Northern Spirit (12 page)

David threw his holdall on the bed, went straight to the bathroom and
looked in the mirror. He ripped off his blood stained t-shirt, filled the washbasin
with hot water and started to scrub his t-shirt clean. As he scrubbed and
looked at the pink coloured water in the basin, a wave of dizziness came over
him and he had to hold onto the sink, thinking he might faint. He’d done this
all before.

‘As soon as you’re ready we’ll go and get some fish and chips.’ Tony
shouted.

‘I’m going to lie down, my head’s killing me.’ David muttered, still
mesmerised by the pink water.

‘A quick shower and you’ll feel better.’

David knew he wouldn’t.

‘Oh man . . . I just want a kip.’

‘We’ll have a few beers and then go to a night club.’

David slumped on the bed.

Tony unzipped his holdall and tipped the contents on his bed.

‘You go if you like . . . . I’ll join you later.’ David said, laying
his aching head on a pillow.

‘You’re not sleeping now, Dave.’ Tony persisted.

And he didn’t.

*       
*        *

Dressed in purple corduroy flares, an orange tie-dye t-shirt, and green
velvet jacket, Tony Milton bought his friend a drink. His long ginger hair was
now shining and clean and curling down to his shoulders; David was more
casually dressed in a red check shirt and jeans.

‘Thank goodness it’s dark in here, you look a pratt.’ David said.

‘We’ll see who looks stupid before the night’s out. You’ll never pull
any women dressed like Desperate Dan, and look at the competition!’ Over in the
corner by the bar was a group of youths, local lads, of only eighteen or
nineteen and all dressed alike in black baggies and white shirts.

David had already seen them and guessed they were eyeing them up for
trouble, and knew his blood stained face would attract more problems. He’d
already decided to keep his head down tonight.

The flashing lights and the loud music didn’t do much to help David’s
headache as the whole of the discotheque floor appeared to throb, despite only
a few girls dancing around a group of handbags that were carelessly thrown down
on the polished floor. And with the ultra-violet lights, any white on their
clothes was illuminated and turned to a translucent purple.

David usually enjoyed music but tonight he was indifferent as Motown
and Northern Soul played constantly. The music was to Tony’s liking but perhaps
too loud. He would sit for hours at home in his bedroom composing melodies and
writing songs, something more bluesy or jazzy than this, and then jamming into
the night with his acoustic guitar; the melodies eerily resounding up the
valley, and more so if the air was still. When David could hear it up at the
farm he always knew Tony’s father was away.

Hopes of becoming a songwriter were as dreams to Tony, but David was
always quick to shatter them. He did have to admit some of the songs were good,
but said he didn’t live in the real world and that he shouldn’t waste his time
thinking of getting anything published, but he knew Tony could do better for
himself than working in that little record shop in Keswick.

Tony eyed some of the girls dancing together. They too where all
dressed alike: dark coloured mini-dresses, platform shoes, and they all had the
same short, feathery hairstyles. But he was particularly attracted to a small
blonde-haired girl in a red dress.

‘If she’s not with the mods in the corner, I’ll buy her a drink later.
Do you fancy her mate?’ Tony quizzed.

David had already noticed the thin girl dancing, but said, ‘I told you.
. . . No women tonight!’

When the girls came to sit down just behind them, Tony picked up his
drink and went across to talk. But David became increasingly anxious about the
group of youths. Although it didn’t seem that the girls were with them, David
got the feeling that if they didn’t leave, there would be trouble. They were
local lads and these were probably local girls, and David knew the rules:
Even
if we don’t want them, you can’t have them. Keep your hands off them, and if
you dare tread on our patch, we’ll have to fight you for it.
Lads like
these were only here for one thing and although David didn’t want to spoil
Tony’s evening, he knew that if they didn’t go now, they would both end up
being beaten.

Tony pulled David across to the bar. ‘The thin girl’s got a weird taste
in men and fancies a bit of rough, Dave. You’re in luck!’

But as they stood amongst the crowd, jostling to get drinks, two of the
mods pushed purposely in front of them. ‘Hey… pretty boy… you want another kiss
on that busted lip of yours? Come an ‘av it?’ Their voices grated as one of the
youths curled his fist into a knot and held it up to David’s face, as another
youth made kissing sounds.

