Inseparable Bond (21 page)

The railway
station was dimly lit. The crowds of commuters had long gone
leaving only a few mid-morning travellers brushing the rain off
their coats as they gathered under the covered platform.

The 11.10 to
Manchester pulled into the station on time, the waiting passengers
eagerly waiting for the automatic doors to open.

The carriage
was hot and steamy. A strong odour of damp clothes circulated the
air, the windows covered in condensation, giving the effect of
frosted glass.

John was
wedging his suitcase in the rack above his seat as the train left
the station, throwing him backwards as it rapidly accelerated.

After a couple
of brief stops at small suburban stations, the train arrived in
Manchester.

The few
disembarking passengers were jostled by the hordes of travellers
scrambling to board an Inter City Express to London, positioned
opposite the narrow platform.

His Blackpool
bound train didn’t leave for a further twenty minutes, he went to
the station buffet, drinking repulsive coffee and a stale bun.

It was early
Friday afternoon, a group of girls were screaming in excitement at
their hen party weekend to be staged in Blackpool, other travellers
turned their heads towards them, disgusted and disapproving
expressions showing on their faces.

After stopping
briefly at a few remote stations on the journey, the tall tower
soon came into view through the rain smeared windows, the
passengers collecting their belongings as the train approached the
station.

A few people
waited at the barrier. A small hand waved enthusiastically
identified Jennifer, flanked by two over-sized women with a group
of small children.

They embraced
each other and walked to the car park, Jennifer gripping John’s arm
as they walked over to the car.

The small
windscreen wipers grated on the glass as Jennifer peered over the
steering wheel through the lashing rain, aiming horizontally from
the rough Irish Sea.

The avenue
appeared wider than he had remembered, the house more exposed and
uninviting due to the lack of rich summer foliage, the large tree
in the front garden, now bare of leaves, which had sympathetically
camouflaged the decaying condition of the huge property.

John went
immediately upstairs to unpack his suitcase; Jennifer went through
to the kitchen to prepare a light, warm and nourishing supper.

Heat
generating from the Aga warmed the kitchen, the fire in the lounge
had little effect in heating such a large room, although two subtle
table lamps which gave the room a comfortable and inviting
atmosphere complimented the flickering yellow flames, two blankets
were placed on the end of the sofa.

They ate
supper in the kitchen, the dining room impossible to heat and
unused in the winter months.

Cold air
chilled the forehead as you walked through the house. The unused
rooms were cold and dark with their curtains kept drawn in an
attempt to retain the heat.

A small
electric fire had been placed in John’s bedroom, being too little
effect in such a large area. He now realised why Jennifer had taken
a small bedroom at the back, directly above the warm kitchen.

The
temperature in the bathroom equalled a refrigerator, the bed sheets
were crisp and icy cold yet there was an abundance of hot water,
supplied by the kitchen Aga.

Jennifer had
covered his bed with four heavy blankets in an attempt to make him
comfortable through the winter months. It was only November, but
unusually cold, the severer cold of mid-winter was yet to be
experienced.

John would
walk along the promenade, this had become his daily routine,
sitting in a closed shelter alongside a couple of other lonely old
men that he had met. They would pass the time with idle chat,
watching the grey sea meeting the grey sky.

As winter
rapidly approached, the house grew colder. The occasional break in
the clouds released the light from the heatless sun, which would
penetrate through his bedroom window.

He soon became
suffocated by the constant attention of Jennifer. She treated John
like a precious puppy, his breakfast and supper being prepared
religiously at the same time every day. Her inquisitions into his
every move gradually forced him to spend more time in the privacy
and isolation of his bedroom, watching his small television and
video he had purchased for £30 from a local charity shop.

Apart from
Jennifer’s flower arranging at the chapel every Saturday, Monday
shopping and Friday at bible class she would remain in the house,
whizzing through the rooms with a vacuum cleaner which irritated
John, the disturbed dust making him sneeze and the constant whining
from the motor of the aged appliance.

