It was a beautiful spring afternoon, the air was warm and the sky was a pale shade of blue as they travelled at high speed, as if competing with the other drivers.
Jennifer looked through the front windscreen at the towering city ahead as they passed modest little suburban houses clustered together alongside the highway
The interior of the taxi was thrown into darkness as they drove under the tunnel and out the other side into the busy streets of New York.
The taxi pulled up sharply outside the Holiday Inn, where a smart hotel porter opened the car door while the taxi driver removed the bags from the boot.
The noisy downtown streets were crowded with warm air rising from the pavement as they pushed their way through the crowds and into the hotel lobby.
They were allocated bedrooms next to each other. Jennifer’s room was huge with an outlook onto the busy Lexington Avenue. She filled the deep bath with hot water and relaxed in the tub with sweet smelling bath suds reaching up to her chin.
This was her first visit to America. George had been to New York with his wife and family a few years earlier, so he had a reasonably good knowledge of the city.
George had suggested the weekend away after seeing a budget offer in the local newspaper, although Jennifer had insisted she paid her own fare and accommodation.
It was only 3.30 in New York, 8.30 in Fleetwood with the five hour time difference. She was already feeling tired but too excited to climb into the inviting bed, although it had been a long day.
They had agreed to meet in the hotel lobby in an hour’s time, after refreshing themselves after the long flight and lengthy wait at immigration.
George was sitting in a leather chair as Jennifer walked out of the elevator. She was surprised to see him wearing a pair of white trousers and an open-neck bright red shirt, as she had only seen him in conservative clothes, and always with a jacket.
They pushed their way through the crowds of well-dressed men with briefcases and smart ladies with their designer shopping bags, rushing around in all directions. The crowd seemed to disperse as quickly as they had arrived, as Jennifer and George arrived at the entrance gate to Central Park.
They walked arm in arm under the over hanging trees, over the small bridges and sat on a park bench looking over at the boating lake as youngsters raced past on their skate boards. The sun was still high and warmed their faces as they sat in the quiet and peaceful atmosphere with the dull sounds of activity coming over from the busy city which surrounded them. They walked further into the park as the youngster showed their well rehearsed manoeuvres around them on their skateboards.
A cold chilly breeze made Jennifer shiver as the sun disappeared behind a tall building, the trees started to rustle and dirt was whirling around her feet.
They walked back onto the crowded streets of commuters, disappearing down the steps to the subway trains to take them to their suburban homes.
It was past six when they arrived back at the hotel. George was looking drawn and tired after his flight, and it was 11 o’clock back in England.
They decided to have a glass of wine in the hotel cocktail bar, neither of them felt like a large meal after their breakfast and lunch on the aircraft.
George gave her a kiss on the cheek as they went to their bedrooms for an early night in order to recharge themselves for a day of sight-seeing the next day.
They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and had never had a disagreement since they first met in the charity shop eight months earlier.
Jennifer slept well and after a refreshing shower, she went down to the restaurant. George was already helping himself to the buffet display.
‘Good morning, my dear, did you sleep well?’ he asked, looking at her light blue summer dress and down at her sensible grey walking shoes.
‘Yes, I did, George, I slept like a log,’ she replied as she picked up a hot plate.
They walked back to the table as the waitress was delivering coffee and a rack of toast.
‘Where would you like to go today, Jennifer?’ he asked.
‘Well, I think it’s best if I leave all that to you, you know the city and the best places to go, we’ve already seen Central Park, which was delightful,’ she replied.
‘I think you should see the Statue of Liberty, that’s what everyone does,’ he said.
‘Is that far from here?’ Jennifer enquired, as she started to eat her breakfast.
‘Yes, it’s at the other end of the city. We have to get a subway to Wall Street then walk over to the ferry, which takes us over to Liberty Island,’ he said, confidently.
They finished their breakfast and Jennifer went back to her room for her raincoat.
The subway train was crowded. They were jostled and pushed along the platforms at either end, George tightly gripping Jennifer’s arm. They walked up from the hot and sweltering underground and into the fresh spring air warmed by a bright sun and cloud-free sky.
The ferry was full of Far Eastern tourists, weighed down with their heavy cameras around their necks, frantically snapping photographs of everything that moved.
Jennifer looked up in amazement at the towering statue and over the stretch of water to the impressive city of tall skyscrapers standing majestically side by side, the sun glistening on their steel frames and glass window. Ferries disturbed the water, going backwards and forwards bringing droves of tourists to see the splendour of the statue.
George was sitting back on the bench looking at Jennifer’s wide eyes as she absorbed the sights. Jennifer had thought he was looking tired and put it down to the long flight and the sudden time change, but he still looked very distinguished in his grey lightweight suit and well-polished shoes.
They sailed back on the ferry, clutching a plastic beaker of strong black coffee which Jennifer found impossible to drink, and poured it over the railings into the river.
To avoid the pushing and shoving on the subway platforms, George hailed a taxi to take them to Bloomingdale’s department store, as Jennifer had always wanted to see it after reading an article about it in the church magazine.
