Northern Spirit (13 page)

Most of the arcades were closed, except for a few bingo halls, and
David didn’t want to waste his money in there. Then Tony wanted to have his
fortune told, but once again David dragged him away. ‘We’ll go up the Tower!
We’ve never been up the Tower.’

‘As long as you don’t try and jump off.’ And Tony froze, immediately
realising his comment was unkind and unfeeling and wanted to take it back. But
a wry smile came on David’s face. ‘Well, if I jump, you must promise to wear
that green velvet jacket and those purple kecks at my funeral!’

*       
*        *

The metal lift trundled its way slowly to the top, climbing five
hundred or so feet in the process. The climb silenced them for a while as they
both leant anxiously on the sides of the lift for support.

At first they found the view overwhelming as they wandered around the
platform in silence, trying to acclimatise and adjust to the height. They leant
on the rails and looked over through the grill. They could see the whole of
Blackpool and beyond; the little trams going up and down the promenade; the
colourful rides on the Pleasure Beach; The Big Wheel and The Big Dipper.

‘Look. I can see Janet’s house from here!’ Tony pointed.

‘Yes, and I can see yours,’ David was looking north towards the
Cumbrian fells on the horizon.

Today the fells looked welcoming. Their soft green slopes were a gentle
contrast to the harsh red brick and grey concrete buildings of Blackpool below.
Even the distant snow-capped mountains looked calming, like soft meringue
covering a cake.

The resplendence of his home county tempted David; it wasn’t Lakeland’s
fault his family had problems. At least he would have his troubles in one of
the most beautiful places in the country, and that would be some consolation.
His head felt clearer from unburdening his mind to Tony; saying things he
thought he’d never say. And David remembered his promise to look after his
family, and knew he could keep it.

‘Look, Dave . . .’ Tony pointed. ‘I can see Alan Marsh in the paddock.
And is that your mother holding his hand?’

*       
*        *

On the train home on Monday lunchtime, David felt well. He’d slept
better on the last night, and the fresh seaside air and a good meal had
restored him. Shopping in the town, they’d managed to buy some gifts: little
white chalk images of Blackpool Tower for Tom and Sarah, a bottle of perfume
for his mother, a glass snow scene globe with Blackpool Tower in it for Joanne,
and a small bottle of whisky for Alan.

David shut his eyes as the train rattled on, and he thought about the
boy at the football match and guessed he would be at school today. He reflected
on how protective he’d been towards the boy, and was glad. At least he’d found
some love in himself, unlike the harsh and selfish manner of his father. David
was even grateful to the boy’s father for the smack in the face, as it had
awakened his senses. He opened his eyes and smiled; Tony was asleep, resting
his head on his shoulder.

The brotherly love Tony had shown, had confirmed their friendship for
one another. David knew he wouldn’t always be there for him as Tony would,
someday, have to move on. They hadn’t bonded any closer; that was impossible.
But he did understand his friend a bit better and knew he should try and give
him something back.

*       
*        *

They walked into the farmhouse kitchen and at the sight of her son’s
injured face, Kathy dropped the basket of washing she was carrying onto the
floor.

‘Don’t worry Mrs Keldas. We’ve only had a fight, been thrown out of our
hotel and spent a night under the pier.’

Alan, spoke up. ‘You’ve had a good time then?’

David went over to his mother and hugged her, nearly taking all the
breath from her. ‘We’ve had a brilliant time,’ he softly replied.

‘My goodness! What on earth’s happened?’ Kathy brushed David’s cheek
with her hand and made him flinch.

‘We were at the wrong end of the stadium. . . . They thought we were
Man U supporters. . . . David dragged me out, before I started a riot!’ Tony
was enthusiastic with his fabricated story.

David lowered his head and removing himself from the lie, went upstairs
to unpack, pulling from his bag the presents he’d bought, and putting the chalk
images to one side, ready for the children when they came home from school. He
took out the glass snow scene and shook it to watch the snowflakes fall and
settle down on the tiny beach. He held the glass close to his eyes and let
himself be mesmerised by the tinsel as it danced and sparkled, taking him back
to another world of magic. And the memories brought back a sweet taste to his
mouth – fish and chips that tasted of sand and sea. He gave a wry smile and put
the snow scene on his bookcase; he wouldn’t give it to Joanne; that would be a
mistake.

