Inseparable Bond (51 page)

‘It’s so
beautiful, George, thank you so much,’ she said, looking at her
reflection in the mirror as she wrapped the shawl around the thin
neck.

After lunch,
Jennifer grabbed her coat and buttoned it to the top, wrapping her
plastic rain hood over her head.

‘Where are you
going?’ George inquired, as he tucked into a portion of treacle
sponge, smothered in thick custard.

‘I’ve just got
a bit of shopping to do, I won’t be long,’ she replied.

‘Well, the
car’s still out, I’ll drive you to town and wait for you, it’s
starting to rain and the wind is very cold,’ he kindly
suggested.

‘No, you stay
there, dear, I need the exercise and the rain doesn’t bother me,’
she replied, leaving the house by the kitchen door.

She walked
briskly into town and peered through the rain-covered window of
McDonalds estate agents, frantically searching the photographs and
locations of rental properties being advertised. The cold rain was
dripping down her back, which had accumulated in her raincoat
collar. She went inside to avoid the rain, noticing a large array
of rental properties covering the entire wall of the agent’s
office.

‘Can I help
you?’ the smartly dressed assistant asked her.

‘Well, I’m
looking for a flat,’ Jennifer replied, shaking the rain from her
plastic rain hat.

‘Will he
require furnished or unfurnished?’ the assistant asked.

‘Oh, it must
be furnished. He has just had a messy divorce and his wife has
taken all his furniture,’ Jennifer said plausibly, looking away
from the assistant.

‘Oh, that’s a
shame,’ she replied as she reached into a large filing cabinet. ‘We
have a one bedroom flat which only came on the market yesterday. It
has its own kitchen and bathroom, storage heaters and a parking
space,’ she said, pulling out the details from the filing
cabinet.

‘Oh, that
sounds ideal,’ Jennifer replied, as she sat at the chair of the
girl’s desk. ‘Is that on the Esplanade road?’ Jennifer anxiously
enquired.

‘Oh, no, all
the accommodation on the Esplanade is private housing. It’s the
town’s most salubrious area. We don’t have any flats in that part
of town,’ she replied.

‘I live on the
Esplanade and I’m looking for a small self-contained flat in or
near to the town centre as a private studio away from home,’ she
replied.

‘You’re very
lucky to live in such an area,’ the assistant said, ‘but we don’t
have anything in that part of town.’

As the
assistant looked through various details, Jennifer peered over and
reached for the details of the one bedroom flat she had previously
mentioned.

‘Oh, this flat
is in town,’ Jennifer said, studying the details.

‘Yes, it’s not
far from here. It’s directly behind Marks & Spencer’s on the
top floor,’ the assistant replied. ‘Its £500 per calendar month
with two months rent as deposit. We can arrange a viewing
straightaway if you like,’ the assistant said.

‘Yes, thank
you, I would like to see it and I have the time this afternoon,’
Jennifer replied excitedly.

The assistant
looked up at her with a curious expression and said, ‘I have to
point out that the flat cannot be used for any business
activity.’

‘Oh, yes, I
won’t be conducting business, the flat is for my private use,’
Jennifer said.’

‘It’s just
with you saying you needed the flat as an alternative to your
home,’ the assistant replied.

The assistant
made a brief telephone call and a viewing was arranged for 3
o’clock.

Jennifer
walked into town towards Marks & Spencer on the high street.
She followed the directions the sales assistant had given her and
entered Castle Lane, a side street behind the store. She approached
the front door of a tall building, which was certainly in need of
attention. The paint on the windows were flaking, the front door
was scratched and battered and dirty net curtains hung unevenly at
the windows. She waited at the front door for the arrival of the
estate agent. Bin liners overflowed in the tall grass. The front
garden was unkempt, littered with newspapers and rubbish which had
blown in from the street.

A broken pram
and an old bicycle lay discarded at the side of the house. At the
side of the door was a set of four doorbells.