He would
secretly masturbate while watching videos from his growing
collection, purchased from a sex shop he had discovered down a back
street in Blackpool.

Amongst the
range of pornographic material, crime magazines were stashed behind
his collection, which he regularly purchased from the local
newsagents, hiding them under his jacket to avoid detection from
his sister on his return.

Jennifer was
normally restless and would roam from room to room, at times being
impossible to talk to.

After his
evening supper, religiously served at 7 o’clock, he would take the
small Nova and drive along the Promenade road in Bispham, a few
miles from Fleetwood. He would park alongside other stationary cars
adjacent to roof covered shelters, watching the dark silhouettes of
older men engaging in group sex and masturbation.

Men would
slowly walk alongside the row of cars, looking in as the drivers
fondled themselves, occasionally inviting them in to the passenger
seat. Other cars would casually and slowly cruise past, the drivers
peering out of the windows at the activity being performed in the
cold dark evenings.

It was eerily
quiet, only the sound of the rough sea hitting the barrier wall
could he heard drowning out the sounds of the sexual activity in
the shelters.

The adjoining
public toilet had been closed down due to vandalism and
inappropriate behaviour, resulting in the outdoor activities which
attracted a wide audience.

Some of the
parked cars were occupied by the occasional transvestite, sitting
at their steering wheels running their fingers through the strands
of cheap nylon wigs, black tights covering their hairy legs as they
fondled their genitalia under a short leather mini skirt.

Occasionally
you would hear the tapping of high-heeled shoes as a transvestite
had left the vehicle, trying to remain femininely composed trotting
clumsily alongside the parked cars.

A group of
fishermen who had braved the bitter cold had cast their rods into
the rough sea appearing oblivious to the antics surrounding
them.

Parked cars
would operate reversing lights, indicators and brake light to
signal messages to waiting drivers, where they would speed off in
convoy on response to the appropriate sign. The area was deprived
of street lighting, the only clear signs of activity were by the
headlights of vehicles as they briefly slowed down on their
approach, the driver’s faces only visible by the reflection from
their dashboard lights. The atmosphere was coupled with tension and
excitement.

John would sit
for many hours watching the exposed and well-rehearsed theatrical
performance.

He would
return to the house about midnight. His sleep was regularly
interrupted by the flushing of water followed by the clanking of
water pipes from the bathroom Jennifer visited at hourly
intervals.

It was
approaching Christmas. It was bitterly cold but dry; the vicar was
sitting on the sofa in the cold and draughty lounge. He wore a
large heavy overcoat, which he didn’t remove. He had met John on a
few previous occasions when visiting his sister. The vicar had
always felt uncomfortable in the presence of John, disapproving of
him from the outset, considering him to be a dangerous man.

He had never
warmed to the idea of him living with Jennifer, and had made his
concerns known to her.

He leaned over
to Jennifer as she looked at a document on her knee, the knee
closest to him that brushed his thigh every now and then. They were
each holding a steaming mug.

The document
was Jennifer’s will; she had asked the vicar to witness her recent
changes, which he did with reluctance. John was to be the sole
benefactor of her estate, consisting of the house, personal effects
and the car.

She read the
document, smiled at John and sank slowly back into the sofa.

John did not
approve of the relationship the vicar had formed with his sister.
John was jealous of the vicar’s association with his sister, along
with his good looks and charming personality, which made it easy
for him to make contact with women. He found him manipulative,
immature and self-centred, yet Jennifer humorously dismissed his
observations.

As John took
his morning walk along the promenade he passed a row of beach huts
situated on a remote part of the beach. He was attracted by a
moaning sound coming from the inside one of the huts. It looked
derelict; the door was open, swinging on the hinges. He forced it
wide open and was overpowered by the smell resembling an outside
toilet. It was empty apart from cobwebs covering the peaked wooden
roof. In the dark corner was a scruffily clothed vagrant smelling
of alcohol.

