Scott was the exception. He hated it and had started scratching lines against the concrete wall in the cell.
Many of the youngsters were on assault charges and drug-related crimes. Cocaine and heroin and a choice of more tranquil drugs were widely available in the prison, brought in by wives and sometime their kids at visiting periods.
Scott was gradually being broken down by the system. He spent most of his time in the cell, refusing to engage in any prison activity other than an occasional walk around the yard with Bell. He would watch the television and listen to music through his headphones but didn’t engage in much conversation with anyone other than Bell. He would occasionally go down to the gym, but only with Bell, where he would do a strenuous mix of aerobics and weights, building up his already firm and strong body.
He soon looked upon Bell as a father figure and when Bell wasn’t on work detail he followed him around like a lost puppy, often sleeping alongside him throughout the night, yet never attempted to engage in sex.
Bell also spent more time in his cell, unlike before when he would avoid returning after his work in view of Bradshaw. He was now happy with his new cellmate.
Bell had been imprisoned for three years; seven years remained of his sentence with little hope of a transfer to an open institution. He would willingly go back to his former prison in Manchester than to remain in this hellhole, but all the applications he submitted were refused.
Scott had saved the peelings from his daily orange on his breakfast tray and stuffed them into the air vent, which was connected through to the next cell. It was a great idea as the vent now exhales the sweet odour of citrus and eliminated the foul smell of unwashed bodies in the constant oppressive heat on the wing. He also took a thread out of his blanket, which he used as dental floss, things which Bell would never have thought of doing.
Bell had persuaded one of the guards to place Scott with him on cleaning duties. This was approved and it helped to raise Scott out of his loneliness and depression.
Big Bear had been transferred back to the ‘A’ wing but still shared the yard so Bell remained to have contact with his best mate.
It was the 20th of December. A thin, sparsely decorated Christmas tree was now suspended from the roof over the suicide net, reminding the prisoners what they were to be further deprived off over the festive season; family gatherings.
The bright morning seemed more like late afternoon as Jennifer switched on the kitchen light. She made an immediate start on the dishes from last night’s supper.
George had left earlier than usual, not very happy at Jennifer’s decision to remain in her own home and refusing the invitation to move in with him. She enjoyed his company and their outings, but she was an independent woman who liked her own space and her own surroundings.
After a deep clean of the kitchen, she walked along the esplanade on her way to her short afternoon shift in the charity shop. The wind was cold but the air was fresh and clear, scented with just a slight tang of the sea. The water slapped against the dock pilings and against the hulls of the few moored boats as she stepped between the fishermen’s tackle and baskets which littered the esplanade pavement.
She was sad at upsetting George and disrupting his plans, but had thought long and hard before she had come to her decision.
The shop was quiet. The high street was packed with Christmas shoppers as they trudged their way up and down the street with their heavy bags, brimming over with food and gifts from the neighbouring quality shops.
She looked up at the door each time it opened, hoping it was George as he always called in on Thursday afternoon, but not this Thursday. The afternoon passed at an agonizingly slow pace as Jennifer stood at the window watching the heavy rain soaking the shoppers and half expecting George to walk in.
She polished some of the brass items, dusted the shelves, arranged the books back in order and returned a couple of old coats back on their hangers.
Enid Nettleton from bible class came in for a brief chat and a free cup of tea while she sheltered from the rain. A couple of other women disturbed her arrangement of well-placed books and left the shop without a purchase.
Jennifer decided to close the shop early and pushed her way through the crowds until she entered the quiet esplanade and walked home slowly, looking at the moored boats rocking slowly in the light breeze and the seagulls which swooped low over a fishing boat on its way back to harbour with its cargo of fish.
The house was bleak and cold when she walked in. She made a pot of tea and sat in the window looking at the telephone, hoping George would phone her.
Her heart jumped a beat at the sight of a Blue BMW pulling-up outside the house. She raced to the font door as he climbed out of his car, bearing a large bunch of flowers.
She quickly put the flowers in a vase and put them on the small windowsill in the front lounge. They immediately brought an atmosphere to the room, which had looked so dark and bleak, only illuminated by the dismal light of the rain-darkened day that barely penetrated the window.
They chatted for a couple of hours drinking endless cups of tea and eating Victoria sponge cake.
‘One day next week we can have a drive over to Leeds to visit your brother if you want?’ George asked.
Jennifer hesitated, as she quickly thought how to respond to the offer.
‘That would be nice, but I must telephone him to see if he’s available,’ she replied.
Gladys was now fit enough to walk around and had returned to her job in the charity shop doing the shift which Jennifer had covered for her.
Apart from the flower arranging at the church and her one night a week at the church youth centre, she had little to do.
She gazed out of her large bedroom window at the narrow bank of beach below where it met the churning surf. The sand was dimly lit in the wintry light of a full moon. Jennifer waited for the arrival of George who had booked a table for dinner at the Imperial Hotel near to his home.
