Part Thirty-Seven
Later on the Tuesday evening, John was still worrying about George, whilst trying to do some reading for a civil case that was on the list for him just after the Lauren Atkins trial. He really felt for Yvonne Atkins, having to watch her daughter go through so much and being virtually powerless to do anything about it. Yvonne intrigued him. Before he'd begun talking to her during this trial, he'd simply thought of her as a former criminal, whom Karen had been briefly involved with, no more no less. But throughout the course of this case, he was learning, learning to see the human being under the outer facade of bitter control. He was being given glimpses of the mother in her, the woman who had been forced to decide that the lesser evil was to stay with her bully of a husband and to allow her children to be taught the rudiments of committing serious crime. He couldn't even begin to estimate what it must have been like for her to have to make such a decision. Yvonne's love for her children was clear to see, even Neumann Mason-Alan wouldn't be able to deny that. John smiled as he thought of how Yvonne had handled the barrister with so little backbone it was a wonder he could stand up. She had a way with words about her that would cut anyone down to size. He was heartily relieved, however, that she hadn't succeeded in giving Neumann Mason-Alan a black eye, because he was certain that this is what she would have done had Nikki and Karen not reached her in time. Both Karen and Nikki Wade had reacted like lightning, Karen because it was in her training and Nikki possibly because she had lived in the prison environment for three years, and knew just how quickly a fight could kick off. But this brought him right back to George. It hurt him almost with a physical pain whenever he heard Charlie refer to George as the ice maiden. He knew why Charlie had picked on this particular name, but it didn't make him dislike it any less. Like most teenagers, Charlie had lighted on this name for her mother, and had flogged it to death at first, possibly trying to get some sort of response out of him. But John had never acknowledged Charlie's use of this name, knowing that the more attention he gave it, the more she would say it. The only possible way in which George could have heard this name was if Charlie had been talking on the phone to one of her friends, and had temporarily forgotten that George was in the next room and might be able to hear what she said. He wondered how long George had been aware of the ice maiden, because it was a name Charlie had been using for her since before she went to university.
His musings were cut short just after eight o'clock, when there came a knock on his door, and Mr. Johnson, who might be termed the warden to keep all badly behaved judges in order, appeared with Jo at his side. "Mrs. Mills to see you, My Lord," He said, discretely leaving and closing the door. "You'll get yourself a reputation coming to see me like this," John said as he walked over to her. "Considering how long I've known you John, I've probably got one already." It felt good to go back into his arms, to feel that old familiar combination of exasperation for herself, that she was giving in, and the love for him, that had not abated over all those years they'd spent apart. "It's good to see you, Jo," John said after kissing her. They'd both felt unhappy after what had happened the previous Tuesday, both wanting to make up for the argument, and both being too stubborn to make the first move. "I'm sorry about last week," Jo said, knowing that even though John might irritate her to distraction sometimes, she would always forgive him. "If I knew what I'd done," John replied. "I'm sure I would be too." "And we still have some talking to do about that, but not now." When she said this, John could see that the intensity of the Atkins trial was getting to her, and that what she really needed was some simple TLC. Taking her hand, he walked back over to the armchair he'd been sitting in, and drew her down on to his knee. "I'm too old for this, John," Jo said though not putting up any physical protest. "No one, is ever too old for this," He said between kisses. "And as I don't possess a sofa, and I want to be close to you, this is how it has to be." Jo was a good deal taller than George, with much longer legs and generally of a more substantial frame, but he loved having her draped over his lap as she was now. "I hope there aren't any hidden cameras in here," John said as their kisses became more passionate. "John, that isn't remotely funny," Jo scolded. He laughed. "Well, even if there are, right now I couldn't care less." This was his ideal world, she thought dreamily, having her and only her, held safe in his arms. Well, partly his ideal world, because she knew she couldn't quite fill the rest of it. "I shouldn't have come here," Jo said after a while, moving her face away from John's, and trying to get her rapidly flowing senses under control. John's "Why?" was thoroughly mystified. "Because I badly want to sleep with you, but as we're here, I can't." "Why not?" "Because I loathe having to get up and leave afterwards, and I'm not staying here to be caught leaving tomorrow morning and going through another round with the Professional Conduct Committee." "That's a shame," He said trying to provoke her in to changing her mind. "Because I thought you were trying to seduce me." "I doubt any woman could, or would have to," Jo replied knowingly. A brief hint of memory flashed over John's face, a remembered occasion with George taking place behind his eyes. "You're thinking about George," Jo deduced. John's eyes widened slightly. "Now I know you're spending too much time with me if you're learning the art of reading facial expressions as well as that. But yes, I was thinking of George. That night she came to see me just before her few hours behind bars. You don't mind me talking about her?" He felt it necessary to ask this so as not to hurt her. "And you think we don't talk about you?" Jo asked, though appreciating his consideration. "I try not to," He said ruefully. "The possible outcomes are far too frightening." Jo laughed. "There isn't much I don't know about you and George, and there isn't much she doesn't know about you and me. As neither of us is supposed to be sleeping with you, we only have each other to talk to about you. So talk away." "Did she tell you what happened that night?" "Amongst other things, on that day she fainted in court. That was one of the oddest days I think I've ever had." "She came here, looking incredible, and though she's pretty good at hiding it, I could tell she'd been drinking. She said she felt like some company. That's the lamest excuse in the book. Much as I know it will surprise you, I did have to be persuaded." Jo just quirked an eyebrow at him. "But in the end she didn't even enjoy it, and whilst that wasn't ever that unusual for George, especially after Charlie was born, she'd never attempted to fake it before. She'd clearly had far too much practice at that with lover boy, but when you've lived with someone for nine years, there's nothing you don't know about how they react or how their body works. She was so angry with me for realizing she'd tried to fool me, and angrier still when I tried to make her talk about it." "Sex isn't always wonderful, John, and when it's not, it can be humiliating. For women, it's absolutely vital to be vaguely happy and relaxed to start with, otherwise it's just not worth contemplating. George probably didn't enjoy it because she had to be extremely unhappy to come looking for it from you in the first place." "Oh, thanks a lot," John said putting on a hurt expression. "That's not what I meant and you know it," Jo said sternly. "When she woke up in the morning, she saw your picture, and when I asked where she was going, she asked me if I'd even vaguely thought about you the night before." John suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "John, I would be far more hurt if you had thought about me and still gone