Inseparable Bond (56 page)

George had
left early to change the library books. She was relieved at the
thought of not needing to lie to him about her day’s
activities.

After a quick
cup of tea, she grabbed her coat and walked down towards the open
air bandstand next to the large sea wall. Apart from a small group
of council workers, the beach and promenade walk were free of
people.

The flag poles
rattled in the strong winter wind, and as she walked onto the
beach, the pounding of the waves was so loud that not even the
crying of the seagulls could he heard above it. She held her head
low under the large collar of her thick winter coat, talking to
herself as she walked towards the far end of the beach and up into
the town towards John’s small flat.

John answered
the door, dressed only in a pair of stained boxer shorts.

‘Hello, dear,
did I wake you?’ she asked, running her hand through her wind swept
hair.

‘No, I was
already up,’ he replied, opening the door for her to squeeze
through. ‘I’ve just made some coffee, do you want one?’ he asked,
stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the kitchen table.
‘Your hair is wet but it’s not raining, what have you been doing?’
he asked her.

‘I came along
the beach. The sea is at its best when in a dark and lowering
mood,’ she replied, bending down to the refrigerator searching for
the milk. ‘I need to go into town and thought I’d call in on the
way, do you want to come with me?’ she asked John.

‘Yes, I will,
I don’t have anything else to do,’ he replied, as he walked into
his bedroom to get dressed.

Jennifer sat
at the small kitchen table, looking around at the empty food and
beer cans, the ashtray brimming over with cigarette butts and the
kitchen sink full of unwashed cups and a saucepan. She shook her
head disappointingly before attempting to wash the dishes and wipe
down the work surface.

They walked
around the corner and into town.

‘Have you had
your breakfast, dear?’ she asked, with a concerned expression.

‘No, it’s way
after breakfast time now, but I could eat something,’ he
replied.

She grabbed
his arm as they walked across the road and into the Victorian Tea
Shop on the corner of the High Street. It was Jennifer’s favourite
café, which she regularly called into halfway through her shopping
expeditions.

It was now
lunchtime and every table was full of well-dressed ladies, as the
smartly dressed waitresses rushed around delivering plates of
healthy looking sandwiches to the eagerly waiting customers.

They were
seated next to the kitchen door, which was the first available
table to come vacant. Staff dashed in and out of the service doors,
which knocked against John’s chair as they opened and closed.
Positioned next to Jennifer was a dessert trolley containing
jellies and trifles, shimmering miniature éclairs glowing in their
dark chocolate sauce and a large glass bowl of strawberries next to
individual bowls of fresh fruit salad.

The waitress
hastily came over to the table, her pen poised on her order pad
waiting for instruction.

‘I’ll have a
buttered scone with your perfectly made strawberry jam,’ she
ordered.

‘And for you,
sir?’ the waitress asked, looking down at John as he studied the
menu.

‘I’ll have two
fried eggs, chips and a couple of sausages,’ he said, closing the
menu and wedging it between the silver cruets.

‘I’m sorry,
sir, we don’t do any fried foods,’ she politely replied.

‘No fried
food, It’s a fucking café, isn’t it,’ he answered sharply.

The waitress
raised her eyebrows, startled by his abrupt and offensive
remark.

‘It’s all
right, dear, he’ll have the same as me,’ Jennifer quickly answered
to the waitress in the hope of defusing the volatile situation.

The waitress
walked away, looking over her shoulder in disgust as she left.

‘Really, John,
there was no need to speak to the poor girl in that way,’ Jennifer
said sternly, quickly glancing around in case his remark had been
overheard by others. ‘Just have the scone and I’ll take you
somewhere else so you can have your egg and chips, or whatever else
you want,’ she said, placing her linen napkin over her knees.

The waitress
speedily presented the tea and scones as Jennifer quickly poured it
into the two delicate china cups which had been ready set on the
table. She buttered her hot scone and popped the other one in her
brown crocodile handbag.

‘We’ll take
that home and you can have it later,’ she said, smiling cheekily at
John.

