Inseparable Bond (38 page)

‘Who’s that?’
asked Jennifer.

‘He’s a new
guy,’ said Bell. ‘He’s in for armed robbery. That was his wife just
walked out on him. She wants a divorce.’

There was
still five minutes left before visiting time was over. Jennifer had
relaxed and talked freely about the church, the bible class, the
charity shop and the new family who had recently moved in two doors
down, but she didn’t mention George Forster or her occasional
outings with him.

Eventually
over the speakers, a disembodied voice announced that all visitors
had to leave. Bell stood up and embraced Jennifer, giving her a
slight kiss on her cheek.

‘Thanks for
coming,’ he whispered in her ear.

Jennifer
looked him in the eyes and said, ‘It’s been good seeing you dear,
I’ll come over again shortly, make sure you look after yourself,’
she said, picking up her bag.

She walked
quickly to the exit and gave a wave as she walked out of the
room.

Officers moved
around the tables telling the visitors they had to go. Children
were crying and several of the young prisoners were crying too,
clinging to their wives and children as they left the room.

Bell went over
to the line of prisoners waiting in line to be searched. The search
on the way out was more thorough than it had been on the way
in.

The young West
Indian who had taken the drugs from his child’s nappy was taken
away, protesting loudly. Bell reached the front of the queue and
the officer patted down his arms and legs and sent him along the
yard and back onto the wing.

Bradshaw was
in the cell with a young prostitute. He was just pulling up his
trousers as Bell walked in. The young guy left the cell and closed
the door behind him. Jennifer’s visit had spared him the
embarrassing ordeal.

Bell left the
cell and leaned over the guardrail and looked down through the
suicide mesh to the ground floor where prisoners were milling
around.

He could
tolerate the bad food, the smell from his toilet and the constant
music from the other cells, but having to socialise with men he
despised was more than he could bear, particularly Bradshaw who
spent most of his day sitting in the cell watching television or
listening to his Walkman.

Bell changed
into his shorts and T-shirt and walked down the corridor and onto
the lower floor towards the gym. Big Bear, his best friend, was
pumping iron.

‘Who was it,
your solicitor?’ he asked him.

‘No, my sister
Jennifer,’ Bell replied, as he climbed onto the treadmill.

Net curtains
fluttered at the sitting room of the house next door. Molly, the
80-year-old spinster and resident busybody, looked to see who was
visiting Jennifer as George parked his BMW outside her house.

Jennifer
wasn’t expecting visitors as she dragged the bulging bin liner down
to the front pavement, wearing her faded pink housecoat she’d had
for years.

George stepped
out of the car with a bouquet of flowers he had brought her.

She quickly
ran inside in a failed attempt to hide her dishevelled appearance
as George followed behind her, smiling broadly.

He sat in the
bay window waiting for the kettle to boil, as Jennifer was upstairs
in a frantic panic making herself look respectable.

She carried
the tray of tea and two slices of Victoria sponge cake over to
George and sat in the other chair facing him.

‘I called
around yesterday morning, but you weren’t in, your car was here so
I thought you must not have gone far,’ he said, picking up his
plate of sponge cake.

‘I had to go
out in the morning,’ she said, as she poured the tea into the
cups.

‘Well, I
called in the afternoon also, and you still weren’t back,’ he
said.

‘I was away
most of the day. I had to go to Leeds to see a relative and I took
the train, you know how I hate to drive on the motorway,’ she
replied, looking out on the esplanade to avoid eye contact.

‘Which
relative was this then?’ George enquired.

‘Oh, it’s just
a distant relation, I haven’t seen him for over a year,’ she
replied. ‘The flowers are lovely, you shouldn’t have,’ she quickly
said, trying to change the subject before he became too
inquisitive.

Jennifer had
quickly changed into a smart grey suit and a white blouse with
frills on the end of the sleeves.

George wore
what for him were informal clothes, an old grey tweed jacket and
flannels, starched shirt and striped tie pinned to his shirt by the
jewelled tie pin, with brown shoes polished to perfection.

