Lanky Jones Read online

  ‘Would you like to go and lie down for a while, Daniel?’

  ‘Take him up, Peter, will you?’

  She had called his father Peter. How long had she been doing that? And he was still pondering on this question when ten minutes later he fell asleep.

  He woke up once and drank a bowl of soup that Sally had brought up on a tray. He remembered that she had sat watching him drink it, but he didn’t remember her taking the tray away.

  The next time he woke up a strange man was bending over him saying, ‘Slightly concussed. Just let him sleep; he’ll be all right in a day or two. If his heart’s anything to go by he’s as strong as a horse.’

  Life had turned funny, he was sleeping it away. He wanted to wake up and to stay awake.

  When he finally woke up the bedside lamp was lit and sitting looking at him was Michael.

  He stared at him for a moment before saying, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Oh, somewhere around nine I think.’

  ‘Have I been asleep all day?’

  ‘Most part of it.’

  ‘What happened? Was it my eye?’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, you don’t sleep through a black eye. You’ve got concussion. You can’t hit a stone floor with your head and expect it to bounce.’

  ‘Is that what happened?’

  ‘That’s what happened.’

  Why had he hit the stone floor with his head? He closed his eyes again and as he did so the reason came flooding back and now, looking at Michael once more, he asked him, ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m all right.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What you sorry about?’

  ‘Well’—he moved his head slowly on the pillow—‘about what happened, Combo going for your mother and…’

  ‘What do you mean, and…? Well, go on, finish. You’re sorry, not only for Combo going for…my mother, but for the fact that I learned that she isn’t my mother, that’s it, isn’t it?’

  There was a long pause before Daniel said, ‘You’re a funny chap.’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve heard that.’

  ‘I…I didn’t mean it nasty like, I didn’t mean it funny ha-ha either.’

  ‘What exactly did you mean then?’

  Daniel drew in a long breath, settled his head on the pillow, and looked away from Michael before he said, ‘I don’t really know, except that you…well, you seem two or three different people at different times.’

  ‘And I don’t know which one is me?’

  The words were so sad sounding, and Daniel, looking at Michael again, said, ‘Your mother…and I mean your mother, is a lovely woman and I can tell you this: I’ve envied you her more than once since I first came here…My mother…well she wasn’t like a mother at all, not in the way yours is, because Mrs Everton…your mam, thinks about everybody else but herself. Mine never seemed to think much about me until she left home, and not even then, not until the divorce came through and she married again. And now she insists on her legal rights, so called, that I spend some time with her every week. It used to be every Saturday until she went to live in Carlisle. Now it’s a weekend once a month, but she insists I make up the time during school holidays. That Saturday you came upon us on the road followed one such do that had been cut short because I phoned Dad and told him if he didn’t come and get me I’d start walking back home.’

  ‘Don’t you like her, I mean at all?’

  Daniel thought for a long moment before he said, ‘Not very much now. Yet at one time I seemed to be crazy about her. That was because I wanted her to like me. Well’—he blinked rapidly—‘more than like me.’ He turned his head to the side now and looked at Michael as he ended, ‘Be like your mother, caring. All mine cared about was herself and clothes and holidays abroad. She went on holidays abroad by herself.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Yes, because Dad isn’t for that kind of holiday; he likes rivers, canals. One year when she was off on her own he took me for a week on a canal. I…I should have enjoyed it but all the time I was thinking about her and wishing I was with her. And when she came back she seemed to be in a temper for weeks. The fact is, she didn’t like Dad being content to be a gardener.’

  ‘What’s the man she’s got now?’

  ‘Oh, he’s in big business. He’s got a flat in Edinburgh besides this house in Carlisle.’ He now grinned painfully at Michael as he said, ‘It was rotten of me, I know, but that particular Saturday morning before I left I looked around their lounge, that’s what she called it. Everything was shiny, brassy, new, not used like. We had just been going at it, her and me, and he had come in and started to play the new daddy and I turned to Mam and said, “It’s a good job Granda’s dead, isn’t it, because if he came here he’d have nowhere to spit.” I know she could have killed me.’

