When John and Jo arrived on the Saturday afternoon, George was looking a lot more alert, which also meant that her feeling of restlessness had increased. Tricia looked relieved to see them when they approached the desk. "I'm glad you two have arrived," She said with a rueful smile. "I'm hoping you might have more success in making her stay still." "Oh, dear," Jo said with sympathy. "I know hospitals aren't very nice places," Tricia continued, walking with them towards George's room. "But you'd think she'd want to get better, instead of trying to undo all Mr. Griffin's work." "Is Mr. Griffin about?" John asked. "He's in theatre at the moment, but I'll tell him you're here when he comes out." When they went into George's room, she was again furiously writing in the notebook John had removed from her the day before. "I see you aren't behaving yourself," He said sternly. "And do you have any idea just how many things I was supposed to do this coming week?" "I don't care how many cases supposedly require your attention," Tricia said with a frown. "You, need, your, rest. Your blood pressure is already too high, and if it doesn't start coming down right now, you won't be going anywhere. So, no more work or that notebook gets put through the shredder in Ric's office. Is that understood?" "I feel like I'm back at school," George complained, steadfastly ignoring Jo's inability to hide her amusement. When Tricia had gone, Jo said, "I take it you're bored?" "Not really, just frustrated. Most of the time, I feel utterly exhausted, but I just can't seem to relax. So, I'm trying to channel some of what I suppose is nervous energy, into doing something useful." "So, you're still intent on getting out of here then?" John asked, hoping that she might have changed her mind. "If your offer still stands, yes." "Of course. But don't expect that I will permit you to be anywhere near your computer," He said firmly. "Would I?" she asked far too sweetly. "Yes," He said without ranker. "If you thought you could get away with it." "All I want, is to get out of here, go home, and go to sleep in my own bed. I haven't thought any further than that."
When Ric and Connie emerged from theatre, they paused at the nurses' station between Keller and Darwin, to check up on any changes since they'd been taken away from the ward. "Mrs. Channing was asking to see you," Tricia told Ric. "I think she's still determined to get out of here today." "I'm still not convinced that it's such a good idea," He said to Connie, as they walked towards George's room. "We wouldn't be trying to cover our, very handsome back a little too carefully, would we?" Connie asked him mockingly, as she ran a fingernail down his shirt-covered spine. "And yours," He said with a smile. Then, lowering his voice to the seductive level that had caught her attention on her very first day, he added, "Though it's not your back that is usually uppermost in my mind." "Oh, I know," She said confidently. "You just think of me on my back." Ric stifled a laugh as they approached the door of George's room. "But with regards to Mrs. Channing," Connie reverted to the topic in hand. "I'm going to cut her a deal." "Are you serious?" Ric asked, looking forward to seeing proof of this. "Are you saying I can't do deals?" Connie asked mischievously. "Connie, your deals usually involve those who are paid to be at your beck and call and submit to your every whim. But if you think you can persuade our resident QC into behaving herself, then far be it from me to stop you."
As they entered George's room, Ric could see that she looked a lot happier than she had earlier. "Talking seems to do you good," He observed, provoking a smirk from Jo. George was never so happy as when she was talking. "I'm not very good at doing nothing," George replied, as if Ric didn't know this already. "Well, if we do allow you home," Connie put in. "I want an assurance that you really will do absolutely nothing for a few days." "Oh, don't worry," George told her with a sideways look at John. "Not even Tricia would have the edge on how determined I suspect John will be to keep me still." "I'm glad to hear it. But just so that we are all clear on the deal I intend to strike with you," Connie said, fixing her gaze unwaveringly on George's. "You will not get out of bed, except to go to the bathroom. You will, under no circumstances, attempt to do any work over the next three days, at the absolute minimum, and you will not attempt to cause yourself any further stress. You need to understand the risk you are taking, by discharging yourself earlier than either I or Mr. Griffin would usually recommend for someone with your injuries. If you try to do too much too soon, you could far too easily cause yourself further problems, such as internal bleeding, or either form of pneumothorax. This is when air, or blood