‘Well, I’ll go down to the shop when I’ve finished my breakfast, George replied.
‘No, you stay where you are, I’ll nip down, it won’t take me long, and I’d like a walk in the snow,’ she said, rushing upstairs to retrieve the small parcel she had hidden in the dressing table drawer underneath her silk knickers.
She quickly grabbed her coat from behind the kitchen door, keeping a firm hold of her shopping bag which contained her brother’s gift.
‘I think I should go with you, it’s slippery outside and look what happen to you last time,’ George said, looking up from his newspaper.
‘Oh, stop fussing dear, I can’t be chaperoned each time I leave the house and the walk will help to rebuild my confidence,’ she said reassuringly.
She trudged through the snow as she walked steadily into town towards the flat. The house was cold and damp as she went through the front door and up to the top landing. John answered the door quickly, smiling broadly as he opened the door wide.
Jennifer nervously went through to the kitchen and sat at the table which was littered with silver foil trays containing the remnants of the last few nights’ take-away meals.
She had difficulty looking him in the eye and spoke to him while she transfixed her eyes on the calendar on the kitchen wall above the grease covered gas cooker.
He nervously ran around the kitchen, clearing various soiled items from the work surface as the kettle boiled.
‘I’m sorry about the other day, Jennifer,’ he said, breathlessly.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that dear, these things happen,’ she said, her stomach churning with fear as she tried to hide her shaking hands behind her shopping bag.
‘I’ve brought you a small Christmas gift dear, I hope you like it,’ she said, reaching into her bag, revealing a small box which contained a smart wristwatch and cufflinks.
‘I didn’t buy you anything,’ he said, looking over her shoulder, his eyes searching through the opened bag.
‘I don’t mind, you can buy me something when you start work and have some money of your own,’ she said, as she opened her purse to reveal a pile of twenty-pound notes, which she folded and tucked under the full ashtray in the centre of the table.
She didn’t leave the kitchen, too afraid to leave her chair. She nervously drank the foul tasting coffee, trying to steady her shaking hands by gripping tightly on the mug. John smiled over at her, making her feel uncomfortable and humiliated. She felt vulnerable as he fixed his wide eyes on hers; she looked away, reaching for her shopping bag she had placed by her feet.
‘I can’t stay, I’ve just nipped out for a bit of last minute shopping as we have friends staying over Christmas and I won’t be able to come up again until they go back home,’ she said, clearing her throat as nervousness gripped her.
He walked behind her as she walked down the scruffy hall and onto the top landing.
‘You take care of yourself and have a nice Christmas,’ she said, walking down the stairs, looking up between the banister rails at John as he leaned over watching he leave by the front door.
Once on the street, her tight body relaxed as she surrounded herself with joyful shoppers mingling around the busy streets in frantic attempts to purchase the last of their supplies before the shops closed for the Christmas period.
The visitation to the flat flooded her mind with fear as memories of the unprovoked attack washed over her like a huge wave.
She called into the corner shop and purchased three packs of butter before walking home through the rapidly melting snow.
She approached the house as George unconcernedly shovelled snow from the drive. He grinned up at her as she walked up to the front door.
‘No broken bones this time,’ he said, as if being aware of where she had secretly gone and the dangerous situation she had placed herself in.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, closing the front door behind her as she went through to the warm and inviting house. She sat at the kitchen table, she hands still shaking as she rested her chin in her clammy palms.
While the kettle boiled, she quickly ran upstairs, checking the two guest rooms in preparation for the families’ expected arrival.
It was after five when they eventually arrived. They had stopped off in York but found themselves held up in heavy traffic as they tried to leave the city. The road to Scarborough was very congested as it had been proved a popular destination for Christmas holidays over the past few years, with many of the larger hotels showing full capacity which was a major boost for the town.
The children ran up to George, throwing their arms around him as Roger parked the car inside the double garage. Barbara went through to the kitchen, kissing Jennifer on the cheek, weighed down with carrier bags full of Christmas presents for the family.
Jennifer enjoyed their twice-yearly visits. She was in her element playing the hostess role and loved having the children in the house, making it come alive with joyfulness and continuous laughter.
They ate their traditional Christmas Day lunch in the dining room, pulling crackers and chatting freely after three bottles of French claret which George had reserved for the occasion.
George and his son went through to the lounge to chat about the business he had inherited from his father, while Barbara and Jennifer cleared the dining room table and washed the dishes, chatting endlessly about the latest fashions and the children.
The children played in the rapidly disappearing snow with Walter, who soon returned wet and exhausted, going to refuge on his blanket by the warm boiler.
The children soon followed, running breathlessly around the kitchen as Barbara took off their wet jackets to dry over the kitchen radiator.
Jennifer stood with her hands in the soapy dishwater, gazing out of the window, feeling short pangs of guilt as she thought of John spending Christmas day alone in his grubby flat.
She was overcome with weariness and rested on the chair by the kitchen table which was littered with wrapping paper the children had brought through from the lounge after opening their presents.