He reached
over to hold Jennifer’s hand. ‘You look miles away, is there
anything you want to talk to me about?’ he asked.

‘No, nothing,’
she replied, turning to face him with a forced smile.

‘Is it your
relative in Leeds?’ he asked, frowning sympathetically.

‘Oh, no, I’m
fine, George, just a little tired I think, it was a long day
yesterday,’ she said as she fidgeted in the chair as if she was
uncomfortable.

‘Which part of
Leeds does your… relative live, I know the city well, I had a few
clients from that area and often had to visit,’ he said.

Jennifer
paused, as she had no knowledge of the surrounding districts of the
city. ‘I don’t really know, they collected me at the railway
station,’ she replied, nervously.

‘I spent a lot
of time in Armley prison when I was over that way, not as a
prisoner, but I had to keep remand prisoners informed on their
pending court cases,’ he said, settling back into his chair.

‘More tea,
George?’ Jennifer quickly asked, hoping to end the awkward
conversation.

George
refused, stood up straightening his jacket and said, ‘Come on then,
Jennifer, let’s try and put a smile on your face and go for a
drive. It’s a lovely day and the nights are drawing in.’

They drove out
of Fleetwood and onto the M55 motorway. The sun briefly shone
through the dark grey clouds as a few spots of rain collected on
the windscreen.

It didn’t take
long to restore Jennifer to her usual light-hearted self. He turned
on the car radio and they listened to classical music as he drove
at a safe and comfortable speed.

They arrived
in Skipton as the open market in the town square was closing down.
George held onto Jennifer’s arm as they walked around the stalls,
which were being packed away in waiting vans. He bought some local
cheese and a dozen brown eggs from the farm stall; Jennifer
carefully picked up a silver plated fruit bowl from a ‘bring and
buy’ stall and quickly replaced it when she noticed the £70 price
tag.

On the way
back, they stopped off at the Devonshire Arms Hotel for afternoon
tea, which they had in the garden, getting the last heat from the
setting sun.

Jennifer slept
as George observed lane discipline on the M55, driving at a
respectable speed so not to disturb her.

Jennifer woke
as they approached Blackpool promenade. The tide was out, revealing
the vast beach where a few hardy souls were walking their dogs in
the slight drizzle. The lights from the oilrigs on the horizon gave
the impression of a small town and the moon lit the calm Irish
Sea.

George drove
down Redwood Avenue where Jennifer and John had lived. It was the
first time she had been back to the area since they moved house. A
half erected complex covered the site where the house had stood.
The trees had been uprooted and a flagged drive surrounded the
building. Once completed, it would consist of four luxury
apartments, each with a garage and communal gardens at the back.
Jennifer didn’t mention to George that the family house had once
stood on the site as they slowly drove past.

Once they
arrived back, Jennifer made a pot of tea and cut into her freshly
baked apple pie, squirting cream from a pressurized canister.

Molly peered
though her net curtain to see Jennifer escort George to his car and
waited on the pavement until he completed his three-point turn to
drive back along the esplanade towards Blackpool.

Jennifer dozed
in front of the fire until 9 o’clock. She shivered as the rain
lashed against the window and went to bed for an early night.

She woke early
the next morning. The rain had blown over and the sun shone
brightly. Ted was in the garden mowing the lawn for the last time
of the year now that the winter was rapidly closing in. Jennifer
made a pot of tea and an egg and bacon sandwich for Ted; she had
poached eggs on toast.

Ted took his
muddy wellington boots off and left them by the kitchen door. He
sat at the kitchen table eating his well-earned sandwich as
Jennifer sliced onions and carrots to drop into the casserole,
which would slowly cook while she worked in the charity shop for
the afternoon.

She had
invited George for supper in reciprocation of yesterday’s enjoyable
drive. He was due to arrive at six, after his hour’s workout in the
Imperial gym.

Lester the
Molester and Bell cleaned the floors on the wing. There was no sign
of the other cleaners who had probably escaped to the exercise
yard.

