Part One Hundred And Twenty Nine
After John had left on the Saturday night, George had banked up the fire, put on some extremely soppy music and curled up on the sofa. She'd felt empty, flat, as if all her emotional and physical energy had been washed away. She didn't even have the energy to keep on crying. She'd peeled and eaten one of the kiwi fruits John had bought her, the juicy, green flesh delicately flecked with tiny black seeds. Did this represent the colours of her soul, she wondered idly? Did it show how she had been trying to live through the guilt and the pain for years, but how the black peppering of despair overshadowed what was underneath? Her thoughts drifted, as if tossed here and there at the whim of the tide, but always returning to what she'd said to John. She'd all but given him an assurance that she wouldn't go the same way as his mother had done, but oh, how she wanted to. She craved a release from the lifelong torment of being a failure as a mother, a failure as a daughter, a failure as a human being. Time and again she traced the inside of her left wrist, mapping the far too visible network of veins and arteries, both feeling and seeing the beat of the force of life spreading through her. These pathways of her body were so prominent that she could see the steady pulsing of the one and only thing that was keeping her alive. It was slightly quicker than it really ought to be, probably as a result of the enormous amount of cigarettes she'd smoked in the past couple of days. It's a well known fact that nicotine increases the heart rate and George had smoked enough recently to bring one back from the dead, never mind keep her own beating throughout her period of not eating. If there was a quick and simple way of burning away the guilt and the pain in the same way a surgeon will cortorise useless but still living blood vessels, she would grab it with both hands and hold on to it until she felt able to deal with life again. But as far as she could see, there wasn't. The only real solution to how she was feeling now was to irrevocably say goodbye to the world that she didn't want to be part of any more. But she couldn't do it, not to John, to Charlie, to her father, and not even to Jo. Was that it then, was there really no end to all this? But she considered that maybe this was her final punishment for every bad thing she'd ever felt or said or done, to not be able to find any reprieve, any cure for the emotional cancer that was gradually eating up her insides. On this worst of all her realisations that evening, she switched off the music, put a guard round the fire and went upstairs to bed. George had never spent much time thinking about whether or not there was a god, too many bad things had happened to make her think there really was such a being. But as she drifted to sleep in her enormous, lonely bed, she offered up a prayer to whoever was listening, pleading with them to allow her not to wake up.
But George wasn't to get her wish. She was dragged abruptly back in to the land of the living about twelve hours after she'd gone to sleep, by the insistent ringing of the phone. Blindly stretching out a hand to the cordless that lay on the bedside table, she said,
"Hello?" And Jo realised that she'd woken George from a much-needed sleep.
"George, it's Jo. Did I wake you?"
"Yes, you did," Replied George on a yawn. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midday," Said Jo, briefly glancing at her watch.
"That's all I seem to be able to do lately is sleep."
"It's probably not a bad thing," Said Jo, realising that whilst George was asleep she wasn't thinking. "I just phoned to see how you are."
"No," Replied George flatly. "You phoned to see if I was still alive."
"Yes, partly," Conceded Jo.
"He doesn't trust me, does he," Stated George in almost resigned despair.
"No, not entirely," Replied Jo gently, neither of them needing to explain who they were talking about.
"Well, you can tell him that I'm still here, still ticking, just utterly exhausted. How's John?" She asked tentatively.
"He probably feels a bit like you do this morning. We had a very long overdue talk when he came here last night."
"Oh, no, poor John," Said George, in sympathy with him, after having experienced Jo's version of the confessional on the Friday night. "Did you finish what I started?"
"Yes, I think so. But it had to be done. He's been fairly quiet this morning but he's taken Mimi for a walk. Some thinking time might do him good."
"Thinking's a very dangerous thing," Said George dryly, though Jo could hear the telltale hint of sincerity that told her just how scared George was of herself and her feelings.
"Why?" Asked Jo gently, all the time aware that she was treading the thin line between persuading George to talk to her and pushing her away altogether by forever frightening her off.
"I was being facetious."
"George, I've seen you in court, remember. I know what you sound like when you're really being facetious. Tell me why thinking's a dangerous thing."
"Jo, please don't do this," George pleaded, sounding as though she really didn't have the energy to fight any more.