Roger and George walked through to the kitchen, each smoking a large Cuban cigar while they held tightly onto their large brandy bowls, which they presented to Jennifer and Barbara as the children invaded the refrigerator for more Coca Cola.
Barbara put the children to bed, returning to the lounge to continue with the arrangements being made for George and Jennifer to visit them over the summer.
They sat around comfortably by the raging log fire, eating chocolates and drinking dry Martini cocktails before George and Jennifer went to bed, leaving Roger and Barbara to watch a late night movie.
Jennifer was woken by the screaming of children playing in the front garden with Walter in the fresh snow, which had fallen lightly overnight.
George was already up and setting the table in the dining room for breakfast which Barbara was cooking in the kitchen. Roger sat at the desk looking through paperwork as Jennifer looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The wound on her forehead was still visible but the family had not commented. The bruising on her arms and feet had almost disappeared.
She was putting on a brave face throughout the families visit, but inside she felt deeply hurt, her stomach churned constantly and her body shook with a chilling fear when she recalled the day he brutally attacked her.
Barbara had made a large pan of lentil and carrot soup for lunch, which simmered slowly. The smell drifted up the stairs as Jennifer breathed in the aroma as she walked down; preparing her false smile she would need to carry though the day.
Barbara was an excellent cook, spending most of her day in her designer kitchen with the latest of expensive appliances, or sitting under a hairdryer in Blackpool’s most fashionable salon after buying exquisite Italian outfits from an exclusive boutique. She was tall, slim and extremely attractive rather than pretty. Her long jet-black hair always tied back with a red silk ribbon as she trotted about in Italian shoes which were not worth lo
oking at unless they came with a price tag over £200 a pair.
After a hearty breakfast, they all walked down to the beach, the children running ahead pulling poor Walter along on his lead, who was now beginning to show signs of exhaustion after the children’s constant and unrelenting energetic activities.
They drank coffee in the harbour bar, which was surprisingly open and full of people who had come in to warm their bones after walking in the bitterly cold Boxing Day weather.
The promenade was equally as busy as a bank holiday weekend at the height of summer as couples strolled arm in arm past the line of fishing boats moored up as though they had been purposely positioned as a tourist attraction.
The morning wore on as they ambled their way back to the house. George and Roger suggested they called into the Nelson Inn for a quick drink before lunch, but Jennifer and Barbara declined, taking the children back home while the men went into the smoky atmosphere of the pub.
As soon as they reached the house, Jennifer went up to her bedroom. One of her arms, the one that had been badly bruised, felt as though it had been working loose from its socket and her chest ached as though every rib was broken. She breathed in deeply as fresh air rushed into her squeezing and painful lungs. She gasped and spat feebly, then began to sob quietly.
She sat on her bed, folded her arms around her middle and leaned forward, groaning until the aches and pains disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.
She walked slowly downstairs at the same time as George and Roger arrived back from the pub, a little intoxicated, laughing heartily as they came up the drive.
They sat around the dining room table. The soup was perfection, followed by generous portions of chicken breast covered with a rich red wine sauce Barbara had made from the remnants of the unused wine from the previous day.
They ate Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, which had been politely refused from the previous Christmas day lunch.
Roger and George slept in two easy chairs by the fire, Walter alongside as the children played endlessly and tirelessly in the garden.
Barbara had notice that Jennifer looked tired and suggested she went for an afternoon snooze while she cleared the table and cleaned through the kitchen.
Jennifer lay in the large bathtub. The hot water eased her aches and pains, as she lay motionless, tears running down her face, as she wanted so badly to confide in George, explaining every detail of her double life and admitting her deceitful methods she had secretly denied him. She needed reassurance and protection which George was more than capable of giving, but so much time and lost opportunity had passed since she had first become so calculating into her cunning methods that left her with no alternative than to continue carrying her heavy burden, which only herself had been to blame.
Roger and Barbara had booked dinner at the Grand Hotel; a table by the window had been reserved for the six of them, leaving Walter happily in the privacy and quietness of his kitchen corner, undisturbed by excitable children.
They walked down to the hotel, which could be seen from the garden. It was dauntingly large, overlooking the beach and standing majestically above the town. The restaurant was extremely busy as the hotel was full to capacity. Waiters and waitresses scurried around the dining room as they sat patiently for the headwaiter to provide them with menus.
Jennifer gazed out at the grey sea, still and unthreatening, as other diners chatted, depriving themselves of the spectacular view of the open sea which they had travelled so many miles to witness but were more interested in what was placed in front of them.
The meal was satisfactory, but the service had been rushed uncaringly and Roger had found the attitude of the waiter rude and abrasive, as he bitterly complained to the restaurant manager, as the rest of the party waited in the lounge wearing their winter coats, patiently waiting for him to put an end to his ranting and raving so he could accompany them on the short walk back to the house.
