Inseparable Bond (59 page)

She felt
betrayed and humiliated, not giving a thought to the betrayal and
humiliation she had carefully and methodically engineered in
housing and supporting her brother.

George came
through to the lounge carrying a plate of scrambled eggs, which he
ate while watching the television.

Jennifer was
in the grip of conflicting emotions, for though she smiled as she
stroked Walter on her knees, looking down at his large eyes and
floppy ears, the tears in her eyes presently spilled over and ran
down her cheeks. She looked over at George as he shovelled the eggs
in his mouth, smiling over at him but inside she was in utter
turmoil.

Her eyes were
bloodshot and puffy from constant crying and she sensed a feeling
of remoteness and loneliness as she looked over at George
suspiciously. She walked over to the window, peering through the
undressed Christmas tree, which limited her view of the
snow-covered garden. She held Walter close to her chest as her
thinning hair curled damply across her sweating brow.

She felt
horribly tired after her emotionally exhausting day and wanted
nothing so much, right now, as a peaceful rest, tucked tightly and
safely under bed sheets, weighed down by heavy blankets behind a
locked door, away from everyone.

It had rained
all morning, dispersing most of the snow into a wet slush, but by
midday the sun peeped out between the dark clouds pushed long by a
boisterous winter wind.

Jennifer had
peeled the potatoes for supper and now was in the front bay window
decorating the large Christmas tree, which stood majestically up to
the ceiling. Every now and then a ray of sunlight came through the
window and admired the design she was creating.

As she
carefully hung the silver and gold balls on the delicate branches,
George came through to the lounge and placed his hands around her
tiny waist just as though they were lovers and not merely
acquaintances, the disrupting route their relationship was
heading.

The flaws of
deceit, dishonesty, mistrust and suspicion had been allowed to
creep into their once idyllic life, of which both were responsible
through their own selfishness.

Walter played
joyfully in his first sighting of snow, rolling around in the front
garden, looking surprisingly at the ice-covered fishpond in the
centre.

Jennifer
thought of the winters when she and John would go snowballing in
Fleetwood when they were children, her smile soon turned to a snarl
as she recalled his hurtful attitude of late and an expression of
distaste showed in her eyes.

George rooted
through the box and revealed a silver angel made out of kitchen
foil. He climbed on a chair to place it on top of the tree, which
he found notoriously difficult, but managed to secure it between
two branches.

Although
Jennifer was not a lover of the Christmas season, she enjoyed
decorating the tree, yet the previous years had been in happier
circumstances and she wondered what this year would bring with
George’s family to entertain.

George passed
her a row of tinsel from the box. Her large brown eyes fixed
themselves ingenuously on George’s blue ones. It was the nearest
she meant to get to asking why he should lie about leaving the
house yesterday, but it was immediately obvious that he had no
intention of coming clean. She looked away and continued to
decorate the tree, recalling the Christmases she had as a child,
getting out of bed whilst it was still dark, shivering in the
unheated house and the long walk down the staircase and into the
freezing cold sitting room, excitingly waiting to open her presents
which were scattered at the bottom of the Christmas tree.

John had only
been a small child at the time, sleeping in a cot next to his
mother.

‘Did you get
to the Royal Court theatre for the pantomime tickets?’ George asked
her.

‘Oh, no, I
forgot all about them,’ she replied.

‘Don’t worry,
I’ll drive down shortly,’ he said as he untangled the fairy lights.
He draped the lights over the branches and switched them on by the
plug in the wall before driving down to the theatre.

Jennifer’s
eyes were full of suspicion as she watched him reverse the car out
of the drive, looking over at the clock on the mantelpiece,
checking the time he left.

The following
night was wet and cold, colder if anything that the previous night
when George had collected the tickets.

She had
dressed in a cashmere cloak and muffled her head in a large woolly
scarf, anticipating a lengthy wait in the queue outside the
theatre. They stood near the front, waiting anxiously for the doors
to open as the early evening crowds surged around, good humoured
and loud mouthed. Children waited patiently, clinging onto their
parents, jumping excitedly to keep warm against the wintry
night.

There were
lots of smartly dressed people sat in the red velvet seats as the
orchestra tuned their instruments. The large red velvet curtain
which hid the stage, rose up slowly to a round of applause from the
audience. The colours of the set left Jennifer spellbound, but she
was far from being in a happy mood and in need of entertainment.
Her mind was elsewhere but she didn’t know exactly where it
was.

It was the
longest night of her life. She didn’t know how she had sat through
the pantomime for so long, spending most of the time looking up at
the ornate ceiling throughout the performance, not being in the
least interested in the activities on the stage.

Once the show
was over, they collected some fish and chips to take home for a
late supper which they ate in the kitchen to avoid the smell
clinging to the curtain fabric.

John Bell
staggered out of the Blue Bell Inn on Kings Street, stumbling over
as he headed for the all night take-away on the corner. He
staggered along the harbour wall, gravy spilling down the front of
his jacket from the plastic tray which contained large cut greasy
chips, as he unsteadily entered the public toilets opposite the
bank of telephone boxes.

Two men were
fondling each other at the far end of the urinals. They stopped
immediately, correcting themselves as John approached. He went to
the opposite end, clinging to the wall as urine splashed over his
shoes. He stood there for a while, slowly turning his head towards
the two men at the far end as he tried to focus of their
activities. They stared at John as they masturbated themselves
facing into the urinals.

John Bell
staggered over to join them, taking a penis in each of his grubby
hands as the two men lowered his trousers to his knees, fondling
his buttocks under the flap of his checked shirt. The trio
ejaculated simultaneously. Not a word had been spoken throughout
their pleasurable sexual encounter as they walked out of the
toilet, disappearing in different directions along the dark
promenade.

