Part Eighty Nine
On the Tuesday evening, George was lying in her bath, with her feet propped up on the end, her nail varnish drying. She'd removed every conceivable hair from her beautiful body, and was giving the conditioner in her hair time to work its magic. For ten minutes, therefore, she had time to really think about what she was doing, and what she hopefully would be doing by the end of this evening. She hadn't arrived at this decision lightly. Persuading John to make love to her after all these years wasn't going to be an easy task. but not for nothing had she taken up law, persuasion was a major player in her art after all. She just prayed that he wouldn't for once in his life play hard to get. She needed what he could give her, more than she liked to admit. Ever since that final, awful fight with Neil, she'd made herself numb, cut herself off completely from the feelings that even now she could feel closing in on her. As she reached for her glass of red wine, she was also forced to admit that her old habbit was making itself known to her again. George hadn't felt this unstable for a long time. She was drifting, wholly uninterested in her own life expectancy, and utterly devoid of enthusiasm for anything and everything. Climbing out of the bath a while later, she wasn't all that surprised to see that the bottle she'd started earlier was empty. She knew that she shouldn't really drive after drinking so much, but this was one time that Georgia Channing QC was going to take a risk or two.
John was sitting in his lodgings, listening to the rain pounding the windows and the autumn wind howl down the chimney. A fire crackled in the hearth, transforming the room in to a cosy, inviting place he had no desire to leave. He had various law books spread out around his chair and was doing some in-depth reading for a ruling he had in the morning. He took a sip of the whisky that was near to hand, and reflected that there was certainly something to be said for a quiet life on occasions. He was immersed in the trial transcript from a complex case from 1998 , when there was a knock on his door. Bidding the caller to enter, he put the book down, making sure to mark his place.
"Mrs. Channing, My Lord," Said the man who had been surprised to see Deed's ex at this time of night. John stood up as George came in and they exchanged their usual peck on the cheek. A few spots of rain were clinging to her hair, and her coat was damp as she draped it over one of the chairs surrounding his dining table.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, George?" John asked as she took the armchair opposite his. George seemed surprisingly quiet this evening, but he was enchanted to see her in the little black, very low-cut dress she'd worn for Legover's last party.
"I wondered if you were at a loose end," She said, the half truth evident in her voice. John gestured to the books scattered over the floor.
"As you can see, no I'm not. Why?"
"I felt like some company," Replied George, her confidence in her handling of the situation slipping further every moment but not willing to back out now. John's eyes ran experimentally over her entire form, from her expertly made up face, over the red-painted lips, and down over the curves which were currently displayed to perfection.
"Dressed as you are," He said conversationally, "I'll make an assumption as to what sort of company, though I must admit to being slightly mystified as to why you should come looking to me for that after all these years." This was her biggest stumbling block, the one area of her strategy she hadn't been able to fully work out in advance.
"Does there need to be a reason?" She asked.
"Well, unless it's a good one," He said, "The answer's no. "My life is complicated enough without adding to it." George was surprised, but didn't let it show.
"Oh, don't give me that," She said, slightly scornfully, "When did Mr. Justice Deed ever say no to a decent screw." Examining her face more critically, he caught sight of the slight squint in her eyes, the only visible sign that she'd consumed a large amount of alcohol.
"Have you been drinking?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Because you only ever talk like that when you're drunk."
"Like you said, it's been a long time and I needed some Dutch courage." Slightly questioning his sanity, John said,
"come here," And when she approached his chair, he pulled her gently down to perch on his knee. Then, with his arms round her, he said,
"Now, you tell me what this is all about and maybe, just maybe I will consider your request."
"We're not in court, John."
"That was always one of your fantasies, wasn't it?" George blushed scarlet.
"No, not for a long time!"
"Funny, because I don't believe you." Realising she was being goaded, George attempted to beat him at his own game.
"At least I wasn't the one who actually suggested putting that in to practice." He laughed at the memory.
"Touché. Now, tell me why you came here tonight." George's gaze swiveled away from him and focused on the fire. The flames danced over the apple logs giving the whole room a rich, rosy glow.
"I've forgotten how to feel," She said after a moment's contemplation.
"Ah," Was his only response. "And you think making love is the answer?"
"Anything's worth a try," She said, her mask of indifference slightly slipping to reveal the desperate soul underneath, attempting to cling on to what it knew best.
"Oh, George," He said softly, his arms tightening round her.