She knew she would have to explain the situation about John, but was afraid he would be repulsed at his crimes and it could damage the good relationship between them.
She could not lie for very much longer and she was getting concerned at the curiosity which George was beginning to show.
She looked out to the dark grey sea, frantically searching her mind for the right words to say to him. She became chilled, breathless, scared and unsure of how he could react to the crimes her brother had committed and the sentence imposed on him for a second time.
George would not arrive for another hour, so she grabbed her large overcoat and walked over the esplanade and onto the empty beach. She walked down to the waters edge. The full moon was sufficient to light the vast beach and the shelters along the sea wall. The foam-crested breakers pounded on the shore and surged towards her out of the gloom as she stepped back from the water before it washed over her shoes.
She thought of so many ways how she would explain to George, but nothing could explain the reasons why he committed such crimes. Her only hope she had was that he could understand through his dealings with criminals in his past work as a solicitor, being in close contact with many criminals.
She walked past the shelters on the way back, oblivious to the guys engaging in sexual activity in the sex shelter as she kept her head low against the wind.
George pulled up as she entered the house.
‘Just been for a quiet evening walk,’ she said, as George stepped from his car. ‘I’ll just go in and change my coat, I won’t be long,’ she said, as she ran up the front steps.
The restaurant was unusually quiet, considering that it was nearly full of mid-week businessmen. Jennifer sat looking down at her meal, concentrating on how she could tell George. Throughout the room, diners were fixated on their food, heartily eating everything that was put in front of them, swilling it down with good quality wine.
‘You’re very quiet Jennifer, is there anything wrong?’ George asked, with an inquisitive expression on his
face.
‘No, nothing, I’m fine,’ she said, looking up at him as he sliced through his steak.
She looked around at the gluttony of the customers, jabbering away at each other with their mouths full as if it had been their first meal for weeks.
‘Your not eating, Jennifer, is the meal all right?’ George asked.
‘Yes, its fine, I’m just looking around at the others, they are eating like a pack of animals,’ she said.
‘Well, it’s probably the sea air which is enhancing their appetite,’ he replied.
THE MOVE
They finished their meal and went through to the lounge for coffee. Jennifer had suggested this due to the close proximity of the next table.
She sat close to George on a velvet couch as the waiter poured the coffee. She spoke to him in a whispered voice; her stomach was cramped with fear as she reached to hold his hand. ‘I have something very important to tell you, George.’ She said, her head low.
‘Well, I know there is something wrong, you’ve been quiet all through dinner,’ he replied, as he stroked the back of her small hand.
‘I cannot keep this away from you any longer and I don’t want you to over-react, but it’s about my brother John. He is living in Leeds, but he is living in prison and will be there for a number of years. He committed a dreadful crime and I cannot keep this from you any longer,’ she said. Her hands were shaking, with tears in her eyes.
She explained the killing of the vicar but did not mention his previous crimes, as they did not seem important after so many years had passed, and he had served his sentence for those.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before, Jennifer?’ he asked, leaning over the low coffee table and staring into his cup.
‘Because I was afraid it would end our friendship,’ she said as she removed her hand away from his.
He placed his arm around her shoulder. ‘Whatever your brother did, it was not your fault; you cannot be responsible for someone else’s actions. He must pay for what he did and he is doing that. Many family members are unjustly punished also,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘I did hear about the murder from my neighbour, but thought no more about it, as I will not do now. You cannot share his sentence, Jennifer, you must get on with your life and he must get on with his. Whatever happened will not affect our friendship,’ he said, squeezing her tightly against his body.
Jennifer tried to hide the tears as the other diners came through from the dining room, laughing and joking.
George asked for the bill and they drove back to his house where he consoled her by a warm fire as she slowly sipped a glass of brandy.
George had been more understanding than what she had expected. He had been the first and only person she had confided in since John had been arrested three years earlier. Talking about it re-opened the wounds that had lay dormant for so many years and she felt a relief after emptying her heart out to George.
‘This is why we cannot go to Leeds to see him,’ she said.
‘Why not, if you want to see him, we will and the sooner the better, I can always wait in the car if you prefer, I don’t have to go inside with you,’ he replied, kissing her forehead.
‘Give me time to think about it, dear. It’s been a difficult night and I cannot think straight at the moment,’ she replied, wiping her eyes with the back of her small hand.
George poured her another glass of brandy and sat in the opposite chair looking at her red face and swollen eyes.
A flash of lightening blazed briefly on the bedroom window, followed by a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the house and rain suddenly came down in torrents, beating on the windows and the roof. Jennifer sat straight upright in bed, unable to breath for a moment. She switched on the bedside lamp, looking through the darkness of the early morning.
It was 4.30, four hours before daybreak. She couldn’t get back to sleep so went downstairs to make a cup of tea.
The heavy rain lashed against the kitchen window and the strong wind was slashing through the trees in the back garden. She took her cup of tea back to her bedroom. She climbed back into bed but she knew she wouldn’t go back to sleep straight away.
