Kite Spirit (23 page)

‘I know about your friend.’

Kite nodded slowly. She ought to feel angry with Garth and maybe even Dr Sherpa for talking to Agnes about Dawn, but instead she found herself waiting for some kind of explanation.

Out of the corner of her eye Kite saw something quiver. Agnes followed her gaze. She placed her fingers to her lips and stood up slowly, gesturing for Kite to follow as she tiptoed over to where
the oak rafters converged. The ancient beams seemed to be decorated here by an ornate curtain of cobwebs. Kite peered through the veil of filigree threads to where she could just make out the
sturdy curved back of an owl.

‘She’s why I left you that note.’ Agnes nodded in the owl’s direction.

‘The Dawn owl!’ Kite whispered. ‘So she’s still alive.’

‘This is the owl that flew at your window. I’ve been looking after her, but she’s fine now. The vet says there’s nothing wrong with her except maybe she’s becoming
tame,’ Agnes whispered as they both stared at her ghostly form. ‘She’s only young. I expect she’ll find a mate soon. They mate for life, you know.’ Agnes fell silent
as if her mind had momentarily wandered.

Kite let herself sink down into the straw. Was she dreaming this?

‘But there’s something important I want to say. Garth thinks it might help you to understand about your friend.’ Agnes kneeled down next to Kite. ‘I started feeling low
when I was about thirteen years old and it’s been on and off all through my life,’ Agnes stared at the owl as she spoke. It was almost dark now inside the barn and the fact that Kite
could hardly see Agnes made it easier to listen to her talk so frankly. It felt like a confessional.

‘I was lucky – I managed to struggle on through the milestones: school, college, university, but there were moments when I thought I wouldn’t make it. I think people let me off
with being a bit distant from time to time because I was one of those gifted types. I was getting architecture commissions in cities all over the place; on paper, at least, everyone thought my life
was perfect!’

‘People thought Dawn was perfect . . . That’s what they wrote about her in the papers – they called her “The Perfect Dawn”!’

Agnes nodded. ‘Sometimes it felt like . . .’ Agnes’s voice petered out and she took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Well, sometimes it felt like it would be easier to
stop than to fail, but I managed to keep going and then David came along, Garth’s dad, and I wasn’t expecting him, but anyway he was a blessing because after that I lived for him. Him
and my work of course, always my work.’

‘I didn’t know . . . I didn’t even guess that Dawn was feeling so low . . .’

‘That’s why Garth asked me to talk to you. He told me that you might think it was somehow your fault, and that’s the thing I know that your friend would never ever want you to
feel.’

Kite was shaking now. Agnes placed an arm around her shoulders and held her close, and Kite began to feel as if she was talking to this strange woman for a reason. ‘Your friend
didn’t give herself or you or anyone else the chance to help her. It’s tragic for her and her poor family . . . and heartbreaking for you, her best friend –’ Agnes sighed
– ‘but it’s not your fault, and she would want you to know that too; you can’t go on feeling guilty for being alive. You’ve got to go forward with your life and find
some happiness for yourself.’

Over Agnes’s shoulder Kite watched as the owl’s head swivelled to face her through the veil of cobwebs.

‘The way owls look at you, it’s like they’re searching out the truth. Don’t you think?’ Agnes paused.

‘When I saw her smash into Mirror Falls I thought she had Dawn’s face.’

‘Maybe that was the truth for you then, but what do you see now?’ Agnes asked.

‘Just an owl,’ Kite whispered.

Agnes nodded. ‘There are so many ways of finding happiness. I only wish I’d realized that when I was younger.’

From the owl’s throat came a gentle contented gurgling sound. She hopped closer now, pushing through the cobweb curtain. Here she was with her creamy-white feathers and golden-brown
markings within touching distance. The owl slow-blinked at her, as if in recognition.

‘Let’s leave her in peace,’ Agnes whispered, and began to feel her way back down the ladder.

The lambs bleated noisily and their little tails knocked furiously against the stone wall. Agnes opened the pen gate, holding it for Kite, and they walked in. Agnes knelt down
and lifted a lamb under each arm and handed one to Kite. It squirmed and wriggled, nuzzling into her, and started sucking on her finger. She was amazed how strong it was for such a skinny little
thing. Kite laughed as it leaped out of her arms despite her desperate efforts to hang on to it.