‘Where do you
live, Jennifer,’ he asked, impatiently tapping an unlit cigarette
on his packet after noticing a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall above
Jennifer’s head.

‘Oh, not far
from here,’ she replied nervously.

‘So when are
you going to invite me around to your place then?’ he asked.

‘Well, I can’t
do that, and you know the reason why,’ she replied.

The discussion
was fortunately interrupted as Sylvia Freeman brushed her extra
large buttocks passed the table.

‘Hello,
Jennifer, I haven’t seen you for ages, how is George?’ she
enquired.

He’s very
well, thank you, Sylvia, you are looking well, have you been away?’
Jennifer asked her.

‘Yes, Edward
and I took the grandchildren to Florida for a week’s holiday while
Kate and Donald spent a week on safari in Kenya,’ she answered,
giving a false and inquisitive smile over to John.

‘Oh, that’s
nice, do give Edward my regards,’ Jennifer answered as Sylvia went
over to her reserved table by the bay window.

‘Who was that
stuck up cow?’ John asked, irritating Jennifer with the constant
tapping of his unlit cigarette.

‘She a very
nice lady and a dear friend of ours, she is certainly not what you
described,’ she replied with an indignant and embarrassed
expression showing across her face. She quickly ate her scone and
left the money on the table, not waiting for the bill.

They walked
further down the High Street and across to the bus station café,
which was full with council workmen and transport staff from the
bus and railway station. Jennifer wiped the plastic chair, which
was bolted to the floor as she squeezed her way between the fixed
tables, sitting down uncomfortably on the hard surface.

The waitress
arrived at the table wearing a pair of cut-off jeans, a tight white
vest, heavily stained down the front and presented a small plastic
covered menu held by dirty hands and black nail varnish over long
and chipped fingernails.

Jennifer
looked up at the heavy mascara, which surrounded her bloodshot
eyes, and the silver rings which had been pierced through her nose
and top lip.

John ordered
his eggs, chips and sausage and a mug of coffee. Jennifer declined.
She looked around at the off white net curtain which hung loosely
on a piece of string half way up the dirty window, covered with
posters of cheap and unhealthy food items with extremely cheap and
competitive prices.

John leaned
back in his plastic chair, arms outstretched as he blew cigarette
smoke out of his mouth above Jennifer’s head.

The deafening
sound of laughter and loud voices made Jennifer feel nervous and
intimidated. John smiled as the waitress unceremoniously put his
meal in front of him, sneering at Jennifer as she returned behind
the counter.

John eagerly
tucked into his meal; happy and relaxed in the scruffy surroundings
amongst other customers dressed in similar well worn and dowdy
winter clothes. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the
smell of grease hung in the air as Jennifer stared down at John’s
plate, his meal covered in tomato sauce.

He wiped his
mouth on the sleeve of his coat as he finished, pushing the plate
to the end of the table.

Jennifer
nervously walked to the counter to pay the bill, pushing through
the group of bus drivers, which had gathered around the pinball
machine next to the cash register.

A fat man
dressed in a grease-covered apron snatched the money from her
gloved hand, which she had handed over with evident reluctance.

They left the
café and walked back through town against the strong wind and
drizzle, which had dispersed most of the shoppers from the normally
busy street. John stopped at the entrance of an amusement
arcade.

‘I’m going in
to play the machines,’ he said, releasing his arm from
Jennifer’s.

‘All right,
dear, I have shopping to do anyway, so I’ll probably see you
tomorrow, she said, feeling a further sense of rejection from
him.

He went into
the arcade as Jennifer walked down the street, her head hung low,
feeling sad, anxious and humiliated after all the work and planning
she had achieved the previous week of which appeared to have gone
unnoticed. She racked her brain, trying to understand why he
appeared so unappreciative of his flat and the unfriendliness he
was showing towards her.

He had been
kind, loving and understanding at the brief prison visits, yet
something had changed him in the past year, making him subdued and
hostile with an aggressive attitude.

