Inseparable Bond (48 page)

The puppy
snuggled up to Jennifer’s face as she carried him around the house
like an overprotective new mother; George smiled at the happiness
and contentment that showed in her face as he wiped up the puppy
mess from the lounge carpet.

After supper,
the puppy slept in the basket by the fire, exhausted after its
first day’s activities while Jennifer read the book on spaniels to
gain her qualifications as soon as possible. George watched
television, glancing over to see Jennifer’s serious expression as
she studied the manual.

She looked up
from her book with a startled glare over to George, ‘He hasn’t got
a name, he must have a name, George,’ she said.

‘Well, that’s
up to you, dear, don’t they have suggestions in that book?’ he
said.

‘Yes, that’s
what’s reminded me, but I don’t like the names they suggest,’ she
replied, turning her face back to the book.

George was
engrossed in a television programme about the many prisoners who
had been released early from institutions with 80% re-offending in
their first year of release. Jennifer would normally turn off such
documentaries but she was unaware of it, listening to the
television as she read her manual. A spokesman from the Home Office
had recommended the release of a further two thousand long term
inmates due to the current overcrowding in prisons, mainly in the
north of the country.

George’s
relaxed and happy expression changed to concern and anguish as he
listened keenly to the interview, Jennifer also being aware of
content of the programme.

‘Walter,
that’s what he will be, Walter,’ she shrieked, as George forced a
smile, still engrossed on the content of the television programme
and the Home Office proposals.

Walter was up
before the sun, running around the bedroom, yapping for attention.
Jennifer dragged herself out of bed and picked Walter up, resting
his head against her breast.

Wrapped in a
blue velvet housecoat with a tall mandarin collar, Jennifer
wandered sleepily down the stairs and into the hall. It was very
early. An autumn sun cast shimmering daggers across the rooftops of
the houses in the town below as young Walter sniffed nervously at
the tall plants and bushes, unsure of his new surroundings.

She walked
quietly into the kitchen and turned on the coffee peculator, Walter
running up behind her, leaving tiny muddy paw prints on the wooden
floor.

She glanced at
the kitchen clock; it was only 7.30 in the morning.

Walter had his
small portion of breakfast cereal and snuggled up on his blanket
next to the central heating boiler while Jennifer retrieved the
morning newspaper from the letterbox.

She read with
interest the headline article on the Home Office proposals to
release certain long term offenders from institutions in the north
of the country, shaking her head in disbelief at some of the
objections and concerns the public were voicing.

George had
remained in bed but he wasn’t sleeping, he gazed at the early
morning grey sky through the slight opening of the curtains,
recalling the previous evening’s television programme as Jennifer
continued reading the article on the same subject in the
kitchen.

George tried
to convince himself that any early release of offenders didn’t
necessarily mean that John Bell was to be considered, they would
surely consider the release of prisoners who had committed lesser
offences first and leaving the mentally disturbed prison population
to carry out their full sentence, but he also realised that John
Bell had served over half of his sentence and he could be
considered for parole.

His thoughts
became unbearable and his blood ran cold as he jumped out of bed,
quickly washing and dressing, clearly nervous and disturbed by his
thoughts.

Jennifer heard
him coming down the stairs and quickly turned to the back pages of
the newspaper.

‘You’re up so
early dear, it isn’t even 8 o’clock yet,’ she said, looking up at
him from her paper.

‘Well, I could
hear you downstairs so I thought I’d come down to join you,’ he
said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

The atmosphere
in the kitchen was unusually tense. It was normally the happiest
room in the house in the mornings, chatting about the plans of the
day while George prepared breakfast, but today was quiet as if they
both were keeping secrets from each other, a sense of mistrust and
nervousness hung in the air of which they had both secretly
noticed. An uncomfortable atmosphere never before experienced.

George sat
down at the table with his coffee and picked up the newspaper. The
headlines read, ‘Prisoners to roam our streets’.

Jennifer left
the table and took eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator, looking
uncomfortably over her shoulder at George as he read the front
page.

They ate
breakfast in unusual silence, neither commenting on the article or
on their plans for another of their normally constructive days.

Jennifer
collected the mail, which was scattered on the hall carpet by front
door. She took the letters and bills to the writing desk for George
to attend too after he had eaten breakfast. She noticed one of the
letters was marked, H. M Prison and addressed to her via the post
office. She quickly folded it and tucked it into her housecoat
pocket, realising the inappropriate time for such a letter to
arrive.

She went up to
the bathroom, locked the door and eagerly opened her letter from
John.

The letter
contained the normal humorous observations and funny little
cartoons of him and prison officers. John didn’t have very much
exciting news to write home about and knew his sister had enjoyed
his drawings, but today she wasn’t as enthusiastic due to the
atmosphere in the house.

Jennifer had
read and re-read all of John’s letters so often that they had
become quite faded with the intensity of her devotion. She had kept
the letters locked in a wooden box with a mother of pearl lid,
which had belonged to their mother. The key was always kept in the
bottom of her handbag. It was one of the two secret parts of her
life she didn’t share with George; the other was telephoning John
in prison from a local telephone box in town so the number didn’t
show on the itemised phone bill.

George had
read the disturbing article and washed up the breakfast dishes
while Jennifer secretly placed the letter with the others, locking
the box immediately afterwards and replacing the key in her handbag
before dressing for the day.

George could
not free his mind of the latest news, realising he would need to
mention this to Jennifer and prepare themselves should he be
released. He was a man of immediate action and did not allow a
problem to fester in his professional or personal life and he would
be prepared to protect their idyllic life at any cost.

Jennifer came
downstairs looking flushed and nervous, immediately taking out the
spray polish from under the sink unit and walked into the lounge to
polish the tables.