gets into the chest cavity, and which can result in the collapsing of a lung. The other assurance I require from you is that if you detect any possible deterioration in your condition, I want you back in hospital without delay. However, if you still want to go home after hearing all that, I am happy to allow it." "I accept," George replied seriously. "You strike a fair bargain, Mrs. Beauchamp." "Good," Connie said again. "I'll leave you in Mr. Griffin's capable hands, but I would like to see you some time on Tuesday, just to check you over." When Connie had gone, George said to no one in particular, "If Mrs. Beauchamp is ever in court, remind me to represent the other side. I'd give anything to verbally tangle with her." Ric laughed. "You wouldn't," He said mildly. "If you had to do it on a daily basis. Now, the only other issue to be considered, is that of your current pain." "Which is just about manageable if I don't laugh or breathe too deeply," George replied. "Then I don't think that orally administered pain relief is going to be sufficient for you. The pain of cracked ribs is really quite difficult to manage, because it is affected constantly by breathing. Also, when did you last eat?" George's whole body when still at this perfectly innocuous question, all except her eyes, which moved rapidly over everything in the room, refusing to meet the gaze of any of them. It reminded John of the day he'd shown her what One Way's CEO had planted on his computer. "Is it such a difficult question to answer?" Ric prompted gently, wondering if there was something John hadn't told him, about George's behaviour after the birth of their daughter. "Tuesday," George said eventually, maintaining a steady eye meet with the drip stand next to her bed. "Any special reason?" Ric probed insistently. "No," George said defensively, all her barriers immediately going back up. Then, she surprised them all by saying, "John, don't look at me like that." "How do you know how I'm looking at you?" He answered. "You can't even see me." "Perhaps not, but I can feel the disapproval coming at me in waves." "In that case," Ric put in before they could start arguing. "I am going to add another condition to Connie's little list. You must start eating again. Do it gradually, because any vomiting will only aggravate your stitches, and as your stomach is likely to be sensitive for the next few days, oral pain relief is definitely out of the question." Looking over at Jo and John, he asked, "I don't suppose either of you has ever given an injection?" Jo's eyes widened. Yes, she certainly had, though not for sixteen years, not since her husband had been terminally ill, and she'd been nursing him at home. "Yes, though not for a long time," Jo replied quietly. Then, at George's wide-eyed stare, she clarified. "I nursed my husband at home when he was dying of cancer, so I had to administer his pain relief." "How long ago was this?" Ric asked. "About sixteen years ago." On hearing this and realising when that had been in terms of hers and John's marriage breakdown, George took a breath to speak, and then didn't know what she could say. "Then the first thing we need to do, is to make sure you can still do it." "Jo," George put in before Ric could continue. "Are you sure you're happy about doing this? If it's something that will bring back bad memories for you, then don't do it." Both John and Jo were incredibly touched at George's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. "It's fine," Jo said, meeting George's gaze to show her she was serious. "If you're sure you want me to do that for you." This was a difficult one for George. The last thing she wanted from anyone was touch, and especially the kind of intimate, if professional, touch that would be involved in being given an injection. "Yes, thank you," She said, hoping that she would be able to keep her fear of it from Jo when the time came. "This might be a stupid question," John enquired, feeling a little left out of the conversation. "But how on earth does one practice the giving of injections?" "On an orange," Ric said succinctly. "Orange peel more accurately resembles the tension of human skin than anything else." "That's how I was taught last time," Jo told him. Then John looked at his watch. "What time are you due to see Michael?" He asked. "In about three quarters of an hour," Jo said, also looking at her watch. "Michael?" George asked, not having a clue who they were talking about. "Michael Hulsey," Jo clarified. As Ric bore Jo away to find an orange and a spare syringe, George asked, "Is Jo really all right about doing this?" "She'd have said so if she wasn't," John replied, thinking that this submission from George to the one thing Jo could do for her that he couldn't, would either further their friendship, or cut it off before it had barely begun.
