Part One Hundred And Thirty One
On the Friday morning, exactly one week since she'd collapsed in court, George drove in to the car park of the Old Bailey, switched off the engine and stared up at the old majestic building. So much of her life had been centered around this building. John had prosecuted and defended many cases here in the early days of their marriage. This was where George had first seen John together with Jo, which had inevitably led to the final breakdown of the few years they'd spent with each other. Then, eventually, John had been appointed Judge here, and George had been forced to defend some very dubious cases with him overseeing her performance. Jo and George had exchanged some of their most bitter words within the walls of this old Elizabethan pile, many of them cutting far deeper than any murderer's blade or bullet. Yet, George was forced to admit, this building had probably also forced herself and Jo to start seeing each other in a very different light. They'd once again been thrust in to each other's personal space through the Merriman/Atkins trial. George thought it was odd that she now always thought of that star from too many cheap blue movies with more faces than Big Ben as Snowball Merriman, and never as Tracy Pilkinton, when Merriman had been her stage name not her real name. But maybe that was the point. That woman had put on so many different acts in her time, that it was perhaps only right and proper to think of her in the guise of actress, and therefore always think of her with the stage name she had chosen. God, both her and John and her and Jo had gone through a couple of truly monumental rows during that trial. George faintly blushed when she thought of the damage she'd done to the door of John's chambers. Was that really her, really Georgia Channing? The old one maybe, but not the one she was now. George didn't think she'd have the strength or the inclination to do anything of the kind any more. But perhaps that was because she was still working very much under par. She still had the urge to go to sleep and not wake up for a month, if ever, and she was still barely eating, though this was admittedly much better than the previous week. George thought right back, to try and work out exactly what had initially got her and Jo talking. Then, she hit on it, the day she'd questioned Ritchie Atkins, and afterwards, Jo had directed George's attention to Karen and Yvonne kissing. That seemed so long ago now. then, Jo had persuaded her to go easy on Karen Betts by informing her of the bet she was having with John. George couldn't help grinning when she thought of John's all too predictable reaction to being presented with the evidence of his loss. But underneath this lightheartedness, had been lurking Neil's ever-increasing anger at her failure to really defend either Merriman or Atkins. The fact that all the evidence was against them hadn't bothered him in the slightest. He'd merely put it down to her incompetence as a criminal barrister. Then had come that awful fight, a week or so after the pair she'd done her damnedest for had committed suicide. She winced every time she thought of Neil's fist striking her face. John had been so good to her that night, when she'd lain in his arms and cried away her shame. The following morning, when Jo had been so understanding, that had totally thrown George more than she cared to admit. She'd shouted at Jo, taken out her anger at Neil on the one woman she'd always envied, and Jo had just stood there and let her do it, knowing just how much she'd needed too. From then on, she and Jo had tentatively begun widening the goalposts, allowing their heartfelt sympathy for Karen Betts and what she'd gone through at the hands of Fenner to unite them under the same umbrella of fighting for justice. George fondly remembered the night Jo had clearly come looking to her for a fight. Jo had been angry, almost furious with herself for failing to get Helen Stewart on board, and she'd known that George would give as good as she got. Then, Christ knows why, George had ended up by playing to Jo, something she never normally did in front of one of her most immovable rivals. After this, they'd begun spending more time with each other, it not being unheard of for Jo to casually drop in, like the time George had been on her way to getting seriously drunk. George had been hurting so much that particular night, the guilt at her betrayal of Jo's olive branch sitting heavy on her heart. The odd thing was, that George had felt momentarily safe in Jo's embrace, briefly as though someone actually cared about what she was feeling. Then had come that awful row with Karen. George knew she'd used Karen as an outlet, as a way to release some of her inner turmoil, but that had given her no excuse to go in for the kill the way she had. But it was when she'd sent that e-mail to Karen that she'd known something had changed in her forever. Never, not even if it was absolutely imperative, did Georgia Channing QC ever apologise for anything. Mistakes and serious steps over the mark were there to be made, endured and forgotten. But there she'd been, apologising for having accused Karen of something she certainly hadn't done, and for clearly intruding on her personal space. But what on earth had possessed her to warn Karen off John like that. Let's face it, Karen was a grown woman, well able