John Bell
staggered back along Castle Lane and up to his top floor flat,
collapsing on the sofa in a drunken and dishevelled state,
breathless and exhausted.

The wind
rattled the ill-fitted window as bubbling snores were emanating
from his mouth as he passed out in his intoxicated state.

George and
Jennifer were also sleeping peacefully. The crisp white cotton
sheet pulled tightly up to her neck as George breathed heavily
beside her.

The bath was
full of hot steaming water as Jennifer pulled her silk nightdress
over her head, revealing her expensive silk knickers and nothing
else. The aroma of lavender circulated around the steam filled
bathroom as she gently climbed into the soothing warm water, slowly
lowering her body and placing her head on the fluffy towel she had
draped over the end of the bath.

She felt as
though the hot water was a healing force in itself, clearing her
mind of suspicion and anxiety. She rubbed shampoo vigorously into
her thinning hair then rinsed it off with the shower hose before
climbing out stiffly.

She wiped the
steam from the bathroom mirror to reveal her reflection. Her face
was no longer waxy pale, there was a faint flush on her cheeks and
her lips had returned to their normal colour.

The past few
days had made her feel and look unwell but she was now regaining
her strength as she quickly dressed and went downstairs into the
kitchen, avoiding any physical contact with George as he prepared
the breakfast.

It was a
bright but chilly morning. She had realised that they needed time
to themselves, a complete change, and a breath of fresh air in
every sense of the word.

She opened the
front door, walking briskly to the promenade. It was still very
early. A sea mist hung over the beachfront, wreathed around the
fishing boats in the harbour. The sun was trying to break through
the clouds in an attempt to melt the remaining snow which lay at
the side of the pavement. She looked up at the seagulls, crying
loudly through deprivation of fish heads, which were normally
thrown out of the packing sheds alongside the harbour.

She was
astonished at the amount of walkers who had braved the early
morning cold and descended on the large beach, running
energetically with their dogs, the cold sand crunched under their
feet as they jogged along. She walked briskly through the mist,
determined not to allow the two men in her life to reduce her to
any more tears and anxiety as she entered the harbour coffee
bar.

She drank her
coffee by the window, looking over at the public toilet block, half
expecting to see a silver BMW to park outside.

She walked up
to town and approached the flat, looking up at the window before
she entered.

John quickly
answered the door and invited her in. His chest was heaving as he
appeared to gasp for air, but she was only too aware that is was
not through excitement of seeing her. She looked around the grubby
kitchen and over at her grubby brother, dressed in boxer shorts and
black ankle socks.

‘You haven’t
been to see me for the past three days,’ he said.

‘No, I’ve been
busy with other things,’ she replied, sternly and confidently, not
allowing him to intimidate her as he had over the past three weeks
since leaving prison.

He poured the
hot water in the coffee cups, coughing and wheezing as he gasped
for air between large intakes of cigarette smoke. John sat resting
his head in his hand, looking down at his coffee with bloodshot
eyes under a dark stubble chin, while his other hand held a playing
card, picking out the remnants of his take-away supper that had
lodged between his yellowing teeth.

She opened her
handbag and produced an envelope, leaving it by her coffee cup as
she left, closing the door behind her. It contained £200 in cash,
which inevitably would be handed over to pub landlords over the
next couple of days. John Bell thumped the air with his first when
he noticed the contents. He smiled broadly as he kissed the notes,
lifting them to the fluorescent light, checking their
authenticity.

Jennifer
walked back along the beach, breathing the strange salt smell of
the sea and feeling the wind against her face filling her with a
sense of freedom and adventure. She hurried along, occasionally
glancing over at the public toilet block at the end of the
promenade, making her way without pause or hesitation past the many
people who had taken advantage of the dry weather after the past
two days of snow storms preventing them from leaving the confines
of their warm homes.

She arrived
home to find Molly cleaning out the cutlery drawer in the
kitchen.

George was
vacuuming the car, clearing it of the needles from the Christmas
tree he had transported earlier in the week.

She walked
through to the lounge, precariously carrying her china cup of tea.
The room smelt of polish. Molly had done a lovely job buffing up
the side tables. The two lamps on the tables, with their yellow
shades were filling the room with a warm glow while the fire was
burning and crackling brightly. The atmosphere emanated warmth and
comfort, but neither George nor Jennifer felt it in any way.

She looked at
her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Her skin had
lost its warm tint and even in the subtle glow from the lampshades,
it had returned to a pasty white; and this had the effect of making
her eyes look larger still, giving the illusion that they were set
deep back in the sockets, and all was emphasised by the thinning of
her grey hair.

Not being
encouraged by her reflection, she sat on Walter’s chair by the
front window as he curiously sniffed around the garage while George
cleaned out the car.

She sat bolt
upright in the small chair looking out at the sea, which was slowly
weaving its way up the golden coloured beach.

Molly pushed
the vacuum cleaner through the lounge door, the appetising smell of
roast beef drifted through behind her.

She turned on
the television and watched intensively at the pictures of the
blizzard which had moved to Scotland, bringing traffic to a
standstill and people being dug out of their houses. Molly switched
off the vacuum cleaner so she could hear the report which the
commentator had said was the worst blizzard to hit the Highlands
for the past thirty years, and they were expecting major flooding
once the big thaw set in, forecast for over the Christmas
festivities.

The meal was
eaten mostly in silence. The weather was grey, dull and
miserable.

Molly had long
gone, leaving an even more hostile and quiet atmosphere without her
constant humming to herself as she worked.

‘How was your
day, dear?’ George asked her, breaking the unbearable silence.

‘It was fine,
I had a good healthy walk along the beach, called in for coffee
before returning home and watched a bit of television while you
were in the garage,’ she said.