A good while later, when Jo had left to see Michael, having proved her competency at giving injections and saying that she would be over later, George was told that once the necessary drugs arrived from the pharmacy, she could go home. Having asked John to leave her to it, George began the slightly arduous task of putting her clothes on. She couldn't believe she was so stiff, partly from the bruises and cracked ribs, and partly from having been in bed for the best part of two days. Tricia had offered her help, but George had politely though firmly declined. The day that she needed help to do something as simple as getting dressed, she knew she would be finally over the hill. But when she reached her bra, she knew she'd found only the first of today's many hurdles. The usual, supple flexibility of the joints and muscles that allow a woman to fasten these things, just didn't exist in George right now. She bit down on her lower lip in an effort not to cry out at the protest from her muscles. But try as she might, she just couldn't do it. She couldn't decide which was worse, the stress on her bruises, or the pull of her stitches. When Connie put her head round the door, she saw what George was struggling to do. "Are you all right?" She asked, coming in and closing the door. "No, I'm bloody not," Said George through gritted teeth. Stepping forward, Connie took the clasps from George's hands and swiftly fastened them. Holding out George's blouse that lay on the bed, she took a quick, appraising glance of her body. "Doesn't look very good, does it," George said bitterly. "It will do," Connie replied, standing back to allow George to continue getting dressed. "Especially if you start eating properly again." George stopped still in her tracks, having done up half the buttons on her blouse. "Oh," She said, looking guilty and belligerent. "Did John tell you?" "No," Connie replied casually. "At least not about that. He did tell Mr. Griffin about what happened when your daughter was born, because he thought that was why you might be so eager to escape from hospital." "Oh, did he," George said icily, inwardly cursing John's far too open nature. "It is perfectly understandable," Connie said slowly. "For one to wish to escape from any reminders of what they perceive to be their one, significant failure. Did you stop eating after your daughter was born?" "For a while," George admitted, refusing to look Connie in the eye. "And has it become your coping mechanism for other things?" "Is this really necessary?" George asked, not wanting to be impolite, but feeling that Connie was treading far too knowingly over ground where she really didn't belong. "I'm not sure when," Connie began to explain, as she sat down in a chair opposite George. "But at some point fairly recently, you definitely suffered a very serious assault, and I'm not just talking about the injuries we've treated you for this week. I know that, by your reaction to Mr. Griffin touching you yesterday." "I feel so stupid about that," George said in disgust. "You shouldn't," Connie said gently. "Now, how many times this has happened, I couldn't begin to say, but going by the fact that your assailant was living with you, I'll assume that it wasn't only the once. What I don't want you to do, is to stop eating as a reaction to everything that has happened this week. Mr. Griffin tells me that you haven't eaten since Tuesday, which does give me cause for concern. The only way you are going to physically recover is to start looking after yourself again. As for how you mentally and emotionally recover from it, that is for you to do in your own way, and in your own time. If you don't want to talk about what happened to you, then don't. There is absolutely nothing saying that you have to give in to Mr. Justice Deed's questioning, just because he is looking after you and clearly cares a lot for you. You quite obviously didn't have a choice about what happened to you, but you do have a choice about how you deal with it now." When Connie finished speaking, George just stared at her from where she sat on the edge of the bed. No one had spoken quite so gently or so kindly to her, for such a long time. She had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone show her this level of kindness, when it didn't follow that they would get something in return. "Thank you," George said, eventually finding her voice. "And thank you for everything you've done." "I believe that's what we're here for," Connie said, never quite knowing how to take gratitude from a patient. "Now, I expect that his Lordship is getting impatient waiting for you," She added, back to her usual business-like tone. But as George began to get up, Connie held out a hand, telling her to stay there for the moment. When she returned, she was followed by Tricia pushing a wheelchair. "Absolutely not," George said determinedly. "Yes," Connie replied firmly. "There's practically a mile's worth of corridors before you get to the outside." "That's how we all stay so slim and beautiful," Tricia told her. Admitting a grudging defeat, George submitted to their combined force of will. But as Tricia pushed her down the long, winding corridors, with John walking beside them, George inwardly thanked Connie for being so insistent. She would never have had the energy to walk this far.
