George poured the tea. The house was suddenly silent as Walter jumped up on Jennifer’s knee, quickly falling into a deep and well deserved sleep.
The Christmas season and festivities were over. Molly was in early the next morning as Jennifer helped her strip the beds, clean the kitchen, polish and vacuum through the house, stopping only briefly for a quick sandwich for lunch.
George took advantage of the unseasonably warm sunny day as he pottered around in the garden with Walter running around his feet.
It was after 3 o’clock by the time Jennifer and Molly were satisfied that the house was back to normal, sighing with relief as they sat at the kitchen table for a well-earned cup of tea. She was deeply grateful for Molly’s hard work and showed her appreciation by giving her a cashmere coat, which had now become too big to fit Jennifer’s tiny frame.
They had both talked non stop all day while they cleaned through the house. Jennifer felt comfortable with Molly as she felt she could talk to her on equal terms.
Molly lived with her ageing mother on a council estate on York Road. Her husband had been a fisherman and shortly after acquiring his own boat there was a tragedy at sea as a Norwegian tanker collided with his boat on a foggy night in the North Sea. His body had never been recovered and a plaque had been placed at the harbour as a memorial of that fateful night.
They hadn’t had children and when her mother became ill, she moved in to nurse her.
She worked three days a week for Jennifer, sometimes four. She worked as cashier at a garage two nights a week through the winter months, substituting this to work as a bingo caller for Carrington’s amusements once the summer season started.
She was prone to go into deep depressions since the death of her husband, but Jennifer had never been aware of this, as she always appeared joyful and chatty.
She had never been the best of cleaners, but she was honest, reliable and very trustworthy and good company for Jennifer.
After her tea and biscuits, Molly left as George came in from the garden. His hands were ice cold as he warmed them on the kitchen radiator.
‘It’s nice to have the house back to ourselves,’ he said, smiling around at Jennifer.
‘Yes, that’s true, but it was nice seeing the family and the boys have grown so big since we saw them last,’ she said, pouring George a cup of tea.
‘Roger wants us to spend New Year with them, I said I would ask you, what do you think?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so, dear. It’s a long way to drive and the weather is so unpredictable, but if you want to go, I’ll be all right here,’ she said as she stirred the sugar into his tea.
‘I wouldn’t leave you here on your own, besides I want to bring in the New Year with you,’ he said, as he rubbed her shoulders with his cold hands.
‘What difference does that make? The past five years we have gone to bed before 12 o’clock and slept the whole way through it,’ she said, smiling up at him.
‘Whatever you say, my dear, I’ll phone him in the morning and give our excuses,’ he said, taking off his coat and hanging it behind the kitchen door.
John Bell laid on his sofa, his head thumping, his eyelids swollen and his face plump from the water retention caused by the past three days of heavily drinking alcohol. His hair was long and greasy, his long fingernails were dirty and he hadn’t shaved for days.
The armchair was occupied by one of his homeless friends from the hostel. They drank warm beer from a can, a further twelve cans sat on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
The two month old three-piece suite was grubby with dark stains on the armrests. Pornographic magazines and videos littered the coffee table as an ashtray brimmed over with cigarette butts spilling onto the dirty carpet.
John and his new-found friend laughed and joked as they made offensive remarks about the pornographic video they watched.
All evidence of Jennifer’s hard work in cleaning, polishing, decorating and furnishing the flat had been replaced with overpowering odours of stale beer, damp, sweaty feet, cigarette smoke and urine. Empty baked bean cans littered the kitchen floor as they had been thrown aimlessly towards the waste bin, missing their intended target.
He had acquired a large selection of modern and fashionable casual shirts and trousers by regularly using his Burtons store card. He sold the garments to his friends at the hostel for half the original price, using the money to keep him supplied in cigarettes.
The payment for the goods was met through a direct debit, which came from Jennifer’s bank account she had set up for him. She had not realised the amount of his expenditure as all statements were posted directly to him, which he discarded as soon as they arrived. She had failed to notice the withdrawals from her bank statement and the excessive payments to the electricity company due to him leaving all electricity appliances on throughout the day and night.
His mobile phone was also paid through Jennifer’s account, but the few people he associated with were not connected which spared her a further extortionate payment.
He had not proved popular in the town, apart from by the salesmen in Burtons men’s outfitters where he would regularly purchase shoes, clothes and watches at over £400 a visit, reselling them for a mere £100, affording him regular nights out in the pub and major popularity with the homeless men who frequently gathered there.
He showed no interest in gaining employment, yet with his dishevelled appearance he would barely stand a chance of being interviewed for any position. He had not registered with the local council or the job centre, which afforded him to spend the day as he chose without any pressure put upon him from social services to gain suitable employment.
He relied heavily on his clothing account and the substantial hand-out from Jennifer each time she visited, but she hadn’t made an appearance for the last six days.
He reached over to the coffee table, vigorously shaking a can of beer before releasing the cap and laughed hysterically as spray from the can covered the back of the sofa.
