A/N: All lyrics contained within belong to Martina McBride, and I have to thank Henny for introducing me to her.
Part One Hundred And Seven
As Jo drove towards George's house on the Friday evening, she couldn't help but feel some concern. It wasn't like George to leave one of her case files behind on the defense bench, which is why she was now returning it. But this wasn't all, George's old swagger seemed to have gone. She had without doubt defended her case to a satisfactory level, but the old anger, the old spite that usually seemed to fuel every one of George's arguments just hadn't been there. She'd looked thinner, paler, as if she was outwardly as well as inwardly fading. Nothing had been able to raise a smile, and those usually expressive eyes had remained dull. If Jo was honest, George had been going slowly down hill ever since the break up with Neil. But the change in George seemed to have increased. Something had happened recently to suddenly make George have as little contact with Jo as possible. Prior to the Merriman/Atkins trial, this would have been nothing new, but Jo had thought that with the advent of Karen Betts' case, they were beginning to forge some kind of understanding. All Jo could think was that she had said or done something to put George back to square one where their tentative attempt at friendship was concerned. She turned in to George's driveway and took a brief moment to marshall her thoughts. In the old days, she wouldn't have cared one way or the other about even attempting to get on with George, but the goal posts had moved. It had been Jo's instinctive reaction to drop all antagonism towards her when she'd been presented with George's undoing from the black-eye. It hadn't taken rocket science for Jo to realise that George had been utterly thrown by what Neil had done to her. Neil's resorting to violence had shocked George enough to allow herself to lose control in front of Jo, something that ordinarily would have been against anything George stood for. But then they'd begun working on Karen Betts' case, with George digging up an enormous amount of dirt on Fenner. Jo knew that she'd become too emotionally involved with that case, and George had been there to pick up the pieces when Jo had failed to get Helen Stewart on board. So what had happened, Jo couldn't begin to imagine.
As she walked up the steps, the case file under her arm, she resolved to try and sort out whatever the problem was. She had a feeling of severe reluctance to go back to the way they'd been with each other before the Merriman/Atkins trial. She pressed the doorbell and waited. As George drew nearer the front door, Jo was greeted to the deep, confident sound of George singing. The upper class drawl was gone, the bite of sarcasm was gone. But maybe it was the words that were most significant.
"Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world. Love's the only house big enough for all the pain." Was this what George really thought, or were they simply the words to whatever song she was listening too. When George opened the door, she looked surprised to see Jo. She schooled her face in to the most noncommittal expression possible, but Jo hadn't missed the brief grimace that had passed over the other woman's countenance.
"You left this on the defence bench," Said Jo, holding up the file. George opened the door wider and gestured for Jo to come in.
"Thank you," She said, taking the file. "I wondered where I'd left that." In the old days, had Jo done such a thing as to return a forgotten file, George would have asked her if she'd taken the opportunity to view its contents, especially considering the fact that they were on opposite sides of the case, but not any more. For a start, George knew that Jo wouldn't apply the same unprofessional tactics as she would, and second, George simply couldn't be bothered starting an argument. Moving towards the lounge, George said,
"I'm getting drunk, and I'm likely to be particularly bad company, but you're welcome to join me if conversation wasn't your intended goal." Taking a close look at George's face and seeing the slight squint, the only thing to betray her lack of sobriety, Jo said,
"You look like you're half there already." George laughed.
"I may be on the small side," She said, "But I do have a very good resistance to alcohol." As they walked in to the lounge, Jo caught sight of the bottle of Martini and a half-full glass on the coffee table. Retrieving the bottle of scotch and another glass, George placed them near to her own choice of drink and poured Jo a generous measure with a very steady hand. There was some music playing softly on the stereo and George was clearly set for an evening of mellow moroseness. Picking up the CD cover that was on the coffee table next to the ashtray, Jo said,
"Martina McBride, I've never heard of her. I wouldn't have taken you for someone who liked country rock."
"There's an awful lot you don't know about me," Said George, the comment seeming to hold some inner significance.
"So I'm finding out," Replied Jo, realising that some deep torment was going on inside George, that some indefinable weight was pressing on her spirit.