ahead and slept with her," Jo said to reassure him. "I pointed out that she hadn't either, and she just said I know, and left. I should have realised then that something was badly wrong. Let's face it, when, before that time did George ever feel guilty about cuckolding anyone..." "Especially me," Jo completed his sentence for him when he couldn't find a diplomatic way of saying it. "John, when George stopped eating after Charlie was born, it took you long enough to notice it then because when you're living with someone day in day out, it's very difficult to notice a gradual change like that. But when you're not living with them, and certainly don't see them on a daily basis, it's even easier for someone to hide something like that. George was living on her own in those days, so there was no one to whom she had to justify her eating, or not eating habits. You're not the only one who knew something was wrong, but who totally underestimated just how bad it was." "I wish George hadn't heard what Charlie calls her," John said regretfully, returning them to the current matter in hand. "I was going to go and see her tonight, just to make sure she was all right. But then you turned up and made me forget everything except how beautiful you are." Recognising the come on for what it was, Jo grinned. "I think you'll find that George will be well taken care of," She said mischievously. John looked briefly baffled. "Oh, you mean her new lover," He said in dawning comprehension. "So, you know about him too, do you?" The novelty of knowing something that John didn't, and the sheer incongruity of his unknowingly referring to Karen as a him, made Jo laugh. "What's so funny?" He said with a smile, always enjoying the total freedom in her laughter. "Nothing," She said, finally calming down, but she couldn't prevent herself from occasionally breaking in to a broad grin which John found infuriating. "You know who it is, don't you?" He said, getting the distinct feeling that the joke was on him. "I might," She said, knowing that she would have to be extremely careful not to reveal the lover's name. "And you won't put me out of my misery?" "Absolutely not," Jo said in offended dignity. "I've been politely asked not to, so you'll just have to be patient, won't you." "Well, I know I know them," He said, trying to work it out. "She told me that much last week." "George does feel quite bad about last week," Jo said seriously. "She's not the only one," John replied, still feeling some sense of guilt for trying to sleep with George when she'd clearly been occupied with someone else. "It's crazy, whenever she doesn't enjoy it, she thinks it's her fault." "Just give her some space," Jo said gently. "And when she does tell you who her new lover is, please be nice to her." "Now you've really got me worried," He replied. "Do I dislike them that much?" "No, but it will be something of a shock, and that's all I can tell you," She finished firmly. John began looking pensive, his brows knitting together in concentration. As close as she was, Jo could have sworn she could see the cogs turning in his brain. "Don't try to work it out, John," She pleaded. "Because if you think about it, it is actually quite obvious. Let George tell you in her own time." "Okay," He said, but during their ensuing conversation, Jo could see his mind returning again and again to the possible candidates. "What we do need to talk about," Jo insisted, doing her damnedest to get him off the topic of George and her lover. "Is why you made me angry last week." She had his full attention now. "Jo, I can't help currently being professionally above you, but it won't always be like that." "I know, and it's not the professional bit that really bothers me. You've always been my professional superior, and there'll be something not quite right about it if I'm ever your equal. It's how you use it that annoys me. I know you don't do it purposefully, but you always allow your professional superiority to drift over in to your personal life." "I do not!" He protested. "Yes, you do, John," Jo replied calmly. "You like being superior to me, in bed and out of it." "And I can't help that either," He said, immediately regretting it when he saw the brief flash of hurt on Jo's face. "I know you can't," She said quietly. "But maybe I can. Maybe it's up to me to do something to make myself feel slightly less inferior to you in that way." Thinking he could see where this was leading, he said, "You really don't have to do that for me, Jo." "I feel sexually inadequate, John, and whilst I know that's not anyone's fault, it's not something I want to go on feeling." "Don't ever, ever assume that that's what I think you are," He said vehemently, holding her tightly to him. "I love you just the way you are, so don't ever try to change just to please me." "I know," Jo said, gently kissing him. "But this is something I need to do for me."
After a while, he said, "Well, whilst I have no idea what this form of self-improvement might involve, feel free to use me as a learning curve whenever you like." "I've been doing that all my life, John. So what makes you think I'll stop now?" "Will you stay with me tonight?" He said, suddenly wanting to make her feel as loved and as cherished as possible. "No," She said firmly. "But if you come to see me tomorrow evening, you might just get what you're looking for, if you're lucky," She finished merely to tease him, just occasionally enjoying the power of making him wait for what he wanted so badly.
Karen had worked through her enormous stack of paperwork all afternoon, using the sheer monotony of allocating cell space, funding and shifts, as a welcome distraction from the trial. She wished she could have stayed, but she knew that taking a break was the only way to calm herself down. George wanted to see her this evening, and Karen had the distinct impression that George wanted to talk about her daughter Charlie. In saying what she had to Yvonne that morning, George had obviously resurrected things that she hadn't intended to. It was plain to see that George's hold on her feelings was a brittle one, liable to crack and give way at the slightest provocation. Karen didn't know why George clearly didn't get on with her daughter, or why she had so much guilt festering inside her, though it was possibly the cause of her anorexia. John had never told her because he knew it was George's story to tell. So, if George wanted to talk about Charlie, Karen knew that she would listen, and most important of all, she would allow George to tell it in her own way. After all, she, Karen, knew only too well how hard it was to discuss certainly one particular event in her life, so she should know how George would probably feel about admitting to something she felt incredibly self-conscious about. George was an unknown quantity in many respects. When Karen had first had sight of her, she had been constructed mainly of scorn, derision, and every caustic remark under the sun. But then she'd changed. Somewhere between the end of the Merriman/Atkins trial and when Karen had first gone to see her about the case against Fenner, she had altered. Some of the hardness had gone, to be replaced with an emerging vulnerability, which had at the time, intrigued Karen. She could remember George's imposed visit to Larkhall as though it was yesterday, and now, the way George had reacted to every inmate having to have a psychiatric assessment was no longer a mystery. It was odd, Karen thought as she switched off her computer some time after eight that evening, but that if she had to be strong for someone else, it made her feel stronger in herself. It was when she was given the space and encouragement to lean on someone else that she crumbled. Karen had absolutely no doubt that if this trial became any more invasive of her emotional space than it already had been, then her resolve to stay calm and unruffled would be sorely tested. She had come pretty close to cracking that morning, and she just hoped that she could manage to keep it together until it was all over, one way or the other.
