Kite Spirit (22 page)

This was the most Kite had ever heard him say in one go. The way he spoke reminded her of something Dawn had said: ‘Never mistake a quiet mouth for a quiet mind.’ And here was the
proof.

Garth cleared away the leaves from a hollowed-out trunk of a tree. It had been smoothed and sanded into a chair shape.

‘Another one of your sculptures?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve been coming here every summer since Dad left! I think at first Gran had me over because she felt guilty about Dad going. Anyway, I’ve been hanging around here
for long enough to have a few bits and pieces scattered around the place.’

‘But no one’s ever going to see this!’ Kite cleared away more leaves and sat down.

‘I’m not fussed.’ Garth shrugged. ‘I made it for my dad, but he hasn’t been back here to see it yet.’ Despite his efforts to hide it, she could read the
unhappiness in his eyes. It must have taken him hours to carve this out. Kite knew plenty of people at school whose parents had split up, but most of them saw both of their parents all the
time.

‘When did your dad leave?’

‘I was eleven, just before secondary school.’

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

Garth shook his head and smoothed his hands over the seat. ‘I’d better warn you,’ he said suddenly. ‘My gran gets kind of low from time to time.’

Kite had not expected him to change the subject so quickly. Garth had taken a stick and was poking the leaves, stirring the earth as he spoke.

‘Gran’s fine most of the time,’ Garth was saying now. ‘Dr Sherpa’s been grand with her, but sometimes it’s like she takes a tumble in here –’
Garth tapped the side of his head – ‘and then she’s in a very dark spot. Mam’s coming over to pick her up later. She’s always refused to come to us before, but this
time she’s agreed it’s for the best, just for a while. Mam’s going to teach her to drive at the same time as me, she says, so she’ll not be so shut off out here when winter
sets in.’

Kite nodded, suddenly feeling shaken by the idea of Garth leaving too.

‘But you’re staying, aren’t you?’

‘Aye!’ Garth smiled at her. ‘We’ve still got to go down to the dam with Dawn’s reed, haven’t we?’

Kite smiled back. She would have liked to have hugged him to thank him for remembering, but there was an awkwardness between them today that she hadn’t felt before. She watched as he
turned over a fallen branch with a stick and hundreds of tiny woodlice scrambled out into the light. Kite stared at the panicking insects as they skittered around desperately in search of a dark
earthy place to hide. Garth turned the branch back over and the woodlice scampered to safety.

‘As soon as I told Gran about Jack I knew something was coming. Last night she had one of her turns, got all confused and went sleepwalking into the barn. I found her sitting crying in the
straw loft saying how she’d spoilt everything.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t come over, if she’s not well.’

‘She’ll be even more disappointed if you don’t. She’s spent all morning baking for you.’

For the first time Kite had a clear view of a tiny stone cottage nestled into the side of the hill. Beside it was an ancient barn. The wind formed a tunnel through this narrow
part of the valley and the buildings were exposed to its vicious blast. Kite wondered if this was the kind of place where her great-grandparents, whoever they were, might once have lived. Enclosed
behind a drystone wall was a wild-flower garden with well-tended raised beds. Tomatoes, strawberries, Canterbury bells, tall pokers of foxgloves and lupins all jostled for space with white roses
that scrambled over the whitewashed walls. The whole garden swayed as flower heads dislodged themselves, flew through the air and finally settled on the ground like confetti. The tiny blue door was
open and bashed noisily against its post. Bardsey barked and sprang ahead of them as he spied Agnes, her grey hair flying in the wind. She was cradling something in her arms like a baby.

As they drew close Agnes set down the bleating lamb, and it skitted towards the garden. Bardsey ran over and guided it back inside as Garth quickly closed the door against the
force of the wind. Once the lamb was safe inside Bardsey sat beside it and nuzzled its curly coat; it nosed him back and settled down, its skinny body pushed up close against the collie’s
side.

‘You’re supposed to round them up, not mother them!’ Garth laughed at Bardsey as he stroked his head fondly.

