Part One Hundred And One
When Jo awoke on the Sunday morning, it took her a moment or two to remember where she was. But as she lay under the duvet, listening to the birds through the slightly open window, it all came back to her. George had got about as drunk as she, Jo, had been, on the night Jason Powell had died. George had finally admitted to being suicidal, and all because of John's total lack of sensitivity. They'd exchanged some very deep confidences, not something they'd done for quite a while. Then, when all the talking, crying, and even a little shouting was over, she had actually kissed George. She, Jo, who had never kissed a woman in her life, and who regarded herself as sexually unadventurous, had voluntarily, all of her own accord, kissed another woman, kissed George. She had no idea what had made her do it, except that she was so angry and so worried about George, on realising what she'd been intending to do, that all her feelings for this complicated woman had come out in a rush. Jo knew they'd been getting closer, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. But added to this feeling of very deep affection, had been her colossal reaction to what had happened two weeks before. The fact that she'd been thinking of George, when she'd been brought to orgasm, clearly meant that she had the capacity to be attracted to a woman, so what did that make her? She really didn't know. Jo knew she had enjoyed that kiss, or both kisses if she was strictly honest, but she also knew that any feelings she might have for George in that respect, had to be banished before they emerged. George was with Karen, not her. She was also aware that whilst John might make the odd, light suggestion about being with them both at once, anything more serious would terrify him. It would frighten him immensely that both of the women he loved, could one day stop needing him in their lives. As much as John had clearly hurt George, both recently and in the past, Jo wasn't about to hurt him herself. He was obviously still very insecure about George and Karen, and Jo wasn't about to make that worse. Besides, George might not even remember what had happened last night, never mind want anything to come of it. Yes, last night, Jo had been determined to remember every second of it, but now, in the cold light of day, she knew that it had to be forgotten.
After having a long, hot shower to wake herself up, Jo went downstairs to make a cup of tea. It was only nine thirty, and she thought that George would probably sleep a good while longer. Opening the French windows to let in some air, she stood with her cup of tea and looked out on the garden. It was the first of May, and spring was well and truly here. A light breeze ruffled the flowers, and the birds flitted in and out of the trees, tending to their young. When Jo went back inside, she picked up their glasses from the coffee table. After washing them and emptying the ashtray, she picked up the newspaper, intending to sit down and read it for a while. But when she lifted up Saturday's copy of The Guardian, Jo stared at the packet of sleeping pills that had been revealed. So, George really had been intent on going through with it. She must have hidden them under the newspaper, when the doorbell had rung the night before. It brought a rush of tears to Jo's eyes, to know that George felt so low, that she had seriously considered killing herself. Slipping the tablets into the pocket of her skirt, Jo made George a cup of tea and went to wake her.
As George drifted into gradual awareness, vague memories of the night before began to emerge. The later the evening had become, the patchier were her recollections of what had happened. One thing was definitely very odd though. Waking up in bed entirely naked was normal, that's how she slept nearly all the time, and waking up wearing a nightie, that would also have been fine. But waking up wearing nothing but a pair of knickers, that was different. She groaned aloud when she realised that Jo must have put her to bed. Jesus, just how drunk had she really been? She was lying half on her left side, and vowed to stay as still as possible for the foreseeable future. But when she heard Jo enter the room, and put what sounded like a mug down on the bedside table, she opened one bleary eye. "What time is it?" She asked, as Jo sat down on the side of the bed. "Nearly ten o'clock. How do you feel?" "Stupid, miserable, and hung over." "I've brought you a cup of tea, if you think you can stomach it." "Thank you," She said, though still not wanting to move. Then, after a moment, she asked, "Jo, did I do, or say, anything totally outrageous last night?" Jo smiled in spite of her concern. "You didn't do anything you need to worry about," She said evasively, still not sure if George remembered their kiss. "That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," George said dryly, slowly turning onto her back to face Jo. But as she made to sit up, she remembered how little she was wearing. Squinting up at Jo, George became aware of the trace of recent tears in her eyes. "You've been crying," She stated quietly. "Not really," Jo replied, feeling a little uncomfortable. "I found these, and it upset me, that's all." Removing the sleeping pills from her pocket, she dropped them on the bedside table. Glancing at them, George was assailed with a feeling of guilt. "I'm sorry, Jo," George said soberly, feeling such a sense of desolate aloneness, that it made her want to reach out for Jo, to be back in her arms again, to... "Oh, no!" She moaned, covering her face with her hands. "No, no, no. Please, tell me I didn't do anything quite so stupid as that?" That was what had happened, she had kissed Jo. God, the feel of her lips had been incredible, she could