Inseparable Bond (37 page)

Over fifty had
got there before them. Bradshaw took his tray and walked to the
front of the queue. No one protested as he shoved his tray out to
the server. The screws were watching but didn’t seem interested. ‘I
want two sausages, you mean bastard,’ Bradshaw shouted at the
server, who quickly answered. ‘And I want to share a cell with
Selina Scott… Now fuck off.’

Jennifer was
fully occupied with her cold chicken salad that had been put before
her. A very generous portion, which would take some getting through
particularly now the waiter had served a hot baked potato heaped
with sour scream and garnished with small pieces of crispy
bacon.

George topped
her glass with the chilled Chablis as he looked over at her from
the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.

George
Forester looked at her quizzically as she inspected the mountainous
meal. He sat well back as his sizzling sirloin steak was served
from a silver platter and onto his plate. Jennifer waited patiently
until his vegetables and jacket potato were served before picking
up her knife and fork.

‘Off we go,’
George said, as they both heartily tucked into the meal.

‘I have always
admired that lovely tie pin that you always wear,’ Jennifer
said.

‘Thank you, my
dear, my wife presented it to me on our twenty-fifth wedding
anniversary while we were on a cruise around Alaska, she purchased
it from the jewellers onboard the ship,’ he replied.

‘I noticed
that when you first came into the charity shop,’ she said, sipping
her wine.

‘I always wear
it, I promised her I would and I have kept to my promise,’ he
replied.

The setting
was lovely. The late summer sun was setting over the horizon,
sending a stream of bright golden light over the calm sea. The
waiter considerately closed the curtains to shade Jennifer’s eyes
from the glare.

George had
requested the window table in the restaurant of the Imperial Hotel
in Blackpool, which the restaurant manager had been only too
pleased to oblige due to him being a regular and valued
customer.

Jennifer had
sat on the lounge reading good quality magazines, Harpers and
Queen, Country Life, Lancashire Life and the Daily Telegraph
supplement, while George spent his regular afternoon session in the
hotels gym in the basement.

‘It now
explains why you have such a firm body for a man of your age,’
Jennifer said, as she prodded a radish which had rolled off her
plate and escaped.

‘I like to
keep fit, I try and go every day,’ he replied, cutting into his
steak.

Jennifer toyed
with his packet of Silk Cut cigarettes and a gold Dunhill lighter,
as if trying to resist temptation, watching him as he chewed on a
large piece of steak.

He lifted the
bottle of wine from the ice bucket and poured the remainder of the
wine into Jennifer’s glass.

‘I can’t have
anymore, George, it will go straight to my head,’ she said, looking
into the clear wine with a childish smile.

He chatted
about his past job, his home, his wife and his seven grandchildren
until the waiter returned to clear the plates, offering dessert
menus to both of them.

‘You’re a good
listener, you listen but show no curiosity,’ George said as he
studied the menu.

‘I don’t find
anything curious about you, George, and I find you most
interesting,’ she replied.

He persuaded
Jennifer to have a desert, chocolate cheesecake and cream. They
declined coffee and decided to drive back to his house before it
got too dark.

George
Forester’s house was only a five minute drive from the Imperial. A
large imposing residence on the North Promenade.

The house was
not dissimilar to Jennifer’s old house; the difference being it was
immaculately maintained and beautifully furnished.

He parked his
dark blue BMW in the garage next to a small red MG sports car.

The house was
elevated to afford splendid sea views from all the front
windows.

‘What a
beautiful view from here,’ Jennifer said, as she stood in the bay
window.

‘It’s all
right now, but when they put up those bloody illuminations next
week, they are bloody irritating, flashing all night, but it’s only
for ten weeks,’ he replied.

They drank
coffee by an imitation log fire, but of the best quality and only
for effect, as the house was centrally heated.

‘It’s your
time to tell me about you now, you listened to me for long enough,’
he said, pouring more coffee.

Jennifer told
him about her childhood, her marriage and her parents, but didn’t
mention she had a brother and fortunately, he didn’t ask.