As she drove out of the prison gates, she smiled. Sylvia had appeared in her office earlier that afternoon, wanting to know if she knew anything about the water pistol that had mysteriously appeared on the wing, in the hands of Denny Blood as usual. Karen had lifted a hand to cover her smile, and because she wasn't in the mood for any of Sylvia's whining, she'd asked her to try and think about when the water pistol usually made its presence felt. To give Sylvia her due, she'd arrived at the answer almost immediately. "Usually when I've had to have time off for one reason or another," She said, an unhealthy blush staining her cheeks because she knew these occasions had been skiving, not backed up by actual, official reasons. "Precisely," Karen had said, totally unabashed. "Which ought to further tell you that I will not put up with being left in the lurch just because of your niece's wedding. If you'd been up front about your reason for taking this weekend off, I'm sure something could have been arranged. But you tried to pull a fast one, and you should know by now that it doesn't work on me. When I first took on this job, I remember telling all of you, but you in particular, that I don't like liars and I don't like skivers. If you are prepared to use underhand methods to take time off, Sylvia, then I will use underhand methods to dissuade you from doing it in the future. Is that clear?" Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, Sylvia had turned and stalked out of the office, banging the door none too gently.
Karen couldn't help grinning to herself about this as she drove across London to George's. She always managed to cut Sylvia down to size. If Neil found out about her persuasive tactics, she would probably have some explaining to do, but if it worked, she would keep on doing it. When she pulled into George's driveway, she could see a light on in the lounge. Walking up the steps to the front door, Karen became further aware of the sound of a piano being played. Realising this must be George herself, Karen stood for a moment and listened. She wasn't sure who the music was by, but the crashing chords and rapid runs of notes in between, told her in no uncertain terms that George really could play. Loath to interrupt her, Karen waited another couple of minutes until the piece drew to an end before ringing the doorbell. When George appeared, she looked tired, irritable and thoroughly on edge. But when she registered that it was Karen, and not some utterly unwelcome other being on her doorstep, she smiled. "That was some piece," Karen said as she moved into the hall. "Oh, no," George said in dismay. "You heard it." "And very impressed I was too," Karen said kissing her. "I don't know what it was, but it sounded incredible." "Beethoven, the Apassionata Sonata. It's wonderful for taking everything out on." "I tend to use Sylvia for that purpose, at least when she deserves it," Karen said with a grin. "Has the penny dropped yet?" George asked, with a broad smile. "Oh, the water pistol you mean, yes, it has finally. So maybe we'll see some improvement." "Would you like a glass of wine?" George offered, finally detaching herself from the far too comforting embrace. "Yes please," Karen replied as she followed George into the kitchen. "But what I would really like is for you to play something for me." George turned and sized her up. "Are you sure?" She asked tentatively. "I mean, I'm not all that good really." Karen grinned. "Modesty really doesn't suit you, George. You play like an angel. So yes, I would like it very much if you would play for me. It's pretty rare that I listen to classical music, but whenever I do, it always seems to make me unwind." "Okay," George acquiesced, pouring Karen a glass of wine and refilling her own, and walking back into the lounge. Putting her glass down on the coffee table and taking her seat at the piano, she began flipping through the book that had been on the music stand. "Will the Pathetique do you?" She asked. "Because I know I can play that." "Fine," Karen said as she settled in to the left hand corner of the sofa, glass of wine in hand, and ready to have her nerves untangled by the swiftly flowing dimensions of one of Beethoven's most famous creations.
The first movement started gently enough, with brief, sudden crescendos through the various modulations of C minor. But when the piece began to traverse the rapid chords and progressions of its main theme, Karen closed her eyes, the music flowing over her like so many gentle and skilful fingers. The bass thundered up and down, whilst the right hand executed such full bodied chords and incredibly fast runs, that Karen wouldn't have been the first to wonder just how Beethoven had expected anyone to play it. During the quieter moments, Karen's thoughts drifted unheeded to the haunted soul currently playing this fabulous work of genius. George probably didn't know it herself, but her innermost feelings were being portrayed through the music she was playing. It was as if her soul was crying out for some sort of understanding, maybe even a form of deliverance from the pain that could all too easily swamp her. Karen couldn't see George's face from where she was, George being to the right but with her back to the sofa, but Karen thought that her face would probably be devoid of all expression, the feelings coming from inside. The notes trickled away from her like tears pouring from those enormous blue eyes. Karen briefly entertained the thought that this first movement of the Pathetique represented George particularly accurately. It had its quieter moments, when the notes portrayed a false serenity, a brief period of calm, but with the storm waiting to break just around the corner. The first movement ended with a few short, sharp chords, possibly to illustrate how George used to show herself to the outside world.
The second movement began in the subtle, romantic tones of A flat, the gentle chords rocking to and fro, as lovers might initially begin caressing each other. Was this movement showing Karen the George who wanted to be loved, who wanted to be held safe in a pair of arms for as long as this pleasure might be granted to her? But then it drifted into a more unsettled pattern of flitting between the major and minor keys, and the beat moving to three instead of two. Was this meant to depict George's fear of the unknown, her fear that those who meant so much to her might one day leave her? Then, the original melody in A flat had returned, the music remaining in the three beat style, the waltz of many lovers around the world. Was this when George might abandon her fears, simply allowing herself to live her moment of glory with whichever lover this outpouring of emotions concerned.
The third movement had switched back to the more unpredictable tempo and flow of notes as the first, the music swinging through all possible connotations of C minor, but always returning to one particular theme in the right hand, George's fingers moving through the trills and runs with the familiarity of thorough learning. With some extremely flashy alternating broken chords, George was able to well and truly show off her skill, to put her mark on the piece, to say, this is how I play it, take it or leave it. Also in a similar way to the first movement, this was George seeing herself alone, not in the company of any real or imagined lover, but herself saying love me or hate me, but this is who I am. This movement portrayed the erecting of her emotional walls, the constructing of the barriers of scorn and loathing that would keep everyone at bay. Whilst the first movement had been a tormented soul looking for some kind of reprieve, and the second a brief interlude with a chosen lover, the third and final depiction of her personality was trying to block everyone out, possibly to stop them from seeing the vulnerable, hurting woman on the inside.
