Inseparable Bond (18 page)

His thoughts
were of the previous night’s conversation and Jennifer’s
proposition.

The usual
sounds of cars passing the hostel were now replaced by a chorus of
birds nesting in the large tree in the front garden.

‘Good morning,
John,’ Jennifer called from the corridor, ‘I’ve run a bath for you,
don’t let it go cold, there’s coffee on the windowsill, don’t let
that go cold either,’ she said. The sound of her shuffling feet got
quieter as she walked down the corridor.

John jumped
out of bed and opened the curtains. The bright sunlight temporarily
blinded him. He turned away and walked over the corridor to the
bathroom, collecting his cup of coffee on the way.

He lowered
himself into the deep bath in a cold but steam-filled room,
reaching for his cup of coffee he had left on the wicker chair by
the bath.

Quickly
dressing, he followed the smell of bacon down the main stairs and
into the kitchen. Jennifer looked over her shoulder as she noisily
scraped the burnt toast over the kitchen sink, ‘I always burn
toast, dear, must treat myself to a toaster one day,’ she said,
shaking her head. She looked fit and refreshed, wearing a plum
coloured cashmere pullover and pleated skirt with sensible brown
laced-up shoes.

The kitchen
table was laid with nourishing jams and marmalades, resembling a
farmhouse kitchen display, along with the smell of grilled bacon
and the crackling sound of fried eggs with the strong aroma of
freshly brewed coffee.

John pulled
out the two heavy kitchen chairs as Jennifer placed a tray on the
table. The contents were: eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms and
sausage, all looked very inviting.

‘Tuck in,
dear,’ Jennifer said, as she poured tea into his cup.

‘I need to go
to the chapel this morning, John, I do the flower arrangements for
tomorrow’s service, you have the keys for the car, so why don’t you
take a little drive along the promenade, there’s a nice café
overlooking the harbour where they do lovely scones,’ she said,
stuffing a sausage in her small mouth.

‘That’s a good
idea, I just might do that,’ he replied.

After
breakfast, Jennifer cleared the table and started to wash the
dishes. Her small arms reaching deep into the large sink. John
opened the back door and walked into the rear garden.

Wood pigeons
were calling in the trees beyond the long grass and the climbing
sun was striking deep across the garden to the neglected greenhouse
at the far end.

After a few
yards he came across a fallen tree trunk, where he sat looking back
at the tall wide house with crumbling paintwork on the window
frames, broken drain pipes and guttering blocked by clumps of
moss.

He walked back
to the house. Jennifer was waiting in the kitchen. She was dressed
in a large raincoat holding a straw shopping bag. ‘See what I
mean?’ she said, smiling.

‘Yes, I do, it
certainly needs attention,’ he replied, as he closed and locked the
door.

They walked to
the front of the house and approached the car. It was covered in a
light spray of morning dew. ‘You drive dear, and drop me at the
chapel then the rest of the day is your own, I’ll be back about 2
o’clock,’ she said as she climbed effortlessly into the passenger
seat.

He positioned
the driver’s seat as far back as possible. Jennifer seemed
unconcerned as she clutched her bag on her knees as he reversed out
of the drive.

He dropped her
outside the chapel gates and continued to the sea front. He parked
the car in an available space facing the sea. He remembered the
area well. He walked along the small beachfront, passing
holidaymakers sitting on benches with their heads back, attracting
the sun’s rays on their faces. There were upturned boats and
lobster pots, tended by the fishermen whose boats had left ugly
imprints on the sand.

He walked
along with his hands in his pocket and hesitated at the entrance to
the amusement arcade he had regularly frequented when he lured
young boys to his home. He pushed the heavy glass doors as he went
through. The fruit machines and pinball games made a deafening
noise. Young boys were standing around as John had remembered. They
now appeared more threatening and aggressive than twenty years ago
and now reinforced in large groups.

He walked
through the arcade to the door at the far end. It opened out on to
the pier with the shallow sea visible through the uneven planks
under foot.

