Part Ninety-Nine
On the Saturday evening, Jo thought that it was about time she checked up on George. She'd heard nothing from her all this week, which was a bad sign in itself. They usually talked every few days, if not more often, but Jo hadn't seen hide nor hair of George since the previous Saturday's rehearsal. She was also extremely curious about the subject matter of the row George and John had had last Saturday. John had clearly been intent on having something out with George, when he'd demanded her company at the end of the rehearsal, but what on earth had made it spiral into something that might stop George from eating again?
George on the other hand, was drinking. She didn't think she'd ever felt so alone in her life, not even after John and Charlie had left. She knew that this was stupid, but it didn't make her feel any better. She knew she should talk to Jo, or to Karen, before she went completely mad, but she couldn't do it. She'd said some terrible things to John, so why would anyone want to listen to her? But this was the problem, she knew she'd hurt John badly, and she didn't think he'd ever want to speak to her again, never mind anything else. If she couldn't sort things out with John, where did that leave her? Her life meant nothing without him, even though she was a little ashamed to admit it. She'd fucked up with Charlie, and the only way she'd ever managed to keep John for the last few months, was because his sleeping with her gave him licence to love Jo. That really was a pretty pathetic achievement, she thought to herself. She couldn't even get herself someone of her own, someone who loved her for herself, and who wanted a real relationship from her. Not even Karen wanted that, though George couldn't really blame her. Karen didn't have the time for a committed relationship, her inmates always being far more important to her than anything else. Putting some soft, melancholy music on the stereo, she slumped in a corner of the sofa, with the martini bottle standing in an ice bucket on the coffee table, and with a glass and the paraphernalia of smoking to hand. Lying next to the vase of flowers in the centre of the table, was perhaps, her one salvation. If, with the assistance of the alcohol, she could find the courage she needed, then tonight might just be her last. She was tired, tired of fighting, tired of existing, tired of all the pain and irritation that she seemed only too capable of causing. Continuing to go round and round in circles with John seemed pointless to her, especially as he didn't love her, and couldn't accept the person she knew she was.
When the doorbell rang, George was surprised. She supposed it might be Karen checking up on her, though she'd spoken to her earlier in the day. In that case, it must be Jo. Shit, she suddenly thought, what could she do with her last resort, sitting in the middle of the coffee table for all to see. Hurriedly shoving it under a newspaper, George went to answer the door. Glancing in the hall mirror on the way there, George realised that she probably looked as rough as she felt. As Jo moved into the hall, she couldn't help giving George the visual once over. She looked gaunt, belligerent and exhausted, all signs that nothing had been resolved. "How are you?" Jo asked, though feeling that the enquiry hardly needed an answer. "How do I look?" George replied, knowing only too well how she looked. "Drunk," Jo said, after a moment's thought. "Not quite, but I'm getting there." "Add tired, depressed and barely nourished, and that might just describe it," Jo added as they walked into the lounge. "You're getting to know me far too well," George replied, her sheer moroseness telling Jo that she was in for a rough ride. Agreeing to a glass of wine, Jo nevertheless vowed to herself to stay as sober as possible. George was clearly in no state to be left alone tonight, and Jo had a sneaking suspicion that she would need all her wits about her to deal with this particular emotional outburst. When they were sitting one each end of the sofa, Jo lit a cigarette, almost to give herself courage for the conversation she could feel brewing below the surface. "I had lunch with Karen on Thursday," She said, taking a thoughtful drag. "Jesus, that didn't take her long," George said bitterly. "I suppose she wanted to find out what she'd let herself in for." "Yes, though I wouldn't have put it like that. Karen is very worried about you, and doesn't know how to help you." "And what makes you think you do?" George asked, knowing she was being horrible to Jo, but the need for a fight, a fight that would on all levels be fair, was what she now realised she wanted. The fight with John hadn't been fair, not one, little bit. "Because at the moment, you're angry," Jo told her. "Whether actually with me, or just with John, or with the world in general, I'm not sure. You are clearly looking for a fight, and you think I might give you one, and you know that if you fight with me, you're not quite as likely to feel guilty for anything you say, as you might with Karen." George's eyes widened. She hadn't actually thought of this, though she could see that it made sense. But could she fight with Jo as they had done in the old days, she didn't know any more. "So, if you know that's what I'm after, why won't you give me one?" "Because you're drunk, or at least trying to get drunk," Jo responded calmly. "I'll fight with you tomorrow, when you're sober, though at the rate you're going, you probably won't feel like it." "You always used to enjoy a good shout with me," George said almost sulkily. "You know you did." Jo smiled. Yes, she had once enjoyed