George noticed her at the iron garden gate and ran over to assist her with the shopping as the seagulls swooped and soared in the grey sky overhead.
The house was warm and the coals in the fire hissed with a faint smell of burning wood drifting through the hall. George had set two cups out on the kitchen table in readiness for Jennifer’s return. The kettle boiled as he waited patiently for the cream buns to be revealed from her shopping bags.
They had a weekly routine, which was not often disrupted. Monday was Jennifer’s shopping day and George’s gardening. Tuesday was cleaning with Molly, Wednesday was the Women’s Institute for Jennifer and George’s Rotary, Thursday and Friday they would spend either walking with the club or driving off along the countryside. The weekends were spent together at home. The only disruption to their idyllic weekly routine was the occasional visit to Armley prison.
Jennifer unpacked the shopping and started to slice the vegetables for the casserole for supper. George cleaned up in the garden then went upstairs to shower.
The next morning, George took Jennifer a cup of tea while she lay in bed watching the seagulls swooping low over the garden. It was her eighty second birthday today and George had made an elaborate breakfast for when she came downstairs.
A large birthday card centred the table as she sat down to her half grapefruit and poached eggs.
After breakfast, George took her into the lounge and presented her with a basket tied with a bright red bow ribbon. She carefully opened it to reveal a tiny spaniel puppy.
Her eyes filled with tears as she carefully lifted the puppy out of the basket, cradling it like a newly born baby. It was a fat spotted spaniel with drooping humorous eyes and long silk ears. It wriggled in her grasp, then reached up and licked her chin with its soft pink tongue, nudging her at the same time with its wet button nose. Jennifer stroked the puppy as she carefully placed him back in the basket so she could wipe the tears from her eyes.
George had noticed her fascination with puppies on their country walks and thought their lifestyle would be complete to have something young in the household.
They were always away on day trips in the country and when not, the garden was large enough for daily exercise.
Jennifer was delighted with her birthday gift, reaching down to lift the puppy against her face as she stroked him continually for the rest of the day.
A large box contained a food and water bowl, puppy food, vitamins and a book on spaniels. She spent the rest of the day playing with him in the lounge while George secured the perimeter of the garden to avoid him escaping.
George had read about the puppies in the local paper and sneaked out to have a look at them while Jennifer went shopping the day before. He had chosen the fattest one, white with liver spots and the prettiest of the six.
Pamela and Wilfred in the house next door had offered to house the puppy overnight so as not to spoil the surprise and had also offered their services to puppy-sit whenever they wanted.
The puppy snuggled up to Jennifer’s face as she carried him around the house like an overprotective new mother; George smiled at the happiness and contentment that showed in her face as he wiped up the puppy mess from the lounge carpet.
After supper, the puppy slept in the basket by the fire, exhausted after its first day’s activities while Jennifer read the book on spaniels to gain her qualifications as soon as possible. George watched television, glancing over to see Jennifer’s serious expression as she studied the manual.
She looked up from her book with a startled glare over to George, ‘He hasn’t got a name, he must have a name, George,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s up to you, dear, don’t they have suggestions in that book?’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s what’s reminded me, but I don’t like the names they suggest,’ she replied, turning her face back to the book.
George was engrossed in a television programme about the many prisoners who had been released early from institutions with 80% re-offending in their first year of release. Jennifer would normally turn off such documentaries but she was unaware of it, listening to the television as she read her manual. A spokesman from the Home Office had recommended the release of a further two thousand long term inmates due to the current overcrowding in prisons, mainly in the north of the country.
George’s relaxed and happy expression changed to concern and anguish as he listened keenly to the interview, Jennifer also being aware of content of the programme.
‘Walter, that’s what he will be, Walter,’ she shrieked, as George forced a smile, still engrossed on the content of the television programme and the Home Office proposals.
Walter was up before the sun, running around the bedroom, yapping for attention. Jennifer dragged herself out of bed and picked Walter up, resting his head against her breast.
Wrapped in a blue velvet housecoat with a tall mandarin collar, Jennifer wandered sleepily down the stairs and into the hall. It was very early. An autumn sun cast shimmering daggers across the rooftops of the houses in the town below as young Walter sniffed nervously at the tall plants and bushes, unsure of his new surroundings.
She walked quietly into the kitchen and turned on the coffee peculator, Walter running up behind her, leaving tiny muddy paw prints on the wooden floor.
She glanced at the kitchen clock; it was only 7.30 in the morning.
Walter had his small portion of breakfast cereal and snuggled up on his blanket next to the central heating boiler while Jennifer retrieved the morning newspaper from the letterbox.
She read with interest the headline article on the Home Office proposals to release certain long term offenders from institutions in the north of the country, shaking her head in disbelief at some of the objections and concerns the public were voicing.
George had remained in bed but he wasn’t sleeping, he gazed at the early morning grey sky through the slight opening of the curtains, recalling the previous evening’s television programme as Jennifer continued reading the article on the same subject in the kitchen.