She looked at a crocodile wallet which was displayed in a glass cabinet. The assistant removed it for Jennifer to see. Although it was very expensive, she purchased it.
‘Will this be for a gift, madam?’ the assistant asked.
‘Yes, it’s for a friend of mine,’ she replied.
The sales assistant carefully wrapped the wallet in gold wrapping paper, sealing it with a black ribbon. She quickly popped it into her handbag while George was looking through a row of brightly coloured neckties.
They went up the escalator to the top floor and had traditional afternoon tea in the coffee shop, impeccably served by an extremely handsome waiter.
They walked up 42nd street, smiling to each other as they passed the sex shops and pornographic cinemas which lined the street on either side. Prostitutes waited patiently on the street corners as the drivers of smart cars peered through their windows at the scantily dressed girls loitering from one corner to the other.
They ambled slowly through the jostling crowds and along Lexington Avenue and into the cool, air-conditioned lobby of the hotel.
‘That was a very interesting day, George, thank you very much’ she said, smiling like a young schoolgirl.
‘I’m pleased you enjoyed it, I think I’ll go for a lay down before dinner,’ he replied.
Jennifer had a long soak in the bath; her feet were tingling as she lowered them into the hot water. She had never walked that far for many years.
She relaxed on the bed, watching ‘Jerry Springer’ on television, he was trying to control a violent couple that were attacking each other on the stage; she pressed the remote control and settled her head against the large, fluffy pillow to watch ‘Sons and Daughters’ although she had little chance of relating to the story line of the daily soap opera.
They agreed to meet in the cocktail bar at seven. A table in the hotel restaurant had been booked for
7.30. She changed into a long flowing black dress she had purchased in Leeds after visiting John in prison. This was the first time she had been given the opportunity to wear it. She looked radiant as she walked into the bar clutching her small silver handbag she had purchased at the same time.
George was his usual immaculate self, dressed in a dark blue pin-striped suit and gleaming polished shoes. The jewelled tiepin clipped to his new tie he had purchased that day from Bloomingdale’s.
George had taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of Chablis, which was positioned next to him in a silver ice bucket on a tall stand. A waiter approached the table with a selection of interesting looking nuts, crisps and cheese portions on cocktail sticks.
He stood to his feet as Jennifer nervously looked around the busy bar of well-dressed couples and businessmen, shuffling through papers and chatting on mobile phones.
The restaurant manager escorted them to their table, followed by the barman who carried the ice bucket and placed it next to George at the large round table with plush velvet bench seating. The lights were dim and it took Jennifer’s eyes time to adjust to the lighting before she was able to read the menu.
The dining room was remarkably quiet, seeing every table was occupied. A pianist played a grand piano on a raised platform at the far end of the dining room.
George lifted the bottle of Chablis from the ice bucket, to be quickly interrupted as the wine waiter took it from his hand and poured the remaining wine into her glass.
Jennifer ordered the lobster salad, which had been recommended by the barman. George settled for the veal in sour cream.
They quickly polished off the wine and George ordered another bottle.
Jennifer chatted over the meal like an excited schoolgirl after her interesting and enjoyable day. George sat back in the booth, looking at her small clear face as she chewed her lobster, occasionally swilling it down with her chilled wine. She talked constantly through the meal.
‘I’m having a lovely weekend, George, we should do this sort of thing more often,’ she said, wiping her mouth with her white starched serviette.
‘Well, we are both retired and have no commitments, so why not?’ he replied.
After the meal they went through to the lounge, followed by the waiter carrying a silver tray which contained coffee and two glasses of brandy. The lounge was designed on an English theme. The walls were clad in wood; a large fire was lit at the far end. The Chesterfield leather seating completed the effect, resembling a fine London members club. Jennifer was in her element being pampered with the impeccable service the hotel staff provided.
George was looking increasingly tired as the evening progressed. Jennifer could have easily carried on the evening out on the town, dancing until the early hours.
It was after eleven when they returned to their rooms. Jennifer watched the television until she fell into a deep sleep.
The following day was wet and gloomy. After breakfast they took a final walk through Central Park, dodging the showers under the bridges and low hanging trees. The skateboarders had found a more sheltered area; the park was very silent with only a few down-and-outs looking through the waste bins in desperation.
The flight back to London left in the early evening, so they made their way back to the hotel to pack their luggage for an early start.
George had booked a car for the journey to the airport. A torrential downpour soaked them in the few minutes it took from the hotel to the car and the roads turned to rivers as people ran for shelter, cars splashing water on their feet as they ran. Jennifer was used to rain, but never to this extent. The wipers on the car thrashed from side to side as they drove to the tunnel and out to the airport highway. She turned her head to look out of the rear window to see the city disappearing into the distance.
Getting through the check-in and immigration was far more civilized than when they had arrived and they were quickly seated comfortably in the departure lounge.
