Part Ninety-Five
On the Tuesday evening, Karen was trying to wade her way through some overdue paperwork. She'd been in her new job exactly four weeks now, but it felt as though she'd been doing it forever. As well as the inevitable budgets, she had the recruiting of new officers, allocating of inmates, and the serious adjudication's to deal with. On top of all this fairly run of the mill stuff, were the endless circulars from area, containing either promises or refusals of funding, outlines of new policies, or simply requests for information that she really didn't have the time to provide. Juggling G wing's finances had been enough of a struggle, but she now had the joyful task of distributing the money to wherever she considered it might be most profitably used, which would no doubt incur the wrath of whoever didn't receive it. It hadn't been any coincidence that she had been put into the job at the beginning of the new financial year, she reflected grimly to herself. Neil hadn't wanted to go through the endless arguments with wing governors, about why their funding had been cut, in order for the adjacent wing to make desperately needed improvements. She had the accounts for the previous year for every wing spread over the table, the floor between it and the computer, gradually becoming strewn with screwed up pieces of paper holding frantically scrawled calculations. It was interesting, she thought cynically, seeing the monthly financial battle from the other side. PMT might be irritating, but it had nothing on the feeling of having to spread the funding far too thinly, like a scraping of butter over an entire loaf of bread.
A little after nine, the phone rang. It was George. "Darling, are you busy?" George asked, once they'd got the usual pleasantries out of the way. "Nothing that can't wait," Karen replied, hearing the clear need for company in George's voice. "Do you want to come over?" "Is that all right?" George asked, not wanting to intrude if Karen would rather be doing something else. "Yes, of course. Are you okay?" "Not really," George said, desperately trying to hide the threat of tears.
As George drove across London to Karen's flat, she wondered if she should really be doing this. She felt incredibly miserable, and wasn't sure if she would be able to maintain even a vague pretense of normality. Her argument with John on the Saturday had knocked her for six, but would Karen really want to hear about it. Maybe all she needed was a cuddle and someone to listen, and let's face it, she thought, anything was worth a try. George had to smile when Karen came to the door. She was wearing jeans and a casual black top that clung to her high, full breasts. Her hair was ruffled and standing on end, as if she'd been running her fingers through it. "I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards, don't I," Karen said, seeing George's appraisal. "Actually, it suits you," George said, moving into Karen's arms once they were upstairs. "I quite like the casual and relaxed look." "Casual maybe, but definitely not relaxed. Let's just say, that the funding area sees fit to keep Larkhall on an even keel, leaves a lot to be desired." After they'd kissed each other long and hard, Karen held George at arm's length and scrutinized her. "You look worn out," She said gently. "And you've got ink on your face," George replied, neatly diverting Karen's all too accurate assessment of her. "My pen started leaking all over my latest begging letter to area," Karen replied, glancing down at the ink still on the fingers of her right hand. "Would you like a drink?" She asked, moving towards the kitchen. "Because I think I've definitely earned a large scotch." "Not for me," George said, moving to sit on the sofa, and observing Karen's paper trail that led from dining table to computer. "Why, are you not up to drinking on an empty stomach?" Karen asked, sitting next to George with a very welcome glass in her hand. "Is it that obvious?" "Not to the unaccustomed it wouldn't be," Karen said fairly. "When did you last eat?" "Yesterday, I think." Taking a swig of her scotch, Karen put an arm round George, feeling the tension in her body. "What's happened?" She asked gently. George took a breath to reply, but realised that she didn't know how to go about explaining, that John had all but demanded that she choose between him and Karen. "I had a pretty enormous row with John," She said eventually. "It just got to me more than I thought it would, that's all." "It must have been some row, to make you stop eating again." "It was. We haven't shouted at each other like that since we were married. I feel stupid, because I shouldn't have let it get to me like this, but he always knows which buttons to press to make me feel guilty. You know John, he doesn't do something like that openly. He does it so covertly that you end up feeling that his problem with something is your fault." "Sweetheart, as far as I'm aware," Karen said with a rush of feeling. "You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about." "I don't think that's quite how John sees it," George said miserably. "Is this about me?" George tried to avoid Karen's all too penetrating gaze, but Karen wouldn't let her. "It didn't start off about you," George admitted finally. "But that's how it ended, with me telling him that if he didn't like the person I am, he knew where the front door was." Karen fought to suppress her anger, knowing that George didn't need to see it. "I thought I had all this out with him back in January," Karen said, clearly exasperated with him. "It wasn't ever going to go away that easily, Karen, you know that." "Yes, I do, but he had absolutely no right to take it out on you." "Why not?" George asked bitterly. "It's me who's done this to him, not you, and not anyone else." "George, you haven't done