Jennifer wasn’t expecting visitors as she dragged the bulging bin liner down to the front pavement, wearing her faded pink housecoat she’d had for years.
George stepped out of the car with a bouquet of flowers he had brought her.
She quickly ran inside in a failed attempt to hide her dishevelled appearance as George followed behind her, smiling broadly.
He sat in the bay window waiting for the kettle to boil, as Jennifer was upstairs in a frantic panic making herself look respectable.
She carried the tray of tea and two slices of Victoria sponge cake over to George and sat in the other chair facing him.
‘I called around yesterday morning, but you weren’t in, your car was here so I thought you must not have gone far,’ he said, picking up his plate of sponge cake.
‘I had to go out in the morning,’ she said, as she poured the tea into the cups.
‘Well, I called in the afternoon also, and you still weren’t back,’ he said.
‘I was away most of the day. I had to go to Leeds to see a relative and I took the train, you know how I hate to drive on the motorway,’ she replied, looking out on the esplanade to avoid eye contact.
‘Which relative was this then?’ George enquired.
‘Oh, it’s just a distant relation, I haven’t seen him for over a year,’ she replied. ‘The flowers are lovely, you shouldn’t have,’ she quickly said, trying to change the subject before he became too inquisitive.
Jennifer had quickly changed into a smart grey suit and a white blouse with frills on the end of the sleeves.
George wore what for him were informal clothes, an old grey tweed jacket and flannels, starched shirt and striped tie pinned to his shirt by the jewelled tie pin, with brown shoes polished to perfection.
He reached over to hold Jennifer’s hand. ‘You look miles away, is there anything you want to talk to me about?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing,’ she replied, turning to face him with a forced smile.
‘Is it your relative in Leeds?’ he asked, frowning sympathetically.
‘Oh, no, I’m fine, George, just a little tired I think, it was a long day yesterday,’ she said as she fidgeted in the chair as if she was uncomfortable.
‘Which part of Leeds does your… relative live, I know the city well, I had a few clients from that area and often had to visit,’ he said.
Jennifer paused, as she had no knowledge of the surrounding districts of the city. ‘I don’t really know, they collected me at the railway station,’ she replied, nervously.
‘I spent a lot of time in Armley prison when I was over that way, not as a prisoner, but I had to keep remand prisoners informed on their pending court cases,’ he said, settling back into his chair.
‘More tea, George?’ Jennifer quickly asked, hoping to end the awkward conversation.
George refused, stood up straightening his jacket and said, ‘Come on then, Jennifer, let’s try and put a smile on your face and go for a drive. It’s a lovely day and the nights are drawing in.’
They drove out of Fleetwood and onto the M55 motorway. The sun briefly shone through the dark grey clouds as a few spots of rain collected on the windscreen.
It didn’t take long to restore Jennifer to her usual light-hearted self. He turned on the car radio and they listened to classical music as he drove at a safe and comfortable speed.
They arrived in Skipton as the open market in the town square was closing down. George held onto Jennifer’s arm as they walked around the stalls, which were being packed away in waiting vans. He bought some local cheese and a dozen brown eggs from the farm stall; Jennifer carefully picked up a silver plated fruit bowl from a ‘bring and buy’ stall and quickly replaced it when she noticed the £70 price tag.
On the way back, they stopped off at the Devonshire Arms Hotel for afternoon tea, which they had in the garden, getting the last heat from the setting sun.
Jennifer slept as George observed lane discipline on the M55, driving at a respectable speed so not to disturb her.
Jennifer woke as they approached Blackpool promenade. The tide was out, revealing the vast beach where a few hardy souls were walking their dogs in the slight drizzle. The lights from the oilrigs on the horizon gave the impression of a small town and the moon lit the calm Irish Sea.
George drove down Redwood Avenue where Jennifer and John had lived. It was the first time she had been back to the area since they moved house. A half erected complex covered the site where the house had stood. The trees had been uprooted and a flagged drive surrounded the building. Once completed, it would consist of four luxury apartments, each with a garage and communal gardens at the back. Jennifer didn’t mention to George that the family house had once stood on the site as they slowly drove past.
Once they arrived back, Jennifer made a pot of tea and cut into her freshly baked apple pie, squirting cream from a pressurized canister.
Molly peered though her net curtain to see Jennifer escort George to his car and waited on the pavement until he completed his three-point turn to drive back along the esplanade towards Blackpool.
Jennifer dozed in front of the fire until 9 o’clock. She shivered as the rain lashed against the window and went to bed for an early night.
She woke early the next morning. The rain had blown over and the sun shone brightly. Ted was in the garden mowing the lawn for the last time of the year now that the winter was rapidly closing in. Jennifer made a pot of tea and an egg and bacon sandwich for Ted; she had poached eggs on toast.
Ted took his muddy wellington boots off and left them by the kitchen door. He sat at the kitchen table eating his well-earned sandwich as Jennifer sliced onions and carrots to drop into the casserole, which would slowly cook while she worked in the charity shop for the afternoon.
She had invited George for supper in reciprocation of yesterday’s enjoyable drive. He was due to arrive at six, after his hour’s workout in the Imperial gym.