Jennifer looked through the huge glass window at the large nose of the British Airways jumbo jet as fuel and delivery trucks circled it like chickens feeding from a mother hen that had flown down from the sky.
They made their way down the covered gangway and were escorted to their seats. The aircraft was soon pushed back from the stand as it made its way slowly behind a long line of aircraft to its way to the end of the runway.
A strict senior steward checked the cabin, making sure they had all complied with his instructions. He firmly told a well-dressed businessman to close his portable laptop computer and fold away his table.
The roar of the great engines soon lifted the big bird into the grey sky, throwing them around until we cleared the thick clouds, which had dumped their load of rain over the city of New York.
Many of the passengers declined the champagne and told the crew they intended to work right through the meal service; reading reports, ticking at accounts and under-lining bits of ‘projections’ with coloured marker pens, as others were tapping at their portable computers with hinged screens, or reading the New York Times.
George reclined his seat as soon the ‘seat belt signs’ were switched off. Jennifer peered out of the window watching the setting sun dip behind the clouds, occasionally looking at the ground between the gaps in the clouds.
The captain gave a brief announcement with details of the flight, assuring us that he would not speak again to enable passengers to get a peaceful and undisturbed nights sleep.
Once the aircraft reached its cruising altitude and commenced its Atlantic crossing, the cabin crew set our tables in preparation for the dinner service. George declined dinner as he had stuffed himself on a hamburger and apple pie in the airport coffee shop.
After the meal service, Jennifer closed the window blind and settled back into her reclined seat, wrapping a blanket around her as she watched a film of unrecognisable actors on the small video screen built into the headrest of the seat in front, stringent voices assaulted her inner ear from the uncomfortable head set.
The main cabin was in darkness, illuminated only by the small individual reading lights shining down on the computers and paperwork while the dedicated business men concentrated on their night’s work, sipping mineral water from their bottles.
Jennifer soon slipped into a deep sleep, woken only by the bright lights which the cabin crew had switched on in preparation of the breakfast service.
George had slept right through, the businessmen still tapping away at their computers.
George left his seat and went to the washroom, followed by a queue of others before they were trapped in their seats behind a breakfast tray.
Jennifer raised the window blind to see a magnificent sunrise turning the clouds gold with the early morning rays. She looked down to the ground to see the Atlantic below.
The captain announced that we were approaching Southern Ireland and would commence our decent over Cardigan Bay in half an hour’s time.
Jennifer looked down as they entered the Welsh coastline, her eyes searching for the Castell Malgwyn Hotel she had stayed at while on honeymoon after the ceremony in Fleetwood. She was disappointed as a bank of cloud restricted her view. The aircraft lowered its nose slightly as they approached Heathrow airport.
They landed on a bright and clear morning. The warm sun was rising on the horizon as they walked from the aircraft and into the arrivals hall.
George insisted on carrying the cabin bags, staggering under the weight of chinaware she had purchased in the hotel shop before they left.
Ahead of them, other passengers straggled on their way to Immigration and customs control. Mothers carried their sleeping babies in their arms, unaware they had arrived at their destination. The airport was virtually empty apart from the normal police presence, standing around scrutinizing the passengers as they walked past.
It was Sunday morning, which would probably explain the lack of passengers at the immigration desk.
An over-tired customs officer demanded to see
inside the box which George was carrying. He carefully opened it as though it would explode in his face as he lifted the flaps. He appeared disappointed when he discovered only chinaware, which had been carefully wrapped in bubble-wrap. George got annoyed with the unnecessary delay.
‘Do we look like bloody terrorists or drug smugglers?’ he said, as he stormed through the arrival doors where crowds of people had gathered to meet passengers off the plane.
They climbed onboard the transfer coach that would take them to the car park where George had left his car during their two day break.
The roads around the normally busy airport were quiet. They were quickly on the motorway making their way back to Lancashire. They stopped briefly at Hilton Park Service Station for a quick, over-priced lunch and a wash and brush-up before continuing their long journey.
George was tired as they approached Blackpool, although he had slept for six hours of the seven-hour flight.
The promenade was busy with weekend visitors, although the bright sun they had left in London had now decided to spend the rest of the day behind the dark clouds.
George parked outside Jennifer’s house and took her small bag into the house, supervised by Molly next door peering under her net curtains.
George was extremely tired and drove back home after a quick cup of tea.
Jennifer left her case at the bottom of the stairs as she relaxed in her chair, looking over at the boating lake while she finished her cup of tea. Disorientated and jet-lagged, her mind reeled with the memories of the weekend.
She carried her case up the stairs, the bed looking too inviting to ignore although it was only 2 o’clock in the afternoon. She had a quick shower, drew the curtains and climbed into bed.
As she was sinking into a deep sleep, a crash of thunder startled her. Gusting winds and rain beat on the window and her bedroom became cold.
She went downstairs, wrapped a blanket around her and watched the people passing along the esplanade as she relaxed in her chair.
Unlike the variety of Jennifer’s weekend, things remained the same in Armley prison.
Inseparable Bond Page 29