Tears rolled down her face as she kept her head low against the swirling snowflakes. The snow was thick on the pavement and the wind was vicious as she looked up at the flat through the whirling flakes as she passed. Despite the appalling weather, she walked down to the coast for a moment’s quiet, bravely trying to collect her thoughts as she walked into the harbour coffee bar.
She rested her head in her hands in despair, realising her mistake in generously providing for her brother in the hope of offering him a new beginning in life, but it was all too late. She desperately tried to rid her mind of such thoughts, but the same conclusion kept returning.
She shuddered with fear, yet the sudden realisation seemed to give her a strange feeling of encouragement, a feeling she could not explain. As she sat with her cold hands cupped around her mug of hot coffee, her attention was drawn to silver BMW parked opposite the café on the other side of the road.
She sat upright in her seat, her eyebrows raised and her wide eyes transfixed on the car, not being sure if it belonged to George as he had previously pointed out to her how many similar looking cars were in the town.
Not being able to contain her curiosity any longer, she left her table and walked across the road and peered through the window of the car. The black umbrella lying across the back seat and tiny Christmas tree needles, which littered the interior, identified the car as belonging to George.
She looked up and down the promenade through the large snowflakes, but he was nowhere to be seen. She walked back into the café, returning to her cup of coffee keeping her eyes firmly on the stationary car.
It was over ten minutes when George eventually appeared from the public toilets and approached his car, driving off speedily in the direction of the house.
She could not understand why he would need to use a public toilet when he was in such close proximity to the house. He had regularly complained about the condition of public conveniences, and avoided them unless absolutely necessary.
Scrambling to her feet, she made for the road and trudged through the deep snow towards the house, passing the museum and the library on the way. It took her ten minutes to walk from the coffee shop to the house. It would take less than two minutes to drive and although George was facing eighty, he had never complained of a bladder disorder needing sudden relief in a place which he despised, particularly being in such close proximity of his own clinical bathroom.
She entered the garden gate, brushing the snow away from the latch as she opened it. She looked up at the imposing house, hesitantly. The car was not on the drive, but deep fresh tyre marks were leading up to the closed garage doors. She shook her head in disbelief of her horrendously unexpected nightmare morning.
George was cooking scrambled eggs as she walked through the kitchen door. He helped her to remove her coat and squeezed her tightly. She shuddered as he placed his hands around her. For the first time she felt uncomfortable by his touch as she quickly moved away from him.
She sat at the kitchen table for a couple of minutes before gaining her strength to enquire into his whereabouts.
‘I thought you would still be in bed,’ she asked George.
‘No, I felt much better shortly after you left for town, I didn’t expect you back as soon as this, you normally spend all day in town,’ he replied, stirring the eggs in the pan.
‘So you haven’t been out then?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Out, certainly not, you wouldn’t get me out in this weather,’ he replied, confidently.
She reached down and picked Walter up from his blanket, walking through to the lounge clutching him tightly against her chest as she slowly lowered her body into the chair by the fire. Her heart sank, tears desperately tried to release themselves through her closed eyes, but she bravely held them back.
Even if she had mistaken the car, she did not mistake the tyre marks in the snow, she thought, racking her brain into why he should need to be so deceitful after innocently leaving the house. She thought of the previous occasion when she had noticed him leave the public toilets, of which he had again denied. The unusual position of her seat in the car, again denying it had been changed. The stranger in the car who had followed him out of the toilet. It all didn’t make sense to her.
She felt betrayed and humiliated, not giving a thought to the betrayal and humiliation she had carefully and methodically engineered in housing and supporting her brother.
George came through to the lounge carrying a plate of scrambled eggs, which he ate while watching the television.
Jennifer was in the grip of conflicting emotions, for though she smiled as she stroked Walter on her knees, looking down at his large eyes and floppy ears, the tears in her eyes presently spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She looked over at George as he shovelled the eggs in his mouth, smiling over at him but inside she was in utter turmoil.
Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from constant crying and she sensed a feeling of remoteness and loneliness as she looked over at George suspiciously. She walked over to the window, peering through the undressed Christmas tree, which limited her view of the snow-covered garden. She held Walter close to her chest as her thinning hair curled damply across her sweating brow.
She felt horribly tired after her emotionally exhausting day and wanted nothing so much, right now, as a peaceful rest, tucked tightly and safely under bed sheets, weighed down by heavy blankets behind a locked door, away from everyone.
It had rained all morning, dispersing most of the snow into a wet slush, but by midday the sun peeped out between the dark clouds pushed long by a boisterous winter wind.
Jennifer had peeled the potatoes for supper and now was in the front bay window decorating the large Christmas tree, which stood majestically up to the ceiling. Every now and then a ray of sunlight came through the window and admired the design she was creating.
As she carefully hung the silver and gold balls on the delicate branches, George came through to the lounge and placed his hands around her tiny waist just as though they were lovers and not merely acquaintances, the disrupting route their relationship was heading.
