Part One Hundred And Twenty Five
It was on the dull, gray Friday morning that Jo found herself for the fifth day running, driving in to the car park of the Old Bailey. Again, she was standing for the prosecution and George for the defence, with John seated on his throne on high. We seem to be making a habit of this, thought Jo as she brought her car to a stand still. But George hadn't been her usual argumentative self this week. Yes, she'd stood up for her client, but the spark of anger that always fuelled George's objections was missing. It only took the half-minute of Jo running through the wind and pouring rain, for her hair to look like she hadn't brushed it that morning. Pushing open the door of the ladies', Jo wasn't surprised to see George pulling a brush through her own hair. The high wind had brought a rosiness to Jo's cheeks, but when she joined George at the mirror, Jo could see that there wasn't any hint of colour in George's face. Her skin was as white as alabaster and there were dark circles under her eyes.
"George, you look terrible. Are you all right?"
"Good morning to you too," Replied George drily. At the beginning of the week, Jo had thought George looked tired and as though she'd lost weight, which was something George could hardly afford to do, but this was different.
"You look like death warmed up," Said Jo, sounding too concerned for George's brittle grip on sanity to stand.
"And you look like you've just got out of bed," She said, smirking at Jo's tousled hair. Pulling a brush through her offending blondness, Jo took the hint that George wasn't about to offer an explanation.
All through the morning session, Jo kept a discrete eye on George who looked to be fading with every objection she raised. But somehow, she kept going. It might have taken all her reserves, but not for anyone was she about to lose any respect with her client by crying off. When it finally came to lunchtime recess and after watching her client being taken back to the cells, George uncharacteristically rested her folded arms on the table in front of her and briefly leaned her head on them. Jo was about to go over to her, when she thought better of it. She knew her well enough to know that there was only a certain amount of friendly interest George would take. Collecting her papers together, Jo made her way up to John's chambers. Seeing that Coope had obviously gone to lunch, Jo knocked. When he let her in, they exchanged a hug and a kiss.
"Your ex isn't looking so good today," Jo said without preamble.
"Yes, I noticed," Replied John.
"If I didn't think George knew better," Went on Jo conversationally. "I'd wonder if she was pregnant." John kept his face utterly blank, but Jo didn't miss the slight flicker of his eyelids.
"She hated motherhood the first time round," Replied John, trying to cover up the shock at Jo's innocuous remark. "I doubt she'd do it again."
George looked slightly better at the beginning of the afternoon session, but that was probably only because of the hour and a half's break and a cigarette or three. As it was her turn to cross-examine the witness, she stood resolutely at the defence bench ready to play her part. But only half of her was concentrating on the witness. On the outside, she appeared confident, her strident tones firing question after question at the witness, trying to unsettle him as much as possible. But the other half of her brain was slowly urging her body to shut down. George wasn't stupid. She could feel the fog gradually insinuating its way in to her mind. But she had to keep going. If she could just manage to keep this up for another hour or so, she could go home and sleep. But this wasn't to be. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Jo that part way through the afternoon, George's hand had begun casually resting on the back of the chair that stood at the defence bench. As time went on, her grip on the chair visibly tightened. George could feel it now, that buzzing in her temples that told her she was using up every ounce of energy she had, which was precious little. George had listened to the witnesses answer to her question, and was summoning up the strength to keep going.
"Any further questions, Ms Channing?" Asked John, wondering at her silence and all the time fervently hoping Jo's suspicion was wrong. George took a breath to speak, but her body and her brain had put up with quite enough. As she slid almost silently to the ground, her world went black. Rising swiftly to his feet, John called,
"Court is adjourned," Before rushing over to George, closely followed by Jo. As the defendant was escorted away and the few in the public gallery made their way downstairs, John deftly picked up George in his arms, deciding that she felt far too light.
"Open the door," He said to Jo, gesturing to the door behind the Judge's bench which led to his chambers. As Jo held the door open and John walked passed her, George began to stir.
"Put me down," She grumbled weakly. Walking over to the couch that ran along the back wall of the room, he laid her down on it. Coope had appeared, wondering what the commotion was.
"Could you get us some tea, please?" He asked.
"Does Mrs. Channing need a doctor, Judge?" Asked Coope.
"No, I don't," Replied George, clearly becoming more alert with the old obstinacy creeping back in to her voice.
"If she's arguing, Coope, she'll be fine," Said John. When Coope left them to get the tea, John asked, "What happened, George?"
"I fainted," She replied bluntly, "What did it look like."
"Are you pregnant?" John asked, locking his gaze with hers. George laughed mirthlessly.
"Of course not," She said scornfully. "Just because some people forget about that possibility, doesn't mean I'm stupid enough too." Praying that Jo didn't get the underlying meaning of George's words, John said,
"Then I am forced to assume that your old habit has raised its ugly head again."
"John, please don't do this," Said George, sounding more defeated than Jo had ever heard her.
"You can't keep doing this, George. You absolutely can not keep starving yourself to the point where you're collapsing in court."
"Yes, thank you," Said George curtly. "I've heard it all before. You should know, you've said most of it." John rolled his eyes.
"Then for once in your life, listen to me." Jo stared at her in total realisation. So this was George's vice, the thing in life that kept her going. She had been slightly concerned about her ever since that business with Neil, but she'd had no idea it went this deep. But if she thought about it long enough, George was a perfect candidate for anorexia. George had always been a high achiever, almost desperate to prove herself both as a barrister and as a woman. She'd always taken everything far too much to heart. The prospect of failure had always eaten away at George like a corrosive substance, until Jo supposed the anger and the loathing had finally turned inwards.
"How long has it been, George?" Jo asked gently. Then, at George's questioning look, she added, "Since you last ate." Immediately the shutters seemed to come down, as if to protect her soul from their penetrating gaze.
"Almost a week," She said, not looking at either of them.
"And I bet you were hardly eating a sufficient amount before that," Said John in disgust. Jo glared at him. "Don't look at me like that," He said, turning on Jo. "She has to realise that she can't keep doing this. He turned back to fix his gaze on George. "Because one day you'll go too far."
"I think George probably knows that, John," Put in Jo quietly. George had heard quite enough of them talking about her as if she wasn't there. She sat up and made to get up from the couch.
"You're not going anywhere," Said John firmly.
"Why?" Asked George, her old strident tone not sounding quite right in her weakened state.
"Because someone has to keep an eye on you," Replied John.
"You can't keep me here," Said George, her voice rising with indignation.
"Try me," Was John's only response. It was time for Jo to put her two pennorth in.
"Would you like me to drive you home?" She asked.
"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home," George said, her gaze swiveling to Jo, but not focusing on her directly. Jo moved forward and held up two fingers.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" She asked, knowing that malnutrition could temporarily effect a person's eyesight.
"Three?" Jo shook her head.
"Which is precisely why you're not going anywhere near your car," Put in John.
"Come on," Jo cajoled. "I'll take you home."
"Fine," Said George standing up. "Anything to get him off my case." She swayed slightly as she walked towards the door with Jo, and John was immediately at her side pulling her arm through his. George didn't protest at his support, which was to him the first sign that she might just be taking this seriously.
When they reached the carpark, Jo opened the passenger door of her car and George sank gratefully in to the seat. When John had shut the door, he followed Jo round to the other side.
"Thank you," He said quietly.
"Wait and see how far I get first," Replied Jo.
"You don't have to do this," He added.
"I know, but I think this needs a different approach from your criticism and bluster."
"And what else am I supposed to do?" John asked, the still pouring rain keeping his quiet yet irritated voice from reaching George's ears.
"You won't get her to give this up by constantly sticking in the knife."
"This isn't the first time she's done it."
"Thank you, but I managed to work that out for myself."
"Don't you be cross with me, too," He pleaded. She gave him a soft smile.
"She'll be okay," Said Jo softly. "Just leave her to me."
"I'll come over later," He said as she opened the car door and got in, immediately turning on the engine and switching the heater on full.
George was utterly silent as they drove, almost transfixed by the windscreen wipers monotonously moving back and forth. Jo didn't attempt to make conversation because she wasn't about to introduce what she knew would be a difficult subject whilst she had the driving to concentrate on. When they reached her house, George let them in and draped her coat over the chair in the hall.