He didn’t want
to drive any further as they had demolished a full bottle of port
while chatting. He ordered Jennifer a taxi and walked down the
garden steps, tightly holding her arm as she got into the car. He
paid the driver before the taxi departed. Jennifer waved to him
from the rear window; he waved back until the taxi disappeared
around the corner.

The sun shone
brightly the next morning, but Jennifer didn’t need any rays of the
sun to energize her. She had thoroughly enjoyed her evening out,
although she was feeling rather worse for wear after the wine and
port. She had never been a big drinker, so it had affected her more
than most.

She steadied
herself by gripping the handrail as she walked down the stairs and
into the kitchen. A strong fix of caffeine helped to staunch the
headache as she sat in the bay window, recalling the events of the
previous evening.

George
Forester had been a solicitor in Preston, being the lead partner of
Forester, Maynard and Bentley. His son had taken over from him when
his father retired eight years earlier. His son, Andrew, was living
happily in Portsmouth with his wife and two young children, but
although he had a good job with a law firm in the city, he felt
obliged to take over the partnership on his father’s
retirement.

He had lived
in Blackpool for most of his life; his wife had been born there,
and died there three years earlier.

He had plucked
up the courage to ask Jennifer for dinner last week while she
worked her short three hour shift in the charity shop.

Grace
Battersby was out of hospital but not well enough to work, which
suited Jennifer as she enjoyed covering for her in the shop and it
had given her the opportunity to meet George.

She watched
the heavy dark clouds swirl over the sea. The summer was coming to
an abrupt end; the leaves were turning a golden brown as they
started to fall from the trees.

She smiled as
she remembered the day’s outing in the lakes with John last
autumn.

John Bell and
Big Bear walked the wide circle of the exercise yard, shielding
their faces from whirlwind which had got trapped within the high
walls, kicked up dust and grime which had accumulated from the
recent hot and dry summer.

Bell looked
over at the entrance to the yard. A screw was giving an inmate a
body search before allowing him onto the yard. The screw seemed to
be taking extra care searching him.

‘What’s his
story?’ Bell asked Big Bear.

‘He escaped
from Brixton a few years back, managed to get over the wall with a
home-made ladder he made in the workshop,’ Big Bear told him.

‘Where did
they catch him?’ Bell asked,

‘On the
Eurostar going to France last month,’ Big Bear replied.

An officer
idled over to Bell and Big Bear as they sat on one of the metal
tables having a cigarette. ‘Bell, look lively, you’ve got a
visitor,’ the officer shouted.

The officer
marched him through to the visitor’s wing, where he was searched
far more thoroughly than going in to the exercise yard. Every inch
of his sides, back and front was patted down, and he had to open
his mouth and stick out his tongue and flick his ears to see he
didn’t have anything concealed behind them. The officer made him
run his fingers through his hair, then handed him a bight orange
sash.

He was used to
this procedure when he received visits from his solicitor regarding
his case, appeal, transfer and parole possibilities.

The unsmiling
officer nodded at Bell to go through. The visiting room was smaller
than on the other wing, the size of a tennis court. There was a
balcony above the door where an officer with a bored expression
looked down on the rows of chairs and tables. There were already
about fifty visitors, some standing, some sitting, waiting for
their loved ones. Most of the women had small children with
them.

The tables
were lined up in rows, each with four plastic chairs around them.
The chairs could be moved but the tables were fastened to the
floor.

A young
redheaded woman with a baby strapped to her chest was jumping up
and down and waving as Barry Newton, the treadmill runner, walked
into the room.

Most of the
kids’ fathers were just teenage kids, like Newton.

Security
cameras were positioned in each corner of the room, three prison
officers also stood around the walls, watching silently as they
focused on the individual tables as husbands and wives embraced
each other. Fathers cuddled small children and kissed their
babies.

Barry Newton
was crying unashamedly as he clutched his small baby in his
arms.

If an embrace
lasted too long, an officer walked over and tapped them on the
shoulder, telling them to sit down.

