Inseparable Bond (54 page)

Jennifer was
listening to George giving his interesting history lecture as she
looked around the restaurant at the old lawnmower, petrol cans,
garden shears and other ageing and rusting implements placed around
the restaurant to compliment the atmosphere of the fine dining
establishment.

The food had
been as near to perfection as was surely possible, and the
expensive French Claret had not lagged far behind, unrestricted by
cost.

They left the
restaurant laughing about the comparisons of present day
accommodation opposed to the old coaching days, their hilarity
fuelled by the intake of a bottle of fine French Claret.

George drove
home carefully, being well over the legal limit and once inside the
safety of the house, he quickly fell asleep in front of the roaring
fire as Jennifer watched the afternoon movie on television while
Walter slept on her lap.

She relaxed in
her chair with a warm feeling of real achievement in refurbishing
the flat in such a short period of time, and also being excited at
the prospect of meeting John at the railway station the next day
and escorting him to his own home. She felt a ripple of relief that
she had been able to undertake the task without detection.

She found the
film uninteresting and decided to take a long soak in the bath as
George slept. She lay in the bath with fragrant bubbles up to her
tiny chin, thinking of her brother waiting patiently for the large
doors of freedom to open the next morning.

She dressed
slowly in a plain silk blouse and immaculately cut trousers,
correct and conservative and walked downstairs and into the kitchen
to prepare a light salad supper for when George woke from his
afternoon snooze.

A flash of
lightening illuminated the sea, followed by a crash of thunder
which woke George from his sleep. Seconds later the heavens opened
and heavy rain bounced off the drive as it flowed like a river onto
the esplanade. Sunday evening strollers ran for cover under
anything they could find as the rain bounced erratically.

Jennifer
walked easily and elegantly across her rich carpeted sitting room
with Walter tucked securely under her arm as she watched the rain
hammer down from the bay window.

She sat on the
sofa which, like the ruffled blind at the window, was very feminine
and tasteful which Jennifer had selected from Donaldson’s
department store, being the most exclusive and expensive furnishing
outlet in town.

She placed
Walter on a chintz-covered chair next to the fire. It was a small
chair, more suitable for a bedroom, but she had brought it down
from the guest room and designated it for Walter after covering it
with a soft grey blanket. Walter would spend most of his time in
the chair, looking up at Jennifer with interest, curiosity and
adoration as she moved around the room.

Monday morning
was a typical late autumn blustery day. Heavy clouds hung over the
red roofs of the tiny houses, which rose steeply from the shore up
to the town.

The large
Grand Hotel was covered in a light grey mist which slowly rolled in
from the threatening sea.

Jennifer had
hastily prepared breakfast, making another excuse to George of her
need to go in to town to meet up with one of the ladies from the
Women’s Institute.

She had
secretly telephoned John as promised, while George was changing the
library books in town before taking the lawnmower over to
Bridlington for its winter overhaul.

The train from
Leeds was expected to arrive at 1.30, which gave her an extra hour
to call in to the flat and make the last minutes preparations,
making sure the night storage heaters were effective and putting a
lamb casserole in his oven to disguise the smell of damp which was
so noticeable when you entered the front door of the house, more so
on entering the flat.

She had been
standing for half an hour on the station platform, her tiny feet
felt cold and damp as she only wore ballet style flat shoes and
thin ankle socks. She looked up at the arrivals board, noticing the
train from Leeds was running an hour late. She decided to sit in
the refreshment room away from the cold draught which blew down the
platform.

This was the
first occasion for Jennifer to see the newly-painted Victorian
station she had read about it the local paper. Flowers were set
about in tubs and the stationmaster wore a smart peak cap with a
whistle hanging around his neck. She could still smell the fresh
paint as she looked up at the Victorian lamps which were situated
between the two platforms. The station waiting rooms had retained
their titles of ladies and gentlemen in a typical and idyllic
English way, but a bank of vending machines for hot drinks to
condoms quickly reminded her that she was in the world of modern
technology and not the Victorian era the designers had tried so
hard to preserve.

The expected
train from Manchester Airport had also been delayed through a
signal fault outside York, resulting in the station being busier
than normal with people standing around looking up at the arrivals
board with disgust and hateful expressions.

She sat for
nearly an hour looking at her undrinkable coffee when she was
alerted by the announcement of the Leeds arrival. Her heart began
to beat and adrenalin raced through her veins as she briskly walked
along the station alongside the approaching train as it slowly came
to a halt.

Arriving
passengers clambered off the train before it was fully stationary,
Jennifer was jostled and pushed by the crowds as she frantically
searched for John, looking up and down the platform as she weaved
her way through baggage trolleys and suitcases.

Her heart sank
with immense disappointment as the crowds dispersed from the
station entrance and the station porter slammed the train doors
closed as he walked alongside the stationary train.

She sat down
on the platform bench, her mind in turmoil coupled with concern and
rejection until one of the carriage doors opened and John Bell
struggled from the train onto the platform, carrying a brown paper
parcel tied with string. Jennifer raced over to him as he looked up
and smiled. They clung onto each other briefly as the station
porter looked pointedly at them as he continued to slam the doors
behind him as he walked.

They walked
from the station, hand in hand, as John struggled with his large
parcel containing his life’s possessions. Jennifer seemed to be
bending over double as she hurried out of the station pulling John
behind her, tightly holding onto his hand life a mother fearfully
protecting her young child.

They walked
briskly through the High Street and into Castle Lane behind Marks
& Spencer until they arrived at the large four-storey house.
John looked up at the tall building as Jennifer opened the front
door.

She had become
used to the climb after so many visits, leaving John reaching for
breath as they arrived on the top floor.