"Don't feel sorry for me," She said, knowing that if he was any nicer to her she just might crack altogether. "Just don't do it." Feeling the full force of her need to return to surer ground, yet knowing that doing this might make the situation worse, he said,
"This isn't a good idea, George." Falling back on the last piece of evidence no court could deny, she laid a hand provocatively over the growing bulge in his trousers.
"I don't think your body agrees with you," She said, a smirk playing across those full, red lips that just begged to be kissed. John had been trying to ignore the effect George's close proximity was having on him, but the feel of her in his arms and the erotic aroma of Georgio, she'd never worn any other perfume, was too much for his self-control to stand. Picking up her hand from where it lay so familiarly, he said,
"Who am I to deny the wishes of a lady."
"My thoughts entirely," Said George, leaning down to kiss him. At the first touch of lips, a spark was lit deep inside him. There wasn't anything he didn't know about the body of this beautiful woman, no secret she could hide from him. As he encountered one of her breasts, which fit so perfectly in to the palm of his hand, he still had a small, nagging doubt about what they were doing.
"Are you absolutely sure you want this?" He asked between kisses. In answer, she tugged the chignion from her hair so that it cascaded over her shoulders, the way he'd always preferred it. At this affirmation of what they were agreeing to, they stood up as one and moved towards the stairs, hands and mouths still wandering at will. John tugged at the zip at the back of her dress, and when George stepped out of it, he threw it over the nearest dining chair. As he looked her up and down in the firelight, he was gratified to see a simple black lace bra and the tiniest pair of black panties he thought he'd ever had the pleasure to meet.
"Now I know why you took that dispute over lingerie case," Said George, noting his appraisal of her.
"As the defending barrister," He said silkily. "You really ought to have taken part in the display." As they moved up the stairs, her hand moved to unbuckle his belt. When they reached the top, he unsnapped her bra and casually flung it over the post at the top of the stairs.
When they lay in his large bed, their hands and mouths were everywhere, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies. There was a furious quality about what they were doing. There would be no lingering, seductive courting of the senses, but a rapid spiral of passion ignited still further by every touch. They were almost brutal in their ferocious battle to make the other succumb first.
"Still like the fight, I see," Said John, his voice deeper with lust.
"Don't you remember?" Drawled George. "The fight was always a kind of foreplay. The bigger the fight, the better the post-fight screw."
"And didn't you get enough of either from Lover Boy?"
"Only a perfunctory interest on both counts."
"So that's why you became so vindictive when he appeared on the scene," Said John, lightly nibbling at one of her nipples. "A serious case of sexual frustration."
"Oh, and you think you could have been the perfect cure, do you?"
"Weighing up all the evidence," Said John conversationally, his hand inching downwards, "that being that you came here tonight virtually begging me to make love to you, and that you are now in my bed, I'd say that there couldn't possibly be even a reasonable doubt." As if to support his assertion, he slipped two fingers inside her and grazed her nipple with his teeth, the way she'd often liked it when in one of her sporadic moods of half anger half moroseness. But George soon realised that she was far too tense to really enjoy this. But after all her bravado and persuasion, she wasn't going to back out now. She would just have to hope her old trick would work on John. It had often worked on Neil, because Neil wouldn't know how to excite a woman even if he'd sat through a cabinet meeting on the subject. But would John fall for it, she didn't know.
Even after she'd persuaded him between her legs and encouraged him deep inside her, she still fought him all the way. It was the only way she could disguise her body's clear lack of response to everything she used to enjoy so much from him. Never before had George had to fake it with John, but this time it was a must. She couldn't let him see what a complete wreck she was these days.
"Stop fighting me," He said as he moved inside her. In answer to this, she wrapped her arms and legs round him, as if to keep her from sliding beneath the dull, gray waters of despair. He could feel an alien energy in her, a desperate calling for some kind of fulfillment, maybe even a return to normality.
Afterwards, as they lay slightly apart, George felt deflated. She was utterly ashamed of herself, first for coming here and propositioning John so blatantly, and second for not enjoying what he'd given her. Hoping he would do the same so as to spare her from having to talk, she turned on her side with her back to him and pulled the duvet over her.
"Tell me why you faked it." His words came out of the darkness and hit her like a slap in the face. She became utterly still.
"I didn't," She replied, but knowing she'd hesitated far too long.
"that may have worked on Lover Boy, but I have far too good a memory of your body's reactions for it to work on me."