"George, let me make something clear to you," Said Jo, gently but firmly. "You have almost certainly ended up feeling as low and afraid and alone as you do, because you haven't talked anywhere near enough, if at all. Oh, if you're thinking literally, you do talk. Sometimes you say far too much, but never about what's really important." George was quiet for a moment, and Jo wondered if she'd gone too far.
"It isn't quite that easy," George eventually said. "As you said, talking, or at least talking about what's really going on in my head, isn't something I do. I'm not sure that I've ever really known how to. No one even tried to get me to talk when my mother died, and not letting any of it out just became second nature to me. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly realising that she'd strayed in to the most heavily guarded area of her life. "I didn't mean to talk about that."
"You should," Said Jo gently, sensing the raising of every barrier George could muster.
"No," Said George, the fear in her voice all too evident.
"Is that what John made you talk about yesterday?"
"That, and just about everything else. But I don't think he'll be doing that again in a hurry."
"Why?"
"I made John a deal, a deal that he thought he could wriggle out of because he made the mistake of thinking I'd forget about him fulfilling his side of the bargain. He made me talk about my mother, so I made him talk about his."
"Ah," Said Jo in realisation. "So that would explain why he looked so shell shocked when I saw him last night."
"Yes." George went quiet for a moment, and Jo had the feeling that George badly wanted to say something to her, but that she either couldn't find quite the right words, or that she didn't have the courage to say it.
"How do you feel now?" Jo asked gently, trying to prod George in to talking again.
"Jo, you really don't want to hear this," Replied George, desperately trying to avoid putting her feelings in to words. Jo tentatively took a stab in the dark.
"John told me," She said, reaching for a cigarette, "About the promise you wouldn't give him."
"Oh," Said George, but retreating again in to silence. But she eventually said,
"I, erm, I don't really want to be here." Jo couldn't help briefly rolling her eyes at the way George had avoided saying the far too real, far too frightening words, I want to die.
"Why?" She asked, though she was fairly sure of the answer.
"Because I'm so tired," She said in total despair. "I'm tired of being so depressed that it's an effort to get up in the morning. I'm tired of carrying around so many feelings that I just don't know how to deal with, and I'm tired of living," She finished on a somewhat angry note.
"And the fact that John's already been through losing someone like that makes it harder, doesn't it."
"Yes," Said George furiously. "Because I could never do that to him. So, I'm torn, because that's the only way I can see of finding some sort of release from all this, and yet I know I've got to stay. John would never forgive me if I did that to him, or to Charlie. After you made me talk for so long on Friday," She said, calming down a little. "I felt sort of cleansed, because I knew it had done me good. But now I just feel empty and full to cracking open all in one go. I feel like part of me doesn't have any feelings left, and the rest of me has too many to keep under control."
"And that's why you stop eating, to have control over at least one part of your life."
"I know, crazy, isn't it."
"No, not really," Replied Jo. "It actually makes some kind of sense. But the only way you're going to get through this, is to learn to let what you're feeling out, rather than keeping it inside, where it'll only do you more harm."
"I am so scared of doing that," George said in a slightly strangled voice.
"I know," Said Jo gently. "But you've got to learn that it's not wrong to cry, it's not wrong to get angry, and it isn't wrong to need people. Sometimes, being held in a pair of strong, male arms is all it takes to make you feel sane again. But sometimes you need someone who's just that little bit removed, someone you can shout at, someone who won't automatically tell you that you shouldn't feel the way you do." After a short pause, George said,
"Thank you. If that was meant as an offer, I might take you up on it some time."
"You do that," Replied Jo. "But don't leave it too long. I will be keeping an eye on you."
"What with you and John," Said George dryly, "I'll have no choice but to stay on the straight and narrow."
"I hope so," Said Jo seriously. "What are you doing about work this week? Because I think you need some time to recover."
"And it wouldn't exactly be fair to my clients if I'm only functioning on barely one cylinder. I can probably leave the rest of the current trial in the hands of one of my juniors, but I'll have to be back for the one that starts on Friday."
"Okay, and George, please promise me something."
"I don't do promises."
