Part One Hundred And Sixty Nine
On the Saturday morning, Karen kissed George goodbye, and got in her car. Today was a day she was dreading far more than the funeral itself. She was going to collect Ross's ashes from the crematorium, and drive to the place where she'd often taken him on holiday when he was a child. She wanted to scatter them in a place that held only fond memories for her, somewhere she and Ross had been happy. George had tentatively asked if Karen wanted her company to do this, but Karen had gently refused, saying that this was something she definitely needed to be alone to do. This was becoming something of a typical answer for her these days, something that didn't go unnoticed by George.
As she drove out of London and towards the M3, she tried not to think about the burden she was carrying in the boot of her car. It cut deep into her soul to think that she was bearing away the remains of her son's body, to be cast over the cliff edge into the rocky depths of the sea. But this was what she had to do, take her son back to the place where they'd been happy. She could remember all the times she'd driven this way with Ross as a child, the boot of the car full of the necessary provisions for an inexpensive summer holiday, plenty of beach clothes for the two of them, plus the inevitable football and bucket and spade. He'd been only four when she'd first taken him to the little seaside village near Bournemouth, and they'd gone back every year until he was thirteen, when he'd announced that he was now too old to do something as childish as spend all day on the beach. She smiled as she tried to remember the deals she'd had to do with him, so that she didn't have to spend the entire journey listening to his definition of music. He knew how to argue, just as well as she did. But he had been a happy child, well, until he'd reached adolescence, and then he'd grown into the sullen, often belligerent teenager who had put the final nail in the coffin of her relationship with Steve. The car felt empty somehow, as if she'd left someone behind, as if she really shouldn't be traveling this old, familiar route alone.
As she turned onto the M27 at Southampton, she began to wonder what Ross would think of her bringing his ashes to this particular place. Yes, she knew he'd been angry with her, and that she certainly hadn't lived up to the expectations he'd obviously had of her as a mother, but she hoped he could also remember the good times they'd had. She hadn't been all bad, had she? After all, she'd only been doing what she thought was best for both of them. It had at times been extremely hard to balance the demands of professional and parental responsibilities, but it was the same for parents the world over. She'd had to work, in order to find the money to support Ross and herself, and sometimes that had meant him being looked after by someone else. She couldn't always afford to be at home to read him a bedtime story herself, but she could afford for someone else to do it. What sort of twisted logic was that, she thought cynically, for a mother to have to work to pay someone else to look after her child. But when she had been at home, she'd always thought that she was doing as much as she could for him. She'd read him stories, taught him to swim, played football with him, helped him with his homework, but it had obviously never quite been enough.
It took her near enough three hours to travel from London to Bournemouth, and when she left the A338, and began wending her way through the numerous villages along the coast, she just hoped that with it being a Saturday, there wouldn't be too many tourists in the place she was heading for. As she drew up in the car park at the bottom of the steady incline of cliffs, she realised that it was probably too late in the day, and therefore too hot for any but the most determined of walkers to be heading up here. They would all be lounging on the nearby beaches, soaking up the hot August sun. But Karen didn't really feel the heat, in fact she didn't seem to have been properly warm since Ross had died. Tentatively picking up her slightly ominous parcel from the back of the car, Karen began walking, following the long, familiar path, the one she'd often persuaded Ross to walk with her on slightly cooler days. They'd regularly come up here when it had been too windy to enjoy the sandy beaches, Ross running ahead of her, more often than not attaching himself to other groups of children of a similar age. It wasn't a steep climb towards the top of the cliffs, but as the ground gradually rose, Karen could feel the breeze on her cheeks, and smell the tang of the salt in her nostrils. She must have been walking for at least an hour, before she reached the plateau, the place where the cliff began to level out, the short, wiry grass covering the outcropping of rocks. She passed the place where there was a small bench under an overhang of rock, because this was where many walkers often stopped to rest. She walked on, until she left the few straggling tourists behind, until she reached the part of the cliff top where the rocks eventually tapered out into thin air. She sat down on the low wall, that had been put there as a warning, as a barrier, to prevent unknowing sols from needlessly wandering off the edge. The steep, endless drop was only three feet in front of her, and she felt a curious detachment in being quite so close to such a catastrophic descent. She could look right out to sea from here, the hot haze of the sun currently masking the vague impression of the Isle of Wight in the distance. She sat perfectly still for a while, trying to summon up the courage to do what she'd come here to do. But when she eventually lifted up the package of ashes between her two hands, and stood on the very edge of the cliff, she had an insane, momentary desire, to follow her son's remains into the water. But as the very essence of her son drifted away from her on the breeze, she knew she had to stay. She couldn't follow him, no matter how much she might want to, because she knew that she couldn't put George, John, or any of her friends through the same torment. The few particles that were left of her son, floated gently down to where the jagged rocks speared up through the foamy waves, and Karen knew that this had been the right thing to do, to send what remained of him back to the sea he'd loved so much as a child. She could remember those endless, sunny days, when she hadn't been able to keep him out of the water for longer than five minutes, no matter how cold it might have seemed to her adult flesh. So, here he was, going back to that once adored childhood playground, to hopefully one day forgive her for not being able to keep him alive.