David lowered his head, backed away and ignored them. He’d reacted
before and had a few hidings in the past in Blackpool, Carlisle and up at the
University, and didn’t want any more. He discreetly tried to pull Tony away and
pleaded in a low voice: ‘Let’s get out…. Now! I’ve had enough. My head’s
killing me. If we stay any longer, we’ll be back at the hospital.’

‘Are you mad? I’m not going now. The little blonde thinks I’m a
rock-star!’

David was exasperated. ‘If you don’t want to leave, that’s fine, but
I’m off.’

‘Look. . . . Let’s bring the girls with us . . . we can go somewhere
quieter. They’re local, maybe they’ll take us back to their place.’

‘No!  Either we go together, or I go alone.’

‘Oh, man. . . . Will you stop this misery! I’m fed up to here with your
moods.’ Tony gestured and walked away.

*       
*        *

It was only 11 o’clock when David left the night-club and walked back
through the town, alone. It was a dry night and he hoped the clear air would
relieve his headache. He was happy to leave, but worried about his friend, yet
Tony would have to take care of himself. These disagreements between the two of
them were not new, both knowing that their friendship revolved around the highs
and lows of each other’s lives.

He zipped up his jacket and pulled his collar up around his face and,
as he walked the little streets of Blackpool, he realised he wasn’t sure where
he was going. The rows of boarding houses and hotels all looked alike. He
fumbled through his pocket and pulled out his booking slip and the address, and
only hoped Tony could remember where they were staying when he finally made his
way back.

He decided to would walk back along the promenade and guessed it would
be quieter, passing just a few drunks staggering about the pavements and some
courting couples making their way home. A late-night tram rattled along the sea
front, narrowly missing him. He bought a bag of chips and ate them from
newspaper as he walked and laughed to himself at Tony’s dilemma, wondering what
he would do with the two girls.

He was sorry Tony had lost patience with him and guessed that with his
moods recently, it was just how everyone else was feeling. Maybe this was why
his mother had been so keen that he should get away, because she was tired of
seeing him moping around in his own self-pity.

Safely back at the boarding house, David put the television on, slowly
undressed and fell into bed, but was soon bored by the programmes. He then
tried to sleep but, as usual, found he couldn’t settle as he was now worrying
about Tony.

He considered going back to look for him, but knew they would both be
locked out. Sleeping and then wakening, he listened for a while, and in the
middle of one of these naps he was disturbed by a noise against the window.
David put the light on and, screwing his eyes together, looked at his watch. It
was 2:30, am.

David stumbled towards the window and through the lamplight below saw
Tony standing there alone. His long hair was blowing about his face, his shirt
was half-undone and in disarray, but he was apparently unharmed.

‘Let me in. It’s perishing out here.’ Tony said, half-whispering and
half-shouting.

David crept downstairs, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and paisley
pyjama bottoms, and quietly tried to unlock the front door. But Tony started to
laugh as soon as he got indoors as he saw David’s dishevelled hair and his
battered face.

‘Shh . . . you idiot!’ David whispered and followed Tony back to their
room.

‘Oh, man. . . . You missed out tonight, Dave. . . . The blonde was
called Janet.’ He ripped off his shirt. ‘She only lives just around the
corner.’ He unzipped his trousers and struggled to speak as he pulled them over
his feet. ‘But the thin girl turned out to be the nicest.’ Then he went to the
bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. ‘The mods never bothered me
after you left,’ he shouted back, then gargled as he cleaned his teeth. ‘It was
you that looked threatening.’ He returned to the bedroom, stretched and patted
his stomach. ‘No body’s afraid of a skinny dude like me!’

David slumped back in bed and tried to distance himself. ‘Look mate. .
. . I don’t want to hear anymore, I just want to get some sleep!’

‘You just want to be miserable. I’m brassed off with you. I suppose you
want to pack up and go home tomorrow.’ Tony threw a wet towel down on the floor
with his clothes.

‘I don’t want to go home!’ David snapped. ‘I never want to go back if I
can help it.’ And he threw his head back on his pillows, recalling how uneasy
he felt when he was hemmed into the old tower, and his last conversation with
Joanne.