The flaws of deceit, dishonesty, mistrust and suspicion had been allowed to creep into their once idyllic life, of which both were responsible through their own selfishness.
Walter played joyfully in his first sighting of snow, rolling around in the front garden, looking surprisingly at the ice-covered fishpond in the centre.
Jennifer thought of the winters when she and John would go snowballing in Fleetwood when they were children, her smile soon turned to a snarl as she recalled his hurtful attitude of late and an expression of distaste showed in her eyes.
George rooted through the box and revealed a silver angel made out of kitchen foil. He climbed on a chair to place it on top of the tree, which he found notoriously difficult, but managed to secure it between two branches.
Although Jennifer was not a lover of the Christmas season, she enjoyed decorating the tree, yet the previous years had been in happier circumstances and she wondered what this year would bring with George’s family to entertain.
George passed her a row of tinsel from the box. Her large brown eyes fixed themselves ingenuously on George’s blue ones. It was the nearest she meant to get to asking why he should lie about leaving the house yesterday, but it was immediately obvious that he had no intention of coming clean. She looked away and continued to decorate the tree, recalling the Christmases she had as a child, getting out of bed whilst it was still dark, shivering in the unheated house and the long walk down the staircase and into the freezing cold sitting room, excitingly waiting to open her presents which were scattered at the bottom of the Christmas tree.
John had only been a small child at the time, sleeping in a cot next to his mother.
‘Did you get to the Royal Court theatre for the pantomime tickets?’ George asked her.
‘Oh, no, I forgot all about them,’ she replied.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll drive down shortly,’ he said as he
untangled the fairy lights. He draped the lights over the branches and switched them on by the plug in the wall before driving down to the theatre.
Jennifer’s eyes were full of suspicion as she watched him reverse the car out of the drive, looking over at the clock on the mantelpiece, checking the time he left.
The following night was wet and cold, colder if anything that the previous night when George had collected the tickets.
She had dressed in a cashmere cloak and muffled her head in a large woolly scarf, anticipating a lengthy wait in the queue outside the theatre. They stood near the front, waiting anxiously for the doors to open as the early evening crowds surged around, good humoured and loud mouthed. Children waited patiently, clinging onto their parents, jumping excitedly to keep warm against the wintry night.
There were lots of smartly dressed people sat in the red velvet seats as the orchestra tuned their instruments. The large red velvet curtain which hid the stage, rose up slowly to a round of applause from the audience. The colours of the set left Jennifer spellbound, but she was far from being in a happy mood and in need of entertainment. Her mind was elsewhere but she didn’t know exactly where it was.
It was the longest night of her life. She didn’t know how she had sat through the pantomime for so long, spending most of the time looking up at the ornate ceiling throughout the performance, not being in the least interested in the activities on the stage.
Once the show was over, they collected some fish and chips to take home for a late supper which they ate in the kitchen to avoid the smell clinging to the curtain fabric.
John Bell staggered out of the Blue Bell Inn on Kings Street, stumbling over as he headed for the all night take-away on the corner. He staggered along the harbour wall, gravy spilling down the front of his jacket from the plastic tray which contained large cut greasy chips, as he unsteadily entered the public toilets opposite the bank of telephone boxes.
Two men were fondling each other at the far end of the urinals. They stopped immediately, correcting themselves as John approached. He went to the opposite end, clinging to the wall as urine splashed over his shoes. He stood there for a while, slowly turning his head towards the two men at the far end as he tried to focus of their activities. They stared at John as they masturbated themselves facing into the urinals.
John Bell staggered over to join them, taking a penis in each of his grubby hands as the two men lowered his trousers to his knees, fondling his buttocks under the flap of his checked shirt. The trio ejaculated simultaneously. Not a word had been spoken throughout their pleasurable sexual encounter as they walked out of the toilet, disappearing in different directions along the dark promenade.
John Bell staggered back along Castle Lane and up to his top floor flat, collapsing on the sofa in a drunken and dishevelled state, breathless and exhausted.
The wind rattled the ill-fitted window as bubbling snores were emanating from his mouth as he passed out in his intoxicated state.
George and Jennifer were also sleeping peacefully. The crisp white cotton sheet pulled tightly up to her neck as George breathed heavily beside her.
The bath was full of hot steaming water as Jennifer pulled her silk nightdress over her head, revealing her expensive silk knickers and nothing else. The aroma of lavender circulated around the steam filled bathroom as she gently climbed into the soothing warm water, slowly lowering her body and placing her head on the fluffy towel she had draped over the end of the bath.
She felt as though the hot water was a healing force in itself, clearing her mind of suspicion and anxiety. She rubbed shampoo vigorously into her thinning hair then rinsed it off with the shower hose before climbing out stiffly.
She wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror to reveal her reflection. Her face was no longer waxy pale, there was a faint flush on her cheeks and her lips had returned to their normal colour.
The past few days had made her feel and look unwell but she was now regaining her strength as she quickly dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen, avoiding any physical contact with George as he prepared the breakfast.