George
realised this was an abnormal action as Molly was due in an hour
and it was one of her daily cleaning tasks.

George walked
into the lounge, closed the door behind him and went over the
Jennifer, who was bent over a small side table spraying polish over
the surface. He put his arm around her tiny waist and removed the
can from her hand, placing it on the mantelpiece along with her
duster.

‘Jennifer,
just sit here for a moment, we need to have a talk about something
which could affect our lives,’ he said kindly, but with a stern
approach.

Jennifer sat
on the small chair, nervously correcting her posture and clasping
her hands together with her arms resting on her thin legs. The room
was quiet and immensely private, decorated in pale yellow and
resembled nothing more than a designer showroom. Everything without
exception, was new. The china ornaments, the porcelain dogs, the
bookends, the flower vases and the yellow carpet, everything had
been recently designed by Jennifer. This room was her pride and
joy.

George paced
the floor like a tutor preparing to lecture a class of students
before realising the sensitive issue he needed to address. He
pulled up his chair close to Jennifer, in easy reach of her shaking
hands.

‘I know what
you want to talk about, dear,’ Jennifer said, looking directly into
his eyes, ‘It’s about John, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, it is,
you will have seen the headlines today and last night a Home Office
Representative talked on television about early release of inmates
from the northern prisons due to overcrowding,’ he said.

‘I know, I
didn’t watch the programme but I heard it all, I knew you were
watching,’ she said, looking down at the unlit fire.

‘We need to
prepare ourselves in view of such an eventuality, my dear,’ he
said.

‘The Home
Office proposals don’t necessarily mean that John will be released,
he got a twenty-year sentence and he did kill again after his first
release,’ Jennifer said.

‘What do you
mean, dear, after his first release,’ he said sternly, sitting back
in his chair.

Jennifer ran
out of the room, unable to continue the conversation and unable to
mention John’s previous crimes as she had led George to believe he
had killed only once, the vicar in Fleetwood and not the serial
killer he had become. She grabbed her coat and walked out of the
house and down the steep hill into town.

George sat
speechless as he watched her disappear behind the trees. They had
never had a cross word in the past eight years, only heated
discussions and occasional objections, but never such a
confrontation as this.

Molly arrived
at the back door. George immediately went into the kitchen and told
her to go home and return tomorrow.

‘Well, its
Tuesday, I always clean on Tuesday,’ Molly answered.

‘Just go, I
said go,’ George shouted at her as she quickly grabbed her coat and
left.

George sat in
the bay window, frantically worried about Jennifer, but refusing to
search for her. He felt betrayed and humiliated, and quickly tried
to dismiss the thoughts from his mind of the insincerity and
dishonesty she had shown over the past eight years.

It was just
over an hour when she nervously came through the front iron gate,
walking up to the house with her head hung low as she wiped tears
from her eyes.

George felt
his heart race with relief on seeing her approach the house. He had
been given the time to contain himself and reduce his anger, but
was over anxious to hear the truth in the hope of returning to
their idyllic life and truthful companionship.

Jennifer left
her coat on the back of the kitchen chair and walked into the
lounge, her small back straight as she walked back to the chair she
had abruptly left.

George stood
by the fire, looking down at her tiny frame and shaking hands
clasped together between her knees like a scolded schoolgirl. He
didn’t speak, he waited for an explanation and Jennifer knew
this.

She slowly
raised her head, fixing her tearful eyes on his, her mouth quivered
and her tiny wrinkled face appeared red and flushed as she felt
violently sick. ‘I’ve been keeping a secret from you since we first
met. My brother didn’t only kill the vicar, he has a history of
cruelty towards many people since he was a teenager, he committed
many violent crimes, which would repulse me to disclose the actual
nature of these to you, I respect and appreciate your feelings too
much to burden you with such atrocities, but John did serve a
lengthy period in a Manchester prison before being
institutionalised in an open prison due to his progress and good
behaviour. He was released on conditional discharge to a hostel for
ex-offenders, before living with me in Fleetwood. The murder of the
vicar was accidental and his sentence was a miscarriage of justice
and I feel he was treated unfairly,’ Jennifer explained
quietly.

‘Unfairly, how
can you feel that murder is unfair? Don’t you realise that I have
spent most of my life as a barrister, so you will excuse me if I do
not agree with your sentiments,’ he replied sternly.

‘I have
protected you from the truth for eight years, fearing that the love
I have for you would not be reciprocated as lovingly as you have
shown towards me since we met. I have never wanted anyone to
destroy what we have worked hard to achieve, but John is my
brother, he is the only member of my family and the only person I
dearly loved before I met you. I didn’t tell you to protect you and
of the embarrassment of what I feel and what my parents felt before
me,’ she replied, walking over to the window, looking down at the
sea crashing over the harbour wall.

George stood
pensive and speechless as he watched her tiny frame dwarfed by the
large bay window as she cried deep from within her tiny pained
body.

He realised
how difficult it must have been to confess to such crimes and how
difficult it had been to carry this burden through most of her
life, where she had been incapable of inflicting pain and
discomfort to anyone, yet she was secretly imprisoned and paying
for a crime as much as her brother, but without being judged as an
accomplice to her brother’s horrendous cruel and murderous
life.

She was to be
pitied and applauded for the support, loyalty and protection she
had shown to her brother, standing by him as a mother would to her
own son.

George walked
over to the window, placed his arms around her tiny waist, squeezed
her tightly and lowered his head to hers, lifting it up through the
strength of a hard loving and meaningful kiss.

She placed her
arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably on the lapel of his
jacket.

The truth was
now revealed, but at this time Jennifer was too upset to feel any
burden removed after her confession.