"People change, John," Said George quietly, still with her back to him.
"Why not turn over and tell me that with conviction." He was goading her in to talking to him, and afterwards she cursed herself for falling for it.
"Why do you always make me feel so small?" She said, turning over to face him, the anger and mortification clear in both her voice and face.
"I don't do it intentionally," he replied, trying to plicate her.
"Sometimes I just hate not being able to hide anything from you."
"George, talk to me. What was tonight really about?"
"When Neil gave me the biggest shock of my life, cutting myself off from anything I felt was the only way to deal with it. Anger and hurt weren't things I needed or even wanted to acknowledge. That bloody trial really did something to me. I've defended some pretty dubious people in my time, but they were by far the worst." George yawned, suddenly feeling tired and vulnerable. John put his arms round her, seeming to sense her need for a post-coital cuddle, not something she had received from Neil for far too long.
"Sometimes I think that's why he took up with me in the first place," Said George, drowsiness both from the sex and the alcohol she'd consumed earlier creeping in to her voice. "Every time an awkward case came up that the government wanted fixed, he volunteered my services. When Brian Cantwell backed out after only two days, Neil was asked if I would perform. It only took one look at the evidence to know they were as guilty as hell."
"So why keep doing it?"
"It was work, and for all his faults he was company of sorts."
"You really didn't expect him to turn violent, did you."
"No, it totally threw me."
"So, you thought that figuratively running away was the best solution." George laughed softly.
"So says the man whose best defence has always been to walk away."
"Sometimes it's preferable to unwanted complications."
"Oh, like having to stay around long enough to form something resembling a relationship."
"Hey, we're supposed to be talking about you here, not me."
"Once you've run away from something, it's hard to go back."
"Start talking in the first person and we might get somewhere." George sat up in total irritation, for the moment forgetting that she wasn't wearing anything, so giving John a perfect display of her assets.
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" She said in disgust. "When Neil took away every shred of pride and self-esteem I had, it was the easiest thing in the world to stop feeling, to cut myself off from every frightening hurtful thing. You know me better than anyone, and you know that feelings of any kind aren't something I do in vast quantities. Only it never quite works like that does it, because it's impossible to turn off something that persists in eating away at you night and day. I feel so flat, I've got absolutely no mental energy and I've forgotten what it's like to feel good about something." Finally running out of steam, George lay back down.
"I thought as much," John said, knowing that his close proximity to her small but heavy breasts, which had jiggled slightly during her tirade would forever be one of his fondest memories. "But I wanted you to say it."
"I can't stand the way you always do this. You manage to see straight through me, I can't hide one little thing from you."
"It's not my fault you wear your heart on your sleeve, George."
"Don't you get it," Said George, the old bitterness returning to her voice. "I'm drifting quite enough as it is at the moment, and your doing this therapy routine on me makes me feel like I've lost control even more." John put his arms round her, gently running a hand up and down her back in an attempt to calm her down.
"I didn't realise this had got to you so much," John said gently.
"I didn't want you too," Said George miserably, her head laid on his chest. John ran his fingers through her hair. Deciding that George was showing all the signs of clinical depression, but knowing that it was more than his life was worth to voice the thought, he simply held her as she gradually fell asleep.
Waking in the early morning, George lay mulling over everything she'd said last night. She loathed herself for having revealed so much of the situation to John. She knew she was close to cracking up altogether, and she thought he could probably see it too. She watched Mimi, who had crept upstairs probably once the fire had gone out, and who was now sleeping soundly on the end of the bed. Allowing her senses to slowly re-enter the land of the living, George's eyes leisurely wandered round the room. When her gaze reached the table on her side of the bed, she became fully alert. Standing there, staring back at her with what, in her half awake state George perceived as disgust and mockery, was a beautifully framed picture of Jo. George reached out a hand and picked up the photograph, bringing it closer to her ever widening eyes. It was clearly of a much younger Jo. Her hair was longer, half way down her back, and she was sat under the shade of an enormous oak tree. George couldn't work out where it had been taken, but it really was beautiful. Even to George's critical eyes, Jo looked stunning. A wave of guilt swept over George as she stared at this photo of the woman John had always loved. She hadn't once thought of Jo last night, and she doubted John had either. Jo had been really good to her recently, really tried to bury the hatchet, especially after what had happened with Neil. How could she have done this to someone who, after all these years of mutual sniping, was actually ready to forget their differences at a time when George had needed someone to listen. George would never admit it to anyone, but ever since she'd known of Jo's existence, she'd always half envied her. Firstly, Jo had been the woman whom John clearly loved over any other, including her. Secondly, Jo had almost always been calm and collected, which always showed George up for being the one who could never control her tongue. But the one thing that had always eaten away at George, was the fact that Jo had always been the perfect mother. Even though Jo had lost her husband to cancer when her two children were very young, she'd coped, and not just by keeping things on an even keel. Jo had brought up her two children not only single handed but successfully. Whereas she, George, the one who wouldn't actually have had to work for a living if she hadn't wanted too, hadn't even managed to look after her daughter full time. If she was honest with herself, John had always been a far better parent than she ever had. Leaving the photograph on top of the duvet, George slipped silently out of bed, hushing a softly stirring Mimi, and put on her clothes.