  Daniel now laughed, then held his aching head for a moment before adding, ‘Me granda Smith was an awful old man. He hated washing. Mam left home when she was young, she wouldn’t own him or me granny. But he used to present himself at the front door every now and again. Dad and he got on well together. Dad always swore that Granda put on his worst side just to vex her; he said behind it all he was an intelligent man but a bit of a rebel.’

  ‘I think I might have liked him, that granda of yours, we would likely have got on well together.’ There was a smile in Michael’s eyes now and Daniel said, ‘Yes, I think you’re right. He used to have some funny sayings; he used to say, it isn’t how you’re born or if you’re born to the blue, but how you die and where you’re going to.’

  Solemn faced, they stared at each other through the pink glow of the bedside lamp. Then Daniel said softly, ‘Like me granda said, ’tisn’t how you’re born. And taking all in all, from what I’ve seen I think you’re lucky. And I can tell you this, I…I wouldn’t mind where I came from or who borned me—eeh, that’s grammar if you like!—if I was in your shoes. I’d change places with you any time ’cos—’ he swallowed deeply now and there was a restriction in his throat for a moment before he could finish, saying, ‘you don’t know what it’s like not to have a mother, what I mean is, to have one and know that she doesn’t care, that you don’t come first, not even second or third with her. It’s an awful feeling. What I’m meaning to say is—’

  He stopped abruptly as he watched Michael rise to his feet; he watched him push the chair back against the wall, then come and stand close to the bed and make a feint gesture as if to punch him as he said, ‘You’ve made your point, Socrates, you’ve made your point. Now go to sleep again. Goodnight.’

  Michael had reached the door before Daniel said, quietly, ‘Goodnight.’ Then again, ‘Goodnight, Michael.’

  Of a sudden he felt happy, relaxed and tired, so tired he felt he could sleep forever…Well, not forever, for life surprisingly suddenly promised to be good.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning Daniel woke to see his father sitting by his bedside, and again he asked, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About quarter to ten.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ He made to get up but his father’s hand pressed him back into the pillows. ‘Lie still,’ he said.

  ‘But I’m feeling all right, Dad.’

  ‘Yes, no doubt, until you stand on your feet. You’ve got to stay there today.’

  Daniel relaxed, his head dropping deep into the pillow. He put his hand to his face. It was sore. He could feel his eyes swollen. He must look a mess. He said so: ‘Do I look awful, Dad?’

  ‘Well, all I can say is’—his father now grinned at him—‘you were never any beauty and that eye doesn’t improve things.’

  ‘You’re a comfort.’ He tried to smile, but was then surprised to see the expression that was now on his father’s face. It had suddenly become serious; it was the look that he wore when he was troubled about something.

  ‘Anything wrong, Dad?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well—’ his father leaned towards him now and in a low voice said, ‘You were right that time about the screaming.’

  Daniel said nothing, he just continued to look at his father. And Mr Jones went on, ‘You know me of old, once my head touches the pillow, I’m off, but last night I was a bit worried about you and I lay awake, well, just dozing, when I heard it. It…it brought me upright but it wasn’t a scream.’

  ‘Then what was it?’

  Mr Jones now looked to the side; then gently moved his fingers through his hair before he said, ‘I can’t describe it. I’ve told myself several times I must have been dreaming and I would have thought so if it hadn’t been for what you heard. No, it wasn’t a scream, it was more like a dull strangled cry, and it came from’—he jerked his head up towards the ceiling—‘but not from right above as you said it did, it seemed to come from yon end of the house somehow. And you know, I would have thought I had imagined it even then until I heard movement outside the door there.’ Again he jerked his head, but sideways now.

  ‘Well, what do you make of it?’