Overnight, the
gale-force winds had given way to a bright and sunny morning.
George had been keen to visit a new garden centre near York and
insisted that Jennifer accompanied him, giving her a rest from her
unnecessary daily visits to town.

The houses
soon petered out as they left Scarborough and drove into the open
countryside along the Yorkshire Moors. The road became narrow and
winding, climbing up hills and swooping into valleys, the meadows
and fields quiet and the trees leafless in the December chill. They
passed through a village of grey stone houses with gardens still
bright, despite the lateness of the year.

George stopped
at the Helsmley Arms Hotel, a quaint little village inn on the
outskirts of the town. They had afternoon tea, served perfectly on
a crisp lined tablecloth.

The afternoon
sun shone brightly as they walked briskly down a steeply sloping
lane, arm in arm towards the small market town with its outdoor
stalls of fresh farm produce. They passed a humped grey stoned
bridge over a stream as Jennifer paused to look down at the clear
water. The banks were lined with bare-branched trees which reached
up to a waterfall. Jennifer let her gaze wander, smiling
delightfully at the peace and tranquillity of the country setting,
but not being able to completely free her mind from the concern she
had for her brother’s unusually strange attitude.

George had
noticed her apprehensive expression, not her usual relaxed mood
when visiting the country, but declined to enquire after so many
recent inquisitions.

After walking
slowly through the market stalls, they continued their drive to
York where George purchased some garden seeds and garden implements
for the coming spring.

They drove
back along the coast road, stopping briefly at Filey, a few miles
down the coast from home.

They parked
the car near the active fishing harbour and walked down the steep
hill towards the sea. The old stone fisherman’s cottages flanked
each side of the narrow lane. They were roofed with blue-grey slate
and had deep porches and tiny windows set into the thickness of the
walls and each one had a small front garden choked with the
remnants of autumn.

They arrived
at the harbour, where a hive of activity surrounded the incoming
fishing boats, as calm seas had enabled them to leave their secure
port in search of their daily catch before a return to the
disruptive winter gales which had been forecast.

Jennifer
stared up at the white cliffs which reached from the shingle beach;
fat and healthy looking seagulls dived and swooped around the
harbour and back to their nests hidden deep within the surface of
the cliffs.

The sun was
covered by a sudden arrival of dark heavy clouds, chilling the air
and threatening a heavy downpour.

They walked
briskly back to the car and drove the few miles home along the
coast road.

They arrived
home as the heavens opened. Jennifer ran up to the house, her tiny
feet jumping between the winter-bare shrubs in the front garden as
she reached the covered area of the front patio. George secured the
car in the garage.

They ate
supper and relaxed by the fire. Jennifer had enjoyed her day out
although she sat uneasily, still concerned into her brother’s
unusual and out of character behaviour.

She
desperately wanted to confide in George, who would have been
immediately able to solve the solution, but he could not be made
aware of her brother’s release and she had been too secretive for
too long. It would only make the problem worse and possibly cause a
huge row and further suspicion whenever she left the house. It
sadly was not an option she was prepared to take, so decided to
confine her thoughts and anxiety to herself.

George glanced
over at her as she kept nervously touching the white lace collar on
her dress, or reaching down to correct her long white stockings she
had worn against the chilling wind on their day out. It was clear
to him that she had something seriously on her mind, but
commonsense and self-preservation kept him from enquiring.

She quickly
stood up and walked around the room, picking up the petals from the
roses, which were now wilting in the heat, in time for a new
delivery the next day.

George fell
asleep by the hissing log fire as Jennifer placed the wilting roses
in the kitchen waste bin. Small bubbling snores were emanating from
between his lips as Jennifer quietly worked around him, avoiding
any abrupt noise which may disturb him.

Walter ran
into the kitchen in need of his evening supper, which Jennifer had
completely forgotten about, her mind being on other things. She
filled his bowl and opened the back door for him to run in the
garden before snuggling down for the night on his blanket by the
warm gas boiler.