"Tea?" She said, moving in to the kitchen and filling the kettle. Hanging her own jacket over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Jo said,
"I think you should eat something."
"No," Said George firmly.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not hungry. What other reason is there."
"After a week of not eating, George, I find that hard to believe."
"The body becomes accustomed so that eventually you don't feel it."
"Well, I'm not even going to think about leaving until you do, so please eat something if only to get rid of me."
"You're more persistent than John, and I didn't think that was possible." Under Jo's unwavering gaze, George dug some bread out of the freezer and put a slice in the toaster. Pouring the tea, she plonked two cups on the table and sat down opposite Jo.
"Why are you doing this, George?" Asked Jo, not wanting to frighten her off but knowing that she had to begin somewhere.
"Don't beat around the bush, do you," Replied George, getting up to retrieve the piece of toast. Returning to the table, she stared at the plate in front of her, the smell of the toast almost more than her senses could stand. "It's actually very easy to do after a while," She said conversationally.
"How long have you been doing it?"
"On and off since I was fifteen." George reluctantly began eating the toast.
"Why?" Asked Jo, still watching her. George took a swallow of tea.
"I don't know," Said George, clearly clamming up.
"Yes, you do," Said Jo softly, trying to prod George in to opening up. George finished eating her piece of toast and lit a cigarette.
"I don't want to talk about this."
"What are you scared of?"
"Isn't that obvious," Replied George scornfully. "You are the last person I want to see what a total wreck I am. Ever since John met you, I've had it made pretty bloody clear to me just how much of a failure I am compared to you. Having you firstly witnessing the mess Neil made of my face, and secondly being made aware of what is probably the biggest skeleton in my cupboard, is just a bit too much." Jo helped herself to a cigarette from the packet George had left on the table.
"Taking the evidence on face value," Jo said, taking a long drag. "Did I for one moment judge you when I saw what that creep had done to you?"
"No, but..."
"No. Therefore, I'd say it's fairly likely I'm not about to judge you now. Yes, I was surprised to say the least, and yes, I think you need help, but that doesn't mean I'm about to belittle what you feel or your reasons for doing it." George stared at her for a moment.
"Why?" She asked.
"We all have skeletons, George. The secret is to realise that occasionally, keeping them hidden isn't always the way forward. Anorexia isn't something you can fool around with."
"Please don't give me a lecture. John did that years ago."
"George, whatever you do to your own body is entirely up to you, but if you don't do something about it, one day you will take this too far."
"I know," Said George, suddenly looking utterly drained. "It usually happens when everything else in my life appears to be out of my control. Lately, I just seem to be losing my grip." It was with these words that Jo could finally see the breaking of the brittle eggshell, exposing the tender, vulnerable flesh of the soul underneath.
"Neil giving you a black eye got to you more than you thought it would, didn't it."
"Yes," Said George, "Apart from finding out I was pregnant with Charlie and my mother dying when I was ten, it was the biggest shock of my life. He took away my pride, made me question just what I was. Only John had ever done that before, and at least he had more style about it." Jo began to wonder at her own part in what George had gone through on previous occasions.
"I take it you did this not eating thing when you were married to John."
"Yes, he wasn't amused to say the least. He was delighted when I discovered I was pregnant."
"And you weren't?" George lit another cigarette.
"No. I hated every minute of it," She said, a flash of pain crossing her face.
"It happens," Observed Jo, wondering where this was leading.
"I bet being pregnant was one of the happiest times of your life, wasn't it," Said George bitterly, her self-loathing clearly turned up to maximum.
"Not always, no," Jo replied, and George was surprised to see a dark flash of memory appear behind her eyes. The words seemed to stick in George's throat, making her unable to continue. "What happened after Charlie was born?" Jo prompted, receiving a distinct vibe that this was the heart of many of George's feelings of guilt and weakness.
"I, er, I couldn't love her, not for quite a long time," She said in a strangled voice, the pain radiating from her like heat.
"That doesn't make you a bad person, George," Jo said softly. There were tears in George's eyes, and Jo could see the inner struggle that had so far prevented them from spilling over.
"Of course it does," Said George, her tears finally beginning to trace their parallel paths of despair down her cheeks. "Mothers are supposed to love their children, unconditionally and absolutely without question. It took me months before I could look at Charlie with anything more than apathy." George reached behind her for the box of tissues she always kept on top of the fridge. "John's always been the perfect father. When Charlie was very small, he couldn't do a thing wrong. I was a useless mother." I stopped eating for a while after Charlie was born, because I think it was about the only thing I understood. I didn't have the first idea about how to bring up a child, and I felt a constant failure for not having the normal feelings for her that a mother should have." Now she'd started, George didn't seem able to stop. "And John made it worse by never once reproaching me for it, not seriously anyway. He was so bloody nice to me when I really didn't deserve it."
"Did you stop eating as a form of punishment?"
"Probably. I didn't think about it like that at the time, but then starving oneself isn't actually a conscious decision, you just slide in to it until it eventually becomes a natural reaction to stress."
"So, if you know what to expect, why do you still let it happen?"
"It's like smoking, Jo, the habit's hard to kick."
"So, you punished yourself for not loving Charlie the way you thought a mother should love her daughter," Said Jo, trying to fit the fragments of this five thousand piece jigsaw together.
"It wasn't just that. Everything I did after Charlie was born seemed to make me feel guilty. The fact that John was far better at looking after her than I was, going back to work as soon as possible because at the time it was the only thing I was vaguely successful at, not remotely enjoying bed because I couldn't relax, you name it. That's probably why he went looking elsewhere. Believe it or not, he didn't stray once before Charlie was born, at least I don't think he did. For a while I tried to convince myself it didn't matter. He wasn't getting enough from me so it was almost expected that he'd get it from someone else. I did get back to a vague resemblance of my normal self, and occasionally he would stop chasing women and come back to me. I used to make the most of it when he did, probably to try and make him stay. But he'd got the taste for it. You saw how impossible it was for him to give it up last year when he was having therapy."
"Yes, only John could have therapy because he can't stop picking up women, and then sleep with his therapist."
"We did have some good times after that, but things were never quite the same." Jo looked thoughtful.
"During the Diana Halsey case, I remember how you looked when you were questioning her about the stress of being a single mother and having to make every decision on her own. You were so tense, as if you were ready to bolt at the first opportunity. You almost looked as if you were questioning yourself, not her."
"When Charlie was very small, it sometimes felt like all the big decisions were mine and mine alone. They never were in reality, if anything, John had far more of a hand in things like that than I did. But it felt like it was just me, because it was me and only me who had the problem with Charlie. I think that was because I couldn't tell John about how I was feeling. It would have meant I'd failed, when that's what I did anyway." George suddenly shivered and if possible looked even more tired. "I'm sorry," She said, yawning, "I was up most of last night working on today's defence. My bed is calling me."
"Go to bed if you wish, George, but this conversation isn't over."
"Still determined to succeed where John has failed, are you?" George asked with a wan smile.
"Not quite," Replied Jo, "But I think talking might just be doing you some good."
"What, baring my soul to the woman I've spent half my life envying? But then I suppose anything's worth a try." George stood up and moved towards the kitchen door.
"Would you like some more tea?" Jo asked, also getting to her feet. George turned back and picked up her cigarettes.
"Please." As Jo refilled the kettle and watched George walk out of the room, she wondered just what she was doing here. Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, her and George had been like a match and petrol, put them together and you get fireworks. They had always rubbed each other up the wrong way, both in and out of court. But it seemed like George had shed her outer skin, only to reveal just how vulnerable she was underneath all that glamour and scorn. Jo also thought it might be time for her to tell George why she, Jo, was not the perfect angel George seemed to think she was.
When Jo appeared upstairs carrying two cups of tea, she found George wearing a plain blue cotton nightie and sat up in her enormous king-sized bed, which made her look all the more tiny in comparison. Jo thought that this was possibly the most decadent bedroom she'd ever seen, but glamour was George's middle name. The carpet was a deep, rich red, and was the type that a person's feet would sink in to on first contact. There were small, very stylish wall lights here and there, which gave the room a warm, rosy glow, perfect for seducing anyone. When George thanked her for the tea, Jo asked,
"How do you feel?" George put the tea down on the bedside table and snuggled down under the thick goose-feather duvet.
