Inseparable Bond (47 page)

He walked into
the lounge carrying a tray containing two coffee cups and placed
them on the small table next to Jennifer as she slept in a low
hide-padded chair to the side of a roaring fire. She looked
comfortable but old after her illness. George reached for a
cashmere blanket and placed it around her, tucking it into the
sides of the chair to keep her warm.

The house was
silent, only the crashing of the waves against the harbour walls
could be heard in the distance. The flickering lights of the
candles reflected on Jennifer’s thinning white hair as she breathed
deeply, her feet rested on the brass fender which Molly had
polished to shine like gold.

George had
promised Jennifer a drive out to nearby Whitby, a town she had come
to love. She had slept well that night, most of it by the fire and
was up at the crack of dawn on a bright and sunny morning.

George brought
the car around to the front of the house, Jennifer climbed into the
passenger seat. He covered her knees with the cashmere blanket
before he drove off down the steep hill and onto the south
promenade.

The new BMW
was only a couple of months old. Jennifer fiddled with the glove
box and wiped finger marks off the door handles with the sleeve of
her sweater as George carefully drove over the Yorkshire moors
which skirted the coastline.

They stopped
briefly for coffee at the Robin Hoods Bay Hotel, looking down at
the small red roofed houses which used to hide the tobacco
smugglers many years before.

The small
fishing town of Whitby soon came into view. Jennifer peered out of
the window at the many fishing boats which were leaving the safety
of the harbour out to the precarious rough seas. Large white
seagulls swooped and dived over the boats as they left for their
daily catch.

George parked
the car on the harbour as Jennifer eagerly walked along the
quayside to satisfy her desire to know more about the town and the
history it held. She took photographs of the small narrow streets
littered with lobster pots and fishing nets.

There was a
swinging sign over a door, and it simply said Harbour Fish Bar.
Both the door and the bay window beside it had panels of
bottle-glass to prevent passers-by peering in, but evidently let in
a great deal of light, as he saw when he opened the door and
stepped into the large room. Jennifer sat at the small table in the
bay window.

The sun shone
blue streams of light over Jennifer’s face as the waitress came
over to take their order. The room was taken up with various sizes
of tables. It was only half past twelve and the café was full of
tourists with the buzz of conversation, threaded here and there
with laughter. A strong appetising smell of fresh fried fish came
from the kitchen as waitresses hurried past with large pieces of
Whitby cod hanging off the edges of the plates. The fresh sea air
made Jennifer’s complexion glow as they sat on the harbour wall
looking out to sea letting the sea spray chill her face.

Jennifer was
back to her normal self as she flung open the grey bedroom curtains
to see the early autumn sky, which exactly matched them.

George was
already downstairs preparing breakfast and lighting the sitting
room fire.

She sprinted
downstairs and tucked into her poached eggs on toast while George
enjoyed his more unhealthy option of a full fried breakfast.

They took
their coffee onto the patio, taking advantage of the last of the
summer days.

Early autumn
was Jennifer’s favourite season and she always thought that this
time of the year approached perfection. After the summer heat,
before the winter bleakness, before snow and frost are even dreamed
of. A time that stands out crystal clear, as the air begins to
cool; a time when the skies are still bright blue and when she
could wear her favourite woollen cardigan.

Jennifer
seemed to come alive in the autumn and winter, when September
marched into October. George had always thought she looked better
and happier in the colder months after her lazy months of summer.
She would come alive at the same time of the rough seas and her
spectacular view of the ocean seemed to lift her spirits once the
waves crashed violently on the sea wall.

They drank
their coffee, watching people walking quickly past the house on
their way to town.

The garden
looked spectacular, George had done a fine job over the summer but
gardening was in his veins, his heart and his spirits and he had an
uncanny gift for garden design and brilliance with colour along
with the knowledge of what worked and what didn’t after studying
his large collection of gardening books.

Jennifer took
the empty cups inside while George marvelled at his work of art.
She stood in the large hall for a moment and smiled to herself as
she looked around the striking elegance of the hallway with its
large gleaming chandelier.

The house had
made Jennifer happy and George had made her even more so. She
seemed to grow in his presence and felt infinitely precious and
totally safe. Safe enough to be what she was and to do what she
wanted, to dare to move in a world with no limits at all.

Over the past
eight years George had made her feel limitless so she could be
everything she wanted to be and do everything she wanted to do, and
she did it all with the power of George’s love.

She took the
cups into the kitchen and returned to the patio to watch George
inspecting his garden, walking in a military style with his hands
clasped behind his back. There was unfettered pleasure in his eyes,
a kind of gentle adoration that always drew her to his arms like a
magnet. It was the gentleness in him, which she loved so much, the
kindness and compassion he always had.

Friends and
neighbours adored George, but he had only adoration for
Jennifer.

‘You look
beautiful today,’ George shouted to her from the far side of the
garden.

‘Better than
the last two weeks,’ she shouted back. They both laughed.

The last seven
seasons had passed virtually unnoticed for John Bell in Armley
jail. He also tended his garden every morning, the three plants
sitting in pots on the windowsill of his cell.

He would place
small pieces of bread along the inside of the bars at the window to
attract the birds, but they were fortunate, they could fly off when
they had been fed and had got tired of the place.

Although Bell
had been moved to a new wing of the prison, it was virtually as
depressing as the old block where many inmates were still
housed.

The new block
had been built in drab colours, dark red bricks and grey roof
slates. When it rained the gloomy colours reflect the mood of the
weather, and the mood of those locked up inside. Even the birds
seemed institutionalised. You didn’t seem them until Bell put the
pieces of bread out when suddenly hundreds appeared and all of them
tame and friendly; yet would attack each other at any time.