Lester the Molester and Bell cleaned the floors on the wing. There was no sign of the other cleaners who had probably escaped to the exercise yard.
At eleven they heard the noise of returning prisoners and ten minutes later the floor was packed, scuffing the clean floor he had just completed.
They waited in line at the hot plate for their lunch. Bell took his tray of mashed potato, carrots and an orange, and ate it in his cell.
Bradshaw soon followed with his and climbed onto his bunk to eat it.
The cells were locked for roll call then unlocked again shortly afterwards.
Bell took his tray back to the food hall and went out to the exercise yard in search of Big Bear who he hadn’t seen all day.
The yard was packed, as if all the inmates had descended there. Several new arrivals began to chat to prisoners from other blocks. It was one of the few occasions when prisoners from different blocks could mix.
A bridge was being built at another wing, which had closed the other yard so all prisoners had been confined here for security reasons.
Word had got out that an undercover cop had been assigned to the wing in the hope of identifying the drug barons who roamed the corridors. Everyone knew who they were, but nobody ever blagged to the guards.
The West Indians were the culprits and any undercover cop would be aware of that, focusing their attention on all their movements.
It was a dangerous job, should anyone be detected of wearing a wire, yet they were always in sight of the prison guards who knew who they were.
He eventually found Big Bear playing pool with half a dozen others. Two businessmen who were in for fraud, an airline steward accused of murdering his gay lover and a Pakistani, held under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. Big Bear was chalking up their names on the board.
Bell walked up the stairs and hung over the railings. He nodded down at Big Bear who came up the stairs to join him.
Tension was high as the inmates looked mistrusting at the new prisoners who had just arrived, one or two probabl
y being wired.
As Bell looked down through the suicide net, a big guy was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He looked up and, for a brief moment, had eye contact with Bell. He was used to hard men trying to intimidate him with cold stares, but his expression was more inquisitive. The look a wild cat may give before a kill, or if it was going to be worth it. Bell stared back with a sympathetic look.
Bell walked back to his cell, looking down at the guy over the railings. The guy looked up and walked up the stairs to Bell’s landing.
Bradshaw was sleeping, one leg hanging off the end of his bunk, his thumb in his mouth like a two month old baby.
The big guy stood at the door, looking through at Bell.
‘Remember me, Bell?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t remember you, should I?’ Bell replied.
‘I know you from Strangeways, I was transferred over here yesterday,’ he said.
Bradshaw swung down from his bunk and started doing rapid press-ups. He concentrated on his rhythm and breathing and soon became bathed in sweat.
Bell lay on his bunk, unable to leave due to the small floor area of the cell.
He stopped at thirty, knowing he could do no more and switched to rapid sit-ups, working his left side then his right, until he rolled over and did another thirty press-ups.
The lack of privacy was the worst thing about the confinement for Bell. He liked the outdoor life, walking and gardening. The only time he could be alone was sitting on the toilet with the cell door closed and Bradshaw out of the way, but even then every bodily function could be heard in the cell.
He promised himself that the first thing he would do when he got out was to take a long walk in the countryside with Jennifer, forgetting his ten and a half years left and Jennifer’s age when he is released, should she be alive to see it.
He thought of the trips to the Lake District and how he hated the bleak hills, the cold wind, the icy rain on his face, the clinging rain that soaked him to the skin and the wind that froze his hands and feet, but now he’d give anything to be out in the open, breathing fresh, crisp air that hadn’t been through the lungs of hundreds of other men.
He looked at his watch, it was 7.30. They’ll be doing the roll call soon, he thought.
He heard the jingle of keys as the guard came along the corridor checking the inmates in their cells, ticking them off on his clipboard as he counted.
Once the roll call was complete, the corridor was full of inmates who clambered out of their cells, making their way to the food hall to collect their trays. Screws stood at each entrance as all the main doors on the wing were automatically opened to release the masses that punched and shoved their way to the front of the queue.
Bell had been transferred from kitchen and cleaning duties and was now in the workshop with Spider, assembling Christmas crackers for a high street chain. The workshop was divided into sections, the main area being for assembling electrical items where prisoners with experience in that field would work, and got paid more.
Prison officers would patrol the work desks after they had searched you going in, and a more thorough search on the way out in case you had stolen a harmful weapon like a plastic toy from one of the crackers.
Spider whistled as he packed the Christmas crackers in their boxes, he was in a happy mood. He was due out in five weeks, back home with his wife and kids after five years inside. It was his third time in prison, twice in Brixton and then here.
The bell sounded and they all put down their tools and left the workshop.
Bell and Spider walked to their cells, passing the din of televisions and stereos playing rap music as the West Indians danced clumsily to the sounds.
Bradshaw was watching television, so Bell grabbed his towel and went down to the shower block. He felt dirty from the workshop and the stifling heat on the wing. He showered with Spider, who had got there before him, then went back to his cell.
He brushed his teeth with the prison toothpaste, which tasted foul. No matter how much he brushed, his mouth never felt clean. He rolled pieces of wet paper into his ears, climbed onto his bunk and closed his eyes.