some of the rows she'd had with George, though she would never have admitted it. "If I wanted an excuse for a fight," Jo conceded. "You always managed to provide it." "What's happened, Jo? Where's everything I used to be, and everything I used to know?" "What do you mean?" Jo asked quietly, seeing that George's anger had evaporated as quickly as it had grown. "You wouldn't want to go back to the way things were, would you?" She added, feeling an inexplicable prayer that George's answer would be no. "No, of course not, at least not with you. But maybe I do with John. At least back then he didn't expect me to shut out part of who I am." "Is this about Karen?" "Partly, but I think it goes deeper than that. As you're here, I'm assuming Karen told you that John and I had a fairly monumental row last Saturday." "Yes, she did, but I could have worked that out for myself. John looked in the mood for a row at the end of the rehearsal last week, and he's done everything to avoid me since." "You see, that's what I didn't want to happen," George said exasperatedly. "George, with this type of relationship, anything that affects one or two of us, will undoubtedly affect all three of us, that's how it works." "I said just as many unforgivable things as he did, so don't feel too sorry for me." "George, something has got to you this week, something pretty serious has made you stop eating again. So tell me." Lighting a cigarette of her own, George thought about how to explain it. "You know John's felt very insecure about Karen, and that he's never really had that out with me. He has with her, back in January, but not with me. He can't understand why I need her, when he's the one being kept on a leash and only permitted to sleep with two women. He thinks that if he can be faithful to this relationship, so should I." "So, tell me why you need her." "I think we both know, that the only reason John sleeps with me and tells me he loves me, is because this arrangement gives him what he wants, and has always wanted with you. I've known that ever since it began, and until now it hasn't really bothered me. I do love John, and the pretense of his love is sometimes enough for me. But with Karen, I get someone who is with me for myself, who, even though she doesn't want anything heavy, doesn't have anything making her feel the way she does for me. I know that doesn't make an awful lot of sense, but Karen is with me because she chooses to be, not because it gives her the permission to be with someone else." "Is that how you really see it?" Jo asked quietly astounded that George still thought like this after all these months. "Yes," George said without a flicker of hesitation. "John doesn't love me. Yes, he enjoys making love with me, but he doesn't actually love me. But then, that was the original point of the exercise, wasn't it." "No, of course it wasn't," Jo said, feeling an immense sadness that George had so little belief in herself and John's love for her. "Oh, get a grip, Jo, you know it was," George insisted angrily. "I'd have thought you would have known better by now, than to believe him when he agrees to something so easily. John started screwing me when he felt like picking up some random tart, because on my particularly good days, I don't make bad tart material. But that's all it's ever been, and no doubt it would have stayed like that, if I hadn't threatened his masculinity by sleeping with Karen." "George," Jo said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I wish you wouldn't refer to yourself as a tart, or a whore, or any other of the numerous derogatory titles you insist on giving yourself." "Why?" George demanded belligerently. "That's what John came back to me for. He gets all the love he could ever want from you, and because he's a sex junky, he gets his extra supply from me. He can't seem to make up his mind, though, because the way he was talking last Saturday, you'd think I was the one who couldn't keep it to myself if I tried, yet look at how he was when we were married." "What did he say to you?" "It was my own fault really, because I goaded him into talking about how he felt about Karen. He wanted to know why Karen, why a woman, and I stupidly asked him if he was jealous, because it might just be possible that Karen was giving me a far better time in bed than he was." Jo winced. "That wasn't the worst thing I said, believe me. John said that no one could possibly give me a better orgasm than he could." In spite of her total exasperation with John, Jo laughed, provoking a slight smile in George. "What you need to understand," She continued, looking a little uncomfortable. "Is that when we were married, and before Charlie came along, there wasn't much me and John didn't try. Probably the only fantasy I didn't tell him about was that of wanting to sleep with a woman. He once told me that he wouldn't mind sleeping with two women, but even then I didn't tell him. I'm not sure why, it just didn't feel the right time to tell him something like that. But last week, some of the things he said, made me wonder just how much he really had been up for all the things we did back then. I know you don't like to hear me say it, Jo, but he really did make me feel like a whore. He said that at least you like your men to be fairly normal." "George, listen to me," Jo said vehemently. "You're not normal, you're not abnormal, you're just you. Just because you find women sexually attractive, and enjoy what you have with Karen, never mind anyone else who might come along in the future, does not make you abnormal. It certainly doesn't make you a whore." "I just wish John thought so," George