After his
attack on young Scott, John Bell was assigned his own cell and had
been unaccompanied for the past seven years. Most of his money was
spent of telephone calls to Jennifer, although George normally
answered the phone where no words were exchanged. This constantly
upset George, but he was unable to refuse the call.

Bell spent
most of his day in the cell staring up at the barred window. All he
could see was a patch of pale grey, featureless sky and knowing
that the pubs, clubs, shops and all the places he had taken for
granted might as well not exist.

The choices in
his life were limited and were laid down by others. Tea or coffee,
stew or fish, weights or treadmill, top bunk or bottom. Choices
that were no real choice but John Bell was in prison through his
own choice. He could have been an ordinary member of society and
wake up each morning in his own comfortable bed in his own
comfortable home, instead of alone in an uncomfortable bunk
surrounded by racist thugs, murderers and rapists.

He was now
serving his tenth year of his twenty-year sentence and decided how
badly he wanted his freedom, and the price he was prepared to
achieve it. He’d kill to get out if he could.

On Jennifer’s
last visit to the prison, John had informed her that he could soon
be eligible for parole. This delighted Jennifer, but made George
very ill at ease. He had always seen a touch of cruelty in John’s
smile and it frightened him, but he didn’t mention this to Jennifer
as she could only see good in her brother and appeared to ignore
any criticism made towards him.

When not in
his cell, Bell would be found in the exercise yard, swinging his
arms and taking in deep breaths of fresh air while he jogged on the
spot.

He hated the
idea of George’s relationship with his sister and wanted to kill
him as he had the vicar in Fleetwood, more so because he had made
Jennifer happier than he had been able to do.

He was aware
that she had moved to Scarborough, but had promised George that she
would not disclose the address and any correspondence came via a
post office box which George had set up for this purpose and for
their own security.

Jennifer was
now well enough to do the weekly shopping. She walked down the hill
into town with a sharp wind nipping her bare ankles. Her first stop
was Ben Frank’s butchers for her weekly supply of lamb’s liver,
being George’s favourite.

Ben Franks had
always had a soft spot for Jennifer and frequently saved her bones
to stew up in the casserole.

By the time
she reached the shop the queue stretched out onto the street, but
she joined it anyway, accustomed to his good reputation like the
many others.

She was soon
joined by Mildred Shepherd, who lived three houses up from them.
They chatted to pass the time and eventually reached the doorway of
the butcher and then found themselves actually inside the shop at
last.

They walked
together along the high street and called into Marks & Spencer,
looking through the new winter fashion collection.

George was
putting the garden to sleep for the long winter ahead.

The afternoon
was wearing on as Jennifer climbed back up the hill to the house,
weighed down with shopping bags full of fruit, vegetables and meat,
which would be plentiful for the week.

She came
across a vacant bench on Marine Parade and rested for a while,
placing the bags on the seat each side of her. The sea was blue and
still as she gazed out towards the horizon, her eyes transfixed on
a fishing boat in the far distance. The pale sun had given up its
fight and the clouds were supreme now. The wind was getting up and
she felt chilly as she continued her climb back home.

George noticed
her at the iron garden gate and ran over to assist her with the
shopping as the seagulls swooped and soared in the grey sky
overhead.

The house was
warm and the coals in the fire hissed with a faint smell of burning
wood drifting through the hall. George had set two cups out on the
kitchen table in readiness for Jennifer’s return. The kettle boiled
as he waited patiently for the cream buns to be revealed from her
shopping bags.

They had a
weekly routine, which was not often disrupted. Monday was
Jennifer’s shopping day and George’s gardening. Tuesday was
cleaning with Molly, Wednesday was the Women’s Institute for
Jennifer and George’s Rotary, Thursday and Friday they would spend
either walking with the club or driving off along the countryside.
The weekends were spent together at home. The only disruption to
their idyllic weekly routine was the occasional visit to Armley
prison.

Jennifer
unpacked the shopping and started to slice the vegetables for the
casserole for supper. George cleaned up in the garden then went
upstairs to shower.

The next
morning, George took Jennifer a cup of tea while she lay in bed
watching the seagulls swooping low over the garden. It was her
eighty second birthday today and George had made an elaborate
breakfast for when she came downstairs.

A large
birthday card centred the table as she sat down to her half
grapefruit and poached eggs.

After
breakfast, George took her into the lounge and presented her with a
basket tied with a bright red bow ribbon. She carefully opened it
to reveal a tiny spaniel puppy.

Her eyes
filled with tears as she carefully lifted the puppy out of the
basket, cradling it like a newly born baby. It was a fat spotted
spaniel with drooping humorous eyes and long silk ears. It wriggled
in her grasp, then reached up and licked her chin with its soft
pink tongue, nudging her at the same time with its wet button nose.
Jennifer stroked the puppy as she carefully placed him back in the
basket so she could wipe the tears from her eyes.

George had
noticed her fascination with puppies on their country walks and
thought their lifestyle would be complete to have something young
in the household.

They were
always away on day trips in the country and when not, the garden
was large enough for daily exercise.

Jennifer was
delighted with her birthday gift, reaching down to lift the puppy
against her face as she stroked him continually for the rest of the
day.

A large box
contained a food and water bowl, puppy food, vitamins and a book on
spaniels. She spent the rest of the day playing with him in the
lounge while George secured the perimeter of the garden to avoid
him escaping.

George had
read about the puppies in the local paper and sneaked out to have a
look at them while Jennifer went shopping the day before. He had
chosen the fattest one, white with liver spots and the prettiest of
the six.

Pamela and
Wilfred in the house next door had offered to house the puppy
overnight so as not to spoil the surprise and had also offered
their services to puppy-sit whenever they wanted.