Inseparable Bond

by David Poulter

  In view of the psychiatrists concerns it was agreed that Bell could be released on condition he remained under the supervision of the probation authorities.

  The Lancashire authorities visited Jennifer at her home to explain the elaborate pre-release scheme and the possible difficulties reconciliation could encounter. They also needed to satisfy themselves with the family’s overall situation on immediate difficulties and longer term problems.

  Jennifer’s willingness to accommodate her brother would be extremely orchestrative at the authorities hearing, much reliance would be placed on her in ensuring the release transition went as smoothly as possible.

  The date for John Bell’s release was set for 1st November.

  The hot summer seemed to have disappeared overnight, giving way to the crisp wind, which blew through the open window of John’s bedroom as he lay in bed with the covers pulled up to his neck. Fresh sheets and blankets were being thrown outside the doors. The sounds of groaning water pipes and hissing radiators had woken him from a deep sleep. George, the maintenance guy, had fired-up the boiler feeding the central heating system, due to the unpredicted cold snap overnight.

  His bedroom was cold as he quickly washed and shaved, putting on a well-worn jumper that virtually covered his knees.

  Dodging the piles of laundry which scattered the corridor, he precariously made his way to the empty dining room. He was too late for a cooked breakfast, so helped himself to a packet of cornflakes from the small buffet table as Elizabeth cleared it.

  Gary, Peter and Harold were preparing the garden for its long winter sleep. Squirrels were frantically running up the trees with their stash of food to see them through their hibernation.

  Baxter was chopping logs in the garden shed in readiness for the cold winter nights.

  The hostel was always grey and cold in the wintertime. The old boiler was unreliable and only a small proportion of the radiators gave off a generous supply of heat.

  The resident transvestite, with his hands on his hips, watched the others as they prepared the garden. John noticed the wrinkles on his beige dress and running shoes over athletic ankle socks as if he were about to dash around the block a few times.

  Elizabeth breathlessly wiped the tables as she scurried around the room, looking in a lousy mood.

  She came over to John’s table, lifting his cereal bowl as he ate and wiped her cloth over the table.

  He took his mug of tea to the car park and sat on the wall to have his cigarette.

  The three-storey hostel made of wheat-coloured concrete hovered in the morning mist like a fortress overlooking its own deteriorating grounds, denying the warmth of the early morning sun to reach the front wall. A strong gust of wind dispersed a decades worth of cigarettes, which had been snuffed out along the edges of the stonewall. A hunched up old lady dragged her shopping trolley past him as cigarette butts were blown about surrounded her feet as she passed.

  The warden’s large silver Mercedes indicated as it slowly turned into the drive, he smiled and raised his hand off the steering wheel to wave at John as he passed.

  He walked into the hostel, looking very casual in his red cardigan sweater, his khaki trousers and worn brown Hush Puppies. He turned his head to John as he walked. ‘I will need to speak to you when you are ready, John’ he said, as he went through the door.

  We walked back to the house; the hall was bright as lines of crimson sunlight streamed across the walls and wooden floor as he knocked on the warden’s office door. A small worry took root; a curled feeling in his stomach had begun to grow as he waited for the door to open.

  In view of John’s pending discharge from the hostel, the warden needed to explain the procedures and conditions which the authorities had put in place after his release.

  He could return to his sister’s house on conditional discharge, where counselling and group discussions would be held in the premises of the local authorities in Fleetwood.

  John’s hands trembled as he sat in the small upright seat, his eyes fixed on the warden’s face as he reclined in his winged leather chair, skipping the pages of the report.

  He left the office twenty minutes later, drenched with sweat as he walked through the dining room and into the garden. He sat on the garden bench under a grove of shade trees, shielding him from the strong autumn sun, as he watched Gary and Peter clean the old grass cutter before covering it for the winter. Gary looked over to him as he lifted his T-shirt to wipe his sweating forehead, revealing his firm flat stomach, as if to silently invite John into the garden shed for a further session of rampant sex.

  He took a deep breath of the sweet autumn air as the warden’s words swilled in his mind. He had been aware that his release was up for review but the confirmation gave him a paralysing sense of disbelief.

  He shivered in the cold; he walked through the open door into the television room.

  Roger Gaines was lying on the settee; his wrist was heavily bandaged after the previous nights scuffle with Billy Ross.

  John had always felt uncomfortable in the presence of Gaines. He was a broad-shouldered lout, over six feet tall with elegant, almost feminine features and black shoulder-length hair. He looked up at John as he entered the room, frightening him slightly. He quickly broke off eye contact and walked through the room, leaving by the other door.

  He gave two month’s notice at his work, enabling him to spend the last month preparing for his move to Fleetwood. He had saved a comfortable amount of money due to a generous tips system where the kitchen staff were all included in the share-out.

  It was after eight when he finished his shift. He put on his bulky coat and zipped it up to his neck. He wore a hat with flaps over the ears and a peak, which hid his eyes.

  The evening had turned cold and the drizzle had turned to rain. He struggled back up the hill to the hostel, stopping briefly for a local newspaper at the local shop.