George was unusually quiet as they sat, companionably smoking and allowing the words from the CD to wash over them. George kept refilling her own glass, but Jo made the one she'd started with last. She made no comment on the fact that George really could put it away. George was perfectly old enough to know how much alcohol she could handle. Jo found her thoughts drifting to that time, nearly eighteen months ago now, when she'd allowed her utterly flawless self-control to slip, and had got incredibly drunk with John after the teenaged boy who hadn't wanted a heart transplant had died. For one night, she had dropped her outer layer of dignity, and had allowed John to see her doing the one thing that scared her most. Jo had never hidden the fact that her father had been an alcoholic, but she did hide her awareness of her own tentative leaning in that direction. Jo wasn't, nor if she had anything to do with it, would she ever be an alcoholic, but if ever she was under any enormous stress, her instinct would occasionally be to get drunk. She could drink, in moderation as she was doing now, but if she became aware of her stress level exponentionally rising, she tried to avoid coming in to contact with alcohol, so as not to lead herself in to temptation.
From across the room, George caught sight of the shadow that had crossed Jo's face.
"What are you thinking?" She asked. Jo focused on George, drawn back to the present.
"I was remembering the last time I drank as much as you're doing now. It was the night that led to that thoroughly humiliating confrontation with the Professional Conduct Committee. I never, ever drink that much, and on the one occasion I did, I have to get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time." Jo suddenly stopped, not quite knowing where all that had come from. George regarded her thoughtfully.
"That's what really got to you, isn't it. It wasn't the fact that you were caught in the wrong bed, but that you were there because you got plastered."
"Yes, and that John chose to focus on that in his evidence."
"And I didn't let you forget it, did I," Said George, feeling an utter bitch for having done this.
"No," Said Jo with a small smile. They lapsed again in to a comfortable silence. They both became aware of the words coming from the stereo.
"The world's greatest lovers, have turned in to strangers."
"That sounds like my marriage," Commented George dryly. Jo lifted an eyebrow.
"What, the world's greatest lovers or turning in to strangers?" George flashed her a wry smile.
"Both," She said, reaching for a cigarette. "That's one thing you'll never go short of with John," She added, thinking that she definitely was drinking far too much. Jo smiled, remembering how John had been the previous weekend.
"Except that it's always far more intense when he's been up to his old tricks," Replied Jo, feeling the sheer surreal quality of having something in common with George.
"Oh, yes," George said after a long drag, "He always uses the thing he knows best as a form of making up." George knew she was treading the path of the tightrope walker, but she was suddenly desperate to know if Jo was aware of John's having played away with her the week before. "Why," She asked, "Is that what he's been up too? I thought he'd begun to settle down." Jo laughed sardonically.
"You know John as well as I do, George. He just can't resist the chase. I doubt he'll ever stay religiously with one woman for longer than five minutes, and especially not with me."
"But he loves you," Put in George, "Why do you think he keeps coming back?"
"Because ultimately I'm safe," Replied Jo, "He knows that I'm not about to disappear."
"It sounds like he takes you for granted," Said George, thinking that John needed a good kick in the teeth to make him sort himself out.
"Oh, yes," Said Jo dryly, "He's done that all the time I've known him."
"Jo, don't underestimate what he feels for you," George found herself saying, "Even in the beginning, there was something different about you. I remember the day I found out about you and John..." then she stopped, not really sure if she should carry on.
"Go on," prompted Jo, "You can satisfy a point of curiosity for me." Knowing that her senses had finally gone right out of the window, George continued.
"Charlie was six and a half, and I'd just picked her up from school. We decided to come to court to see if John had finished for the day." George hesitated, but she could see that Jo had been wondering about the discovery of hers and John's affair for a long time. "He was kissing the life out of you on the front steps of the court. It shocked me because you looked so complete, so right together, as if you needed nothing from anyone else in the whole world. It would have looked incredibly erotic if it hadn't hurt so much. Sorry," She said, mentally clamping her tongue between her teeth, "Forget I said that. So, I put the car in to a U turn and roared away, attempting to explain to Charlie why we couldn't go and visit Daddy after all."
