Inseparable Bond (20 page)

Not a word was
spoken as John climbed over his body to lie beside him.

The guy turned
on his side, stoking John’s body with his wet clammy hands. John
turned his head away as the guy tried to kiss him. His breath smelt
of stale tobacco and beer, the stench of his body odour was
overpowering.

John became
inwardly enraged as the guy lowered his body and placed his face
between his legs. He looked down at his thinning crown realising
how simple it would be to place his firm hands around his neck and
throttle him, but was astute enough to realise they had been seen
leaving the pub together. He could not allow anything further to
jeopardize his parole and desperately controlled his natural urge.
He unwillingly allowed the guy to perform oral sex on him.

As soon as his
uncomfortable ordeal was over, the stranger masturbated while
watching John dress. He left the guy on the bed and let himself out
of the filthy flat.

Once back in
the hostel, he peered around the door of the television room. The
mental health professionals were clapping and chanting as Dorothy
performed circular dance movements in the centre of the room.

His scalp
itched, and he scratched it violently as he walked to his
bedroom.

He was
desperate to wash his body after his ordeal. Due to the condition
of his own bathroom, he could only strip wash at his small basin in
his room.

He quickly
grabbed a towel on hearing a knock at his door. He opened it
slightly and peered into the corridor. ‘Just checking your back in
time, John,’ the large bulky male nurse said, as he looked down at
his clipboard.

He closed the
door and climbed into his bed.

The next
morning was another fine day. He was due to start work at 10
o’clock, his first day back after his weekend away.

He didn’t want
breakfast and left the hostel early for his walk to work.

He called in
at the grocers for his daily packet of cigarettes and idly walked
into town.

He went into a
small café and ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of toast before
crossing over the road to the hotel.

The kitchen
was sweltering. He felt the sweat collecting underneath his arms
and soaking into his pinstriped shirt as he fastened the tapes of
his green plastic apron.

He scrubbed
the endless mountain of pans, remembering his enjoyable walk along
the promenade, wishing he were back.

The afternoon
breeze was strong and hot as he dragged himself back up the steep
hill with beads of sweat dripping down his neck.

He sat on the
low wall to rest, grateful for the shade of the spreading sycamore
tree. He watched the lawn sprinklers spinning around in the public
park, occasionally feeling a spray of water across his face carried
over on the strong breeze.

A boy sat on
his bicycle, which leaned against the public toilets.

The boy caught
John’s eye and went inside, looking back at him as he entered.

Tempted by
this unspoken invitation, he remained on the wall aware of the
consequences he would face from the probation authorities should he
enter the park and play area. It was strictly out of bounds to all
residents.

The boy came
out of the toilets and loitered around the building before coming
over to where John sat. His young face was beautiful, although pock
marked. He had prominent cheekbones, a straight nose and thin
mouth, the aggressive line of his jaw disappeared into his strong
neck and square shoulders. His upper body was impressive. He’d cut
the sleeves off his sweatshirt in order to show off his biceps and
hard muscles.

John could
hear him breathing steadily through his nose as he approached. John
looked at him as he athletically jumped onto the wall with ease. He
looked around at his face, the prominent brow, the thin, well
defined lips and his oddly unresponsive eyes.

The young boy
slowly ran his hand up the inside leg of his shorts to his crotch,
keeping his eyes firmly of John, his mouth curling up at each end
as he smiled.

‘£20 mate and
its yours,’ the boy said. John smiled at him shaking his head.

‘Sorry, mate,’
John jumped off the wall and continued his climb in the unrelenting
heat.

He smiled to
himself, as he recalled the days he would do the same when he had
been a teenager, relieved that in this modern and enterprising
world of change, that is something that never will.

John hurried
along the corridor to his room, the odour of disinfectant reaching
his nostrils. A male nurse was mopping the bathroom floor with some
strong germicidal detergent while a maintenance engineer was
attaching a cabinet to the wall.

He washed his
shirt in his washbasin, hanging it on a wire coat hanger suspended
from the curtain rail to dry in the warm evening breeze.

Mince and
cabbage was Monday’s supper, it had not changed since John Bell was
first admitted. He decided to climb into his bed, watch his small
television and sleep.

The hostel
warden, Probation Officer and psychiatrist were reviewing Bell’s
records in preparation for his pending release. His licence would
expire in three months.

John Bell had
been listed under the psychologically disturbed category throughout
his prison and parole term. His prison record was good, the open
prison had regarded him as a model prisoner and the hostel warden
also gave a glowing report of his exceptional good behaviour.

The
psychiatrist raised his concern into Bell’s release. He appreciated
the authority’s observations regarding his good behaviour while in
prison confinement and the more relaxed atmosphere of hostel
rehabilitation, but in view of the severity of his crimes, which
had been exceptional, he considered him to be a schizophrenic,
aggressive manipulative individual with psychological and sexual
difficulties.

In view of the
psychiatrists concerns it was agreed that Bell could be released on
condition he remained under the supervision of the probation
authorities.

The Lancashire
authorities visited Jennifer at her home to explain the elaborate
pre-release scheme and the possible difficulties reconciliation
could encounter. They also needed to satisfy themselves with the
family’s overall situation on immediate difficulties and longer
term problems.

Jennifer’s
willingness to accommodate her brother would be extremely
orchestrative at the authorities hearing, much reliance would be
placed on her in ensuring the release transition went as smoothly
as possible.

The date for
John Bell’s release was set for 1st November.

The hot summer
seemed to have disappeared overnight, giving way to the crisp wind,
which blew through the open window of John’s bedroom as he lay in
bed with the covers pulled up to his neck. Fresh sheets and
blankets were being thrown outside the doors. The sounds of
groaning water pipes and hissing radiators had woken him from a
deep sleep. George, the maintenance guy, had fired-up the boiler
feeding the central heating system, due to the unpredicted cold
snap overnight.

