Inseparable Bond

by David Poulter

  He appeared at the door dressed in the blue towelling dressing gown she had purchased. She followed him through to the lounge, noticing the price tag which hung over the back of his collar she had inadvertently forgotten to remove, and which he hadn’t noticed.

  She placed the items in the refrigerator as John switched the electric kettle on to make some coffee.

  ‘Sorry I woke you, dear. Did you have a late night?’ she asked, looking at his blood-shot eyes as he lit a cigarette.

  ‘Yes, I did, I went out for a drink and didn’t get home until after two,’ he said.

  ‘Did you meet anyone nice?’ she enquired.

  ‘No, I just went on a bit of a pub-crawl, grabbed a pie and chips on the way back and crashed out,’ he replied, puffing frantically on his cigarette as he leaned against the kitchen unit.

  Jennifer clenched her fingers as if in prayer, raising her large eyes to the ceiling. She smiled fondly as she looked at John. He smiled back and rubbed her tiny hands as he sat down opposite her.

  A sense of happiness and relief ran through her veins. She had thought he had begun to despise her, but his soft touch now eliminated all suspicions. She chuckled to herself, thinking how stupid she had been as she picked up her mug of coffee and walked into the lounge. The room seemed tiny, dark and cold despite the sun streaming light through the window, but it smelt of stale tobacco from the ashtray brimming over with cigarette butts, the new cushions had been discarded around the floor.

  She picked them up, knocking them against her knee before replacing them on each corner of the settee, and carefully carried the ashtray through to the kitchen, emptying it in the waste bin. She grabbed the polish and swiftly ran a cloth around the furniture as John dressed in his bedroom.

  The display of plants, which she had carefully placed on the windowsill, was wilting due to lack of water. She quickly replenished them, picking off the dead leaves from the small stems.

  Once John was dressed, they walked into town where Jennifer opened a clothing account for him at Burton’s Menswear shop on the High Street with an opening credit balance of £1,000. He tried on various items of clothing, retuning from the changing room to receive Jennifer’s approval before purchasing them.

  They walked around the castle grounds, looking down on the fishing harbour and at the boats, which tossed from side to side in the rough sea outside the safe protection and confines within the thick harbour walls.

  A TRIO OF DECEIT

  George was felling branches off one of the garden trees when she arrived back home, breathless after walking fast up the slope against the strong wind. He followed her inside, taking her coat from her tiny shoulders and hanging it behind the kitchen door.

  He made a cup of tea and took it through to the lounge. Jennifer re-arranged the roses which had been delivered earlier in the day and placed around the lounge and dining room. The largest display always featured in the main hall to be admired by the few visitors they received.

  She relaxed in her chair as George stood behind her, gently rubbing her shoulders before his trembling hands went down the front of her blouse and caressed her small breasts, but that was the extent of it, as she had never been tempted to let him have what he wanted, but he had never shown signs of straying or even reciprocating the adoring looks he regularly received from women in the street.

  She had never deprived him of sex, as he had never requested it or forcefully taken advantage of her. Should they have married, Jennifer was the type of person who would have agreed to sex as a matter of respectful decency, but she was happy with the friendship and companionship she had formed over the past nine years, feeling more like a housekeeper than a housewife.

  ‘Did you spend all day in town, Jennifer?’ George asked, as they sat down for the evening supper.

  ‘Yes, most of it. I also went for a long walk around the castle grounds, the view from up there is stunning when the sea is in a violent rage,’ she replied.

  ‘Did you go to the library, dear?’ she enquired, as she sliced the skin from underneath her Dover sole.

  ‘Yes, I also got you the latest Catherine Cookson which had just been returned,’ he said, pouring chilled Chablis into her glass.

  ‘Oh good, I’ve been waiting for that. I’ll read that tonight if there’s nothing to watch on television,’ she said, tucking into her meal.

  The local fish was delicious and nourishing and the vegetables crisp and tasty.

  ‘Did you buy the fish down at the harbour, dear?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘No, I got it from the fishmonger behind the library, I can’t remember the last time I drove down to the harbour,’ he said, sipping his chilled wine.

  Jennifer sat up straight and looked over at him with a puzzled expression as he held his head low over the plate, oblivious to her doubting look. ‘So you didn’t drive past the harbour today then?’ she asked inquiringly.

  ‘No, not today dear, like I said, I can’t remember the last time I drove anywhere near the harbour, why do you ask?’ he replied.

  ‘It’s just that I thought I saw your car as I looked down from the castle grounds,’ she answered, looking back to her meal, slowly separating the fish from the bone.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me dear, you must have been mistaken. Besides, there are so many BMWs running around these days, especially silver ones like ours,’ he replied, showing no concern or guilt to his blatant dishonesty.

  Molly had arrived earlier than usual the next morning, having to leave by twelve for a doctor’s appointment. She polished through the lounge and vacuumed the hall as Jennifer walked down the stairs, dressed in a smart burnt orange colour suit with a dark brown fur collar and cuffs.