"I'm sorry," Said Jo after a while, feeling that in spite of all the sparring they'd done over the years, this apology to George had been long in coming.
"What on Earth for?" Asked George, thoroughly mystified.
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"Jo, that was all a very long time ago," Said George gently. "I didn't tell you about it to make you feel guilty. John and I would never have lasted. There were too many things about me that he wasn't prepared to share a life with." Something in George's eyes darkened as she said this, and Jo had a new point of curiosity to focus on.
"But it didn't need me to decide things for you," Replied Jo.
"Maybe not," Conceded George, "But John's infidelity was only the catalyst. He wouldn't have gone looking if I hadn't pushed him away." Knowing that this time, she really had said too much, George abandoned this hazardous topic of conversation, getting up to get herself some more ice. As she rummaged in the freezer, Martina McBride's words again caught her attention.
"You think I'm always makin', something out of nothin'.
You're sayin' everything's okay.
You've always got an answer, before I ask the question.
Whatever you say."
"That sounds like Neil," Said George, walking in to the lounge with the ice tray, dropping ice cubes in to both their glasses. As she replaced the ice in the freezer, she found herself joining the singer on the CD, something which didn't go unnoticed by Jo.
"You say yes, you need me, and no you wouldn't leave me.
And that should be enough to make me stay.
Even though I want to, I don't hear I love you,
in whatever you say."
George's voice sounded so unexpectedly at home with the violins and guitars, that Jo smiled. She could never previously have imagined George's voice without its bite, without its clipped upper-class drawl, but the soft, deep tones with the slight vibration which spoke of at least some minimal training whilst she was at school, George's voice appeared to mould itself almost caressingly around the words. Jo was forced to realise that if she hadn't appeared this evening, George might have been able to let out some of her moroseness by singing. Jo was also hit with a tinge of pity for George, who had almost certainly never heard the words I love you at any time from Neil.
"Have you heard from him?" She asked as George returned and sat down.
"From Neil? Yes, he came to see me on Monday, just as Karen Betts was leaving."
"He's persistent, if nothing else," observed Jo. George opened her mouth to reply that Neil had only really been there to find out how John knew about the Adam and Eve picture, but closed it again when she realised that this would mean explaining it to Jo.
"He made a fairly pathetic effort at wanting to talk," She said, making it clear that it hadn't done Neil any good.
"Will he be at Legover's party on Sunday?" Asked Jo.
"Probably," Replied George, and then her eyes widened. "Oh, no," She groaned, and at Jo's raised eyebrows, she elaborated. "I had dinner with Daddy on Wednesday, and he managed to get out of me why I'd split up with Neil. Daddy will almost certainly be there, and I don't trust him not to use the opportunity to threaten Neil within an inch of his life, or at least his political life."
"Perhaps that's what he needs," Put in Jo.
"I don't care," Replied George emphatically. "I'd really rather everyone just forgot about it. Daddy, John and Neil in the same room for any length of time means trouble, believe me."
They slipped in to another contemplative silence, both feeling relaxed in the other's company. George was irrevocably torn between enjoying having Jo there, and wishing she would go. Being in Jo's presence, was increasing George's feeling of guilt more every minute. When Jo had expressed an apology for breaking up her marriage, this had almost been too much for George. All that had been nearly seventeen years ago, and now wasn't the time for Jo to feel any kind of guilt. No, all the guilt lay with George herself, not Jo. George was drifting on a sea of depression and alcohol, utterly submerged in her thoughts. How could she have done what she'd done to Jo? This woman in front of her didn't deserve John's almost total disregard for female feelings, and she, George, had no business in assisting his betrayal. Jo watched her, seeing something inexplicably sad register in George's eyes. Jo was again presented with the question of what had taken residence in George's mind to make her look as she was doing now. It wasn't Neil, or very little of it was, Jo was certain. But something else, some other recent occurrence had clearly plunged George in to the dark, endless fathoms of depression. Jo watched, as George's eyes widened at the new song on the CD, and observed as first, pain flashed behind the other woman's eyes, and then as this was closely followed by the spilling over of parallel tear tracks which made their inexorable way down George's cheeks.