"I feel like I've smoked some really rough dope, which isn't something I've done since the seventies," She said. Jo sat down in the enormous rose plush armchair in the corner.
"Can you answer me one question?" Began Jo, "Why did you have those pictures taken of me and John?" Much to her mortification, George couldn't help blushing.
"I think that was one of the lowest stunts I've ever pulled," She said.
"Yes," Said Jo drily. "It almost got me taken off the road." George was quiet for a moment.
"I know it sounds ridiculous," She said, "But I think I wanted some proof that you weren't as perfect as I've always thought you were." Jo walked over to the dressing table and returned to her chair with George's cigarettes and an ashtray clearly kept there for her first thing in the morning fix. After lighting one, she said,
"I think it's about time I shattered some of your illusions about me."
"Oh?" Jo took a long drag.
"You seem to be under the impression that I am the embodiment of everything John didn't find in you."
"That about sums it up," Said George, knowing that said like that, it did sound a little ridiculous.
"If we're talking about being the perfect lover, I'd say that this has been fairly successfully contradicted by the fact that John has chased other women as much with me as he did with you. He always has, and I suspect he always will. I'm certain he's been sleeping with someone else recently and it might even be two." George schooled her face in to as blank an expression as possible, but she hadn't had anywhere near enough practice, unlike John.
"Sometimes I think John would have been better marrying and having children with you," Said George trying to change the subject slightly.
"He nearly did once," Said Jo, saying it now so that she wouldn't back out.
"What?" George sat up sharply and immediately regretted it. The sudden movement had made her head spin and set her stomach churning.
"I had a termination," Said Jo quietly. George slumped back on the pillows and just stared at her.
"I'm sorry," Said George, "I didn't know."
"There's no reason why you would. So you see, I haven't always been the perfect mother."
"It's hardly the same," Said George, remembering the time Charlie had got herself pregnant, also by her tutor.
"It feels like it sometimes," Replied Jo. "You dream about it, wake up seeing it, and all you're left with is the what ifs."
"When did this happen?" George asked softly, and Jo was introduced to a new quality in George, a new timbres in her voice that signaled sympathy.
"A while after you and John split up," Answered Jo, knowing that although John's and George's marriage had been on the rocks anyway, she had been the final catalyst that had forced them apart.
"Did John know?" Asked George gently.
"He drove me to the clinic. My husband was terminally ill, and I had two young children to look after. For a while after the termination and after my husband died, I didn't think I could cope with Mark and Tom. I was so depressed and so exhausted, that I asked my mother to have them, but she wouldn't. I certainly wouldn't say I was a good mother then."
"When Charlie was growing up, I just didn't seem to have that ability to bond with her that most mothers find so easy. She's always worshipped John, and I've always felt like I couldn't even come second. The only reason she came to me when she discovered she was pregnant was because John was so against her having a termination. At the time, I thought it was just his usual adverse response at work, but now it makes sense."
"I remember telling him that he couldn't change the past through Charlie," Replied Jo.
"It's funny," Said George, "But..." She suddenly sat up, stayed perfectly still for a moment then, clapping a hand against her mouth, swung her legs out of bed and flew towards the door to the en suite. Hearing the sound of violent retching, Jo moved to the bathroom doorway. Seeing that George was struggling to keep her hair out of the way with one hand, Jo knelt down beside her, gently took hold of her hair and began rubbing small circles on her back to try and calm her down. But this clear evidence that Jo was witnessing her total humiliation brought a fresh surge of tears to George's eyes. Murmuring vague words of comfort and still rubbing gentle circles on George's back, Jo could feel the spasms slowly decreasing until they ceased altogether. As George flushed away the minimal amount of food she'd eaten that day, she reflected that this just had to be as bad as it could get. Her rival, some would say her old arch enemy had just seen her in the most degrading, submissive position possible. As she splashed her face with cold water and cleaned her teeth, she knew that she no longer had anything to fight with. It was only when she caught sight of her unhealthily flushed yet hollow cheeked face in the mirror that she realised she was still crying. Still standing in the bathroom doorway, Jo simply held out her arms. At first George hesitated, feeling so near rock bottom that she thought any sign of sympathy from another human being, especially this one, might undo her completely. But when Jo held out a hand, George found herself taking it. Jo led her back in to the bedroom and pulled her down to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. Jo held George as her body shook, feeling every last ounce of poise and self-respect being torn from her as if never to return. George made very little sound as she wept, but her breath came in deep, shuddering gasps.
"I'm sorry," She said after a while, trying to bring herself back under control.
"What for?" Asked Jo softly.
"For being so bloody feeble."
"You're not," Said Jo simply. "Letting yourself go this much takes courage."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked George, moving slightly away from Jo and reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table.
"I've been asking myself that ever since I brought you home," Replied Jo. "There's one thing you can tell me though, because there's one piece of this jigsaw that's still missing."
"There's a lot of pieces missing, but go on," Said George, finally managing to suppress her body's awful shaking.
"It wasn't just the fiasco with Neil that made you get in to this state, was it."
"What makes you say that?" Asked George, as ever keeping her cards close to her chest.
"The last time things got quite as bad as this was over Charlie, though I'm guessing you might have regressed somewhat when you discovered my existence and John left. But the main feeling you've associated with starving yourself is guilt. So, what I'm asking is what do you feel guilty for now?" George went utterly still for a moment and then withdrew from Jo completely. She walked across to the small table by the armchair where Jo had been sitting and picked up the cigarettes. As she lit one and held out the packet to Jo, she felt an incredible reluctance to come clean about having recently slept with John. George thought that she could grow to see Jo as a very close friend. Jo hadn't so far uttered one word of criticism or derision for anything George had said or done this day, and it wasn't many people who could be so supportive. George was all too aware that if John had driven her home, they would have yelled at each other and things would have been no different when he left. But Jo had listened to her, divulged one of her own painful skeletons, had watched her humiliate herself in one of the worst ways possible and had comforted her afterwards. George hated what she was about to do.
"Come on, George, it can't be that bad," Said Jo, still watching her with that soft yet penetrating gaze that made George feel as if Jo could read her every thought.
"I slept with John, twice in the last month," Said George, as she perched on the arm of the chair as if ready to run. Jo felt a cacophony of feelings which at first seemed to swamp her. First there was the initial anger that George and John had done this to her. Then she asked herself what else she expected from either of them. Then she was hit with a wave of sadness that almost engulfed her. George had starved herself to quite literally within inches of her life because she felt guilty for betraying Jo. Back in September, on the morning after Neil had blacked George's eye, Jo had for the time being abandoned any differences they'd once had, purely and simply because she could see the hurt and bewilderment emanating from her every pore. But when George had slept with John, for whatever reason, Jo's having been something of a friend to her had caused George to feel inexorably guilty for helping John to do the thing he did best. With a flash of irritation Jo realised that John didn't actually need any prompting to chase other women in the first place. But Jo couldn't feel hurt by George. She'd clearly been in a very vulnerable state for some time, and had maybe gone to John looking for some sense of normality, and John being John would never turn down the advances of a beautiful woman, especially one whom he already knew so intimately.
"Why?" Jo asked quietly.
"Why did I sleep with John?"
"No, why did it make you feel so guilty." George took a long drag of her cigarette.
"Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, you and I didn't used to be able to say one civil word to each other. During that trial, something changed, not just in me but in you too. I finally had my eyes opened to the way Neil and his cronies were prepared to use me to get the type of supposed justice that suited them. I think that with you, it was getting closer to Karen Betts and perhaps slightly too emotionally involved with her part in that case and the one you offered to prosecute for her. Those two weeks softened you up slightly and made me question just what I was doing with my life. Then when I found out in no uncertain terms exactly how far Neil could go if provoked, you listened. You didn't care that at first I shouted at you, made you the point on which to focus my anger. Then we started working together on Karen Betts' case, and even though you never actually said it, I knew that if I wanted someone to listen to me rant about Neil, you would. The first time I slept with John, I woke in the morning to find your picture staring at me from the bedside table. It reminded me fairly forcefully of how much I couldn't have done without your olive branch and yes, I know that this ought to have stopped me from sleeping with him a second time, but we both know how hypnotic he can be."
"Some might call it poetic justice," Said Jo ruefully.
"That's hardly an excuse," Replied George.
"That's what you couldn't tell me, wasn't it. The time you got pretty drunk, two days before Legover's party."
