Part One Hundred And Sixty Four
When they arrived back in front of Karen's flat, she got out of the car, and stared at the small holdall of Ross's belongings that was on the back seat before picking it up. It seemed ludicrous to her that all he had left in the world was contained in this incredibly compact repository. Appearing upstairs in the lounge, they found John reading the paper, and drinking his third mug of coffee of the day. He opened his mouth to ask Karen how she was, but shut it again, thinking that to be one of the most inane, pointless questions he could possibly ask. Sparing him only the flicker of a glance, Karen walked straight through the lounge, and put the bag down in her bedroom, leaving it there until she was ready to begin examining its contents.
When she reappeared, John said quietly, "I phoned Yvonne, and Jo. Yvonne said she would come and see you this afternoon, but that if you wanted to talk to her, just ring." "Thank you," Karen said bleakly, wondering if he could tell that she knew what he'd done. Sitting down on the other end of the sofa to John, whilst George took an armchair, Karen lit a cigarette, thoughtfully contemplating George's face through the smoke. "How much did Helen tell you?" She eventually asked, breaking the extremely tense silence. "Not a lot," George replied, wondering what was coming. "So, she didn't in fact tell you, that the Judge here, knew precisely where my son was, and what was happening to him, for the last two months?" Lifting a hand to her mouth in shock, George just stared in horror at John's profile. "No, she didn't," George said slowly. "I think she thought," Karen said, taking a long drag. "That there had been quite enough secrets kept one way and another. Do you think she's right, John?" Finally raising his pained eyes to meet hers, it frightened John immensely that instead of the hurt and anger he was expecting to see, all he found was emptiness. Her eyes looked haunted, dead, as if they had no life behind them at all. "You know why I couldn't tell you," He said quietly, though fervently, desperately wishing in this moment that he had. "Yes, I do, which makes this ten times worse," Karen replied bitterly. "I understand perfectly why you kept this from me. If I wasn't in that position, if all I felt was the hurt, the anger and the immense betrayal I should feel, I could let it run its course. I could refuse to speak to you for a few weeks, eventually get around to shouting at you for as long as it took to get it out of my system, and then forgive you, because that's what close friends are supposed to do. But because I completely understand, that Helen couldn't tell me because of the rules surrounding patient confidentiality, and that she sought legal advice from you, prompting you to keep the silence by virtue of the same principle, I can't do any of that." They could both see the struggle in her, the desperate effort it was taking for her to stay in control. She needed to be angry with something or someone, but in a way, her unequivocal understanding of why John had kept quiet, had cheated her out of that particular outlet. "I'm sorry," John said quietly, trying not to flinch at what might have been the glassy eyes of a corpse, if she hadn't still been breathing, moving and speaking. "Yes, I know you are," Karen told him. "But at the moment, I don't really want to hear it. Coddling your conscience isn't something I currently possess the mental energy to do." John could feel the barriers being irrevocably raised between them, putting a distance between him and Karen, completely restraining him from helping her.
Finally turning her gaze on George, Karen took note of the extreme difficulty George was feeling, knowing that there was nothing she could say or do that would make it all go away. "Thank you for coming with me," She said, unable to remember if she'd said so before. "What do you want to do now?" George asked, not entirely sure how one accepted appreciation for something like this. "I think I need to be on my own for a while," Karen said quietly, knowing that this was about to be met with a barrage of objections. "And I think that would be the worst thing you could do," George replied instantly. "Will the pair of you do something for me?" Karen asked, approaching this from a different angle. "Will the two of you go and see Charlie?" George and John exchanged a glance, both immediately realising what she was up to. "I really don't think you should be left alone," John said quietly but firmly. "Please, John," Karen pleaded with him just as quietly. "Please, go with George, spend the day with your daughter, for me. I need both of you to do this." Taking in a deep, slow breath, John realised that she had them both well and truly cornered. She was using every piece of transparent, emotional blackmail in the book, because she needed to be alone to begin the long and tortuous process of grieving, and because she wanted both he and George to spend some time appreciating the fact that they still had a child. "Okay, if that's what you want," John eventually said, causing George to raise her eyebrows in protest. Seeing George's slightly aghast expression, Karen strove to reassure her. "Don't worry," She said quite seriously. "I'm perfectly safe." "Well, forgive me if I'm not remotely certain of that little fact," George told her disbelievingly. "George, I'm not going to do to either of you, what Ross has done to me, I promise." Still unsure as to whether to believe her or not, George capitulated. "All right, but I will be checking up on you, and we're both only a phone call away."