‘They’ll be let back out on the fells soon, roaming around with Jack,’ Agnes said. ‘I can’t tell you how I felt when Garth brought that trout home . . . like Jack
was sending me a farewell message. You see he always used to catch a trout for me to cook for him.’ They were both sitting together now in the gloom of the barn with the lambs nestling up to
them. Kite felt sorry for Agnes; sitting this close to her she could feel her sadness too, and then she heard the old lady’s sobs rising as she cradled the lamb closer to her and rocked back
and forth. ‘I loved him, you know.’

To Kite’s relief she heard the barn door being pushed open.

‘Everything all right, Gran?’ Garth asked as he came over to them, looking from Agnes to Kite and back again. Kite shook her head. Garth opened the little gate and sat beside Agnes.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, and through her tears she began to speak. She told them it was a story that no one else must ever know, a story that was meant to put things right, and that she
was telling it to Garth and Kite because they were the next generation and had a chance of understanding what was important in life.

It was an odd gathering – Kite, Agnes with her lambs, and Garth – sitting together in the gloomy barn with the Dawn owl above as witness to Agnes’s confession.

After Dr Sherpa dropped her off she went straight upstairs and lay down. She slept heavily without dreaming. It was as if she had reached a point of overload and had to switch
off from the world and everything in it.

‘Kite, I’m sorry to have to wake you . . .’ Seth placed a hand on her arm.

She scrunched her eyes closed, longing to sink back into the comforting arms of this rare dreamless sleep. She felt as she had once when she’d drifted off on the beach in St Kitts and
woken to feel the sun warming her from the inside.

‘I told Ellie you’d help her with the flowers!’ Seth sat down on the bed next to her.

She opened her eyes. Seth was already dressed for the funeral, in a thin dark purple jumper, pale blue shirt and black cotton trousers. She didn’t feel like going, but she could see how
much it meant to him and strangely, since Agnes’s confession about Jack, she felt she should go for her sake.

‘OK! Give me a minute! What time is it anyway?’

‘Early. Ellie says wild flowers wilt if you pick them the night before, so she’s been out to get them this morning and she wants you to help her arrange them.’

‘This must be hard, with your friend dying so recently,’ Ellie said gently as they sat around the table tying posies.

‘When did your parents die?’ Kite asked.

Ellie looked up at Kite as if she was surprised that Kite remembered what she’d told her. ‘I was fourteen when they had the accident,’ she replied simply. ‘It’s
always really been Grandad here for me since then.’

‘It must have been awful for you too, the shock of it,’ Kite whispered.

Ellie placed a little posy in Kite’s hand, ‘This is for you!’ She smiled through eyes brim-full of tears. ‘Because it’s hard not to get the chance to say
goodbye.’

Kite nodded, but as she concentrated on tying the bows, she felt stronger than she had in weeks. The slow blink of the Dawn owl, so accepting and full of understanding, kept returning to her and
bringing with it calm.

Later, as they walked up to the church, Ellie explained to her and Seth the meaning of the Passing Bell.

‘The first tolls will tell you if it’s a fella or lass: don’t ask me why, but it’s five for a fella, four for a lass, and –’ Ellie placed a comforting arm
around Kite’s shoulders – ‘three for a bairn. After that you get a toll for every year of your life . . . I always think how sweet it sounds that old tenor bell, for such a sad
occasion.’

On the third toll a gust of wind lifted Kite’s hair from her shoulders. She looked up at the greying sky as the clouds billowed across like smoke wafting from a chimney. Was this the wind
that would signal rain at last?

‘Three tolls for a bairn . . .’ She heard Ellie’s voice echoing through her head.

The bell rang out across the fell. On the sixteenth toll Kite’s tears began to fall for how short a life Dawn had lived – they had only been standing around the grave for five
minutes. That’s all it would have taken if the Passing Bell had been rung out for Dawn. But today the bell rang on and on, marking each year of Jack’s long life. On the thirtieth toll
one of the mourners took what looked like an umbrella stick with a little piece of leather at the end, stuck it in the ground and rested his behind on it, like a little seat.

‘He might have been faster, but I’ll keep you all standing longer! Still, a fair old innings,’ another old man muttered.