He was cold
and his teeth were chattering as he tried to pull himself up as if
his legs wouldn’t carry him. As the man groped his way along the
wall, he looked up at John and said, ‘got a cigarette, mate?’

John went over
to the dishevelled drunk, raised his foot and repeatedly kicked him
in the groin and stomach, the man curling his legs up to his chin,
protected his face with his grubby hands. He moaned in agony as
John Bell continued his brutal attack on his helpless victim. All
the fight in him was concentrated into squirming.

He appeared
proud of his accomplishment as he continued his walk to the covered
shelter, shielding his lighter as he lit a cigarette.

He caught a
tram to Blackpool to purchase a pornographic video, stopping in a
charity shop to purchase an electric toaster for Jennifer’s
Christmas present.

The tram back
was full of people, squeezed together like sardines. All the seats
were taken. There were lots of children with their parents, arms
full of Christmas shopping.

He returned
home to see a small Christmas tree illuminating the dark hall, the
only visible signs of the festive season. He went straight to his
bedroom, frantically opening his brown paper bag and inserting the
video into his recorder.

He remained
dressed, laid on his bed masturbating while watching the captive
soldier being sexually and violently abused by two leather masked
captors on his video.

Christmas day
was wet, cold and windy. The vicar had called on his rounds to
offer his seasonal greetings to Jennifer, ignoring John Bell
throughout his brief visit.

Christmas
lunch was a quiet affair, just the two of them at the kitchen table
hacking into a roast chicken, the rain lashing at the window and
branches tapping at the glass in the cold, strong wind.

A woman from
the church had visited the previous evening to wash and set
Jennifer’s hair. John looked over the table at her, noticing the
hairstyle which he thought had made her look older, her wrinkles
had seemed clearer now the fringe had gone, leaving her forehead
unprotected.

They spent the
afternoon watching the television, each wrapped in a blanket by the
built up fire, warming the front of their legs before escaping into
the cold air which circulated the room.

John left the
room and returned, zipping up his new quilted coat, his Christmas
present from Jennifer. ‘Wear a tie, John,’ she said sternly, ‘it is
Christmas.’ He ignored her command and walked down to the promenade
as he braved the lashing rain.

The streets
were deserted of cars and people. In the far distance he saw a
couple walking on the beach, a young boy proudly showed off his
skateboard as he rode by the shelter.

The cold wind
became unbearable, he walked back to the house.

He entered the
hall as Jennifer tidied and fussed around, her obsession with
cleaning drove him mad. He stepped over the cord of the vacuum
cleaner and walked into the lounge.

He noticed a
boxed candle and a small rose in a thin vase on the sideboard.
‘Where did that come from?’ he asked Jennifer, who pushed the noisy
vacuum cleaner into the room.

‘The vicar’
she replied, without looking up.

His hands
started to shake, the muscles in his neck were in knots as he took
deep breaths to control his inner anger. He reached over and threw
a piece of wood on the fire from the pile Jennifer had carefully
laid by the fireplace.

He walked out
of the room and into the kitchen. Jennifer was sitting on the floor
by the back door. ‘Will you help me, John, I don’t seem to be able
to stand,’ Jennifer said, looking at him with fearful eyes. John
went over to her as she tried to get up. Her legs were very thin,
she tried to walk. She couldn’t, even when she used the door to
support herself.

John lifted
her from the floor and sat her on the kitchen chair. She was
sweating profusely, she lowered her head, and her hands supported
it as John filled a glass of water from the sink. ‘You’ve tired
yourself out with this cleaning,’ he said, wiping her brow with a
wet cloth.

‘I’ll go and
have a lie down dear, I’ll feel better later,’ she said.

John walked
her slowly to the stairs and carefully held onto her as they
entered her bedroom. ‘I’ll be fine now, dear, I’ll see you
downstairs later,’ she said, lowering herself onto the bed,
pressing her fingers to her temple.