Betty heard the engine start and it had an effect on her she hadn’t anticipated. Something ran through her veins like the restoration of life, and not just hers; it was Fred’s, and David had done it. Just like when he’d breathed life into Fred on the day that George had shot him. It was David who’d tried to resuscitate him and had kept him alive before the ambulance came. It was David who’d pressed on the open wound and stopped the flow of blood. It was David who’d wrenched the gun from George, risking his own life, as the man laughed and then wept like a child, not regretting that he’d shot Fred, but sorry that he’d missed David. Yes, that old engine ticking over reminded her of a day she’d never dare recapture.
David rushed into the cottage, his face covered in oil and grime, the whites of his eyes shone with vibrancy through the dirt. He didn’t notice that the tears in Betty’s eyes were any different to the glaze of moisture her aged eyes always had.
‘This calls for a celebration, Aunty.’ He went to the sideboard and looked for a bottle of something to celebrate with. Betty wanted to share his glory, but she couldn’t.
David didn’t discern the tone of seriousness to her voice as she asked him: ‘Will you promise to take me to Kendal as soon as you can love?’
‘Of course I will … I’ll take you wherever you want to go - once I know she’s safe, that is.’
*
David quickly got into the routine of the hotel work, despite the unsociable hours. The gift of the car, as old as it was, made his life easier. The physical nature of the work was undemanding, apart from humping of beer kegs up and down the cellar. He enjoyed the companionship too; the other employees found David to be good company and easy going. The other members of staff soon grew to like him despite him refusing any offers of a drink or an evening out. He was a local lad, he fitted in well and caused little friction, except, perhaps, between the waitresses.
Although no one ever spoke of it, it was soon passed around who David really was. They all had read about George Keldas. They wondered why David needed to do bar work and why he now lived near Hawkshead. Some assumed he was living with a woman.
One evening David was working behind the bar, washing a few glasses, when he noticed a young woman walk passed and go to the restaurant; she seemed oblivious to this slim, tidy young barman with short-cropped hair. It was Hannah Robson.
He watched her from the corner of his eye go to the restaurant and sit with a man; the two of them becoming engrossed in each other.
His initial reaction was to freeze. She hadn’t spotted him and she certainly hadn’t recognised him. He became embarrassed at his lowly status, something he hadn’t anticipated.
‘Have you got your eye on that girl in the corner, Dave?’ the other barman said.
David didn’t commit himself.
‘Come on, mate, admit it… . You’ve been watching her all evening.’
David didn’t know how to reply. ‘I just know her that’s all.’
‘Do you know the old guy she’s with then?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You would wonder what a pretty girl like her would see in a guy like him. He’s old enough to be her father.’
‘I don’t think it’s anything like that… .’ David knew to his cost that sometimes young women did like older men but, neverthe-less, he defended Hannah, ‘you see she works with him.’
‘Aye … I know she does. Isn’t he the vet? They say his wife’s left him because of her.’
David picked up a glass and started to rub it dry with a towel. ‘How do you mean, I don’t understand?’
‘Ah ha… . There you are; you do fancy her… . I knew it!’
David flushed.
‘His wife left him recently and he’s been seen with that girl, holding hands and walking out with her. My mate who works at the hotel at Rydal fancies her too. She vaccinated his dog. He saw them together on White Moss Common.’
David’s instinct was to defend Hannah and Barry, but perhaps some of this was true; a lot could have happened in the few weeks he’d been away, and then living in isolation with Betty. He knew Barry had been unhappy. It was no secret that he and Eleanor led separate lives. But Hannah and Barry: no, that couldn’t be true.
He continued to rub the beer glass and the force of his grip broke it clean in two, cutting his hand. ‘Ow … !’ David gasped.
‘Steady, Dave… . You’re cracking up, mate.’
With blood dripping from his hand, David went to the restroom. He put his hand under the cold water in the washbasin. He took a paper towel and held it tightly over the wound. David leant back on the wall, looked at his reflection in the mirror in front of him, and wondered if he liked the man he now was. Why worry about Hannah and Barry; they must do what they want with their lives, as he must do with his. And as he looked hard into his own face, scowling as he did so, he no longer saw the image of George Keldas. His eyes were different than his, also his teeth and his mouth. But the face he saw, he still didn’t recognise. And not for the first time, he wondered who the man was who’d given him this life. Did he know or care about a long lost son? The loneliness had returned and he wished that Tony Milton was here; he would know what to do, he would help him. And everything he’d ever known had fled away from him as he clung to the love of an old woman.
David reluctantly returned to the bar; he couldn’t risk losing his job, and so, with his hand securely taped in Elastoplast, he continued his work and hoped that Barry and Hannah wouldn’t come to him for their drinks.
He watched them for some time as they had coffee and then just as another customer arrived and David served him, they walked passed the bar and only Barry raised his head to say goodnight to the barmen.
Barry Fitzgerald looked back at the dark haired young man and thought he reminded him of someone.