7

SLOW FEVER

Tony Milton walked down the hill to the bungalow, with his overnight
bag hanging loosely over his shoulder. As he walked he scuffed his soft brown
boots carelessly in the gravel road; carefree, happy and singing out loud. He
didn’t care who heard him, in fact, he hoped somebody would. He was a true
extrovert and loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it echoed
around the Lakeland valleys.

He threw his bag down on the kitchen floor and went straight to the tap
for a cold drink. But, in a matter of seconds, Joanne was there beside him,
looking tired and sullen as she coldly muttered, ‘You sound happy.’

‘Oh I am!’ Tony leant back on the kitchen sink to drink his water. ‘Why
aren’t you at work, Jo?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘It won’t make any difference to my life whether you go to work or not
but it could make a lot of difference to yours!’

‘I couldn’t care less,’ she said.

Tony picked up his bag to go to his room. He’d had a good weekend and
he was happy and he didn’t want his sister to destroy these feelings, but
Joanne shouted back at him. ‘What did you do then?’

‘Oh . . . this and that.’

‘Come on. . . . Don’t irritate me. What did you do?’

‘You mean what did David do?’

The friction between brother and sister had begun well before Tony ever
left for Blackpool. They had argued more recently and especially the few days
earlier. Joanne blamed him for taking David away, and she knew he would try his
best to see that David met up with some other girl and, in this case, she
wasn’t wrong.

Tony didn’t really want to hurt Joanne, but he was no psychologist, he
was a straightforward guy. But all these questions and him having to play the
mediator, was just getting out of hand.

Tony was pleased with himself in the way he’d handled David’s distress.
He knew only too well what a strain David had been under, but perhaps hadn’t
realised how much it had affected him. When David had displayed such heartfelt
emotion, it had touched him deeply and he’d found it hard to hold back the
tears himself, and had to wipe his own cheek dry while he was comforting David.
He guessed that things would soon be sorted in David’s family life, and hoped
they could all get back to as they were before; they just had to.

But Joanne couldn’t leave it as she glared at him. ‘If you won’t tell
me what you did, then I’ll go and ask Davey.’

‘Now don’t you go bothering him.’ Tony pointed his finger at her. ‘Just
leave it!’

‘Davey will tell me everything. I’m going to see him now.’ And with
that she started to leave, but he got to the door first and pushed it hard
shut, almost trapping her hand.

‘Leave him be, Jo.’

*       
*        *

David had tried not to think about the farm while he was away, but with
renewed zeal, he wandered across to the dairy to look at the milk receipts.
He’d purposely waited until Alan left, as he didn’t want him to feel he was
checking up on him; he knew what that felt like. So when David saw the shiny,
blue and silver bulk tanker arriving in the yard to collect the day’s milk, he
thought it a good time to go and check.

‘The milk’s down a bit again, Davey,’ the driver said.

‘I thought as much. What was Saturday morning’s reading?’ David looked
anxiously at the slips of paper, flicking them in his hand.

‘That was down a bit as well.’

David remembered that the cattle hadn’t milked so well the Friday night
before he left for Blackpool and he knew he couldn’t blame Alan for that. He
looked in the milking parlour and found it as untidy as he expected. The glass
milk jars were grubby and the floor didn’t look like it had been swilled down
properly. David decided to leave it for now and have a good tidy up session
before the evening’s milking. He wandered into the foldyard where the cattle
seemed clean and content, munching on hay, but over in the corner he saw Silver
standing alone.

Silver should have been at her peak by now, but David thought on Friday
she hadn’t given as much milk as usual, and that would explain the drop in the
bulk quantity. He would have to watch her. He didn’t want to make another error
of judgement, but later that evening, David noticed a drop in Silver’s milk
yield again. She was also jumpy and irritable and tried to kick him as he
handled her. Her coat was dull and she ate very little.

He couldn’t see any swelling in her udder that would show she had
mastitis, and there were no other apparent reasons for her sickness, although
he did have an idea what might be wrong, he needed some advice to be sure, so
David decided to call the vet straight away.