His bedroom
was cold as he quickly washed and shaved, putting on a well-worn
jumper that virtually covered his knees.

Dodging the
piles of laundry which scattered the corridor, he precariously made
his way to the empty dining room. He was too late for a cooked
breakfast, so helped himself to a packet of cornflakes from the
small buffet table as Elizabeth cleared it.

Gary, Peter
and Harold were preparing the garden for its long winter sleep.
Squirrels were frantically running up the trees with their stash of
food to see them through their hibernation.

Baxter was
chopping logs in the garden shed in readiness for the cold winter
nights.

The hostel was
always grey and cold in the wintertime. The old boiler was
unreliable and only a small proportion of the radiators gave off a
generous supply of heat.

The resident
transvestite, with his hands on his hips, watched the others as
they prepared the garden. John noticed the wrinkles on his beige
dress and running shoes over athletic ankle socks as if he were
about to dash around the block a few times.

Elizabeth
breathlessly wiped the tables as she scurried around the room,
looking in a lousy mood.

She came over
to John’s table, lifting his cereal bowl as he ate and wiped her
cloth over the table.

He took his
mug of tea to the car park and sat on the wall to have his
cigarette.

The
three-storey hostel made of wheat-coloured concrete hovered in the
morning mist like a fortress overlooking its own deteriorating
grounds, denying the warmth of the early morning sun to reach the
front wall. A strong gust of wind dispersed a decades worth of
cigarettes, which had been snuffed out along the edges of the
stonewall. A hunched up old lady dragged her shopping trolley past
him as cigarette butts were blown about surrounded her feet as she
passed.

The warden’s
large silver Mercedes indicated as it slowly turned into the drive,
he smiled and raised his hand off the steering wheel to wave at
John as he passed.

He walked into
the hostel, looking very casual in his red cardigan sweater, his
khaki trousers and worn brown Hush Puppies. He turned his head to
John as he walked. ‘I will need to speak to you when you are ready,
John’ he said, as he went through the door.

We walked back
to the house; the hall was bright as lines of crimson sunlight
streamed across the walls and wooden floor as he knocked on the
warden’s office door. A small worry took root; a curled feeling in
his stomach had begun to grow as he waited for the door to
open.

In view of
John’s pending discharge from the hostel, the warden needed to
explain the procedures and conditions which the authorities had put
in place after his release.

He could
return to his sister’s house on conditional discharge, where
counselling and group discussions would be held in the premises of
the local authorities in Fleetwood.

John’s hands
trembled as he sat in the small upright seat, his eyes fixed on the
warden’s face as he reclined in his winged leather chair, skipping
the pages of the report.

He left the
office twenty minutes later, drenched with sweat as he walked
through the dining room and into the garden. He sat on the garden
bench under a grove of shade trees, shielding him from the strong
autumn sun, as he watched Gary and Peter clean the old grass cutter
before covering it for the winter. Gary looked over to him as he
lifted his T-shirt to wipe his sweating forehead, revealing his
firm flat stomach, as if to silently invite John into the garden
shed for a further session of rampant sex.

He took a deep
breath of the sweet autumn air as the warden’s words swilled in his
mind. He had been aware that his release was up for review but the
confirmation gave him a paralysing sense of disbelief.

He shivered in
the cold; he walked through the open door into the television
room.

Roger Gaines
was lying on the settee; his wrist was heavily bandaged after the
previous nights scuffle with Billy Ross.

John had
always felt uncomfortable in the presence of Gaines. He was a
broad-shouldered lout, over six feet tall with elegant, almost
feminine features and black shoulder-length hair. He looked up at
John as he entered the room, frightening him slightly. He quickly
broke off eye contact and walked through the room, leaving by the
other door.

He gave two
month’s notice at his work, enabling him to spend the last month
preparing for his move to Fleetwood. He had saved a comfortable
amount of money due to a generous tips system where the kitchen
staff were all included in the share-out.

It was after
eight when he finished his shift. He put on his bulky coat and
zipped it up to his neck. He wore a hat with flaps over the ears
and a peak, which hid his eyes.

The evening
had turned cold and the drizzle had turned to rain. He struggled
back up the hill to the hostel, stopping briefly for a local
newspaper at the local shop.

A few bedroom
lights from the hostel came into view as he approached the top of
the hill.

John Bell had
been in the hostel for the past two years, always distancing
himself from his fellow residents apart from the brief sexual
encounter with Gary Palmer.

The hostel had
helped John to find self-confidence, yet he was prone to suffer
sever bouts of depression, mainly through long periods of
boredom.

He had
experienced similarities to the two other institutions,
particularly the aggressive and destructive behaviour and violent
outbursts.

Many residents
felt safe and secure amongst the others in the hostel, feeling they
did not belong in the outside society.

It was 1st of
November. Autumn had rapidly turned to winter, the rain lashed
against the small window of room 4. John Bell’s newly acquired
suitcase lay open on the mattress of his bed. The sheets and
blankets were piled tidily alongside.

It was 7
o’clock in the morning. He had already showered and shaved, he
carefully folded his few clothes laying them firmly in the open
case.

Searching his
small wardrobe, the drawers of his bedside table and the chest of
drawers, feeling around for any discarded items he may have
mislaid.

Placing his
wash bag on the neatly folded pile, he tightened them in place with
the attached straps. Taking one last look around the room, he
closed the lid of the suitcase.

He had said
his goodbyes to the others the previous night; he needed to call
into the warden’s office before he left.

The rain had
eased as he walked to the railway station, pausing halfway down the
hill to looking back at the house for a few moments before
continuing.