Inseparable Bond (63 page)

He walked
behind her as she walked down the scruffy hall and onto the top
landing.

‘You take care
of yourself and have a nice Christmas,’ she said, walking down the
stairs, looking up between the banister rails at John as he leaned
over watching he leave by the front door.

Once on the
street, her tight body relaxed as she surrounded herself with
joyful shoppers mingling around the busy streets in frantic
attempts to purchase the last of their supplies before the shops
closed for the Christmas period.

The visitation
to the flat flooded her mind with fear as memories of the
unprovoked attack washed over her like a huge wave.

She called
into the corner shop and purchased three packs of butter before
walking home through the rapidly melting snow.

She approached
the house as George unconcernedly shovelled snow from the drive. He
grinned up at her as she walked up to the front door.

‘No broken
bones this time,’ he said, as if being aware of where she had
secretly gone and the dangerous situation she had placed herself
in.

‘No, I’m
fine,’ she said, closing the front door behind her as she went
through to the warm and inviting house. She sat at the kitchen
table, she hands still shaking as she rested her chin in her clammy
palms.

While the
kettle boiled, she quickly ran upstairs, checking the two guest
rooms in preparation for the families’ expected arrival.

It was after
five when they eventually arrived. They had stopped off in York but
found themselves held up in heavy traffic as they tried to leave
the city. The road to Scarborough was very congested as it had been
proved a popular destination for Christmas holidays over the past
few years, with many of the larger hotels showing full capacity
which was a major boost for the town.

The children
ran up to George, throwing their arms around him as Roger parked
the car inside the double garage. Barbara went through to the
kitchen, kissing Jennifer on the cheek, weighed down with carrier
bags full of Christmas presents for the family.

Jennifer
enjoyed their twice-yearly visits. She was in her element playing
the hostess role and loved having the children in the house, making
it come alive with joyfulness and continuous laughter.

They ate their
traditional Christmas Day lunch in the dining room, pulling
crackers and chatting freely after three bottles of French claret
which George had reserved for the occasion.

George and his
son went through to the lounge to chat about the business he had
inherited from his father, while Barbara and Jennifer cleared the
dining room table and washed the dishes, chatting endlessly about
the latest fashions and the children.

The children
played in the rapidly disappearing snow with Walter, who soon
returned wet and exhausted, going to refuge on his blanket by the
warm boiler.

The children
soon followed, running breathlessly around the kitchen as Barbara
took off their wet jackets to dry over the kitchen radiator.

Jennifer stood
with her hands in the soapy dishwater, gazing out of the window,
feeling short pangs of guilt as she thought of John spending
Christmas day alone in his grubby flat.

She was
overcome with weariness and rested on the chair by the kitchen
table which was littered with wrapping paper the children had
brought through from the lounge after opening their presents.

Roger and
George walked through to the kitchen, each smoking a large Cuban
cigar while they held tightly onto their large brandy bowls, which
they presented to Jennifer and Barbara as the children invaded the
refrigerator for more Coca Cola.

Barbara put
the children to bed, returning to the lounge to continue with the
arrangements being made for George and Jennifer to visit them over
the summer.

They sat
around comfortably by the raging log fire, eating chocolates and
drinking dry Martini cocktails before George and Jennifer went to
bed, leaving Roger and Barbara to watch a late night movie.

Jennifer was
woken by the screaming of children playing in the front garden with
Walter in the fresh snow, which had fallen lightly overnight.

George was
already up and setting the table in the dining room for breakfast
which Barbara was cooking in the kitchen. Roger sat at the desk
looking through paperwork as Jennifer looked at her reflection in
the bathroom mirror. The wound on her forehead was still visible
but the family had not commented. The bruising on her arms and feet
had almost disappeared.

She was
putting on a brave face throughout the families visit, but inside
she felt deeply hurt, her stomach churned constantly and her body
shook with a chilling fear when she recalled the day he brutally
attacked her.

Barbara had
made a large pan of lentil and carrot soup for lunch, which
simmered slowly. The smell drifted up the stairs as Jennifer
breathed in the aroma as she walked down; preparing her false smile
she would need to carry though the day.

Barbara was an
excellent cook, spending most of her day in her designer kitchen
with the latest of expensive appliances, or sitting under a
hairdryer in Blackpool’s most fashionable salon after buying
exquisite Italian outfits from an exclusive boutique. She was tall,
slim and extremely attractive rather than pretty. Her long
jet-black hair always tied back with a red silk ribbon as she
trotted about in Italian shoes which were not worth looking at
unless they came with a price tag over £200 a pair.

After a hearty
breakfast, they all walked down to the beach, the children running
ahead pulling poor Walter along on his lead, who was now beginning
to show signs of exhaustion after the children’s constant and
unrelenting energetic activities.

They drank
coffee in the harbour bar, which was surprisingly open and full of
people who had come in to warm their bones after walking in the
bitterly cold Boxing Day weather.

The promenade
was equally as busy as a bank holiday weekend at the height of
summer as couples strolled arm in arm past the line of fishing
boats moored up as though they had been purposely positioned as a
tourist attraction.

The morning
wore on as they ambled their way back to the house. George and
Roger suggested they called into the Nelson Inn for a quick drink
before lunch, but Jennifer and Barbara declined, taking the
children back home while the men went into the smoky atmosphere of
the pub.

As soon as
they reached the house, Jennifer went up to her bedroom. One of her
arms, the one that had been badly bruised, felt as though it had
been working loose from its socket and her chest ached as though
every rib was broken. She breathed in deeply as fresh air rushed
into her squeezing and painful lungs. She gasped and spat feebly,
then began to sob quietly.