"I wonder where your heart is
'Cause it sure don't feel like it's here.
Sometimes I think you wish
That I would just disappear.
Have I got it all wrong?
Have you felt this way long?
Are you already gone."
Jo was forced to admit that these words did hold some significance with her. What was it she'd said to John on the previous Saturday when they'd been in bed together? That was it. She'd said that it was the not knowing that she couldn't stand, the uncertainty of whether or not he would finally leave her for some other woman. Had he? Was he? Would he? These were all questions that had been apparent at the time, and which were being resurrected by the singer's words. But why were they affecting George like this. Jo's gaze rested softly on the other woman, not entirely sure whether to intrude on her anguish or not.
"Do you feel lonely
When you're here by my side?
Does the sound of freedom
Echo in your mind.
Do you wish you were by yourself?
Or that I was someone else?
Anyone else."
It was at the words, "Does the sound of freedom echo in your mind", that Jo realised George must be thinking of what Jo had said earlier about John's possibly playing away. She couldn't leave George to suffer in silence, it just wasn't in her to do so. Jo had been sitting in the armchair that was at right angles to the fireplace, but she rose and moved over to where George was seated in her usual corner at the right-hand end of the sofa. Sitting down next to her, which appeared to go unnoticed, Jo gently laid a hand on George's left shoulder. Slightly startled, George swiveled her gaze which had previously been focused on nothing in the immediate vicinity, to rest on Jo.
"I'm sorry," She said, unconsciously echoing Karen's words of Monday morning, "I was miles away."
"Not somewhere nice by the look of you," Replied Jo softly. George briefly stared at Jo.
"How odd," She said, "I said exactly the same thing to Karen Betts a few days ago." For the first time in years, Jo was totally at a loss as to how to proceed. How did she even begin to offer some sort of comfort to the woman who for years had given her nothing but scorn and derision? Jo very slowly, very gently, put her arms round George, giving her every opportunity to retreat, though this was not necessary. Jo was a little surprised to find her hug returned, because if there was one thing that rose from George like heat, it was a need to at all costs maintain her barriers. George was virtually silent as she cried, and it struck Jo that in this respect, George wasn't dissimilar to Karen Betts. Both George and Karen were two incredibly strong women, who, on the vast majority of occasions, strove to hide any and every weakness from any casual observer. Jo gently moved her hand over George's back, coming in to contact with an extremely prominent shoulder blade.
"What's happened?" Jo asked quietly.
"It's this song," Replied George, "The words made me think that that's how you must feel about John."
"Yes, sometimes," Said Jo, "John might not usually wish I'm someone else, but he does and will always want his freedom."
"But he shouldn't," Said George vehemently. "He's got to stop mindlessly fucking other women who mean absolutely nothing to him and realise which side his bread's buttered. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly realising that she'd slipped in to the type of vocabulary probably not either welcome with or expected of one of Her Majesty's councils. Jo smiled.
"You've always had a way with words, George, and yes, he probably should decide what is really important to him, but I think we both know that he never will." Jo gently detached herself from George, and handed her the box of tissues on the coffee table.
"You probably think me utterly weak and pathetic," Said George, as she dried her eyes.
"No," Said Jo, "After the way I behaved on the night I was photographed in John's bed, I have absolutely nothing to reproach anyone for, especially when it involves alcohol." Jo knew that there was an awful lot more to George's outburst than she had hitherto imparted, but she was wise enough to see that George wasn't about to provide any further explanation and that her continued probing, would only give George a reason to try and rebuild her walls of defence. When Jo eventually left, she felt that in establishing some personal common ground, she and George were on their way to forming something of a friendship. She didn't spare any thought to the heart of what had got to George that evening. If George wanted her to know, then she would tell her, and if she didn't, then she wouldn't. Jo had more than enough skeletons of her own without feeling a necessity to discover anyone else's. She just hoped that George would come through whatever it was that appeared to have shaken her to the core. Jo had always known, mostly via the court room that George was pretty unstable, but whatever had upset her this evening, seemed to have rocked her right off course.