When she reached the end, there was silence, except for the faint crackling from the logs in the hearth. Opening her eyes, Karen said, "You've just told me an awful lot about yourself without even opening your mouth." George turned swiftly round to face her, a look of brief horror on her face. "Don't worry," Karen said gently. "The way you played that didn't tell me anything I either didn't know already, or hadn't at least suspected." "I've never thought of playing as being quite so revealing," George said lightly. "Everyone, no matter what their creative art, whether it be painting, writing or music, if they have the kind of skill that you do, they always put over what's inside them, whether they mean to or not." "That's a little worrying," George said with a self-deprecating smile. "And it's probably why I don't play very often," Karen agreed. "And it's definitely why I never let anyone hear me." "So," George said, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "What did my playing tell you about me?" "Well, I might be wrong, but I think you wanted to see me tonight because what you said about Charlie has reopened some old wounds, and because you want to talk about that in order to cauterise them before they can close up again. But when you started playing, you might say that each movement told me something different. The first told me just how volatile you are, as if I didn't know already," She said with a small grin. "But what it really told me was that you wanted to be listened to, and if that's what you want, then you will be. The second movement suggested that you love just being close to someone, and that you're afraid of losing whoever it is you want to be close to, as a result of whatever happened to make you feel so guilty. Whether that was me or someone else you were thinking about, I couldn't tell you. The third one was mainly a re-strengthening of all your barriers. It felt as though you were trying to resurrect all the things that had kept you emotionally safe." When Karen stopped speaking, George simply sat and stared at her. She was loathed to admit it, but Karen had been absolutely right. She must remind John never to play his violin in front of her if he didn't want the entirety of his soul to be broadcast at the same time. But maybe Karen's understanding of her playing would make what she had to do next a lot easier. Karen had said she would listen, and George didn't doubt that she would listen, but would she stay once she'd heard how terrible a mother George had been. "Jo would be proud of you," She said eventually. "That's the first time in a long time that someone has made me well and truly speechless." "And that wasn't my intention," Karen said quietly. "Oh, I know," George replied, showing Karen that she wasn't remotely offended, just surprised. "And you're right. I do want to tell you about Charlie, because I think I need to emotionally do what Buki actually did last Friday. But I don't want to tell you about Charlie, because I don't want to lose you as a friend, never mind anything else." "And what makes you think you might?" "You love your son, I could see that so clearly when you got that birthday card from him." George turned her face slightly so that she was looking up at the Monet above the fireplace, her profile the only thing Karen could see clearly. "From the moment I knew of my daughter's existence inside me, I was terrified. I hated everything that was happening to me, because I didn't have control over it. I barely looked in a mirror in the last three months before Charlie was born. John didn't know how I felt at the time, because a child was the one thing he'd always wanted and I couldn't ever take that away from him. I wanted to love Charlie, I really did," She said, the tears rising to her eyes, making her feel even more ashamed. "But I couldn't. I couldn't love my own daughter." The tears were running down her cheeks now, making her unable to say any more.
George was only vaguely aware of Karen approaching her, but when she felt Karen's arms go around her, she returned the embrace, hiding her face against Karen's body. Karen simply stood and held her, occasionally running her fingers through her hair. She had wondered if it was something like this, and the anorexia now made sense. "Did you stop eating because you felt guilty for not loving her?" Karen asked after a while. George looked up at her. "Yes," She said. "Which is how John found out. I tried so hard to love her, but even now I can't put a name to what I do feel for her. So, when I heard the name she'd created for me, I couldn't blame her. After John and I divorced, keeping every feeling I had well and truly locked away was the only way I could survive. An ice maiden is exactly how I must have appeared to Charlie, even though I tried not to. I'm sorry," She said after a short silence. Taking George's hand, Karen led her over to the sofa where they could sit close together and so that she could look at George. "No one," She said gently but firmly. "Can ever predict how they will feel when their child is born, and no matter how much you want to love someone, that doesn't always mean that you can. So just occasionally, you will need to do this, to re-open the wounds that will probably never heal. But you haven't frightened me off, and I don't think any less of you for telling me. On the contrary, you've got far more guts about you when it comes to talking, than I will ever have, and as long as you don't want me too, I'm not going anywhere."
They sat for a long time after George's tears had dried, their arms around each other and with George's head on Karen's shoulder. The fire crackled and bathed them in its warm, rosy glow, gradually making George feel safe and at least calmer than she had earlier. "Please will you stay?" George asked quietly. "Of course," Karen said, gently kissing her. "I think we both need a decent night's sleep after today." "I think Jo was going to see John this evening." "I wonder if she'll take the advice I gave her last week," Karen said with a small smile. "Oh?" George looked thoroughly intrigued. "I told her to surprise him, make him feel that she has the upper hand for a change." George laughed. "There isn't anything John would enjoy more. When you're in bed with John, you sometimes feel like you're still in court." Now it was Karen's turn to laugh. "I'm not joking," George insisted. "As you know, John can be a wonderful lover, but he sometimes forgets that he isn't ultimately in charge. I've never let it bother me because I'm certainly not remotely inferior to him in that way." "Oh, really," Karen said dryly, quirking an eyebrow at George which made her smile. "Give me some time, and I'm sure I could come up to the same standard with you," She said, smirking wickedly at Karen. "But Jo has always felt that she isn't good enough for John, which is ridiculous. So your advice might just do the trick."
A while later when they went up to bed, George slipped on a plain cotton nightie, her way of making it clear that she didn't want to do anything but sleep. Karen privately thought that she probably wouldn't have been up for anything other than a cuddle tonight either, so this was fine with her. "This is definitely the most decadent bedroom I've ever seen," Karen commented as she cleaned her teeth in the en suite. "And it's one of my favourite rooms in the house," Replied George. As Karen slid under the wonderfully soft duvet, she reflected that with both George and Yvonne, she had encountered the same slight incompatibility as regards bed sharing. Both she and Yvonne had always preferred to sleep on the right side of the bed, and it seemed that she had found the same little quirk in George. With Yvonne, they had simply decided that whoever's house they were at, that person slept where they normally did, and Karen found herself adopting the same policy with George. When George slipped in beside her, they moved with growing familiarity in to each other's arms. "I've missed this," Karen said in to George's hair. "Missed what?" "Just being in bed with someone, and not being expected to actually sleep with them." George laughed softly. "You're not the only one. Putting pressure on someone in that way is something John would never ever do, but when he's here I always feel as though I have to make the most of it, for him usually. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly drawing her face back to look in to Karen's. "I shouldn't be talking about John whilst I'm in bed with you." "Why not?" Karen said reasonably. "I know you sleep with John, and I also know that you're not about to stop sleeping with John just because of whatever might happen between us. So it's really not a problem." For the second time that evening, George simply stared at her. "You need each other too much to suddenly give it up," Karen explained. "And as anything remotely heavily committed is absolutely not what I'm looking for, I don't see any difficulty in your continuing to sleep with John. Besides," She said, trying to put George at her ease. "I don't think Jo would ever forgive me for rocking the boat so to speak." As George settled down again and cuddled up to Karen, the thought occurred to her that she couldn't possibly be luckier. As she drifted to sleep in Karen's soft, warm arms, she vowed to hold on to this woman who had come in to her life after all those months of them being incommunicado with each other. She vowed never ever to hurt Karen, because she was far too special, and far too precious to even consider causing any pain.