remember that much, but what in the world had made her do it? "George," Jo said with a faint smile. "Before you entirely die of humiliation, you might be interested to know, that it was I who kissed you, not the other way round. So, as I said, you didn't do anything you need to worry about." "Are you sure?" George asked, staring up at her in amazement. "I mean, it's not... You're not..." She couldn't find the right words. "If you're asking what made me do it, I couldn't possibly tell you. But I shouldn't have done, and I'm sorry. I was just so angry with you," She added, the tears again rising to her eyes. "You really were considering killing yourself, and you couldn't even tell me. If you'd been sober, you wouldn't have let it slip out in the way you did. I couldn't bear it if you did that. But it's not just that. Do you have any idea how thin you actually look? When I arrived last night, I could tell with a glance that you'd barely eaten all week, but when you came upstairs and undressed to go to bed, I could have counted every rib. It hurts me, every time you do this. I know you don't want to hear it, but it does." "Jo, please calm down," George said slowly but firmly, reaching out to take Jo's hands in hers. "From what I can remember, I know I upset you last night, and I'm sorry for that. I didn't want you to know how I was feeling, because I know it hurts you when I do feel like this. As for the not eating, I know that hurts you too, and believe me, if I could stop myself doing it, I would. But you know that things like that aren't quite so simple. I don't know how to explain what I was thinking before you arrived last night, because I would do anything not to have to feel like that again. You know what provoked it, and I know that you think my reasons for it silly and incredibly unjust, but if it makes you feel better, I don't want to lose you either." "I'm sorry," Jo said, feeling silly herself now. "I just can't bear the thought, that I might have left it another day before coming to see you." "Don't, don't think like that," George said in a slightly choked voice. "It won't do either of us any good." Pulling herself into a sitting position, she tugged the duvet upwards to cover as much of her body as possible. As she put out her arms, Jo clung to her, both of them desperately needing the safety and comfort of each other's embrace. It didn't occur to Jo that she had her arms full of a half-naked George, until George murmured something into her shoulder. "What did you say?" She said, gently touching George's cheek. "I said, for a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, it was really quite incredible." "So I'm forgiven then?" Jo asked with a shaky smile. "Nothing to forgive," George said, detaching herself from Jo's hold. "But we do need to talk about it." "That, and other things," Jo said seriously, remembering the other subject she needed to broach very carefully some time today. "So, while I suggest you get another couple of hours sleep, I am going home to get some clothes. After at least one of the conversations I know we're going to have some time today, you might end up feeling as bad as you did last night. So I'm afraid that you'll have my company until tomorrow." "You don't have to," George told her, feeling a trifle guilty. "Oh, yes I do," Jo said firmly. "Because I am not taking any chances with someone as resourceful in such matters as you clearly are."
As George rolled herself back up in the duvet and drifted off to sleep, thinking about nothing but that kiss the night before, Jo drove away, praying that George really would stay asleep till she returned. On reaching her house, she changed her clothes, threw some more into a bag, and got back in the car. But as she began the drive back to George's, she passed the turning off towards Karen's flat. George would probably be asleep for another hour at least, so it wouldn't hurt to stop and put Karen in the picture. She found Karen doing the ironing and listening to something that thankfully wasn't Haydn. "Would you like a coffee?" Karen asked, when they'd reached the lounge. Saying she would, Jo sank gratefully into an armchair. Karen could tell that something was wrong, because Jo looked not only tired, but emotionally on edge. "What's happened?" She asked, putting a steaming mug into Jo's hands, and moving her basket of ironing off the sofa so she could sit down. "I went to see George last night, and I'm heartily glad I did." "Why?" Karen looked and sounded extremely worried. "Calm down," Jo said persuasively. "She's all right, just. She was in the middle of getting very drunk when I arrived, and judging by the packet of sleeping pills I found this morning, I don't think she intended on being around for the hang over." Then seeing Karen's aghast expression, she said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that, but I think I'm in shock." Being very much acquainted with the signs and symptoms of emotional shock from her days as a nurse, Karen understood. Lighting two cigarettes and handing one to Jo, Karen asked, "Where is she now?" "At home, asleep. She wouldn't have told me how she was really feeling, but she let it slip out in her usual euphemistic fashion because she was drunk. That's what scares me so much about her, the fact that she is so good at hiding things like this. But then, I think she's been doing it all her life." Karen took a long, thoughtful drag of her cigarette. "Do you think she'd want me to come and see her?" Jo hesitated over this. "Don't take it personally, but no, not today. She tried picking a fight with me last night, and though I don't think she's going to feel like one today, we are due for a very difficult conversation." "Okay, but you know where I am, if either of you change your mind."