to make her own mistakes in that line of things. But George had somehow felt it necessary to try and prevent Karen from being hurt yet one more time. George didn't at this time bring out her feelings on this matter and examine them in the way she knew that one day she must, because they were all so new, so confusing, so mixed up with her professional respect for the wing governor who'd successfully persuaded George to think again before she was rude to John in her line of duty. She shivered slightly, as if someone were walking over her grave, when she briefly allowed her thoughts to stand for a moment on the feeling of being clasped in Karen's strong, yet oh so female arms, and being whisked out of the reach of Alison McKenzie's fists. But shaking her head at herself, she got out of the car, and walked towards the steps, where she stood and lit a cigarette. Was it only a week since she'd made such a spectacle of herself by fainting in court? The rest of that day and the two following it had been so long. Her endless talk with Jo, followed by the one with John, and then her shorter one with Jo on the Sunday, had made it seem like a lifetime. Jo had called her a couple of times this week, just to see how she was doing. George wasn't used to this, having anything remotely resembling a normal, female friend who cared about how she was. The legal business was generally made up of either men who wanted to stamp on you to stop you from bettering them, or equally strong women, like herself she was forced to admit, who did exactly the same only far more ruthlessly. There wasn't the room for many friendships to be made, the internal and external politics sharpening up everyone's edges like a metaphorical steel. They hadn't talked for long when Jo had phoned, mainly because George was slightly ashamed of her outburst on Sunday, and because she simply wanted time alone to begin putting her mind and her body back together. But here she was, ready to start another trial. She just hoped she could appear as professional as she usually did.
As she stood there, smoking and mentally preparing herself for the day ahead, John arrived and walked up the steps to join her.
"Hello," She said carefully, not having spoken to him since he'd left the previous Saturday.
"How are you?" He asked, equally carefully. George thought for a moment.
"I'm surviving," She said, knowing that anything more would have been a lie. "What about you?"
"I've had better days," He said, referring to the last time he'd seen her.
"I'm sorry," George found herself saying and this was yet another new occurrence for her.
"Don't be," Said John gently. "It had to happen some time. Are you eating?" George flinched under his unwavering scrutiny.
"Just," She finally admitted. "It'll sort itself out in time."
"Well, just make sure it does," He said firmly. "I'm sorry I didn't phone you, especially after I said I would."
"That's all right," She replied, knowing they were both skirting over the real issues that existed between them, in favour of the more immediate, more trivial concerns. "Actually," She said, flicking away her cigarette end. "I'm sort of glad you didn't. I've been pretty low this week, and I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see me like that, but especially not you."
"George, I..."
"Don't," She interrupted him, desperate to prevent him from being in any way nice to her.
"I was just going to tell you not to retreat," He finished.
"I know," She said, "But I think I need to for a while. I'm still reeling from just about everything that was said between us last weekend, and I can't quite handle being around you or in fact anyone at the moment." Then, looking him in the face, and taking the plunge in to what felt like her last confession, she said, "I need you too much, John, and because of that, I don't trust myself not to take advantage of too many old scars being reopened. And, though I don't think I'm going to get it," She said ruefully, watching Jo park her car and walk towards them, "I need some space." John stood stunned for a moment, taking in the full meaning of what she'd just said to him. George, in her typically euphemistic way, had just told him she still loved him, and that she needed space from him in order to prevent herself from repeating what had set her on her most recent downward spiral in the first place. So as not to push George in any way, John lifted a hand in acknowledgement to Jo, and walked inside.
"How are you?" Jo asked when she reached George.
"Heartily sick of being asked exactly that," George replied, a hint of her former self creeping back in to her tone. Jo smiled, for once taking no offence at George's rebuke.
"Forgive me," She said dryly, "Polite enquiry rescinded." George gave a small laugh.
"I'm sorry," She said, "That sounded awful, didn't it."
"Yes, but I know what you mean," Said Jo, looking for her own nicotine fix. "Actually," She said, taking a grateful drag. "There's something I need to ask you, though it ought to wait until we've got the time to really thrash it out."
"Sounds ominous," Said George, who couldn't for the life of her imagine what was coming.
"No, it's not," Said Jo with a smile. "I think you might like the idea." Agreeing that Jo would come over that evening, partly to celebrate George's return to work, they walked inside the building where their paths had originally become so entwined.
