She walked ahead of them as they huffed and puffed, bitterly complaining on each step they took as they carried the new settee under its clear polythene cover up to the top floor of the house.
She uncovered the settee as the men returned for the rest of the items. She sat looking around the small sitting room, remembering the days she would cuddle up to her teddy bear each night as a little girl in her hair ribbons and a smocked dress.
The second delivery truck arrived conveniently at the same time. Within the hour; all the items had been delivered and positioned in their correct places, which Jennifer supervised. She gave the deliverymen a generous tip as they left, smiling at each other. The flat had now taken on a completely different and modern aspect. It looked fresh, clean and inviting. The cushions and various ornaments would complete the transformation once she had the time to purchase them in readiness for John’s arrival.
It was 5.30 by the time she left the flat and dragged her tired and weary, frail body back up the esplanade to the house.
It was getting dark by the time she arrived. Molly had long gone and George had left a message on the answer-phone, saying he would be back around 8 o’clock.
Walter was frantically jumping up at her, in need of affection and food. She placed his dinner by his blanket next to the central heating boiler and took her cup of tea into the lounge. She collapsed with exhaustion in the armchair, resting her feet on the footstool as she watched the local news report on television.
George arrived at 7.30, looking weary after his long drive from coast to coast.
They ate lamb casserole in the kitchen as George was ravenously hungry having only eaten the ham sandwiches she had packed for him.
After the meal, George was in need of fresh air and a long walk after driving for the past eight hours. It was a still and peaceful evening as they strolled slowly along the coastal path down to the deserted beach. George was holding her hand very tightly. He stopped when they came to the same seat as they had sat on the previous night. He took off his jacket and carefully laid it down for her to sit upon, a gesture which seemed to Jennifer to be infinitely touching and at the same time heartbreaking as she tried not to think about her disloyalty to him and the secrecy of her day.
She stared out to sea. She knew that George had missed her company that day. It was rare for them to spend the day apart for such a long duration. They sat looking up at the bright full moon, sending shimmering light across the still and peaceful sea and the small houses attached closely together.
They walked slowly back to the house, arm in arm as if the recent hostility was dead and buried. They returned home and sat by the open log fire, which Molly had prepared for them. George sat resting his feet of the gleaming brass hearth, drinking his nightly glass of whisky. Jennifer sat drinking a cup of hot chocolate, dipping digestive biscuits into the cup and dropping them into the Walter’s mouth who was sitting by her side.
George appeared relaxed and comfortable in his favourite wing chair, gazing up at the ceiling, desperately fighting to keep his eyes from closing. He was in a mellow and placid mood, not as unfriendly and suspicious, as he had been the previous day. He was now beginning to communicate with her in his usual loving and attentive way in a hope of putting the past few days of unpleasantness behind him.
Jennifer looked over at him, touching the silver crucifix she wore around her thin neck, which George had kindly bought for her in Preston that day.
At 11.30, George turned off the lights and secured the doors as Jennifer snuggled under the crisp white clean sheets, which Molly had changed the bed with.
George crept in beside her and kissed her on the forehead before dropping off to sleep.
Jennifer could hardly bring herself to get out of bed the following morning. Every bone in her body seemed to ache after the frantic cleaning and humping the heavy furniture around the flat, but the worst was now over. The smell of bacon drifted up the stairs, making her feel hungry as George prepared a full hearty breakfast downstairs.
She slowly dressed and walked down the stairs, gripping the handrail to steady her walk. She looked tired, worn and harassed as she sat clumsily at the kitchen table.
‘Are you all right, dear,’ George asked with concern in his voice.
‘Yes, I’m fine, just a little tired,’ she replied.
‘Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll bring some breakfast up to you,’ he said.
‘Oh, no, I just need a little time to wake up,’ she replied as she sipped her tea.
‘I hope you’re not going to town again, I’m sure that is making you tired,’ he said.
‘Well, I must nip in to town quickly, but I won’t be long,’ she answered.
There was a short silence as George smiled at her and began to eat his eggs and bacon.
Jennifer only had today to complete the flat, although the hard work was now behind her. John was to arrive the following day. She glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already half past nine and she suddenly realised she needed to clean the carpets and buy some cushions for the furniture. It was Sunday and most of the shops would be closed by midday, so if she was going, she would have to go immediately.
She rapidly ate her cereal and finished her cup of tea before collecting her shopping bag and putting on her raincoat.
‘What do you need to buy on a Sunday, dear?’ George asked, with an anxious expression.
‘Oh, just bits and pieces, I won’t be long,’ she replied.
There was a long disappointed silence, which could not be filled with an explanation. She kissed George on the forehead and left by the back door.
The town was quiet and most of the shops were closed, but she was relieved on discovering the small exclusive soft furnishing shop was open until 1 o’clock. She purchased two cream velvet cushions to match the settee; a pair of candlesticks, a pack of six drinking coasters and some gold tiebacks and hooks to make the curtains more attractive.