anything to him. I know he's felt very threatened by you and me, but that is his problem, not yours. John is always trying to prove that he's a fully fledged adult, and thoroughly capable of making his own decisions, so it's about bloody time he started acting like one." George half smiled in spite of herself. "You'd make a very good defense barrister," She said, putting her arms round Karen. "He can't do this to you, George," Karen insisted vehemently. "Yes, he can," George said resignedly. "I know it, and he knows it too. As pathetic as it sounds, he knows I will never be able to live without him. I loathe myself for having to admit it, but it's true, and he knows it's true. The only real problem with it is, that he is perfectly able to take advantage of it from time to time." Karen hated to hear George talking like this. "Do you want to stop seeing me?" Karen asked quietly, slightly astounded at the fear that rose in her at the thought. "No, of course I don't," George protested. "That's the last thing I want. You've got no idea just how much you mean to me, have you. When it began, I thought it was just because I was discovering a new part of me, finding out just how sensational sleeping with a woman really was, but it's not. You've just accepted me for who I am, and you've never tried to change me. You don't know just how special that is to me. I know I'm incredibly complicated, and I know I'm difficult to be with sometimes, but you don't let it get in the way." After gently kissing her, Karen said, "So, what are you going to do about John?" "There's nothing I can do," George said grimly. "Only he can decide what's really important to him. If he ever wants to apologise, that's up to him to do in his own time. I'm not going to push him into it, and I would far rather that nobody else did either," She added knowingly. "Oh, don't worry," Karen replied, having interpreted George's plea. "I'm leaving this in your hands. Any interference from me would only make the situation worse. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to verbally kick him into the middle of next week."
They sat close together, George feeling more depressed than she had done in a long time, but wholly unable to tell Karen about it. She was so afraid of losing this woman who meant so much to her, that she didn't want to frighten her off. George found her insecurities and inadequacies difficult enough to deal with herself, so anyone else would surely run away screaming. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't escape the fact that Karen might not want to keep putting up with all the hassle John was currently providing. She wasn't sure she would if she were in Karen's position. But Karen wasn't blind, she knew there was an awful lot George wasn't telling her. She could feel an inner tension, an inner fear, something inside George that was preventing her from really talking about what she was feeling. Karen didn't attempt to get George to eat anything, because she thought this might push George away altogether, but it still worried her. Someone as slightly built as George couldn't afford to lose much weight at the best of times, and Karen privately thought that George remained below an average weight for a woman of her size, even when she was eating normally. All George seemed to want this evening was to be close to someone, for just another's presence to stop her from dwelling too closely on her own thoughts. They didn't talk very much, there not being a need for it. Karen and George could be close together without requiring a constant source of conversation. The soft music Karen had put on the stereo made George gradually begin to relax, making her feel that the warm, safe haven of Karen's arms was where she wanted to stay for the foreseeable future. But at about a quarter past ten, Karen broke into her contemplation. "Come on," She said, briefly touching George's face where it rested against her shoulder. "We've both got to work in the morning." "Can I stay?" George asked with a yawn. "I naturally assumed you would be," Karen said, gently kissing her. Whilst Karen took a shower to remove any last traces of ink, some of which had even managed to get into her hair, George cleaned her teeth and slipped under the thick feather duvet. She listened to the now very familiar sounds of Karen preparing for bed, drifting in and out of a doze as her exhaustion began catching up with her.
But when Karen's soft, warm body slid in beside her, George woke up to the one thing that might help her feel human again. She wasn't sure if it would work, but she didn't want to go straight to sleep. When Karen held out her arms and George moved into them, their legs entwined, bringing them as close together as was humanly possible. As Karen gently kissed her, an immense need to protect George rose up in her, combined with an urge to utter those three fatally dangerous words, I love you. That would be the biggest mistake she could make. If John was putting pressure on George, then by saying such a thing she would be doing exactly the same. Taking Karen's hand, George led it to her breast, stating more clearly than a thousand words that she wanted Karen to make love to her. As Karen moved her hand over George's soft, silky skin, she realised that George might want this as a form of brief escapism. But even as her nipples began to inevitably react to Karen's skilful touch, George realised that the rest of her wasn't about to follow suit. Karen thought something was a little different about George this time, but she couldn't place exactly what it was. The answer reached her, however, when she gently slipped a hand between George's legs, to discover that she wasn't remotely aroused. At the point when Karen realised that George was as dry as a bone, tears of utter humiliation rose to George's eyes.