"You will be able to do this one. Promise to call me if you just want someone to listen." After a moment's thought, George said,
"I will." When George replaced the receiver a few minutes later, she thought that never, in her entire life had she ever felt so surreal. Jo, the woman whom up until very recently, George had loathed with a vengeance, had been transformed in to what George could only call a close friend. Like Karen, George had never especially gone in for female friends, maintaining her emotional independence at all and sometimes catastrophic costs. But here she was, in her late forties, finally beginning to open up to someone, and with the help of this someone else, to begin examining the dark recesses of her mind.
When Jo put the phone down, she stood for a while, just looking out of her kitchen window at the back garden, attempting to marshal her thoughts. George had been thoroughly ashamed of feeling so low, and Jo just prayed that she could help her through it. George wasn't going to survive this latest downward spiral unless she learnt to ask for help. Jo filled the kettle for a cup of tea, and heard John returning with Mimi. As he opened the front door, she called,
"John, is that you?" Mimi ran in to the kitchen, thinking that she could get to like this house. John followed at a more leisurely pace.
"Hello," He said, putting his arms round Jo and giving her a kiss.
"You look better than you did earlier," Jo observed.
"Fresh October air is very invigorating, and I did need some time to think."
"I phoned George," Said Jo, pouring them both a cup of tea.
"How is she?" John asked guardedly.
"I believe her words were, tell him I'm still here, still ticking, just exhausted."
"Well, that's something, I suppose," He said dryly. "Do you think she'll be all right?"
"In time, yes. But there's an awful lot about herself that she needs to come to terms with, like you," Jo finished, turning to face him and putting her arms round him.
"I love you," He said in to her hair.
"And though it's given me more heartache than I ever thought possible," she said, between kisses, "I love you too."
"Can we go to bed?" He asked after a little while.
"Oh, you feel that good, do you?" She quipped, a light dancing in her eyes.
"I need you," He said, his voice deep with arousal.
"I'll have to see what I can do about that then, won't I," She replied, leading his hand to the buttons of her blouse. Clothes were rapidly discarded as they progressed from kitchen to bedroom, both of them craving some kind of release from the tension that had been building up since Friday. It had only been a few days since they'd last made love, but they were hungry for each other, desperate to reclaim the part of their relationship that had never been called in to question. Their passion for each other was almost furious, John wanting to prove to Jo how much he loved her, and Jo wanting to show John that she was just as good in bed as George. When he finally entered her after some extensive foreplay, she wrapped her arms and legs round him, as if afraid he would leave her.
"I feel like you're putting your mark on me," He said, angling his hips to hit her G spot which made her gasp.
"How do you know I'm not," she countered, with a squeeze of her internal muscles that spurred him on to further endeavour.
"Do that again and I won't last much longer," He said, reaching a hand in between them to give her clit some attention. When they eventually went over the edge together, Jo found herself crying out his name, not something she usually did, normally being fairly quiet when it came to bed. But she couldn't help it. She loved this man, no matter what he did, and she knew she always would.
As they lay afterwards, their breathing gradually returning to normal, Jo wasn't the only one who knew there had been something different about that time. John had felt it too. The way her body had been laying its claim on his, the way she'd called his name, and the slightly wicked grin on her face when he'd told her to stop squeezing him, which had reminded him fleetingly of George. After a while, he traced a finger delicately over her breast and said,
"You're beautiful." A soft, lazy smile crossed Jo's face.
"Ah," She said, her voice resonating with the kind of deep, utterly assured serenity that only ever follows particularly good loving. "But was I more beautiful to you when you were having an affair, and when being with me was wrong." He stared at her.
"No, not at all," He said, after a moment's deliberation. "I've always thought you were beautiful. Why do you ask?"
"Because sometimes," She said, turning on to her side and facing him. "I think that's why you stray so much. Being who and what you are, means that you have to always uphold what is good, what is right, both morally and legally. But occasionally, you need to experience the feeling of being bad, which is why having a fling or a one night stand with someone you shouldn't, is so attractive to you."
"And where did you dig up that little piece of wisdom?" he asked dryly.
"I didn't," She replied succinctly, "It just occurred to me. That's why I think that whilst you're not, professionally, allowed to be involved with me, I'm still attractive to you."
"You, will always be attractive to me," He said, putting his arms round her.
"I'd like to believe it, John," She said, "But your word on this isn't enough. You've still got so many unresolved feelings about a lot of things, but especially George, and until at least some of that is sorted out, I couldn't expect you to make any kind of a commitment to me, whether official or otherwise."