Part One Hundred And Seven
As Jo drove towards George's house on the Friday evening, she couldn't help but feel some concern. It wasn't like George to leave one of her case files behind on the defense bench, which is why she was now returning it. But this wasn't all, George's old swagger seemed to have gone. She had without doubt defended her case to a satisfactory level, but the old anger, the old spite that usually seemed to fuel every one of George's arguments just hadn't been there. She'd looked thinner, paler, as if she was outwardly as well as inwardly fading. Nothing had been able to raise a smile, and those usually expressive eyes had remained dull. If Jo was honest, George had been going slowly down hill ever since the break up with Neil. But the change in George seemed to have increased. Something had happened recently to suddenly make George have as little contact with Jo as possible. Prior to the Merriman/Atkins trial, this would have been nothing new, but Jo had thought that with the advent of Karen Betts' case, they were beginning to forge some kind of understanding. All Jo could think was that she had said or done something to put George back to square one where their tentative attempt at friendship was concerned. She turned in to George's driveway and took a brief moment to marshall her thoughts. In the old days, she wouldn't have cared one way or the other about even attempting to get on with George, but the goal posts had moved. It had been Jo's instinctive reaction to drop all antagonism towards her when she'd been presented with George's undoing from the black-eye. It hadn't taken rocket science for Jo to realise that George had been utterly thrown by what Neil had done to her. Neil's resorting to violence had shocked George enough to allow herself to lose control in front of Jo, something that ordinarily would have been against anything George stood for. But then they'd begun working on Karen Betts' case, with George digging up an enormous amount of dirt on Fenner. Jo knew that she'd become too emotionally involved with that case, and George had been there to pick up the pieces when Jo had failed to get Helen Stewart on board. So what had happened, Jo couldn't begin to imagine.
As she walked up the steps, the case file under her arm, she resolved to try and sort out whatever the problem was. She had a feeling of severe reluctance to go back to the way they'd been with each other before the Merriman/Atkins trial. She pressed the doorbell and waited. As George drew nearer the front door, Jo was greeted to the deep, confident sound of George singing. The upper class drawl was gone, the bite of sarcasm was gone. But maybe it was the words that were most significant.
"Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world. Love's the only house big enough for all the pain." Was this what George really thought, or were they simply the words to whatever song she was listening too. When George opened the door, she looked surprised to see Jo. She schooled her face in to the most noncommittal expression possible, but Jo hadn't missed the brief grimace that had passed over the other woman's countenance.
"You left this on the defence bench," Said Jo, holding up the file. George opened the door wider and gestured for Jo to come in.
"Thank you," She said, taking the file. "I wondered where I'd left that." In the old days, had Jo done such a thing as to return a forgotten file, George would have asked her if she'd taken the opportunity to view its contents, especially considering the fact that they were on opposite sides of the case, but not any more. For a start, George knew that Jo wouldn't apply the same unprofessional tactics as she would, and second, George simply couldn't be bothered starting an argument. Moving towards the lounge, George said,
"I'm getting drunk, and I'm likely to be particularly bad company, but you're welcome to join me if conversation wasn't your intended goal." Taking a close look at George's face and seeing the slight squint, the only thing to betray her lack of sobriety, Jo said,
"You look like you're half there already." George laughed.
"I may be on the small side," She said, "But I do have a very good resistance to alcohol." As they walked in to the lounge, Jo caught sight of the bottle of Martini and a half-full glass on the coffee table. Retrieving the bottle of scotch and another glass, George placed them near to her own choice of drink and poured Jo a generous measure with a very steady hand. There was some music playing softly on the stereo and George was clearly set for an evening of mellow moroseness. Picking up the CD cover that was on the coffee table next to the ashtray, Jo said,
"Martina McBride, I've never heard of her. I wouldn't have taken you for someone who liked country rock."
"There's an awful lot you don't know about me," Said George, the comment seeming to hold some inner significance.
"So I'm finding out," Replied Jo, realising that some deep torment was going on inside George, that some indefinable weight was pressing on her spirit.
