Inseparable Bond (66 page)

Jennifer sat
with him for half an hour before going up to bed in the hope of an
undisturbed nights sleep. She climbed under the crisp white sheets;
her mind was in a whirl as she gazed up at the ceiling.

George tied
the cord in his pyjama trousers before throwing the bedclothes back
and climbing into bed. Jennifer nestled into his warm and
comfortable body, making her feel safe and protected. He kissed her
gently on her forehead, as if all was right with the world.

Jennifer
listened to his breathing, and when she was sure he was fast asleep
she turned on her side, her arm reached out to turn off the bedside
lamp.

Jennifer
tossed and turned all night, woken by the howling wind which raced
in from the sea. Slowly, so as not to disturb George, she slid out
of bed and reached for her gown. She quietly closed the bedroom
door behind her and went down to the lounge, peering through the
Christmas tree at the rough sea and swaying branches on the
trees.

It was early
and the grey light of dawn was just coming up over the horizon. She
noticed a man standing at the gate of Joyce and Graham’s house next
door. She peered through the branches of the wilting Christmas tree
at the stranger, fearful that it was her brother, but realised it
was only her imagination as the blond haired man gripped his child
by the hand while he held a dog lead with the other.

Jennifer paced
up and down the lounge as Walter watched her every step. Her face
was ashen white with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her
thoughts of the previous night swilled around in her head. She
stood on tiptoe as she leaned towards the mirror above the
fireplace, resting one hand on the mantelpiece as she peered at the
reflection of her red and tired eyes which had been deprived from
sleep.

She ran her
trembling hands through her thinning hair and ran her fingers along
the lines across her forehead as if to iron them out with her
touch.

She returned
to the window, peering through with hesitation. She folded her thin
arms across her flat chest, her nostrils flared and her normally
large eyes were now slits as the bright early morning sun broke
through a gap in the heavy clouds, streaming a strong beam of light
into the lounge.

George could
see the tiredness in Jennifer’s face as she washed the breakfast
dishes, leaning her weary body against the sink unit. He gazed
across, looking at her drooping shoulders and the troubled
expression of her face but unsure why she appeared to be carrying
the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. He had provided for
her in every way possible, with every conceivable luxury she could
ask for.

He finished
his breakfast and went over to her, placing his hands around her
slim waist. She wiped her hands on her apron, turning to him with a
smile, which creased her thin face, taking a deep breath and
exhaling slowly.

Another
restless night seemed to have aged her by ten years. George was
getting increasingly concerned as he sat her down at the kitchen
table.

‘I think you
should go and see the doctor, dear, only for a check-up,’ he
suggested.

‘It’s called
old age, George, that’s all. It comes to us all,’ she said, shaking
her head.

‘Well, I think
you should see him all the same. You’ve been tired, depressed and
lethargic and he could prescribe a tonic,’ he said, looking into
her tired eyes.

‘Well, if it
makes you happy, I’ll phone him after I’ve finished washing up,’
she said.

An appointment
had been made for 2.30pm. George drove her to the medical centre
and sat reading magazines in the waiting room while Jennifer went
through to the surgery.

The doctor
checked her blood pressure, listened to her breathing and took a
sample of blood. It was only when he pressed his hands on her thin
stomach that she writhed in discomfort, although she tried not to
show it. Jennifer was biting her knuckles as he poked and prodded
around her small flat tummy.

‘How long have
you had this pain?’ the doctor asked her.

‘Oh, not long,
I think it’s just a bit of constipation,’ she said.

‘I can see a
slight bruising here. Have you knocked yourself recently?’ he
said.

‘Well, I did
have a slight fall two weeks ago but I’m getting better by the
day,’ she said confidently, swinging her legs off the examination
table and slowly standing up.

The doctor
asked her to get dressed as he wrote out a prescription at his
desk. ‘I want you to take these three times a day, a couple of days
bed rest wouldn’t harm and if the pain persists, I want you to come
back to me next week,’ he said, passing her the prescription
order.

She walked
back to the waiting room where George anxiously waited.

‘I told you it
was nothing,’ she said, clinging onto his arm as they left the
surgery.

‘He’s
prescribed some vitamin tablets and suggested I rest for a couple
of days,’ she said, passing him the prescription. She purposely
didn’t mention the stomach pains.

George went
over to the pharmacy while she waited in the car. She nervously bit
her lip so hard she could taste blood inside her mouth.

George put her
to bed straight away. Jennifer wasn’t over concerned about the
possibility of undergoing a serious stomach operation, as the
doctor would have admitted her to hospital if he thought it had
been serious.

She made an
effort at normal conversation as George tucked her arms under the
bed sheets, pulling them tightly up to her chin and drawing the
bedroom curtains.

Jennifer slept
peacefully in the warm dark bedroom, a large vase of red roses were
by her bed which George had brought up for her while she was
sleeping.

He wasn’t as
restful. He gazed out of the kitchen window, worried about her
failing condition, thinking that even the slightest of illness was
concerning as her age was against her. If she had been a younger
person, he would not hesitate in thinking she would make a full
recovery. As she was over 70, although the visit to the doctor had
reassured him, he would keep an eye on her progress.

The following
day she looked exactly as she had the previous day, her face white
and drawn.

Molly had
asked for the week off, taking her mother for a midweek break to
Bournemouth. With Jennifer being incapacitated, the house needed a
good dusting and tidying, he’d let it build up since Jennifer had
been in bed and Molly away for the week. He was far from
domesticated, had never needed to be, but he set about the task in
the women’s absence, resting at regular intervals to catch his
breath.

On the fourth
day. George carried her breakfast tray up the stairs, containing
her poached eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice, surprised at
seeing her sat up in bed, her elbows leaning on the pillow. Her
eyes were wide and bright as she gazed through the window at the
swooping seagulls.

