Panic and adrenalin raced through her body as she quickly looked around at the entrance to the Gents, quickly getting into the passenger seat alongside him. Her heart was racing rapidly in case John walked outside and George noticed him, it seemed an age before he eventually drove off towards the north shore. She sighed with sheer relief, sitting back in the seat, her hands covering her face as she swallowed the lump in her throat, breathing rapidly. Her face lit up for a second before her eyes started to twitch nervously, closing them tightly as a deep sigh left her lips.
The very thought of a confrontation between George and John was simply unimaginable, particularly as George was under the impression that John was still safely behind the high walls of Armley prison.
‘Are you all right, dear? Your hands are shaking,’ George asked, as he drove slowly around the North Bay.
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine, just a little cold, that’s all,’ she replied, trying desperately to regain her breathing to its normal rhythm.
‘What were you doing down by the harbour? I thought you were going shopping for bin liners,’ he asked, reaching over to squeeze her shaking hand.
‘The town was so busy that I decided to take a stroll around the boats, you know how I love it down there,’ she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her handkerchief.
‘But I could ask you the same question, you told me you try to avoid driving down by the harbour,’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Yes, I do, but like you say, the town was so busy and roads in town are very congested, so I came this way to avoid the rush,’ he said confidently.
Well, where are you going? You didn’t say you were going out,’ she asked.
‘I didn’t know I was going out either, but the garden centre in Bridlington just phoned to say the lawnmower is ready and I’m on my way to collect it, so you can come with me,’ he said, smiling over at her as she regained her breath.
She nervously chattered, her hands tightly gripping her shopping bag which rested on her knees. George frowned as he noted the changing expressions on her face.
Her mind was on John, not on George’s possible intention to visit the public toilets being interrupted by her presence.
As they left the North Bay Road, John Bell stood outside the toilets looking up and down the promenade, his eyes searching for Jennifer as she had just disappeared out of sight. He walked around the toilet block, shouting for her through the door of the Ladies toilet. He waited for ten minutes and went across the road to the Black Bull pub, sitting by the window looking over at the toilets in case she reappeared.
George drove swiftly along the coast road as Jennifer’s fingers nervously pecked at her lips, still being flustered after the dangerously close encounter.
The Bridlington garden centre was expecting his arrival, assuring Jennifer that his explanation had been genuine. The lawnmower was placed in the back of the car while Jennifer went over to a local shop to purchase the bin liners.
It was a clear afternoon but bitterly cold as they drove back along the coast road to Scarborough. There was an awkward silence in the car once George had stopped complaining about the service cost of his lawnmower.
Once they were home, they sat quietly drinking tea in the lounge, each wrapped up in their own thoughts and neither knowing what they were thinking about. Jennifer was sitting quietly in her chair by the fire, a romantic novel open on her knee as Walter sat beside her.
George was in the hall straightening his jacket and correcting his tie, as he was about to leave for the weekly Rotary meeting at the St Nicholas Hotel.
Jennifer would eat a plate of cheese and biscuits as George would have his supper at the hotel with the other members, getting back home about eleven rather worse for wear after a few too many whisky’s.
He left the house at 7 o’clock exactly and walked the short distance to the hotel as Jennifer made herself comfortable on the settee as Walter lay on her tiny feet. Images of the incident outside the public toilets earlier in the day flickered through her mind like a silent movie.
She was becoming desperate for the return of her happy and carefree life as she remembered it. She had realised that the dishonesty, lies, deceit and constant upset which had destroyed her perfect life, had only occurred since John had been released from prison.
He had shown himself to be a selfish, ungrateful and violent individual and Jennifer had nothing but contempt for him. What she failed to recognise was that the disruption and deceit which had entered her life had been self-inflicted, but she admitted to herself that she had been foolish in providing so generously for her wayward brother.
Since he had attacked her, there had been a distinct cooling between them and she had come to fear him, a fear she was not prepared to endure for very much longer. She was determined to rid herself of this disruptive path of destruction before it was allowed to affect her life any further.
She lay on the settee in the darkness, the lounge lit only by the amber glow from the outside street lamp. The house was deathly quiet. The only sounds had been the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the occasional splutter from the coal fire. The wind had ceased and the sea was still and silent.
She lay on the settee, gazing into the fire, biting on her knuckles, fear and anguish written all over her face. A battle had been raging in her head over the past two months, denying her sleep, happiness and contentment and her courage appeared to have deserted her.
It was just after 11 o’clock when she heard George’s key in the lock. She quickly raised her body from the settee, plumped the cushions and returned back to her chair by the fire. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and she could feel the warmth of it on her lips.
‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’ George said, switching the light on as he entered the lounge.
‘I must have fallen asleep,’ she replied, wiping the tear from her eye with the back of her hand. She looked around at him with admiration. He was so efficient and full of confidence, unlike herself who seemed to have lost the will to live.
George poured himself a large malt whisky and sat down heavily in the armchair, kicking his shoes off and resting his feet on the footstool.