Kite bent down and touched the soft woolly head of the lamb. Its coat was surprisingly coarse and oily and smelt of sweet milk. Agnes returned to her seat by an old-fashioned range and began
feeding another lamb from a bottle. It tugged strongly on the teat, its little tail knocking against the table in excitement. Kite was struck by the gentle expression on Agnes’s face. Dr
Sherpa was right – someone who was so kind to animals, and who obviously loved her dog and her grandson so much, could not be all bad. After its last greedy glugs, the lamb leaped off her lap
and scampered sideways on its skinny legs, abruptly crash-landing on top of Bardsey’s back. He shook it off, like he would a naughty pup, and licked its face.

‘Daft things, they are, all of them!’ Garth smiled. ‘We’re not always such a menagerie. The farmer fetches Gran the orphans to bring on. These two are very late in the
season.’ He leaned down towards Agnes and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘OK, Gran?’

She patted his arm reassuringly by way of answer. ‘I hoped you’d come,’ she said in Kite’s direction.

Kite scanned the low room with its stone floor and old pine table. A kettle was steaming on the stove and the place smelt of warm cake and yeasty bread. Garth gestured for Kite to sit down as he
walked through to a well-stocked pantry. Two large buckets of water stood on the floor and glass jars of pickles, jams and honey filled the shelves. From the far wall hung a collection of large
hessian sacks of the kind that Kite had seen Agnes carrying. Garth returned with a jug of apple juice and three mugs.

‘You thirsty, Gran?’

She shook her head. There was something listless about her today and she was hardly recognizable as the woman Kite had watched swimming in the tarn. Kite saw in her lifeless expression a
reflection of the same numb feeling that had settled somewhere deep inside her on the Falling Day.

‘You got my thank-you note?’ Agnes was asking. Her voice had flattened out into a tuneless monotone.

Kite nodded in reply as her mind whirred with questions about Mirror Falls, and yet at the same time she felt an urgent need to escape the tiny room that seemed to be crammed full of
Agnes’s pain.

‘Mind if I use the bathroom?’

‘We’re not on the mains here,’ Garth explained, ‘but we’ve got the throne outside!’

As she surveyed the room she noticed that it was full of oil lamps. There was not even a switch on the wall.

Kite followed Garth through the garden and along the side of the cottage.

‘You wouldn’t credit it, would you, but Mam says a journalist once called Gran “the most ambitious woman in Britain”. I wonder what they’d make of her outside
loo!’

When they got back to the cottage Agnes was nowhere to be seen. A loaf of warm bread and a tray of cheeses and boiled eggs with curiously mottled grey-green shells had been
placed on the table along with a whole lettuce glinting with water droplets. Cherry tomatoes and strawberries were piled up in crude earthenware pots. Kite picked up an egg and turned it over in
her hands.

Garth leaned his head out of the window, and yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Thanks, Gran!’

Kite looked towards the garden, to see Agnes walking off holding her driftwood crook, the lambs skittering along beside her.

‘Tuck in!’ Garth broke off a great wedge of bread and offered a chunk to Kite.

The butter melted straight in. Kite’s stomach rumbled so loudly that it sounded like a whine. Bardsey, who was sitting under the table, looked up and whined back, which set Garth and Kite
off laughing.

‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you really laugh,’ he said.

Immediately Kite felt overtaken by a now-familiar stab of guilt, for feeling happy even for a second. She stood up from the table and went over to the window.

‘Does she run this whole place herself?’

‘I help out in the holidays, chop wood and set her straight for winter, but, aye, she’s here on her own mostly. I think that’s why she comes across a bit . . . well,
let’s just say she keeps her own company these days. I had an idea to give her Bardsey here –’ Garth broke off a piece of bread and fed it to the dog – ‘to remind her
that she’s got family not so very far away. He’s named Bardsey after the place I’m from, just down the coast.’

Kite watched Agnes wander through the garden cutting long-stemmed flowers. She couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that someone who had built houses out of glass could be so
impossible to see into.

Kite recognized the sound of the Land Rover straight away.

‘That’ll be Doctor Sherpa and my mam, come to sort Gran out ready to take her back to our house,’ Garth said, jumping up.

A white van drew up behind Dr Sherpa. Garth walked down the path, indicating for Kite to follow. He wrapped his arm around Agnes’s shoulders as she waited by the gate. Then a tall woman
with short brown hair opened the van door and Garth strode towards her with his arms outstretched.

‘I’ve missed you, son,’ Kite heard her say as she patted his shoulders.

Dr Sherpa looked up and waved at Kite and Agnes, who were now standing side by side. Agnes touched her arm gently.