They were silent in the car, John not really knowing what to say to her, and George unable to stop thinking about what she would find when she got home. Yes, she had managed to achieve her escape, but what was it really going to be like for her to be in that house, to sleep in that bed. She said none of this to John, because she knew it would make her sound unbearably stupid. John was well aware that her thoughts were somewhere else, but he found himself incapable of broaching the subject. He could feel her tension, but he had no idea how to alleviate it. When he pulled up in her driveway, he gently touched her hand to get her attention. "Are you all right?" He asked, clearly dragging her from some inner contemplation. "Yes," She said, suddenly noticing where they were. As they walked up the three steps to the front door, John tried to put an arm round her for support. Immediately, George moved out of his reach, the look on her face one of combined fear and apology. Neither of them said anything as John fitted her key in the door and they walked into the house, but George found herself feeling a mixture of guilt and weakness. None of this was John's fault, so why did she feel that inexplicable urge to avoid his touch? As she moved towards the lounge, she caught sight of the bloodstain on the wall, the one that neither John nor Neil had been able to remove. As she stared at it, a host of memories that she'd been trying to banish came back to her. Instantly seeing this, John gently turned her about and guided her towards the stairs, temporarily removing her from the uncut screening of her own horror film. John followed her up the stairs, and put the bag down in her bedroom. It had been a very long time since he'd been in here, except for having collected some things for her the other day, but very little seemed to have changed. The decor was still the same, though obviously looking more recent than the days of their marriage. As George sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, John asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Yes please," She answered. "But the first thing I intend to do, is to have the longest, hottest shower I've ever had in my life." Just as she said this, George realised what she was sitting on. "You changed the bedding," She said in surprise. "I thought you might prefer as many reminders of him as possible to be removed," John said carefully, knowing that such things as the smell of one's aftershave, could remain on bedclothes for days. "Thank you," She said, feeling that she could have done with some of his sensitivity a long time ago. As she began removing things from her bag and putting them away, he just stood and watched her, knowing that too many offers of help would irritate her to distraction. But as she began taking her clothes off, he stared in abject horror at the cuts and bruises that were revealed. "Instead of staring at me," She said curtly, taking note of his critical appraisal. "You might make yourself useful and undo this for me." As she turned her back to him, and he swiftly undid her bra, the thoughts were whirling round in his head. How could any man do this to a woman? How? What would a man have to have in him, to give him the capability to do something like this? Putting out a hand, John turned her to face him, taking in the full picture of her bruised and battered body. "Don't," She pleaded. "It really isn't a pretty sight." Looking up into his face, she could see the combination of raw pain and sheer fury in his eyes. "Don't look like that," She added softly. "I am reliably informed that it will heal." "But it shouldn't have happened in the first place," John said vehemently. "I know, but it did, and there is nothing you, or I, can do about it."
Half an hour later, when he took a cup of tea upstairs for her, she was sitting in front of the mirror, clad in a plain cotton nightie and drying her hair. Removing the brush and the hairdryer from her, he took over. It occurred to both of them, that he would have done exactly the same for Charlie, when she was a little girl, saying far better than any words, that he thought George needed looking after. When he'd switched off the hairdryer, and she'd put it away in the drawer, she still sat on the stool, contemplating her face in the mirror. Her lip was partly healed, but the skin under her eyes was still very discoloured. "George, talk to me," John urged gently, thinking that now might be the right time for this very difficult conversation. "I can't, at least not about most of it," She said, refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" He didn't want to force her into it, but he did want her to start letting some of it out. "Because I feel so, ashamed," She said, hesitating over the choice of the adjective. "I'm not going to think any less of you," He said cajolingly. "That's just the point though, isn't it," George said bitterly. "You will, I know you will." "Okay, so start with what you can tell me. When did he first hit you?" "Do you remember the Tracy Spink trial, over a year ago?" "As if I'll ever forget it," John said disgustedly. "The government nobbled the jury and bribed one of the main witnesses to give false or inadmissible evidence. Why?" "And do you remember, that I managed to help you find out what they were up to?" "You're surely not telling me that he hit you over something like that?" "Not