"George?" Mumbled John. Ignoring him, George swiftly put on her bra and went downstairs to find her dress and shoes. Half way down the stairs, George turned round to look up at him as he got out of bed to follow her.
"Where are you going?" He asked in the midst of a yawn. Instead of directly answering him, George asked,
"Did you even once think about Jo last night?" Looking slightly mystified, John said,
"No, but neither did you."
"I know," Said George, and the solemn edge of guilt was there for anyone to hear. George turned and walked the rest of the way downstairs and plucked her dress off the back of the chair where John had draped it in the midst of last night's heated passion. Pulling on yesterday's pair of discarded trousers, he followed her.
"What made you think about Jo of all people?" John asked when he appeared in the lounge. George located her shoes and shoved her feet in to them.
"I didn't realise till this morning that we had an audience in the form of her picture."
"Guilt isn't usually one of your vices, George."
"Well, maybe it's about time it was." George picked up her coat and walked out of the door without a backwards glance. Wondering just who this woman was who was suddenly feeling guilty for doing something wrong to someone else after all these years, John walked to the window and watched her move out from under the porch and towards her car. As she roared away and John went upstairs to take a shower, he wondered just what was happening to George. She was incredibly mixed up and he really didn't know the best way to help her. He just prayed that she wasn't about to do what she'd done after Charlie was born.
On the Tuesday evening, George was lying in her bath, with her feet propped up on the end, her nail varnish drying. She'd removed every conceivable hair from her beautiful body, and was giving the conditioner in her hair time to work its magic. For ten minutes, therefore, she had time to really think about what she was doing, and what she hopefully would be doing by the end of this evening. She hadn't arrived at this decision lightly. Persuading John to make love to her after all these years wasn't going to be an easy task. but not for nothing had she taken up law, persuasion was a major player in her art after all. She just prayed that he wouldn't for once in his life play hard to get. She needed what he could give her, more than she liked to admit. Ever since that final, awful fight with Neil, she'd made herself numb, cut herself off completely from the feelings that even now she could feel closing in on her. As she reached for her glass of red wine, she was also forced to admit that her old habbit was making itself known to her again. George hadn't felt this unstable for a long time. She was drifting, wholly uninterested in her own life expectancy, and utterly devoid of enthusiasm for anything and everything. Climbing out of the bath a while later, she wasn't all that surprised to see that the bottle she'd started earlier was empty. She knew that she shouldn't really drive after drinking so much, but this was one time that Georgia Channing QC was going to take a risk or two.
John was sitting in his lodgings, listening to the rain pounding the windows and the autumn wind howl down the chimney. A fire crackled in the hearth, transforming the room in to a cosy, inviting place he had no desire to leave. He had various law books spread out around his chair and was doing some in-depth reading for a ruling he had in the morning. He took a sip of the whisky that was near to hand, and reflected that there was certainly something to be said for a quiet life on occasions. He was immersed in the trial transcript from a complex case from 1998 , when there was a knock on his door. Bidding the caller to enter, he put the book down, making sure to mark his place.
"Mrs. Channing, My Lord," Said the man who had been surprised to see Deed's ex at this time of night. John stood up as George came in and they exchanged their usual peck on the cheek. A few spots of rain were clinging to her hair, and her coat was damp as she draped it over one of the chairs surrounding his dining table.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, George?" John asked as she took the armchair opposite his. George seemed surprisingly quiet this evening, but he was enchanted to see her in the little black, very low-cut dress she'd worn for Legover's last party.