"Can we not talk about George when we're in bed," He said firmly, which made Jo smile.
"Why," She asked with a twinkle in her eye, "Haven't you ever talked about me when you've been in bed with George?" John was about to open his mouth to say no, when he remembered the very last time he had been in bed with George and they had talked about Jo.
"Hmmm, I did wonder," Said Jo dryly, on receiving no answer from him. "For that," She said, kissing him, "You can go and pour me a glass of wine." Grumbling about being under the thumb, never mind how unofficial this relationship was, he got out of bed and strolled towards the kitchen. When she heard him laugh, she called,
"What?" He returned to the bedroom in a few minutes, carrying two glasses of wine.
"I'm glad Mark didn't come home unannounced," He said, a wide grin on his face. "Mimi was obviously bored, because I found her lying in the hall, chewing up your bra." Jo laughed and took her glass from him.
"Typical," She said, "Notice how she didn't chew anything of yours."
"She wouldn't dare," Said John, getting back in to bed. "She knows who feeds her."
A couple of hours later, when she was cooking dinner and John was in the shower, Jo put on a CD, the music heightening the post-coital glow which made her feel lighter of heart than she had done for some time. Yes, she was still very worried about George, and all three of them still had a lot of ground to cover before any semblance of normality could be reached. But for now, Jo felt content. As she chopped some vegetables, the words of one particular song caught her ear and she stopped to listen.
"You know you could've been a gambler,
Whose luck was running low,
Or just another drifter,
Without a single place to go.
You could have been a broken dreamer,
Without a penny to your name.
I would've loved you, I would have loved you,
Just the same."
This perfectly described how she felt about John. She loved him, for all his faults, and with a blinding flash of clarity, she knew that she was prepared to try anything to keep him. She didn't know if the possibility that had just occurred to her would work, but if it did, she might at last be able to trust him. If she could pull this off, they might one day all be happy.
"No it really didn't matter,
Who you'd been or what you'd done,
Where we met or when it happened,
You'd still be the one.
There's no way to know the future,
But one thing will never change.
I'm gonna love you, I'm gonna love you,
Just the same."
After John had left on the Saturday night, George had banked up the fire, put on some extremely soppy music and curled up on the sofa. She'd felt empty, flat, as if all her emotional and physical energy had been washed away. She didn't even have the energy to keep on crying. She'd peeled and eaten one of the kiwi fruits John had bought her, the juicy, green flesh delicately flecked with tiny black seeds. Did this represent the colours of her soul, she wondered idly? Did it show how she had been trying to live through the guilt and the pain for years, but how the black peppering of despair overshadowed what was underneath? Her thoughts drifted, as if tossed here and there at the whim of the tide, but always returning to what she'd said to John. She'd all but given him an assurance that she wouldn't go the same way as his mother had done, but oh, how she wanted to. She craved a release from the lifelong torment of being a failure as a mother, a failure as a daughter, a failure as a human being. Time and again she traced the inside of her left wrist, mapping the far too visible network of veins and arteries, both feeling and seeing the beat of the force of life spreading through her. These pathways of her body were so prominent that she could see the steady pulsing of the one and only thing that was keeping her alive. It was slightly quicker than it really ought to be, probably as a result of the enormous amount of cigarettes she'd smoked in the past couple of days. It's a well known fact that nicotine increases the heart rate and George had smoked enough recently to bring one back from the dead, never mind keep her own beating throughout her period of not eating. If there was a quick and simple way of burning away the guilt and the pain in the same way a surgeon will cortorise useless but still living blood vessels, she would grab it with both hands and hold on to it until she felt able to deal with life again. But as far as she could see, there wasn't. The only real solution to how she was feeling now was to irrevocably say goodbye to the world that she didn't want to be part of any more. But she couldn't do it, not to John, to Charlie, to her father, and not even to Jo. Was that it then, was there really no end to all this? But she considered that maybe this was her final punishment for every bad thing she'd ever felt or said or done, to not be able to find any reprieve, any cure for the emotional cancer that was gradually eating up her insides. On this worst of all her realisations that evening, she switched off the music, put a guard round the fire and went upstairs to bed. George had never spent much time thinking about whether or not there was a god, too many bad things had happened to make her think there really was such a being. But as she drifted to sleep in her enormous, lonely bed, she offered up a prayer to whoever was listening, pleading with them to allow her not to wake up.