entirely. John, you know what I'm like when I get started, giving up an argument just isn't something I do. I think he did it the first time, just to shut me up. He demanded to know why I'd told you what I did, and we got into a row. I loathed what they'd done with that trial, and in my infinitely bloody-minded way, I wouldn't let it go. Oddly enough, I understand why he did it the first time, because he was losing the argument, and if there's one thing Neil could never bear, it was to lose a disagreement. I suspect he's always been a bad loser. What thoroughly confused me, was that even during the worst of the arguments we've ever had, you've never once raised your hand to me." "I wouldn't, I couldn't," John insisted vehemently. "But why?" George asked with total sincerity. "You're surely not telling me that you've never wanted a quick and easy way to shut me up, in all the time we've known each other?" "George, no matter how many times you've driven me insane over the years, I've never once had the need or the urge to slap you." "Ah, but that's because verbally, you are my equal, if not more than, whereas Neil certainly doesn't possess the verbal dexterity of either of us. So, he had to resort to some other way of getting what he wanted from me, whether it was simply to keep me quiet, or to get me to take on the One Way case. All through every conference I had involving that case, I tried to do anything that would keep the peace, because I knew that if Neil became in any way rattled by Max Solveigh or Tim Listfield, I would bear the brunt of it." "I'd like to wring his neck," John said almost savagely. "Well, you can't," George said flatly, and he could see that the tone of his voice had frightened her. "So, what provoked Thursdays sudden outburst?" "Now, that really was my fault," George said wearily. "George, how many times do I have to tell you, that this is not your fault?" "A good deal more, for me to even think of believing you," She said, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. "I was getting to breaking point this week, probably because someone had finally found out what was going on. I really wasn't sure how much more of it I could deal with. I think I knew that if I threatened to tell you, he would do far worse than he'd ever done before. Either he would put me in hospital, in which case I would have to tell you because of Charlie, and because of the case we were in the middle of. Or, I would be dead, which would mean it would all be over." Her voice had lost some of its strength as she said this, the risk she had taken finally catching up with her. "So, that's what I did. I can't even remember what we were originally arguing about on Thursday evening, but when I leveled that threat at him, he completely lost it. He's always been somewhat afraid of you, you know, and he couldn't face the thought of coming under your cosh, or losing his public position. I know you won't want to hear it, but I remember thinking that if he did actually kill me, it would be something of a relief." By this time, tears of emotional pain, total release, and sheer exhaustion were pouring down her face. Gently putting his arms round her, he held her as she clung to him, burying her face in his chest. Her body shook with half-suppressed sobs that at first she couldn't control. For a long time they stayed like this, George still sitting on the stool before the mirror, clinging to John as he stood by her side. He remembered the last time she'd clung to him so desperately, when they'd thought that Charlie was dead, and had then realised that she was still alive. She had needed him then, more than he could ever have known. He remembered how blase she'd been about her relationship with Neil, even in those early days, saying that she would have had more fun with a church minister, rather than the cabinet minister she had flaunted in front of him. He now understood why she could never have told him, because this would have meant her admitting that she'd yet again got it wrong, when he had loathed and despised Neil from the start. But to take such a risk, to gamble with her own life like that. It frightened the hell out of him just to think about it.
When Jo arrived a few hours later, John was sitting in the lounge reading the paper, but he kept reading the same pages over and over again, his thoughts drifting back to everything George had said. It caused him an enormous amount of pain that she hadn't been able to tell him what she'd been going through, and he knew that he didn't have the first idea of how to make it better for her. When he heard Jo's car draw up, he went to let her in. She could see that something was bothering him, and they just stood in the hall for a moment holding each other. "How is she?" Jo asked, when they eventually drew apart. "Asleep, the last time I looked, but I was going to take her a cup of tea in a while." "Have you talked to her?" "Yes, but she won't tell me much, at least not about the worst of it. I was wondering if you might have a go." "I'll try, John, but I'm making no promises. The worst thing to do would be to rush her. She's not going to give in and tell all, just to satisfy your curiosity." "You know this has been going on since the Tracy Spink trial?" "But that was well over a year ago." "I know, and I saw absolutely nothing." "Nor did Charlie, nor did her father, nor did anyone," Jo reminded him quietly.