"I'm sorry," George said, finally beginning to lose control of her emotions. Swiftly removing her hand from between George's legs, Karen put her arms round her. "Hey," She said, gently running her hand up and down George's back. "You don't need to be sorry." "I needed this, so much," George said, her frantic gasps almost choking her. "I know," Karen said softly. "I just wanted to feel vaguely human again." "And believe me, George, this isn't the way," Karen said gently. "Then what is?" George demanded desperately, feeling every ounce of restraint slipping through her fingers. Having no answer to this, Karen simply held her, trying to soothe away the painful sobs that were wracking George's body. "Sweetheart, talk to me," Karen said, when George began to calm down. "I'm sorry," George said, reaching for some tissues from the box on the bedside table. "I didn't want you to see me like this." "George, listen to me," Karen cajoled. "You don't have to hide anything from me." "Yes, I do," George insisted, her tears showing no sign of decreasing. "Why do you?" "Because you have absolutely no idea just how unstable I can be sometimes, and I don't want you to know. I scare the hell out of myself with the kind of thoughts I have when I get like this, so god knows what anyone else would think of them." "I might know more about it than you think I do," Karen said quietly. "I think that it's incredibly easy for you to get very depressed, and that the not eating, is sometimes a part of it and that it sometimes isn't." George's whole body jerked at Karen's utterance of the word depressed. "You flinch at the word depressed, just like I do with the word rape." "I hate it," George said vehemently. "I know you do, and I know that you don't want anyone, especially someone as close to you as I'm becoming, to know what you think or how you feel. You really aren't going to frighten me off, you know." "It's just, when it gets really bad, I feel so ashamed of some of the things I end up thinking." "And now you're talking in riddles," Karen said, gently kissing her cheek. "But I know what you mean. I just have no idea how to help you." "I don't expect you to," George said, not wanting Karen to have to feel anything of the sort. "George, wanting to find the best way to help someone through a rough time, that's what people do when they care about each other." "I think I've forgotten what that's like," George said miserably. "John's attitude is that if you can't actually see evidence of a problem, then it doesn't exist. He doesn't understand why I stop eating, so he tries to avoid discussing it. Yet if he ever finds out I'm doing it, all he can think about is making me eat again." George sounded so despondent, that Karen fervently wished she could miraculously take all the pain away. "It's so, so easy to slide back into it again, and so hard to get out. John won't accept that it really is an addiction, but it is. My immediate reaction to anything incredibly stressful is just to stop eating. It's not even a conscious decision half the time, but it's so hard to start eating again. The longer I leave it, the harder it is." "Sweetheart, how long is it really since you last ate?" "Sunday," George replied, refusing to meet Karen's gaze. "Okay," Karen said quietly. "That's not too catastrophic, but as you said, the sooner you start eating again, the easier it will be." "Not tonight, please," George begged. "No, tomorrow will do. But George, please don't lie to me, not even little white ones. I'm not going to be cross with you, not if you tell me the truth." "I'm sorry," George said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "I know, but don't be sorry, just be honest with me. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't talk to me." "You are, by not demanding answers I can't give you." Then, after a moment's silence, she added, "And I loathe trying to make love and not enjoying it." Karen kissed her lingeringly. "It happens," She said. "It really doesn't matter. Yvonne used to say it made her feel like a defective bloke." George laughed. "Yes, it does. I long for the day when John can't do it. That'll be poetic justice, that will." "It happens to everyone occasionally," Karen said matter-of-factly. "Even reprobates like John." "Darling," George said carefully. "I haven't completely frightened you off, have I?" "No," Karen said, bringing them if possible closer together. "And you're never likely to." But as they gradually fell asleep, George couldn't escape the fact that whilst she might be slowly beginning to open up with Karen, it hadn't gone any further to sorting things out with John. If John were ever gone from her life, it would leave a hole far too big to avoid falling into.