Over the phone, Barry Fitzgerald reassured David and said he would come
in the morning if there were still no improvement and at next morning’s
milking, Silver was just the same. David tried not to let this worry him. He
knew with animals, life was unpredictable; in fact, through all the last few
months of trauma, the cattle were the last things he’d worried about.

David felt refreshed today. He’d slept well and found it hard to rouse
himself when the alarm went off. He rang Barry early enough to catch him before
he went on his rounds and arranged a visit. Kathy was happy to see David
talking confidently on the telephone, at ease, and once again taking an
interest in his work.

He put Silver in the isolation box ready for Barry and did some jobs
around the buildings to be on hand when he eventually called. There was no
hiding behind closed curtains today.

When Barry arrived, it was about 11 o’clock and the first thing he
noticed was that the yard gate was closed again and he had to send Hannah out
to open it.

David saw the young woman struggling with the latch and felt compelled
to help. But it wasn’t until he was close, that he recognised Hannah. He saw
the large brown eyes and long lashes and was struck by her appearance; no
longer did she look boyish and her auburn hair had grown as it curled
attractively around her neck.

As Hannah struggled to open the latch on the gate, David put his hand
playfully across hers to help. ‘Here, let me do that for you.’ And with the
broad smile on his face, Hannah noticed for the first time the countenance of
an attractive man, and was momentarily taken aback. Then, not wanting her heart
to tell her she’d misjudged him, she searched David’s features, looking at his
clean white teeth and noticed one of his teeth was crooked and slightly
prominent. Next she saw the surgical sutures on his lip and she pulled away
from him.

Hannah hadn’t wanted to come to this place again. When Barry’s
receptionist had told them to call at the Keldas farm, she’d tried to dismiss
herself by claiming the office needed tidying up. And, when they’d arrived at
Keld Head, the structure and architecture of the place chilled her. She’d only
ever seen the farm by night or at a distance from the main road but in
daylight, every piece of stone appeared to jump out at her, and she realised it
wasn’t just David that she felt uneasy with.

Barry too had noticed David’s injury and didn’t like to ask what had
happened, but he also saw his manner was more like the one of old, as David
enthusiastically shook Barry’s hand and even offered his hand again to Hannah.
And this time she reluctantly accepted it.

Reassured by David’s mood, Barry broached the subject of his battered
face, and David tried to give the same explanation Tony had given his mother.
‘Football match . . . . The Kop… Need I say any more?’

‘Hmm . . . supporting the wrong team, eh?’ Barry raised one eyebrow.
‘So what about this beast then?’

‘Yes, I think she may have Slow Fever.’

‘And what are the symptoms?’

‘Drop in milk yield - lethargy - eating very little,’ and then looking
straight at Hannah he continued, ‘and irritable.’

Hannah rolled her eyes at David’s flippant remark and was incensed.
Barry wanted to laugh at his guile, and knew this would irritate Hannah even
more, but not wanting to give another lesson in communication skills,
immediately brought the subject back to the cattle.

‘Right then. . . . let’s take a look at her.’

David put a halter on Silver and tied her securely to the loosebox.

Barry took the cow’s temperature, looked into its eyes, and checked her
rear-end and udder. ‘Get hold of her head and smell her breath, Hannah?’ Barry
asked. But she didn’t know if he was joking.

‘Come on, what does it smell like?’ He laughed at her as he repeated
his request.

Hannah reluctantly grabbed hold of the animal’s head. ‘Well, very sweet
and sickly.’

‘Yes, that could be the
Peardrop’s
smell! Let me try.’ Barry
leant forward and stuck his face close to the cow’s mouth. ‘Yes, Davey, I think
your diagnosis is right. She’s got Acetonaemia, more commonly known as Slow
Fever. The sweet smell on her breath is an accumulation of ketones in the
blood-stream. This is acetone you can smell. You’ve probably not been giving
her enough roughage and too many concentrates, and she’s having difficulty
digesting everything properly.’ He let go of Silver’s head and wiped mucus off
his hands onto his trousers. ‘Do you know what to do, Davey?’