Later on the Tuesday evening, John was still worrying about George, whilst trying to do some reading for a civil case that was on the list for him just after the Lauren Atkins trial. He really felt for Yvonne Atkins, having to watch her daughter go through so much and being virtually powerless to do anything about it. Yvonne intrigued him. Before he'd begun talking to her during this trial, he'd simply thought of her as a former criminal, whom Karen had been briefly involved with, no more no less. But throughout the course of this case, he was learning, learning to see the human being under the outer facade of bitter control. He was being given glimpses of the mother in her, the woman who had been forced to decide that the lesser evil was to stay with her bully of a husband and to allow her children to be taught the rudiments of committing serious crime. He couldn't even begin to estimate what it must have been like for her to have to make such a decision. Yvonne's love for her children was clear to see, even Neumann Mason-Alan wouldn't be able to deny that. John smiled as he thought of how Yvonne had handled the barrister with so little backbone it was a wonder he could stand up. She had a way with words about her that would cut anyone down to size. He was heartily relieved, however, that she hadn't succeeded in giving Neumann Mason-Alan a black eye, because he was certain that this is what she would have done had Nikki and Karen not reached her in time. Both Karen and Nikki Wade had reacted like lightning, Karen because it was in her training and Nikki possibly because she had lived in the prison environment for three years, and knew just how quickly a fight could kick off. But this brought him right back to George. It hurt him almost with a physical pain whenever he heard Charlie refer to George as the ice maiden. He knew why Charlie had picked on this particular name, but it didn't make him dislike it any less. Like most teenagers, Charlie had lighted on this name for her mother, and had flogged it to death at first, possibly trying to get some sort of response out of him. But John had never acknowledged Charlie's use of this name, knowing that the more attention he gave it, the more she would say it. The only possible way in which George could have heard this name was if Charlie had been talking on the phone to one of her friends, and had temporarily forgotten that George was in the next room and might be able to hear what she said. He wondered how long George had been aware of the ice maiden, because it was a name Charlie had been using for her since before she went to university.
His musings were cut short just after eight o'clock, when there came a knock on his door, and Mr. Johnson, who might be termed the warden to keep all badly behaved judges in order, appeared with Jo at his side. "Mrs. Mills to see you, My Lord," He said, discretely leaving and closing the door. "You'll get yourself a reputation coming to see me like this," John said as he walked over to her. "Considering how long I've known you John, I've probably got one already." It felt good to go back into his arms, to feel that old familiar combination of exasperation for herself, that she was giving in, and the love for him, that had not abated over all those years they'd spent apart. "It's good to see you, Jo," John said after kissing her. They'd both felt unhappy after what had happened the previous Tuesday, both wanting to make up for the argument, and both being too stubborn to make the first move. "I'm sorry about last week," Jo said, knowing that even though John might irritate her to distraction sometimes, she would always forgive him. "If I knew what I'd done," John replied. "I'm sure I would be too." "And we still have some talking to do about that, but not now." When she said this, John could see that the intensity of the Atkins trial was getting to her, and that what she really needed was some simple TLC. Taking her hand, he walked back over to the armchair he'd been sitting in, and drew her down on to his knee. "I'm too old for this, John," Jo said though not putting up any physical protest. "No one, is ever too old for this," He said between kisses. "And as I don't possess a sofa, and I want to be close to you, this is how it has to be." Jo was a good deal taller than George, with much longer legs and generally of a more substantial frame, but he loved having her draped over his lap as she was now. "I hope there aren't any hidden cameras in here," John said as their kisses became more passionate. "John, that isn't remotely funny," Jo scolded. He laughed. "Well, even if there are, right now I couldn't care less." This was his ideal world, she thought dreamily, having her and only her, held safe in his arms. Well, partly his ideal world, because she knew she couldn't quite fill the rest of it. "I shouldn't have come here," Jo said after a while, moving her face away from John's, and trying to get her rapidly flowing senses under control. John's "Why?" was thoroughly mystified. "Because I badly want to sleep with you, but as we're here, I can't." "Why not?" "Because I loathe having to get up and leave afterwards, and I'm not staying here to be caught leaving tomorrow morning and going through another round with the Professional Conduct Committee." "That's a shame," He said trying to provoke her in to changing her mind. "Because I thought you were trying to seduce me." "I doubt any woman could, or would have to," Jo replied knowingly. A brief hint of memory flashed over John's face, a remembered occasion with George taking place behind his eyes. "You're thinking about George," Jo deduced. John's eyes widened slightly. "Now I know you're spending too much time with me if you're learning the art of reading facial expressions as well as that. But yes, I was thinking of George. That night she came to see me just before her few hours behind bars. You don't mind me talking about her?" He felt it necessary to ask this so as not to hurt her. "And you think we don't talk about you?" Jo asked, though appreciating his consideration. "I try not to," He said ruefully. "The possible outcomes are far too frightening." Jo laughed. "There isn't much I don't know about you and George, and there isn't much she doesn't know about you and me. As neither of us is supposed to be sleeping with you, we only have each other to talk to about you. So talk away." "Did she tell you what happened that night?" "Amongst other things, on that day she fainted in court. That was one of the oddest days I think I've ever had." "She came here, looking incredible, and though she's pretty good at hiding it, I could tell she'd been drinking. She said she felt like some company. That's the lamest excuse in the book. Much as I know it will surprise you, I did have to be persuaded." Jo just quirked an eyebrow at him. "But in the end she didn't even enjoy it, and whilst that wasn't ever that unusual for George, especially after Charlie was born, she'd never attempted to fake it before. She'd clearly had far too much practice at that with lover boy, but when you've lived with someone for nine years, there's nothing you don't know about how they react or how their body works. She was so angry with me for realizing she'd tried to fool me, and angrier still when I tried to make her talk about it." "Sex isn't always wonderful, John, and when it's not, it can be humiliating. For women, it's absolutely vital to be vaguely happy and relaxed to start with, otherwise it's just not worth contemplating. George probably didn't enjoy it because she had to be extremely unhappy to come looking for it from you in the first place." "Oh, thanks a lot," John said putting on a hurt expression. "That's not what I meant and you know it," Jo said sternly. "When she woke up in the morning, she saw your picture, and when I asked where she was going, she asked me if I'd even vaguely thought about you the night before." John suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "John, I would be far more hurt if you had thought about me and still gone ahead and