Inseparable Bond (62 page)

George bathed
her forehead as she stared incredulously into his concerned
face.

She lifted her
cup of tea and had difficulty just raising it to her lips. Her
hands shook and when she began to drink, her throat ached with
every swallow, where after drinking only half of the tea the ache
in her throat defeated her thirst.

Her head ached
and her throat was sore, but no longer with the angry violence,
which had filled her nightmare-ridden sleep.

‘I think
you’re on the road to recovery now,’ George said sympathetically,
as he soothed her wound with a cloth of warm water and
disinfectant.

As the day
progressed, so did she. By eleven she was dressed and washing the
breakfast dishes despite George’s objections.

A bank of
heavy snow clouds had now covered the bright morning sun as she sat
by the fire in exhaustion, warming her toes by the flames of the
fire. George walked into the lounge with another cup of tea for
her, placing it by the small table alongside her as he reached for
another log from the basket, and then laid it on the glowing
embers.

He quickly
left the room to answer the telephone which rang in the hall,
returning slowly, showing an angry and anxious expression as he
looked down at Jennifer.

‘It’s your
brother, phoning you from the prison, what do I tell him? ‘he
asked.

‘Oh, I’ll
speak to him, just help me up, dear,’ she said, as she slowly
lifted her aching body from the chair.

George
assisted her to the telephone and stood beside her as she
spoke.

‘Hello, dear,
how are you?’ she asked, keeping her back towards George and
looking down at the floor as she spoke.

‘I just phoned
to apologise for yesterday, I didn’t mean it but you got me angry,
asking so many questions, and I had a bad headache, do you forgive
me?’ he asked.

Jennifer
looked up at George’s concerned expression before she answered. ‘Of
course, dear, you know I do. You take care of yourself surrounded
by all those cruel men and have a lovely Christmas dear, goodbye
for now,’ she said, placing the receiver slowly back on the
cradle.

George held
her by the arm as he settled her back into her chair.

‘What did he
want?’ he asked Jennifer sternly.

‘Oh, he only
wanted to wish me a happy Christmas and told me to take care of
myself, he couldn’t speak for long as other men were waiting to use
the telephone,’ she said plausibly, her eyes staring at the flames
in the fire as she trembled with useless anger, her cheeks hot with
it, her hands shaking.

George didn’t
comment further on the telephone call, learning through past
experience that it would be to no avail and probably lead to a
disagreement.

Rather to her
own surprise, she felt remarkably better by 5 o’clock as George
placed a tray on her knee. She heartily tucked into her gammon and
pineapple as George sat in concerned attendance in the chair
opposite.

She went to
bed shortly after clearing the plate. George helped her upstairs,
returning to watch television and reading his library book at the
same times.

Jennifer
climbed into the sheets, which felt like ice. She gasped as her
aching body lay on the mattress and pulled the covers up to her
chin, quickly falling in to a deep sleep.

George had
slept in the guest room to avoid disturbing her through the
night.

The following
morning was dull and grey. Walter ran around excitingly in the back
garden, rolling around in the light fall of overnight snow. George
raked out last night’s ashes from the fire and cleaned the grate
and surround. He laid the new fire, lit it, and tended it through
its first infantile cracking until it flickered into life.

He took a cup
of tea up to Jennifer, who was already out of bed and washing in
the bathroom.

‘I’ll take
your tea back downstairs, I’ve just lit the fire for you, so go
through to the lounge and I’ll bring your breakfast to you on a
tray,’ he shouted through the door.

Jennifer’s
wounds had healed remarkably quickly and the bruises on her arms
were slowly fading, but the pain in her heart remained.

She was
greeted by George at the bottom of the stairs, who smiled at her
with a sweet expression as she grabbed the banister rail to steady
her walk.

She had
suggested taking a short walk in to town, but George had strongly
disapproved in view of the slippery condition of the pavements and
not feeling she was yet strong enough to walk unaccompanied.