At eleven they
heard the noise of returning prisoners and ten minutes later the
floor was packed, scuffing the clean floor he had just
completed.

They waited in
line at the hot plate for their lunch. Bell took his tray of mashed
potato, carrots and an orange, and ate it in his cell.

Bradshaw soon
followed with his and climbed onto his bunk to eat it.

The cells were
locked for roll call then unlocked again shortly afterwards.

Bell took his
tray back to the food hall and went out to the exercise yard in
search of Big Bear who he hadn’t seen all day.

The yard was
packed, as if all the inmates had descended there. Several new
arrivals began to chat to prisoners from other blocks. It was one
of the few occasions when prisoners from different blocks could
mix.

A bridge was
being built at another wing, which had closed the other yard so all
prisoners had been confined here for security reasons.

Word had got
out that an undercover cop had been assigned to the wing in the
hope of identifying the drug barons who roamed the corridors.
Everyone knew who they were, but nobody ever blagged to the
guards.

The West
Indians were the culprits and any undercover cop would be aware of
that, focusing their attention on all their movements.

It was a
dangerous job, should anyone be detected of wearing a wire, yet
they were always in sight of the prison guards who knew who they
were.

He eventually
found Big Bear playing pool with half a dozen others. Two
businessmen who were in for fraud, an airline steward accused of
murdering his gay lover and a Pakistani, held under the Prevention
of Terrorism Act. Big Bear was chalking up their names on the
board.

Bell walked up
the stairs and hung over the railings. He nodded down at Big Bear
who came up the stairs to join him.

Tension was
high as the inmates looked mistrusting at the new prisoners who had
just arrived, one or two probably being wired.

As Bell looked
down through the suicide net, a big guy was leaning against the
wall with his arms folded. He looked up and, for a brief moment,
had eye contact with Bell. He was used to hard men trying to
intimidate him with cold stares, but his expression was more
inquisitive. The look a wild cat may give before a kill, or if it
was going to be worth it. Bell stared back with a sympathetic
look.

Bell walked
back to his cell, looking down at the guy over the railings. The
guy looked up and walked up the stairs to Bell’s landing.

Bradshaw was
sleeping, one leg hanging off the end of his bunk, his thumb in his
mouth like a two month old baby.

The big guy
stood at the door, looking through at Bell.

‘Remember me,
Bell?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t
remember you, should I?’ Bell replied.

‘I know you
from Strangeways, I was transferred over here yesterday,’ he
said.

Bradshaw swung
down from his bunk and started doing rapid press-ups. He
concentrated on his rhythm and breathing and soon became bathed in
sweat.

Bell lay on
his bunk, unable to leave due to the small floor area of the
cell.

He stopped at
thirty, knowing he could do no more and switched to rapid sit-ups,
working his left side then his right, until he rolled over and did
another thirty press-ups.

The lack of
privacy was the worst thing about the confinement for Bell. He
liked the outdoor life, walking and gardening. The only time he
could be alone was sitting on the toilet with the cell door closed
and Bradshaw out of the way, but even then every bodily function
could be heard in the cell.

He promised
himself that the first thing he would do when he got out was to
take a long walk in the countryside with Jennifer, forgetting his
ten and a half years left and Jennifer’s age when he is released,
should she be alive to see it.

He thought of
the trips to the Lake District and how he hated the bleak hills,
the cold wind, the icy rain on his face, the clinging rain that
soaked him to the skin and the wind that froze his hands and feet,
but now he’d give anything to be out in the open, breathing fresh,
crisp air that hadn’t been through the lungs of hundreds of other
men.

He looked at
his watch, it was 7.30. They’ll be doing the roll call soon, he
thought.

He heard the
jingle of keys as the guard came along the corridor checking the
inmates in their cells, ticking them off on his clipboard as he
counted.

Once the roll
call was complete, the corridor was full of inmates who clambered
out of their cells, making their way to the food hall to collect
their trays. Screws stood at each entrance as all the main doors on
the wing were automatically opened to release the masses that
punched and shoved their way to the front of the queue.