Inseparable Bond

by David Poulter

  Jennifer woke early the next morning. She had slept well, but woken with a slight headache. She drew back the heavy bedroom curtains and looked out onto the running sea, their white tops seeming to chase each other endlessly backwards and forwards, but the sound of the wind seemed to moan as it swept inland across the garden, giving her the immense desire to walk freely in the cool December weather.

  George had left early to change the library books. She was relieved at the thought of not needing to lie to him about her day’s activities.

  After a quick cup of tea, she grabbed her coat and walked down towards the open air bandstand next to the large sea wall. Apart from a small group of council workers, the beach and promenade walk were free of people.

  The flag poles rattled in the strong winter wind, and as she walked onto the beach, the pounding of the waves was so loud that not even the crying of the seagulls could he heard above it. She held her head low under the large collar of her thick winter coat, talking to herself as she walked towards the far end of the beach and up into the town towards John’s small flat.

  John answered the door, dressed only in a pair of stained boxer shorts.

  ‘Hello, dear, did I wake you?’ she asked, running her hand through her wind swept hair.

  ‘No, I was already up,’ he replied, opening the door for her to squeeze through. ‘I’ve just made some coffee, do you want one?’ he asked, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the kitchen table. ‘Your hair is wet but it’s not raining, what have you been doing?’ he asked her.

  ‘I came along the beach. The sea is at its best when in a dark and lowering mood,’ she replied, bending down to the refrigerator searching for the milk. ‘I need to go into town and thought I’d call in on the way, do you want to come with me?’ she asked John.

  ‘Yes, I will, I don’t have anything else to do,’ he replied, as he walked into his bedroom to get dressed.

  Jennifer sat at the small kitchen table, looking around at the empty food and beer cans, the ashtray brimming over with cigarette butts and the kitchen sink full of unwashed cups and a saucepan. She shook her head disappointingly before attempting to wash the dishes and wipe down the work surface.

  They walked around the corner and into town.

  ‘Have you had your breakfast, dear?’ she asked, with a concerned expression.

  ‘No, it’s way after breakfast time now, but I could eat something,’ he replied.

  She grabbed his arm as they walked across the road and into the Victorian Tea Shop on the corner of the High Street. It was Jennifer’s favourite café, which she regularly called into halfway through her shopping expeditions.

  It was now lunchtime and every table was full of well-dressed ladies, as the smartly dressed waitresses rushed around delivering plates of healthy looking sandwiches to the eagerly waiting customers.

  They were seated next to the kitchen door, which was the first available table to come vacant. Staff dashed in and out of the service doors, which knocked against John’s chair as they opened and closed. Positioned next to Jennifer was a dessert trolley containing jellies and trifles, shimmering miniature éclairs glowing in their dark chocolate sauce and a large glass bowl of strawberries next to individual bowls of fresh fruit salad.

  The waitress hastily came over to the table, her pen poised on her order pad waiting for instruction.

  ‘I’ll have a buttered scone with your perfectly made strawberry jam,’ she ordered.

  ‘And for you, sir?’ the waitress asked, looking down at John as he studied the menu.

  ‘I’ll have two fried eggs, chips and a couple of sausages,’ he said, closing the menu and wedging it between the silver cruets.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, we don’t do any fried foods,’ she politely replied.

  ‘No fried food, It’s a fucking café, isn’t it,’ he answered sharply.

  The waitress raised her eyebrows, startled by his abrupt and offensive remark.

  ‘It’s all right, dear, he’ll have the same as me,’ Jennifer quickly answered to the waitress in the hope of defusing the volatile situation.

  The waitress walked away, looking over her shoulder in disgust as she left.

  ‘Really, John, there was no need to speak to the poor girl in that way,’ Jennifer said sternly, quickly glancing around in case his remark had been overheard by others. ‘Just have the scone and I’ll take you somewhere else so you can have your egg and chips, or whatever else you want,’ she said, placing her linen napkin over her knees.