When Jo re-entered George's house, she found herself trying to feel that sense of a living being, the sixth sense awareness of a life within its walls. Quickly going upstairs just to make sure George was still asleep, and finding her just as she'd left her, Jo thought she may as well do some work until George woke up. Going into George's office on the other side of the hall to the lounge, she was assaulted by a familiar waft of George's perfume. As she waited for the computer to start up, she kept repeating a mantra in her head. Forget that kiss, forget that kiss. That was a complication none of them needed, least of all George. Jo worked quite happily for a time, eventually hearing the unmistakable sounds of George surfacing and taking a shower. Reaching the end of a paragraph, Jo wondered if George might initiate the coming conversation, or whether she would have to drag it out of her by force.
When George came downstairs, she stopped in her office doorway, feeling a sudden warmth to see Jo so at home in her space. "You don't mind me invading your office?" Jo said, glancing at George over her shoulder. "No, of course not. Do you want a coffee?" Saying that yes she would, and that she would be through in a minute, Jo finished the paragraph she was writing, saved it, and switched off the computer. The smell of freshly percolating coffee permeated the house, making Jo wonder if George had any intention of eating at some point today. When George joined her in the lounge carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, they again assumed their almost accustomed places at each end of the sofa. George looked pale, still a little tired, and in the sunlight, even thinner than she had done last night. "The first thing I'm going to say to you, is relax," George said, lighting herself a cigarette. "I am," Jo insisted, reaching for one of her own. "Jo, I can feel the nervous tension coming off you in waves. I'm not going to bite, I promise. Well, not unless you ask nicely," She added with a smirk, immediately making Jo smile. "You ought to know by now," She said, taking a long drag. "That there isn't anything you can't say to me." "I know," Jo replied. "It's just all a bit too odd, that's all." "What is?" George asked gently, wanting to provoke Jo into talking about what she was feeling. "The fact that I kissed you, the fact that I enjoyed it, and the fact that I could have gone on doing it all night." Jo seemed surprised that she'd said all this so easily. Taking a sip of her steaming coffee, George said, "I think this goes back to before last night, doesn't it." "Probably," Jo conceded miserably, steadily avoiding George's gaze. But when nothing more was forthcoming, George prompted her. "When John suggested that we both spend the night with him, you said that my finding the idea appealing, didn't bother you. Did you mean that, or did you say it to make me feel better?" "I meant it," Jo said with utter certainty. "After you left, I told John that he shouldn't play with you like that. I also told him that his suggestion hadn't bothered me, because I knew it would never happen. At the time, that was what I thought. I knew that the idea had aroused you, and that you felt guilty and confused because of that. It sounds funny to say it now, but I felt flattered that you found me attractive enough to consider doing that with me. Then, a week later, everything changed. You've got absolutely no idea just how incredible I thought you looked with Karen that Sunday. I think it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. But do you know what struck me most? It was the way you clearly knew how beautiful you looked. You haven't acknowledged just how attractive you are, ever since Neil gave you that black eye, more than eighteen months ago. What you did that Sunday, it showed me that you were starting to get some of that awareness back. I didn't think about it like that at the time, because other considerations took over. It shocked me that I found the sight of you and Karen together so erotic. Thinking about what two women might do together, wasn't something I'd ever really considered before. I'd seen you and Karen kiss each other, but that had never made me contemplate what else you did. It surprised John that I clearly liked what I was seeing, but it didn't bother him. I haven't felt as turned on as that, for quite a long time, which is why I made John take me home." "Something new can often spice things up a bit," George put in, as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Is that why you and John tried different things when you were married?" "Not really, at least not in the beginning. We just liked venturing into the unknown sometimes. But once, when Charlie was four, John took her up to stay with his sister for a week, so that we could spend some time together, trying to put some life back into our marriage. When he walked back in through the door, he was carrying a blue movie." Jo laughed. "Well now," She said in amazement. "I never would have thought John would go for something like that." "Oh, believe me, he loved it," George said with a smirk. "But then, it was about two women and a man, so I'm not surprised." "And what about you?" "It was incredible, and just for those few days, we got back what we'd had before Charlie was born. The point is, it isn't wrong to find something unexpectedly erotic." Jo looked very uncomfortable, a