The chicken had been cooked in a thin, tasteless sauce accompanied with tomatoes, mushrooms and carrots. Two covered dishes had been placed in the centre of the table. One contained mashed potato, the other cauliflower with cheese sauce.
On the old sideboard at the far end of the room sat a chocolate sponge cake under a glass cover, adjacent to a silver jug of cream and two dessert bowls.
‘How’s your chicken, John?’ she asked.
‘Very nice, Jennifer,’ he garbled with his mouth full.
When they had finished, Jennifer came over and took John’s empty plate to the sideboard, returning with a large helping of sponge cake where she poured the cream over it as she placed it down in front of him.
'That looks good,’ he said, as his eyes followed the plate from her hand to the table.
'There’s plenty more dear, just help yourself,’ she said, walking back to her seat.
‘I will need to speak to you after you’ve finished your meal, John, we’ll go into the front lounge, its more comfortable there.’
He helped Jennifer clear the table following her down the lengthy corridor. The sounds of her shuffling feet from carpet to wood and onto the cold slate floor of the kitchen echoed through the house.
'You go through, dear and I’ll bring the coffee,’ she said, struggling as she lowered the dishes into the deep sink.
John returned to his seat on the upholstered settee. Jennifer followed carrying a silver tray containing a large white pot and two delicate cups rattling on their saucers. She gently placed it on the low coffee table. Her hand shook as she poured the coffee. John watched her tiny frame bend awkwardly, as if in pain. She looked up to him. 'You can smoke a cigarette if you like, I’ve put an ashtray next to you,’ she said, as her eyes looked at the small clothed table next to him containing a small glass ashtray.
He watched Jennifer as she carefully sat in the upholstered wing chair, looking up at the ceiling as she lowered her small frame onto the hard seat. Her face was white. There were grey smudges around the sockets of her eyes; her skin, he thought, was oddly changeable for someone of her age. Her head hung still over the cup she held and he could feel an awful weight of sleeplessness suggested by her heavy movements.
She lifted her head and directed her eyes towards John saying, 'Now I’ve been making some enquiries with the parole board and the warden at your hostel. As you know, the licence of your sentence will shortly expire, and you will be able to leave that dreadful hostel with those dreadful people and start a new life on your own. We both know you don’t have the funds to buy a property, and rents are so very expensive.’ John listened earnestly as he raised his back from the settee and reached for his coffee.
Jennifer continued. ’I think it would be a good idea for you to stay here, your probation officer and the warden agree with me, I hope you don’t feel that I’ve gone behind your back, dear, I only want the best for you. Your past years have been difficult, we all know that. You will need lots of help and support once your licence expires, what do you think John?’ she asked, her eyes being transfixed on Johns.
He paused, deep in thought as he looked around the room.
‘It’s a good idea, Jennifer, but we don’t really know each other and this is your home,’ he replied, looking at her expressionless face. She reached to place her cup on the low table.
‘No, John, this is our home, the family home, and like you said earlier, why do I live alone in such a large house? There’s plenty of room, and the garden is desperate for attention, I just can’t upkeep it on my own and gardeners are so very unreliable. You’ve always enjoyed gardening, your probation officer told me you had transformed the grounds of the open prison, please say yes, John, it would make me very happy,’ she said, with a broad smile, and reached for his hand, giving it a further tight squeeze.
‘Can I mull it over, Jennifer and tell you my decision before I leave on Sunday?’ John replied.
‘Yes of course you may, we won’t say anymore about it tonight, the offer is there if you need it, you know that,’ she said, as she pushed her shoes off and sat back on the upholstered chair, drawing up her knees and wrapping her small arms around them. John was in search of perfect contentment, of which could be found in the family home, but he wanted to disclose to Jennifer more of what had happened to him over the past forty years.
He woke the next morning at 7.30 and stared at the ceiling, which was lit by strands of sunlight escaping through the top of the brass rails supporting the large heavy burgundy velvet curtains.
His thoughts were of the previous night’s conversation and Jennifer’s proposition.
The usual sounds of cars passing the hostel were now replaced by a chorus of birds nesting in the large tree in the front garden.
‘Good morning, John,’ Jennifer called from the corridor, ‘I’ve run a bath for you, don’t let it go cold, there’s coffee on the windowsill, don’t let that go cold either,’ she said. The sound of her shuffling feet got quieter as she walked down the corridor.
John jumped out of bed and opened the curtains. The bright sunlight temporarily blinded him. He turned away and walked over the corridor to the bathroom, collecting his cup of coffee on the way.
He lowered himself into the deep bath in a cold but steam-filled room, reaching for his cup of coffee he had left on the wicker chair by the bath.
Quickly dressing, he followed the smell of bacon down the main stairs and into the kitchen. Jennifer looked over her shoulder as she noisily scraped the burnt toast over the kitchen sink, ‘I always burn toast, dear, must treat myself to a toaster one day,’ she said, shaking her head. She looked fit and refreshed, wearing a plum coloured cashmere pullover and pleated skirt with sensible brown laced-up shoes.