She quickly walked back to the flat, sighing at the thought of climbing the mountainous staircase up to the top floor.
A child was screaming from behind one of the doors, loud music blared out from inside another as she finally reached the top floor, closing the disturbing sounds behind her.
She cleaned around the lavatory that took six pulls to work effectively, and the basin, which only ran hot water for five minutes. She put the kettle on the gas ring that was forever consuming fifty pence coins and always ran out just as she attempted to make herself a well-deserved cup of tea.
She sprayed freshener around the rooms before closing the door, making her way back up the hill, sitting suddenly on a bench to catch her breath.
George was sitting in the bay window reading the Sunday newspaper as she returned home two hours later, calm, collected, and above all, not defensive.
She walked into the lounge in a state of breathless indignation as she sat heavily in her chair by the fire.
‘You look very tired, Jennifer,’ George said, looking at her over his half-moon gold rimmed glasses.
‘Oh I’m fine, I just walked home too quickly and I’m sure that hill is getting steeper,’ she said, smiling over at him, her large eyes never leaving his face to avoid overreacting like a guilty person.
‘I’ve booked lunch at the Highwayman, but if you are too exhausted, I can cancel the booking,’ he said, looking over at her as she relaxed in the chair.
‘No, that would be nice, what a lovely surprise,’ she replied, leaving the room to change into her Sunday best.
They drove the four miles to the Highwayman Inn, which was a popular luncheon venue for the better heeled of the town. The food was good and the service impeccable, but the prices were extortionate.
They parked the car amongst Bentleys and other salubrious top of the range cars, parked untidily like discarded toys on a nursery floor.
The establishment was a grade-one listed building. It had once been an old coaching inn and a group of local businessmen h
ad recently acquired it, converting it into a smart eating establishment. George being one of the consortium who received a substantial monthly return, as well as generous discounts.
Jennifer stood on the cobblestone court-yard, it was not at all difficult for her to imagine the scenes at the end of the eighteenth century when the inn was at the height of its popularity, where coach, horses and their passengers would rest overnight on their way to either Hull or Newcastle along the North Yorkshire coastal path.
Once inside, she would imagine the fine ladies and gentlemen passengers retiring thankfully by glowing fires, eating hot food and drinking jugs of wine and beer, served by cheerful waitresses and sleeping in large comfortable feather beds.
‘You know it was actually the fine quality of coaching inns which made England so famous,’ George said to her as she looked around the low beamed restaurant.
‘Is that why you invested heavily into it?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, one of the reasons, but mainly because I have always had a great interest in the building and the many famous people who have stayed here,’ he replied, pulling out her chair at the table.
‘Every time you bring me here, I never tire of looking around and absorbing the historic atmosphere which has so carefully been retained,’ she replied.
I love this place nearly as much as I love you,’ he said, smiling at her over the top of his large menu. Jennifer blushed as she scrutinised the abundance of items featured on the menu, but settled for the traditional Sunday roast beef luncheon.
‘It’s fascinating to think that when people travelled in those days, they took their life in their hands, regularly robbed of their possessions,’ George said, looking around at the packed restaurant.
‘Well, like they say, dear, history has a habit of repeating itself. You don’t feel safe travelling around Blackpool or Fleetwood these days,’ she replied, as they both laughed at her realistic observation.
They talked all through lunch about the inn in the olden days and the ex-convicts that changed the horses and the prostitutes who staffed the inns and only the aristocracy could travel safely, being accompanied by guards and house servants on their travels.
Jennifer was listening to George giving his interesting history lecture as she looked around the restaurant at the old lawnmower, petrol cans, garden shears and other ageing and rusting implements placed around the restaurant to compliment the atmosphere of the fine dining establishment.
The food had been as near to perfection as was surely possible, and the expensive French Claret had not lagged far behind, unrestricted by cost.
They left the restaurant laughing about the comparisons of present day accommodation opposed to the old coaching days, their hilarity fuelled by the intake of a bottle of fine French Claret.
George drove home carefully, being well over the legal limit and once inside the safety of the house, he quickly fell asleep in front of the roaring fire as Jennifer watched the afternoon movie on television while Walter slept on her lap.
She relaxed in her chair with a warm feeling of real achievement in refurbishing the flat in such a short period of time, and also being excited at the prospect of meeting John at the railway station the next day and escorting him to his own home. She felt a ripple of relief that she had been able to undertake the task without detection.
She found the film uninteresting and decided to take a long soak in the bath as George slept. She lay in the bath with fragrant bubbles up to her tiny chin, thinking of her brother waiting patiently for the large doors of freedom to open the next morning.
She dressed slowly in a plain silk blouse and immaculately cut trousers, correct and conservative and walked downstairs and into the kitchen to prepare a light salad supper for when George woke from his afternoon snooze.
A flash of lightening illuminated the sea, followed by a crash of thunder which woke George from his sleep. Seconds later the heavens opened and heavy rain bounced off the drive as it flowed like a river onto the esplanade. Sunday evening strollers ran for cover under anything they could find as the rain bounced erratically.