Once inside, they all sat in a semi-circle around the fire, Roger still complaining about the waiter’s attitude and the exorbitant cost of the meal, which he considered no better than a transport café lunch. Jennifer envied the children as they slept peacefully in their beds.
John Bell had spent Christmas day alone. He had spent most of the money Jennifer had left for him either in the pub or in the supermarket on cans of larger, which he stored in the kitchen cabinet.
He had hung around the Black Bull pub on Christmas day with other loners of the town, unshaven and dishevelled, sitting in a group at a table by the toilets in the bar.
John had been introduced to a new social circle, the down and outs in the town’s hostel for homeless men.
He spent a lot of his time in the recreation room where he had palled up with most of the residents where he could boast about owning his own self contained flat in town, which many of them regularly visited.
The fine Victorian town of Scarborough had become a popular all-season resort after the local council had spent millions of pounds on regenerating the railway station, the town centre and both north and south bays. It had proved to be an excellent investment, bringing tourists in their droves and encouraging the better heeled to purchase the fine Victorian properties which banked every street.
The crime had been dramatically reduced and all residents played their part in maintaining the cleanliness and hospitality offered to the thousands of tourists who regularly visited.
The down and outs which plague every town were more noticeable in Scarborough and many who had set their ideas of settling in the town were soon discouraged and moved on. The railway station had a zero tolerance level, as did the bus station and many of the public parks which had previously been home to the many vagrants before plans of regeneration were put into force.
John Bell would soon get a bad reputation by loitering around the town centre. It was a small community where people knew people, particularly George and Jennifer, who resided in the most salubrious area of the town and had been residents for over ten years. Any blemish on their respectable reputation would be extremely harmful within the many charities and foundations they regularly supported.
Sylvia Freeman was the past president of the Inner Wheel Society and held a seat on the local county council. She was an extremely influential figure of society in the town and well respected for her charity organisations as well as her nosy and inquisitive manner.
She had seen Jennifer in the Victoria teashop sitting with John when he had become abusive to the waitress.
Jennifer purposely hadn’t introduced her to John, yet Sylvia Freeman set out on her well known mission to discover whom she was associating with at afternoon tea. Tongues had started to wag around the more well connected after sightings of Jennifer had been noticed entering or leaving the premises of John Bell’s flat, yet no one had directly approached her to satisfy their curiosity, but word had reached the ears of Sylvia Freeman, and gossip was now being bandied about at various events and organisations around the town.
Jennifer remained oblivious to the gossip which came out of the mouths of the so called, ‘well to do’ set of the community.
Jennifer was busy preparing a steak and scrambled egg brunch in the kitchen.
Roger and the family were retuning back to Blackpool in the early afternoon, Roger wanting to get well into his four hour drive in as much daylight as possible.
Barbara was upstairs packing their cases, the children played in the lounge with Walter as George was in the garage looking under the bonnet of Roger’s ‘top of the range’ Mercedes he had recently purchased.
The rain hammered down quickly, removing any remnants of snow which had piled at the side of the drive and it had become surprisingly warm for the time of the year.
Jennifer wore her new slippers, a Christmas present from Barbara, and her new gold watch with diamonds around the face, which George had extravagantly bought her.
Walter staggered into the kitchen and drank a whole bowl of water before lying on hi
s rug by Jennifer’s feet as she watched the steaks under the grill. His large spaniel eyes appeared to look up at the kitchen clock as if wishing for the pointers to swiftly spin round so he could return to his normal lazy and quiet life once the family had gone back home. Jennifer smiled down at his little face, sympathising with his sentiments.
George and Roger ran into the kitchen, shaking rain from their hair as they peered under the grill at the sizzling steaks. They were ravishingly hungry, as they had chosen to miss breakfast and go with Jennifer’s suggestion of a midday brunch.
Barbara came through dressed in an expensive green Italian two-piece suit and even more expensive Italian shoes. The silk scarf, which Jennifer had bought her for Christmas, hung loosely over her shoulders but didn’t compliment the design of her suit. Jennifer thought she had worn it out of respect and would immediately remove it once the car had driven out of the drive, never to be worn again or wrapping it up for some deserving old age pensioner while she was on one of her voluntary hospital visits.
They sat down in the dining room and frantically ate their brunch, Roger constantly looking at the time, anxious to make a start on the journey.
Jennifer looked across the table, realising how much he resembled his father in looks and habits and wondering if George had looked like his son forty years earlier.
Jennifer had packed the family a selection of sandwiches and a Dundee cake to avoid them needing to stop off for refreshments en-route.
Roger was extremely grateful for her consideration, Barbara tried hard to share in his gratitude but she had expected a slap-up meal in some five-star hotel in Harrogate.
George and Jennifer waved them off as they reversed out of the drive, the children waving frantically from the back window as the car drove out of sight.
Jennifer clung on to his arm as they walked wearily up to the house.
George made a pot of tea and sliced two pieces of the untouched Christmas cake and carried it through on a silver tray, placing it beside Jennifer who had slumped exhausted in her chair by the fire.
Inseparable Bond Page 46