The kitchen table was laid with nourishing jams and marmalades, resembling a farmhouse kitchen display, along with the smell of grilled bacon and the crackling sound of fried eggs with the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
John pulled out the two heavy kitchen chairs as Jennifer placed a tray on the table. The contents were: eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms and sausage, all looked very inviting.
‘Tuck in, dear,’ Jennifer said, as she poured tea into his cup.
‘I need to go to the chapel this morning, John, I do the flower arrangements for tomorrow’s service, you have the keys for the car, so why don’t you take a little drive along the promenade, there’s a nice café overlooking the harbour where they do lovely scones,’ she said, stuffing a sausage in her small mouth.
‘That’s a good idea, I just might do that,’ he replied.
After breakfast, Jennifer cleared the table and started to wash the dishes. Her small arms reaching deep into the large sink. John opened the back door and walked into the rear garden.
Wood pigeons were calling in the trees beyond the long grass and the climbing sun was striking deep across the garden to the neglected greenhouse at the far end.
After a few yards he came across a fallen tree trunk, where he sat looking back at the tall wide house with crumbling paintwork on the window frames, broken drain pipes and guttering blocked by clumps of moss.
He walked back to the house. Jennifer was waiting in the kitchen. She was dressed in a large raincoat holding a straw shopping bag. ‘See what I mean?’ she said, smiling.
‘Yes, I do, it certainly needs attention,’ he replied, as he closed and locked the door.
They walked to the front of the house and approached the car. It was covered in a light spray of morning dew. ‘You drive dear, and drop me at the chapel then the rest of the day is your own, I’ll be back about 2 o’clock,’ she said as she climbed effortlessly into the passenger seat.
He positioned the driver’s seat as far back as possible. Jennifer seemed unconcerned as she clutched her bag on her knees as he reversed out of the drive.
He dropped her outside the chapel gates and continued to the sea front. He parked the car in an available space facing the sea. He remembered the area well
. He walked along the small beachfront, passing holidaymakers sitting on benches with their heads back, attracting the sun’s rays on their faces. There were upturned boats and lobster pots, tended by the fishermen whose boats had left ugly imprints on the sand.
He walked along with his hands in his pocket and hesitated at the entrance to the amusement arcade he had regularly frequented when he lured young boys to his home. He pushed the heavy glass doors as he went through. The fruit machines and pinball games made a deafening noise. Young boys were standing around as John had remembered. They now appeared more threatening and aggressive than twenty years ago and now reinforced in large groups.
He walked through the arcade to the door at the far end. It opened out on to the pier with the shallow sea visible through the uneven planks under foot.
He walked to the end, looking back at the busy promenade. He listened to the sound of laughter from a group of ladies who precariously walked the planks towards him.
He found a small café by the bus station and sat at a vacant table outside. The sun was strong and beating down on his brow, gradually turning his grey coloured skin to a pale shade of pink.
He smoked a cigarette while he sipped his mug of coffee, feeling content as he absorbed the peaceful atmosphere.
The waitress appeared wearing a frilled apron and a white cap clipped to her hair with pins. She laid the heavy tray down on the next table where an elderly couple sat, their shopping bags resting against their legs. The sight of wisps of watercress trailing from the sides of bulging egg sandwiches; the four different kinds of cake fanned about a willow-patterned plate surrounding a pot of jam gave him an immediate appetite. He didn’t want to stuff himself with food, as Jennifer was to prepare a light afternoon snack before a hearty supper.
He ordered a small portion of ‘the special of the day’ but was disappointed at the taste. He wiped a piece of bread round the edge of the plate to soak up the remains of the gravy generated by the concoction of meat and vegetables. He didn’t ask the waitress what the ingredients were in case she was offended. He only ate a small portion and left.
He walked back to he sea front, the closer he got the cooler it became.
The promenade had got busier. Bikini-clad roller skaters and shirtless young lads showing off their hairless bodies. There were amusement arcades on each corner of a small row of stalls selling everything from caricatures to knockoff designer sunglasses.
The glimmering sea looked inviting as its rough surf kicked up sea spray beyond a strip of sand.
He searched for Jennifer’s car, which had been dwarfed by a caravan on one side and a large delivery van on the other. The driver sat with his elbows on the steering wheel eating a sandwich, watching the half naked bodies of the young girls as they speedily passed on their skates.
The blistering heat had made the interior of the car unbearable. He quickly opened the windows and drove along the promenade, but his hands burned on the hot steering wheel. The oppressive heat in the car was soon cooled by the strong sea breeze.
He drove slowly along the Fleetwood promenade and into Blackpool. He recognised all the large seafront hotels behind their new and modern front entrances. The sides of the buildings remained untouched and decaying from the harsh winter storms.
He drove along Talbot Road, peering through the windscreen as he approached the gay bars he had visited when he lured young boys to their gruesome deaths.
He continued his nostalgic drive through the town, returning back to Fleetwood in the opposite direction but the same promenade route.
He entered the drive of Jennifer’s house and parked outside the garage.
Jennifer was sitting on the sofa in the lounge, her shoes off, her arms round her thigh with her chin on her shiny knees. She had lit the fire as the late afternoon had turned chilly. She was staring at the fire, trying to feel some warmth through her feet.