On the Friday morning, exactly one week since she'd collapsed in court, George drove in to the car park of the Old Bailey, switched off the engine and stared up at the old majestic building. So much of her life had been centered around this building. John had prosecuted and defended many cases here in the early days of their marriage. This was where George had first seen John together with Jo, which had inevitably led to the final breakdown of the few years they'd spent with each other. Then, eventually, John had been appointed Judge here, and George had been forced to defend some very dubious cases with him overseeing her performance. Jo and George had exchanged some of their most bitter words within the walls of this old Elizabethan pile, many of them cutting far deeper than any murderer's blade or bullet. Yet, George was forced to admit, this building had probably also forced herself and Jo to start seeing each other in a very different light. They'd once again been thrust in to each other's personal space through the Merriman/Atkins trial. George thought it was odd that she now always thought of that star from too many cheap blue movies with more faces than Big Ben as Snowball Merriman, and never as Tracy Pilkinton, when Merriman had been her stage name not her real name. But maybe that was the point. That woman had put on so many different acts in her time, that it was perhaps only right and proper to think of her in the guise of actress, and therefore always think of her with the stage name she had chosen. God, both her and John and her and Jo had gone through a couple of truly monumental rows during that trial. George faintly blushed when she thought of the damage she'd done to the door of John's chambers. Was that really her, really Georgia Channing? The old one maybe, but not the one she was now. George didn't think she'd have the strength or the inclination to do anything of the kind any more. But perhaps that was because she was still working very much under par. She still had the urge to go to sleep and not wake up for a month, if ever, and she was still barely eating, though this was admittedly much better than the previous week. George thought right back, to try and work out exactly what had initially got her and Jo talking. Then, she hit on it, the day she'd questioned Ritchie Atkins, and afterwards, Jo had directed George's attention to Karen and Yvonne kissing. That seemed so long ago now. then, Jo had persuaded her to go easy on Karen Betts by informing her of the bet she was having with John. George couldn't help grinning when she thought of John's all too predictable reaction to being presented with the evidence of his loss. But underneath this lightheartedness, had been lurking Neil's ever-increasing anger at her failure to really defend either Merriman or Atkins. The fact that all the evidence was against them hadn't bothered him in the slightest. He'd merely put it down to her incompetence as a criminal barrister. Then had come that awful fight, a week or so after the pair she'd done her damnedest for had committed suicide. She winced every time she thought of Neil's fist striking her face. John had been so good to her that night, when she'd lain in his arms and cried away her shame. The following morning, when Jo had been so understanding, that had totally thrown George more than she cared to admit. She'd shouted at Jo, taken out her anger at Neil on the one woman she'd always envied, and Jo had just stood there and let her do it, knowing just how much she'd needed too. From then on, she and Jo had tentatively begun widening the goalposts, allowing their heartfelt sympathy for Karen Betts and what she'd gone through at the hands of Fenner to unite them under the same umbrella of fighting for justice. George fondly remembered the night Jo had clearly come looking to her for a fight. Jo had been angry, almost furious with herself for failing to get Helen Stewart on board, and she'd known that George would give as good as she got. Then, Christ knows why, George had ended up by playing to Jo, something she never normally did in front of one of her most immovable rivals. After this, they'd begun spending more time with each other, it not being unheard of for Jo to casually drop in, like the time George had been on her way to getting seriously drunk. George had been hurting so much that particular night, the guilt at her betrayal of Jo's olive branch sitting heavy on her heart. The odd thing was, that George had felt momentarily safe in Jo's embrace, briefly as though someone actually cared about what she was feeling. Then had come that awful row with Karen. George knew she'd used Karen as an outlet, as a way to release some of her inner turmoil, but that had given her no excuse to go in for the kill the way she had. But it was when she'd sent that e-mail to Karen that she'd known something had changed in her forever. Never, not even if it was absolutely imperative, did Georgia Channing QC ever apologise for anything. Mistakes and serious steps over the mark were there to be made, endured and forgotten. But there she'd been, apologising for having accused Karen of something she certainly hadn't done, and for clearly intruding on her personal space. But what on earth had possessed her to warn Karen off John like that. Let's face it, Karen was a grown woman, well able to make her own