said miserably. "George, John does love you, you must believe that." "If he really loves me so much," George replied bitterly. "Why does he expect me to ignore a newly discovered part of my personality, when he has never, not once, asked you to change anything about who you are?" "Do you really think he has never asked anything of me, that I either found it impossible to give, or shouldn't have given him? The very first time I slept with John, I went home feeling about as guilty as you did when you realised you didn't love Charlie in the way you thought you should. My husband was terminally ill, and when I got home, I realised just what I'd done. But I couldn't stop going back for more. John would never pressure anyone into sleeping with him, but that doesn't stop him using every manipulative skill he possesses. I knew he had worked his magic on me, but that didn't make it any easier to say no. A few months later, when I discovered I was pregnant, my husband didn't have very long to live. I knew that the baby was John's, it could only have been John's. I suggested that I have a termination, because I think in my heart, I knew that was what he wanted. I already had two very young children, Mark was one, and Tom was three, and I had a dying husband to care for. So yes, having another baby, especially one whose father wasn't very enthusiastic about its creation, would certainly have been difficult. But I would have kept it, if John had put up any kind of fight for its survival. George, he asked me to have a termination, by not asking me to keep it. That is by far, the hardest, most terrible thing I will ever have to do for anyone." "Oh, god, Jo, I'm sorry," George said, the heart felt contrition evident in her voice, and with tears in her eyes. "It's all right," Jo said, holding out her arms. "I didn't say it to make you feel guilty." "I know, but the choice he's putting on me, is nothing compared to that." "It still doesn't give him any right to do it," Jo said seriously, as their arms went around each other. "You can't help finding women attractive, just as he can't. You haven't asked him to give them up, or at least not all of them," She added with a smile. "So he shouldn't ask the same of you. He doesn't know how lucky he is sometimes." "Tell me what he was like in those days?" George asked. "I wasn't giving him much happiness at home at that time, so it would be nice to know he had some with you." Jo looked into George's face, which was only inches from her own. She knew that at the time, George had been bitterly hurt by John's relationship with her, but she also knew that George had thought of John's playing away, as being mostly her own fault. Yet here they were, sitting close together, feeling entirely at ease to have their arms around each other, and exchanging confidences about the one thing that had once made them the greatest of enemies.
"Well, you know he was my pupil master at Bar school. Whenever he looked at me, every nerve ending I had seemed to become hypersensitive. He's always had a way of looking at you, that makes you certain he's thinking about what your clothes are covering." "I think he was born with that look," George said with a smile. "Another thing he seems to have been doing all his life, is summoning women to his presence. Whether in the guise of judge or tutor, it's how he's always achieved what he wanted. You know how he does that slow, methodical pace round his chambers? Well, he even managed that within the cramped space of his office. The first time he kissed me, I knew I was lost. I told him I couldn't do it, and I told him why. But, in his typically arrogant fashion, he left the choice up to me, all the time knowing that after sampling the Hors D'Oeuvres, I would require super human strength, not to come back for the rest. That's what made me determined to stay out of his bed for all those years, after my husband died, the fact that he'd plucked me off the tree with no more effort than the proverbial apple. So, the next time I saw him, a week later, I did sleep with him. I think that hotel got to know him quite well." "That's one thing I always resisted the urge to do, go through his credit card statements. I knew I would find far more hotel, flower, lingerie and restaurant bills than I really wanted to know about." "What I'm getting round to telling you," Jo continued. "Is that you must never think that John doesn't thoroughly enjoy initiating someone into new sexual pastimes. He likes playing the tutor in all walks of life, but especially in bed. He might not have introduced me to anything particularly out of the ordinary, but he did initiate me into the delights of receiving oral." George laughed knowingly. "He's always loved doing that," She said with a smile. "I didn't know what he saw in it, until I did that to Karen." "Is it really as good as he makes out it is?" Jo asked, totally unable to believe they were talking about this. "Oh, yes," George said with utter certainty. "Though I suppose it's slightly different with everyone. The first time you do it, it's the weirdest, scariest thing you'll ever do." "Why?" After refilling her glass and taking a swig, George said, "I didn't want to try it, only to find I didn't like doing it. But once I discovered I did like it, it was wonderful." Jo stayed quiet for a moment, the memory of that Sunday afternoon again clear in her mind. When they'd gone home and John had given her the most explosive bit of oral she'd had in a long time, Jo had been continuously thinking about George and Karen. George also remained quiet, seeing that Jo had a whole host of thoughts whizzing around in her brain.