It was a bright but chilly morning. She had realised that they needed time to themselves, a complete change, and a breath of fresh air in every sense of the word.
She opened the front door, walking briskly to the promenade. It was still very early. A sea mist hung over the beachfront, wreathed around the fishing boats in the harbour. The sun was trying to break through the clouds in an attempt to melt the remaining snow which lay at the side of the pavement. She looked up at the seagulls, crying loudly through deprivation of fish heads, which were normally thrown out of the packing sheds alongside the harbour.
She was astonished at the amount of walkers who had braved the early morning cold and descended on the large beach, running energetically with their dogs, the cold sand crunched under their feet as they jogged along. She walked briskly through the mist, determined not to allow the two men in her life to reduce her to any more tears and anxiety as she entered the harbour coffee bar.
She drank her coffee by the window, looking over at the public toilet block, half expecting to see a silver BMW to park outside.
She walked up to town and approached the flat, looking up at the window before she entered.
John quickly answered the door and invited her in. His chest was heaving as he appeared to gasp for air, but she was only too aware that is was not through excitement of seeing her. She looked around the grubby kitchen and over at her grubby brother, dressed in boxer shorts and black ankle socks.
‘You haven’t been to see me for the past three days,’ he said.
‘No, I’ve been busy with other things,’ she replied, sternly and confidently, not allowing him to intimidate her as he had over the past three weeks since leaving prison.
He poured the hot water in the coffee cups, coughing and wheezing as he gasped for air between large intakes of cigarette smoke. John sat resting his head in his hand, looking down at his coffee with bloodshot eyes under a dark stubble chin, while his other hand held a playing card, picking out the remnants of his take-away supper that had lodged between his yellowing teeth.
She opened her handbag and produced an envelope, leaving it by her coffee cup as she left, closing the door behind her. It contained £200 in cash, which inevitably would be handed over to pub landlords over the next couple of days. John Bell thumped the air with his first when he noticed the contents. He smiled broadly as he kissed the notes, lifting them to the fluorescent light, checking their authenticity.
Jennifer walked back along the beach, breathing the strange salt smell of the sea and feeling the wind against her face filling her with a sense of freedom and adventure. She hurried along, occasionally glancing over at the public toilet block at the end of the promenade, making her way without pause or hesitation past the many people who had taken advantage of the dry weather after the past two days of snow storms preventing them from leaving the confines of their warm homes.
She arrived home to find Molly cleaning out the cutlery drawer in the kitchen.
George was vacuuming the car, clearing it of the needles from the Christmas tree he had transported earlier in the week.
She walked through to the lounge, precariously carrying her china cup of tea. The room smelt of polish. Molly had done a lovely job buffing up the side tables. The two lamps on the tables, with their yellow shades were filling the room with a warm glow while the fire was burning and crackling brightly. The atmosphere emanated warmth and comfort, but neither George nor Jennifer felt it in any way.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Her skin had lost its warm tint and even in the subtle glow from the lampshades, it had returned to a pasty white; and this had the effect of making her eyes look larger still, giving the illusion that they were set deep back in the sockets, and all was emphasised by the thinning of her grey hair.
Not being encouraged by her reflection, she sat on Walter’s chair by the fr
ont window as he curiously sniffed around the garage while George cleaned out the car.
She sat bolt upright in the small chair looking out at the sea, which was slowly weaving its way up the golden coloured beach.
Molly pushed the vacuum cleaner through the lounge door, the appetising smell of roast beef drifted through behind her.
She turned on the television and watched intensively at the pictures of the blizzard which had moved to Scotland, bringing traffic to a standstill and people being dug out of their houses. Molly switched off the vacuum cleaner so she could hear the report which the commentator had said was the worst blizzard to hit the Highlands for the past thirty years, and they were expecting major flooding once the big thaw set in, forecast for over the Christmas festivities.
The meal was eaten mostly in silence. The weather was grey, dull and miserable.
Molly had long gone, leaving an even more hostile and quiet atmosphere without her constant humming to herself as she worked.
‘How was your day, dear?’ George asked her, breaking the unbearable silence.
‘It was fine, I had a good healthy walk along the beach, called in for coffee before returning home and watched a bit of television while you were in the garage,’ she said.
‘Where did you go for coffee?’ he enquired.
Jennifer thought quickly, again avoiding the truth of which was now becoming a regular occurrence, not wanting to mention the harbour coffee bar near the toilets. ‘I have coffee in town, The Victorian tea shop near Boots chemist,’ she replied.
‘Well, I’ve got more to do in the garage, but I’ll leave Walter with you as he wants his supper,’ he said, leaving the room, snatching his coat from behind the door.
George was probably the more dangerous of the two. He was the kind that wouldn’t lose his temper, he would probe gently until he caused you to trip up and she was only too aware of his methods when he had become suspicious. It was through this method, which had probably awarded him the respect of being one of the best solicitors in Blackpool until he retired twelve years ago.
Inseparable Bond Page 43