*
Behind Foxglove Cottage were two small fields, their stone walls reaching high up to the forest. The sheep grazed constantly, filling their bellies ready for the lambs, which would arrive soon. The sturdy little sheep were not afraid of David as he sat on the rocky outcrop above them. The footpath through their territory was well used; these sheep were used to fellwalkers and backpackers.
David sat watching the sheep grazing and looking at the life below him. In the distance, he could see the cars arriving, one after another, to Hawkshead.
This walk got him out of the cottage, out of Mrs Challenor’s way. She had come to do Betty’s “private” washing. But David knew she would want to fuel the village gossip about him. He also knew Betty would be discreet when Mrs Challenor fished for knowledge about him. So this piece of England that Betty owned, these two fields, were safe territory for David. The very grass he sat on belonged to his aunt. The sheep were there by right too. Betty had let out the field to a local farmer to graze his ewes and the return she got other than the rental, was to see what remained of Fred’s land being put to good use and the chance of being able to watch the livestock graze from her window.
Today, as Betty sat in her usual position in the window, she watched David; he had taken to the fells again. He walked the hills a lot, yet despite this, his skin was pale and his body was still thin. He had some appetite, but hadn’t put on the weight that he should have by now, during the time he’d stayed with her. The hard work saw to that.
David had also become quieter of late and almost distant, she didn’t know why and wondered if something had happened. It was as if something had suddenly changed. She wished he would see his mother and make amends. Bitterness was no way to live a life. She’d tried to suggest it, but he’d rebuffed her and then, in remorse, apologised for his behaviour and kissed her.
The thought struck Betty that he wanted to leave; yet she dare not think it. As changeable and moody as he was, she dreaded him leaving her; to go, just as quickly as he had come.
She prayed for him night and day that he might find some peace of mind. Then she wondered if she was being selfish and should insist that he go home; he p
erhaps felt obliged to her. Then she thought that he’d come here willingly and, if he should want to leave, he should leave willingly. Betty would not hold him here against his will, and yet she wished she could.
It began to rain, and the fine mist swept across the fell wetting David’s face. The sheep made no move, they just continued eating. David pulled up the collar of his jacket and slowly walked back down the hill to the cottage.
‘What shall we have for tea, Aunty? I’m starving.’ He hung his wet coat on the chair by the fire.
Betty was brave. ‘You don’t have to eat with me… . Why don’t you have a run out, get some fish and chips or something - have a drink with your friends.’
David appeared not to hear her and walked to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door then shouted back. ‘My mates are up on that fell side and they don’t like fish and chips!’
18
THE VISITOR.
Kathy Keldas ran into the blue-stone hay barn to shelter from the rain; she was breathless. ‘For goodness sake, Linzi, come inside…. You’ll be soaked.’
Linzi joined her mother in the security of the barn, and fell down in the straw and laughed. ‘I thought we were going to lose them then, Mum. Why on earth didn’t you stop them?’
‘Linzi… .’ Kathy was exasperated, ‘those heifers can run a lot faster than I can, anyway, they’re bigger than me; they could have knocked me down.’
‘We should have used the dog, you know.’
‘Oh, Linzi…. Only David or you father could work with that dog. Anyway, we’ve managed. There’s plenty of grass for them now in this paddock.’
The realisation that each small task they did was a challenge for Kathy; things she’d seen David do and had taken for granted. The skill of her son and her dead husband far out-shone anything she or Linzi could manage. At least today they had something to laugh about.
They had lost a dairy cow last week; it had to be put down. It had safely calved but, with a weakness in her pelvis, she had slipped and fallen on the wet concrete yard and was unable to stand. Linzi was distraught at the animal’s predicament. Alan had tried to help by tying some soft rope around its ankles to support it, but the idea failed. And as a last resort Barry Fitzgerald was called, but there was nothing he could do and suggested the animal be shot. And then Silver had been sick again. She’d developed mastitis in one quarter of her udder. The infection had been missed and had become too severe to be treated. Barry gave her some penicillin, but told them to expect she would lose all productivity on that quarter and would become near useless.
Kathy had wept in frustration because of how much Silver meant to David, and now their best yielding animal would become an expensive burden if they kept her.
She knew if David had been here he would have spotted the infection sooner, and Kathy inwardly cursed him for abandoning her. Linzi and Alan were more open and dared to criticise David’s inconsiderate behaviour to her face. Something had to be done, and soon, before the farm fell into ruin. She had to ease the workload for all of them.
They looked out of the barn into the rain as drifts of clouds swept across the sky; some black, some grey, and bringing along with them more water. The fields that were already wet had become sodden and covered the two women in mud.
Wet and dishevelled they made their way back to the farmhouse, walking quickly down the lanes, jumping over the puddles and the small stream that funnelled its way across the path.
‘I saw the auctioneer yesterday. He said if we decide soon whether to sell the cattle, he could have an auction arranged for sometime next month.’
‘Oh, Mum … Dad wouldn’t have wanted that.’
‘Who knows what your father really wanted, Linzi.’ Yet she knew George had got his way in one thing, in leaving David with nothing.
