Inseparable Bond (53 page)

She waited
until the pointers on her watch went to 2 o’clock exactly and
dialled the number of the prison call box.

John Bell was
waiting by the phone and quickly answered after only two rings.

‘Hello, John,
it’s Jennifer,’ she said excitedly.

‘I know it’s
you, who else would it be?’ he sarcastically replied.

‘Have they
told you when you will be coming home?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Yes, I’ll be
released on Monday, but I don’t know what time,’ he answered.

‘That’s
wonderful news, just wonderful. I’ve got a surprise for you when
you arrive, but you will need to tell me what time you will be
arriving in Scarborough so I can meet you at the station,’ she
said.

I’ll phone
before I get on the train,’ he replied, and put the phone down
abruptly.

John Bell went
back to his cell, leaping three steps at a time on the metal
staircase as he reached the landing on the wing. Next to his bed
were a brown paper parcel tired with string, and the walls were
bare of photographs of Jennifer and the ancestral home. The
hairbrush and comb had gone from the windowsill, so had his
collection of small potted plants.

He was in a
happy mood, smiling and laughing to himself, thumping the air with
his fist in excitement of his pending release.

Jennifer
briskly walked back to the flat before the deliverymen arrived with
the three-piece suite and kitchen items. She purchased some good
quality bed linen as she passed an exclusive soft furnishing
store.

She arrived
back at the flat and climbed the steep stairs to the top of the
building. Exhausted and weary, she sat down suddenly on the edge of
the bed. It was lucky she was slim and light because the mattress
beneath her was as thin as she was. For a few seconds she leaned
forward and rested her head in her hands, just to gain herself a
bit of time and pull herself together before the delivery van
arrived.

She stood up
and looked down at the old thin and stained mattress. It was in
such poor condition that most people would throw it out or drive it
to the local rubbish dump, but she had no time to purchase a new
one, thinking it would be all right for another month or so. She
opened the sealed packages and dressed the bed in new crisp white
linen, covering the thin and badly stained pillows with white
covers.

The bed now
looked clean and inviting with the extra large duvet hanging over
the small wooden legs, camouflaging the poor condition of the
mattress underneath.

She reached
into her shopping bag and revealed a small brown teddy bear, which
she had retained since a small child. She hugged the teddy bear for
a few seconds before carefully placing him in an upright position
between the two pillows.

She walked
around the flat, admiring her work, checking and re-checking the
curtains, hoping the creases would fall out by the time John
arrived in two days time.

The
undignified sound of the doorbell startled her as it echoed through
the rooms. She ran downstairs to open the front door for the
waiting deliverymen standing by the hydraulic lift at the rear of
the truck.

She walked
ahead of them as they huffed and puffed, bitterly complaining on
each step they took as they carried the new settee under its clear
polythene cover up to the top floor of the house.

She uncovered
the settee as the men returned for the rest of the items. She sat
looking around the small sitting room, remembering the days she
would cuddle up to her teddy bear each night as a little girl in
her hair ribbons and a smocked dress.

The second
delivery truck arrived conveniently at the same time. Within the
hour; all the items had been delivered and positioned in their
correct places, which Jennifer supervised. She gave the deliverymen
a generous tip as they left, smiling at each other. The flat had
now taken on a completely different and modern aspect. It looked
fresh, clean and inviting. The cushions and various ornaments would
complete the transformation once she had the time to purchase them
in readiness for John’s arrival.

It was 5.30 by
the time she left the flat and dragged her tired and weary, frail
body back up the esplanade to the house.

It was getting
dark by the time she arrived. Molly had long gone and George had
left a message on the answer-phone, saying he would be back around
8 o’clock.

Walter was
frantically jumping up at her, in need of affection and food. She
placed his dinner by his blanket next to the central heating boiler
and took her cup of tea into the lounge. She collapsed with
exhaustion in the armchair, resting her feet on the footstool as
she watched the local news report on television.

George arrived
at 7.30, looking weary after his long drive from coast to
coast.

They ate lamb
casserole in the kitchen as George was ravenously hungry having
only eaten the ham sandwiches she had packed for him.

After the
meal, George was in need of fresh air and a long walk after driving
for the past eight hours. It was a still and peaceful evening as
they strolled slowly along the coastal path down to the deserted
beach. George was holding her hand very tightly. He stopped when
they came to the same seat as they had sat on the previous night.
He took off his jacket and carefully laid it down for her to sit
upon, a gesture which seemed to Jennifer to be infinitely touching
and at the same time heartbreaking as she tried not to think about
her disloyalty to him and the secrecy of her day.

She stared out
to sea. She knew that George had missed her company that day. It
was rare for them to spend the day apart for such a long duration.
They sat looking up at the bright full moon, sending shimmering
light across the still and peaceful sea and the small houses
attached closely together.

They walked
slowly back to the house, arm in arm as if the recent hostility was
dead and buried. They returned home and sat by the open log fire,
which Molly had prepared for them. George sat resting his feet of
the gleaming brass hearth, drinking his nightly glass of whisky.
Jennifer sat drinking a cup of hot chocolate, dipping digestive
biscuits into the cup and dropping them into the Walter’s mouth who
was sitting by her side.

George
appeared relaxed and comfortable in his favourite wing chair,
gazing up at the ceiling, desperately fighting to keep his eyes
from closing. He was in a mellow and placid mood, not as unfriendly
and suspicious, as he had been the previous day. He was now
beginning to communicate with her in his usual loving and attentive
way in a hope of putting the past few days of unpleasantness behind
him.

Jennifer
looked over at him, touching the silver crucifix she wore around
her thin neck, which George had kindly bought for her in Preston
that day.

At 11.30,
George turned off the lights and secured the doors as Jennifer
snuggled under the crisp white clean sheets, which Molly had
changed the bed with.