"Yes. When you apologised for breaking up my marriage, that almost finished me off. Virtually everything you said that night just made it worse. I've never felt guilty for sleeping with someone before, and I've certainly never felt guilty about anything concerning you. Sliding back in to my old habit seemed the only way to deal with what I didn't understand." Jo's eyes began to widen in realisation.
"The day after you went to Larkhall, we were starting a pretrial hearing. When I saw you two, before we went in to court, you were in the middle of an argument. That's what it was about, wasn't it."
"Yes. I'd had an attack of conscience, and I was trying to make John listen to me, which you'll know at the best of times can be impossible."
"The night after your visit to Larkhall," Jo didn't need to finish the sentence for George to understand what she was getting at.
"That was the second time. But Jo, knowing any details won't help."
"That's where you're wrong," Replied Jo, "The bare essentials help me to make some kind of sense of it. If you woke up to see my picture the first time, that must have been at the digs."
"Yes. That was the Tuesday night, two days before my few hours behind bars." George watched a frown, slowly creasing its way over Jo's face, as if she was trying to work out the last bit of the puzzle. Suddenly, it dawned on George that Jo was attempting to work out why it had happened a second time. Jo's eyes briefly drifted to the bed whose edge she was sitting on, and immediately slid away, as if contemplating John and George making love here was taking her analysis of the situation a little too far.
"Why a second time?" Jo finally asked the question. "If once made you feel guilty." Remembering all too well precisely why John had come looking to repeat and improve on the first occasion, George blushed, and hurriedly said,
"You really don't need to know that. Please, just accept that there was a second occasion. Please don't ask why." There was such a desperate quality about George's plea, that Jo immediately became interested, seeing that this hadn't been purely to fulfill a temporary reawoken urge. To avoid Jo's unwavering gaze, George stood up and began pacing, eventually standing in front of the full length mirror on the outside of the wardrobe door.
"Good god," She said, taking in her pallid, waif-like reflection. "I do look ugly."
"You've never looked ugly in your life, George," Replied Jo, moving to regain her seat in the armchair, not taking her eyes off George who didn't seem able to keep still.
"Today, I do," Affirmed George. Jo knew that if she waited, she would be rewarded, George's urge to talk was always too strong for her own good.
"John came looking for a repeat performance," She eventually began, "Because I'd questioned his ability by faking it on the Tuesday." A look of dawning realisation came over Jo's face. George had said this with her face turned away from Jo, totally unable to look her in the eye. "I felt so ridiculous" Went on George, the real hurdle now cleared. "I'd gone looking for it, and in the end I couldn't even enjoy it. I wasn't going to let him know that, especially after all my persuasion, and I thought that after all these years, I'd be able to fool him. But this is John we're talking about, and he never misses a trick where women are concerned. I don't really know why I didn't enjoy it, I was probably too wound up, and I think I wanted it too much. I think it shocked him that I'd done that. When we were married, and I was going through my periodic phases of feeling utterly flat and miserable, bed was the last thing I really felt like. It never entered my head to hide it from him. Bed of one form or another, is really how John shows he loves someone. He used to, and probably still does, find it incredibly hard to actually say what he feels, so he follows the philosophy of actions speak louder than words. It hurt him enormously that I quite often wouldn't get any real pleasure out of anything he did, mainly because I didn't feel I deserved it. It's stupid really, but I didn't think I deserved to be happy, and yet it was probably my reluctance to forgive myself for my almost complete failure to really love and care for Charlie that drove him away. I don't really blame him, not now. At the time, I was too angry with everything, his infidelity, my being a useless mother, everything, to be able to see his side of it. But I know I was impossible to live with a lot of the time. He probably went looking elsewhere to get a bit of peace." This briefly made Jo smile. Seeing this, George said, "Did he ever say that to you, in the beginning I mean." Jo looked a trifle sheepish.
"Occasionally," She admitted.
"I'm hardly surprised," Said George, "If I wasn't taking out my anger and sheer self-loathing on me, then I was taking it out on him. To be honest, I'm amazed he stayed as long as he did, but then it was me who eventually said enough is enough, not him."
"You still love him, don't you," Said Jo, after a short pause.
"I'm not sure," Said George, taking a long, contemplative drag of what felt like her hundredth cigarette that day. "I suppose part of me does. I think I'd got to the stage of being totally numb, and scared of what I knew I was doing to myself again. My food intake, or lack of it, was the only thing I seemed able to control. It was the one thing I could hold on to with utter certainty, yet I couldn't even get that right."
"George, if your sole aim was to become as thin as possible and yet manage to keep it from everyone who knew you, and continue to function in court, then you almost accomplished it too successfully. When I saw you this morning, I thought you were pregnant." George shuddered.
"Good god, no. I was a terrible mother the first time round. I won't be making that mistake again." George shivered and Jo realised that George was only wearing a very thin nightie and that with her decreased size must be cold.
"I think you should get some sleep," Jo said, looking at George's clearly exhausted face. George moved back in to the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet above the sink, emerging with a bottle of sleeping pills. Filling a glass with water, she took two of them. Jo walked in and plucked them out of her hand.
"You don't seriously think I'm about to take the entire bottle," Said George, sounding more exhausted than scornful.
"I don't know, George, are you?" Said Jo, rapidly reading the instructions on the label.
"I might be pretty close to it, but I'm not quite that far gone. Anyway, the wonderful thing about Temazipan is that even if you get tempted, the whole lot would simply make you sleep for a couple of days."
"You'll probably sleep for about fifteen hours on two of these," Said Jo, handing them back.
"Hopefully," Replied George, crawling back under her thick feather duvet and switching on the electric blanket. Jo sat back down in the armchair.
"I like that picture," She said, pointing to the beautiful illustration of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden that hung over the bed.
"It used to hang downstairs," Said George, the drowsiness of drug-induced sleep creeping in to her voice. "But I needed something to look at when in bed with Neil." Jo laughed softly. George turned on to her left side so that she was facing Jo across the room. "Thank you for coping with me today," George said, the sedative giving her the courage to voice such a thought. "I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with when I'm like this."
"George, you never have been easy to deal with," Replied Jo, raising the first smile she'd seen today on that normally beautiful face. Just as George was falling asleep, she murmured,
"I'm sorry."
"What for?" Asked Jo gently.
"For everything." Jo stood up and gently reached over to rest a hand on George's bony shoulder.
"The feeling's mutual," She said, close enough to see the long eyelashes finally lie still on the cheeks that had seen too many tears this day.
Observing that George was finally asleep, Jo went downstairs and made herself a coffee. Yawning, she realised just how much today had taken out of her too. It wasn't just the emotionally crippled who could get exhausted, Jo thought, but the people who spent time with them. About half an hour later, she heard John's car draw up outside. When she went to let him in, he said without preamble,
"How is she?"
"Asleep, I didn't want you to wake her with the doorbell."
"You look done in," Said John coming in to the hall.
"You could say that, which is why I'm going home to bed. I take it you're staying here?"
"I think that'd be a good idea. When she wakes up, it's time me and her had a little chat."
"Well, just go easy on her," chided Jo. "I've learnt more about her today than I ever have about you."
"Okay, calm down. I'll be good, I promise."
"You said that to me on the night you made such a fool of yourself with Francesca Rochester. You didn't mean it then and you don't mean it now."
"Hey, what's got in to you?" He asked, still keeping his voice down at the same level as hers. Jo took a deep breath to bring herself back under control.
"John, I could quite happily strangle you tonight, but I won't because I'm too tired. I've not achieved much today, but I'd really rather you didn't unravel her completely and put her back at square one. Do you think you can manage that?" John was looking at her a little oddly.
"Jo, are you feeling all right?" He asked, never having heard her stick up for George like this.
"I will be when I've had some sleep," She said, moving towards the door.
"Will you do me a favour?" Said John, following her. "I've got Mimi in the car. Will you take her home with you and keep her till tomorrow for me."
"Of course," Said Jo with a small smile. "Mimi I can cope with, it's you I'm not in the mood for." Starting to dread just what George might have told her, John lifted Mimi out of his car and ensconced her on Jo's backseat. When he tried to give Jo a hug and she simply got in to her car, he said,
"What've I done?"