  The waitress speedily presented the tea and scones as Jennifer quickly poured it into the two delicate china cups which had been ready set on the table. She buttered her hot scone and popped the other one in her brown crocodile handbag.

  ‘We’ll take that home and you can have it later,’ she said, smiling cheekily at John.

  ‘Where do you live, Jennifer,’ he asked, impatiently tapping an unlit cigarette on his packet after noticing a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall above Jennifer’s head.

  ‘Oh, not far from here,’ she replied nervously.

  ‘So when are you going to invite me around to your place then?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I can’t do that, and you know the reason why,’ she replied.

  The discussion was fortunately interrupted as Sylvia Freeman brushed her extra large buttocks passed the table.

  ‘Hello, Jennifer, I haven’t seen you for ages, how is George?’ she enquired.

  He’s very well, thank you, Sylvia, you are looking well, have you been away?’ Jennifer asked her.

  ‘Yes, Edward and I took the grandchildren to Florida for a week’s holiday while Kate and Donald spent a week on safari in Kenya,’ she answered, giving a false and inquisitive smile over to John.

  ‘Oh, that’s nice, do give Edward my regards,’ Jennifer answered as Sylvia went over to her reserved table by the bay window.

  ‘Who was that stuck up cow?’ John asked, irritating Jennifer with the constant tapping of his unlit cigarette.

  ‘She a very nice lady and a dear friend of ours, she is certainly not what you described,’ she replied with an indignant and embarrassed expression showing across her face. She quickly ate her scone and left the money on the table, not waiting for the bill.

  They walked further down the High Street and across to the bus station café, which was full with council workmen and transport staff from the bus and railway station. Jennifer wiped the plastic chair, which was bolted to the floor as she squeezed her way between the fixed tables, sitting down uncomfortably on the hard surface.

  The waitress arrived at the table wearing a pair of cut-off jeans, a tight white vest, heavily stained down the front and presented a small plastic covered menu held by dirty hands and black nail varnish over long and chipped fingernails.

  Jennifer looked up at the heavy mascara, which surrounded her bloodshot eyes, and the silver rings which had been pierced through her nose and top lip.

  John ordered his eggs, chips and sausage and a mug of coffee. Jennifer declined. She looked around at the off white net curtain which hung loosely on a piece of string half way up the dirty window, covered with posters of cheap and unhealthy food items with extremely cheap and competitive prices.

  John leaned back in his plastic chair, arms outstretched as he blew cigarette smoke out of his mouth above Jennifer’s head.

  The deafening sound of laughter and loud voices made Jennifer feel nervous and intimidated. John smiled as the waitress unceremoniously put his meal in front of him, sneering at Jennifer as she returned behind the counter.

  John eagerly tucked into his meal; happy and relaxed in the scruffy surroundings amongst other customers dressed in similar well worn and dowdy winter clothes. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of grease hung in the air as Jennifer stared down at John’s plate, his meal covered in tomato sauce.

  He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat as he finished, pushing the plate to the end of the table.

  Jenn
ifer nervously walked to the counter to pay the bill, pushing through the group of bus drivers, which had gathered around the pinball machine next to the cash register.

  A fat man dressed in a grease-covered apron snatched the money from her gloved hand, which she had handed over with evident reluctance.

  They left the café and walked back through town against the strong wind and drizzle, which had dispersed most of the shoppers from the normally busy street. John stopped at the entrance of an amusement arcade.

  ‘I’m going in to play the machines,’ he said, releasing his arm from Jennifer’s.

  ‘All right, dear, I have shopping to do anyway, so I’ll probably see you tomorrow, she said, feeling a further sense of rejection from him.

  He went into the arcade as Jennifer walked down the street, her head hung low, feeling sad, anxious and humiliated after all the work and planning she had achieved the previous week of which appeared to have gone unnoticed. She racked her brain, trying to understand why he appeared so unappreciative of his flat and the unfriendliness he was showing towards her.