‘Well, you
look remarkably better,’ George said, resting her breakfast tray on
the bed.

‘I feel fine,
really fine. I think I’ll get up after breakfast. I certainly need
some fresh air,’ she said, throwing the covers off the bed.

Whatever had
ailed her had gone as quickly as it had arrived. George was greatly
relieved to have her back to her normal self. She took a leisurely
bath before dressing and coming downstairs. She smiled at George as
she ran her finger through the dust on the dresser in the lounge,
as her eyes looked at the dirty film on the bay window.

The weather
was fine and unseasonably warm for the end of January as George
held tightly onto her arm as they walked through the High
Street.

The fine sunny
weather seemed to have brought everybody out and the town was
crowded with shoppers as they slowly ambled their way through
Scarborough’s Victorian market, looking up at the bright flower
baskets hanging at intervals between the shops. They strolled down
to the harbour and Jennifer breathed in deeply as she reached the
shore.

George
purchased two portions of prawns from the harbour fish bar. They
sat on a bench opposite the Black Bull pub, looking across the
deserted beach.

George looked
at the high slope leading to their house on the south cliff. He
tucked her woollen scarf into her coat collar.

‘You stay here
and watch the fishing boats while I go and get the car,’ he said.
‘It’ll save you walking up the slope.’

As George
walked back to collect the car, she noticed a dishevelled vagrant
frantically searching through a rubbish bin attached the beach
railings. She was repulsed at seeing him eating the remains of
potato chips, which had been correctly disposed of. She felt mixed
feelings of disgust and pity, watching him frantically eating the
food from the palm of his hand. Seagulls hovered nearby in
anticipation of a quick snack as he went from bin to bin, rooting
through them, which lined the promenade.

She thought to
herself how fortunate she had been in her life, being provided for
so generously by George and her husband, never needing to concern
herself into where the next meal was coming from.

Watching the
vagrant slouching along the pavement, her mind went to her brother
John, thinking he shared a similarity in appearance and habits.

It saddened
her to think that the vagrant would have probably been denied a
caring and supportive family, past associates not knowing where he
was or where he lived, if he were alive or if he were dead.

It suddenly
occurred to her that she was the only person in John’s life who
knew of his existence. He had not registered with the county
council, or social services, or the job centre or even the landlord
of his flat. She was the only person to know if he were alive or
dead, apart from the social worker who appeared to show little
interest in his rehabilitation, probably due to the excessive
workload which had been placed on her.

The vagrant
staggered over the road, walking towards the town centre as George
pulled up alongside her in the car.

Her thoughts
and feelings had been so intense that she had difficulty clearing
them from her mind.

George
pottered around in the garden with Walter as she prepared the
vegetables for the lamb casserole, secretly fantasising a series of
sinister plans to rid her of her fearful brother. She felt no
remorse at her evil and calculating thoughts. She was prepared to
go to any lengths to make a speedy return to her idyllic life she
lovingly remembered, realising that she didn’t have many years left
and her health appeared to be failing.

Her eyes were
wild and seemed to spark as if electrified as she smiled, although
she felt like she was actually crying inside.

George knocked
the dirt from his wellington boots, leaving them by the back door
as he came through to the warm kitchen. Walter raced over to his
bowl of minced beef and dog biscuits, George placed his cold hands
around Jennifer’s tiny waist, fleetingly observing her smile and
regained smooth complexion.

George poured
himself a large glass of malt whisky and stared out of the lounge
window at the early evening mist rolling in from the sea.

Both George
and Jennifer lived secret hidden lives, but shared their pretence.
That’s why they had laughed and enjoyed so many years of happiness,
because they both secretly liked pretending so much and the few
lies and deceit didn’t seem to matter so much. All that mattered
was that they enjoyed each other’s company.

Jennifer woke
from the best undisturbed sleep she had experienced for weeks. She
woke up fresh and alert, cleaning through the house while the
sheets and towels tumbled around in the washing machine.

It was a
glorious day. The bright sun shone over the front garden like a
searchlight, but the wind was chilly with a smell of rain in the
air.

George and
Walter inspected the abundance of spring flowers which had become
confused by the unusually mild winter. The garden would soon become
a blaze of colour unless a sharp frost killed off the immature
growth of the newly formed buds.

George
searched between the winter bushes with a great satisfaction of
accomplishment before dragging the recently serviced lawnmower from
the shed for its first cutting of the year.

They both
celebrated their constructive day with a bottle of chilled Chablis,
which they drank with their leg of lamb she had slowly cooked for
supper. George took a further bath and dressed ready for his weekly
Rotary meeting.

At the stroke
of seven, he kissed her gently on the forehead and walked to the
hotel.

The new Bosch
dishwasher continued to enjoy its retirement as she washed the
supper dishes in the sink, preferring the old-fashioned method as
opposed to the automated version.

She switched
the outside light on which illuminated the garage. Opening the
garage door, she unlocked the doors and sat on the driver’s seat.
Her legs were too small to reach the pedals but she purposely
didn’t change the angle of the seat.

She put the
key in the ignition, which illuminated the red dashboard. She
peered at the clocks and switches, familiarising herself with the
controls. She hadn’t driven a car for over ten years and when she
did, it was certainly not a car of this size or quality.

It was
equipped with automatic transmission, but she felt dwarfed by the
size of the steering wheel and the large protruding bonnet.

She climbed
out of the car, locked the door and returned to the kitchen,
hanging the keys back on the hook by the door and continued with
her nightly chores. After ironing George’s shirts, she settled down
for a quiet evening.

The remainder
of the night she spent watching television with her feet resting on
the footstool and Walter resting on her knees.