slept with her," Jo said to reassure him. "I pointed out that she hadn't either, and she just said I know, and left. I should have realised then that something was badly wrong. Let's face it, when, before that time did George ever feel guilty about cuckolding anyone..." "Especially me," Jo completed his sentence for him when he couldn't find a diplomatic way of saying it. "John, when George stopped eating after Charlie was born, it took you long enough to notice it then because when you're living with someone day in day out, it's very difficult to notice a gradual change like that. But when you're not living with them, and certainly don't see them on a daily basis, it's even easier for someone to hide something like that. George was living on her own in those days, so there was no one to whom she had to justify her eating, or not eating habits. You're not the only one who knew something was wrong, but who totally underestimated just how bad it was." "I wish George hadn't heard what Charlie calls her," John said regretfully, returning them to the current matter in hand. "I was going to go and see her tonight, just to make sure she was all right. But then you turned up and made me forget everything except how beautiful you are." Recognising the come on for what it was, Jo grinned. "I think you'll find that George will be well taken care of," She said mischievously. John looked briefly baffled. "Oh, you mean her new lover," He said in dawning comprehension. "So, you know about him too, do you?" The novelty of knowing something that John didn't, and the sheer incongruity of his unknowingly referring to Karen as a him, made Jo laugh. "What's so funny?" He said with a smile, always enjoying the total freedom in her laughter. "Nothing," She said, finally calming down, but she couldn't prevent herself from occasionally breaking in to a broad grin which John found infuriating. "You know who it is, don't you?" He said, getting the distinct feeling that the joke was on him. "I might," She said, knowing that she would have to be extremely careful not to reveal the lover's name. "And you won't put me out of my misery?" "Absolutely not," Jo said in offended dignity. "I've been politely asked not to, so you'll just have to be patient, won't you." "Well, I know I know them," He said, trying to work it out. "She told me that much last week." "George does feel quite bad about last week," Jo said seriously. "She's not the only one," John replied, still feeling some sense of guilt for trying to sleep with George when she'd clearly been occupied with someone else. "It's crazy, whenever she doesn't enjoy it, she thinks it's her fault." "Just give her some space," Jo said gently. "And when she does tell you who her new lover is, please be nice to her." "Now you've really got me worried," He replied. "Do I dislike them that much?" "No, but it will be something of a shock, and that's all I can tell you," She finished firmly. John began looking pensive, his brows knitting together in concentration. As close as she was, Jo could have sworn she could see the cogs turning in his brain. "Don't try to work it out, John," She pleaded. "Because if you think about it, it is actually quite obvious. Let George tell you in her own time." "Okay," He said, but during their ensuing conversation, Jo could see his mind returning again and again to the possible candidates. "What we do need to talk about," Jo insisted, doing her damnedest to get him off the topic of George and her lover. "Is why you made me angry last week." She had his full attention now. "Jo, I can't help currently being professionally above you, but it won't always be like that." "I know, and it's not the professional bit that really bothers me. You've always been my professional superior, and there'll be something not quite right about it if I'm ever your equal. It's how you use it that annoys me. I know you don't do it purposefully, but you always allow your professional superiority to drift over in to your personal life." "I do not!" He protested. "Yes, you do, John," Jo replied calmly. "You like being superior to me, in bed and out of it." "And I can't help that either," He said, immediately regretting it when he saw the brief flash of hurt on Jo's face. "I know you can't," She said quietly. "But maybe I can. Maybe it's up to me to do something to make myself feel slightly less inferior to you in that way." Thinking he could see where this was leading, he said, "You really don't have to do that for me, Jo." "I feel sexually inadequate, John, and whilst I know that's not anyone's fault, it's not something I want to go on feeling." "Don't ever, ever assume that that's what I think you are," He said vehemently, holding her tightly to him. "I love you just the way you are, so don't ever try to change just to please me." "I know," Jo said, gently kissing him. "But this is something I need to do for me."
After a while, he said, "Well, whilst I have no idea what this form of self-improvement might involve, feel free to use me as a learning curve whenever you like." "I've been doing that all my life, John. So what makes you think I'll stop now?" "Will you stay with me tonight?" He said, suddenly wanting to make her feel as loved and as cherished as possible. "No," She said firmly. "But if you come to see me tomorrow evening, you might just get what you're looking for, if you're lucky," She finished merely to tease him, just occasionally enjoying the power of making him wait for what he wanted so badly.
Karen had worked through her enormous stack of paperwork all afternoon, using the sheer monotony of allocating cell space, funding and shifts, as a welcome distraction from the trial. She wished she could have stayed, but she knew that taking a break was the only way to calm herself down. George wanted to see her this evening, and Karen had the distinct impression that George wanted to talk about her daughter Charlie. In saying what she had to Yvonne that morning, George had obviously resurrected things that she hadn't intended to. It was plain to see that George's hold on her feelings was a brittle one, liable to crack and give way at the slightest provocation. Karen didn't know why George clearly didn't get on with her daughter, or why she had so much guilt festering inside her, though it was possibly the cause of her anorexia. John had never told her because he knew it was George's story to tell. So, if George wanted to talk about Charlie, Karen knew that she would listen, and most important of all, she would allow George to tell it in her own way. After all, she, Karen, knew only too well how hard it was to discuss certainly one particular event in her life, so she should know how George would probably feel about admitting to something she felt incredibly self-conscious about. George was an unknown quantity in many respects. When Karen had first had sight of her, she had been constructed mainly of scorn, derision, and every caustic remark under the sun. But then she'd changed. Somewhere between the end of the Merriman/Atkins trial and when Karen had first gone to see her about the case against Fenner, she had altered. Some of the hardness had gone, to be replaced with an emerging vulnerability, which had at the time, intrigued Karen. She could remember George's imposed visit to Larkhall as though it was yesterday, and now, the way George had reacted to every inmate having to have a psychiatric assessment was no longer a mystery. It was odd, Karen thought as she switched off her computer some time after eight that evening, but that if she had to be strong for someone else, it made her feel stronger in herself. It was when she was given the space and encouragement to lean on someone else that she crumbled. Karen had absolutely no doubt that if this trial became any more invasive of her emotional space than it already had been, then her resolve to stay calm and unruffled would be sorely tested. She had come pretty close to cracking that morning, and she just hoped that she could manage to keep it together until it was all over, one way or the other.