And although Linzi was disappointed, she knew her mother was right. They couldn’t farm this place properly between them. Alan had suggested they buy some more sucklers with the money they would make. They already had four heifer calves they could rear on, and they could hopefully make a living at selling a few beef cattle rather than have the hassle of running the dairy herd. They could even buy a few more sheep.
‘I know you’re right, Mum, but I don’t think we should do anything until we’ve spoken to David.’ As she rubbed her face, rain water ran down her nose.
‘If I could talk to him you know I would, but how can I?’ Kathy was serious - Oh, how she longed to see him. ‘Betty’s convinced that he’ll leave if we push him. She says he’s already unsettled.’
‘Then if you can’t speak to him … I will! There’s nothing to stop me is there? I can’t see what all the fuss is about anyway. He walks out and leaves you and doesn’t contact us at all. He could have been dead for all we knew… . And then you go on protecting him all the time and won’t say anything bad against him. What’s so special about David, anyway?’
‘It’s not like that, Linzi.’
‘No… . What is it like then? I don’t understand, I’m sorry.’
But Kathy knew she could never understand.
‘If you want to see him, you go… . You ask him. He may even be pleased to see you, I don’t know … but be careful mind? Don’t go upsetting him… . Keep calm. Tell him you’ve missed him, but whatever you do, keep calm.’
As they approached the farmyard and saw Alan’s car parked in its usual place, Linzi took her mother’s arm and squeezed it. ‘I’ll go and see Davey tomorrow.’
They were still talking when they entered the kitchen. Kathy hung onto the door frame as she kicked off her muddy wellingtons. On the kitchen table was a large bouquet of flowers: white carnations, blue iris, yellow chrysanthemums; beautifully arranged and neatly wrapped in cellophane paper, tied with a large blue ribbon. There was no sign of Alan.
Linzi raised one eyebrow at her mother and smirked. ‘I’m going for a hot bath. I’ll leave you to it!’
Kathy at first hesitated, rubbed her wet hair on a towel and dried her hands and face. She went over to look at the flowers and tried to find a message but there was none; for one fleeting moment, she hoped they might be from David. But before she could lift them from the table, Alan came into the kitchen behind her and the broad and beaming smile on his face told her they were from him. She was disappointed.
‘Do you like them?’ He came closer to embrace her.
She backed away and spoke. ‘They’re lovely, Alan, but what are they for?’
He pulled her to him. ‘Oh … things have been a bit tough on us all. I’ve said things I shouldn’t have done … and I’m sorry. I’m sure we’re all tired and I just want to show you - well, to tell you that I still care.’
‘You big softy, Alan.’ She gently patted his chest, ‘you needn’t have done this … with all the work you do for us. It’s you that deserves presents, not me.’
Kathy gently pulled away from him and, not wanting to snub him, went across to the tap to fill the kettle, knowing she had another problem to face.
She leant against the kitchen sink and folded her arms. ‘Alan, I know you still care about me… .’ she paused - this was going to be hard. ‘I’m very fond of you, I always have been; you know that. But please be patient with me. I can’t give you anything back just yet. I know you would want it.’ She went to unwrap the flowers, not looking at him; the paper rustling as she nervously spoke. ‘At one time I did think - well maybe there was something for us … and all the time I wanted to divorce George, you knew that. But believe me, it’s not been made any easier by his death. I’m a widow and the children have lost their father and, for the sake of decency, I don’t think I can commit myself to anything or anyone just yet.’
Alan took hold of her hand and stopped her flower arranging. ‘I’m sorry Kathy. I didn’t want to seem insensitive. We’ve been good friends, you and me. I’m sorry I can’t do anymore on the farm. I’ve tried to balance two jobs and it’s just impossible. I think that’s why I’ve been moody lately.’
&nbs
p; ‘Alan, you don’t need to apologise,’ she sighed. ‘We moved the heifers this morning like you suggested. What a job we had, we nearly had them in the village!’
‘You’ve done well, Kathy. Aye, you have.’
*
David slid carefully underneath the old Volvo and pointed his torch on the bodywork. He tapped at the exhaust pipe, checking it for wear and tear. He’d heard a knocking noise and wondered if it had come from a loose fitting. He had promised to take Betty out today; yesterday’s rain had gone and the weather was more promising: warm and sunny; Betty called it growing weather.
He shuffled the length of the car on his back on the cold floor, his feet protruding from the side. A transistor radio played, loudly, the Moody Blues, Nights in White Satin, and David sung it under his breath, struggling to recall the words.
Someone kicked at his feet and he lay still, not wanting to bang his head. He guessed it was Betty. Then, straining his neck, he looked across at the small feet beside him as they kicked him once again. But whoever it was, was wearing trainers.
‘Who is it?’
‘Come out of there, Davey, before I drag you out!’
It was a woman’s voice, but over the noise of the radio, he couldn’t discern whose.
David struggled out from underneath the car and groaned as he wrenched his back in the process. He saw his sister, dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt, her dark hair unkempt and tied loosely in a ponytail.
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