She peered
through a gap in the dirty net curtains of the ground floor room
and quickly stepped back as she had noticed a young man lying on a
settee in only a pair of boxer shorts, watching a video.

The estate
agent arrived on time and fumbled through a large set of keys
before finding the one that fitted the front door. She followed him
up the stairs. The hall was full of rubbish alongside two baby
buggies and a bicycle. The walls were painted dark green, the
old-fashioned banister rail chipped and marked through decades of
neglect.

Jennifer was
exhausted by the time they reached the top floor. She stood for a
while to catcher her breath before entering the flat. It smelt damp
and dirty. A threadbare carpet covered the floor of the narrow
hall, leading off into a small kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen
was dirty, as though the previous tenant had been given five
minutes eviction notice. The old bath was stained and chipped, the
toilet bowl dirty, as was the small washbasin. The brown bathroom
floor tiles were lifting at the edges, fungi grew along the side of
the bath and the walls were stained and uneven.

An old
three-piece suit and Formica table with three high back chairs were
placed on an old dirty carpet. There was no sign of any luxury or
entertainment items. It was assumed that the next tenant would be
in possession of these.

The bedroom
was painted in a flame orange, covered with small pieces of blue
tack after the posters had been ripped of the walls. The bed looked
in reasonably good condition, but the mattress was stained with a
large patch of urine in the centre. The bedroom window looked out
onto a workshop where beyond was a slight view of the sea and
harbour between banks of similar style houses.

Although there
were many flats available for rental, time was of the essence as
John could be released within the next two days and she didn’t have
the time to view other properties.

She went
through the rooms for a second time while the estate agent spoke on
his mobile phone by the front lounge window.

She walked out
to the hall, looking down to the ground floor over the dirty
banister. She agreed to take the flat. The estate agent drove
Jennifer back to the office to look through the terms and
conditions of the lease and pay the necessary deposit.

She wrote a
cheque for £1,500, which were for the deposit and a month’s rental
in advance. She signed the lease documentation for the minimum
twelve month period and could collect the keys after four the next
day.

George was
standing by the front bay window, frantically looking up and down
the esplanade. It was past six and Jennifer had been gone for two
and a half hours. The shops had closed half an hour ago and he was
becoming increasingly concerned.

He walked down
the front steps to get a clearer view of the route she would take,
relieved to see her tiny frame turning the corner as she made he
way up the slope. He waited by the gate until she reached the
house. She looked up at him as he held the gate open for her.

Once inside,
he poured her a cup of tea, then took her coat off her and draped
it over the kitchen chair.

‘You were a
long time dear, I was getting worried,’ George said, massaging her
thin shoulders as she sipped her tea.

‘Well, the
shops were so busy and I forgot the time,’ she said.

‘You seem to
have forgotten your shopping also,’ he replied sarcastically.

‘Oh, I didn’t
buy anything, I met Cissie Sharp in town and we went for a cup of
coffee and a cream bun,’ she nervously answered.

‘Well, that
explains it then,’ George answered, sitting down opposite her,
reaching over the table to squeeze her tiny hands.

After supper,
George watched the clock until the pointers reached 7.30 exactly.
He grabbed his car keys and kissed Jennifer on the forehead as he
left for his Rotary meeting.

Jennifer
waited until he drove out of sight before briskly going into his
study. She sat at his desk, writing out a list of necessary items
she would need to purchase to make the flat more habitable and
presentable.

The list was
endless. Bedding, kitchen equipment, crockery, cutlery,
disinfectant, towels, cleaning materials, curtains, a television
and radio, lounge furniture and an endless list of food items.

Hopefully John
would be in a position to give her more detailed information on his
pending release, particularly in view of time and dates as he was
due to call anytime now that George had left the house.