George was unusually quiet as they sat, companionably smoking and allowing the words from the CD to wash over them. George kept refilling her own glass, but Jo made the one she'd started with last. She made no comment on the fact that George really could put it away. George was perfectly old enough to know how much alcohol she could handle. Jo found her thoughts drifting to that time, nearly eighteen months ago now, when she'd allowed her utterly flawless self-control to slip, and had got incredibly drunk with John after the teenaged boy who hadn't wanted a heart transplant had died. For one night, she had dropped her outer layer of dignity, and had allowed John to see her doing the one thing that scared her most. Jo had never hidden the fact that her father had been an alcoholic, but she did hide her awareness of her own tentative leaning in that direction. Jo wasn't, nor if she had anything to do with it, would she ever be an alcoholic, but if ever she was under any enormous stress, her instinct would occasionally be to get drunk. She could drink, in moderation as she was doing now, but if she became aware of her stress level exponentionally rising, she tried to avoid coming in to contact with alcohol, so as not to lead herself in to temptation.
From across the room, George caught sight of the shadow that had crossed Jo's face.
"What are you thinking?" She asked. Jo focused on George, drawn back to the present.
"I was remembering the last time I drank as much as you're doing now. It was the night that led to that thoroughly humiliating confrontation with the Professional Conduct Committee. I never, ever drink that much, and on the one occasion I did, I have to get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time." Jo suddenly stopped, not quite knowing where all that had come from. George regarded her thoughtfully.
"That's what really got to you, isn't it. It wasn't the fact that you were caught in the wrong bed, but that you were there because you got plastered."
"Yes, and that John chose to focus on that in his evidence."
"And I didn't let you forget it, did I," Said George, feeling an utter bitch for having done this.
"No," Said Jo with a small smile. They lapsed again in to a comfortable silence. They both became aware of the words coming from the stereo.
"The world's greatest lovers, have turned in to strangers."
"That sounds like my marriage," Commented George dryly. Jo lifted an eyebrow.
"What, the world's greatest lovers or turning in to strangers?" George flashed her a wry smile.
"Both," She said, reaching for a cigarette. "That's one thing you'll never go short of with John," She added, thinking that she definitely was drinking far too much. Jo smiled, remembering how John had been the previous weekend.
"Except that it's always far more intense when he's been up to his old tricks," Replied Jo, feeling the sheer surreal quality of having something in common with George.
"Oh, yes," George said after a long drag, "He always uses the thing he knows best as a form of making up." George knew she was treading the path of the tightrope walker, but she was suddenly desperate to know if Jo was aware of John's having played away with her the week before. "Why," She asked, "Is that what he's been up too? I thought he'd begun to settle down." Jo laughed sardonically.
"You know John as well as I do, George. He just can't resist the chase. I doubt he'll ever stay religiously with one woman for longer than five minutes, and especially not with me."
"But he loves you," Put in George, "Why do you think he keeps coming back?"
"Because ultimately I'm safe," Replied Jo, "He knows that I'm not about to disappear."
"It sounds like he takes you for granted," Said George, thinking that John needed a good kick in the teeth to make him sort himself out.
"Oh, yes," Said Jo dryly, "He's done that all the time I've known him."
"Jo, don't underestimate what he feels for you," George found herself saying, "Even in the beginning, there was something different about you. I remember the day I found out about you and John..." then she stopped, not really sure if she should carry on.
"Go on," prompted Jo, "You can satisfy a point of curiosity for me." Knowing that her senses had finally gone right out of the window, George continued.
"Charlie was six and a half, and I'd just picked her up from school. We decided to come to court to see if John had finished for the day." George hesitated, but she could see that Jo had been wondering about the discovery of hers and John's affair for a long time. "He was kissing the life out of you on the front steps of the court. It shocked me because you looked so complete, so right together, as if you needed nothing from anyone else in the whole world. It would have looked incredibly erotic if it hadn't hurt so much. Sorry," She said, mentally clamping her tongue between her teeth, "Forget I said that. So, I put the car in to a U turn and roared away, attempting to explain to Charlie why we couldn't go and visit Daddy after all."