He walked to
the end, looking back at the busy promenade. He listened to the
sound of laughter from a group of ladies who precariously walked
the planks towards him.

He found a
small café by the bus station and sat at a vacant table outside.
The sun was strong and beating down on his brow, gradually turning
his grey coloured skin to a pale shade of pink.

He smoked a
cigarette while he sipped his mug of coffee, feeling content as he
absorbed the peaceful atmosphere.

The waitress
appeared wearing a frilled apron and a white cap clipped to her
hair with pins. She laid the heavy tray down on the next table
where an elderly couple sat, their shopping bags resting against
their legs. The sight of wisps of watercress trailing from the
sides of bulging egg sandwiches; the four different kinds of cake
fanned about a willow-patterned plate surrounding a pot of jam gave
him an immediate appetite. He didn’t want to stuff himself with
food, as Jennifer was to prepare a light afternoon snack before a
hearty supper.

He ordered a
small portion of ‘the special of the day’ but was disappointed at
the taste. He wiped a piece of bread round the edge of the plate to
soak up the remains of the gravy generated by the concoction of
meat and vegetables. He didn’t ask the waitress what the
ingredients were in case she was offended. He only ate a small
portion and left.

He walked back
to he sea front, the closer he got the cooler it became.

The promenade
had got busier. Bikini-clad roller skaters and shirtless young lads
showing off their hairless bodies. There were amusement arcades on
each corner of a small row of stalls selling everything from
caricatures to knockoff designer sunglasses.

The glimmering
sea looked inviting as its rough surf kicked up sea spray beyond a
strip of sand.

He searched
for Jennifer’s car, which had been dwarfed by a caravan on one side
and a large delivery van on the other. The driver sat with his
elbows on the steering wheel eating a sandwich, watching the half
naked bodies of the young girls as they speedily passed on their
skates.

The blistering
heat had made the interior of the car unbearable. He quickly opened
the windows and drove along the promenade, but his hands burned on
the hot steering wheel. The oppressive heat in the car was soon
cooled by the strong sea breeze.

He drove
slowly along the Fleetwood promenade and into Blackpool. He
recognised all the large seafront hotels behind their new and
modern front entrances. The sides of the buildings remained
untouched and decaying from the harsh winter storms.

He drove along
Talbot Road, peering through the windscreen as he approached the
gay bars he had visited when he lured young boys to their gruesome
deaths.

He continued
his nostalgic drive through the town, returning back to Fleetwood
in the opposite direction but the same promenade route.

He entered the
drive of Jennifer’s house and parked outside the garage.

Jennifer was
sitting on the sofa in the lounge, her shoes off, her arms round
her thigh with her chin on her shiny knees. She had lit the fire as
the late afternoon had turned chilly. She was staring at the fire,
trying to feel some warmth through her feet.

The draught of
the fireplace sucked the flames up into the pyramid of coal where
it smoked and faltered. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing
it back from her high forehead when she noticed John at the
door.

‘Oh, you’re
back,’ she said, as she rested her head on the back of the sofa.
‘How was you day dear?’ she asked.

‘It was fine,
I drove to Blackpool along the promenade after spending the morning
in town,’ he replied.

‘I hope you
didn’t eat too much, I’ve made some sandwiches. I’ll bring them
in.’ she said. as she rocked herself off the sofa. She passed John
at the door, giving him a tight and assuring squeeze on his arm as
she shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.

John went over
to the large wing chair and sat down, resting his feet on a
footstool, his feet disturbing the dust as he walked across the
room, which drifted in the sunlight.

Jennifer
entered the room carrying a large tray. John jumped up to help her
through the door. ‘Let me help you, it’s very heavy,’ he said, as
he took the tray off her.

Tea included a
yellow sponge cake and peppery tomato sandwiches whose white bread
was saturated with pink juice.

‘How was your
day, Jennifer?’ he asked.