She
compromised by walking around the rear garden with Walter, who
sniffed in and out of the bushes as he scampered around in the thin
layer of snow, George looked attentively through the French doors,
exhaling plumes of cigar smoke through his nose.

She smiled
back at George, but her relaxed expression hid a nervous
disposition, she could not rid herself from the thoughts of her
attack from her violent brother. She walked back to the house,
suggesting to George that they took a short drive along the coast
road, a suggestion that he heartily endorsed.

With Walter
frantically jumping up at the back window of the car, they drove
along the North Bay and out towards the coast road leading to
Whitby and Hull.

They parked in
Robin Hoods Bay and visited the small gift shop and sauntered along
the rows of fisherman’s cottages before warming from the outside
cold in a small restaurant where they had a typical steak and ale
pie smothered in onion gravy.

The small town
was surprisingly busy with walkers and tourists, normally
associated with warmer months, when the popular village would be
packed with day-trippers from the many coaches which visited the
idyllic place.

After the
hearty lunch, they stood by the railings and watched the heaving
grey ocean crash against the sea wall. She glared out to the
horizon, realising that the attack on her had left an imprint on
her soul as anger raged inside her tiny body.

Seagulls
searched for scraps of food around her feet until a running child
caused the flock to rise into the air, their large white wings
flashed in the afternoon sunshine as the child clapped his hands at
the sudden flurry.

As they
strolled back towards the car, her attention was drawn to a
painting which rested on an easel in the small window of the
artists shop.

‘Look, George,
it’s painting of the south cliff in Scarborough, and there’s our
house,’ she said, pointing to the picture excitingly.

‘Yes, you’re
right, it is our home and it seems to dominate the entire picture,’
he said.

As they
reached the car, Jennifer settled into the passenger seat as George
went in search of a public toilet to relieve himself after numerous
cups of tea. He soon returned carrying a large parcel under his arm
and discreetly placed it on the back seat of the car.

They drove
back to Scarborough slowly, affording Jennifer the time to view the
affluent houses which lined the route, set well back from the
normally busy road.

They arrived
back at the house as the recently heavy clouds disposed a further
downfall of snow.

Once inside
the house, George presented her with the carefully wrapped
parcel.

Her face lit
up with joy as she discovered the painting of the south cliff with
their house prominently perched in the centre. It was framed in
antique gold, the colours so vibrant and realistic. She quickly
went through to the lounge removing an old print of Salisbury
Cathedral, replacing it with the new purchase. She stood back in
admiration as George stood behind her, his hands rubbing her tiny
shoulders as he gently kissed the back of her head.

Jennifer
prepared the vegetables for the casserole as George read the last
chapter of his library book. The kitchen cupboards were full of
food in readiness for the arrival of Roger and his wife and
children who were driving over from Blackpool the next day for
their annual three-day Christmas visit.

It was the
morning before Christmas Day. Jennifer drew back the curtains in
expectation of another dreary wet and dull day. Her eyes shone with
delight as she looked down on the snow-covered roofs of the houses
which lined the beach up to the harbour lighthouse. The front
garden looked splendid, covered in white snow which had settled
heavily on the leafless branches. The sea was grey and still, tiny
waves lapped at the white sand as seagulls swooped low in the
chilling cold air. It was a beautiful sight; quiet, still and
undisturbed by human hand.

George was
already downstairs clearing the cinders from last night’s fire as
Walter stood motionless in the rear garden, his short legs immersed
in the deep snow.

Jennifer
quickly set about preparing the breakfast, mixing ingredients for
the sage and onion stuffing which would be inserted into the rectum
of the large turkey, which sat on the work surface, protected by
silver foil.

Barbara had
phoned earlier informing George of their intended departure and to
expect them in four hour’s time.

Jennifer
looked up at the kitchen clock on the wall.

‘They’ll be
here by 1 o’clock George, will they stop for lunch on the way?’ she
asked him, an expression of concern crossing her face.

‘I don’t know,
they may stop off in York en-route for some last minute Christmas
shopping, they did last year, if you remember,’ he replied, sitting
down at the table.

