‘Oh, of course, I’d forgotten all about that,’ Jennifer replied, following his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘I’ve left you some money on top of the television for your cigarettes and some loose change for the gas meter,’ she said, stroking his hand across the table.
John had a mature, quietly confident air about him, unlike how she had remembered him in Fleetwood when he had come over painfully shy and appreciative. He now appeared hostile and carried a bored and lethargic expression on his face, which Jennifer put down to tiredness after his journey.
Jennifer left John to settle in to his new home while she briskly walked back home.
George had already arrived back from Bridlington and was busy mopping the kitchen floor as pans boiled and their lids rattled on the cooker.
‘Sorry I’m late, dear,’ she said apologetically, removing her coat and hanging it behind the kitchen door.
‘I’ve been back a couple of hours, where have you been to all this time?’ he asked.
‘I spent longer than I thought in town, then I met Grace and Ronald going into the Grand Hotel, who invited me in for afternoon tea, and we chatted all afternoon until I suddenly realised what time it was,’ she replied, confidently and reassuringly.
‘I’ve put two pork chops in the oven. Supper should be ready in half an hour,’ he said, looking directly into her eyes with slight suspicion.
Jennifer went to her room, undressed and ran a hot bath to warm her cold bones after waiting in the cold station and sitting in a chilly flat most of the afternoon. She laid in the hot water, her head resting on a fluffy white towel, happy and relieved that after all her hard work, her brother was now secure and in such close proximity.
After nearly nine years, George and Jennifer were known by many local people and had a strong and reliable set of sincere and genuine friends. They were a well-respected couple in the community, particularly in the immediate vicinity of detached affluent houses, which stretched along the cliff overlooking the sea and town centre.
It was imperative that Jennifer would need to keep the arrival of her brother confidential; to avoid scandal and gossip, as it was very difficult, sometimes impossible, for people to keep things to themselves, or indeed for people not to talk about each other. Gossip was a recreation for many people, as there was little else to do for many in the small town of Scarborough.
It was imperative that George didn’t suspect or discover her secret life of housing her brother at her expense, and in such close proximity to where they live. She had gone to enormous lengths and great expense to make sure John was comfortable and secure and could not afford to risk her beautiful home and the genuine affection from George.
She dressed in her long red velvet housecoat, carefully ran lipstick over her small lips and combed her thinning hair, her large eyes looking at the refection of her face in the dressing table mirror as she sprayed expensive perfume across her chest.
The smell of cooking greeted her as she walked down the wide staircase, stopping at the huge floral arrangements in the hall, checking each flower stem for retaining their peak perfection.
She went into the large lounge, checking the condition of her favourite red roses, which she had positioned at discreet intervals around the room after the florist had delivered them earlier in the day. George had commissioned the local florist to supply her with red roses on a weekly basis and had never once failed to deliver each Monday morning. The flowers had arrived that morning while she had been secretly waiting for John at the railway station.
George had laid the table in the dining room, a chilled bottle of Chablis rested amongst a cluster of ice in the silver bucket on a Chippendale style occasional side table and a vase of red roses were placed on the centre of the table. George placed the vegetable dishes on the table and placed a large pork chop covered with hot applesauce in front of her as she fondled the rose petals in the vase.
He chatted about Bridlington, the exorbitant cost of servicing the lawnmower and the increased traffic congestion on the coastal road. Jennifer listened but didn’t hear a word, her mind was firmly on her brother, but she remained silent and polite while he spoke.
John Bell’s flat was cold, quiet and in darkness, but unoccupied. He sat in the warm, noisy and brightly lit harbour bar, drinking pints of beer, chased down with double whiskies, compliments of Jennifer by the money she had left him on the television.
George and Jennifer had finished their supper and were relaxing by the log fire watching a wildlife documentary on television as John staggered out of the pub and onto the harbour slipway, precariously hanging onto the railings to steady his walk.
Once the programme had ended, George turned off the television, the lights and locked the doors before walking hand in hand with Jennifer up the stairs.
John Bell’s hands were also on the stairs, as he staggered on all fours up to his top floor flat after his first night on the town. He had not consumed a large amount of beer, but his body system had been denied alcohol for over ten years and it had rapidly affected him.
He fell onto the low bed and passed out, fully dressed in his black jeans and heavy winter duffle coat, his wet and muddy boots staining the crisp new bed cover.
George had turned down a corner of the bed for when Jennifer had finished in the bathroom, as he lay reading his library book under the Chinese bedside lamp, throwing a seductive orange glow across the room.
She climbed into bed, cuddling up to him as he finished his chapter and turned out the light. He kissed her gently on the forehead as they snuggled up to each other as George quickly fell asleep after his tiring day.
Jennifer looked up to the ceiling at the reflection of the lighthouse beam which shone through the window at regular intervals as she searched her mind in excitement of what she must acquire to fully complete the furnishings of the flat.
She had been told of an auction which was held in the Palm Court Hotel on the first Tuesday of each month, tomorrow being the 4th of December and John could accompany her if she could manage to make a further excuse to leave the house.