But George wasn't to get her wish. She was dragged abruptly back in to the land of the living about twelve hours after she'd gone to sleep, by the insistent ringing of the phone. Blindly stretching out a hand to the cordless that lay on the bedside table, she said,
"Hello?" And Jo realised that she'd woken George from a much-needed sleep.
"George, it's Jo. Did I wake you?"
"Yes, you did," Replied George on a yawn. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midday," Said Jo, briefly glancing at her watch.
"That's all I seem to be able to do lately is sleep."
"It's probably not a bad thing," Said Jo, realising that whilst George was asleep she wasn't thinking. "I just phoned to see how you are."
"No," Replied George flatly. "You phoned to see if I was still alive."
"Yes, partly," Conceded Jo.
"He doesn't trust me, does he," Stated George in almost resigned despair.
"No, not entirely," Replied Jo gently, neither of them needing to explain who they were talking about.
"Well, you can tell him that I'm still here, still ticking, just utterly exhausted. How's John?" She asked tentatively.
"He probably feels a bit like you do this morning. We had a very long overdue talk when he came here last night."
"Oh, no, poor John," Said George, in sympathy with him, after having experienced Jo's version of the confessional on the Friday night. "Did you finish what I started?"
"Yes, I think so. But it had to be done. He's been fairly quiet this morning but he's taken Mimi for a walk. Some thinking time might do him good."
"Thinking's a very dangerous thing," Said George dryly, though Jo could hear the telltale hint of sincerity that told her just how scared George was of herself and her feelings.
"Why?" Asked Jo gently, all the time aware that she was treading the thin line between persuading George to talk to her and pushing her away altogether by forever frightening her off.
"I was being facetious."
"George, I've seen you in court, remember. I know what you sound like when you're really being facetious. Tell me why thinking's a dangerous thing."
"Jo, please don't do this," George pleaded, sounding as though she really didn't have the energy to fight any more.
"George, let me make something clear to you," Said Jo, gently but firmly. "You have almost certainly ended up feeling as low and afraid and alone as you do, because you haven't talked anywhere near enough, if at all. Oh, if you're thinking literally, you do talk. Sometimes you say far too much, but never about what's really important." George was quiet for a moment, and Jo wondered if she'd gone too far.
"It isn't quite that easy," George eventually said. "As you said, talking, or at least talking about what's really going on in my head, isn't something I do. I'm not sure that I've ever really known how to. No one even tried to get me to talk when my mother died, and not letting any of it out just became second nature to me. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly realising that she'd strayed in to the most heavily guarded area of her life. "I didn't mean to talk about that."
"You should," Said Jo gently, sensing the raising of every barrier George could muster.
"No," Said George, the fear in her voice all too evident.
"Is that what John made you talk about yesterday?"
"That, and just about everything else. But I don't think he'll be doing that again in a hurry."
"Why?"
"I made John a deal, a deal that he thought he could wriggle out of because he made the mistake of thinking I'd forget about him fulfilling his side of the bargain. He made me talk about my mother, so I made him talk about his."
"Ah," Said Jo in realisation. "So that would explain why he looked so shell shocked when I saw him last night."
"Yes." George went quiet for a moment, and Jo had the feeling that George badly wanted to say something to her, but that she either couldn't find quite the right words, or that she didn't have the courage to say it.
"How do you feel now?" Jo asked gently, trying to prod George in to talking again.
"Jo, you really don't want to hear this," Replied George, desperately trying to avoid putting her feelings in to words. Jo tentatively took a stab in the dark.
"John told me," She said, reaching for a cigarette, "About the promise you wouldn't give him."
"Oh," Said George, but retreating again in to silence. But she eventually said,
"I, erm, I don't really want to be here." Jo couldn't help briefly rolling her eyes at the way George had avoided saying the far too real, far too frightening words, I want to die.
"Why?" She asked, though she was fairly sure of the answer.
"Because I'm so tired," She said in total despair. "I'm tired of being so depressed that it's an effort to get up in the morning. I'm tired of carrying around so many feelings that I just don't know how to deal with, and I'm tired of living," She finished on a somewhat angry note.