"How long have you got?" Replied Jo. Then switching on the ignition, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
It was on the dull, gray Friday morning that Jo found herself for the fifth day running, driving in to the car park of the Old Bailey. Again, she was standing for the prosecution and George for the defence, with John seated on his throne on high. We seem to be making a habit of this, thought Jo as she brought her car to a stand still. But George hadn't been her usual argumentative self this week. Yes, she'd stood up for her client, but the spark of anger that always fuelled George's objections was missing. It only took the half-minute of Jo running through the wind and pouring rain, for her hair to look like she hadn't brushed it that morning. Pushing open the door of the ladies', Jo wasn't surprised to see George pulling a brush through her own hair. The high wind had brought a rosiness to Jo's cheeks, but when she joined George at the mirror, Jo could see that there wasn't any hint of colour in George's face. Her skin was as white as alabaster and there were dark circles under her eyes.
"George, you look terrible. Are you all right?"
"Good morning to you too," Replied George drily. At the beginning of the week, Jo had thought George looked tired and as though she'd lost weight, which was something George could hardly afford to do, but this was different.
"You look like death warmed up," Said Jo, sounding too concerned for George's brittle grip on sanity to stand.
"And you look like you've just got out of bed," She said, smirking at Jo's tousled hair. Pulling a brush through her offending blondness, Jo took the hint that George wasn't about to offer an explanation.
All through the morning session, Jo kept a discrete eye on George who looked to be fading with every objection she raised. But somehow, she kept going. It might have taken all her reserves, but not for anyone was she about to lose any respect with her client by crying off. When it finally came to lunchtime recess and after watching her client being taken back to the cells, George uncharacteristically rested her folded arms on the table in front of her and briefly leaned her head on them. Jo was about to go over to her, when she thought better of it. She knew her well enough to know that there was only a certain amount of friendly interest George would take. Collecting her papers together, Jo made her way up to John's chambers. Seeing that Coope had obviously gone to lunch, Jo knocked. When he let her in, they exchanged a hug and a kiss.
"Your ex isn't looking so good today," Jo said without preamble.
"Yes, I noticed," Replied John.
"If I didn't think George knew better," Went on Jo conversationally. "I'd wonder if she was pregnant." John kept his face utterly blank, but Jo didn't miss the slight flicker of his eyelids.
"She hated motherhood the first time round," Replied John, trying to cover up the shock at Jo's innocuous remark. "I doubt she'd do it again."
George looked slightly better at the beginning of the afternoon session, but that was probably only because of the hour and a half's break and a cigarette or three. As it was her turn to cross-examine the witness, she stood resolutely at the defence bench ready to play her part. But only half of her was concentrating on the witness. On the outside, she appeared confident, her strident tones firing question after question at the witness, trying to unsettle him as much as possible. But the other half of her brain was slowly urging her body to shut down. George wasn't stupid. She could feel the fog gradually insinuating its way in to her mind. But she had to keep going. If she could just manage to keep this up for another hour or so, she could go home and sleep. But this wasn't to be. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Jo that part way through the afternoon, George's hand had begun casually resting on the back of the chair that stood at the defence bench. As time went on, her grip on the chair visibly tightened. George could feel it now, that buzzing in her temples that told her she was using up every ounce of energy she had, which was precious little. George had listened to the witnesses answer to her question, and was summoning up the strength to keep going.
"Any further questions, Ms Channing?" Asked John, wondering at her silence and all the time fervently hoping Jo's suspicion was wrong. George took a breath to speak, but her body and her brain had put up with quite enough. As she slid almost silently to the ground, her world went black. Rising swiftly to his feet, John called,
"Court is adjourned," Before rushing over to George, closely followed by Jo. As the defendant was escorted away and the few in the public gallery made their way downstairs, John deftly picked up George in his arms, deciding that she felt far too light.
"Open the door," He said to Jo, gesturing to the door behind the Judge's bench which led to his chambers. As Jo held the door open and John walked passed her, George began to stir.
"Put me down," She grumbled weakly. Walking over to the couch that ran along the back wall of the room, he laid her down on it. Coope had appeared, wondering what the commotion was.
"Could you get us some tea, please?" He asked.
"Does Mrs. Channing need a doctor, Judge?" Asked Coope.
"No, I don't," Replied George, clearly becoming more alert with the old obstinacy creeping back in to her voice.
"If she's arguing, Coope, she'll be fine," Said John. When Coope left them to get the tea, John asked, "What happened, George?"
"I fainted," She replied bluntly, "What did it look like."
"Are you pregnant?" John asked, locking his gaze with hers. George laughed mirthlessly.
"Of course not," She said scornfully. "Just because some people forget about that possibility, doesn't mean I'm stupid enough too." Praying that Jo didn't get the underlying meaning of George's words, John said,
"Then I am forced to assume that your old habit has raised its ugly head again."
"John, please don't do this," Said George, sounding more defeated than Jo had ever heard her.
"You can't keep doing this, George. You absolutely can not keep starving yourself to the point where you're collapsing in court."
"Yes, thank you," Said George curtly. "I've heard it all before. You should know, you've said most of it." John rolled his eyes.
"Then for once in your life, listen to me." Jo stared at her in total realisation. So this was George's vice, the thing in life that kept her going. She had been slightly concerned about her ever since that business with Neil, but she'd had no idea it went this deep. But if she thought about it long enough, George was a perfect candidate for anorexia. George had always been a high achiever, almost desperate to prove herself both as a barrister and as a woman. She'd always taken everything far too much to heart. The prospect of failure had always eaten away at George like a corrosive substance, until Jo supposed the anger and the loathing had finally turned inwards.
"How long has it been, George?" Jo asked gently. Then, at George's questioning look, she added, "Since you last ate." Immediately the shutters seemed to come down, as if to protect her soul from their penetrating gaze.
"Almost a week," She said, not looking at either of them.
"And I bet you were hardly eating a sufficient amount before that," Said John in disgust. Jo glared at him. "Don't look at me like that," He said, turning on Jo. "She has to realise that she can't keep doing this. He turned back to fix his gaze on George. "Because one day you'll go too far."
"I think George probably knows that, John," Put in Jo quietly. George had heard quite enough of them talking about her as if she wasn't there. She sat up and made to get up from the couch.
"You're not going anywhere," Said John firmly.
"Why?" Asked George, her old strident tone not sounding quite right in her weakened state.
"Because someone has to keep an eye on you," Replied John.
"You can't keep me here," Said George, her voice rising with indignation.
"Try me," Was John's only response. It was time for Jo to put her two pennorth in.
"Would you like me to drive you home?" She asked.
"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home," George said, her gaze swiveling to Jo, but not focusing on her directly. Jo moved forward and held up two fingers.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" She asked, knowing that malnutrition could temporarily effect a person's eyesight.
"Three?" Jo shook her head.
"Which is precisely why you're not going anywhere near your car," Put in John.
"Come on," Jo cajoled. "I'll take you home."
"Fine," Said George standing up. "Anything to get him off my case." She swayed slightly as she walked towards the door with Jo, and John was immediately at her side pulling her arm through his. George didn't protest at his support, which was to him the first sign that she might just be taking this seriously.
When they reached the carpark, Jo opened the passenger door of her car and George sank gratefully in to the seat. When John had shut the door, he followed Jo round to the other side.
"Thank you," He said quietly.
"Wait and see how far I get first," Replied Jo.
"You don't have to do this," He added.
"I know, but I think this needs a different approach from your criticism and bluster."
"And what else am I supposed to do?" John asked, the still pouring rain keeping his quiet yet irritated voice from reaching George's ears.
"You won't get her to give this up by constantly sticking in the knife."
"This isn't the first time she's done it."
"Thank you, but I managed to work that out for myself."
"Don't you be cross with me, too," He pleaded. She gave him a soft smile.
"She'll be okay," Said Jo softly. "Just leave her to me."
"I'll come over later," He said as she opened the car door and got in, immediately turning on the engine and switching the heater on full.
George was utterly silent as they drove, almost transfixed by the windscreen wipers monotonously moving back and forth. Jo didn't attempt to make conversation because she wasn't about to introduce what she knew would be a difficult subject whilst she had the driving to concentrate on. When they reached her house, George let them in and draped her coat over the chair in the hall.
"Tea?" She said, moving in to the kitchen and filling the kettle. Hanging her own jacket over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Jo said,
"I think you should eat something."