Jennifer sat with him for half an hour before going up to bed in the hope of an undisturbed nights sleep. She climbed under the crisp white sheets; her mind was in a whirl as she gazed up at the ceiling.
George tied the cord in his pyjama trousers before throwing the bedclothes back and climbing into bed. Jennifer nestled into his warm and comfortable body, making her feel safe and protected. He kissed her gently on her forehead, as if all was right with the world.
Jennifer listened to his breathing, and when she was sure he was fast asleep she turned on her side, her arm reached out to turn off the bedside lamp.
Jennifer tossed and turned all night, woken by the howling wind which raced in from the sea. Slowly, so as not to disturb George, she slid out of bed and reached for her gown. She quietly closed the bedroom door behind her and went down to the lounge, peering through the Christmas tree at the rough sea and swaying branches on the trees.
It was early and the grey light of dawn was just coming up over the horizon. She noticed a man standing at the gate of Joyce and Graham’s house next door. She peered through the branches of the wilting Christmas tree at the stranger, fearful that it was her brother, but realised it was only her imagination as the blond haired man gripped his child by the hand while he held a dog lead with the other.
Jennifer paced up and down the lounge as Walter watched her every step. Her face was ashen white with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her thoughts of the previous night swilled around in her head. She stood on tiptoe as she leaned towards the mirror above the fireplace, resting one hand on the mantelpiece as she peered at the reflection of her red and tired eyes which had been deprived from sleep.
She ran her trembling hands through her thinning hair and ran her fingers along the lines across her forehead as if to iron them out wit
h her touch.
She returned to the window, peering through with hesitation. She folded her thin arms across her flat chest, her nostrils flared and her normally large eyes were now slits as the bright early morning sun broke through a gap in the heavy clouds, streaming a strong beam of light into the lounge.
George could see the tiredness in Jennifer’s face as she washed the breakfast dishes, leaning her weary body against the sink unit. He gazed across, looking at her drooping shoulders and the troubled expression of her face but unsure why she appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. He had provided for her in every way possible, with every conceivable luxury she could ask for.
He finished his breakfast and went over to her, placing his hands around her slim waist. She wiped her hands on her apron, turning to him with a smile, which creased her thin face, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.
Another restless night seemed to have aged her by ten years. George was getting increasingly concerned as he sat her down at the kitchen table.
‘I think you should go and see the doctor, dear, only for a check-up,’ he suggested.
‘It’s called old age, George, that’s all. It comes to us all,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Well, I think you should see him all the same. You’ve been tired, depressed and lethargic and he could prescribe a tonic,’ he said, looking into her tired eyes.
‘Well, if it makes you happy, I’ll phone him after I’ve finished washing up,’ she said.
An appointment had been made for 2.30pm. George drove her to the medical centre and sat reading magazines in the waiting room while Jennifer went through to the surgery.
The doctor checked her blood pressure, listened to her breathing and took a sample of blood. It was only when he pressed his hands on her thin stomach that she writhed in discomfort, although she tried not to show it. Jennifer was biting her knuckles as he poked and prodded around her small flat tummy.
‘How long have you had this pain?’ the doctor asked her.
‘Oh, not long, I think it’s just a bit of constipation,’ she said.
‘I can see a slight bruising here. Have you knocked yourself recently?’ he said.
‘Well, I did have a slight fall two weeks ago but I’m getting better by the day,’ she said confidently, swinging her legs off the examination table and slowly standing up.
The doctor asked her to get dressed as he wrote out a prescription at his desk. ‘I want you to take these three times a day, a couple of days bed rest wouldn’t harm and if the pain persists, I want you to come back to me next week,’ he said, passing her the prescription order.
She walked back to the waiting room where George anxiously waited.
‘I told you it was nothing,’ she said, clinging onto his arm as they left the surgery.
‘He’s prescribed some vitamin tablets and suggested I rest for a couple of days,’ she said, passing him the prescription. She purposely didn’t mention the stomach pains.
George went over to the pharmacy while she waited in the car. She nervously bit her lip so hard she could taste blood inside her mouth.
George put her to bed straight away. Jennifer wasn’t over concerned about the possibility of undergoing a serious stomach operation, as the doctor would have admitted her to hospital if he thought it had been serious.
She made an effort at normal conversation as George tucked her arms under the bed sheets, pulling them tightly up to her chin and drawing the bedroom curtains.
THE FINAL BLOW
Jennifer slept peacefully in the warm dark bedroom, a large vase of red roses were by her bed which George had brought up for her while she was sleeping.
He wasn’t as restful. He gazed out of the kitchen window, worried about her failing condition, thinking that even the slightest of illness was concerning as her age was against her. If she had been a younger person, he would not hesitate in thinking she would make a full recovery. As she was over 70, although the visit to the doctor had reassured him, he would keep an eye on her progress.
The following day she looked exactly as she had the previous day, her face white and drawn.