"And the fact that John's already been through losing someone like that makes it harder, doesn't it."
"Yes," Said George furiously. "Because I could never do that to him. So, I'm torn, because that's the only way I can see of finding some sort of release from all this, and yet I know I've got to stay. John would never forgive me if I did that to him, or to Charlie. After you made me talk for so long on Friday," She said, calming down a little. "I felt sort of cleansed, because I knew it had done me good. But now I just feel empty and full to cracking open all in one go. I feel like part of me doesn't have any feelings left, and the rest of me has too many to keep under control."
"And that's why you stop eating, to have control over at least one part of your life."
"I know, crazy, isn't it."
"No, not really," Replied Jo. "It actually makes some kind of sense. But the only way you're going to get through this, is to learn to let what you're feeling out, rather than keeping it inside, where it'll only do you more harm."
"I am so scared of doing that," George said in a slightly strangled voice.
"I know," Said Jo gently. "But you've got to learn that it's not wrong to cry, it's not wrong to get angry, and it isn't wrong to need people. Sometimes, being held in a pair of strong, male arms is all it takes to make you feel sane again. But sometimes you need someone who's just that little bit removed, someone you can shout at, someone who won't automatically tell you that you shouldn't feel the way you do." After a short pause, George said,
"Thank you. If that was meant as an offer, I might take you up on it some time."
"You do that," Replied Jo. "But don't leave it too long. I will be keeping an eye on you."
"What with you and John," Said George dryly, "I'll have no choice but to stay on the straight and narrow."
"I hope so," Said Jo seriously. "What are you doing about work this week? Because I think you need some time to recover."
"And it wouldn't exactly be fair to my clients if I'm only functioning on barely one cylinder. I can probably leave the rest of the current trial in the hands of one of my juniors, but I'll have to be back for the one that starts on Friday."
"Okay, and George, please promise me something."
"I don't do promises."
"You will be able to do this one. Promise to call me if you just want someone to listen." After a moment's thought, George said,
"I will." When George replaced the receiver a few minutes later, she thought that never, in her entire life had she ever felt so surreal. Jo, the woman whom up until very recently, George had loathed with a vengeance, had been transformed in to what George could only call a close friend. Like Karen, George had never especially gone in for female friends, maintaining her emotional independence at all and sometimes catastrophic costs. But here she was, in her late forties, finally beginning to open up to someone, and with the help of this someone else, to begin examining the dark recesses of her mind.
When Jo put the phone down, she stood for a while, just looking out of her kitchen window at the back garden, attempting to marshal her thoughts. George had been thoroughly ashamed of feeling so low, and Jo just prayed that she could help her through it. George wasn't going to survive this latest downward spiral unless she learnt to ask for help. Jo filled the kettle for a cup of tea, and heard John returning with Mimi. As he opened the front door, she called,
"John, is that you?" Mimi ran in to the kitchen, thinking that she could get to like this house. John followed at a more leisurely pace.
"Hello," He said, putting his arms round Jo and giving her a kiss.
"You look better than you did earlier," Jo observed.
"Fresh October air is very invigorating, and I did need some time to think."
"I phoned George," Said Jo, pouring them both a cup of tea.
"How is she?" John asked guardedly.
"I believe her words were, tell him I'm still here, still ticking, just exhausted."
"Well, that's something, I suppose," He said dryly. "Do you think she'll be all right?"
"In time, yes. But there's an awful lot about herself that she needs to come to terms with, like you," Jo finished, turning to face him and putting her arms round him.
"I love you," He said in to her hair.
"And though it's given me more heartache than I ever thought possible," she said, between kisses, "I love you too."
"Can we go to bed?" He asked after a little while.
"Oh, you feel that good, do you?" She quipped, a light dancing in her eyes.
"I need you," He said, his voice deep with arousal.
"I'll have to see what I can do about that then, won't I," She replied, leading his hand to the buttons of her blouse. Clothes were rapidly discarded as they progressed from kitchen to bedroom, both of them craving some kind of release from the tension that had been building up since Friday. It had only been a few days since they'd last made love, but they were hungry for each other, desperate to reclaim the part of their relationship that had never been called in to question. Their passion for each other was almost furious, John wanting to prove to Jo how much he loved her, and Jo wanting to show John that she was just as good in bed as George. When he finally entered her after some extensive foreplay, she wrapped her arms and legs round him, as if afraid he would leave her.