"No," Said George firmly.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not hungry. What other reason is there."
"After a week of not eating, George, I find that hard to believe."
"The body becomes accustomed so that eventually you don't feel it."
"Well, I'm not even going to think about leaving until you do, so please eat something if only to get rid of me."
"You're more persistent than John, and I didn't think that was possible." Under Jo's unwavering gaze, George dug some bread out of the freezer and put a slice in the toaster. Pouring the tea, she plonked two cups on the table and sat down opposite Jo.
"Why are you doing this, George?" Asked Jo, not wanting to frighten her off but knowing that she had to begin somewhere.
"Don't beat around the bush, do you," Replied George, getting up to retrieve the piece of toast. Returning to the table, she stared at the plate in front of her, the smell of the toast almost more than her senses could stand. "It's actually very easy to do after a while," She said conversationally.
"How long have you been doing it?"
"On and off since I was fifteen." George reluctantly began eating the toast.
"Why?" Asked Jo, still watching her. George took a swallow of tea.
"I don't know," Said George, clearly clamming up.
"Yes, you do," Said Jo softly, trying to prod George in to opening up. George finished eating her piece of toast and lit a cigarette.
"I don't want to talk about this."
"What are you scared of?"
"Isn't that obvious," Replied George scornfully. "You are the last person I want to see what a total wreck I am. Ever since John met you, I've had it made pretty bloody clear to me just how much of a failure I am compared to you. Having you firstly witnessing the mess Neil made of my face, and secondly being made aware of what is probably the biggest skeleton in my cupboard, is just a bit too much." Jo helped herself to a cigarette from the packet George had left on the table.
"Taking the evidence on face value," Jo said, taking a long drag. "Did I for one moment judge you when I saw what that creep had done to you?"
"No, but..."
"No. Therefore, I'd say it's fairly likely I'm not about to judge you now. Yes, I was surprised to say the least, and yes, I think you need help, but that doesn't mean I'm about to belittle what you feel or your reasons for doing it." George stared at her for a moment.
"Why?" She asked.
"We all have skeletons, George. The secret is to realise that occasionally, keeping them hidden isn't always the way forward. Anorexia isn't something you can fool around with."
"Please don't give me a lecture. John did that years ago."
"George, whatever you do to your own body is entirely up to you, but if you don't do something about it, one day you will take this too far."
"I know," Said George, suddenly looking utterly drained. "It usually happens when everything else in my life appears to be out of my control. Lately, I just seem to be losing my grip." It was with these words that Jo could finally see the breaking of the brittle eggshell, exposing the tender, vulnerable flesh of the soul underneath.
"Neil giving you a black eye got to you more than you thought it would, didn't it."
"Yes," Said George, "Apart from finding out I was pregnant with Charlie and my mother dying when I was ten, it was the biggest shock of my life. He took away my pride, made me question just what I was. Only John had ever done that before, and at least he had more style about it." Jo began to wonder at her own part in what George had gone through on previous occasions.
"I take it you did this not eating thing when you were married to John."
"Yes, he wasn't amused to say the least. He was delighted when I discovered I was pregnant."
"And you weren't?" George lit another cigarette.
"No. I hated every minute of it," She said, a flash of pain crossing her face.
"It happens," Observed Jo, wondering where this was leading.
"I bet being pregnant was one of the happiest times of your life, wasn't it," Said George bitterly, her self-loathing clearly turned up to maximum.
"Not always, no," Jo replied, and George was surprised to see a dark flash of memory appear behind her eyes. The words seemed to stick in George's throat, making her unable to continue. "What happened after Charlie was born?" Jo prompted, receiving a distinct vibe that this was the heart of many of George's feelings of guilt and weakness.
"I, er, I couldn't love her, not for quite a long time," She said in a strangled voice, the pain radiating from her like heat.
"That doesn't make you a bad person, George," Jo said softly. There were tears in George's eyes, and Jo could see the inner struggle that had so far prevented them from spilling over.
"Of course it does," Said George, her tears finally beginning to trace their parallel paths of despair down her cheeks. "Mothers are supposed to love their children, unconditionally and absolutely without question. It took me months before I could look at Charlie with anything more than apathy." George reached behind her for the box of tissues she always kept on top of the fridge. "John's always been the perfect father. When Charlie was very small, he couldn't do a thing wrong. I was a useless mother." I stopped eating for a while after Charlie was born, because I think it was about the only thing I understood. I didn't have the first idea about how to bring up a child, and I felt a constant failure for not having the normal feelings for her that a mother should have." Now she'd started, George didn't seem able to stop. "And John made it worse by never once reproaching me for it, not seriously anyway. He was so bloody nice to me when I really didn't deserve it."
"Did you stop eating as a form of punishment?"
"Probably. I didn't think about it like that at the time, but then starving oneself isn't actually a conscious decision, you just slide in to it until it eventually becomes a natural reaction to stress."
"So, if you know what to expect, why do you still let it happen?"
"It's like smoking, Jo, the habit's hard to kick."
"So, you punished yourself for not loving Charlie the way you thought a mother should love her daughter," Said Jo, trying to fit the fragments of this five thousand piece jigsaw together.
"It wasn't just that. Everything I did after Charlie was born seemed to make me feel guilty. The fact that John was far better at looking after her than I was, going back to work as soon as possible because at the time it was the only thing I was vaguely successful at, not remotely enjoying bed because I couldn't relax, you name it. That's probably why he went looking elsewhere. Believe it or not, he didn't stray once before Charlie was born, at least I don't think he did. For a while I tried to convince myself it didn't matter. He wasn't getting enough from me so it was almost expected that he'd get it from someone else. I did get back to a vague resemblance of my normal self, and occasionally he would stop chasing women and come back to me. I used to make the most of it when he did, probably to try and make him stay. But he'd got the taste for it. You saw how impossible it was for him to give it up last year when he was having therapy."
"Yes, only John could have therapy because he can't stop picking up women, and then sleep with his therapist."
"We did have some good times after that, but things were never quite the same." Jo looked thoughtful.
"During the Diana Halsey case, I remember how you looked when you were questioning her about the stress of being a single mother and having to make every decision on her own. You were so tense, as if you were ready to bolt at the first opportunity. You almost looked as if you were questioning yourself, not her."
"When Charlie was very small, it sometimes felt like all the big decisions were mine and mine alone. They never were in reality, if anything, John had far more of a hand in things like that than I did. But it felt like it was just me, because it was me and only me who had the problem with Charlie. I think that was because I couldn't tell John about how I was feeling. It would have meant I'd failed, when that's what I did anyway." George suddenly shivered and if possible looked even more tired. "I'm sorry," She said, yawning, "I was up most of last night working on today's defence. My bed is calling me."
"Go to bed if you wish, George, but this conversation isn't over."
"Still determined to succeed where John has failed, are you?" George asked with a wan smile.
"Not quite," Replied Jo, "But I think talking might just be doing you some good."
"What, baring my soul to the woman I've spent half my life envying? But then I suppose anything's worth a try." George stood up and moved towards the kitchen door.
"Would you like some more tea?" Jo asked, also getting to her feet. George turned back and picked up her cigarettes.
"Please." As Jo refilled the kettle and watched George walk out of the room, she wondered just what she was doing here. Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, her and George had been like a match and petrol, put them together and you get fireworks. They had always rubbed each other up the wrong way, both in and out of court. But it seemed like George had shed her outer skin, only to reveal just how vulnerable she was underneath all that glamour and scorn. Jo also thought it might be time for her to tell George why she, Jo, was not the perfect angel George seemed to think she was.
When Jo appeared upstairs carrying two cups of tea, she found George wearing a plain blue cotton nightie and sat up in her enormous king-sized bed, which made her look all the more tiny in comparison. Jo thought that this was possibly the most decadent bedroom she'd ever seen, but glamour was George's middle name. The carpet was a deep, rich red, and was the type that a person's feet would sink in to on first contact. There were small, very stylish wall lights here and there, which gave the room a warm, rosy glow, perfect for seducing anyone. When George thanked her for the tea, Jo asked,
"How do you feel?" George put the tea down on the bedside table and snuggled down under the thick goose-feather duvet.
"I feel like I've smoked some really rough dope, which isn't something I've done since the seventies," She said. Jo sat down in the enormous rose plush armchair in the corner.