As she drove out of the prison gates, she smiled. Sylvia had appeared in her office earlier that afternoon, wanting to know if she knew anything about the water pistol that had mysteriously appeared on the wing, in the hands of Denny Blood as usual. Karen had lifted a hand to cover her smile, and because she wasn't in the mood for any of Sylvia's whining, she'd asked her to try and think about when the water pistol usually made its presence felt. To give Sylvia her due, she'd arrived at the answer almost immediately. "Usually when I've had to have time off for one reason or another," She said, an unhealthy blush staining her cheeks because she knew these occasions had been skiving, not backed up by actual, official reasons. "Precisely," Karen had said, totally unabashed. "Which ought to further tell you that I will not put up with being left in the lurch just because of your niece's wedding. If you'd been up front about your reason for taking this weekend off, I'm sure something could have been arranged. But you tried to pull a fast one, and you should know by now that it doesn't work on me. When I first took on this job, I remember telling all of you, but you in particular, that I don't like liars and I don't like skivers. If you are prepared to use underhand methods to take time off, Sylvia, then I will use underhand methods to dissuade you from doing it in the future. Is that clear?" Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, Sylvia had turned and stalked out of the office, banging the door none too gently.
Karen couldn't help grinning to herself about this as she drove across London to George's. She always managed to cut Sylvia down to size. If Neil found out about her persuasive tactics, she would probably have some explaining to do, but if it worked, she would keep on doing it. When she pulled into George's driveway, she could see a light on in the lounge. Walking up the steps to the front door, Karen became further aware of the sound of a piano being played. Realising this must be George herself, Karen stood for a moment and listened. She wasn't sure who the music was by, but the crashing chords and rapid runs of notes in between, told her in no uncertain terms that George really could play. Loath to interrupt her, Karen waited another couple of minutes until the piece drew to an end before ringing the doorbell. When George appeared, she looked tired, irritable and thoroughly on edge. But when she registered that it was Karen, and not some utterly unwelcome other being on her doorstep, she smiled. "That was some piece," Karen said as she moved into the hall. "Oh, no," George said in dismay. "You heard it." "And very impressed I was too," Karen said kissing her. "I don't know what it was, but it sounded incredible." "Beethoven, the Apassionata Sonata. It's wonderful for taking everything out on." "I tend to use Sylvia for that purpose, at least when she deserves it," Karen said with a grin. "Has the penny dropped yet?" George asked, with a broad smile. "Oh, the water pistol you mean, yes, it has finally. So maybe we'll see some improvement." "Would you like a glass of wine?" George offered, finally detaching herself from the far too comforting embrace. "Yes please," Karen replied as she followed George into the kitchen. "But what I would really like is for you to play something for me." George turned and sized her up. "Are you sure?" She asked tentatively. "I mean, I'm not all that good really." Karen grinned. "Modesty really doesn't suit you, George. You play like an angel. So yes, I would like it very much if you would play for me. It's pretty rare that I listen to classical music, but whenever I do, it always seems to make me unwind." "Okay," George acquiesced, pouring Karen a glass of wine and refilling her own, and walking back into the lounge. Putting her glass down on the coffee table and taking her seat at the piano, she began flipping through the book that had been on the music stand. "Will the Pathetique do you?" She asked. "Because I know I can play that." "Fine," Karen said as she settled in to the left hand corner of the sofa, glass of wine in hand, and ready to have her nerves untangled by the swiftly flowing dimensions of one of Beethoven's most famous creations.
The first movement started gently enough, with brief, sudden crescendos through the various modulations of C minor. But when the piece began to traverse the rapid chords and progressions of its main theme, Karen closed her eyes, the music flowing over her like so many gentle and skilful fingers. The bass thundered up and down, whilst the right hand executed such full bodied chords and incredibly fast runs, that Karen wouldn't have been the first to wonder just how Beethoven had expected anyone to play it. During the quieter moments, Karen's thoughts drifted unheeded to the haunted soul currently playing this fabulous work of genius. George probably didn't know it herself, but her innermost feelings were being portrayed through the music she was playing. It was as if her soul was crying out for some sort of understanding, maybe even a form of deliverance from the pain that could all too easily swamp her. Karen couldn't see George's face from where she was, George being to the right but with her back to the sofa, but Karen thought that her face would probably be devoid of all expression, the feelings coming from inside. The notes trickled away from her like tears pouring from those enormous blue eyes. Karen briefly entertained the thought that this first movement of the Pathetique represented George particularly accurately. It had its quieter moments, when the notes portrayed a false serenity, a brief period of calm, but with the storm waiting to break just around the corner. The first movement ended with a few short, sharp chords, possibly to illustrate how George used to show herself to the outside world.
The second movement began in the subtle, romantic tones of A flat, the gentle chords rocking to and fro, as lovers might initially begin caressing each other. Was this movement showing Karen the George who wanted to be loved, who wanted to be held safe in a pair of arms for as long as this pleasure might be granted to her? But then it drifted into a more unsettled pattern of flitting between the major and minor keys, and the beat moving to three instead of two. Was this meant to depict George's fear of the unknown, her fear that those who meant so much to her might one day leave her? Then, the original melody in A flat had returned, the music remaining in the three beat style, the waltz of many lovers around the world. Was this when George might abandon her fears, simply allowing herself to live her moment of glory with whichever lover this outpouring of emotions concerned.
The third movement had switched back to the more unpredictable tempo and flow of notes as the first, the music swinging through all possible connotations of C minor, but always returning to one particular theme in the right hand, George's fingers moving through the trills and runs with the familiarity of thorough learning. With some extremely flashy alternating broken chords, George was able to well and truly show off her skill, to put her mark on the piece, to say, this is how I play it, take it or leave it. Also in a similar way to the first movement, this was George seeing herself alone, not in the company of any real or imagined lover, but herself saying love me or hate me, but this is who I am. This movement portrayed the erecting of her emotional walls, the constructing of the barriers of scorn and loathing that would keep everyone at bay. Whilst the first movement had been a tormented soul looking for some kind of reprieve, and the second a brief interlude with a chosen lover, the third and final depiction of her personality was trying to block everyone out, possibly to stop them from seeing the vulnerable, hurting woman on the inside.
