Inseparable Bond (64 page)

Walter
staggered into the kitchen and drank a whole bowl of water before
lying on his rug by Jennifer’s feet as she watched the steaks under
the grill. His large spaniel eyes appeared to look up at the
kitchen clock as if wishing for the pointers to swiftly spin round
so he could return to his normal lazy and quiet life once the
family had gone back home. Jennifer smiled down at his little face,
sympathising with his sentiments.

George and
Roger ran into the kitchen, shaking rain from their hair as they
peered under the grill at the sizzling steaks. They were
ravishingly hungry, as they had chosen to miss breakfast and go
with Jennifer’s suggestion of a midday brunch.

Barbara came
through dressed in an expensive green Italian two-piece suit and
even more expensive Italian shoes. The silk scarf, which Jennifer
had bought her for Christmas, hung loosely over her shoulders but
didn’t compliment the design of her suit. Jennifer thought she had
worn it out of respect and would immediately remove it once the car
had driven out of the drive, never to be worn again or wrapping it
up for some deserving old age pensioner while she was on one of her
voluntary hospital visits.

They sat down
in the dining room and frantically ate their brunch, Roger
constantly looking at the time, anxious to make a start on the
journey.

Jennifer
looked across the table, realising how much he resembled his father
in looks and habits and wondering if George had looked like his son
forty years earlier.

Jennifer had
packed the family a selection of sandwiches and a Dundee cake to
avoid them needing to stop off for refreshments en-route.

Roger was
extremely grateful for her consideration, Barbara tried hard to
share in his gratitude but she had expected a slap-up meal in some
five-star hotel in Harrogate.

George and
Jennifer waved them off as they reversed out of the drive, the
children waving frantically from the back window as the car drove
out of sight.

Jennifer clung
on to his arm as they walked wearily up to the house.

George made a
pot of tea and sliced two pieces of the untouched Christmas cake
and carried it through on a silver tray, placing it beside Jennifer
who had slumped exhausted in her chair by the fire.

George poured
the tea. The house was suddenly silent as Walter jumped up on
Jennifer’s knee, quickly falling into a deep and well deserved
sleep.

The Christmas
season and festivities were over. Molly was in early the next
morning as Jennifer helped her strip the beds, clean the kitchen,
polish and vacuum through the house, stopping only briefly for a
quick sandwich for lunch.

George took
advantage of the unseasonably warm sunny day as he pottered around
in the garden with Walter running around his feet.

It was after 3
o’clock by the time Jennifer and Molly were satisfied that the
house was back to normal, sighing with relief as they sat at the
kitchen table for a well-earned cup of tea. She was deeply grateful
for Molly’s hard work and showed her appreciation by giving her a
cashmere coat, which had now become too big to fit Jennifer’s tiny
frame.

They had both
talked non stop all day while they cleaned through the house.
Jennifer felt comfortable with Molly as she felt she could talk to
her on equal terms.

Molly lived
with her ageing mother on a council estate on York Road. Her
husband had been a fisherman and shortly after acquiring his own
boat there was a tragedy at sea as a Norwegian tanker collided with
his boat on a foggy night in the North Sea. His body had never been
recovered and a plaque had been placed at the harbour as a memorial
of that fateful night.

They hadn’t
had children and when her mother became ill, she moved in to nurse
her.

She worked
three days a week for Jennifer, sometimes four. She worked as
cashier at a garage two nights a week through the winter months,
substituting this to work as a bingo caller for Carrington’s
amusements once the summer season started.

She was prone
to go into deep depressions since the death of her husband, but
Jennifer had never been aware of this, as she always appeared
joyful and chatty.

She had never
been the best of cleaners, but she was honest, reliable and very
trustworthy and good company for Jennifer.

After her tea
and biscuits, Molly left as George came in from the garden. His
hands were ice cold as he warmed them on the kitchen radiator.

‘It’s nice to
have the house back to ourselves,’ he said, smiling around at
Jennifer.

‘Yes, that’s
true, but it was nice seeing the family and the boys have grown so
big since we saw them last,’ she said, pouring George a cup of
tea.

‘Roger wants
us to spend New Year with them, I said I would ask you, what do you
think?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think
so, dear. It’s a long way to drive and the weather is so
unpredictable, but if you want to go, I’ll be all right here,’ she
said as she stirred the sugar into his tea.

‘I wouldn’t
leave you here on your own, besides I want to bring in the New Year
with you,’ he said, as he rubbed her shoulders with his cold
hands.

‘What
difference does that make? The past five years we have gone to bed
before 12 o’clock and slept the whole way through it,’ she said,
smiling up at him.

‘Whatever you
say, my dear, I’ll phone him in the morning and give our excuses,’
he said, taking off his coat and hanging it behind the kitchen
door.

John Bell laid
on his sofa, his head thumping, his eyelids swollen and his face
plump from the water retention caused by the past three days of
heavily drinking alcohol. His hair was long and greasy, his long
fingernails were dirty and he hadn’t shaved for days.

The armchair
was occupied by one of his homeless friends from the hostel. They
drank warm beer from a can, a further twelve cans sat on the coffee
table in the middle of the room.

The two month
old three-piece suite was grubby with dark stains on the armrests.
Pornographic magazines and videos littered the coffee table as an
ashtray brimmed over with cigarette butts spilling onto the dirty
carpet.

John and his
new-found friend laughed and joked as they made offensive remarks
about the pornographic video they watched.

All evidence
of Jennifer’s hard work in cleaning, polishing, decorating and
furnishing the flat had been replaced with overpowering odours of
stale beer, damp, sweaty feet, cigarette smoke and urine. Empty
baked bean cans littered the kitchen floor as they had been thrown
aimlessly towards the waste bin, missing their intended target.