The prisoners
had to sit on the right side of the table, the visitor on the
left.

In the far
corner were vending machines offering sweets and cold drinks, next
to a play area for young children.

Spider was
marched into the room. ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ a young child screamed, as
she ran over to him.

A small frail
woman walked into the room, her head was lowered as she looked
around the room. John recognised the coat before he recognised who
was wearing it.

Jennifer
looked impassive as she spotted John sitting at the table. She
walked over to him, looking around at the sobbing and shouting of
other visitors and inmates.

She had been
the last person Bell had expected. It had been over a year with no
contact from her, not even a reply from his letter when he had been
in custody.

Bell stood up
as she approached him, he held his arms out to her, she smiles but
he could see how tense she was.

He held her as
she slipped her hands around his waist.

‘God, I’ve
missed you, Jennifer, I’m so pleased you finally came to see me,’
he said.

‘It’s your
choice, being here,’ she said, and he heard resentment in her
voice.

‘I’m so sorry,
Jennifer,’ he said.

They both sat
at the table, holding hands, being watch intensively by the
officer.

‘Can you ever
forgive me, Jennifer,’ he said, looking sadly into her eyes.

‘I wouldn’t be
here if I hadn’t,’ she replied, squeezing his hands tightly.

‘Do you have a
cell on your own?’ Jennifer asked.

Bell smiled.
‘I wish, but I do have a television.’

‘Well, that’s
nice for you, I know you like your television programmes,’ she
said. ‘Do they have fights and things,’ she asked, looking around
the room at the inmates.

Bell smiles at
her. ‘There are a few scuffles, but mainly in the yard, I never get
involved, and they leave me alone,’ he said.

Jennifer
frowned as she forced a sympathetic smile, reaching over to ruffle
his hair.

Bell could see
she was close to tears. A prison visiting room is not the ideal
place for a discussion. Jennifer looked over at the vending
machines in the corner.

‘Do you want a
drink or a biscuit or something?’ she asked, looking around the
room.

‘I’m not
allowed, but you can,’ he relied.

Bell could see
that she felt uncomfortable in the surroundings.

Jennifer
reached over and stroked his cheek and said, ‘You’re looking thin
dear, you should be home with me, it’s very lonely without
you.’

Bell looked at
her sad eyes and stroked the back of her small, shaking hand.

‘How’s my
garden looking?’ he asked, to lighten the mood.

‘Oh, its
looking fine. Some ladies from the bible class have helped me with
it, but now the church gardener comes around twice a week to keep
it tidy,’ she replied.

Bell released
his hands for hers and sat back in his chair.

‘How’s the
food, are you eating plenty?’ she said, frowning as she studied his
face.

‘Oh, yes, the
foods fine. I get extra as I’ve been working in the kitchen, but
now I’m on cleaning duties, which is easier and cleaner,’ he
replied.

‘Ask them to
put you in the garden, dear, then they’ll see how good you are,’
she said.

He returned
the smile, reaching over to grasp her tiny hands again, as he said,
‘There aren’t any gardens here, just concrete like the city on the
other side of the walls. It’s not like the other place in
Buckinghamshire. I hope they send me there.’

‘That would be
nice for you, but it’s a long way for me to visit,’ she said.

‘Do you have
to wear that yellow jacket all the time dear?’ Jennifer asked.

‘No, only in
the visiting room, it’s so I don’t walk out with you,’ he said
smiling.

At the next
table, a West Indian prisoner was cuddling his baby, smothering it
with kisses. His right hand slipped inside the child’s nappy. A
couple of seconds later he coughed and he used the same hand to
cover his mouth. The officers didn’t see him transfer the drugs
from nappy to mouth. The baby started to cry; he passed it back to
its mother.

Jennifer was
startled and turned around to see what was happening. A commotion
in the far corner of the room where a young blonde woman with a
child had thrown her chair over, shouting, ‘I hate you, I hate you,
you can rot in here for all I care,’ and stormed out of the
visiting room, dragging the child after her.