  A few bedroom lights from the hostel came into view as he approached the top of the hill.

  John Bell had been in the hostel for the past two years, always distancing himself from his fellow residents apart from the brief sexual encounter with Gary Palmer.

  The hostel had helped John to find self-confidence, yet he was prone to suffer sever bouts of depression, mainly through long periods of boredom.

  He had experienced similarities to the two other institutions, particularly the aggressive and destructive behaviour and violent outbursts.

  Many residents felt safe and secure amongst the others in the hostel, feeling they did not belong in the outside society.

  It was 1st of November. Autumn had rapidly turned to winter, the rain lashed against the small window of room 4. John Bell’s newly acquired suitcase lay open on the mattress of his bed. The sheets and blankets were piled tidily alongside.

  It was 7 o’clock in the morning. He had already showered and shaved, he carefully folded his few clothes laying them firmly in the open case.

  Searching his small wardrobe, the drawers of his bedside table and the chest of drawers, feeling around for any discarded items he may have mislaid.

  Placing his wash bag on the neatly folded pile, he tightened them in place with the attached straps. Taking one last look around the room, he closed the lid of the suitcase.

  He had said his goodbyes to the others the previous night; he needed to call into the warden’s office before he left.

  The rain had eased as he walked to the railway station, pausing halfway down the hill to looking back at the house for a few moments before continuing.

  The railway station was dimly lit. The crowds of commuters had long gone leaving only a few mid-morning travellers brushing the rain off their coats as they gathered under the covered platform.

  The 11.10 to Manchester pulled into the station on time, the waiting passengers eagerly waiting for the automatic doors to open.

  The carriage was hot and steamy. A strong odour of damp clothes circulated the air, the windows covered in condensation, g
iving the effect of frosted glass.

  John was wedging his suitcase in the rack above his seat as the train left the station, throwing him backwards as it rapidly accelerated.

  After a couple of brief stops at small suburban stations, the train arrived in Manchester.

  The few disembarking passengers were jostled by the hordes of travellers scrambling to board an Inter City Express to London, positioned opposite the narrow platform.

  His Blackpool bound train didn’t leave for a further twenty minutes, he went to the station buffet, drinking repulsive coffee and a stale bun.

  It was early Friday afternoon, a group of girls were screaming in excitement at their hen party weekend to be staged in Blackpool, other travellers turned their heads towards them, disgusted and disapproving expressions showing on their faces.

  After stopping briefly at a few remote stations on the journey, the tall tower soon came into view through the rain smeared windows, the passengers collecting their belongings as the train approached the station.

  A few people waited at the barrier. A small hand waved enthusiastically identified Jennifer, flanked by two over-sized women with a group of small children.

  They embraced each other and walked to the car park, Jennifer gripping John’s arm as they walked over to the car.

  The small windscreen wipers grated on the glass as Jennifer peered over the steering wheel through the lashing rain, aiming horizontally from the rough Irish Sea.

  The avenue appeared wider than he had remembered, the house more exposed and uninviting due to the lack of rich summer foliage, the large tree in the front garden, now bare of leaves, which had sympathetically camouflaged the decaying condition of the huge property.

  John went immediately upstairs to unpack his suitcase; Jennifer went through to the kitchen to prepare a light, warm and nourishing supper.

  Heat generating from the Aga warmed the kitchen, the fire in the lounge had little effect in heating such a large room, although two subtle table lamps which gave the room a comfortable and inviting atmosphere complimented the flickering yellow flames, two blankets were placed on the end of the sofa.

  They ate supper in the kitchen, the dining room impossible to heat and unused in the winter months.

  Cold air chilled the forehead as you walked through the house. The unused rooms were cold and dark with their curtains kept drawn in an attempt to retain the heat.

  A small electric fire had been placed in John’s bedroom, being too little effect in such a large area. He now realised why Jennifer had taken a small bedroom at the back, directly above the warm kitchen.

  The temperature in the bathroom equalled a refrigerator, the bed sheets were crisp and icy cold yet there was an abundance of hot water, supplied by the kitchen Aga.

  Jennifer had covered his bed with four heavy blankets in an attempt to make him comfortable through the winter months. It was only November, but unusually cold, the severer cold of mid-winter was yet to be experienced.

  John would walk along the promenade, this had become his daily routine, sitting in a closed shelter alongside a couple of other lonely old men that he had met. They would pass the time with idle chat, watching the grey sea meeting the grey sky.

  As winter rapidly approached, the house grew colder. The occasional break in the clouds released the light from the heatless sun, which would penetrate through his bedroom window.

  He soon became suffocated by the constant attention of Jennifer. She treated John like a precious puppy, his breakfast and supper being prepared religiously at the same time every day. Her inquisitions into his every move gradually forced him to spend more time in the privacy and isolation of his bedroom, watching his small television and video he had purchased for £30 from a local charity shop.

  Apart from Jennifer’s flower arranging at the chapel every Saturday, Monday shopping and Friday at bible class she would remain in the house, whizzing through the rooms with a vacuum cleaner which irritated John, the disturbed dust making him sneeze and the constant whining from the motor of the aged appliance.