"Can you answer me one question?" Began Jo, "Why did you have those pictures taken of me and John?" Much to her mortification, George couldn't help blushing.
"I think that was one of the lowest stunts I've ever pulled," She said.
"Yes," Said Jo drily. "It almost got me taken off the road." George was quiet for a moment.
"I know it sounds ridiculous," She said, "But I think I wanted some proof that you weren't as perfect as I've always thought you were." Jo walked over to the dressing table and returned to her chair with George's cigarettes and an ashtray clearly kept there for her first thing in the morning fix. After lighting one, she said,
"I think it's about time I shattered some of your illusions about me."
"Oh?" Jo took a long drag.
"You seem to be under the impression that I am the embodiment of everything John didn't find in you."
"That about sums it up," Said George, knowing that said like that, it did sound a little ridiculous.
"If we're talking about being the perfect lover, I'd say that this has been fairly successfully contradicted by the fact that John has chased other women as much with me as he did with you. He always has, and I suspect he always will. I'm certain he's been sleeping with someone else recently and it might even be two." George schooled her face in to as blank an expression as possible, but she hadn't had anywhere near enough practice, unlike John.
"Sometimes I think John would have been better marrying and having children with you," Said George trying to change the subject slightly.
"He nearly did once," Said Jo, saying it now so that she wouldn't back out.
"What?" George sat up sharply and immediately regretted it. The sudden movement had made her head spin and set her stomach churning.
"I had a termination," Said Jo quietly. George slumped back on the pillows and just stared at her.
"I'm sorry," Said George, "I didn't know."
"There's no reason why you would. So you see, I haven't always been the perfect mother."
"It's hardly the same," Said George, remembering the time Charlie had got herself pregnant, also by her tutor.
"It feels like it sometimes," Replied Jo. "You dream about it, wake up seeing it, and all you're left with is the what ifs."
"When did this happen?" George asked softly, and Jo was introduced to a new quality in George, a new timbres in her voice that signaled sympathy.
"A while after you and John split up," Answered Jo, knowing that although John's and George's marriage had been on the rocks anyway, she had been the final catalyst that had forced them apart.
"Did John know?" Asked George gently.
"He drove me to the clinic. My husband was terminally ill, and I had two young children to look after. For a while after the termination and after my husband died, I didn't think I could cope with Mark and Tom. I was so depressed and so exhausted, that I asked my mother to have them, but she wouldn't. I certainly wouldn't say I was a good mother then."
"When Charlie was growing up, I just didn't seem to have that ability to bond with her that most mothers find so easy. She's always worshipped John, and I've always felt like I couldn't even come second. The only reason she came to me when she discovered she was pregnant was because John was so against her having a termination. At the time, I thought it was just his usual adverse response at work, but now it makes sense."
"I remember telling him that he couldn't change the past through Charlie," Replied Jo.
"It's funny," Said George, "But..." She suddenly sat up, stayed perfectly still for a moment then, clapping a hand against her mouth, swung her legs out of bed and flew towards the door to the en suite. Hearing the sound of violent retching, Jo moved to the bathroom doorway. Seeing that George was struggling to keep her hair out of the way with one hand, Jo knelt down beside her, gently took hold of her hair and began rubbing small circles on her back to try and calm her down. But this clear evidence that Jo was witnessing her total humiliation brought a fresh surge of tears to George's eyes. Murmuring vague words of comfort and still rubbing gentle circles on George's back, Jo could feel the spasms slowly decreasing until they ceased altogether. As George flushed away the minimal amount of food she'd eaten that day, she reflected that this just had to be as bad as it could get. Her rival, some would say her old arch enemy had just seen her in the most degrading, submissive position possible. As she splashed her face with cold water and cleaned her teeth, she knew that she no longer had anything to fight with. It was only when she caught sight of her unhealthily flushed yet hollow cheeked face in the mirror that she realised she was still crying. Still standing in the bathroom doorway, Jo simply held out her arms. At first George hesitated, feeling so near rock bottom that she thought any sign of sympathy from another human being, especially this one, might undo her completely. But when Jo held out a hand, George found herself taking it. Jo led her back in to the bedroom and pulled her down to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. Jo held George as her body shook, feeling every last ounce of poise and self-respect being torn from her as if never to return. George made very little sound as she wept, but her breath came in deep, shuddering gasps.
"I'm sorry," She said after a while, trying to bring herself back under control.
"What for?" Asked Jo softly.
"For being so bloody feeble."
"You're not," Said Jo simply. "Letting yourself go this much takes courage."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked George, moving slightly away from Jo and reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table.
"I've been asking myself that ever since I brought you home," Replied Jo. "There's one thing you can tell me though, because there's one piece of this jigsaw that's still missing."
"There's a lot of pieces missing, but go on," Said George, finally managing to suppress her body's awful shaking.
"It wasn't just the fiasco with Neil that made you get in to this state, was it."
"What makes you say that?" Asked George, as ever keeping her cards close to her chest.
"The last time things got quite as bad as this was over Charlie, though I'm guessing you might have regressed somewhat when you discovered my existence and John left. But the main feeling you've associated with starving yourself is guilt. So, what I'm asking is what do you feel guilty for now?" George went utterly still for a moment and then withdrew from Jo completely. She walked across to the small table by the armchair where Jo had been sitting and picked up the cigarettes. As she lit one and held out the packet to Jo, she felt an incredible reluctance to come clean about having recently slept with John. George thought that she could grow to see Jo as a very close friend. Jo hadn't so far uttered one word of criticism or derision for anything George had said or done this day, and it wasn't many people who could be so supportive. George was all too aware that if John had driven her home, they would have yelled at each other and things would have been no different when he left. But Jo had listened to her, divulged one of her own painful skeletons, had watched her humiliate herself in one of the worst ways possible and had comforted her afterwards. George hated what she was about to do.
"Come on, George, it can't be that bad," Said Jo, still watching her with that soft yet penetrating gaze that made George feel as if Jo could read her every thought.
"I slept with John, twice in the last month," Said George, as she perched on the arm of the chair as if ready to run. Jo felt a cacophony of feelings which at first seemed to swamp her. First there was the initial anger that George and John had done this to her. Then she asked herself what else she expected from either of them. Then she was hit with a wave of sadness that almost engulfed her. George had starved herself to quite literally within inches of her life because she felt guilty for betraying Jo. Back in September, on the morning after Neil had blacked George's eye, Jo had for the time being abandoned any differences they'd once had, purely and simply because she could see the hurt and bewilderment emanating from her every pore. But when George had slept with John, for whatever reason, Jo's having been something of a friend to her had caused George to feel inexorably guilty for helping John to do the thing he did best. With a flash of irritation Jo realised that John didn't actually need any prompting to chase other women in the first place. But Jo couldn't feel hurt by George. She'd clearly been in a very vulnerable state for some time, and had maybe gone to John looking for some sense of normality, and John being John would never turn down the advances of a beautiful woman, especially one whom he already knew so intimately.
"Why?" Jo asked quietly.
"Why did I sleep with John?"
"No, why did it make you feel so guilty." George took a long drag of her cigarette.
"Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, you and I didn't used to be able to say one civil word to each other. During that trial, something changed, not just in me but in you too. I finally had my eyes opened to the way Neil and his cronies were prepared to use me to get the type of supposed justice that suited them. I think that with you, it was getting closer to Karen Betts and perhaps slightly too emotionally involved with her part in that case and the one you offered to prosecute for her. Those two weeks softened you up slightly and made me question just what I was doing with my life. Then when I found out in no uncertain terms exactly how far Neil could go if provoked, you listened. You didn't care that at first I shouted at you, made you the point on which to focus my anger. Then we started working together on Karen Betts' case, and even though you never actually said it, I knew that if I wanted someone to listen to me rant about Neil, you would. The first time I slept with John, I woke in the morning to find your picture staring at me from the bedside table. It reminded me fairly forcefully of how much I couldn't have done without your olive branch and yes, I know that this ought to have stopped me from sleeping with him a second time, but we both know how hypnotic he can be."
"Some might call it poetic justice," Said Jo ruefully.
"That's hardly an excuse," Replied George.
"That's what you couldn't tell me, wasn't it. The time you got pretty drunk, two days before Legover's party."