She sat there for a long time after casting his ashes into the sea, just allowing her memories to envelop her. She didn't cry, somehow feeling passed crying, almost passed feeling, but she didn't entirely feel alone. It was as if there was someone nearby, somehow keeping watch of her, making sure she didn't do anything stupid. But that was ridiculous, she thought to herself, because there wasn't anyone on this cliff top but her. Eventually getting to her feet, Karen began making her way back to the car, wondering if she would ever come back here again.
On the drive home, she felt empty, as if all the feelings she'd ever had, had somehow been extinguished, leaving her nothing more than a hollow shell of bitter regret. She didn't want to go home like this, knowing that the silence and emptiness of her flat would probably drive her mad. She needed company, someone to take the focus away from herself. She barely noticed how long it took her to retrace her steps of the morning, hardly paying any real attention to the steadily flowing traffic around her. It was only when she left the M3, and began moving through the early evening of central London, that she wondered where on earth she could go. She didn't want to see George, and she didn't want to see John, or Yvonne, or anyone else who would demand too many explanations from her. By process of elimination, she settled on Jo, because Jo's company would be gentle, unintrusive, and because Jo would simply accept how she was feeling, without any insistent probing.
Jo was a little surprised to see Karen on her doorstep that evening, knowing just where Karen had been today. "I'm sorry," Karen said by way of explanation as Jo let her in. "But I really didn't feel like going home." "That's all right," Jo said, leading the way into the lounge. "You look exhausted," She observed, as Karen sank gratefully down onto the sofa. "Well, I guess driving to Bournemouth and back will do that to a person." "Is that where you went?" "Yes, and walked right to the top of a particular stretch of cliff." "Would you like a drink?" Jo asked, getting the feeling that this might be quite a difficult conversation. "I'd love a cup of tea," Karen said ruefully. "I'm trying to avoid alcohol at all costs." Thinking that this was just one of several unanswered questions, Jo went to make them both some tea, wondering if Karen might at last be ready to start talking.
When she returned and put two mugs down on the coffee table, moving a pile of legal journals out of the way, she placed an ashtray between them. "Why the intense desire not to drink?" She began, this being the question uppermost in her mind. "Because it would be far too easy not to stop," Karen told her honestly. "And I can do without having to go down that road, on top of everything else." "Ah," Jo said understandingly, realising that Karen possibly had a similar relationship with alcohol as she did. "I sometimes have to be careful," She admitted, lighting herself a cigarette. "Something I inherited from my father." "Me too," Karen replied, also lighting a cigarette. "Though he would never have admitted it." "The last time I allowed myself to get stupidly drunk, I was up before the Professional Conduct Committee." "For drinking?" Karen asked, a little astounded. "No," Jo said with a smile. "For being caught leaving the Judge's digs, clearly wearing the previous day's clothes, and looking pretty rough." "I do hope he attempted to defend your honour," Karen said dryly. "Oh, yes," Jo agreed neutrally. "But he had to make my being drunk common knowledge, in order to do so." Karen was quiet for a few moments, wondering what had led Jo to do something so possibly career crippling. Jo watched her, seeing a maelstrom of thoughts whizzing round behind her eyes.
"Will you satisfy my curiosity on something?" Jo asked, eventually breaking in on Karen's contemplation. When Karen raised her eyes to Jo's, she added, "Why did you come here, instead of going to see George?" Karen almost laughed. "You don't ask anything simple, do you, and what I'm about to say, is going to sound unduly heartless. The thing is, I don't think I could bear to be anywhere near George at the moment, and if I were entirely in my right mind, I certainly wouldn't be thinking what I am." "You resent the fact that she's still got Charlie, even though she doesn't love her, don't you," Jo tentatively took a stab in the dark. "I said it would sound terrible," Karen said, the tears rising to her eyes, because she shouldn't be resenting anyone for still having their child, she just shouldn't be feeling like this. "I can't say for certain," Jo told her gently. "But I suspect that if I were in your position, I might feel the same, if only briefly. For years, before I got to know George, I bitterly resented the fact that she had been the one to have John's child, and not me. I think that used to form the foundations on which mine and George's continual bickering were based. I couldn't accept that she had borne his child, whilst not really wanting it, and she couldn't accept that I was the one he openly loved. So no, it isn't heartless to feel the way you do, it's perfectly understandable." "I just..." Karen started to say, clearly struggling with the effort it was taking her to maintain a grip on her emotions. "I feel... My womb feels so empty. I know it sounds stupid, but it does." "No, it doesn't sound stupid," Jo said hoarsely, feeling the tears of sympathy rising to her own eyes. "Karen, you've lost your child, so it's perfectly natural for you to feel like this." Jo's thoughts strayed back to the time when she'd had her termination. She knew only too well to feel as though her womb was unnaturally empty. Yes, that may have been her choice, but it hadn't been any less soul destroying to feel it. But this was one experience that she certainly couldn't share with Karen, not now, because to Karen, in her currently emotionally unbalanced state, it would be someone else's rejection of a child, not something she would know how to deal with right now. They talked for hours, Karen taking those first jagged and treacherous steps along the path of emotional cleansing. Karen hadn't expected she would cry, but she did, finally feeling that it was providing her with the release it was supposed to cause. They exchanged fond memories of the solo raising of young children, both of them being far too familiar with the endless struggle it had so often been. Much later, when Karen sank gratefully between the sheets of Jo's spare bed, she reflected that though she may no longer have a child to call her own, she did have friends, and without such friends she would have no chance whatsoever of surviving the coming weeks and months.