He had
acquired a large selection of modern and fashionable casual shirts
and trousers by regularly using his Burtons store card. He sold the
garments to his friends at the hostel for half the original price,
using the money to keep him supplied in cigarettes.

The payment
for the goods was met through a direct debit, which came from
Jennifer’s bank account she had set up for him. She had not
realised the amount of his expenditure as all statements were
posted directly to him, which he discarded as soon as they arrived.
She had failed to notice the withdrawals from her bank statement
and the excessive payments to the electricity company due to him
leaving all electricity appliances on throughout the day and
night.

His mobile
phone was also paid through Jennifer’s account, but the few people
he associated with were not connected which spared her a further
extortionate payment.

He had not
proved popular in the town, apart from by the salesmen in Burtons
men’s outfitters where he would regularly purchase shoes, clothes
and watches at over £400 a visit, reselling them for a mere £100,
affording him regular nights out in the pub and major popularity
with the homeless men who frequently gathered there.

He showed no
interest in gaining employment, yet with his dishevelled appearance
he would barely stand a chance of being interviewed for any
position. He had not registered with the local council or the job
centre, which afforded him to spend the day as he chose without any
pressure put upon him from social services to gain suitable
employment.

He relied
heavily on his clothing account and the substantial hand-out from
Jennifer each time she visited, but she hadn’t made an appearance
for the last six days.

He reached
over to the coffee table, vigorously shaking a can of beer before
releasing the cap and laughed hysterically as spray from the can
covered the back of the sofa.

At the other
side of town, Jennifer and George relaxed in the luxurious lounge
as they watched television by the roaring fire. The fine lamps and
furnishings resembled nothing more or less that a designer
showroom, or some specialist in-house boutique dealing in only the
very finest of house furnishings for the discerning few.

She was a
perfectionist who valued and treasured her home and everything that
had been placed within it. She had always been meticulous about
cleaning and objected to any cigarette smoke, but made an allowance
for George’s occasional cigar.

John Bell had
always smoked heavily. She had tolerated his constant cigarette
smoke when he stayed with her in Fleetwood, but since she had
relocated to Scarborough and furnished the house from new, she had
become totally intolerable to any foul odour, apart from polish and
disinfectant.

George had
always been a conservative clean living man, hard working and
astute. He was happier in the garden than the house, realising that
it was strictly Jennifer’s domain and respected her for it.

He drank only
the very best of malt whisky and smoked expensive Cuban cigars. His
other and more sinister vice of seeking casual sex in public
toilets was a well-guarded secret to anyone other than the
reciprocate.

He was fond
and extremely proud of his son. He had always reserved his opinion
towards his daughter-in-law Barbara, secretly considering her a bit
of a gold digger, who expected the very best out of life, yet
contributing very little towards it.

They had a
beautiful detached property overlooking Stanley Park in Blackpool,
although Barbara shopped in close-by St Annes for the snob value of
the town.

Their two boys
were schooled privately in Lancaster, returning home each
weekend.

Roger was a
quiet and studious type of man. Tall and reasonably good looking in
a rough sort of way and appeared to enjoy the domination from his
wife.

George
occasionally passed comment to Jennifer into the amount of money
she cost his son in preserving her affluent lifestyle, insisting
the cars were changed every year along with the kitchen appliances
and fitments.

Roger was a
successful lawyer who could afford to keep his wife in the luxuries
she had become accustomed to, although George was secretly against
her lavish life style and Roger’s generosity to sustain it.

As George was
intensively engrossed in ‘News Night’ on television, Jennifer tried
to keep her eyes open as her eyelids became heavier and
heavier.

She knew she
shouldn’t sleep, that she should go upstairs and climb into bed,
but somehow, what with the tiredness and the warmth of the lounge,
she wanted to stay relaxed in her chair keeping George company, but
sleep became irresistible and she heaved herself out of the chair,
kissed George on the forehead and pulled her weary aching body
upstairs and slid under the clean white sheets, pulling them
tightly around her neck as she quickly fell into a deep and restful
sleep.

George watched
the news, which highlighted the amount of public concern after the
release of two thousand prisoners over the past two months.

Since John had
attacked her, Jennifer hadn’t had one undisturbed night of sleep.
She endured nightmares, waking up frightened in the middle of the
night, feeling vulnerable and alone, going right to the bottom of
the bed, to the end and shut her eyes tight and just hope and pray
that morning would soon come. She climbed out of bed before the
light of day. Still groggy from a restless night, she walked down
to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea.

It was typical
late December weather. A mistral wind blew in the early morning
darkness as Jennifer drank tea staring down at Walter, who was
comfortably sleeping. She sat in semi-darkness at the kitchen
table, tormented by the desire to sleep and after a while she could
endure it no longer.

She slept for
another hour, waking as the grey light of the dawn came slowly
through the window. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked
at herself in the mirror on the window ledge. There were dark
circles under her eyes through lack of sleep. She ran the
cold-water tap and swilled her face to freshen herself.

She quickly
wiped around the kitchen and went upstairs to make herself
presentable.

The toilet
flushed in the upstairs bathroom. That was her signal to place the
bacon under the grill, which should be just cooked well enough for
when George sat at the kitchen table.

A knock came
at the kitchen door. Jennifer had never been one for having
neighbours popping in for a chat, or perhaps to borrow something.
Not because she didn’t want to be friendly, but most of the
surrounding neighbours kept themselves to themselves also.

She hesitantly
opened the door, noticing Joyce Patterson standing on the front
step.

Joyce and
Graham lived in the large house next door. They were very much a
private couple, splitting the year with six months in Scarborough
and six months in Barbados.

They always
returned to Scarborough for the Christmas holiday, accommodating
the family and grand children over the festive season before
returning to their luxurious lifestyle in the Caribbean.