Matty Doolin

by Catherine Cookson

  As he heard a shuddering sob coming from Jessica, he forgot his own fear for a moment, and said, ‘Now, now. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. This can’t keep up for very long anyway, it’s too heavy, and then we’ll make our way down, careful like.’

  ‘Father will be mad at me. He’s always told me not to go beyond . . . beyond the shelf.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s the level piece on top of the hump.’

  ‘Well.’ He tried to make his voice light. ‘Why didn’t you wait for me there to give me a fright?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’ She was stammering now. ‘I . . . I just thought, I would run a little way over the fells, and get on some higher place and watch you when you reached the top of the hump. I thought when you didn’t keep calling you were up here coming. And then the mist came down – it had been clear up here – and when I tried to find the path again I couldn’t. And then I realised I wasn’t where I thought I was and I got frightened and began to scramble about. I knew I was lost and when the mist cleared I kept running and running. I . . . I’ve never been this way. Father says it’s the worst part of the fells; it’s like a maze. They call it the Bowl; the Devil’s Bowl. Oh, he’ll be mad at me and Mother’ll be so worried.’

  ‘Now, now. You won’t make it any better cryin’, will you?’ He felt her shivering and asked, ‘Are you still cold?’

  ‘Y-e-s, but not so bad. You must be frozen. I feel awful having your coat. Look; take half of it. We’ll put it in front of us.’

  ‘You leave it alone.’ Reaching out, he stopped her hand unbuttoning the coat. ‘Curl your legs underneath you. Better still, I’ll change places and sit yon side of you, and you move up gently into Betsy’s back. She’ll like that. It’ll sort of comfort her, and you’ll keep each other warm.’

  He stood up, and she edged along closer towards the dog.

  Once settled, they sat silently as the rain beat against their faces.

  ‘What time do you think it is?’

  He thought for a minute. ‘Around six, I should say.’

  ‘Teatime.’ Her voice was very, very small. ‘Mother was going to give you a slap-up tea.’

  ‘Well’ – he endeavoured to make his answer light – ‘she will yet. Coo! Let me get at it. I’ll start off with six cups, then gollop ten slices of bread and butter, jam and cream, six pieces of lardy cake, and finish up with half a dozen scones, a sponge cake, and a jam roll.’

  She didn’t laugh but said, ‘Father’ll blame me for breaking Betsy’s paw. He’s very fond of Betsy, she’s his favourite. He says she’s the wisest dog he’s ever had.’

  ‘Now, now look.’ He turned towards her. ‘He’ll be so glad to see you he won’t even raise his voice.’

  To this piece of comfort Jessica sniffed and said, enigmatically, ‘You won’t ever want to work on a farm now, will you?’

  ‘How did you know I wanted to work on a farm?’

  He watched her shake her head as she went on, ‘But you won’t now because you’d have to go out nights like this to see to the cattle, only it would be much colder. So you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?’

  ‘If I’d just had those six cups of tea, and ten slices of bread and jam, et cetera, et cetera, I don’t think I’d mind.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  As the silence fell on them once more he thought: She’s a funny kid really. Nice but funny. But how did she know he wanted to work on a farm? Unless Willie and Joe had been yapping to her. Yet he had never told them that he had wanted to work on a farm. He had never told anybody except Mr Funnell . . . Mr Funnell?

  ‘Matty, they’re not going to come. Should we try to find a way down?’ Her voice had a high cracking sound to it, and he answered sharply, ‘No! No! That would be daft. I don’t know me way, and you don’t know the way. The only one who could get us back is Betsy, and she is past it. Look at her.’ He bent in front of Jessica and looked at the dog. Betsy was breathing deeply but lying quite still. Her body, although wringing wet, was giving off a great deal of heat and she was evidently in great pain.

  If the dog had been on its own, Matty thought, it would have made its way back to the farm somehow, but having found its mistress, it was waiting for its master to come and find them. And who was he, a townite, to pit his wits against the sure knowledge of a hill dog? Yet he had to reassure Jessica, for she was getting, what his mother called, all worked up.