An appetising
smell of lamb casserole greeted them as they entered the flat,
becoming stronger as they walked through to the kitchen.

John placed
his parcel on the kitchen work surface, looking around at the
sparking new appliances as he casually open the cupboards, which
were packed with groceries.

Jennifer
opened the oven to check on the casserole as he walked through to
the sitting room, peering around the door of the bedroom as he
passed. Jennifer was so mixed up in her thoughts of excitement and
the need to stay the entire day with her brother, but needing to
return home to make supper for George who would have now returned
from Bridlington.

‘How do you
like your new home?’ she asked John, as he walked back into the
kitchen, lighting a cigarette.

‘It’s perfect,
Jennifer. Is all this mine, or does it belong to the landlord?’ he
asked.

‘It’s all
yours, apart from the bed and the carpets,’ she replied as she
scooped the casserole onto two plates.

‘I didn’t have
time to get everything, so whatever I have forgotten, you must
write them down and we’ll buy them when we go into town,’ she said
excitedly.

‘I’ll need a
mobile phone so I can call you,’ he said, looking up at the stained
kitchen ceiling.

‘Oh, of
course, I’d forgotten all about that,’ Jennifer replied, following
his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘I’ve left you some money on top of the
television for your cigarettes and some loose change for the gas
meter,’ she said, stroking his hand across the table.

John had a
mature, quietly confident air about him, unlike how she had
remembered him in Fleetwood when he had come over painfully shy and
appreciative. He now appeared hostile and carried a bored and
lethargic expression on his face, which Jennifer put down to
tiredness after his journey.

Jennifer left
John to settle in to his new home while she briskly walked back
home.

George had
already arrived back from Bridlington and was busy mopping the
kitchen floor as pans boiled and their lids rattled on the
cooker.

‘Sorry I’m
late, dear,’ she said apologetically, removing her coat and hanging
it behind the kitchen door.

‘I’ve been
back a couple of hours, where have you been to all this time?’ he
asked.

‘I spent
longer than I thought in town, then I met Grace and Ronald going
into the Grand Hotel, who invited me in for afternoon tea, and we
chatted all afternoon until I suddenly realised what time it was,’
she replied, confidently and reassuringly.

‘I’ve put two
pork chops in the oven. Supper should be ready in half an hour,’ he
said, looking directly into her eyes with slight suspicion.

Jennifer went
to her room, undressed and ran a hot bath to warm her cold bones
after waiting in the cold station and sitting in a chilly flat most
of the afternoon. She laid in the hot water, her head resting on a
fluffy white towel, happy and relieved that after all her hard
work, her brother was now secure and in such close proximity.

After nearly
nine years, George and Jennifer were known by many local people and
had a strong and reliable set of sincere and genuine friends. They
were a well-respected couple in the community, particularly in the
immediate vicinity of detached affluent houses, which stretched
along the cliff overlooking the sea and town centre.

It was
imperative that Jennifer would need to keep the arrival of her
brother confidential; to avoid scandal and gossip, as it was very
difficult, sometimes impossible, for people to keep things to
themselves, or indeed for people not to talk about each other.
Gossip was a recreation for many people, as there was little else
to do for many in the small town of Scarborough.

It was
imperative that George didn’t suspect or discover her secret life
of housing her brother at her expense, and in such close proximity
to where they live. She had gone to enormous lengths and great
expense to make sure John was comfortable and secure and could not
afford to risk her beautiful home and the genuine affection from
George.

She dressed in
her long red velvet housecoat, carefully ran lipstick over her
small lips and combed her thinning hair, her large eyes looking at
the refection of her face in the dressing table mirror as she
sprayed expensive perfume across her chest.

The smell of
cooking greeted her as she walked down the wide staircase, stopping
at the huge floral arrangements in the hall, checking each flower
stem for retaining their peak perfection.

She went into
the large lounge, checking the condition of her favourite red
roses, which she had positioned at discreet intervals around the
room after the florist had delivered them earlier in the day.
George had commissioned the local florist to supply her with red
roses on a weekly basis and had never once failed to deliver each
Monday morning. The flowers had arrived that morning while she had
been secretly waiting for John at the railway station.

George had
laid the table in the dining room, a chilled bottle of Chablis
rested amongst a cluster of ice in the silver bucket on a
Chippendale style occasional side table and a vase of red roses
were placed on the centre of the table. George placed the vegetable
dishes on the table and placed a large pork chop covered with hot
applesauce in front of her as she fondled the rose petals in the
vase.

He chatted
about Bridlington, the exorbitant cost of servicing the lawnmower
and the increased traffic congestion on the coastal road. Jennifer
listened but didn’t hear a word, her mind was firmly on her
brother, but she remained silent and polite while he spoke.

John Bell’s
flat was cold, quiet and in darkness, but unoccupied. He sat in the
warm, noisy and brightly lit harbour bar, drinking pints of beer,
chased down with double whiskies, compliments of Jennifer by the
money she had left him on the television.

George and
Jennifer had finished their supper and were relaxing by the log
fire watching a wildlife documentary on television as John
staggered out of the pub and onto the harbour slipway, precariously
hanging onto the railings to steady his walk.

Once the
programme had ended, George turned off the television, the lights
and locked the doors before walking hand in hand with Jennifer up
the stairs.

John Bell’s
hands were also on the stairs, as he staggered on all fours up to
his top floor flat after his first night on the town. He had not
consumed a large amount of beer, but his body system had been
denied alcohol for over ten years and it had rapidly affected
him.

He fell onto
the low bed and passed out, fully dressed in his black jeans and
heavy winter duffle coat, his wet and muddy boots staining the
crisp new bed cover.