  He had been kind, loving and understanding at the brief prison visits, yet something had changed him in the past year, making him subdued and hostile with an aggressive attitude.

  Overnight, the gale-force winds had given way to a bright and sunny morning. George had been keen to visit a new garden centre near York and insisted that Jennifer accompanied him, giving her a rest from her unnecessary daily visits to town.

  The houses soon petered out as they left Scarborough and drove into the open countryside along the Yorkshire Moors. The road became narrow and winding, climbing up hills and swooping into valleys, the meadows and fields quiet and the trees leafless in the December chill. They passed through a village of grey stone houses with gardens still bright, despite the lateness of the year.

  George stopped at the Helsmley Arms Hotel, a quaint little village inn on the outskirts of the town. They had afternoon tea, served perfectly on a crisp lined tablecloth.

  The afternoon sun shone brightly as they walked briskly down a steeply sloping lane, arm in arm towards the small market town with its outdoor stalls of fresh farm produce. They passed a humped grey stoned bridge over a stream as Jennifer paused to look down at the clear water. The banks were lined with bare-branched trees which reached up to a waterfall. Jennifer let her gaze wander, smiling delightfully at the peace and tranquillity of the country setting, but not being able to completely free her mind from the concern she had for her brother’s unusually strange attitude.

  George had noticed her apprehensive expression, not her usual relaxed mood when visiting the country, but declined to enquire after so many recent inquisitions.

  After walking slowly through the market stalls, they continued their drive to York where George purchased some garden seeds and garden implements for the coming spring.

  They drove back along the coast road, stopping briefly at Filey, a few miles down the coast from home.

  They parked the car near the active fishing harbour and walked down the steep hill towards the sea. The old stone fisherman’s cottages flanked each side of the narrow lane. They were roofed with blue-grey slate and had deep porches and tiny windows set into the thickness of the walls and each one had a small front garden choked with the remnants of autumn.

  They arrived at the harbour, where a hive of activity surrounded the incoming fishing boats, as calm seas had enabled them to leave their secure port in search of their daily catch before a return to the disruptive winter gales which had been forecast.

  Jennifer stared up at the white cliffs which reached from the shingle beach; fat and healthy looking seagulls dived and swooped around the harbour and back to their nests hidden deep within the surface of the cliffs.

  The sun was covered by a sudden arrival of dark heavy clouds, chilling the air and threatening a heavy downpour.

  They walked briskly back to the car and drove the few miles home along the coast road.

  They arrived home as the heavens opened. Jennifer ran up to the house, her tiny feet jumping between the winter-bare shrubs in the front garden as she reached the covered area of the front patio. George secured the car in the garage.

  They ate supper and relaxed by the fire. Jennifer had enjoyed her day out although she sat uneasily, still concerned into her brother’s unusual and out of character behaviour.

  She desperately wanted to confide in George, who would have been immediately able to solve the solution, but he could not be made aware of her brother’s release and she had been too secretive for too long. It would only make the problem worse and possibly cause a huge row and further suspicion whenever she left the house. It sadly was not an option she was prepared to take, so decided to confine her thoughts and anxiety to herself.

  George glanced over at her as she kept nervously touching the white lace collar on her dress, or reaching down to correct her long white stockings she had worn against the chilling wind on their day out. It was clear to him that she had something seriously on her mind, but commonsense and self-preservation kept him from enquiring.

  She quickly stood up and walked around the room, picking up the petals from the roses, which were now wilting in the heat, in time for a new delivery the next day.

  George fell asleep by the hissing log fire as Jennifer placed the wilting roses in the kitchen waste bin. Small bubbling snores were emanating from between his lips as Jennifer quietly worked around him, avoiding any abrupt noise which may disturb him.