  ‘I tell you what we could do,’ he said eagerly. ‘We could keep calling. There might be somebody else up here, somebody who knows the way.’

  ‘Yes, there might. That’s a good idea. We’ll take turns, eh? You go first.’

  Cupping his hands over his mouth, Matty now called, ‘Hello there! Hello! Hello!’ He did this a number of times. Then Jessica took on the call. ‘Hello! Hello! Hello!’ With each call they made, the dog moved uneasily. Once she got to her feet, only to collapse slowly again on her side. But as they called she kept raising her head as if she was listening.

  After fifteen minutes their throats were sore, and Matty said, ‘Let’s give it a rest for a time.’ And to this Jessica replied dolefully, ‘I don’t suppose it’ll do any good anyway, the wind’s too strong and it’s getting worse. It’s . . . it’ll be a gale . . . Eeh! Eeh! I don’t know what Father will say to me.’ As her head drooped onto her chest, Matty shyly put his hand onto her shoulder again, saying, ‘There, now. I tell you he’ll be so pleased to see you he’ll throw a party.’ When she turned and buried her face in his neck he blinked rapidly with embarrassment, but gallantly went on patting her.

  It was almost dark when Matty, pulling his pullover from over his head, said gruffly, ‘Here, stick your legs through the arms and pull it over your dress, up under your coat.’

  ‘No, no. You’ve got nothing on, only your shirt.’

  ‘I couldn’t be any wetter, so it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You’ll be frozen. You . . . you are frozen.’

  Strangely, Matty didn’t feel so cold now; his body felt numb, as if he had been beaten all over with small sharp-pointed sticks. He wasn’t any longer even very much aware of the rain. He only knew that he felt uneasy about the way Jessica was shivering and that he’d have to do something about it.

  He was getting a little confused now. He kept hearing Mr Walsh’s voice saying, ‘You’re in charge. You’re in charge,’ and he couldn’t understand why no-one had come in search of them. It was now almost dark and must be nearing ten o’clock. Folk were bound to have realised that they were missing before now. He just couldn’t reason it out.

  But there was this business of keeping Jessica warm; at least, not warm but less cold; so he gave her his pullover under the assumption that the weight of the wet clothes might help. And now he had another hazy idea, and he thought he’d better put it into action before he fell asleep because he was feeling very drowsy. He couldn’t understand why he should feel so drowsy.

  ‘Look,’ he said slowly. ‘They’re bound to be here shortly. Now lie down on your side with your back to Betsy’s back. I’ll move her so her paw is near the wall . . . there, like that. You’ll soon feel the heat of her coming right through you. And I’ll lie in front of you.’ He lay down in front of her now and asked, ‘Is that better?’

  ‘Ye . . . yes.’

  ‘Well, you won’t feel much different for a few minutes, but you’ll get warm, you’ll see.’

  He lay with his head on his arm and he no longer felt the cold of the stone beneath him. He knew that he should be on his feet yelling into the night, but he couldn’t yell any more; he was too tired, he was all in. As he went to sleep he wondered if he would ever see his mother again. This was what she had feared, him getting lost on the hills. It was funny about that. Yes, it was very funny when he came to think about it. That had been her great fear, that if he went camping or tramping he’d get lost and die on some mountain. It was funny . . . funny the way things tur
ned out. She must have had one of those premonitions, sort of.

  Chapter Ten

  It was two o’clock in the morning before the search party found them. A section of it, headed by Mr Funnell, was guided to them by Betsy’s whining.

  Matty couldn’t remember anything of the descent, but he had a vague memory of having been woken up during some period in the far, far past, with people fussing him, and he wishing they wouldn’t. He had just wanted to be let alone, for he felt very tired.

  He still felt very tired. He had been lying for some time now with his eyes closed listening to the murmur of voices. He didn’t ask himself where he was, but he thought he was dreaming a bit, for at one point he imagined he heard the mooing of the cows, and straight after this he was sure he heard his mother’s voice whispering. That proved conclusively to him that he was dreaming.

  His eyelids flickered, then closed again. It was daylight, bright, sunshining daylight.