mistakes in that line of things. But George had somehow felt it necessary to try and prevent Karen from being hurt yet one more time. George didn't at this time bring out her feelings on this matter and examine them in the way she knew that one day she must, because they were all so new, so confusing, so mixed up with her professional respect for the wing governor who'd successfully persuaded George to think again before she was rude to John in her line of duty. She shivered slightly, as if someone were walking over her grave, when she briefly allowed her thoughts to stand for a moment on the feeling of being clasped in Karen's strong, yet oh so female arms, and being whisked out of the reach of Alison McKenzie's fists. But shaking her head at herself, she got out of the car, and walked towards the steps, where she stood and lit a cigarette. Was it only a week since she'd made such a spectacle of herself by fainting in court? The rest of that day and the two following it had been so long. Her endless talk with Jo, followed by the one with John, and then her shorter one with Jo on the Sunday, had made it seem like a lifetime. Jo had called her a couple of times this week, just to see how she was doing. George wasn't used to this, having anything remotely resembling a normal, female friend who cared about how she was. The legal business was generally made up of either men who wanted to stamp on you to stop you from bettering them, or equally strong women, like herself she was forced to admit, who did exactly the same only far more ruthlessly. There wasn't the room for many friendships to be made, the internal and external politics sharpening up everyone's edges like a metaphorical steel. They hadn't talked for long when Jo had phoned, mainly because George was slightly ashamed of her outburst on Sunday, and because she simply wanted time alone to begin putting her mind and her body back together. But here she was, ready to start another trial. She just hoped she could appear as professional as she usually did.
As she stood there, smoking and mentally preparing herself for the day ahead, John arrived and walked up the steps to join her.
"Hello," She said carefully, not having spoken to him since he'd left the previous Saturday.
"How are you?" He asked, equally carefully. George thought for a moment.
"I'm surviving," She said, knowing that anything more would have been a lie. "What about you?"
"I've had better days," He said, referring to the last time he'd seen her.
"I'm sorry," George found herself saying and this was yet another new occurrence for her.
"Don't be," Said John gently. "It had to happen some time. Are you eating?" George flinched under his unwavering scrutiny.
"Just," She finally admitted. "It'll sort itself out in time."
"Well, just make sure it does," He said firmly. "I'm sorry I didn't phone you, especially after I said I would."
"That's all right," She replied, knowing they were both skirting over the real issues that existed between them, in favour of the more immediate, more trivial concerns. "Actually," She said, flicking away her cigarette end. "I'm sort of glad you didn't. I've been pretty low this week, and I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see me like that, but especially not you."
"George, I..."
"Don't," She interrupted him, desperate to prevent him from being in any way nice to her.
"I was just going to tell you not to retreat," He finished.
"I know," She said, "But I think I need to for a while. I'm still reeling from just about everything that was said between us last weekend, and I can't quite handle being around you or in fact anyone at the moment." Then, looking him in the face, and taking the plunge in to what felt like her last confession, she said, "I need you too much, John, and because of that, I don't trust myself not to take advantage of too many old scars being reopened. And, though I don't think I'm going to get it," She said ruefully, watching Jo park her car and walk towards them, "I need some space." John stood stunned for a moment, taking in the full meaning of what she'd just said to him. George, in her typically euphemistic way, had just told him she still loved him, and that she needed space from him in order to prevent herself from repeating what had set her on her most recent downward spiral in the first place. So as not to push George in any way, John lifted a hand in acknowledgement to Jo, and walked inside.
"How are you?" Jo asked when she reached George.
"Heartily sick of being asked exactly that," George replied, a hint of her former self creeping back in to her tone. Jo smiled, for once taking no offence at George's rebuke.
"Forgive me," She said dryly, "Polite enquiry rescinded." George gave a small laugh.
"I'm sorry," She said, "That sounded awful, didn't it."
"Yes, but I know what you mean," Said Jo, looking for her own nicotine fix. "Actually," She said, taking a grateful drag. "There's something I need to ask you, though it ought to wait until we've got the time to really thrash it out."
"Sounds ominous," Said George, who couldn't for the life of her imagine what was coming.
"No, it's not," Said Jo with a smile. "I think you might like the idea." Agreeing that Jo would come over that evening, partly to celebrate George's return to work, they walked inside the building where their paths had originally become so entwined.