At the other side of town, Jennifer and George relaxed in the luxurious lounge as they watched television by the roaring fire. The fine lamps and furnishings resembled nothing more or less that a designer showroom, or some specialist in-house boutique dealing in only the very finest of house furnishings for the discerning few.
She was a perfectionist who valued and treasured her home and everything that had been placed within it. She had always been meticulous about cleaning and objected to any cigarette smoke, but made an allowance for George’s occasional cigar.
John Bell had always smoked heavily. She had tolerated his constant cigarette smoke when he stayed with her in Fleetwood, but since she had relocated to Scarborough and furnished the house from new, she had become totally intolerable to any foul odour, apart from polish and disinfectant.
George had always been a conservative clean living man, hard working and astute. He was happier in the garden than the house, realising that it was strictly Jennifer’s domain and respected her for it.
He drank only the very best of malt whisky and smoked expensive Cuban cigars. His other and more sinister vice of seeking casual sex in public toilets was a well-guarded secret to anyone other than the reciprocate.
He was fond and extremely proud of his son. He had always reserved his opinion towards his daughter-in-law Barbara, secretly considering her a bit of a gold digger, who expected the very best out of life, yet contributing very little towards it.
They had a beautiful detached property overlooking Stanley Park in Blackpool, although Barbara shopped in close-by St Annes for the snob value of the town.
Their two boys were schooled privately in Lancaster, returning home each weekend.
Roger was a quiet and studious type of man. Tall and reasonably good looking in a rough sort of way and appeared to enjoy the domination from his wife.
George occasionally passed comment to Jennifer into the amount of money she cost his son in preserving her affluent lifestyle
, insisting the cars were changed every year along with the kitchen appliances and fitments.
Roger was a successful lawyer who could afford to keep his wife in the luxuries she had become accustomed to, although George was secretly against her lavish life style and Roger’s generosity to sustain it.
As George was intensively engrossed in ‘News Night’ on television, Jennifer tried to keep her eyes open as her eyelids became heavier and heavier.
She knew she shouldn’t sleep, that she should go upstairs and climb into bed, but somehow, what with the tiredness and the warmth of the lounge, she wanted to stay relaxed in her chair keeping George company, but sleep became irresistible and she heaved herself out of the chair, kissed George on the forehead and pulled her weary aching body upstairs and slid under the clean white sheets, pulling them tightly around her neck as she quickly fell into a deep and restful sleep.
George watched the news, which highlighted the amount of public concern after the release of two thousand prisoners over the past two months.
Since John had attacked her, Jennifer hadn’t had one undisturbed night of sleep. She endured nightmares, waking up frightened in the middle of the night, feeling vulnerable and alone, going right to the bottom of the bed, to the end and shut her eyes tight and just hope and pray that morning would soon come. She climbed out of bed before the light of day. Still groggy from a restless night, she walked down to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea.
It was typical late December weather. A mistral wind blew in the early morning darkness as Jennifer drank tea staring down at Walter, who was comfortably sleeping. She sat in semi-darkness at the kitchen table, tormented by the desire to sleep and after a while she could endure it no longer.
She slept for another hour, waking as the grey light of the dawn came slowly through the window. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror on the window ledge. There were dark circles under her eyes through lack of sleep. She ran the cold-water tap and swilled her face to freshen herself.
She quickly wiped around the kitchen and went upstairs to make herself presentable.
The toilet flushed in the upstairs bathroom. That was her signal to place the bacon under the grill, which should be just cooked well enough for when George sat at the kitchen table.
A knock came at the kitchen door. Jennifer had never been one for having neighbours popping in for a chat, or perhaps to borrow something. Not because she didn’t want to be friendly, but most of the surrounding neighbours kept themselves to themselves also.
She hesitantly opened the door, noticing Joyce Patterson standing on the front step.
Joyce and Graham lived in the large house next door. They were very much a private couple, splitting the year with six months in Scarborough and six months in Barbados.
They always returned to Scarborough for the Christmas holiday, accommodating the family and grand children over the festive season before returning to their luxurious lifestyle in the Caribbean.
Jennifer invited her in, as George came down the stairs for his breakfast.
‘Hello, Jennifer, sorry to bother you at such an unearthly hour,’ she said.
‘That’s all right, Joyce, come through to the kitchen, I’m just doing George his breakfast,’ she said, as she opened the door to let her through.
George sat down at the table as Jennifer returned to check on the grilling bacon.
‘I don’t want to alarm you both and it’s probably nothing, but Graham looked out of the bedroom widow last night and noticed a man loitering around the front of your house. He called the police immediately but by the time they eventually arrived, the man had fled,’ she said, her eyes searching around the new appliances in the kitchen, taking advantage of her first invitation into Jennifer’s kitchen.
‘Did you get a description of this man?’ George asked her.
‘Well, it was Graham who saw him. He said he was a short, fat-figured man with one of those silly hats with flaps over the ears, he gave a description to the policeman and we didn’t want to bother you as we noticed your lights were out, so presumed you had retired for the evening,’ she said, in her best English etiquette.
Jennifer turned to Joyce, nervousness and fear showing in her eyes. ‘Was he young, was he old?’ Jennifer quickly asked.