‘I would like to show you something, before I go,’ she murmured.

Kite nodded but felt as if she would like to run away from Agnes’s intense gaze. She looked small and vulnerable, and the image of the frightened deer drifted into Kite’s mind.

‘Didn’t expect to see you here, Kite! How about this for a change in temperature?’ Dr Sherpa chatted on. ‘Now don’t go catching a chill,’ he warned, ushering
Agnes back into the cottage. Bardsey was in a frenzy of excitement, running backwards and forward between Garth and Kite. Kite knelt down and patted him.

‘Mam, this is Kite!’

‘Hi! I’m Libby! I’ll be through in a minute,’ she called as she propped open the doors of the van with a garden spade and fork. She was dressed for hard work in her
wellies, jeans and thick fisherman’s jumper. Garth didn’t look much like her, but then he’d already said that he looked more like his dad and Agnes’s side of the family.

Agnes was now sitting by the stove, Bardsey settled faithfully by her side. Dr Sherpa pulled a chair up beside her and took her hands in his. Kite was surprised how at ease the
two of them seemed together, as if they were old friends rather than doctor and patient.

Garth poured tea from a large green enamel pot, placed a scone on a saucer and handed it to the doctor.

‘Agnes, you spoil me and it’s starting to show!’ he patted his protruding stomach. ‘But thank you.’

‘It’s nothing! Call it the last tea!’ Agnes sighed as she watched Libby carrying two small suitcases into the van.

‘Come on, Agnes!’ Dr Sherpa, coaxed. ‘There’ll be plenty more teas. You get yourself driving before the winter and I can return the compliment. I’ll cook you a
curry myself!’

‘Is that a promise?’

Dr Sherpa nodded. ‘Now I’ve spoken to Libby’s doctor and he’s signed you up as a temporary patient, we’re all in order.’

Agnes looked tentatively over to Kite. ‘I just want to show Kite the barn.’

There was something in Dr Sherpa’s expression that seemed to be asking Kite to do him a favour. ‘OK, I’ll help Libby and Garth with the packing then,’ he said.
‘Don’t be too long. You’ll want to be on your way, Agnes, before the weather rolls in.’

Agnes stood and walked over to the table where Kite was sitting.

‘Shall we go and see then?’

Agnes led the way down the pebble path, through the gate and out towards the barn. As she opened the enormous solid wooden door she stumbled backwards and Kite placed a
steadying hand on her back. The wind streamed in, wafting hay and straw into a dust storm. It took all of Kite’s strength to push the great door closed behind them.

The only light in the barn came through tiny slits cut into the stone high above their heads. Kite gleaned nothing unremarkable as flecks of straw and dust settled and the lambs bleated a
greeting. Agnes walked towards the far end of the barn. Kite followed close behind, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. A few sweet-smelling hay bales were loaded on top of each other and some rusted
farming implements hung from the walls along with the familiar hessian sacks. A bottle-green tractor was parked up, the same one that Kite had seen Garth driving on their way up to Mirror Falls on
the first day. Above her head the ancient oak rafters were strung with giant cobwebs and lit by streams of white light. Without speaking, Agnes began to climb the ancient loft ladder, beckoning
Kite to follow. On the upper level lay a thick bed of straw. Agnes walked over to a hard egg-shaped object about the size of a cricket ball and picked it up off the ground.

‘Owl pellet,’ she said quietly, examining it.

Kite felt a fluttering of fear and excitement rise up in her as she inspected the mangled ball. She had read about these pellets in the
Owl Lore
book. They were what the owl
regurgitated after it had digested all the goodness from its food. There was something gross and fascinating about them at the same time.

‘Want to see what’s inside?’ Agnes didn’t wait for a reply but picked up a stick and started to break up the matted ball. Between the indistinguishable mush of digested
material there were tiny bones and feathers and the skull of either a mouse or vole. It reminded Kite a bit of Garth’s sculpture, the way all the natural elements were meshed together.

‘How are you now?’ Agnes asked suddenly. ‘I’ve been thinking about you since the day we met on the road.’

‘Why?’ whispered Kite.

‘I sensed your sadness.’

Kite’s heart was thudding hard. She would have liked to retreat down the ladder right now, but she felt that she had allowed herself to be drawn into Agnes’s web and there was no
escape.