George tried to convince himself that any early release of offenders didn’t necessarily mean that John Bell was to be considered, they would surely consider the release of prisoners who had committed lesser offences first and leaving the mentally disturbed prison population to carry out their full sentence, but he also realised that John Bell had served over half of his sentence and he could be considered for parole.
His thoughts became unbearable and his blood ran cold as he jumped out of bed, quickly washing and dressing, clearly nervous and disturbed by his thoughts.
Jennifer heard him coming down the stairs and quickly turned to the back pages of the newspaper.
‘You’re up so early dear, it isn’t even 8 o’clock yet,’ she said, looking up at him from her paper.
‘Well, I could hear you downstairs so I thought I’d come down to join you,’ he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
The atmosphere in the kitchen was unusually tense. It was normally the happiest room in the house in the mornings, chatting about the plans of the day while George prepared breakfast, but today was quiet as if they both were keeping secrets from each other, a sense of mistrust and nervousness hung in the air of which they had both secretly noticed. An uncomfortable atmosphere never before experienced.
George sat down at the table with his coffee and picked up the newspaper. The headlines read, ‘Prisoners to roam our streets’.
Jennifer left the table and took eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator, looking uncomfortably over her shoulder at George as he read the front page.
They ate breakfast in unusual silence, neither commenting on the article or on their plans for another of their normally constructive days.
Jennifer collected the mail, which was scattered on the hall carpet by front door. She took the letters and bills to the writing desk for George to attend too after he had eaten breakfast. She noticed one of the letters was marked, H. M Prison and addressed to her v
ia the post office. She quickly folded it and tucked it into her housecoat pocket, realising the inappropriate time for such a letter to arrive.
She went up to the bathroom, locked the door and eagerly opened her letter from John.
The letter contained the normal humorous observations and funny little cartoons of him and prison officers. John didn’t have very much exciting news to write home about and knew his sister had enjoyed his drawings, but today she wasn’t as enthusiastic due to the atmosphere in the house.
Jennifer had read and re-read all of John’s letters so often that they had become quite faded with the intensity of her devotion. She had kept the letters locked in a wooden box with a mother of pearl lid, which had belonged to their mother. The key was always kept in the bottom of her handbag. It was one of the two secret parts of her life she didn’t share with George; the other was telephoning John in prison from a local telephone box in town so the number didn’t show on the itemised phone bill.
George had read the disturbing article and washed up the breakfast dishes while Jennifer secretly placed the letter with the others, locking the box immediately afterwards and replacing the key in her handbag before dressing for the day.
George could not free his mind of the latest news, realising he would need to mention this to Jennifer and prepare themselves should he be released. He was a man of immediate action and did not allow a problem to fester in his professional or personal life and he would be prepared to protect their idyllic life at any cost.
Jennifer came downstairs looking flushed and nervous, immediately taking out the spray polish from under the sink unit and walked into the lounge to polish the tables.
George realised this was an abnormal action as Molly was due in an hour and it was one of her daily cleaning tasks.
George walked into the lounge, closed the door behind him and went over the Jennifer, who was bent over a small side table spraying polish over the surface. He put his arm around her tiny waist and removed the can from her hand, placing it on the mantelpiece along with her duster.
‘Jennifer, just sit here for a moment, we need to have a talk about something which could affect our lives,’ he said kindly, but with a stern approach.
Jennifer sat on the small chair, nervously correcting her posture and clasping her hands together with her arms resting on her thin legs. The room was quiet and immensely private, decorated in pale yellow and resembled nothing more than a designer showroom. Everything without exception, was new. The china ornaments, the porcelain dogs, the bookends, the flower vases and the yellow carpet, everything had been recently designed by Jennifer. This room was her pride and joy.
George paced the floor like a tutor preparing to lecture a class of students before realising the sensitive issue he needed to address. He pulled up his chair close to Jennifer, in easy reach of her shaking hands.
‘I know what you want to talk about, dear,’ Jennifer said, looking directly into his eyes, ‘It’s about John, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Yes, it is, you will have seen the headlines today and last night a Home Office Representative talked on television about early release of inmates from the northern prisons due to overcrowding,’ he said.
‘I know, I didn’t watch the programme but I heard it all, I knew you were watching,’ she said, looking down at the unlit fire.
‘We need to prepare ourselves in view of such an eventuality, my dear,’ he said.
‘The Home Office proposals don’t necessarily mean that John will be released, he got a twenty-year sentence and he did kill again after his first release,’ Jennifer said.
‘What do you mean, dear, after his first release,’ he said sternly, sitting back in his chair.
Jennifer ran out of the room, unable to continue the conversation and unable to mention John’s previous crimes as she had led George to believe he had killed only once, the vicar in Fleetwood and not the serial killer he had become. She grabbed her coat and walked out of the house and down the steep hill into town.