I don’t know, like I said it was Graham who saw him, but we thought it was best to let you know as we return to Barbados at the end of the week, so may not have a further opportunity to mention it to you,’ she said, looking over at the plated breakfast with an expression of distaste and disgust.
‘Well, I don’t think its anything to worry about, but we appreciate you informing us,’ George replied.
‘Oh, that’s all right, I won’t stay as you’re about to have your breakfast,’ Joyce said, walking towards the front door.
Jennifer showed her out and returned to the kitchen. She felt her legs weak and unstable, quickly sitting down at the kitchen table. Her hands started to shake and a sense of fear gripped her at the thought of the intruder being John Bell.
‘Did you hear anything, dear?’ George asked her.
‘I didn’t hear a thing, I was asleep before you came upstairs,’ she replied. She racked her brain, trying to recall if a disturbance had woken her in the early morning or was it the nightmare.
‘I don’t think its anything to be concerned about, she probably used that as an excuse so she could have a look around the house, you know what she’s like,’ George said, looking at Jennifer’s shaking hands.
‘Just look what she’s done to you, my darling, you’re shaking as though you have seen a ghost,’ he said, looking anxiously at her shaking hands.
Jennifer went over to the sink, slowly wiping down the draining board as she stared out of the window with mixed feelings of doubt, fear and anger. She looked completely uneasy as she sipped her cup of tea, looking over at the lock and security chain on the back kitchen door.
She walked briskly down the hill towards town after giving George the excuse she needs to browse around the Christmas sales. She tried to rid her mind of John being the intruder, convincing herself that the description Joyce had given could be of anyone, but the detailed description of the hat with the ear warmers appeared too much of a coincidence.
She rang the bell of his flat. He didn’t answer the door but she remained persistent as loud music played from inside. He eventually came to the door, his face ugly with venom.
‘Oh, hello, you remembered where I lived then?’ he said, opening the door.
The smell of body odour, cigarette smoke and stale food was overpowering as she walked through to the kitchen. John Bell was dressed, but unwashed and unshaven. Jennifer sat uneasily on a chair at the kitchen table, pushing aside an open can of half eaten baked beans, making space for her shopping bag.
John Bell dragged his bare feet along the kitchen floor as he filled the kettle with cold water.
She was about to make comment of the condition of the kitchen, but thought better of it.
‘How was your Christmas, dear?’ Jennifer asked, nervously.
‘Good, real good,’ he replied.
‘Did you do anything exciting?’ she asked.
‘I went down the pub and some mates came back here for a few cans,’ he replied.
She reached into her handbag and opened her small red leather purse, revealing a small fold of bank notes, which she placed under the tin of beans. ‘This should keep you going for a while,’ she said, her eyes searching the sticky and heavily stained kitchen floor.
He didn’t make any comment or showed any gratitude for her generosity as he stirred powdered milk into the cheap instant coffee.
‘Did you by any chance walk up to the south cliff last night, John?’ she asked.
‘The south cliff, I don’t know, why do you ask?’ he replied aggressively.
‘No reason, I thought I recognised you or someone similar to you,’ she said.
‘I don’t even know where
the south cliff is,’ he said adamantly.
There was silence for a few moments, John Bell sighed wearily, rubbing his hands through his greasy hair. Jennifer’s gaze went around the kitchen, resting for a while on the grease covered cooker.
It was Saturday morning and she needed to go to the supermarket for food and bin liners. To break the silence, she asked John if he would like to go with her.
John grabbed his dark anorak and his hat with the flaps which covered his ears.
Jennifer felt her tight body relax and her nervousness ease as she leisurely strolled down the High Street, John walking two paces behind her, wearing a bored expression.
They’d been walking for about ten minutes when they came to a small café.
‘Did you have breakfast, dear?’ Jennifer asked him, as he lingered with his hands in his trouser pockets two paces behind her.
‘No, I didn’t and I’m bloody starving,’ he replied.
The smell of home-made scones pervaded in the air and Jennifer took a deep breath. ‘It smells just the kitchen at home when we were children and mother baked, do you remember that, John?’ she said, her eyes searching for an available table.
‘No, I don’t remember that, I didn’t spend much time at home, or have you forgotten?’ he replied, with hostility in his voice.
Jennifer ordered a ham sandwich and a pot of tea for two. John settled for the scrambled eggs on toast.
They ate in silence. She felt very uncomfortable in his company but safe in the presence of other people. After the quick snack, they continued down the High Street until they reached the harbour. Jennifer’s eyes were wide as she watched the seagulls swooped around fishing boats returning to the harbour, unlike John who stared down at the pavement, looking bored and rejected, sniffing loudly in the chilling wind.
John went over to the public toilets and inside the Gent’s entrance, leaving Jennifer to wait with growing impatience outside. Her attention was drawn to a silver BMW, which slowed up beside her as she waited outside the public toilets. The driver lowered the window, leaned over the centre console and said,’ Excuse me, what’s a beautiful woman like you doing down here?’ It was George.
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