When she reached the end, there was silence, except for the faint crackling from the logs in the hearth. Opening her eyes, Karen said, "You've just told me an awful lot about yourself without even opening your mouth." George turned swiftly round to face her, a look of brief horror on her face. "Don't worry," Karen said gently. "The way you played that didn't tell me anything I either didn't know already, or hadn't at least suspected." "I've never thought of playing as being quite so revealing," George said lightly. "Everyone, no matter what their creative art, whether it be painting, writing or music, if they have the kind of skill that you do, they always put over what's inside them, whether they mean to or not." "That's a little worrying," George said with a self-deprecating smile. "And it's probably why I don't play very often," Karen agreed. "And it's definitely why I never let anyone hear me." "So," George said, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "What did my playing tell you about me?" "Well, I might be wrong, but I think you wanted to see me tonight because what you said about Charlie has reopened some old wounds, and because you want to talk about that in order to cauterise them before they can close up again. But when you started playing, you might say that each movement told me something different. The first told me just how volatile you are, as if I didn't know already," She said with a small grin. "But what it really told me was that you wanted to be listened to, and if that's what you want, then you will be. The second movement suggested that you love just being close to someone, and that you're afraid of losing whoever it is you want to be close to, as a result of whatever happened to make you feel so guilty. Whether that was me or someone else you were thinking about, I couldn't tell you. The third one was mainly a re-strengthening of all your barriers. It felt as though you were trying to resurrect all the things that had kept you emotionally safe." When Karen stopped speaking, George simply sat and stared at her. She was loathed to admit it, but Karen had been absolutely right. She must remind John never to play his violin in front of her if he didn't want the entirety of his soul to be broadcast at the same time. But maybe Karen's understanding of her playing would make what she had to do next a lot easier. Karen had said she would listen, and George didn't doubt that she would listen, but would she stay once she'd heard how terrible a mother George had been. "Jo would be proud of you," She said eventually. "That's the first time in a long time that someone has made me well and truly speechless." "And that wasn't my intention," Karen said quietly. "Oh, I know," George replied, showing Karen that she wasn't remotely offended, just surprised. "And you're right. I do want to tell you about Charlie, because I think I need to emotionally do what Buki actually did last Friday. But I don't want to tell you about Charlie, because I don't want to lose you as a friend, never mind anything else." "And what makes you think you might?" "You love your son, I could see that so clearly when you got that birthday card from him." George turned her face slightly so that she was looking up at the Monet above the fireplace, her profile the only thing Karen could see clearly. "From the moment I knew of my daughter's existence inside me, I was terrified. I hated everything that was happening to me, because I didn't have control over it. I barely looked in a mirror in the last three months before Charlie was born. John didn't know how I felt at the time, because a child was the one thing he'd always wanted and I couldn't ever take that away from him. I wanted to love Charlie, I really did," She said, the tears rising to her eyes, making her feel even more ashamed. "But I couldn't. I couldn't love my own daughter." The tears were running down her cheeks now, making her unable to say any more.
George was only vaguely aware of Karen approaching her, but when she felt Karen's arms go around her, she returned the embrace, hiding her face against Karen's body. Karen simply stood and held her, occasionally running her fingers through her hair. She had wondered if it was something like this, and the anorexia now made sense. "Did you stop eating because you felt guilty for not loving her?" Karen asked after a while. George looked up at her. "Yes," She said. "Which is how John found out. I tried so hard to love her, but even now I can't put a name to what I do feel for her. So, when I heard the name she'd created for me, I couldn't blame her. After John and I divorced, keeping every feeling I had well and truly locked away was the only way I could survive. An ice maiden is exactly how I must have appeared to Charlie, even though I tried not to. I'm sorry," She said after a short silence. Taking George's hand, Karen led her over to the sofa where they could sit close together and so that she could look at George. "No one," She said gently but firmly. "Can ever predict how they will feel when their child is born, and no matter how much you want to love someone, that doesn't always mean that you can. So just occasionally, you will need to do this, to re-open the wounds that will probably never heal. But you haven't frightened me off, and I don't think any less of you for telling me. On the contrary, you've got far more guts about you when it comes to talking, than I will ever have, and as long as you don't want me too, I'm not going anywhere."
They sat for a long time after George's tears had dried, their arms around each other and with George's head on Karen's shoulder. The fire crackled and bathed them in its warm, rosy glow, gradually making George feel safe and at least calmer than she had earlier. "Please will you stay?" George asked quietly. "Of course," Karen said, gently kissing her. "I think we both need a decent night's sleep after today." "I think Jo was going to see John this evening." "I wonder if she'll take the advice I gave her last week," Karen said with a small smile. "Oh?" George looked thoroughly intrigued. "I told her to surprise him, make him feel that she has the upper hand for a change." George laughed. "There isn't anything John would enjoy more. When you're in bed with John, you sometimes feel like you're still in court." Now it was Karen's turn to laugh. "I'm not joking," George insisted. "As you know, John can be a wonderful lover, but he sometimes forgets that he isn't ultimately in charge. I've never let it bother me because I'm certainly not remotely inferior to him in that way." "Oh, really," Karen said dryly, quirking an eyebrow at George which made her smile. "Give me some time, and I'm sure I could come up to the same standard with you," She said, smirking wickedly at Karen. "But Jo has always felt that she isn't good enough for John, which is ridiculous. So your advice might just do the trick."
A while later when they went up to bed, George slipped on a plain cotton nightie, her way of making it clear that she didn't want to do anything but sleep. Karen privately thought that she probably wouldn't have been up for anything other than a cuddle tonight either, so this was fine with her. "This is definitely the most decadent bedroom I've ever seen," Karen commented as she cleaned her teeth in the en suite. "And it's one of my favourite rooms in the house," Replied George. As Karen slid under the wonderfully soft duvet, she reflected that with both George and Yvonne, she had encountered the same slight incompatibility as regards bed sharing. Both she and Yvonne had always preferred to sleep on the right side of the bed, and it seemed that she had found the same little quirk in George. With Yvonne, they had simply decided that whoever's house they were at, that person slept where they normally did, and Karen found herself adopting the same policy with George. When George slipped in beside her, they moved with growing familiarity in to each other's arms. "I've missed this," Karen said in to George's hair. "Missed what?" "Just being in bed with someone, and not being expected to actually sleep with them." George laughed softly. "You're not the only one. Putting pressure on someone in that way is something John would never ever do, but when he's here I always feel as though I have to make the most of it, for him usually. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly drawing her face back to look in to Karen's. "I shouldn't be talking about John whilst I'm in bed with you." "Why not?" Karen said reasonably. "I know you sleep with John, and I also know that you're not about to stop sleeping with John just because of whatever might happen between us. So it's really not a problem." For the second time that evening, George simply stared at her. "You need each other too much to suddenly give it up," Karen explained. "And as anything remotely heavily committed is absolutely not what I'm looking for, I don't see any difficulty in your continuing to sleep with John. Besides," She said, trying to put George at her ease. "I don't think Jo would ever forgive me for rocking the boat so to speak." As George settled down again and cuddled up to Karen, the thought occurred to her that she couldn't possibly be luckier. As she drifted to sleep in Karen's soft, warm arms, she vowed to hold on to this woman who had come in to her life after all those months of them being incommunicado with each other. She vowed never ever to hurt Karen, because she was far too special, and far too precious to even consider causing any pain.