It was clear that several of the older people had been to many funerals and that this place was as familiar to them as the Carrec Arms.

Kite hardly heard the priest’s words after the ninety-ninth toll had sounded.

Agnes’s tearstained face entered Kite’s mind again as she glanced over at Jack’s wife’s grave and Ellie dropped the first clods of earth on to the coffin.

Up until this point she had seemed calm and collected, but now her whole body shook in great racking sobs.

A dog barked a little way off up the fell. Kite turned to find Bardsey bounding up to greet her at the church wall. Garth whistled and he obediently ran back to his side. He was holding a bunch
of flowers in his hands, the blooms Agnes had been collecting in her garden when the wind had blown the flower heads like confetti at the wedding that might have been between Jack and Agnes. If
only she hadn’t spoilt her chance of happiness by pursuing her obsession of building the perfect home. Garth had been as amazed as Kite to hear the story of how she had demolished the owl
habitat where they had nested for generations, and fought with Jack and lost him because of it.

In the bouquet from Agnes’s garden there were pale pink roses and foxgloves, impressive stems of lupins and delphiniums that she had grown and picked with her own hands.

Garth leaned over the wall and handed them to Kite.

‘Agnes asked if you’d be kind enough to put these on Jack’s grave.’ She could feel his warm breath on her ear. ‘I’ll come to Mirror Falls tomorrow morning so
we can do the rest of what Gran asked.’

Kite took the bouquet from him and glanced at Ellie, half expecting her to invite Garth back to the Carrec Arms, but she was already walking away. And when Kite turned back to see where Garth
was he had already disappeared over the brow of the hill.

‘She’s got no business sending her showy flowers!’ Ellie snapped as they slowly processed away from the church.

‘Don’t be too harsh on her, Ellie. She’s hard enough on herself. And she’s been very unwell these last few days,’ Dr Sherpa counselled.

‘All I know is that he had that stroke on the way back from Mirror Falls after begging her not to demolish the old barn. Then she did it anyway. The week before that he’d been as fit
as a fiddle, running up to Kite Carrec and back. She probably put a hex on him, the old witch.’ Ellie was sobbing again now and Dr Sherpa was attempting to calm her down as she grabbed the
flowers off Kite, marched them back up to the grave and threw them on to the coffin.

‘Seems like the owls got their own back and drove her out anyway.’

Kite wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The temperature had dropped and the long grasses surrounding the churchyard swayed wildly in the quickening wind.

Jack’s seat had been pushed up close to the table making it clear that it was
not
to be sat on. Over the back of the chair Ellie had placed his tweed jacket and
cap.

‘I think I’ll light the fire for him. He always liked the hearth lit up,’ Ellie said, busying herself.

Aida, a woman with a wave of hair sprayed purplish grey, manoeuvred herself into the pub in a large silver wheelchair with a little help over the step from Dr Sherpa. In her lap she had gathered
a small bunch of forget-me-nots, the exact same blue as the sky had been for all the time that they’d been in the Lakes so far. Kite thought their centres looked like modest yellow suns.

‘I heard the passing bell for Jack and just about managed to reach over my great girth for these!’

Ellie kissed Aida fondly on the cheek, took the flowers from her and arranged them in a tiny glass vase which she placed on the table in front of Jack’s chair.

‘Not that anyone around here’s ever likely to forget him.’ Aida smiled.

‘He’ll be at peace now with Joyce. She was always the love of his life.’

Kite thought of how Agnes had sobbed when she’d told them that the two of them had planned to marry when Mirror Falls was complete, and how nervous Jack had been about telling Ellie.

‘You know,’ cackled Aida, ‘I asked Jack to wed me once, but he turned me down kindly, maybe for the best. It wouldn’t have been decent being a widow three times
over!’ Then she seemed to freeze as she wheeled a little closer to Seth.

‘For a minute, lad, I thought I was seeing ghosts!’

Aida looked to Ellie to introduce them.

‘This is Seth. His grandmother was from around here. Grandad was helping him to trace her.’

‘Shame he never thought to ask me! But then I suppose Jack would never have met him, though he knew all about Lily, of course!’

At the mention of Lily’s name, Seth looked down at Aida.

‘It is Lily you think you’re related to? Am I right?’