The draught of the fireplace sucked the flames up into the pyramid of coal where it smoked and faltered. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her high forehead when she noticed John at the door.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ she said, as she rested her head on the back of the sofa. ‘How was you day dear?’ she asked.
‘It was fine, I drove to Blackpool along the promenade after spending the morning in town,’ he replied.
‘I hope you didn’t eat too much, I’ve made some sandwiches. I’ll bring them in.’ she said. as she rocked herself off the sofa. She passed John at the door, giving him a tight and assuring squeeze on his arm as she shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.
John went over to the large wing chair and sat down, resting his feet on a footstool, his feet disturbing the dust as he walked across the room, which drifted in the sunlight.
Jennifer entered the room carrying a large tray. John jumped up to help her through the door. ‘Let me help you, it’s very heavy,’ he said, as he took the tray off her.
Tea included a yellow sponge cake and peppery tomato sandwiches whose white bread was saturated with pink juice.
‘How was your day, Jennifer?’ he asked.
‘Oh it was fine,’ she replied. ‘I enjoy arranging flowers, it gives me great satisfaction and the vicar is so nice. He often calls to see me, normally Mondays and Thursdays,’ she said, as she stared at the growing orange flames in the fire, reflecting on her face.
‘I’ve got a joint of beef in the oven, I hope you like beef?’ she asked John as she turned from the fire to face him. John nodded, unable to answer, as his mouth was full of a tomato sandwich. ‘It should be ready for 7 o’clock, I don’t like to eat too late, it doesn’t settle well on my stomach,’ she said, turning back to watch the flames.
John felt relaxed and comfortable in Jennifer’s company. She was kind and appeared understanding without asking awkward questions which John had feared.
She was obviously lonely and her highlight of the week seemed to be her occasional visit to the chapel.
‘Did you give any thought to our conversation, John?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I did, I feel very comfortable with you, Jennifer, and I don’t like to see you rattle around in such a big house. I’m also concerned about the security here, you don’t have an alarm and the widow locks don’t fit too well, I could fix those in no time,’ he answered.
Jennifer did not seem over concerned about the poor security of the house, she was more eager to see a healthy and attractive garden where she could sit quietly in the summer sun, undisturbed by the high walls which surrounded it.
Jennifer didn’t mention their parents. There were no framed photographs scattered around or a mention of a family photograph album. The few aged framed pictures hanging unevenly on the walls were mostly of sea and landscapes. Two crossed swords centred the wall in the hallway; he had remembered these as a child.
The entire house needed refurbishment, the exterior was rapidly decaying, the inside needed updating and the garden was desperately in need of attention.
To a developer, it was an ideal property for conversion into flats or as an old people’s home, as many of the surrounding houses of that size had already undergone conversions, mainly as private or rented apartments.
It was not considered a wealthy suburb, but people came and went along the street with shopping bags. Children played and dogs barked as they sniffed along the pavement. The two large houses at each side had been converted to private flats, now occupied by students from the nearby university.
Jennifer’s house stood out from the neighbouring properties with its overgrown front garden, making it look derelict and unoccupied. It would cost a large amount of money to renovate the property to a modern standard, and it appeared that she did not have sufficient funds to undertake such a task.
‘Are you going to freshen-up before supper, John?’ Jennifer asked him.
‘Yes, I will,’ he replied, collecting the cups and placing them on the tray.
‘Leave those dear, I’ll take them through, I’m going
that way,’ she said, pulling herself out of her chair, pushing hard on the upholstered arms.
John walked up the stairs and went to his room. He lay on his bed, his eyes following the patterns on the ornate ceiling.
He had briefly fallen asleep and was woken by a tapping on his door, ‘John, your meals on the table, don’t let it go cold.’
He jumped off his bed and washed his face in the corner washbasin and hurriedly ran downstairs.
Jennifer was sitting at the table in the dining room. A large joint of beef sat on a meat plate in the centre on the table surrounded by open dishes of fresh and steaming vegetables. ‘I’ll let you carve, John, as you are the man of the house,’ she said, with her chin cupped in her hands, wearing a broad smile as she looked at him.
He enjoyed the home cooked meal, swilled down with a glass of red wine. He was feeling more comfortable as each hour passed, yet became disheartened when thinking of his return to the hostel the next day.
After they both washed the dishes, they settled down for the evening in the front sitting room, talking endlessly about relations and relationships, avoiding any mention of their parents, which Jennifer had purposely avoided.
The next morning they both prepared the breakfast, moving around the kitchen as if they were a married couple. They chatted endlessly over breakfast and took their cups of tea in the garden where they sat on the fallen tree trunk. Jennifer listened eagerly to the plans John had drawn in his mind to the beautiful landscape, which could be produced at little cost.
He collected his small bag and took one last look around the hall as he approached the front door. John stood back looking up at the fine residence. Jennifer fumbled in her handbag for the car keys.
It was a quiet journey to the railway station. Jennifer appeared to have enjoyed her weekend guest. John had found it enlightening and relieved after the weeks of apprehension. He felt happy with the close bond which had developed with his sister.
Inseparable Bond Page 13