"I feel like you're putting your mark on me," He said, angling his hips to hit her G spot which made her gasp.
"How do you know I'm not," she countered, with a squeeze of her internal muscles that spurred him on to further endeavour.
"Do that again and I won't last much longer," He said, reaching a hand in between them to give her clit some attention. When they eventually went over the edge together, Jo found herself crying out his name, not something she usually did, normally being fairly quiet when it came to bed. But she couldn't help it. She loved this man, no matter what he did, and she knew she always would.
As they lay afterwards, their breathing gradually returning to normal, Jo wasn't the only one who knew there had been something different about that time. John had felt it too. The way her body had been laying its claim on his, the way she'd called his name, and the slightly wicked grin on her face when he'd told her to stop squeezing him, which had reminded him fleetingly of George. After a while, he traced a finger delicately over her breast and said,
"You're beautiful." A soft, lazy smile crossed Jo's face.
"Ah," She said, her voice resonating with the kind of deep, utterly assured serenity that only ever follows particularly good loving. "But was I more beautiful to you when you were having an affair, and when being with me was wrong." He stared at her.
"No, not at all," He said, after a moment's deliberation. "I've always thought you were beautiful. Why do you ask?"
"Because sometimes," She said, turning on to her side and facing him. "I think that's why you stray so much. Being who and what you are, means that you have to always uphold what is good, what is right, both morally and legally. But occasionally, you need to experience the feeling of being bad, which is why having a fling or a one night stand with someone you shouldn't, is so attractive to you."
"And where did you dig up that little piece of wisdom?" he asked dryly.
"I didn't," She replied succinctly, "It just occurred to me. That's why I think that whilst you're not, professionally, allowed to be involved with me, I'm still attractive to you."
"You, will always be attractive to me," He said, putting his arms round her.
"I'd like to believe it, John," She said, "But your word on this isn't enough. You've still got so many unresolved feelings about a lot of things, but especially George, and until at least some of that is sorted out, I couldn't expect you to make any kind of a commitment to me, whether official or otherwise."
"Can we not talk about George when we're in bed," He said firmly, which made Jo smile.
"Why," She asked with a twinkle in her eye, "Haven't you ever talked about me when you've been in bed with George?" John was about to open his mouth to say no, when he remembered the very last time he had been in bed with George and they had talked about Jo.
"Hmmm, I did wonder," Said Jo dryly, on receiving no answer from him. "For that," She said, kissing him, "You can go and pour me a glass of wine." Grumbling about being under the thumb, never mind how unofficial this relationship was, he got out of bed and strolled towards the kitchen. When she heard him laugh, she called,
"What?" He returned to the bedroom in a few minutes, carrying two glasses of wine.
"I'm glad Mark didn't come home unannounced," He said, a wide grin on his face. "Mimi was obviously bored, because I found her lying in the hall, chewing up your bra." Jo laughed and took her glass from him.
"Typical," She said, "Notice how she didn't chew anything of yours."
"She wouldn't dare," Said John, getting back in to bed. "She knows who feeds her."
A couple of hours later, when she was cooking dinner and John was in the shower, Jo put on a CD, the music heightening the post-coital glow which made her feel lighter of heart than she had done for some time. Yes, she was still very worried about George, and all three of them still had a lot of ground to cover before any semblance of normality could be reached. But for now, Jo felt content. As she chopped some vegetables, the words of one particular song caught her ear and she stopped to listen.
"You know you could've been a gambler,
Whose luck was running low,
Or just another drifter,
Without a single place to go.
You could have been a broken dreamer,
Without a penny to your name.
I would've loved you, I would have loved you,
Just the same."
This perfectly described how she felt about John. She loved him, for all his faults, and with a blinding flash of clarity, she knew that she was prepared to try anything to keep him. She didn't know if the possibility that had just occurred to her would work, but if it did, she might at last be able to trust him. If she could pull this off, they might one day all be happy.
"No it really didn't matter,
Who you'd been or what you'd done,
Where we met or when it happened,
You'd still be the one.
There's no way to know the future,
But one thing will never change.
I'm gonna love you, I'm gonna love you,
Just the same."