"I wondered if you were at a loose end," She said, the half truth evident in her voice. John gestured to the books scattered over the floor.
"As you can see, no I'm not. Why?"
"I felt like some company," Replied George, her confidence in her handling of the situation slipping further every moment but not willing to back out now. John's eyes ran experimentally over her entire form, from her expertly made up face, over the red-painted lips, and down over the curves which were currently displayed to perfection.
"Dressed as you are," He said conversationally, "I'll make an assumption as to what sort of company, though I must admit to being slightly mystified as to why you should come looking to me for that after all these years." This was her biggest stumbling block, the one area of her strategy she hadn't been able to fully work out in advance.
"Does there need to be a reason?" She asked.
"Well, unless it's a good one," He said, "The answer's no. "My life is complicated enough without adding to it." George was surprised, but didn't let it show.
"Oh, don't give me that," She said, slightly scornfully, "When did Mr. Justice Deed ever say no to a decent screw." Examining her face more critically, he caught sight of the slight squint in her eyes, the only visible sign that she'd consumed a large amount of alcohol.
"Have you been drinking?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Because you only ever talk like that when you're drunk."
"Like you said, it's been a long time and I needed some Dutch courage." Slightly questioning his sanity, John said,
"come here," And when she approached his chair, he pulled her gently down to perch on his knee. Then, with his arms round her, he said,
"Now, you tell me what this is all about and maybe, just maybe I will consider your request."
"We're not in court, John."
"That was always one of your fantasies, wasn't it?" George blushed scarlet.
"No, not for a long time!"
"Funny, because I don't believe you." Realising she was being goaded, George attempted to beat him at his own game.
"At least I wasn't the one who actually suggested putting that in to practice." He laughed at the memory.
"Touché. Now, tell me why you came here tonight." George's gaze swiveled away from him and focused on the fire. The flames danced over the apple logs giving the whole room a rich, rosy glow.
"I've forgotten how to feel," She said after a moment's contemplation.
"Ah," Was his only response. "And you think making love is the answer?"
"Anything's worth a try," She said, her mask of indifference slightly slipping to reveal the desperate soul underneath, attempting to cling on to what it knew best.
"Oh, George," He said softly, his arms tightening round her.
"Don't feel sorry for me," She said, knowing that if he was any nicer to her she just might crack altogether. "Just don't do it." Feeling the full force of her need to return to surer ground, yet knowing that doing this might make the situation worse, he said,
"This isn't a good idea, George." Falling back on the last piece of evidence no court could deny, she laid a hand provocatively over the growing bulge in his trousers.
"I don't think your body agrees with you," She said, a smirk playing across those full, red lips that just begged to be kissed. John had been trying to ignore the effect George's close proximity was having on him, but the feel of her in his arms and the erotic aroma of Georgio, she'd never worn any other perfume, was too much for his self-control to stand. Picking up her hand from where it lay so familiarly, he said,
"Who am I to deny the wishes of a lady."
"My thoughts entirely," Said George, leaning down to kiss him. At the first touch of lips, a spark was lit deep inside him. There wasn't anything he didn't know about the body of this beautiful woman, no secret she could hide from him. As he encountered one of her breasts, which fit so perfectly in to the palm of his hand, he still had a small, nagging doubt about what they were doing.
"Are you absolutely sure you want this?" He asked between kisses. In answer, she tugged the chignion from her hair so that it cascaded over her shoulders, the way he'd always preferred it. At this affirmation of what they were agreeing to, they stood up as one and moved towards the stairs, hands and mouths still wandering at will. John tugged at the zip at the back of her dress, and when George stepped out of it, he threw it over the nearest dining chair. As he looked her up and down in the firelight, he was gratified to see a simple black lace bra and the tiniest pair of black panties he thought he'd ever had the pleasure to meet.
"Now I know why you took that dispute over lingerie case," Said George, noting his appraisal of her.
"As the defending barrister," He said silkily. "You really ought to have taken part in the display." As they moved up the stairs, her hand moved to unbuckle his belt. When they reached the top, he unsnapped her bra and casually flung it over the post at the top of the stairs.
When they lay in his large bed, their hands and mouths were everywhere, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies. There was a furious quality about what they were doing. There would be no lingering, seductive courting of the senses, but a rapid spiral of passion ignited still further by every touch. They were almost brutal in their ferocious battle to make the other succumb first.
"Still like the fight, I see," Said John, his voice deeper with lust.