George sat speechless as he watched her disappear behind the trees. They had never had a cross word in the past eight years, only heated discussions and occasional objections, but never such a confrontation as this.
Molly arrived at the back door. George immediately went into the kitchen and told her to go home and return tomorrow.
‘Well, its Tuesday, I always clean on Tuesday,’ Molly answered.
‘Just go, I said go,’ George shouted at her as she quickly grabbed her coat and left.
George sat in the bay window, frantically worried about Jennifer, but refusing to search for her. He felt betrayed and humiliated, and quickly tried to dismiss the thoughts from his mind of the insincerity and dishonesty she had shown over the past eight years.
It was just over an hour when she nervously came through the front iron gate, walking up to the house with her head hung low as she wiped tears from her eyes.
George felt his heart race with relief on seeing her approach the house. He had been given the time to contain himself and reduce his anger, but was over anxious to hear the truth in the hope of returning to their idyllic life and truthful companionship.
Jennifer left her coat on the back of the kitchen chair and walked into the lounge, her small back straight as she walked back to the chair she had abruptly left.
George stood by the fire, looking down at her tiny frame and shaking hands clasped together between her knees like a scolded schoolgirl. He didn’t speak, he waited for an explanation and Jennifer knew this.
She slowly raised her head, fixing her tearful eyes on his, her mouth quivered and her tiny wrinkled face appeared red and flushed as she felt violently sick. ‘I’ve been keeping a secret from you since we first met. My brother didn’t only kill the vicar, he has a history of cruelty towards many people since he was a teenager, he committed many violent crimes, which would repulse me to disclose the actual nature of these to you, I respect and appreciate your feelings too much to burden you with such atrocities, but John did serve a lengthy period in a Manchester prison before being institutionalised in an open prison due to his progress and good behaviour. He was released on conditional discharge to a hostel for ex-offenders, before living with me in Fleetwood. The murder of the vicar was accidental and his sentence was a miscarriage of justice and I feel he was treated unfairly,’ Jennifer explained quietly.
‘Unfairly, how can you feel that murder is unfair? Don’t you realise that I have spent most of my life as a barrister, so you will excuse me if I do not agree with your sentiments,’ he replied sternly.
‘I have protected you from the truth for eight years, fearing that the love I have for you would not be reciprocated as lovingly as you have shown towards me since we met. I have never wanted anyone to destroy what we have worked hard to achieve, but John is my brother, he is the only member of my family and the only person I dearly loved before I met you. I didn’t tell you to protect you and of the embarrassment of what I feel and what my parents felt before me,’ she replied, walking over to the window, looking down at the sea crashing over the harbour wall.
George stood pensive and speechless as he watched her tiny frame dwarfed by the large bay window as she cried deep from within her tiny pained body.
He realised how difficult it must have been to confess to such crimes and how difficult it had been to carry this burden through most of her life, where she had been incapable of inflicting pain and discomfort to anyone, yet she was secretly imprisoned and paying for a crime as much as her brother, but without being judged as an accomplice to her brother’s horrendous cruel and murderous life.
She was to be pitied and applauded for the support, loyalty and protection she had shown to her brother, standing by him as a mother would to her own son.
George walked over to the window, placed his arms around her tiny waist, squeezed her tightly and lowered his head to hers, lifting it up through the strength of a hard loving and meaningful kiss.
She placed her a
rms around him and sobbed uncontrollably on the lapel of his jacket.
The truth was now revealed, but at this time Jennifer was too upset to feel any burden removed after her confession.
Jennifer slowly walked back to her bedroom and stared in the large dress mirror, she looked tired and pale after her unexpected ordeal. She looked out of the window as the bright autumn sunshine transformed the mature and immaculately maintained garden.
George stood by the back door looking down the rear garden, deeply upset after the confrontation but deciding to leave the intended discussion until the happy and joyful atmosphere returned to the house and Jennifer had regained her mental strength.
Jennifer washed her face and went to her wardrobe, picking out her most cheerful winter dress. A red dress with a high collar, close fitting and with a circular skirt, the many folds of which showed off her slim figure.
She stared at herself in the dressing mirror behind the door. She was far too thin, keeping weight on had always been a problem for her, she was still pale and there were shadows under her eyes.
She was sure that she absolutely did not want anyone saying anything emotional to her ever again. Everything appeared to have been taken from her in a matter of two hours and she felt the blackest despair and inability to see any point in living, and a gradual awareness that there was still something to live for, the boy she had known and loved all her life, her brother.
Jennifer heard Walter clambering up the stairs and he raced into the bedroom, running around her feet after his deep sleep by the warm boiler in the kitchen. She picked him up, holding him tightly to her face and he licked the tears from her cheeks with his soft pink tongue.
She went downstairs where George was sitting at the kitchen table. She joined him and poured herself a cup of tea. The atmosphere was still tense. It was all terrible, just awful little words and neither of them saying anything that was real, unlike before when they would involve themselves in constructive conversation.
Inseparable Bond Page 35