sudden blush rising to her cheeks. "What happened when you got home?" George asked, seeing that there was something Jo wasn't telling her. "Other than the obvious," She added hurriedly. "I don't entirely let myself go with John, not usually anyway. I don't know why, I just don't. There's always been a part of me that's somehow detached from the situation. But not that time. Everything I had went into it, giving me three of the most explosive orgasms I think I've ever had. Sorry, too much information," She added, still unable to meet George's eye. Reaching out a hand, George gently turned Jo's face towards her, forcing Jo to meet her gaze. "Look at me," she said cajolingly. Then, when Jo's eyes finally rose to meet hers, she said, "There's still something you're not telling me, something that you think is going to make me run a mile." "When John was... When we were..." She couldn't seem to find the right words. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, about what you and Karen were probably doing right at that moment. I've never thought about a woman whilst reaching orgasm before, but I did then." "Well," George said slowly, after a moment's silence. "That's certainly a compliment and a half." "I'm sorry," Jo said, now looking even more uncomfortable. "What on earth for?" George asked, though she thought she knew. "I don't have a problem with you having thought about me like that, I promise you." "Don't you?" Jo was genuinely mystified. "No, of course not." Putting out her arms, George gave Jo a tentative hug, taking it slow because of the look of hesitation on Jo's face. "First and foremost," George began, with her face very close to Jo's. "We are friends, which means that as long as we are honest with each other, we aren't likely to have a problem in staying friends. Secondly, we are both John's lovers, and we both know that if he were to ever discover what happened last night, part of him would love the idea and pressure us both into taking it too far too soon, and the rest of him would be terrified of losing both of us. Last, though by no means least, we appear to have discovered a tiny flicker of mutual attraction. I think you kissed me last night, because you were angry with me, worried about me, and were subconsciously still remembering your extreme reaction from two weeks before. Whether it was a very brief moment of sheer inspiration, or a hint of something you don't yet know you feel, neither of us can possibly tell. But whichever it is, it doesn't matter. I am just as mystified by this as you are. I might not show it, but I am." "But what if I do discover that it's something more, what if we both do?" "Then we deal with it, if and when it happens. All right?" "Yes," Jo replied, feeling an immense warmth for the woman who would never, not in a million years, pressure her into anything she wasn't entirely comfortable with. Softly kissing her cheek, George detached herself, somehow knowing that Jo was about to put her under the spotlight, and not for anything as beautiful or enchanting as that kiss had been last night.
"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Jo said carefully. "Might not be quite so pleasant." Draining her mug of coffee, she tried to assemble her thoughts. "Why did you drink as much as you did last night?" "Now that, I certainly wasn't expecting," George replied. "But to answer your question, it was simply a means to an end. On their own, those sleeping pills wouldn't have done the trick, they're not supposed to. They might have knocked me out for a couple of days, but nothing more. Combined with alcohol, they would have proved to be far more lethal. So, the more alcohol, the more success I was likely to have." "But you still kept on drinking, even though I was here, which meant that you wouldn't have been able to take the pills without my noticing." "I didn't know you were going to stay, did I." "So, getting drunk was a means to an end, not the end itself." "Definitely," George said without hesitation. "I'm no alcoholic, Jo, I never have been." "I'm sorry," Jo said with sincere contrition. "I just wondered if your tendency to addictions might have encompassed alcohol as well." "No. But what made you ask?" This was a difficult one for Jo, making her think that she was about to tread a very unsteady tightrope. "The way you were last night, reminded me of how I was, on the night that led to my hearing with the professional conduct committee." "You know, that's one little set of circumstances I've never had cleared up for me," George said in reply, her curiosity unbearable. "There's not much to tell really. I was defending a fifteen-year-old's right, to say no to a heart transplant. He was by far the most intelligent boy of his age I've ever known. He was trying to get an injunction, to stop the hospital from operating on him. He was going against his parent's wishes. John heard the injunction, and after talking to everyone concerned, including Jason, he lifted the injunction, meaning that Jason would be forced to have the operation, even though it went against everything he believed in. I sought leave to appeal, even though John expressed his wish that I wouldn't. But the appeal failed as well. Jason died during the operation, when he'd fought against having it till the end. I was so angry, with myself for failing, and with John for denying Jason his one last wish, that I went to see John at the