  ‘Matty, are you awake?’

  He made an effort and pushed his heavy eyelids upwards; there to see Mrs Walsh’s face above him.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ Her voice was soft.

  Mrs Walsh was asking him if he would like something to drink. He couldn’t get himself sorted out but he felt thirsty, very thirsty, and he was hot and sweating. But he shouldn’t be hot, should he? He should be cold and wet. He stretched his eyes to keep them open and said, ‘Jessica?’

  ‘She’s all right. She’s all right.’ Mrs Walsh’s voice was trembling, and to his amazement she bent down and kissed him. Three times she kissed him. Now Mrs Walsh was smiling at him. Her face was all wet with tears but she was smiling, and her voice had a cracked sound as she said, ‘Don’t you want to see who’s here?’ She looked to the side of him, and when he turned his head and saw his mother sitting at the bedside he thought again, I must be dreaming, but when she took his hand and held it tightly, he said quickly, ‘Hello, Mam.’

  ‘Hello, son.’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a long story.’

  When he heard the door click and he knew Mrs Walsh had left the room, he attempted to pull himself up onto his elbow, but his mother checked him, and, patting the clothes under his chin, she said, ‘Now lie quiet; you’re very hot.’

  ‘But, Mam.’

  ‘Don’t talk; just lie still. If you’ll lie still I’ll go and call your dad.’

  ‘Me dad!’ Again he got up on his elbow, only to be pressed back. ‘But what’s he doing here? Me dad.’

  ‘It was him that heard on the late news about it all and nothing would stop him. He phoned the police at Hexham, and got the last train up to Newcastle, and a lift on a lorry to Hexham from there. And your dad went to hire a car, but there was a reporter in the garage and he brought us the rest of the way. They had got you all down when we arrived . . . Oh, Matty.’ She was bending over him now, his hand pressed against her chest.

  Matty looked up at his mother sadly. He knew her worst fears had come true. If ever she needed a seal to put on his sentence in the docks she had it now.

  Perhaps it was the look on his face that made her speak what was near her heart at this moment, for she said softly and hesitantly, ‘I said to your dad, if . . . if they find him and he’s all right he can do what he likes in the future. As long as he’s all right, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Mam!’

  ‘That’s what I said. And your dad said with me, “Aye . . . aye, life’s short, but short or long it’s his own and he should do what he wants with it . . . ” And you know, I . . . I thought it was very strange when Mr Walsh told us about him going to offer you the job.’

  ‘The . . . the job?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded slowly at him. ‘Before you came home he was going to put it to you. He’d been thinking for a long time he needed help, and’ – she touched his hot cheek – ‘he’s taken with you. He said, afore this happened he was taken with you. He said you’ve not got a lot to say for yourself like the other two, but when you do open your mouth you say something.’ She nodded proudly at him.

  Matty stared up at his mother, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide. He had the impulse to fling his arms about her, and he might have done just that if the door hadn’t opened at that moment and Mr Walsh and his father come into the room.

  ‘Well, well, well!’ This was from Mr Walsh, but he stood aside and let Mr Doolin approach the bed.

  Matty, looking up at his father, felt hotter still, if that was possible.

  ‘Hello, lad.’

  ‘Hello, Dad.’

  ‘Feeling all right?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Well! You’ve had some excitement, haven’t you? Mind you, it won’t do you any harm; that’s the kind of thing that puts mettle into you in the long run.’ He patted his son’s head; then turned away, evidently as embarrassed as Matty was with the conversation.

  And now Mr Walsh was standing looking down at Matty. ‘You did it, then?’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘The dog would have died if it had been left on that exposed ledge; it was one of the bitterest nights of the year, bar January and February, a freak night. And Jessica would never have found her way out of the Bowl alone, not in that mist. There have been men died there. You were in charge and you carried it out. Jessica’s told us all she remembers, and that’s enough for the time being. Now . . . ’ he dug his finger towards Matty. ‘You do what the women tell you, right to the letter, for I want you good and well before I let you loose on the farm. Understand?’

