren’t touch it. He was transfixed and wanted to keep silent as if someone were sleeping there. He stood still for a while as he realised he’d entered the intimate sanctuary of his cousin’s life.
He stepped forward towards the bed and rubbed his fingers along its brass structure, feeling the coolness of the metal on his hands. His heart surged as he quickly walked around the bed, and thought of the elegant suits in the high-class stores and hoped, if nothing else, one day he too could have a brass bed.
Closing the door, Tony found the bathroom and washed. He made himself a drink of tea and wanted to surrender to the tiredness that was creeping over him. He was in no hurry to begin his new life; he had the apartment to himself; he had a whole week to himself. He would sleep, change his clothes and then search for a few landmarks to help him find his bearings.
*
Tony woke up to the buzz of traffic noise below him; it was 1:30pm. He was surprised and annoyed that he’d slept for so long, but neverthe-less had benefited and some colour had returned to his complexion. He soaked his aching body in the deep water of a luxurious bath and started to plot out his plans for the rest of the day.
As the spring sunshine cast into the apartment he took out his A-Z, searched for the whereabouts of The Royal Albert Hall and decided to walk again. The traffic had increased since the morning and the streets were alive. Businessmen, wearing the same styled suits he’d seen, replaced the tradesmen. He found the Royal Albert Hall and saw on the billboard just what he’d expected: a charity concert next week, held for the benefit of the street musicians in London. Buskers had been invited to play, their chance for some recognition, and a chance for Tony to meet some contacts.
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