Karen woke several times in the night, her thoughts always resuming their former endeavour, to endlessly tread her fruitless attempts to come up with a satisfactory way for her to help George. Dealing with anorexia and depression, as well as all their associated problems, would have been relatively straightforward had she been approaching it in the guise of nurse or prison officer. But this was George, someone she cared deeply about, someone she thought she might even be growing to love, and any thought of professionalism had gone straight out of the window. George slept restlessly beside her, occasionally murmuring an indecipherable plea, at which time Karen would hold George safe in her arms. When the alarm woke her at six thirty, Karen was dragged from sleep by the realisation that she may just have stumbled on, if not an answer, a possible way forward. Seeing that George was still asleep, Karen slipped out of bed, put on a dressing-gown and went to make herself a cup of tea.
When George began to surface, Karen was sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking her shoulder. "What time is it?" George said groggily, turning over to face Karen. "Time to get up," Karen said with a yawn. "Sit up and drink this," She added, holding out a glass. "What is it?" George asked suspiciously, struggling into a sitting position, her tousled hair making her look utterly adorable in Karen's eyes. "Pineapple juice. It's the sweetest thing I had in the fridge. Your blood sugar's probably a bit low after two days of not eating." "Oh, so that's why I feel like staying right here for the rest of my life," George said dully, accepting the glass from Karen and taking an experimental sip. "Oh, god, that really is sweet," She said, screwing up her face in distaste. "Drink all of it," Karen said firmly. "You need the glucose. I'd rather you were getting it in a far more concentrated form, but natural sugar will have to do." Under Karen's steady gaze, George slowly emptied the glass, finally placing it on the bedside table. "There's something I need to ask you," Karen said, taking hold of George's hands. "I'd like your permission to talk to Jo, because I am well aware that there's an awful lot you aren't telling me, that I suspect she does know. I also think that you might find it easier to talk to me, if I already know just how bad it gets. You are incredibly frightened of admitting to what's really going on in here," She said, gently touching George's face. "And I think it would help you enormously not to have that barrier in the first place." "You will, even if I say no, won't you," George said bitterly. "No, not if you don't want me to." "Then I would really rather you didn't," George said a little icily. "I will deal with this in my own time and in my own way, just like I always do." Biting back the assertion that George's way clearly wasn't working, Karen simply said, "Okay, I won't," And getting up from the bed, she went into the bathroom, a long hot shower being the only thing that might properly wake her up.
As George listened to the shower running, she felt ridiculous. Karen was only trying to help her in the way she knew best, and if George was forced to admit it, she knew Karen's suggestion had been a good one. But it made her cringe to think of Karen and Jo discussing her as though she were some slightly obscure endangered species. But that wasn't really fair, she thought. Karen and Jo both cared a great deal for her, she knew that. If Karen did talk to Jo, then Jo might fill her in as to just how bad it had got last time. At least she, George, wouldn't have to see Karen's immediate reaction to that, which was after all her greatest fear when it came to talking to Karen about all of this. She couldn't tell Karen that when it got really bad, she would often feel like ending it all. That was just unthinkable. It didn't matter that she hadn't ever tried it, or that she probably never would. The fact that she contemplated it on far too much of a regular basis was bad enough.
When George emerged from her own hot shower, yesterday's clothes making her look far less professional than usual, she found Karen sitting at the table, last night's paper hurricane having miraculously migrated to her briefcase. She was reading the morning's copy of The Guardian, and eating a bowl of cornflakes. Retrieving a yoghurt from the fridge, George sat down opposite her. "I don't mind," She said slowly. "If you talk to Jo." Karen looked up surprised. "Are you sure?" She asked, putting her spoon down and putting a hand over one of George's. "I'm not going to like it," George admitted, entwining her fingers with Karen's. "But you've given me a get out clause that I can't quite ignore. At least this way, I don't have to witness your immediate reaction to finding out just how screwed up I am." "I wish you wouldn't think like that about yourself," Karen said quietly. "You might change your mind after talking to Jo." George's reply might have borne the flippant edge of black humour, but Karen didn't miss the strength of meaning behind it. As they both left a while later, Karen to drive to Larkhall and George to go home for some different clothes before going to work, Karen put out her arms, pulling George close to her. "Promise me to take care of yourself," She said into George's hair. "One thing Jo will tell you," George said with a half smile. "Is that I don't do promises, especially not promises like that." "Well, at least try," Karen said quietly. "And I'm always here, any time." "I know," George replied, the threat of tears evident in her voice. As Karen watched her drive away, she couldn't help but to wonder if she really would see George again, and if she should have let her drive away, as if everything was as perfectly all right as she wished it was.