  Matty slowly moved his head.

  ‘It won’t be from eight to five, mind. Sixteen-hour day sometimes, and no double pay for overtime. At least not yet awhile, until you know your business. That understood too?’

  Again Matty moved his head.

  ‘Well, I’ve talked it over here with your father, and your mother.’ He nodded towards Mrs Doolin. ‘They’re agreeable. On one condition.’ He smiled towards Mrs Doolin now. ‘That you put in an appearance at home once a fortnight. You’ll be on every other weekend. Well now, that’s enough for the time being. Get yourself to sleep again and sweat it out.’

  And now Matty’s father was bending over him, his face slightly unfamiliar in its softness.

  ‘Pleased, lad?’

  ‘Oh, aye, Dad. Yes. And thanks.’

  Mr Doolin straightened up and, looking at his wife, said, ‘Well now. We’ll go downstairs and have a bite to eat. Mrs Walsh has had it ready this hour or more. Come on now, come on.’ He held out his hand towards his wife, and Mrs Doolin, rising to her feet and leaning over Matty, whispered, ‘Go to sleep. That’s it; go to sleep. You’ll soon be all right.’

  Matty fell asleep utterly content. For how long, he didn’t know, but when next he awoke he saw by the light that it was late afternoon, and immediately he realised he wasn’t alone. He turned his head to the side of the bed, and there, sitting grinning at him, sat Willie and Joe.

  ‘Hello, Matty.’

  ‘Hello, Matty.’

  He looked at the two boys for a long moment, then said thickly, ‘Hello.’

  ‘How you feelin’?’ Joe’s voice was very low, as if he was afraid of the sound of it.

  ‘All right.’ Matty pushed the clothes away from his chin. ‘Bit hot like.’

  ‘You’re lucky; you could have died.’

  Matty slanted his eyes towards Willie, and he managed to grin as he said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But he’s right, Matty.’ Joe’s voice was slightly louder now. ‘You could have. It said so in the papers.’

  ‘In the papers!’ Matty screwed his face up at them. ‘It’s in the papers?’

  ‘Yes, headlines. You’re a hero, man.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Matty sounded his old self now, and Joe said, ‘I’m not, man. It said you were practically naked.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Matty’s protest was indignant, and strong.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. It said all
about Jessica having your pullover on, the sleeves for legs like, and your coat an’ all, and how she was lying atween you and the dog.’

  Betsy! For the first time Matty remembered Betsy and, lifting himself upwards, he asked quickly, ‘Betsy. How is she?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. The vet has fixed her foot. The bone was splintered in three places; she must have gone through it.’

  ‘She did.’ Matty lay back again.

  ‘You’re going to stay on the farm?’

  Matty turned and looked at Willie and nodded, saying simply, ‘Yes.’

  ‘After last night you still want to stay up here and work?’

  Again Matty nodded. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well.’ Willie was grinning widely now. ‘Everybody to their own taste, like the woman said as she kissed the cow. But I wouldn’t take on a job like this for a pound a minute, honest I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I’ll do it for half that,’ said Matty brightly.

  ‘You won’t get much money,’ said Joe now. ‘I heard Mr Walsh telling your dad. Just over three pounds, and your keep.’

  ‘It’ll suit me.’ Matty’s voice was full of content.

  ‘Goin’ to miss you, Matty.’ Joe’s head was lowered now.

  ‘Me too, Matty.’ Willie nodded slowly.

  Matty looked from one to the other, then said, ‘Aw, man, you’ll be so taken up with your new jobs you’ll forget I exist.’

  ‘No, we won’t.’ Joe raised his eyes. ‘And I tell you what. I’m comin’ up here to see you every now and again. Mr Walsh said I could.’

  ‘But not to stay.’ This was from Willie. ‘Flying visits are all I’m goin’ to pay the fells for the rest of me life. Eeh!’ He moved his head in wide sweeps. ‘When I get back to Shields I’ll kneel down an’ kiss the bricks outside the station.’

  They were laughing all together, Joe with his hand over his mouth trying to suppress his high giggle.