Bell woke up early and looked at his watch, it was 7.30. It was Saturday.
There was no work at weekends, and you couldn’t eat your breakfast in your cell, so he washed and shaved and put the television on low volume so as not to disturb the sleeping beast on the top bunk.
The prison officers soon started the roll call and Bell stood by the door as the screw opened the spyglass to check the two in the cell.
Bradshaw woke up at the sound of the spyglass closing and jumped off his bunk like an athletic sprinter. He pushed past Bell and sat on the small steel toilet where he groaned and moaned as he pissed.
The cell was so poky that there was barely enough room for the two men to move around.
The prison regime was less restricted at weekends; most officers took the weekend off, leaving only a skeleton staff. There was association in the mornings and afternoons, but the cell doors were locked earlier than normal. You could be locked up for up to twelve hours at a time due to the staff shortage, even the prison gym was only open for two hours a day.
At eight, Bell went down to the food hall and stood in line with his tin tray.
The hall was packed and the noise unbearable, but he had no alternative than to eat with the rest of them.
The Pakistani servers were given plenty of grief from the waiting inmates as they dished out the food; one sausage, one piece of bacon, a spoonful of baked beans, a scoop of scrambled egg, a tomato and half a slice of fried bread. Bell had always enjoyed his breakfast but normally in the privacy of his own cell.
Bradshaw walked in to the food hall. He had got permission to use the gym as soon as it opened. He had acquired some new clothes after paying off one of the screws. He was wearing a white T-shirt with blue shorts, socks and new trainers. He had his towel tucked under his arm as he pushed his way through to the front of the line, looking more like a well-off businessman going to his local gym than a hardened con.
Bell took his tray and sat alongside Jackson.
‘How’s it going, Bell?’ he asked, spitting scrambled egg on the table as he spoke.
‘I’m fine thanks, Lester,’ Bell replied as he pushed his way along the bench.
‘Are you in the gym later?’ Jackson asked.
‘I’m going down there as soon as I’ve had this, are you coming down?’ he asked.
‘I’ll see you in there,’ he replied.
Jackson was in his early twenties, in for five years for thirty offences of burglary and house breaking, but he had little in the way of money to show for it. His savings had gone on paying his lawyer, and now his wife and two kids relied on Income Support to exist.
He was one of the kindest and least problematic prisoners on the wing. He was a small thin guy, a bit like a rodent, his size being an advantage to his housebreaking.
Bell rushed his breakfast to get into the gym ahead of Bradshaw. It was only open for a couple of hours today, anything above that is a privilege, not a right.
Prisoners were lining up being searched before they were let out in the exercise yard as Bell pushed through on his way to the gym.
A WEEKEND AWAY
Almost every seat was taken in the business class section of the aircraft. George had offered Jennifer the window seat as he reached up to the stowage bin to place her small cabin bag and raincoat next to his.
Jennifer wiped her brow with the hot towel the stewardess had offered her, as she looked around at the wide awake young men with well-cut suits and large gold wristwatches, shuffling papers they had taken from expensive looking briefcases.
George tapped at his tiny television screen, which was attached to his seat.
Jennifer declined the glass of champagne being offered around the cabin, it was far too early for alcohol, so she settled back into her blue leather seat with a glass of orange juice.
The cabin crew serve
d a breakfast of bacon, mushrooms, tomato, sausage and scrambled egg, but the colour of the eggs was a light green and looked most unappetising but tasted fine.
The captain’s carefully modulated voice recited the names of places that were hidden far beneath the clouds. Food trolleys pushed by stewardesses went past Jennifer as she heartily ate her good breakfast as she listened to a baby screaming in the economy class cabin hidden behind the curtain.
After the breakfast table was cleared, she watched a film on her own television screen located in the headrest of her seat. George had fallen asleep, leaving most of his meal.
She lowered her window blind to shield her eyes from the bright sun and the glare coming off the white clouds. One by one the heads of passengers lolled and bent as they tried to sleep in the brightly lit cabin.
The aircraft started its descent, bringing the eight hour flight to an end.
A well-spoken voice announced instructions to the passengers to prepare themselves for the landing. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be landing at New York, please adjust your seat to the upright position in preparation for our landing,’ he instructed sternly.
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon as they departed the large British Airways bird. The cabin crew looked immaculate as they smiled broadly at the aircraft door.
George gripped Jennifer’s arm as they walked along the covered walkway and along the long arrivals hall to the immigration desk.
‘Now the worst is to come, the line-up at immigration and customs can sometimes be as long as the flight,’ he said, placing the cabin bags on the floor, shuffling them with his feet as they moved along the line of passengers towards the immigration desk.
It took well over an hour standing in line, disconsolately kicking the bags forward a few inches at a time.
They were finally admitted to America and went through to the customs hall.
George confidently opened the taxi door for Jennifer as the driver threw the small bags into the boot.
As the car drove off, away from the hot and sticky atmosphere of the terminal building, Jennifer gazed out of the window at the fast moving cars speeding down the highway.
Inseparable Bond Page 28