John Bell lay on his bed in a comatose state. The duvet cover heavily stained from his muddy boots and the bed covers in disarray as he snored loudly, his arm and leg hanging precariously off the side of the small double bed.
Gale force winds whipped up the sea as Jennifer walked into town, holding fiercely onto her hat with both hands. She had managed to convince George that she needed to go to the hospital to visit Gladys but had insisted on walking, refusing his offer to drive her.
She excitedly trotted down the slope, turning her head, looking slyly back at the house, increasing her speed as it went out of view.
John Bell had woken in a daze with a thumping headache, as he opened the door to his sister, smiling at her through the smoke of his freshly lit cigarette. He looked pale and dishevelled in the unheated flat. Jennifer took off her raincoat and draped it over the arm of the new settee.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, looking anxiously at his appearance.
‘Yes, I did, but it’s going to take time to get used to such a comfortable bed,’ he replied, lighting up another cigarette.
‘If you get dressed quickly, we can go to the auction and see what you might need for the flat,’ she said enthusiastically.
He went through to his bedroom as she looked around the lounge with a questioning look, impatiently tapping her hands on the arms of the chair.
He walked into the lounge wearing the previous night’s clothes. He had not bothered to shave or clean his teeth, looking scruffy and impoverished.
They walked into town and through the large glass doors of the Palm Court Hotel, collecting a catalogue from a table by the door.
The auction had already started as they sat on two seats at the back of the room. Jennifer became quite tense with the excitement of waving her catalogue for a nest of tables, which were being placed on the stand.
Because the weather was so appalling, there were not as m
any people as anticipated and items were being snapped up at alarming speed.
She had only taken £200 out of the cash machine on her way to the flat and some of the items which would fit beautifully in the flat, were being out priced by a second-hand furniture dealer from Whitby.
She managed to acquire an old cake stand, some fish knives and forks, table linen, a small Chinese rug, a set of cooking pans and a bathroom mirror, keeping her eye on her limited budget.
The assistants placed her items haphazardly by the entrance door as she concentrated on other items being held up to the auctioneer.
The more the auction progressed, the more confidence she showed, frantically waving her catalogue at items which would have been little use in such a limited area of the flat.
The larger items of furnishings were from relatives of someone who had died and they wanted to dispose of their valued possessions as quickly and painlessly as possible with little or no sympathy to any sentimentality.
John made no effort to assist his sister, making no comment and looking totally disinterested throughout the auction, showing no appreciation or encouragement as Jennifer enthusiastically continued to frantically search through items, flushed with excitement.
They walked back, laden down with their purchases. John had hardly spoken a word all morning, displeasure showing on his face and showing no gratitude for the items she had kindly, and possibly foolishly, purchased.
Jennifer was determined to make the flat comfortable, despite his unconcerned attitude and disinterest, which she hadn’t noticed due to her excitement.
They arrived at the flat, quickly placing the items around the lounge and kitchen. Jennifer put the kettle on and made two cups of coffee after opening a packet of biscuits and taking it through to the lounge as John watched television, flicking cigarette ash on the carpet which she had painstakingly cleaned. She passed him an ashtray, smiling over at him with her sparking large brown eyes.
The blue and white suit she wore had been extremely expensive from the top fashion shop in town, but she felt that no less had been required for the return of her prodigal brother, as he sat with his dirty shoes resting on the polished coffee table, dipping his biscuit in his mug of coffee.
Jennifer smiled over to him as he continued to watch the television, full of indignation and bitterness, but she ignored his attitude and continued to look rather pleased. She took the empty cups back to the kitchen and washed up the previous day’s casserole dish, plates and the two coffee cups, before collecting her coat from the arm of the settee, which John had now decided to stretch out on.
‘You look tired, dear, so I’ll go back home and let you rest for the afternoon,’ she said, rubbing her tiny hand through his dark, greasy hair. She opened the door and let herself out of the flat as John curled up on the sofa watching television.
Jennifer paused and looked up at the house as she left the building, thinking to herself how John had become so involved within himself, but she had convinced herself that for someone to change their entire lives after a lengthy prison sentence, would be very difficult and it would take time for him to readjust.
She failed to realise that some people, particularly ex-prisoners who have lived their lives in such a fixed and regimental fashion, that to change at such a late stage is quite impossible.
John Bell was acting rebelliously, and appeared unwilling to change his life in any degree at all. He continued to remain subdued, unhappy and disturbed, determined to leave everything to Jennifer as if she had been responsible for his past ten years of confinement.
Jennifer cleared her throat as she walked to the front door of the house, anticipating an inquisition from George after being away so long. He sat at his desk in the study, looking through financial statements as Jennifer sat in the large chair, resting her head against the cushioned headrest.
Back at the flat, John Bell lay on his settee, holding his thumping head with both hands as he slowly recovered from the previous nights drinking spree. His cigarette slipped from the ashtray leaving a slight burn in newly cleaned carpet.