"Don't you remember?" Drawled George. "The fight was always a kind of foreplay. The bigger the fight, the better the post-fight screw."
"And didn't you get enough of either from Lover Boy?"
"Only a perfunctory interest on both counts."
"So that's why you became so vindictive when he appeared on the scene," Said John, lightly nibbling at one of her nipples. "A serious case of sexual frustration."
"Oh, and you think you could have been the perfect cure, do you?"
"Weighing up all the evidence," Said John conversationally, his hand inching downwards, "that being that you came here tonight virtually begging me to make love to you, and that you are now in my bed, I'd say that there couldn't possibly be even a reasonable doubt." As if to support his assertion, he slipped two fingers inside her and grazed her nipple with his teeth, the way she'd often liked it when in one of her sporadic moods of half anger half moroseness. But George soon realised that she was far too tense to really enjoy this. But after all her bravado and persuasion, she wasn't going to back out now. She would just have to hope her old trick would work on John. It had often worked on Neil, because Neil wouldn't know how to excite a woman even if he'd sat through a cabinet meeting on the subject. But would John fall for it, she didn't know.
Even after she'd persuaded him between her legs and encouraged him deep inside her, she still fought him all the way. It was the only way she could disguise her body's clear lack of response to everything she used to enjoy so much from him. Never before had George had to fake it with John, but this time it was a must. She couldn't let him see what a complete wreck she was these days.
"Stop fighting me," He said as he moved inside her. In answer to this, she wrapped her arms and legs round him, as if to keep her from sliding beneath the dull, gray waters of despair. He could feel an alien energy in her, a desperate calling for some kind of fulfillment, maybe even a return to normality.
Afterwards, as they lay slightly apart, George felt deflated. She was utterly ashamed of herself, first for coming here and propositioning John so blatantly, and second for not enjoying what he'd given her. Hoping he would do the same so as to spare her from having to talk, she turned on her side with her back to him and pulled the duvet over her.
"Tell me why you faked it." His words came out of the darkness and hit her like a slap in the face. She became utterly still.
"I didn't," She replied, but knowing she'd hesitated far too long.
"that may have worked on Lover Boy, but I have far too good a memory of your body's reactions for it to work on me."
"People change, John," Said George quietly, still with her back to him.
"Why not turn over and tell me that with conviction." He was goading her in to talking to him, and afterwards she cursed herself for falling for it.
"Why do you always make me feel so small?" She said, turning over to face him, the anger and mortification clear in both her voice and face.
"I don't do it intentionally," he replied, trying to plicate her.
"Sometimes I just hate not being able to hide anything from you."
"George, talk to me. What was tonight really about?"
"When Neil gave me the biggest shock of my life, cutting myself off from anything I felt was the only way to deal with it. Anger and hurt weren't things I needed or even wanted to acknowledge. That bloody trial really did something to me. I've defended some pretty dubious people in my time, but they were by far the worst." George yawned, suddenly feeling tired and vulnerable. John put his arms round her, seeming to sense her need for a post-coital cuddle, not something she had received from Neil for far too long.
"Sometimes I think that's why he took up with me in the first place," Said George, drowsiness both from the sex and the alcohol she'd consumed earlier creeping in to her voice. "Every time an awkward case came up that the government wanted fixed, he volunteered my services. When Brian Cantwell backed out after only two days, Neil was asked if I would perform. It only took one look at the evidence to know they were as guilty as hell."
"So why keep doing it?"
"It was work, and for all his faults he was company of sorts."
"You really didn't expect him to turn violent, did you."
"No, it totally threw me."
"So, you thought that figuratively running away was the best solution." George laughed softly.
"So says the man whose best defence has always been to walk away."
"Sometimes it's preferable to unwanted complications."
"Oh, like having to stay around long enough to form something resembling a relationship."
"Hey, we're supposed to be talking about you here, not me."
"Once you've run away from something, it's hard to go back."
"Start talking in the first person and we might get somewhere." George sat up in total irritation, for the moment forgetting that she wasn't wearing anything, so giving John a perfect display of her assets.
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" She said in disgust. "When Neil took away every shred of pride and self-esteem I had, it was the easiest thing in the world to stop feeling, to cut myself off from every frightening hurtful thing. You know me better than anyone, and you know that feelings of any kind aren't something I do in vast quantities. Only it never quite works like that does it, because it's impossible to turn off something that persists in eating away at you night and day. I feel so flat, I've got absolutely no mental energy and I've forgotten what it's like to feel good about something." Finally running out of steam, George lay back down.