  ‘If I could tell you that the mystery would be solved. I only feel that whoever’s up there, and definitely it’s somebody, they are in pain or—’ he now looked down towards where his hands were resting on his knees and ended, ‘demented.’

  There was silence for a time until Daniel said, ‘Remember Sally’s face, but she’s not demented.’

  ‘No, she certainly isn’t. But I’ve been thinking, whoever is up there could have attacked her.’

  ‘Yes’—Daniel nodded to himself—‘yes, that could be, Dad. But I’ve been here over a week and I’ve never seen Mrs Everton take any food out of the kitchen, like a tray or anything, and we’ve all sat down to the meal together.’

  ‘Oh, that signifies nothing, you would have been outside most of the day I should imagine and there’s ways and means of getting food to somebody on the quiet. Anyway, they are all of the same mind about whoever’s up there, that’s evident, for they’re not letting on in any way. You’ve heard nothing more during the week you’ve been here, nor seen anything odd like?’

  ‘No; no, Dad, except…well, there’s a wooden staircase leading up to a door at the far end of the house. I asked Sally where it led to, and she said, oh, it was just another way into the attics. When I come to think of it she did seem a bit offhand about it and, as she often does, she went on chattering about something else.’

  ‘Well’—Mr Jones rose to his feet—‘I expect it’ll come to light one day; I can’t imagine they can keep a thing like that secret forever. There could, I suppose, be some simple explanation.’

  ‘Simple! I wouldn’t say that the scream I heard came from something you could call simple. No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, anyway, we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll go down now and get your breakfast.’

  As his father went towards the door, Daniel asked, ‘How’s Michael this morning?’

  ‘Quiet.’ His father turned and nodded towards him. ‘But then he would be, he’s had a bit of a shock. But he’ll get over it when he realises how fortunate he’s been, having a woman like Mary for a mother.’

  There it was again, his dad calling Mrs Everton Mary. It was odd somehow and it made him feel uneasy, and he immediately thought of his mother. He must write to her and tell her not to come here, as in her last letter she had threatened to do. Somehow he felt she wouldn’t like Mrs Everton and so would try under some pretext to get him away.

  As he settled down on the pillow once more he remembered hearing Mrs Everton call his dad Peter, and he thought: They haven’t known each other five minutes.

  Daniel came downstairs on the Monday morning in spite of Mrs Everton’s insistence that he should stay in bed until the doctor had another look at him; but knowing the work that had to be done he felt that he was imposing by lying in bed and having meals carried up to him. If as she said he must rest, then he could do so down in the kitchen.

  They were just finishing breakfast when a tap came on the back door and before Michael had time to rise from the table it was opened, which made him swing quickly in his chair, and then he said, ‘Oh, hello there, Ralph.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you at your meal, Mary.’

  ‘That’s all right, Ralph. Come and sit down and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘No, thanks; I’ve already had a mug with Peter Fawcett and another of Flo Newberry’s coffee, and you know what that’s like, you can stick a knife in it.’

  ‘Anything wrong, Ralph?’ Michael had now risen to his feet, a piece of toast in one hand and a cup in the other.

  ‘Yes, I should say there is, Michael. Peter lost seven sheep last night.’

  ‘No!’ Michael put the cup down on the table then laid his slice of toast on the plate, and he repeated, ‘Seven?’

  ‘Aye, seven. Clean as a whistle, not a sign of wool, blood or anything. When three weeks ago they took those half dozen from Maitland’s, they skinned the beggars. Remember this time last year? There were six cases in a fortnight, then nothing. It’s funny, it’s got me puzzled. If it was a local gang, surely they would have gone for the young lambs; they would have brought more on the market. Speaking of markets, Peter had brought fifty down and they were in the home field.’

  ‘That’s close to the house.’

  Mr Threadgill looked at Mrs Everton as he said, ‘Aye, couldn’t be much closer; the field runs up to the back-garden wall, and their garden’s no wider than a tatey patch.’

  ‘Couldn’t have jumped the wall? He had trouble with an old ewe playing leader last year, hadn’t he?’