"Yes. When you apologised for breaking up my marriage, that almost finished me off. Virtually everything you said that night just made it worse. I've never felt guilty for sleeping with someone before, and I've certainly never felt guilty about anything concerning you. Sliding back in to my old habit seemed the only way to deal with what I didn't understand." Jo's eyes began to widen in realisation.
"The day after you went to Larkhall, we were starting a pretrial hearing. When I saw you two, before we went in to court, you were in the middle of an argument. That's what it was about, wasn't it."
"Yes. I'd had an attack of conscience, and I was trying to make John listen to me, which you'll know at the best of times can be impossible."
"The night after your visit to Larkhall," Jo didn't need to finish the sentence for George to understand what she was getting at.
"That was the second time. But Jo, knowing any details won't help."
"That's where you're wrong," Replied Jo, "The bare essentials help me to make some kind of sense of it. If you woke up to see my picture the first time, that must have been at the digs."
"Yes. That was the Tuesday night, two days before my few hours behind bars." George watched a frown, slowly creasing its way over Jo's face, as if she was trying to work out the last bit of the puzzle. Suddenly, it dawned on George that Jo was attempting to work out why it had happened a second time. Jo's eyes briefly drifted to the bed whose edge she was sitting on, and immediately slid away, as if contemplating John and George making love here was taking her analysis of the situation a little too far.
"Why a second time?" Jo finally asked the question. "If once made you feel guilty." Remembering all too well precisely why John had come looking to repeat and improve on the first occasion, George blushed, and hurriedly said,
"You really don't need to know that. Please, just accept that there was a second occasion. Please don't ask why." There was such a desperate quality about George's plea, that Jo immediately became interested, seeing that this hadn't been purely to fulfill a temporary reawoken urge. To avoid Jo's unwavering gaze, George stood up and began pacing, eventually standing in front of the full length mirror on the outside of the wardrobe door.
"Good god," She said, taking in her pallid, waif-like reflection. "I do look ugly."
"You've never looked ugly in your life, George," Replied Jo, moving to regain her seat in the armchair, not taking her eyes off George who didn't seem able to keep still.
"Today, I do," Affirmed George. Jo knew that if she waited, she would be rewarded, George's urge to talk was always too strong for her own good.
"John came looking for a repeat performance," She eventually began, "Because I'd questioned his ability by faking it on the Tuesday." A look of dawning realisation came over Jo's face. George had said this with her face turned away from Jo, totally unable to look her in the eye. "I felt so ridiculous" Went on George, the real hurdle now cleared. "I'd gone looking for it, and in the end I couldn't even enjoy it. I wasn't going to let him know that, especially after all my persuasion, and I thought that after all these years, I'd be able to fool him. But this is John we're talking about, and he never misses a trick where women are concerned. I don't really know why I didn't enjoy it, I was probably too wound up, and I think I wanted it too much. I think it shocked him that I'd done that. When we were married, and I was going through my periodic phases of feeling utterly flat and miserable, bed was the last thing I really felt like. It never entered my head to hide it from him. Bed of one form or another, is really how John shows he loves someone. He used to, and probably still does, find it incredibly hard to actually say what he feels, so he follows the philosophy of actions speak louder than words. It hurt him enormously that I quite often wouldn't get any real pleasure out of anything he did, mainly because I didn't feel I deserved it. It's stupid really, but I didn't think I deserved to be happy, and yet it was probably my reluctance to forgive myself for my almost complete failure to really love and care for Charlie that drove him away. I don't really blame him, not now. At the time, I was too angry with everything, his infidelity, my being a useless mother, everything, to be able to see his side of it. But I know I was impossible to live with a lot of the time. He probably went looking elsewhere to get a bit of peace." This briefly made Jo smile. Seeing this, George said, "Did he ever say that to you, in the beginning I mean." Jo looked a trifle sheepish.
"Occasionally," She admitted.
"I'm hardly surprised," Said George, "If I wasn't taking out my anger and sheer self-loathing on me, then I was taking it out on him. To be honest, I'm amazed he stayed as long as he did, but then it was me who eventually said enough is enough, not him."
"You still love him, don't you," Said Jo, after a short pause.
"I'm not sure," Said George, taking a long, contemplative drag of what felt like her hundredth cigarette that day. "I suppose part of me does. I think I'd got to the stage of being totally numb, and scared of what I knew I was doing to myself again. My food intake, or lack of it, was the only thing I seemed able to control. It was the one thing I could hold on to with utter certainty, yet I couldn't even get that right."
"George, if your sole aim was to become as thin as possible and yet manage to keep it from everyone who knew you, and continue to function in court, then you almost accomplished it too successfully. When I saw you this morning, I thought you were pregnant." George shuddered.
"Good god, no. I was a terrible mother the first time round. I won't be making that mistake again." George shivered and Jo realised that George was only wearing a very thin nightie and that with her decreased size must be cold.
"I think you should get some sleep," Jo said, looking at George's clearly exhausted face. George moved back in to the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet above the sink, emerging with a bottle of sleeping pills. Filling a glass with water, she took two of them. Jo walked in and plucked them out of her hand.
"You don't seriously think I'm about to take the entire bottle," Said George, sounding more exhausted than scornful.
"I don't know, George, are you?" Said Jo, rapidly reading the instructions on the label.
"I might be pretty close to it, but I'm not quite that far gone. Anyway, the wonderful thing about Temazipan is that even if you get tempted, the whole lot would simply make you sleep for a couple of days."
"You'll probably sleep for about fifteen hours on two of these," Said Jo, handing them back.
"Hopefully," Replied George, crawling back under her thick feather duvet and switching on the electric blanket. Jo sat back down in the armchair.
"I like that picture," She said, pointing to the beautiful illustration of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden that hung over the bed.
"It used to hang downstairs," Said George, the drowsiness of drug-induced sleep creeping in to her voice. "But I needed something to look at when in bed with Neil." Jo laughed softly. George turned on to her left side so that she was facing Jo across the room. "Thank you for coping with me today," George said, the sedative giving her the courage to voice such a thought. "I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with when I'm like this."
"George, you never have been easy to deal with," Replied Jo, raising the first smile she'd seen today on that normally beautiful face. Just as George was falling asleep, she murmured,
"I'm sorry."
"What for?" Asked Jo gently.
"For everything." Jo stood up and gently reached over to rest a hand on George's bony shoulder.
"The feeling's mutual," She said, close enough to see the long eyelashes finally lie still on the cheeks that had seen too many tears this day.
Observing that George was finally asleep, Jo went downstairs and made herself a coffee. Yawning, she realised just how much today had taken out of her too. It wasn't just the emotionally crippled who could get exhausted, Jo thought, but the people who spent time with them. About half an hour later, she heard John's car draw up outside. When she went to let him in, he said without preamble,
"How is she?"
"Asleep, I didn't want you to wake her with the doorbell."
"You look done in," Said John coming in to the hall.
"You could say that, which is why I'm going home to bed. I take it you're staying here?"
"I think that'd be a good idea. When she wakes up, it's time me and her had a little chat."
"Well, just go easy on her," chided Jo. "I've learnt more about her today than I ever have about you."
"Okay, calm down. I'll be good, I promise."
"You said that to me on the night you made such a fool of yourself with Francesca Rochester. You didn't mean it then and you don't mean it now."
"Hey, what's got in to you?" He asked, still keeping his voice down at the same level as hers. Jo took a deep breath to bring herself back under control.
"John, I could quite happily strangle you tonight, but I won't because I'm too tired. I've not achieved much today, but I'd really rather you didn't unravel her completely and put her back at square one. Do you think you can manage that?" John was looking at her a little oddly.
"Jo, are you feeling all right?" He asked, never having heard her stick up for George like this.
"I will be when I've had some sleep," She said, moving towards the door.
"Will you do me a favour?" Said John, following her. "I've got Mimi in the car. Will you take her home with you and keep her till tomorrow for me."
"Of course," Said Jo with a small smile. "Mimi I can cope with, it's you I'm not in the mood for." Starting to dread just what George might have told her, John lifted Mimi out of his car and ensconced her on Jo's backseat. When he tried to give Jo a hug and she simply got in to her car, he said,
"What've I done?"
"How long have you got?" Replied Jo. Then switching on the ignition, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."