Tony stopped what he was doing and realised that this wasn’t just
another argument between them. It was hard to control his thinking; he’d had
far too much to drink, but could see his friend was unhappy.

He’d thought David would have enjoyed being with the two girls. He
always used to.

Tony came and sat on the bed beside him. ‘What do you mean, “Y
ou
NEVER want to go home”
. I thought you loved that farm?’

David pushed himself up in the bed, crossed his arms behind his head
and sighed.

‘I hate the place. . . . I despise it! Everywhere I go I see my dad’s
face. It’s like he’s hiding in every field, every wall, every building. Like
he’s tormenting me.’ He was starting to raise his voice and Tony gestured with
his hand to try to calm him.

‘I’m sorry mate. I didn’t know you felt that way.’ And, instinctively,
put his hand on David’s arm.

‘I’m bound to that place now,’ speaking more calmly. ‘Don’t you see, I
can never leave, get married and stuff like that. Well, not until Tom grows up,
or my mother marries Alan or something stupid.’

‘It’s a good job you’ve got me then, isn’t it?’

Then the sympathy of his friend released something woven inside David;
something sharpened like barbed wire, and it was being ripped out. He dropped
his head down into Tony’s chest and he sobbed.

Tony had never seen David cry like this before - well, not since they
were children, and he felt at a loss to know what to do.

As David’s weeping intensified, Tony held him in his arms like a child
and just sat quietly for a while, but David’s breathing became erratic as he
let go of his feelings. He guessed this all had to come out, and it did. Months
of anguish, fear and sorrow; relief mingled with shame.

‘Shush, SHHH, now. Don’t cry so loud! You’ll waken the whole house.
You’re freakin’ me out now mate,’ Tony whispered and pulled away to get David a
glass of water.

‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry.’ And David composed himself.

‘Look, don’t be sorry mate. . . . I’m the one that’s sorry.’

They sat quietly together for some time, before Tony realised that
David had fallen asleep on his arm. He gently pulled away from him again, got
into his own bed and put out the light, but for him, the thought of imminent
sleep had fled.

*       
*        *

It was David who woke up first and saw that it was 8:50 am. Just ten
minutes to get dressed and ready for breakfast.

As he rose from his bed his head pounded even more than last night, and
he felt a sharp pain in his lip. Tripping over Tony’s green velvet jacket,
which was still lying crumpled on the floor, he went to pull back the curtains.

‘Come on, Superstar. It’s time to get up. You’ve got five minutes. Get
your strides on.’ And David threw the corduroy flares at Tony’s face.

Tony cursed as he slowly turned over in his bed and, squinting against
the light, took a good look at his friend and with words barely legible, said,
‘Good grief man. You can’t go down for breakfast looking like that.’

David went across to look in the mirror and saw why his face was
hurting so much. His right eye was half closed and his cheek badly swollen. His
face was now bruised purple and yellow. He touched his cheek gingerly and
winced. ‘Well, I’m not missing my breakfast … I’m paying for it!’

Tony, still moaning, slid from the bed and dragging his trousers on,
hopped and stumbled about the small bedroom.

The other guests were just leaving when they eventually arrived into
the dining room and they got some condescending looks. They took their places
at the table, just in time for the landlady to slap down in front of them their
breakfast plates. ‘You’re only just in time, lads. There’s your breakfasts and
your bill!’

David picked up the half-folded piece of paper. ‘Bill . . . ? What do
you mean the bill? We’re here till Monday.’

‘You might be in Blackpool until Monday, lads, but you’re sleeping
under the pier tonight. So enjoy your breakfast, you’ll need it.’

‘Don’t worry, Dave. I know where Janet lives.’ And Tony poured tomato
sauce all over his plate of bacon, sausage and eggs.

*       
*       *

As they packed their bags, David insisted that as soon as they found
new lodgings, he would be the one to choose what they did that day. But a walk
along the Golden Mile confirmed what he’d already suspected; there wasn’t much
to do in Blackpool on a cold January weekend. The thought of his bed at home,
the comfort of the sofa in front of the fire; yes, Keld Head, with all its
misgivings, was the place he wanted.