Molly had asked for the week off, taking her mother for a midweek break to Bournemouth. With Jennifer being incapacitated, the house needed a good dusting and tidying, he’d let it build up since Jennifer had been in bed and Molly away for the week. He was far from domesticated, had never needed to be, but he set about the task in the women’s absence, resting at regular intervals to catch his breath.
On the fourth day. George carried her breakfast tray up the stairs, containing her poached eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice, surprised at seeing her sat up in bed, her elbows leaning on the pillow. Her eyes were wide and bright as she gazed through the window at the swooping seagulls.
‘Well, you look remarkably better,’ George said, resting her breakfast tray on the bed.
‘I feel fine, really fine. I think I’ll get up after breakfast. I certainly need some fresh air,’ she said, throwing the covers off the bed.
Whatever had ailed her had gone as quickly as it had arrived. George was greatly relieved to have her back to her normal self. She took a leisurely bath before dressing and coming downstairs. She smiled at George as she ran her finger through the dust on the dresser in the lounge, as her eyes looked at the dirty film on the bay window.
The weather was fine and unseasonably warm for the end of January as George held tightly onto her arm as they walked through the High Street.
The fine sunny weather seemed to have brought everybody out and the town was crowded with shoppers as they slowly ambled their way through Scarborough’s Victorian market, looking up at the bright flower baskets hanging at intervals between the shops. They strolled down to the harbour and Jennifer breathed in deeply as she reached the shore.
George purchased two portions of prawns from the harbour fish bar. They sat on a bench opposite the Black Bull pub, looking across the deserted beach.
George looked at the high slope leading to their house on the south cliff. He tucked her woollen scarf into her coat collar.
‘You stay here and watch the fishing boats while I go and get the car,’ he said. ‘It’ll save you walking up the slope.’
As George walked back to collect the car, she noticed a dishevelled vagrant frantically searching through a rubbish bin attached the beach railings. She was repulsed at seeing him eating the remains of potato chips, which had been correctly disposed of. She felt mixed feelings of disgust and pity, watching him frantically eating the food from the palm of his hand. Seagulls hovered nearby in anticipation of a quick snack as he went from bin to bin, rooting through them, which lined the promenade.
She thought to herself how fortunate she had been in her life, being provided for so generously by George and her husband, never needing to concern herself into where the next meal was coming from.
Watching the vagrant slouching along the pavement, her mind went to her brother John, thinking he shared a similarity in appearance and habits.
It saddened her to think that the vagrant would have probably been denied a caring and supportive family, past associates not knowing where he was or where he lived, if he were alive or if he were dead.
It suddenly occurred to her that she was the only person in John’s life who knew of his existence. He had not registered with the county council, or social services, or the job centre or even the landlord of his flat. She was the only person to know if he were alive or dead, apart from the social worker who appeared to show little interest in his rehabilitation, probably due to the excessive workload which had been placed on her.
The vagrant staggered over the road, walking towards the town centre as George pulled up alongside her in the car.
Her thoughts and feelings had been so intense that she had difficulty clearing them from her mind.
George pottered around in the garden with Walter as she prepared the vegetables for the lamb casserole, secretly fanta
sising a series of sinister plans to rid her of her fearful brother. She felt no remorse at her evil and calculating thoughts. She was prepared to go to any lengths to make a speedy return to her idyllic life she lovingly remembered, realising that she didn’t have many years left and her health appeared to be failing.
Her eyes were wild and seemed to spark as if electrified as she smiled, although she felt like she was actually crying inside.
George knocked the dirt from his wellington boots, leaving them by the back door as he came through to the warm kitchen. Walter raced over to his bowl of minced beef and dog biscuits, George placed his cold hands around Jennifer’s tiny waist, fleetingly observing her smile and regained smooth complexion.
George poured himself a large glass of malt whisky and stared out of the lounge window at the early evening mist rolling in from the sea.
Both George and Jennifer lived secret hidden lives, but shared their pretence. That’s why they had laughed and enjoyed so many years of happiness, because they both secretly liked pretending so much and the few lies and deceit didn’t seem to matter so much. All that mattered was that they enjoyed each other’s company.
Jennifer woke from the best undisturbed sleep she had experienced for weeks. She woke up fresh and alert, cleaning through the house while the sheets and towels tumbled around in the washing machine.
It was a glorious day. The bright sun shone over the front garden like a searchlight, but the wind was chilly with a smell of rain in the air.
George and Walter inspected the abundance of spring flowers which had become confused by the unusually mild winter. The garden would soon become a blaze of colour unless a sharp frost killed off the immature growth of the newly formed buds.
George searched between the winter bushes with a great satisfaction of accomplishment before dragging the recently serviced lawnmower from the shed for its first cutting of the year.
They both celebrated their constructive day with a bottle of chilled Chablis, which they drank with their leg of lamb she had slowly cooked for supper. George took a further bath and dressed ready for his weekly Rotary meeting.
Inseparable Bond Page 48