Inseparable Bond (46 page)

‘Yes I can. A
partner in my old firm has been after my house for years and has
offered me a good price which would make it possible to buy this
one,’ he said, tapping his finger on the photograph of the circled
house.

The sun broke
through the clouds at they approached the property. They both
thought it was a good omen. The tall, young estate agent unlocked
the front door as Jennifer gazed in amazement at the ocean from the
front porch.

The furniture
had been removed, leaving only the fitted carpets and two sets of
bedroom curtains. The photograph did not do the house justice; it
was simply beautiful, with large rooms and high ceilings all in its
original design apart from the kitchen, which was packed with
built-in modern day appliances.

‘What do you
think, Jennifer?’ George asked her, as she ran her hands down the
oak banister rail.

‘It’s just out
of this world,’ she replied, looking up at the expensive chandelier
in the oak panelled hallway.

Jennifer found
it difficult to drag herself away from the house, retracing her
tracks for a second time, leaving George to discuss details with
the estate agent as she walked around the large rooms and opened
the kitchen appliances.

Jennifer was
deep in thought on the drive back and didn’t say a word until she
saw the large towers of York Minster in the distance.

She listened
intensely as George talked about the house and how a move to a more
desirable location would be beneficial in starting a new life,
leaving problems and ugly memories behind.

Jennifer’s
brother was also on the move, to the hospital wing of the prison.
His state of deep depression had deteriorated and the guards had
become concerned, transferring him to the medical unit for
observation.

Mick Scott had
become frightened after Bell had violently attacked him in the
cell, unprovoked and unintentional, but for the safety of Scott and
for Bell, they found it in their interests to move him to an
isolated dormitory in the prison hospital where he was sedated.

The guards had
quickly reacted to Scott’s screams as the cold-blooded killer
attacked his young innocent, unarmed victim, leaving him only with
a badly bruised face.

Although Scott
was strong, his strength could not withstand the power of an
unexpected schizophrenic attack nor did he have the experience to
understand it.

Jennifer
decided to rent her property to a middle-aged family who had
recently moved to Fleetwood from Nottingham. Most of her furniture
was sold at the local auction, bringing her a substantial amount of
money, which she hadn’t expected.

Beryl Parker’s
son purchased her car after recently passing his driving test on
the fifth attempt. She had found it difficult driving and the car
had hardly been used since John had left.

Two large
removal trucks were required to transport the contents from one
coast to the other, George and Jennifer followed on later with
boxes of delicate glassware and easily breakable items securely
strapped down on the back seat of the car.

It was the 1st
of February when they left Fleetwood on another wet and gloomy day,
but the gloomy weather had given way to brilliant sunshine as they
parked outside the house in Scarborough four hours later. Another
good omen they thought.

George had
booked into the Crown Hotel for the night to award them a good
night’s sleep before they received the house contents the following
day. George had taken the liberty of booking the same room as
Jennifer had previously occupied over their Christmas break. He had
only booked the one room and after evening dinner, they went to bed
early, snuggling in each other’s arms for the first time, listening
to the waves thunder down on the beach below them.

It was early
spring before the house was completely furnished and everything in
its rightful place. George had contacted a company who had extended
the front porch to enable Jennifer to sit in comfort as she looked
out to the ocean over the large mature front garden. George spent
the warmer days keeping the garden in a respectable condition. On
the colder days he would sit at his desk in the conservatory while
Jennifer prepared casseroles in the kitchen.

John Bell
remained in the prison hospital for the next twelve months before
being returned to a single cell on the wing. He required regular
medication to control the symptoms of mental illness and the
authorities found it to be in his best clinical interest to remain
in prison for the foreseeable future.

Seven bleak
winters and seven balmy summers had passed since Jennifer and
George moved from Fleetwood to Scarborough.

George had
moved their bed to the bay window to award an unobstructed view of
the coastline and the harbour for Jennifer, as she lay propped up
by a mound of pillows. Over the tops of the mature trees, she
watched the crowds of weekend visitors pack the beach below as the
large pleasure boat left the harbour for another two hour
sightseeing trip along the coast, sailing directly passed her
bedroom window.

It was early
evening on a late September evening; the sun was already sitting
low in the sky with a light autumn breeze blowing in from the
sea.

Jennifer had
aged considerably over the years. Her hair was so thin that her
scalp gleamed through and the skin on her face draped slackly on
her skull like wet muslin, robbed of power and reduced by some
malfunction of nerve and muscle, nevertheless it was still Jennifer
and her humour, appetite and love had not deserted her.

She had been
so fierce, and so resolute but now all her strength had gone, but
not forever. She had been confined to her bed for ten days now due
to a bout of summer flu after catching a severe cold while hiking
with the local walking club in nearby Bridlington.

The doctor had
been very concerned and warned George to expect the worst, but she
was showing signs of improvement as each day went by.

George walked
into the room with a mug of tea and a plate of biscuits. He sat on
the chair by her bed, looking at her as she opened her blue-veined
eyelids, giving him a loving and appreciative smile.

For a moment,
it seemed Jennifer’s eyes had focused somewhere beyond George, then
her gazed sharpened, and the look was as compelling as George had
remembered it. She pulled herself from the pillows and sat upright.
Her lips were fever-dried as she passed her tongue across them and
lifted her hand from under the crisp white sheet to take hold of
the cup.

‘What time is
it, dear?’ she asked, her breath uneven as she struggled to shape a
word.

‘It’s 5.30,
you’ve been sleeping nearly all afternoon,’ George replied,
squeezing her hand gently.

‘I think I’ll
get up for supper,’ Jennifer said, brushing a wisp of hair from her
forehead.