"I'm sorry," Said Jo after a while, feeling that in spite of all the sparring they'd done over the years, this apology to George had been long in coming.
"What on Earth for?" Asked George, thoroughly mystified.
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"Jo, that was all a very long time ago," Said George gently. "I didn't tell you about it to make you feel guilty. John and I would never have lasted. There were too many things about me that he wasn't prepared to share a life with." Something in George's eyes darkened as she said this, and Jo had a new point of curiosity to focus on.
"But it didn't need me to decide things for you," Replied Jo.
"Maybe not," Conceded George, "But John's infidelity was only the catalyst. He wouldn't have gone looking if I hadn't pushed him away." Knowing that this time, she really had said too much, George abandoned this hazardous topic of conversation, getting up to get herself some more ice. As she rummaged in the freezer, Martina McBride's words again caught her attention.
"You think I'm always makin', something out of nothin'.
You're sayin' everything's okay.
You've always got an answer, before I ask the question.
Whatever you say."
"That sounds like Neil," Said George, walking in to the lounge with the ice tray, dropping ice cubes in to both their glasses. As she replaced the ice in the freezer, she found herself joining the singer on the CD, something which didn't go unnoticed by Jo.
"You say yes, you need me, and no you wouldn't leave me.
And that should be enough to make me stay.
Even though I want to, I don't hear I love you,
in whatever you say."
George's voice sounded so unexpectedly at home with the violins and guitars, that Jo smiled. She could never previously have imagined George's voice without its bite, without its clipped upper-class drawl, but the soft, deep tones with the slight vibration which spoke of at least some minimal training whilst she was at school, George's voice appeared to mould itself almost caressingly around the words. Jo was forced to realise that if she hadn't appeared this evening, George might have been able to let out some of her moroseness by singing. Jo was also hit with a tinge of pity for George, who had almost certainly never heard the words I love you at any time from Neil.
"Have you heard from him?" She asked as George returned and sat down.
"From Neil? Yes, he came to see me on Monday, just as Karen Betts was leaving."
"He's persistent, if nothing else," observed Jo. George opened her mouth to reply that Neil had only really been there to find out how John knew about the Adam and Eve picture, but closed it again when she realised that this would mean explaining it to Jo.
"He made a fairly pathetic effort at wanting to talk," She said, making it clear that it hadn't done Neil any good.
"Will he be at Legover's party on Sunday?" Asked Jo.
"Probably," Replied George, and then her eyes widened. "Oh, no," She groaned, and at Jo's raised eyebrows, she elaborated. "I had dinner with Daddy on Wednesday, and he managed to get out of me why I'd split up with Neil. Daddy will almost certainly be there, and I don't trust him not to use the opportunity to threaten Neil within an inch of his life, or at least his political life."
"Perhaps that's what he needs," Put in Jo.
"I don't care," Replied George emphatically. "I'd really rather everyone just forgot about it. Daddy, John and Neil in the same room for any length of time means trouble, believe me."
They slipped in to another contemplative silence, both feeling relaxed in the other's company. George was irrevocably torn between enjoying having Jo there, and wishing she would go. Being in Jo's presence, was increasing George's feeling of guilt more every minute. When Jo had expressed an apology for breaking up her marriage, this had almost been too much for George. All that had been nearly seventeen years ago, and now wasn't the time for Jo to feel any kind of guilt. No, all the guilt lay with George herself, not Jo. George was drifting on a sea of depression and alcohol, utterly submerged in her thoughts. How could she have done what she'd done to Jo? This woman in front of her didn't deserve John's almost total disregard for female feelings, and she, George, had no business in assisting his betrayal. Jo watched her, seeing something inexplicably sad register in George's eyes. Jo was again presented with the question of what had taken residence in George's mind to make her look as she was doing now. It wasn't Neil, or very little of it was, Jo was certain. But something else, some other recent occurrence had clearly plunged George in to the dark, endless fathoms of depression. Jo watched, as George's eyes widened at the new song on the CD, and observed as first, pain flashed behind the other woman's eyes, and then as this was closely followed by the spilling over of parallel tear tracks which made their inexorable way down George's cheeks.