George left his desk and sat opposite her in his large chair, looking over at her as if trying to read her thoughts. It was so quiet in the room; the night around them was an ocean of darkness. George turned his head towards the large bay window and stared out at the black of the early evening.
A cold and chilling mist was rolling in from the peaceful sea as the lighthouse foghorn in the distance broke the silence.
Jennifer was wondering to herself why her brother was acting in such a strange way, showing little appreciation for all her hard work. Her sadness and rejection showed on her face as she stared into the burning fire. George looked over at her, thinking that her visit to the hospital had depressed her.
She raised herself out of the chair and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She looked tired and pale as she slowly walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of whisky from the glass decanter, passing one over to George as his eyes followed her around the room.
‘How was your friend?’ he asked, quietly.
‘What friend?’ she replied, gazing out of the window at the rolling mist.
‘Your friend in hospital,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes, she’s fine,’ Jennifer replied, hesitating as she collected her thoughts, deliberately avoiding having to look him in the eyes.
‘I know you’ve had a horrid time, dear, hospitals can be the most depressing of places,’ he said sympathetically.
Jennifer didn’t answer him, wanting to get away from the subject of the hospital visit in case he began to suspect her lies and deceit. She reached down and picked up her handbag and went through to the kitchen to prepare supper, a cold ham salad with fresh boiled new potatoes. In her heart of hearts she knew that John would return to his normal self in time. The sudden transformation of freedom oppose to confinement must have been a shock to his system and he would settle down to life on the outside after a few days, she thought.
They ate in silence on trays in the lounge. George read his newspaper while Jennifer watched the local news and weather forecast.
John Bell had opened a can of mushroom soup, eating it cold from the open tin. He sipped his can of beer at the same time, a cigarette burned slowly in the full ashtray. Leaving the lights on, he walked out of the flat and across to the harbour bar, which was getting organised for the live band which had just arrived with their equipment.
He sat at the bar and ordered a pint of beer, alongside a couple of young lads who were playing a card game on the bar top. He looked around at the gaiety and laughter of a group of fishermen who had been out to sea for most of the day, returning only due to the low mist that had now covered the small harbour and the small houses, which raised up the steep hill to the town centre.
He took his drink to the window and watched a large trawler unloading its mountainous daily catch as seagulls hovered around in anticipation of a quick meal.
John sat looking around the dismal and scruffy pub as the busty barmaid chatted seductively to a group of businessmen who stood in a group at the end of the bar. He lifted his glass as the young barman ran a wet cloth over his table, emptying his ashtray into a small metal bin, watching his tight buttocks as he retreated behind a door marked ‘private’. The boy glanced over his shoulder at John as he disappeared.
The band started to tune up their instruments as John left the remainder of his beer and walked over to the harbour, lighting up a cigarette as he walked.
The wailing cries of the seagulls broke the silence of the cold and chilly night as the mist chilled his unshaven face as he strolled slowly past the small fleet of boats.
Jennifer looked over at George as he read the newspaper, constantly pushing his gold-rimmed spectacles over his nose, puffing his small cigar. He looked over at her, giving her a loving and affectionate smile. He folded his newspaper and reached over to stroke the back of her tiny hand.
‘Are yo
u feeling better now, dear?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine, I just needed the rest, it’s been a busy week,’ she replied.
‘Well, you’ve been in and out of town all week, goodness knows what you find to do in such a small shopping centre,’ he asked, standing up and stretching his arms in the air after sitting for two hours. ‘I’m off to bed dear, are you coming?’ he asked.
‘I’ll just sit here a little longer and I’ll be up soon,’ she replied.
He kissed her on the forehead and closed the lounge door as he left.
Jennifer sat in the dimly lit lounge, looking around as though she needed someone to talk to who could assist with her concerning thoughts over her brother. Maybe it would have been better if she had explained her intentions to George, avoiding the lies and deceit and being honest and truthful, but she quickly dismissed this from her mind as he would never have agreed to her assisting her brother.
She suddenly stood up, infuriated with herself but didn’t know exactly why, turning out the small side lamp and dragging her weary body up the stairs.
John Bell had found a new oasis. The Black Bull at the far end of the High Street. It was a vibrant old-fashioned pub, dark and dingy frequented by the least salubrious of the towns community. It had been notorious for heavy drinking, drugs and violence for many years, but John felt more comfortable here than at the respectable harbour bar with its impeccably uniformed staff and high quality of furnishings.
The noise was deafening as a large group of teenagers lingered over their drinks, not having enough money to purchase a second round.
He drank large gulps of beer from his pint glass, looking around at the couples and groups. The atmosphere was tense and threatening with the raised voices and appallingly bad language being bandied about the bar. He was the only unaccompanied customer, sitting quietly in the corner next to a group of four scantily dressed girls looking around at the groups of men. He finished his beer and walked out of the pub by the side door.
The back alley was pitch black, no comforting streetlights and no people, only the seagulls crying overhead, obstructed from view by the cold grey mist.
Inseparable Bond Page 40