‘I’ve put a
chicken casserole in the oven, it should be ready by seven,’ he
said.

George
realised how close death had been waiting at the door the week
before when Jennifer could only produce a grunt in her throat as
she tried to speak and had given up trying to make words,
apparently perhaps she was giving up entirely.

Then with
assistance of the local nurse and George’s loving attention, she
seemed to pull herself free from the virus and had made a
remarkable recovery over the last two days.

Her bedroom
was warm and fresh with a hint of perfumed lavender from the
tallboy at the far side of the room, circulated by the light sea
breeze blowing in from the slightly opened window. The sounds of
children playing on the beach in the last few daylight hours could
be heard in the distance along with the sounds of the speedboats
carving up the still sea water as they swayed at high speed around
the harbour walls.

Only a couple
of days ago she had been incoherent, now she is asking for supper
downstairs as if she was protesting against death on her eighty
second year.

George had not
left the house since she had contacted the virus. The local
supermarket delivered all the week’s groceries, milk and newspapers
and he spent his days in the garden in earshot of Jennifer should
she call out for anything. His nights had been spent sitting by her
bed, frightened as he had never been frightened in his life
before.

His hands
would tremble so much he could hardly hold the glass of whisky he
had nursed through all but sleepless nights as he listened to
Jennifer reaching for breath, expecting any breath to be her
last.

George had
taken one of the other bedrooms to award Jennifer a peaceful
night’s sleep, the doctor advising this to avoid him contacting the
virus, but he was eager to return to their bedroom and cuddle her
in his arms as he had done every night since they had stayed at the
Crown Hotel seven years earlier.

Her intention
of coming downstairs for supper was short lived, she fell back to
sleep as George ate alone in the kitchen to avoid disturbing
her.

The following
morning, Jennifer stepped out onto the patio as George worked in
the garden, preparing it for another wild coastal winter
beating.

Jennifer took
in a deep breather of the humid stale air. It would not be long
before summer let autumn take its toll, even the breeze seemed
weary and its condition was contagious. Leaves were starting to
release their hold of the tree branches and the sea looked slate
grey and uninviting. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon and the
sun appeared desperate to burn through the relentless clouds.

George left
the garden and climbed the steps up to the patio.

‘Nice to see
you up and about,’ he said to her, placing his arm around her
shoulder.

‘Oh, it’s so
nice to stand and breathe in the fresh sea air, I’ve missed the
garden so much and it’s looking beautiful,’ she replied as she
slowly walked back in to the hall.

She ate a
small portion of scrambled egg and a piece of toast and took her
cup of tea onto the terrace, slowly lowering herself onto one of
the two cushioned patio chairs, resting her tiny feet on the
covered foot stool.

The sea front
was deserted, as was the beach with the forecast of heavy rain,
although it was rapidly coming to the end of the summer season and
the holiday makers were now packing up and heading back inland for
the winter.

George was a
member of the local Rotary Club and Jennifer a member of the
Scarborough Women’s Institute. Much of their spare time was spent
keeping fit and healthy with the other ground warriors of the
Bridlington walking club.

They were
blissfully happy in each other’s company and had enjoyed everyday
of their seven-year existence on the east coast. They had
accumulated many friends and were very popular in the
neighbourhood. They occasionally had Jennifer’s friends over to
stay from Fleetwood, but the journey proved too far for regular
visits.

Jennifer had
experienced difficulties with her tenants and had sold the house
two years previously to a businessman from Blackpool.

They had only
returned to Fleetwood on two brief day visits but hadn’t been back
for the past three years.

George’s son
and family visited through the summer months and Jennifer loved the
children, where the large house appeared to come alive with their
laughter and playful games. They looked upon her as Grandma and
loved her dearly.

George had
employed Molly Parkinson, who assisted Jennifer cleaning the large
house. Molly was a big woman, all of five foot eight and broad with
it, but her width was made up of bone and muscle. She came in three
mornings a week but her company for Jennifer was far better than
her cleaning; yet she was honest and reliable.

Jennifer wrote
once a month to her brother John, yet a day didn’t pass without her
having fond memories and thoughts of him.

She had become
a regular visitor at Armley prison but George had persuaded her to
reduce her visits, as she would go into a deep depression for three
days after returning.

George always
drove her to the prison and escorted her to the visiting room on
every occasion.

John had
always ignored George on visitations, making it obvious his
disapproval of the relationship, but being so confined, he was
unable to disrupt his sister’s happiness and voice his displeasures
in front of George.

Jennifer would
wipe tears from her eyes each time they drove the three hour
journey back home and although George was sympathetic and offered
an understanding approach, she remained inconsolable throughout the
drive and for a few days afterwards, becoming a virtual recluse,
walking alone along the sea front.

John was a
constant thorn in their idyllic life but George never interfered
with this inseparable bond between brother and sister, due to the
love and admiration he had towards Jennifer.

The first
night after the visit was always the worst. George would keep
awake, holding Jennifer tightly close to him while she cried
between sleep and wakefulness, the bed feeling cold and
uncomfortable as if being shared by her brother.

The following
day resulted in a quiet and disturbing atmosphere through the
house, unlike the normal gaieties and distant sounds of classical
music drifting through the house from the study. Jennifer would be
confined to the patio, her eyes transfixed out to sea, her mind
firmly within the confined walls of Armley prison.

It normally
took a couple of days before she returned to normality, giving her
loving attention to George and humorously pottering about the house
and garden.

George washed
the supper dishes as Jennifer went through to the lounge. He mopped
the floor and laid the table in readiness for breakfast, taking the
bacon and sausage out of the freezer to defrost overnight.