  Mr Threadgill nodded at Michael, saying, ‘Yes he had. She was a terror. She would push her way through barbed wire that one and all the others would follow her. But no, he’s had the walls reinforced; I gave him a hand meself. More so, he’s had sloping stakes put round this particular field that reach a good three feet above the wall and these are wired. No, whoever handled this latest raid walked in the gate and took his choice. Anyway, Michael, I thought I’d better warn you. Have you got any ready for the market on Tuesday?’

  ‘No, not this week. Anyway it looks as though there’ll be so many in that the prices are nearly sure to drop.’

  ‘They won’t drop on mine.’ The big man jerked his chin upwards. ‘I’ll bring them back home first. Not after the winter we’ve had and all the work to keep them alive. Oh no. Wouldn’t you, Mary, bring them back rather than lose on them?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I would, Ralph.’

  ‘Well remember that when you take yours in next week; don’t let them get away with it. Well, I’m off.’ He looked at Michael now. ‘Keep your eyes open, both of them wide.’

  ‘I will that.’ As Michael walked towards the door with him, Mr Threadgill said, ‘If it isn’t one thing, it’s another: damned idiots of townies letting their dogs off the leads to have a romp. By! Nick Potter’s never got over that business last month: nine of them with their throats torn. He said Jane cried for two solid days. All through that terrible weather she had seen to those lambs, she helped them to survive. If they had been left alone one after the other would have died, and then there they were savaged. She knew them personally like bairns. You know what?’ He now turned round and looked down the room towards Mary, saying bitterly, ‘We have the authority to shoot dogs that worry sheep but it isn’t animals that should be shot, it’s their owners.’

  Daniel was thinking at this moment that there were many sides to this farm life that he knew nothing about, and had never imagined. His mind was just registering the fact that the man had left, having completely ignored him, when Mr Threadgill put his head round the door again and, speaking directly to him now, said, ‘Heard about the job you did on Combo, young fellow. And not afore time. Nasty piece of work that, too big in the mouth and too small in the brain. You’ve got a nice shiner there.’

  Before Daniel could reply the head was withdrawn and Sally was saying, ‘He’s a nice man. He’s going to lend me a pony next year to learn to ride, isn’t he, Mam?’

  ‘Yes; yes.’

  Daniel noticed that Mrs Everton’s voice had an impatient sharp note to it and when Sally, suddenly swinging round in her chair, cried loudly, ‘Well, he is! And I am, I am,’ her mother stood looking at her for a moment; then in a quiet voice replied, ‘All right, he is; and you are. So now finish your breakfast.’

  Sally stared at her mother for a full minute before obeying her, and Daniel thought that this little scene should have explained something to him. But what? He couldn’t probe at the moment, he could hardly think for his head was aching so.

  As he rose from the table he mused that farms were supposed to be tranquil places where people lived in peace, but he was finding they weren’t either tranquil or peaceful, they were places where things were always happening.

  Looking back to his life in town in contrast, nothing seemed to have happened there, whereas here hardly an hour went by but something was afoot, and hardly a day passed without an emergency. He didn’t know whether he would like to live his entire life on a farm, sort of make it his home…But why was he thinking this way? He had no reason to choose, he was merely on holiday.

  On the Tuesday he drove into Hexham cattle market with Michael. Michael had nothing to sell, he just wanted to study the prices. The scene was such as Daniel had never witnessed before and for the first time he experienced the emotion of compassion. He didn’t put that name to it, he only knew that the bobbing heads of hundreds of sheep pressed close together affected him, and that he felt sorry for a cow being prodded round a small ring.

  When a ram tried to jump the barrier and knocked several people over his sympathies were with the ram.

  It wasn’t until they were on their way home that Michael remarked tersely, ‘You didn’t enjoy the market?’

  ‘Not, not really.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I…I suppose you being brought up in the country, you…you wouldn’t understand; it’s a daily occurrence for you to see animals herded together.’