She sat on her
bed, folded her arms around her middle and leaned forward, groaning
until the aches and pains disappeared as quickly as they had
arrived.

She walked
slowly downstairs at the same time as George and Roger arrived back
from the pub, a little intoxicated, laughing heartily as they came
up the drive.

They sat
around the dining room table. The soup was perfection, followed by
generous portions of chicken breast covered with a rich red wine
sauce Barbara had made from the remnants of the unused wine from
the previous day.

They ate
Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, which had been politely
refused from the previous Christmas day lunch.

Roger and
George slept in two easy chairs by the fire, Walter alongside as
the children played endlessly and tirelessly in the garden.

Barbara had
notice that Jennifer looked tired and suggested she went for an
afternoon snooze while she cleared the table and cleaned through
the kitchen.

Jennifer lay
in the large bathtub. The hot water eased her aches and pains, as
she lay motionless, tears running down her face, as she wanted so
badly to confide in George, explaining every detail of her double
life and admitting her deceitful methods she had secretly denied
him. She needed reassurance and protection which George was more
than capable of giving, but so much time and lost opportunity had
passed since she had first become so calculating into her cunning
methods that left her with no alternative than to continue carrying
her heavy burden, which only herself had been to blame.

Roger and
Barbara had booked dinner at the Grand Hotel; a table by the window
had been reserved for the six of them, leaving Walter happily in
the privacy and quietness of his kitchen corner, undisturbed by
excitable children.

They walked
down to the hotel, which could be seen from the garden. It was
dauntingly large, overlooking the beach and standing majestically
above the town. The restaurant was extremely busy as the hotel was
full to capacity. Waiters and waitresses scurried around the dining
room as they sat patiently for the headwaiter to provide them with
menus.

Jennifer gazed
out at the grey sea, still and unthreatening, as other diners
chatted, depriving themselves of the spectacular view of the open
sea which they had travelled so many miles to witness but were more
interested in what was placed in front of them.

The meal was
satisfactory, but the service had been rushed uncaringly and Roger
had found the attitude of the waiter rude and abrasive, as he
bitterly complained to the restaurant manager, as the rest of the
party waited in the lounge wearing their winter coats, patiently
waiting for him to put an end to his ranting and raving so he could
accompany them on the short walk back to the house.

Once inside,
they all sat in a semi-circle around the fire, Roger still
complaining about the waiter’s attitude and the exorbitant cost of
the meal, which he considered no better than a transport café
lunch. Jennifer envied the children as they slept peacefully in
their beds.

John Bell had
spent Christmas day alone. He had spent most of the money Jennifer
had left for him either in the pub or in the supermarket on cans of
larger, which he stored in the kitchen cabinet.

He had hung
around the Black Bull pub on Christmas day with other loners of the
town, unshaven and dishevelled, sitting in a group at a table by
the toilets in the bar.

John had been
introduced to a new social circle, the down and outs in the town’s
hostel for homeless men.

He spent a lot
of his time in the recreation room where he had palled up with most
of the residents where he could boast about owning his own self
contained flat in town, which many of them regularly visited.

The fine
Victorian town of Scarborough had become a popular all-season
resort after the local council had spent millions of pounds on
regenerating the railway station, the town centre and both north
and south bays. It had proved to be an excellent investment,
bringing tourists in their droves and encouraging the better heeled
to purchase the fine Victorian properties which banked every
street.

The crime had
been dramatically reduced and all residents played their part in
maintaining the cleanliness and hospitality offered to the
thousands of tourists who regularly visited.

The down and
outs which plague every town were more noticeable in Scarborough
and many who had set their ideas of settling in the town were soon
discouraged and moved on. The railway station had a zero tolerance
level, as did the bus station and many of the public parks which
had previously been home to the many vagrants before plans of
regeneration were put into force.

John Bell
would soon get a bad reputation by loitering around the town
centre. It was a small community where people knew people,
particularly George and Jennifer, who resided in the most
salubrious area of the town and had been residents for over ten
years. Any blemish on their respectable reputation would be
extremely harmful within the many charities and foundations they
regularly supported.

Sylvia Freeman
was the past president of the Inner Wheel Society and held a seat
on the local county council. She was an extremely influential
figure of society in the town and well respected for her charity
organisations as well as her nosy and inquisitive manner.

She had seen
Jennifer in the Victoria teashop sitting with John when he had
become abusive to the waitress.

Jennifer
purposely hadn’t introduced her to John, yet Sylvia Freeman set out
on her well known mission to discover whom she was associating with
at afternoon tea. Tongues had started to wag around the more well
connected after sightings of Jennifer had been noticed entering or
leaving the premises of John Bell’s flat, yet no one had directly
approached her to satisfy their curiosity, but word had reached the
ears of Sylvia Freeman, and gossip was now being bandied about at
various events and organisations around the town.

Jennifer
remained oblivious to the gossip which came out of the mouths of
the so called, ‘well to do’ set of the community.

Jennifer was
busy preparing a steak and scrambled egg brunch in the kitchen.

Roger and the
family were retuning back to Blackpool in the early afternoon,
Roger wanting to get well into his four hour drive in as much
daylight as possible.

Barbara was
upstairs packing their cases, the children played in the lounge
with Walter as George was in the garage looking under the bonnet of
Roger’s ‘top of the range’ Mercedes he had recently purchased.

The rain
hammered down quickly, removing any remnants of snow which had
piled at the side of the drive and it had become surprisingly warm
for the time of the year.

Jennifer wore
her new slippers, a Christmas present from Barbara, and her new
gold watch with diamonds around the face, which George had
extravagantly bought her.