Later that afternoon, Yvonne found herself drawing up in front of Karen's flat at the same time as Jo. John had called them both whilst Karen and George were at the clinic, Jo being about to return from the conference she'd been attending for the last three days. Both women felt the pain, the sympathy, and the need to ensure that Karen was just about surviving. They were both mothers, and Yvonne at least knew precisely what Karen was going through. Jo, having not lost a child to suicide, didn't know, but that didn't prevent her from wanting to check up on Karen. Jo had just arrived, and had rung the doorbell, when Yvonne drew up behind her. "You had the same thought as me," Yvonne said matter-of-factly as she got out of the Ferrari. "Yes," Jo said, looking up at the windows above her. "But I'm getting no answer. She may not be here." Retrieving a door key from her pocket, Yvonne said, "I wondered if this might come in handy. The only significant object me and Karen ever exchanged was door keys, and we never quite got around to giving them back. If she really isn't here, then she'll never know we were." Fitting the key in the front door, Yvonne led the way up the stairs, sensing Karen's presence, and knowing that they were right to enter uninvited. Whether this was from her years and years of having to be aware of everyone else's shadow besides her own, Yvonne wasn't sure. But when they reached the lounge, they both became painfully aware of the utterly heartrending sobs that only a mother can cry. It caused an almost physical hurt in both of them to hear such torment. Exchanging incredibly worried glances, they moved towards the bedroom.
When they entered, they found Karen sitting on the bed, the holdall of Ross's belongings open beside her. Karen was cradling one of his sweaters, holding it to her face, the pale blue fabric soaking up her tears. Silently pushing the bag of clothes to one side, Yvonne sat down next to her, Jo moving to Karen's other side. Only when Yvonne tried to remove the blue sweater from her hands, did Karen become aware that she had company. Desperately trying to regain control of herself, Karen looked from one to the other of them. "How... How did you get in?" She asked hesitantly between gasps. Yvonne held up the door key. "We just wanted to make sure you were all right," Yvonne clarified, hating and detesting the sheer inanity of the words. Karen gave her a lopsided smile. "Oh, sure," She said bitterly. "I'm fine. I keep thinking about some of the things I said to you, after Ritchie died, and it's only now dawning on me what complete bollocks it all was." "You're wrong about that," Yvonne said with utter certainty. "Because most of what you said to me that night was absolutely spot on. There wasn't nothing I could have done to stop Ritchie, just as there's nothing you could have done to prevent Ross from doing this." "Jesus," Karen said in disgust. "Why is everyone so determined to persuade me to believe that? You two, Helen, George, you name it." "Because trying to apportion blame to anyone, will do you far more harm than good, and achieve nothing whatsoever," Jo said firmly. "Don't you get it?" Karen asked her imploringly. "I need to blame someone, even if that someone is myself. It's the only way I can begin to make sense of any of this. How much did John tell the two of you?" "He said that Ross had been Helen's patient for the last few months, and that he'd been doing drugs rehab for the last two. He didn't say much more, other than that he'd killed himself." "Ross, cut his wrist," Karen told them, though Jo already knew this, John having been far more frank with her than he'd been with Yvonne. "Of all the ways to die, that has to be one of the worst. But then, in a place like that, I suppose that was all the choice he had." She said this in such a flat, toneless voice, that both Jo and Yvonne instantly grew concerned for her. Putting out a hand, Jo took Karen's between her own, feeling the ice-cold skin that almost felt lifeless in her grasp. "You're freezing," She observed, trying to rub some warmth back into Karen's hands. "I think it's called delayed shock," Karen replied, only just realising that she was shivering. "Come on, I'll make you a cup of tea," Yvonne said, she and Jo helping Karen up from the bed and going back into the lounge. Emerging from the airing cupboard with a blanket, Yvonne handed it to Jo, and moved into the kitchen to make them all some tea. Even though it was the penultimate day of July, and the sun was warm outside, Karen was bitterly cold where she sat on the sofa. After wrapping the blanket round her, Jo sat down next to her, putting her arms round her to try and give Karen some of her body heat. "Where are John and George?" Jo asked, feeling the extreme residual tension in Karen's muscles. "I made them both go and see Charlie," Karen said bleakly. "I needed some time on my own. I'm grateful you and Yvonne are here though. I don't trust myself not to get absolutely plastered."
When Yvonne handed her the mug of hot, sweet tea, Karen took an appreciative sip. "What else did John tell you?" Karen asked, looking straight into Jo's eyes, somehow knowing that he would have said more to Jo than to Yvonne. "He did tell me," Jo said slowly, seeing that Karen definitely already knew about this. "That he'd known about Ross, since the end of May." "You what?" Yvonne asked, horror struck that anyone could have kept something like this from a mother. "Helen sought legal advice from him," Karen explained to her. "Because she wanted to find out if there was any way that she could tell me without Ross's permission. But, as she couldn't, neither could John." Taking a breath to indignantly respond, Yvonne caught the warning look from Jo, telling her that this definitely wasn't the time. "I'm sorry, that I'm not really keeping it together at the moment," Karen said, feeling a little foolish that she couldn't even deal with a case of emotional and physical shock, refusing to take into account that it was her own. "Karen, you don't have to be," Jo told her gently. "It would seem extremely unnatural if you were. Grief takes different people in different ways." "Yeah, I went for hours without talking, remember?" Yvonne said, her thoughts having taken her back to that awful night more than once already today. "I just... I don't know where to start," Karen admitted regretfully. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do, or even what I'm supposed to feel." "As for what anyone is supposed to do in a situation like this," Jo said quietly. "That isn't something you need to think about today, or tomorrow if needs be." "And there ain't no one who can tell you what you're supposed to feel," Yvonne said matter-of-factly. "That's something only you can decide in your own time. There aren't any rules, because feelings don't live by them. All you need to know is that we're all of us here for you, and we will be, for as long as you need us."