George was
sitting in the bar of the St Nicholas Hotel with a few of the other
members of the Rotary club, who were assembling for their weekly
meeting. He was in a silent mood, his thoughts not on the Rotary
business but on Jennifer. He felt ashamed as he tried to eliminate
his thoughts and inner feelings of Jennifer’s dishonesty and
betrayal and why she would need to lie to him about having coffee
with Cissie Sharp, particularly seeing Cissie had telephoned the
house earlier that afternoon when Jennifer was in town, informing
her that Mavis Thompson had been taken to hospital.

George sat in
the meeting room of the St Nicholas Hotel, looking up at the
elaborate ceiling and fine chandeliers as the president spoke about
the latest charity event they had sponsored. George tried
desperately to displace his suspicious thoughts by looking around
the grandeur of this fine building.

He thought to
himself, despite everything staying reassuringly the same, the old
regular visitors of the fine hotel were now dying off and the new
generation were not interested in old-fashioned seaside hotels like
the St Nicholas.

The thick
white linen table cloths in the dining room, and thick white linen
sheets in the best suites, and staff who would not dream of
presenting a newspaper on a breakfast tray without it first being
ironed, were now of little interest to the public.

No real fires
were being burned in the hotel grates anymore, yet they were
built-in to the original magnificent marble surrounds, and no one
cared to be offered three types of vegetables in their own sauces
with several tablespoons of real butter added to the creamed
potatoes, and pancakes were no longer flambé cooked at the table in
highly polished pans in front of admiring guests who watched and
sighed with delighted appreciation.

George was
very much a Conservative supporter and had blamed the Labour
government for encouraging cheap foreign holidays at the expense of
the British tourist trade.

He recalled
the old days when lots of visitors would pack the hotel, many
staying for a month’s vacation year after year, accompanied by
their chauffeurs and their pathetic pretences that their personal
maids were ‘unfortunately unwell’ rather than long dead after being
worked to death.

Now the hotels
guests consisted of cheap budget weekend coach trips staying a
maximum of two nights only, and many on just a bed and breakfast
basis.

He looked over
at the bar with its flickering game machines positioned in an
ornate alcove surrounded by the best quality velvet drapes and gold
edging, old and well worn after years of use, now going unnoticed
after previous years of admiration from the many old gentlemen and
their ladies who would flock to the hotel for the healthy and
invigorating sea air in this once busy Victorian seaside town.

The meeting
ended around 10 o’clock, when he drove slowly home.

Jennifer was
watching television as George walked through to the lounge.

‘How was your
meeting, dear?’ she asked.

‘It was fine,
the normal boring chitchat,’ he replied, walking through to the
study.

Jennifer knew
he was not in his usual buoyant mood and thought it best to leave
him alone as his voice sounded so low and worried. She could hear
him opening his desk drawer and pouring himself a glass of whisky,
and she knew he would be staring at the house accounts and bank
statements.

Jennifer
remained watching television while George flicked through documents
over the top of his half moon glasses, his eyes round and
melancholy.

He entered the
lounge and sat by the sizzling log fire, looking over at Jennifer.
He looked across at her, about to say that Cissie Sharp had phoned
while she was out shopping but hesitated, thinking better of it,
and began to say something else.

John Bell
hadn’t phoned the previous night. Jennifer hadn’t been too
concerned as he could only telephone when a callbox had been
available, although she was anxious about his release date.

She cooked
breakfast as George pottered about the garden. She was eager to get
into town to purchase the necessary items for the flat.

The estate
agent had telephoned earlier informing her they key was ready for
collection early than planned. Fortunately they had phoned while
George was in the garage, avoiding a difficult situation having to
explain to him why she had rented a flat in town, although Jennifer
would have plausibly talked her way out of any awkward
situation.

It was a
bright sunny day, clear blue skies and a brisk chilly autumn breeze
swept over the garden from the calm blue sea.

George came
through the kitchen door and sat down to his breakfast of eggs and
bacon and a mountainous pile of mushrooms.

‘Seeing it’s
such a glorious day out there, I thought we might take a drive over
to Whitby and have a fish and chip lunch,’ he said.