‘I’ll make
them something anyway, the children will be famished,’ she said, as
she searched through the kitchen cupboards.

‘How are you
feeling today, dear? You’re looking much better,’ he asked.

‘Oh yes, much
better now. How silly of me to fall like that, I must have just
lost my footing,’ she said, as she un-wrapped a leg of lamb from
the refrigerator.

She carefully
placed fruit in the silver bowl, precariously resting a bunch of
grapes on top of the tangerines as she carefully carried it through
to the lounge.

Beautifully
wrapped presents had been displayed at the base of the large
Christmas tree which dominated the room; she nervously looked
through the bay window, half expecting to see her brother loitering
on the pavement, but smiled to herself at the relief of seeing only
two young children throwing snowballs at each other.

She was
determined to visit John before the family arrived, as she would be
unable to leave the house throughout their visit and her normal
excuse to go into town would only cause suspicion as all the shops
would be closed for the next two days. She carefully planned her
excuse as she walked through to the kitchen. George was eating his
breakfast with his head low over the plate. She opened the
cupboard, taking out three packs of butter and buried them deep
inside the kitchen waste bin.

George
continued to eat his breakfast, reading his daily paper at the same
time, unaware of her deceitful action.

‘Oh, no,’ she
shrieked, ‘I’d forgotten to buy the butter when I was last in
town,’

‘Well, I’ll go
down to the shop when I’ve finished my breakfast, George
replied.

‘No, you stay
where you are, I’ll nip down, it won’t take me long, and I’d like a
walk in the snow,’ she said, rushing upstairs to retrieve the small
parcel she had hidden in the dressing table drawer underneath her
silk knickers.

She quickly
grabbed her coat from behind the kitchen door, keeping a firm hold
of her shopping bag which contained her brother’s gift.

‘I think I
should go with you, it’s slippery outside and look what happen to
you last time,’ George said, looking up from his newspaper.

‘Oh, stop
fussing dear, I can’t be chaperoned each time I leave the house and
the walk will help to rebuild my confidence,’ she said
reassuringly.

She trudged
through the snow as she walked steadily into town towards the flat.
The house was cold and damp as she went through the front door and
up to the top landing. John answered the door quickly, smiling
broadly as he opened the door wide.

Jennifer
nervously went through to the kitchen and sat at the table which
was littered with silver foil trays containing the remnants of the
last few nights’ take-away meals.

She had
difficulty looking him in the eye and spoke to him while she
transfixed her eyes on the calendar on the kitchen wall above the
grease covered gas cooker.

He nervously
ran around the kitchen, clearing various soiled items from the work
surface as the kettle boiled.

‘I’m sorry
about the other day, Jennifer,’ he said, breathlessly.

‘Oh, don’t
worry about that dear, these things happen,’ she said, her stomach
churning with fear as she tried to hide her shaking hands behind
her shopping bag.

‘I’ve brought
you a small Christmas gift dear, I hope you like it,’ she said,
reaching into her bag, revealing a small box which contained a
smart wristwatch and cufflinks.

‘I didn’t buy
you anything,’ he said, looking over her shoulder, his eyes
searching through the opened bag.

‘I don’t mind,
you can buy me something when you start work and have some money of
your own,’ she said, as she opened her purse to reveal a pile of
twenty-pound notes, which she folded and tucked under the full
ashtray in the centre of the table.

She didn’t
leave the kitchen, too afraid to leave her chair. She nervously
drank the foul tasting coffee, trying to steady her shaking hands
by gripping tightly on the mug. John smiled over at her, making her
feel uncomfortable and humiliated. She felt vulnerable as he fixed
his wide eyes on hers; she looked away, reaching for her shopping
bag she had placed by her feet.

‘I can’t stay,
I’ve just nipped out for a bit of last minute shopping as we have
friends staying over Christmas and I won’t be able to come up again
until they go back home,’ she said, clearing her throat as
nervousness gripped her.