"I wonder where your heart is
'Cause it sure don't feel like it's here.
Sometimes I think you wish
That I would just disappear.
Have I got it all wrong?
Have you felt this way long?
Are you already gone."
Jo was forced to admit that these words did hold some significance with her. What was it she'd said to John on the previous Saturday when they'd been in bed together? That was it. She'd said that it was the not knowing that she couldn't stand, the uncertainty of whether or not he would finally leave her for some other woman. Had he? Was he? Would he? These were all questions that had been apparent at the time, and which were being resurrected by the singer's words. But why were they affecting George like this. Jo's gaze rested softly on the other woman, not entirely sure whether to intrude on her anguish or not.
"Do you feel lonely
When you're here by my side?
Does the sound of freedom
Echo in your mind.
Do you wish you were by yourself?
Or that I was someone else?
Anyone else."
It was at the words, "Does the sound of freedom echo in your mind", that Jo realised George must be thinking of what Jo had said earlier about John's possibly playing away. She couldn't leave George to suffer in silence, it just wasn't in her to do so. Jo had been sitting in the armchair that was at right angles to the fireplace, but she rose and moved over to where George was seated in her usual corner at the right-hand end of the sofa. Sitting down next to her, which appeared to go unnoticed, Jo gently laid a hand on George's left shoulder. Slightly startled, George swiveled her gaze which had previously been focused on nothing in the immediate vicinity, to rest on Jo.
"I'm sorry," She said, unconsciously echoing Karen's words of Monday morning, "I was miles away."
"Not somewhere nice by the look of you," Replied Jo softly. George briefly stared at Jo.
"How odd," She said, "I said exactly the same thing to Karen Betts a few days ago." For the first time in years, Jo was totally at a loss as to how to proceed. How did she even begin to offer some sort of comfort to the woman who for years had given her nothing but scorn and derision? Jo very slowly, very gently, put her arms round George, giving her every opportunity to retreat, though this was not necessary. Jo was a little surprised to find her hug returned, because if there was one thing that rose from George like heat, it was a need to at all costs maintain her barriers. George was virtually silent as she cried, and it struck Jo that in this respect, George wasn't dissimilar to Karen Betts. Both George and Karen were two incredibly strong women, who, on the vast majority of occasions, strove to hide any and every weakness from any casual observer. Jo gently moved her hand over George's back, coming in to contact with an extremely prominent shoulder blade.
"What's happened?" Jo asked quietly.
"It's this song," Replied George, "The words made me think that that's how you must feel about John."
"Yes, sometimes," Said Jo, "John might not usually wish I'm someone else, but he does and will always want his freedom."
"But he shouldn't," Said George vehemently. "He's got to stop mindlessly fucking other women who mean absolutely nothing to him and realise which side his bread's buttered. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly realising that she'd slipped in to the type of vocabulary probably not either welcome with or expected of one of Her Majesty's councils. Jo smiled.
"You've always had a way with words, George, and yes, he probably should decide what is really important to him, but I think we both know that he never will." Jo gently detached herself from George, and handed her the box of tissues on the coffee table.
"You probably think me utterly weak and pathetic," Said George, as she dried her eyes.
"No," Said Jo, "After the way I behaved on the night I was photographed in John's bed, I have absolutely nothing to reproach anyone for, especially when it involves alcohol." Jo knew that there was an awful lot more to George's outburst than she had hitherto imparted, but she was wise enough to see that George wasn't about to provide any further explanation and that her continued probing, would only give George a reason to try and rebuild her walls of defence. When Jo eventually left, she felt that in establishing some personal common ground, she and George were on their way to forming something of a friendship. She didn't spare any thought to the heart of what had got to George that evening. If George wanted her to know, then she would tell her, and if she didn't, then she wouldn't. Jo had more than enough skeletons of her own without feeling a necessity to discover anyone else's. She just hoped that George would come through whatever it was that appeared to have shaken her to the core. Jo had always known, mostly via the court room that George was pretty unstable, but whatever had upset her this evening, seemed to have rocked her right off course.