‘Oh it was
fine,’ she replied. ‘I enjoy arranging flowers, it gives me great
satisfaction and the vicar is so nice. He often calls to see me,
normally Mondays and Thursdays,’ she said, as she stared at the
growing orange flames in the fire, reflecting on her face.

‘I’ve got a
joint of beef in the oven, I hope you like beef?’ she asked John as
she turned from the fire to face him. John nodded, unable to
answer, as his mouth was full of a tomato sandwich. ‘It should be
ready for 7 o’clock, I don’t like to eat too late, it doesn’t
settle well on my stomach,’ she said, turning back to watch the
flames.

John felt
relaxed and comfortable in Jennifer’s company. She was kind and
appeared understanding without asking awkward questions which John
had feared.

She was
obviously lonely and her highlight of the week seemed to be her
occasional visit to the chapel.

‘Did you give
any thought to our conversation, John?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I did, I
feel very comfortable with you, Jennifer, and I don’t like to see
you rattle around in such a big house. I’m also concerned about the
security here, you don’t have an alarm and the widow locks don’t
fit too well, I could fix those in no time,’ he answered.

Jennifer did
not seem over concerned about the poor security of the house, she
was more eager to see a healthy and attractive garden where she
could sit quietly in the summer sun, undisturbed by the high walls
which surrounded it.

Jennifer
didn’t mention their parents. There were no framed photographs
scattered around or a mention of a family photograph album. The few
aged framed pictures hanging unevenly on the walls were mostly of
sea and landscapes. Two crossed swords centred the wall in the
hallway; he had remembered these as a child.

The entire
house needed refurbishment, the exterior was rapidly decaying, the
inside needed updating and the garden was desperately in need of
attention.

To a
developer, it was an ideal property for conversion into flats or as
an old people’s home, as many of the surrounding houses of that
size had already undergone conversions, mainly as private or rented
apartments.

It was not
considered a wealthy suburb, but people came and went along the
street with shopping bags. Children played and dogs barked as they
sniffed along the pavement. The two large houses at each side had
been converted to private flats, now occupied by students from the
nearby university.

Jennifer’s
house stood out from the neighbouring properties with its overgrown
front garden, making it look derelict and unoccupied. It would cost
a large amount of money to renovate the property to a modern
standard, and it appeared that she did not have sufficient funds to
undertake such a task.

‘Are you going
to freshen-up before supper, John?’ Jennifer asked him.

‘Yes, I will,’
he replied, collecting the cups and placing them on the tray.

‘Leave those
dear, I’ll take them through, I’m going that way,’ she said,
pulling herself out of her chair, pushing hard on the upholstered
arms.

John walked up
the stairs and went to his room. He lay on his bed, his eyes
following the patterns on the ornate ceiling.

He had briefly
fallen asleep and was woken by a tapping on his door, ‘John, your
meals on the table, don’t let it go cold.’

He jumped off
his bed and washed his face in the corner washbasin and hurriedly
ran downstairs.

Jennifer was
sitting at the table in the dining room. A large joint of beef sat
on a meat plate in the centre on the table surrounded by open
dishes of fresh and steaming vegetables. ‘I’ll let you carve, John,
as you are the man of the house,’ she said, with her chin cupped in
her hands, wearing a broad smile as she looked at him.

He enjoyed the
home cooked meal, swilled down with a glass of red wine. He was
feeling more comfortable as each hour passed, yet became
disheartened when thinking of his return to the hostel the next
day.

After they
both washed the dishes, they settled down for the evening in the
front sitting room, talking endlessly about relations and
relationships, avoiding any mention of their parents, which
Jennifer had purposely avoided.

The next
morning they both prepared the breakfast, moving around the kitchen
as if they were a married couple. They chatted endlessly over
breakfast and took their cups of tea in the garden where they sat
on the fallen tree trunk. Jennifer listened eagerly to the plans
John had drawn in his mind to the beautiful landscape, which could
be produced at little cost.

He collected
his small bag and took one last look around the hall as he
approached the front door. John stood back looking up at the fine
residence. Jennifer fumbled in her handbag for the car keys.