"To change the subject entirely," Jo eventually said, needing to drag her mind away from where she could feel it pulling her. "You wanted to know about the beginning of my affair with John, but I think I need to know about what was happening with you and he around that time. He never told me very much, just that he was in the process of splitting up with you, though he obviously didn't say that in the beginning." Moving slightly away from her, George reached for another cigarette. "You know about the day I found out about you," She began. "I remember telling you about that, just before I fainted in court. I came to court with Charlie, to see if John had finished for the day, and saw you kissing him on the front steps. That was the only time I have ever purposefully broken a priceless vase. John had no idea I'd seen you, because I acted completely normally with him until Charlie had been put to bed. I think I was trying to let all the hurt turn into anger before I started. I poured us both a large glass of red wine, knowing we were both going to need it. I asked him your name, and he made me explain exactly who I was talking about. Then, obviously realising that he wasn't going to wriggle out of this one, he told me about you, how long it had been going on, and that you were one of his students. I asked him what you had that I didn't, and to this day I sincerely wish I hadn't asked. He told me that you had feelings, that you had a heart." Jo winced. How could he? How could he have said something so despicable, after everything George had gone through with Charlie? Though perhaps that was why he'd said it. "That's what really got me going, not because I was angry with him for saying it, but because I knew he was right." "George, no," Jo said in clear distress. "On the surface, that's precisely how I would have appeared in those days," George clarified. "I knew he was playing away fairly regularly, because we were making love less and less. I wasn't familiar with the art of faking it when I was married to John. We threw every bitter insult we could think of at each other, and let's face it, he had a far worse thing over me than I ever could over him. I couldn't blame him for throwing how I'd always felt, or not felt, about Charlie at me, but I think it was what finally broke me. Up until then, we'd always had a rule that each and every argument must be over before we went to bed, because disagreements of any kind had to be left outside. We didn't exactly continue arguing when we went to bed that night, because we didn't have anything left to say to each other, but neither of us slept very much. He wasn't due in court until ten, so I took Charlie to school on the way to work. I remember making her promise to be good for daddy when I left her, because I knew I wasn't going to see her for a little while. When I knew that John would have left for court, I went home, after arranging to take a week off work. I threw a few things into a case, and drove to court to see John during the adjournment. We sat in the car to talk, and I told him that I was going away for a few days, perhaps as long as a week. I told him that I needed some time to think. He said he was sorry, for what he'd said the night before, though he funnily enough didn't apologise for his affair with you. He wanted to know where I was going, and asked me to keep in touch, probably because he didn't want my suicide on his conscience. So, I went abroad, to France, and made all my self-inflicted wounds far deeper, by visiting all the parts of Paris we'd seen on our honeymoon. Oddly enough, it was our wedding anniversary while I was out there. I was haunted by the memories of how happy we'd been in those days, of all the things we'd said and done that were supposed to mean something more than instant gratification. John has always maintained that he loves me for having given him Charlie, and I don't doubt that he does. But Charlie is the only thing he does love me for. He changed after he found out why I'd stopped eating, I know he did. Quite naturally, he didn't understand how I couldn't love my own daughter, as if he thought I understood it any better than he did. A year or so later, when I discovered that you had two children and were raising them on your own, I knew that this was one of the things John loved about you. It was also perhaps the biggest way in which I couldn't compete with you. Anyway, when I came back from my pointless week of contemplation and emotional self-harm, I told him I wanted a divorce. He decided to move out, and find somewhere new to live with Charlie. He didn't have to do that, but I think he wanted to. It's funny, but even though we knew we were splitting up, we still slept in the same bed until he moved out. The night before he was due to leave, we made love, one last time, both of us putting everything we had into it, and both crying our eyes out afterwards. So, you could say that's what made me the bitter and twisted old cow I am today." Only then, did George realise she was crying, the corrosive tears of self-reproach coursing down her cheeks. Putting out her arms, Jo drew George against her, George having maintained a small distance between them, during the telling of her story.