  ‘You look very smart, going anywhere exciting?’ Molly enquired.

  ‘Yes, it’s the annual Rotary lunch, the only time the wives are allowed,’ she replied.

  George was sitting in the lounge reading his library book, already dressed in his best navy blue suit, waiting patiently for Jennifer to arrive.

  He drove the car out of the drive while Jennifer looked in the hall mirror, tucking her thinning hair under the brown fur hat which was perched on her tiny head.

  She climbed into the passenger seat and reached for the lever, which placed the seat back in an upright position.

  ‘My seat appears to be at the wrong angle,’ she said, fumbling around for the control switch.

  ‘It can’t be, it’s how you last left it,’ he explained, looking over his shoulder as he carefully reversed out of the drive.

  ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t have moved it, has anyone been in the seat?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no one, you were the last person in that seat,’ he replied confidently.

  They drove to the Carlton Hotel in silence. Jennifer knew she had not been mistaken when she saw a stranger enter the car from the public toilets next to the harbour, but she couldn’t understand why George would adamantly deny this.

  George dropped her off at the main entrance of the Carlton while he went to find a parking space in the packed car park.

  She edged her way into the front hall set about with large, dark old chests, a marble bust and a huge vase of dried flowers. She looked around with admiration at everything and the masculinity of its design. The hotel was owned by one of the Rotary members and it was clear to her that he had played a major part it its design.

  The dark red walls and navy checked rugs had nothing to do with the feminine sex. It was clearly a man’s establishment, more reminiscent of an old gentlemen’s private country club.

  George arrived, took her by the arm and escorted her into the dark wood panelled lounge bar where other Rotary members and their wives had assembled.

  The cigar smoke and smell of expensive aftershave overpowered Jennifer as she entered the room. She looked around at the grey haired ladies, dressed in their finest luncheon outfits, gossiping amongst themselves. George placed a glass of sweet sherry in her hand as he went over to chat to the president of the
society.

  Jennifer looked over and frowned at him as he chatted with other members.

  She had not expected gaiety and enthusiasm and had never been a lover of group occasions. She felt bored and intimidated as people exchanged small talk and greeted each other by air kisses as they arrived into the lounge bar.

  A large portly woman waved over to her. Jennifer waved back and politely smiled. She had seen her before but was now unable to recognise her with her mind being on more important matters. With her confused and suspicious mind, she felt mentally and physically incapable of being introduced to other members.

  She walked down the hall towards the ladies toilets, passing the hotel receptionist who wore butterfly glasses with silver pieces set into them and was obviously becoming pink and flustered under the pressure of a hall porter laughing and teasing her as he leaned against the reception desk playing with her ear.

  Jennifer looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were underlined with tiredness and they had certainly lost their sparkle.

  They were called through to the small ballroom which had been laid out with a dozen round tables, consisting of six seats to each table. She didn’t feel hungry which was as well, as the food, which was served looked most unappetizing.

  Once the meal was over, she had to endure an agonising hour of speeches and presentations along with the election of the new Rotary president.

  By the time the meeting was over it was nearly dark. They didn’t get home until after six. George parked the car in the garage while Jennifer went immediately upstairs and ran a bath of hot water, generously pouring lavender bath oil under the fast flowing water. Her hair became damp in the steam filled bathroom as she gently lowered herself into the warm water, relaxing her head on the towel she had placed at the end of the bath. She wrapped her velvet dressing gown around her and slowly walked into the lounge where George was sitting by the fire reading his library book.

  ‘You were very quiet over lunch my dear, is everything all right?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, everything is fine. I’m not a fan of group luncheons and dinners, you know that all too well,’ she replied with hostility in her voice. She picked Walter up, placing him on her knee as she gazed at the crackling fire. Jennifer sat in the silent atmosphere for an hour before going up to bed for an early night. Walter snuggled back on his blanket by the boiler as George remained reading.

  Jennifer woke by 8.30. George had already gone downstairs to prepare breakfast as Jennifer sat on the small bedroom chair by the widow, looking down on the bare and bleak winter garden. As usual on the far horizon there was a ship, or a tanker travelling slowly out of Whitby harbour or from the shipping docks in Hull, slowly making its way over the English Channel towards the Dutch port of Rotterdam. Seagulls flew overhead, dipping towards the distant curves of the cliff, preparing to land with their slow measured flight, but happily too far away for their ugly looks and curved beaks to spoil the distant impression of beauty their snow-whiteness created against the grey backdrop of the clouds and dull December weather.

  Jennifer loved every aspect and mood of the sea and the coast, but had never been able to find a beauty in the gulls after being attacked by one on the beach in Fleetwood when she was a small child.

  It was Wednesday. Two weeks to Christmas and the town would be getting busy with shoppers. Jennifer rooted through the box she had taken from the top of the wardrobe, which contained an abundance of decorations she had used to dress last year’s tree.

  She walked into the guest bedroom, rearranging the awful old chintz curtains so at least they did look charming rather than decrepit. Looking around the room she realised it needed to be re-furnished throughout, but had no time to do this before the invasion of the grandchildren, Roger and his wife for the Christmas holidays.