When Jo went upstairs carrying two cups of tea, she found that George was still asleep, but clearly in the middle of some horrific dream. After putting the mugs down on the dressing-table, Jo approached the bed. George was feverishly tossing and turning, and murmuring any number of indecipherable pleas. But it was when the words, "Neil", "Please", and "No", reached her that Jo decided it was time for George to wake up. "George," She called gently, which achieved no response. Putting out a hand, JO lightly touched George's shoulder. Immediately turning over onto her back, George began to struggle. When George opened her eyes, Jo was taken aback by the sheer terror in them. Clearly thinking that it was Neil leaning over her, George tried to push Jo away, all the time pleading with her to stop. "George, it's me, it's Jo," Jo told her, taking hold of the hands that had been trying to push her away. Whether it was her gentle touch or her quite obviously female voice, Jo wasn't sure, but something seemed to penetrate George's terrified mind. When George slowly focused her gaze on Jo, she tried to get her breathing under control, but this was impeded by her cracked ribs, which at the moment were protesting against her unconscious movements. "Try to calm down," Jo said persuasively, softly stroking George's hands. "I'm sorry about that," George said eventually, feeling extremely stupid. "It's being back in this bed, isn't it," Jo guessed, thinking that George had probably underestimated what it would be like for her to be back in this house, that's if she'd thought about it at all in her drive to escape from hospital. "Probably," George admitted. "But I had to do it, I had to get out of there." "I know," Jo said softly. "Being in hospital, reminded you of when Charlie was born, didn't it." "John seems to have been telling everyone about that this week," George replied bitterly. "He's worried about you." "Well, he shouldn't be. Quite why he still worries about me after all these years and everything I've put him through, is beyond me." George's voice was becoming more strident, more filled with self-loathing, and Jo could see her face twisting with pain. "Are you in pain?" Jo asked, as George clearly wasn't about to say so. "It'll pass," George said with a grimace. "Doesn't look like it," Jo said, reaching for the pharmacy bag on the dressing-table that contained the prepacked injections. "Don't," George said, stopping her. "Why?" Jo was genuinely mystified. "Isn't that bloody obvious?" George demanded through gritted teeth. "I don't want you to touch me, I don't want anyone to touch me. It's bad enough that you're seeing me like this, never mind seeing bits of me that I would really rather no one did." Then, after a short silence, she asked, "Where does it go?" "In the top of your thigh," Jo replied, knowing this wasn't going to go down very well. "Then you can forget it," George said stonily. "I'd rather deal with the pain." "You could always do it yourself," Jo suggested, feeling no insult at George's words. If she'd been through what George had, she didn't think she would want someone touching the top of her thigh either. "I doubt I could even hold a pen steady at the moment, never mind a needle." "You'd be a useless junky," Jo told her, trying to lighten the situation. "I don't doubt it," George said bitterly. "I'll be very gentle," Jo said after a while, seeing that George wasn't going to be able to cope with this amount of pain for much longer. George had been screwing her eyes up in agony, but now she made an effort to focus on Jo. "You do understand why I don't want you to do this, don't you," She said eventually. "Yes," Jo replied gently, wanting to put George at her ease as much as possible. "Fine, just don't look at anything you don't have to."
When JO drew back the duvet and lifted the corner of the nightie that covered her right thigh, George turned her face away from her, not wanting Jo to see her reaction to this. Having unwrapped the prepared syringe, she rested a hand on George's thigh to keep it still. George jumped when Jo touched her, but neither of them acknowledged this. George's skin was soft and warm, it occurring to Jo that the toned muscle of George's thighs, still hadn't been strong enough, to prevent Neil from thrusting them apart to take what he wanted. George didn't make a sound at the slight prick of the needle, but when the pain-killing drug began to creep through her veins, she did begin to relax. As Jo covered her up, and put the empty syringe in its packet to dispose of it later, she thought that now, with the drug making George a little drowsy, she might be able to persuade her to talk. But Jo didn't need to do any persuading. "You know, it was always a power thing with Neil," She began, her face still turned away from Jo. "Never a sex thing. That's what he lusted after, power to achieve anything that suited him. He just couldn't bear it when things didn't go his way." "That doesn't give him any excuse to do what he did, George," Jo put in quietly. "No, I know," She said, adjusting her position slightly and finally looking up at where Jo sat facing her on the end of the bed. "He was so angry, when John took over the One Way case. He kept thrusting home to me, just how much he thought that John had taken it on, out of some personal vendetta against him. I was desperate for John to recuse himself, not because of you, but because of Neil. Even I'm prepared to admit that you're far more professional, than to allow any relationship with john to get in the way. But no, it was far too much to ask for, a quiet life." Jo could see tears in George's eyes, and briefly wondered how both she and John had missed what had been going on behind the scenes. "The first time he... god, I can't even say it, was when he was trying to persuade me to take on the One Way case. First, he tried to dangle the quarter of a million fee in front of me, but having looked at all the arguments, I didn't want anything to do with it. One Way were obviously in the wrong, and I wasn't about to commit career suicide, just to keep Neil and his cronies out of the firing line. Then he started