George crept
in beside her and kissed her on the forehead before dropping off to
sleep.

Jennifer could
hardly bring herself to get out of bed the following morning. Every
bone in her body seemed to ache after the frantic cleaning and
humping the heavy furniture around the flat, but the worst was now
over. The smell of bacon drifted up the stairs, making her feel
hungry as George prepared a full hearty breakfast downstairs.

She slowly
dressed and walked down the stairs, gripping the handrail to steady
her walk. She looked tired, worn and harassed as she sat clumsily
at the kitchen table.

‘Are you all
right, dear,’ George asked with concern in his voice.

‘Yes, I’m
fine, just a little tired,’ she replied.

‘Why don’t you
go back to bed and I’ll bring some breakfast up to you,’ he
said.

‘Oh, no, I
just need a little time to wake up,’ she replied as she sipped her
tea.

‘I hope you’re
not going to town again, I’m sure that is making you tired,’ he
said.

‘Well, I must
nip in to town quickly, but I won’t be long,’ she answered.

There was a
short silence as George smiled at her and began to eat his eggs and
bacon.

Jennifer only
had today to complete the flat, although the hard work was now
behind her. John was to arrive the following day. She glanced up at
the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already half past nine and
she suddenly realised she needed to clean the carpets and buy some
cushions for the furniture. It was Sunday and most of the shops
would be closed by midday, so if she was going, she would have to
go immediately.

She rapidly
ate her cereal and finished her cup of tea before collecting her
shopping bag and putting on her raincoat.

‘What do you
need to buy on a Sunday, dear?’ George asked, with an anxious
expression.

‘Oh, just bits
and pieces, I won’t be long,’ she replied.

There was a
long disappointed silence, which could not be filled with an
explanation. She kissed George on the forehead and left by the back
door.

The town was
quiet and most of the shops were closed, but she was relieved on
discovering the small exclusive soft furnishing shop was open until
1 o’clock. She purchased two cream velvet cushions to match the
settee; a pair of candlesticks, a pack of six drinking coasters and
some gold tiebacks and hooks to make the curtains more
attractive.

She quickly
walked back to the flat, sighing at the thought of climbing the
mountainous staircase up to the top floor.

A child was
screaming from behind one of the doors, loud music blared out from
inside another as she finally reached the top floor, closing the
disturbing sounds behind her.

She cleaned
around the lavatory that took six pulls to work effectively, and
the basin, which only ran hot water for five minutes. She put the
kettle on the gas ring that was forever consuming fifty pence coins
and always ran out just as she attempted to make herself a
well-deserved cup of tea.

She sprayed
freshener around the rooms before closing the door, making her way
back up the hill, sitting suddenly on a bench to catch her
breath.

George was
sitting in the bay window reading the Sunday newspaper as she
returned home two hours later, calm, collected, and above all, not
defensive.

She walked
into the lounge in a state of breathless indignation as she sat
heavily in her chair by the fire.

‘You look very
tired, Jennifer,’ George said, looking at her over his half-moon
gold rimmed glasses.

‘Oh I’m fine,
I just walked home too quickly and I’m sure that hill is getting
steeper,’ she said, smiling over at him, her large eyes never
leaving his face to avoid overreacting like a guilty person.

‘I’ve booked
lunch at the Highwayman, but if you are too exhausted, I can cancel
the booking,’ he said, looking over at her as she relaxed in the
chair.

‘No, that
would be nice, what a lovely surprise,’ she replied, leaving the
room to change into her Sunday best.

They drove the
four miles to the Highwayman Inn, which was a popular luncheon
venue for the better heeled of the town. The food was good and the
service impeccable, but the prices were extortionate.

They parked
the car amongst Bentleys and other salubrious top of the range
cars, parked untidily like discarded toys on a nursery floor.

The
establishment was a grade-one listed building. It had once been an
old coaching inn and a group of local businessmen had recently
acquired it, converting it into a smart eating establishment.
George being one of the consortium who received a substantial
monthly return, as well as generous discounts.

Jennifer stood
on the cobblestone court-yard, it was not at all difficult for her
to imagine the scenes at the end of the eighteenth century when the
inn was at the height of its popularity, where coach, horses and
their passengers would rest overnight on their way to either Hull
or Newcastle along the North Yorkshire coastal path.

Once inside,
she would imagine the fine ladies and gentlemen passengers retiring
thankfully by glowing fires, eating hot food and drinking jugs of
wine and beer, served by cheerful waitresses and sleeping in large
comfortable feather beds.

‘You know it
was actually the fine quality of coaching inns which made England
so famous,’ George said to her as she looked around the low beamed
restaurant.

‘Is that why
you invested heavily into it?’ she asked him.

‘Yes, one of
the reasons, but mainly because I have always had a great interest
in the building and the many famous people who have stayed here,’
he replied, pulling out her chair at the table.

‘Every time
you bring me here, I never tire of looking around and absorbing the
historic atmosphere which has so carefully been retained,’ she
replied.

I love this
place nearly as much as I love you,’ he said, smiling at her over
the top of his large menu. Jennifer blushed as she scrutinised the
abundance of items featured on the menu, but settled for the
traditional Sunday roast beef luncheon.

‘It’s
fascinating to think that when people travelled in those days, they
took their life in their hands, regularly robbed of their
possessions,’ George said, looking around at the packed
restaurant.

‘Well, like
they say, dear, history has a habit of repeating itself. You don’t
feel safe travelling around Blackpool or Fleetwood these days,’ she
replied, as they both laughed at her realistic observation.

They talked
all through lunch about the inn in the olden days and the
ex-convicts that changed the horses and the prostitutes who staffed
the inns and only the aristocracy could travel safely, being
accompanied by guards and house servants on their travels.