digs. I was so distraught, that I left my keys in the ignition, and my handbag on the passenger seat, not things I would normally do. I drank more scotch that night than I had done in a long time. I badly wanted a fight with John, but he insisted on being his maddeningly reasonable self. He let me shout at him, he watched me drink far too much of his scotch, and when we realised how late it was, he put me to bed, much as I did you last night. I couldn't believe where I was when I woke in the morning, held in John's arms and wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts. I couldn't even stomach a cup of coffee I felt so rough, and when I went out to my car, I couldn't believe I'd left it the way I had. It frightened me that I had been quite so irresponsible. I learned afterwards, that Michael Nivin saw me leaving, clearly wearing yesterday's clothes and looking very much the worse for wear. What I obviously didn't know till a year later, was that you had prompted someone into taking photographs of us in bed together." "I cringe, every time I am reminded of that little stunt," George said regretfully. "Yes, so do I," Jo said sardonically. "But why," George asked slowly and carefully. "Does the similarity of my behaviour to yours, make you consider that I might have a problem with alcohol?" Jo could have cursed her own stupidity to hell and back. George, in her utterly bloody but at times wonderful sensitivity, had alighted on the fact that Jo herself had an occasional problem with alcohol. "Am I in the company of John mark two?" Jo asked a little sharply, to cover up her rising tension. "No," George said sincerely. "Because unlike John, I am not about to force you to explain, not if you don't want to." "This isn't easy, George," Jo prevaricated. "Neither was telling you about my addiction to starving myself," George said bluntly. "But as I said, you don't have to tell me. I might professionally be in the business of extracting confessions and confidences from people, but it's something I generally prefer to avoid with those I care about." Jo's eyes made a circuit of the room, from the Monet above the fireplace, to the Stubbs above the piano, to the stereo, the television, and back to George, who simply sat and watched her, knowing that Jo was having a furious internal battle with herself. "My father was an alcoholic," She said eventually, still not looking at George. "And I suppose I have inherited his tendency to turn to it, in times of extreme stress. I haven't got drunk like that since, and that had been the first time for years. If everything's fairly plain sailing, I can drink, a few glasses of wine, or a couple of glasses of scotch, being nothing I can't handle. But if I'm very angry, or very upset, I have to purposefully avoid even so much as one glass of wine. If I don't, and allow myself the luxury of getting as drunk as you did last night, then I end up doing career destroying things, such as spending the night with John." After a few moments silence, where George took in what Jo had told her, she moved along the sofa, and put her arms round her. "That was a very brave thing you just did," George said gently, turning Jo's face towards hers. "No, it wasn't," Jo replied, her voice slightly huskier with repressed emotion. "Yes, it was," George insisted. "Because you weren't expecting to have to tell me, and even though I gave you the option of backing out, you didn't. Having had to explain my own little addiction, I know how difficult that was for you." "Why didn't I find you years ago?" Jo asked, through a few stray tears that were speckling her cheeks. "Because neither of us would have been able to take the shock," George told her with a wry smile. This time, when Jo's lips descended on hers, George was sober. As their mouths entwined, first gently, then more passionately, George had to rein in every impulse she had, that was begging her to take Jo upstairs right now, and make long, glorious, delicious love to her. "I'm sorry," Jo said, as if suddenly realising what she was doing. "Shh, calm down," George told her, softly stroking Jo's cheek, and wiping a tear away with a finger. "Darling, there is nothing I would enjoy more, than to take you to bed right now, and to give you the best time you've ever had in your life. I could make love to you all night long, the way I feel at the moment. But I mustn't, both for your sake, and for Karen's." At the mention of Karen's name, Jo froze, having only just remembered the one real complication to what was clearly happening between them. As though Karen's name had provided them both with an extremely cold shower, they drew apart. "You know I have to consider her feelings as well as yours," George continued, reaching for a cigarette. "She doesn't deserve to be hurt, no matter how open or unofficial my relationship might be with her." "I know," Jo said regretfully. "And I'm sorry I got carried away like that." "Don't be," George said, briefly touching her hand. "Your feelings about a lot of things are very up in the air today, and I think you need to give them time to settle. Neither of us are in an emotionally stable condition, which would only mean a recipe for disaster if we followed the calling of our instincts. You may well regret you ever did this, which is why you shouldn't rush into anything." "And if I don't? If you don't?" "Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."