  Walter ran into the kitchen in need of his evening supper, which Jennifer had completely forgotten about, her mind being on other things. She filled his bowl and opened the back door for him to run in the garden before snuggling down for the night on his blanket by the warm gas boiler.

  Walter had disturbed a group of seagulls on the back lawn, running frantically to disperse them; his barking woke George from his deep sleep.

  Nothing on television interested them, so after a quick cup of hot chocolate, they both retired to bed before eleven. George finished his library book as Jennifer quickly fell asleep.

  George was up early after a peaceful nights sleep. Jennifer relaxed in a bath of hot water planning her day.

  The day had started off windy and boisterous with high blue skies and scudding white clouds, but the forecast was of brief rain showers and small periods of sunshine. With this in mind, she dressed in a two-piece suit and thick tights, picking out a warm cashmere coat which she hadn’t worn all year.

  As soon as breakfast was over, George drove down to the library while Jennifer waited for the florist to deliver the weekly supply of fresh roses.

  Last night’s supper dishes and the breakfast plates were piled in the sink which Molly would attend to when she arrived at 11 o’clock, along with changing the beds and cleaning the two bathrooms, leaving Jennifer free to visit John in the flat in the hope of finding him in happier and less aggressive mood, being more accommodating than she had experienced over the past few days.

  The strong wind whipped up the sea, filling the air with light sea spray as Jennifer gripped the hand rail tightly as she walked down the slope into town. Her knuckles had whitened and her hands felt as though they were frozen to the metal as she had inadvertently left her gloves on the kitchen table in her eagerness to leave the house.

  She called into Frank’s butchers on the way, purchasing eggs, bacon, cooked ham and some sausages for John’s breakfast.

  She rang the doorbell and waited for John to answer, becoming increasingly anxious when he didn’t respond. She waited for a few minutes and walked back out of the house, looking up at his front window on the top floor. The curtains were open, but there was no sign of life.

  She quickly walked down to the public telephone opposite the toilets and rang his mobile phone, which she had purchased for him a few days earlier. The ringing tone seemed endless, before he finally answered in a rough and aggressive fashion.

  ‘Hello, dear, its Jennifer, I’ve jus
t called at the flat, are you in?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I was in bed, what do you want?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘I’ve brought you some breakfast, dear,’ she said.

  ‘Oh all right, give me ten minutes and I’ll let you in,’ he said, switching his phone off.

  As Jennifer replaced the handset, her heart pounded with fear as she noticed George pull up opposite the telephone box. She ducked down, hiding her face behind her handbag, which she had placed on the small shelf. Thinking she had been spotted, her mind raced, thinking quickly into what plausible explanation she was could tell him.

  Looking through the straps of her bag, her heart beat again when she realised that he had parked the car to use the public toilets. She watched him enter the toilets before she could make her escape. She rapidly went into the harbour coffee bar on the corner, remaining out of sight behind an artificial tree in the window.

  She peered between the leaves waiting for George to return to his car before being able to leave the coffee shop. She didn’t want coffee but had no option but to order a cup, occupying one of the few tables, and the best one most prominently situated affording the sea view.

  George had been spent an unusually lengthy time in the toilet. She had finished the coffee by the time he walked out and over to his car, followed by another man who had walked out of the toilet behind him and in the same direction but a few yards behind George.

  As she left her seat, she stood in amazement watching George open the passenger door to allow the stranger into the passenger seat. They drove away in the direction he had arrived, being the opposite direction from the house.

  She carefully peered around the door of the café as the car drove out of sight towards the South bay. She had found this a strange pattern of events, as he had arrived at the toilets unaccompanied, and after spending a considerable lengthy time inside, he returned to his car and drove off with a stranger in the passenger seat. She found this most strange.

  She walked to the flat against the strong wind, her mind puzzled into the peculiar actions of George, until she realised that he probably met someone in the toilets he knew and offered him a lift home in view of the appalling weather conditions. This explanation now satisfying her curious mind, she approached the flat and rang John’s doorbell.