"I thought as much," John said, knowing that his close proximity to her small but heavy breasts, which had jiggled slightly during her tirade would forever be one of his fondest memories. "But I wanted you to say it."
"I can't stand the way you always do this. You manage to see straight through me, I can't hide one little thing from you."
"It's not my fault you wear your heart on your sleeve, George."
"Don't you get it," Said George, the old bitterness returning to her voice. "I'm drifting quite enough as it is at the moment, and your doing this therapy routine on me makes me feel like I've lost control even more." John put his arms round her, gently running a hand up and down her back in an attempt to calm her down.
"I didn't realise this had got to you so much," John said gently.
"I didn't want you too," Said George miserably, her head laid on his chest. John ran his fingers through her hair. Deciding that George was showing all the signs of clinical depression, but knowing that it was more than his life was worth to voice the thought, he simply held her as she gradually fell asleep.
Waking in the early morning, George lay mulling over everything she'd said last night. She loathed herself for having revealed so much of the situation to John. She knew she was close to cracking up altogether, and she thought he could probably see it too. She watched Mimi, who had crept upstairs probably once the fire had gone out, and who was now sleeping soundly on the end of the bed. Allowing her senses to slowly re-enter the land of the living, George's eyes leisurely wandered round the room. When her gaze reached the table on her side of the bed, she became fully alert. Standing there, staring back at her with what, in her half awake state George perceived as disgust and mockery, was a beautifully framed picture of Jo. George reached out a hand and picked up the photograph, bringing it closer to her ever widening eyes. It was clearly of a much younger Jo. Her hair was longer, half way down her back, and she was sat under the shade of an enormous oak tree. George couldn't work out where it had been taken, but it really was beautiful. Even to George's critical eyes, Jo looked stunning. A wave of guilt swept over George as she stared at this photo of the woman John had always loved. She hadn't once thought of Jo last night, and she doubted John had either. Jo had been really good to her recently, really tried to bury the hatchet, especially after what had happened with Neil. How could she have done this to someone who, after all these years of mutual sniping, was actually ready to forget their differences at a time when George had needed someone to listen. George would never admit it to anyone, but ever since she'd known of Jo's existence, she'd always half envied her. Firstly, Jo had been the woman whom John clearly loved over any other, including her. Secondly, Jo had almost always been calm and collected, which always showed George up for being the one who could never control her tongue. But the one thing that had always eaten away at George, was the fact that Jo had always been the perfect mother. Even though Jo had lost her husband to cancer when her two children were very young, she'd coped, and not just by keeping things on an even keel. Jo had brought up her two children not only single handed but successfully. Whereas she, George, the one who wouldn't actually have had to work for a living if she hadn't wanted too, hadn't even managed to look after her daughter full time. If she was honest with herself, John had always been a far better parent than she ever had. Leaving the photograph on top of the duvet, George slipped silently out of bed, hushing a softly stirring Mimi, and put on her clothes.
"George?" Mumbled John. Ignoring him, George swiftly put on her bra and went downstairs to find her dress and shoes. Half way down the stairs, George turned round to look up at him as he got out of bed to follow her.
"Where are you going?" He asked in the midst of a yawn. Instead of directly answering him, George asked,
"Did you even once think about Jo last night?" Looking slightly mystified, John said,
"No, but neither did you."
"I know," Said George, and the solemn edge of guilt was there for anyone to hear. George turned and walked the rest of the way downstairs and plucked her dress off the back of the chair where John had draped it in the midst of last night's heated passion. Pulling on yesterday's pair of discarded trousers, he followed her.
"What made you think about Jo of all people?" John asked when he appeared in the lounge. George located her shoes and shoved her feet in to them.
"I didn't realise till this morning that we had an audience in the form of her picture."
"Guilt isn't usually one of your vices, George."
"Well, maybe it's about time it was." George picked up her coat and walked out of the door without a backwards glance. Wondering just who this woman was who was suddenly feeling guilty for doing something wrong to someone else after all these years, John walked to the window and watched her move out from under the porch and towards her car. As she roared away and John went upstairs to take a shower, he wondered just what was happening to George. She was incredibly mixed up and he really didn't know the best way to help her. He just prayed that she wasn't about to do what she'd done after Charlie was born.