  He would secretly masturbate while watching videos from his growing collection, purchased from a sex shop he had discovered down a back street in Blackpool.

  Amongst the range of pornographic material, crime magazines were stashed behind his collection, which he regularly purchased from the local newsagents, hiding them under his jacket to avoid detection from his sister on his return.

  Jennifer was normally restless and would roam from room to room, at times being impossible to talk to.

  After his evening supper, religiously served at 7 o’clock, he would take the small Nova and drive along the Promenade road in Bispham, a few miles from Fleetwood. He would park alongside other stationary cars adjacent to roof covered shelters, watching the dark silhouettes of older men engaging in group sex and masturbation.

  Men would slowly walk alongside the row of cars, looking in as the drivers fondled themselves, occasionally inviting them in to the passenger seat. Other cars would casually and slowly cruise past, the drivers peering out of the windows at the activity being performed in the cold dark evenings.

  It was eerily quiet, only the sound of the rough sea hitting the barrier wall could he heard drowning out the sounds of the sexual activity in the shelters.

  The adjoining public toilet had been closed down due to vandalism and inappropriate behaviour, resulting in the outdoor activities which attracted a wide audience.

  Some of the parked cars were occupied by the occasional transvestite, sitting at their steering wheels running their fingers through the strands of cheap nylon wigs, black tights covering their hairy legs as they fondled their genitalia under a short leather mini skirt.

  Occasionally you would hear the tapping of high-heeled shoes as a transvestite had left the vehicle, trying to remain femininely composed trotting clumsily alongside the parked cars.

  A group of fishermen who had braved the bitter cold had cast their rods into the rough sea appearing oblivious to the antics surrounding them.

  Parked cars would operate reversing lights, indicators and brake light to signal messages to waiting drivers, where they would speed off in convoy on response to the appropriate sign. The area was deprived of street lighting, the only clear signs of activity were by the headlights of vehicles as they briefly slowed down on their approach, the driver’s faces only visible by the reflection from their dashboard lights. The atmosphere was coupled with tension and excitement.

  John would sit for many hours watching the exposed and well-rehearsed theatrical performance.

  He would return to the house about midnight. His sleep was regularly interrupted by the flushing of water followed by the clanking of water pipes from the bathroom Jennifer visited at hourly intervals.

  It was approaching Christmas. It was bitterly cold but dry; the vicar was sitting on the sofa in the cold and draughty lounge. He wore a large heavy overcoat, which he didn’t remove. He had met John on a few previous occasions when visiting his sister. The vicar had always felt uncomfortable in the presence of John, disapproving of him from the outset, considering him to be a dangerous man.

  He had never warmed to the idea of him living with Jennifer, and had made his concerns known to her.

  He leaned over to Jennifer as she looked at a document on her knee, the knee closest to him that brushed his thigh every now and then. They were each holding a steaming mug.

  The document was Jennifer’s will; she had asked the vicar to witness her recent changes, which he did with reluctance. John was to be the sole benefactor of her estate, consisting of the house, personal effects and the car.

  She read the document, smiled at John and sank slowly back into the sofa.

  John did not approve of the relationship the vicar had formed with his sister. John was jealous of the vicar’s association with his sister, along with his good looks and charming personality, which made it easy for him to make contact with women. He found him manipulative, immature and
self-centred, yet Jennifer humorously dismissed his observations.

  As John took his morning walk along the promenade he passed a row of beach huts situated on a remote part of the beach. He was attracted by a moaning sound coming from the inside one of the huts. It looked derelict; the door was open, swinging on the hinges. He forced it wide open and was overpowered by the smell resembling an outside toilet. It was empty apart from cobwebs covering the peaked wooden roof. In the dark corner was a scruffily clothed vagrant smelling of alcohol.

  He was cold and his teeth were chattering as he tried to pull himself up as if his legs wouldn’t carry him. As the man groped his way along the wall, he looked up at John and said, ‘got a cigarette, mate?’

  John went over to the dishevelled drunk, raised his foot and repeatedly kicked him in the groin and stomach, the man curling his legs up to his chin, protected his face with his grubby hands. He moaned in agony as John Bell continued his brutal attack on his helpless victim. All the fight in him was concentrated into squirming.

  He appeared proud of his accomplishment as he continued his walk to the covered shelter, shielding his lighter as he lit a cigarette.

  He caught a tram to Blackpool to purchase a pornographic video, stopping in a charity shop to purchase an electric toaster for Jennifer’s Christmas present.

  The tram back was full of people, squeezed together like sardines. All the seats were taken. There were lots of children with their parents, arms full of Christmas shopping.

  He returned home to see a small Christmas tree illuminating the dark hall, the only visible signs of the festive season. He went straight to his bedroom, frantically opening his brown paper bag and inserting the video into his recorder.

  He remained dressed, laid on his bed masturbating while watching the captive soldier being sexually and violently abused by two leather masked captors on his video.