goading me, demanding to know if I was losing my touch, if I wasn't prepared to take it on, because I was professionally over the hill. It's funny, but when I was married to John, we always tried to leave any arguments outside the bedroom. It was a sort of unspoken agreement that they had to be over by the time we went to bed. But Neil had no such scruples. He kept on and on at me, until I finally snapped, telling him that never in a million years would I take on such a morally corrupt case. He wanted to know why I'd suddenly changed my tune, and said that I was starting to sound a little too much like John. That's when I said that at least John had principles, and didn't just keep to them when it suited him. That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever said in my life. He totally lost it when I said that. He said that if there was one thing he could do that John couldn't, it was to make me do anything he wanted me to do. There's absolutely nothing you can do, when someone is so determined to make you submit, and nothing hurts more, than someone thrusting himself inside you, when you're not remotely aroused." Jo inwardly clenched all her muscles in sympathy with this. "So," George continued, suddenly realising that she was crying. "I agreed to take on the One Way case, because I couldn't bear the thought of him doing that again. But when he thought he'd found a way to finally get rid of John, he did anyway. I really had no idea what he had planned, but I knew it was something despicable. The one thing to really fire Neil up, is the thought that he can remove John once and for all. I didn't know what was worse, the actuality of what Neil was doing to me at home, or the very real possibility of what they might be about to do to John. Then, when One Way lost, I was terrified at what I might be coming home to, and as it happens, with just cause. I think I smiled at you, because I wasn't sure when or if, I would ever see you again, and I think I was taking what felt like my last chance to put the record straight. You didn't deserve half the things I said to you during that case, and I know I was being far worse than I usually am, but I think I needed someone else to hurt as much as I was, and you were an easy and familiar target. I knew that either professionally or emotionally, never mind physically, I wasn't going to come out of that case in one piece, and as terrible as it sounds, I think I was determined to drag you down with me. I couldn't take it out on Neil, so I took it out on you. I'm so, so sorry for the way I handled that case, and for the things I said to you." Jo didn't know what to say. She had silent tears running down her own cheeks by this time, and speaking was virtually impossible. "I just wish we'd known," She said eventually, reaching for the box of tissues on the dressing table, and putting it on the duvet between them. "John can't escape from the fact that he didn't pick up on any of this, but I saw you far more than he did. You've no idea just how many things now make an awful lot of sense, and in some ways, that makes it worse. You'd never objected to John being on the bench when I was in court before, yet you'd always been aware of our relationship. The PCC hearing was just an excuse to make John recuse himself. You could have come out with all that waffle, on the rights and wrongs of ex and current lovers before, but you never had. You were talking about no smoke without fire, when you were the one using one hell of a smoke screen. When you took that frightful risk, and asked John if he wanted to see the photos, you only backed down because of what Neil's reaction would be, if John had you locked up in a cell, which we both know he has done before. If you hadn't had the threat of Neil's fists hanging over you, you'd have gone as far as possible to prove your point." "It all fits together now, doesn't it," George said as she dried her eyes. "I just wish you'd said something," Jo said, sounding utterly defeated. "Would you have believed me if I had?" George asked, and Jo had to admit that it was a fair question. "I'd like to think so," She said eventually. "No, you wouldn't," George said without ranker. "The only reason you didn't question what I told you on Monday, was because the evidence was there before you. Even if you had believed me without seeing that bruise, you'd have questioned my motives for telling you something so personal." "What are you going to do?" Jo asked after a few moments silence. "What can I do, but get on with my life, and hope that I never run into him again. John can banish all his grandiose thoughts of justice right now, because we both know it will never happen. Men in Neil's position have always got away with the things they do behind closed doors, and I suppose they always will."
Some hours later when John and Jo were lying together in the bed in George's spare room, Jo thought that this must be one of the most surreal nights of her life. Here she was, lying in bed with John, in the house of the woman who had been her greatest rival and enemy for years. If someone had told Jo a week ago that she would be doing this, she would have thought them insane. George was sleeping restlessly across the landing, no doubt thinking something along the same lines. It must after all, be just as strange for her to have Jo in her house, as it was for Jo to be there. Jo and John were lying with their arms around each other, both consumed by too many thoughts to go to sleep with ease. "What are you thinking?" Jo asked him softly. "Don't take this the wrong way," He said in reply. "But part of me feels as though I'm in the wrong bed." Jo laughed quietly. "I'm serious," John insisted. "Not in all those years of arguments, was I ever relegated to the spare room." "Yes, so I've heard," Jo said teasingly. "Oh, no, that's all I need," He said in resignation. "You two comparing notes on the finer, or not so finer points of my character. It would make a change from all the fighting though," He added contemplatively, leaving Jo with the thought that perhaps there could be at least one positive thing to come out of all the hurt Neil had caused.