  She must instruct Molly to dust through so there’s not a speck in sight as Rogers’s wife can be rather particular at the best of times.

  She carried the box of decorations into the lounge as Molly cleaned the glass of the French doors leading onto the garden.

  She sat by the window looking around the room in the blackest of despair and inability to see any point in trimming up the house for Christmas when John would not be allowed to share it with her.

  George had driven off to various garden centres on the outskirts of town, looking for a suitable tree, which would fit handsomely in the front bay window, yet denying her of the magnificent view of the sea.

  She set about unpacking the box of decorations with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. She sighed deeply as she open the box. Molly smiled encouragingly at her as she dusted the mantelpiece. As she rooted through the tinsel and baubles, Molly went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She helped Jennifer untangle the Christmas tree lights as they chatted inconsequentially about anything except Christmas, a festive season Jennifer had never favoured since John had been first arrested on Christmas Eve, throwing the families festivities into turmoil and despair.

  They turned around to see George pulling into the drive, a large Christmas tree hanging precariously out of the back of the hatchback car, fastened down with string.

  It was a cold day, but clear, the frost skimming the paving stones of the drive so that they sparkled when the rays of sun struck them.

  George dragged the tree up the drive, placing it by the side of the house until he acquired a suitably sized pot to withstand its weight.

  Molly nervously placed the plug into the electricity socket to illuminate the delicate tree lights, which were strewn across the deep yellow lounge carpet as Walter sniffed them with inquisitive surprise as they started to flash at regular intervals.

  George came into the kitchen, taking his large heavy overcoat off as Molly wrapped up well in her overcoat, wrapping a long scarf over her head as she left for home.

  He walked into the lounge and warmed his hands in front of the fire, rubbing them vigorously as Jennifer poured him a large whisky from the drinks cabinet.

  Jennifer went over to the window, watching a group of people joyously pass the house in high spirits on their way to town for an early Christmas celebration in one of the many pubs. The North Sea looked pale and the wintry sun tried to struggle now and then through the thick, lowering snow clouds which had suddenly appeared.

  A slight fall of snow had fallen overnight as Jennifer drew back the bedroom curtains. It was only a small dusting and would quickly melt away if the sun managed to break through the dark clouds.

  With Christmas rapidly approaching, she would need to start stocking up with supplies, seeing the family were to arrive at the end of next week.

  George had slept badly, coughing all through the night and feeling weak and lifeless. Jennifer had left him a thermos of tea by the bed and a bottle of night nurse medicine.

  She briskly walked into town, her large cashmere scarf wrapped tightly around her head, held firmly in place by the large upturned collar on her cashmere coat.

  She would have to call into see John as he would be bitterly disappointed if she didn’t, she thought.

  After a lengthy delay, he answered the door, dressed only in his new boxer shorts.

  ‘I didn’t expect you today,’ he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  She walked through to the kitchen, placing her plastic bags on the kitchen unit, sighing with contentment. She reached deep into her shopping bag for the new set of pillowcases she had taken from her laundry cupboard at home.

  As John went through to the bathroom, she took the pillowcases into the bedroom and stopped in her tracks as she noticed a young man sleeping in his bed, the sheets and duvet pushed down the bed revealing his naked torso. She quickly returned to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  ‘I didn’t realise you had a friend staying, John,’ she said, as John walked through to the kitchen, toothpaste dribbling from his mouth which was wedged closed and his yellowing teeth gripping his toothbrush.

  ‘Have you some proble
m with that?’ he asked, glaring at her with wide, cruel eyes.

  ‘No, dear, not at all. But I didn’t know you had any friends in Scarborough,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t remember you disallowing friends to visit,’ he replied sternly.

  ‘Well, it’s nice that you are meeting people, who is he?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who it is, it’s not your concern, so don’t let it worry you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right dear, it’s none of my business who you invite back to your flat,’ she said.

  She didn’t stay for the coffee John had offered and left after only five minutes, clearly embarrassed and surprised on her unexpected discovery.

  As she walked out of Castle Lane, a cold and steady wind started, then the snow began. Despite the force of the blizzard all she could think about was the man on her newly purchased sheets, in her brother’s bed and wondered why he would be still in bed after 11 o’clock in the morning.

  She could hardly see more than a foot or two through the thickly whirling flakes, and her cashmere coat was no barrier against such weather. Her hair was soaking, her hands and feet so cold she could scarcely feel them.

  She ran into Boots chemist, desperate for the warmth in the busy store, which was packed with Christmas shoppers milling around the large displays of gift sets.

  She had expected John to have accompanied her, but he was otherwise engaged.

  After being warmed by the hot air which circulated around the store, she decided to postpone her shopping day and trudged her way back home. She was deeply upset at what she had witnessed in the flat and could not remove it from her mind. John’s attitude was becoming increasingly worse by the day, and she felt intimidated and at times frightened in his company.