Jennifer walked easily and elegantly across her rich carpeted sitting room with Walter tucked securely under her arm as she watched the rain hammer down from the bay window.
She sat on the sofa which, like the ruffled blind at the window, was very feminine and tasteful which Jennifer had selected from Donaldson’s department store, being the most exclusive and expensive furnishing outlet in town.
She placed Walter on a chintz-covered chair next to the fire. It was a small chair, more suitable for a bedroom, but she had brought it down from the guest room and designated it for Walter after covering it with a soft grey blanket. Walter would spend most of his time in the chair, looking up at Jennifer with interest, curiosity and adoration as she moved around the room.
THE HOME COMING
Monday morning was a typical late autumn blustery day. Heavy clouds hung over the red roofs of the tiny houses, which rose steeply from the shore up to the town.
The large Grand Hotel was covered in a light grey mist which slowly rolled in from the threatening sea.
Jennifer had hastily prepared breakfast, making another excuse to George of her need to go in to town to meet up with one of the ladies from the Women’s Institute.
She had secretly telephoned John as promised, while George was changing the library books in town before taking the lawnmower over to Bridlington for its winter overhaul.
The train from Leeds was expected to arrive at 1.30, which gave her an extra hour to call in to the flat and make the last minutes preparations, making sure the night storage heaters were effective and putting a lamb casserole in his oven to disguise the smell of damp which was so noticeable when you entered the front door of the house, more so on entering the flat.
She had been standing for half an hour on the station platform, her tiny feet felt cold and damp as she only wore ballet style flat shoes and thin ankle socks. She looked up at the arrivals board, noticing the train from Leeds was running an hour late. She decided to sit in the refreshment room away from the cold draught which blew down the platform.
This was the first occasion for Jennifer to see the newly-painted Victorian station she had read about it the local paper. Flowers were set about in tubs and the stationmaster wore a smart peak cap with a whistle hanging around his neck. She could still smell the fresh paint as she looked up at the Victorian lamps which were situated between the two platforms. The station waiting rooms had retained their titles of ladies and gentlemen in a typical and idyllic English way, but a bank of vending machines for hot drinks to condoms quickly reminded her that she was in the world of modern technology and not the Victorian era the designers had tried so hard to preserve.
The expected train from Manchester Airport had also been delayed through a signal fault outside York, resulting in the station being busier than normal with people standing around looking up at the arrivals board with disgust and hateful expressions.
She sat for nearly an hour looking at her undrinkable coffee when she was alerted by the announcement of the Leeds arrival. Her heart began to beat and adrenalin raced through her veins as she briskly walked along the station alongside the approaching train as it slowly came to a halt.
Arriving passengers clambered off the train before it was fully stationary, Jennifer was jostled and pushed by the crowds as she frantically searched for John, looking up and down the platform as she weaved her way through baggage trolleys and suitcases.
Her heart sank with immense disappointment as the crowds dispersed from the station entrance and the station porter slammed the train doors closed as he walked alongside the stationary train.
She sat down on the platform bench, her mind in turmoil coupled with concern and rejection until one of the carriage doors opened and John Bell struggled from the train onto the platform, carrying a brown paper parcel tied with string. Jennifer raced over to him as he looked up and smiled. They clung onto ea
ch other briefly as the station porter looked pointedly at them as he continued to slam the doors behind him as he walked.
They walked from the station, hand in hand, as John struggled with his large parcel containing his life’s possessions. Jennifer seemed to be bending over double as she hurried out of the station pulling John behind her, tightly holding onto his hand life a mother fearfully protecting her young child.
They walked briskly through the High Street and into Castle Lane behind Marks & Spencer until they arrived at the large four-storey house. John looked up at the tall building as Jennifer opened the front door.
She had become used to the climb after so many visits, leaving John reaching for breath as they arrived on the top floor.
An appetising smell of lamb casserole greeted them as they entered the flat, becoming stronger as they walked through to the kitchen.
John placed his parcel on the kitchen work surface, looking around at the sparking new appliances as he casually open the cupboards, which were packed with groceries.
Jennifer opened the oven to check on the casserole as he walked through to the sitting room, peering around the door of the bedroom as he passed. Jennifer was so mixed up in her thoughts of excitement and the need to stay the entire day with her brother, but needing to return home to make supper for George who would have now returned from Bridlington.
‘How do you like your new home?’ she asked John, as he walked back into the kitchen, lighting a cigarette.
‘It’s perfect, Jennifer. Is all this mine, or does it belong to the landlord?’ he asked.
‘It’s all yours, apart from the bed and the carpets,’ she replied as she scooped the casserole onto two plates.
‘I didn’t have time to get everything, so whatever I have forgotten, you must write them down and we’ll buy them when we go into town,’ she said excitedly.
‘I’ll need a mobile phone so I can call you,’ he said, looking up at the stained kitchen ceiling.
Inseparable Bond Page 39