"You're not bitter, and you're definitely not twisted," Jo said, softly rubbing George's shoulders. "But I've hurt him so much by being with Karen," George insisted. "George, you've done absolutely nothing wrong." "As pathetic as I know it sounds, I can't live without him, Jo." "And you think I could?" "Some of the things I said to him last week, they were unforgivable." "And from what you've said, I'd say the mud slinging was fairly equally weighted," Jo tried to persuade her. "And I didn't want to screw this up for you either." "George," Jo said with a wry smile. "I am perfectly capable of doing my own fighting where John is concerned, in fact especially where John is concerned. I've had almost as many years practice of it as you have." "You know what I felt this evening, before you arrived? I felt as though I had nothing left. That's what he does to me, and I loathe myself for it." Jo's eyes suddenly fixed on her. "What do you mean, you felt as though you had nothing left?" She asked carefully. George looked very uncomfortable, realising that she'd been caught out. She would curse that Martini bottle to hell and back, though not before she'd finished it first. "George, answer the question," Jo persisted, not willing to be content with anything less than the truth. "I wasn't feeling particularly brilliant earlier this evening," She said evasively. "George," Jo said in dawning horror. "Please don't tell me that the alcohol was quite literally to give you some Dutch courage?" "I'm not going to lie to you," George said carefully, refusing to meet Jo's gaze. Holding her at arm's length, Jo forced George to look at her. "Don't you ever, ever, contemplate doing that again!" She said sternly. "I don't care how bad things get, and I don't care how much of a shit John is capable of being. He might not show it at times, but he does love you, and he always will love you, and it's not just him you need to think about. You have your father, who would go insane if you died, you have Karen who feels far more for you than you think she does, because she doesn't want to put any pressure on you, and if that isn't enough, you also have me." "I'm sorry," George said, the tears now coming thick and fast. "Don't be sorry," Jo said, her own voice a little unsteady, and now sounding much gentler. "Just please, don't ever think of doing that."
As her eyes locked with George's, they both became unbearably aware of how close they were, of just which bits of them were touching. As if compelled by George's hypnotic gaze, Jo leaned slightly nearer, and kissed her. It wasn't something she had intended to do, but it had somehow felt right to her. After her initial feeling of shock, George reacted automatically, kissing her back, softly and lingeringly. George's lips were a source of enlightenment for Jo, their soft, smooth, total pliability enchanting her. "Well, that was certainly unexpected," George said quietly, when they eventually came up for air. "You're telling me," Jo said, gently touching her cheek. "I didn't expect it either." They sat there in silence for a time, neither of them knowing what to say, though both of them feeling entirely comfortable in the other's embrace. But eventually, it was Jo who made the decision. "I think you should go to bed," She said to George, thinking that this conversation could only be had when George was sober again. "Mmm, perhaps you're right," George said with a yawn. But as she rose from the sofa, she realised just how much of the alcohol had taken residence in her legs. Standing quickly, Jo caught her as she stumbled, bringing them skin to skin but for their clothes. "Do forgive me," George said with a smirk. "If I take complete advantage of the situation." Reaching up from her slightly smaller height, it was her who initiated the kiss. When the thought occurred to Jo that she would happily remain here forever, she gently detached her lips from George's. "Come on," She said with a smile. "Or we won't make it to tomorrow morning, without having far more than an overdue conversation." George couldn't help emitting a low giggle. Jo kept an arm round her as they walked upstairs, George's sense of direction having been seriously impaired. When they reached her bedroom, Jo closed the curtains, and George stood in front of the full-length mirror, trying to undo the buttons of her blouse. This was made enormously difficult, by the fact that she was seeing at least two different sets of buttons in the mirror. But eventually achieving her goal, she removed it and dropped it onto a chair. Removing her skirt seemed to require even more physical dexterity. George then realised that she'd forgotten to remove the sandals she'd been wearing. Drawing back the duvet, she sat down on the side of the bed to undo them. Once they had been cast aside, she reached the mammoth task of navigating the clasp of her bra. These things really didn't make sense, especially when only a tenth of one's usual mental capacity was in full, working order. Taking pity on her, Jo put her arms round her and undid it herself. But before George could even think of removing the rest of her underwear, she slumped sideways onto the pillow, passed out cold. Laughing softly, and thinking that George would have an almighty hang over in the morning, Jo lifted her feet up under the duvet and drew it over her. As she walked out of the bedroom, switching the light off and leaving the door open, she spared a thought to wonder if George would remember what they'd done. As she slid under the duvet of the spare bed, not long after, she prayed to every existing deity that this wouldn't just be put down to a drunken mistake. Jo hadn't even begun to untangle her own feelings on the matter, but she knew one thing, nothing about either of those kisses worried her in the slightest. Come what may, she would treasure the memory for the rest of her life.