She laid thinking of the conversation with George in the restaurant last night. Although he appeared understanding and sympathetic, she thought that when realisation set in, he would decide to end their friendship, but she had been truthful and could do no more. She now could at least escape from hiding the truth from George.
She desperately wanted to continue the friendship, as George gave her a sense of belonging, which she had desperately searched for since her brother had been convicted.
She had enjoyed a happy life. In her childhood and adolescence, she was adored by her father, did well at the local Fleetwood Grammar School, awarding her a good job in Northwest Water until she got married. She was tremendously happy and secure with her husband and missed him deeply since his death.
Everybody in the family had turned their backs on her brother, yet she secretly remained in contact with him against her parents and husband’s wishes.
Lying awake, she knew she was never going to be fully satisfied if she didn’t radically shake up her life and more directly seek the things she most wanted.
It was impossible to be a person of depth if you lacked a love for humankind, but that generalised love could soon become meaningless if you didn’t have a family close to you, and she didn’t, apart from John.
She realised that she couldn’t put her life on temporary hold for his release and didn’t want to spend the last few years of her life without a more meaningful commitment.
She had purposefully sealed off the thought of re-marrying, although she had been given the opportunity on two occasions since her husband had died.
After a while, her weariness overcame her inner turmoil and she drifted into sleep again.
The rain-swept esplanade was deserted except for a few cars that splashed by. It was a truly miserable day and looked as though it was going to be persistent.
It was Sunday. Jennifer was due at church at eleven and Sylvia would collect her if the weather wasn’t good enough for her to walk.
It was a special pre-Christmas service and she was to sing in the church choir along with a group from the bible class.
George was not a churchgoer, but had promised to be in the congregation to give Jennifer some moral support.
The church was dressed in an abundance of flowers, but it was a scandalously poor turnout, which the vicar blamed on the appalling weather conditions.
Jennifer didn’t mind singing to half empty pews as George had turned up and sat at the last row next to Beryl Parker and Monica Batty who scrutinised him through the corner of their eyes as they hid their faces behind hymn books.
George sat in the pew like an ordinary worshipper. He was not a religious person and restricted his church attendance to weddings and funerals.
The rain still pounded as they ran to the car to drive home, dropping Beryl at her home in Clevelys on the way.
George had prepared lunch at his house to save Jennifer cooking.
‘Come through to the kitchen, it’s the warmest place in the house,’ he said.
‘I’ll ruin the carpet, I’m soaking wet,’ she said, as she entered the front door and indicating the oriental runner that lay the length of the hallway, with oak flooring on both sides.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s an old thing anyway, but it stands up to most things, like me,’ he said as he walked through to the kitchen.
The house smelt of polish and disinfectant. The large kitchen was homely with a well-worn yellow linoleum floor, pale yellow walls, dark wood cabinets with white porcelain handles.
The kitchen was well-fitted with modern appliances and a good smell of roast beef was seeping out of the double oven, which had been built into a disused chimneybreast.
The house smelled wonderful. Coffee started to brew at a touch of a button as George turned the knobs on the gas cooker
to heat the already prepared vegetables.
George had noticed how distraught and nervous she was after the explanation of her brother. He wanted to settle her down so they could discuss it in a calm, reasonable manner. She didn’t mind, she needed to be soothed and George was the only person capable of doing this.
The dining room table was already set and the wine chilled in the refrigerator. All Jennifer could do was to sit in the lounge with her glass of sherry and gaze at the busy promenade. She was surprised at how domesticated and organised he was.
He husband had been useless in the kitchen and was waited on hand and foot by Jennifer, but she had been brought up in the way her mother had been of constant service to her father.
George called her through to the dining room where lunch had been beautifully displayed on the table.
‘You look tired, Jennifer, did the church wear you out?’ he asked her.
‘No, I didn’t sleep well, the thunder woke me and I lay in bed thinking about what I had told you last night and if you would have been in the congregation today.’
‘Why should I not be? You explained the situation to me and I appreciated it. You must not carry your brother’s ill doings through your life. I admire you standing by him for all these years, I’m proud of you, Jennifer,’ he said, smiling at her over the large table.
‘Thank you, George, that means a lot to me,’ she replied.
As they ate, they talked about John; his crimes, the prison, his long sentence and his future when he is discharged.
He did show astonishment at the crime and concern into Jennifer’s plans on his release. He listened attentively with interest and utmost seriousness, and seemed genuinely concerned, even frightened at what she told him.
They settled back in the large easy chairs in the lounge. Jennifer felt bloated after such a large lunch and sufficiently reinvigorated.
George had been so reassuring and comforting. Right now she needed a lot of that.
As she slept by the fire, George stared at her, admiring her beauty and vitality, happy in her company but slightly concerned into her welfare and safety when her brother leaves prison.
Inseparable Bond Page 32