Part One Hundred And Seventy Six
In the middle of Tuesday afternoon, Karen was standing at her open office window, taking a brief break from the interminable red tape, to allow the August breeze to wash over her face. The admin block looked out onto one side of the main exercise yard, the other three sides bordered by G wing, the hospital wing, and the mother and baby unit. There were two other exercise yards, but these were out of sight on the other side of the prison. Being three floors up, Karen had a good view of everything that might be going on down there, as did Nikki in her office one floor below. A few inmates, including Kris, Denny and Al, appeared to be playing football, and other more sensible women were taking advantage of the hot afternoon sun. Karen could feel the warmth of it on her cheeks, but it didn't seem to be able to penetrate further. She still felt cold inside, dead, as if she might never be entirely alive again.
When the knock came on her door, she drew in a long, tired breath and bade the person to come in. It was Gina, carrying a large bunch of flowers. "I was just coming in, when these arrived for you, so I said I'd bring them up." "They're beautiful," Karen said in awe, taking the lily-white roses from Gina's hands. "Do you want me to find a vase for them?" Gina asked, wondering who had sent them, and only just restraining herself from enquiring. "Yes please," Karen replied, retrieving the letter that had been tucked into the top of the bouquet. When Gina returned, and between them they transferred the flowers from paper to water, Gina glanced out of the window. "Jesus," She said with a smile. "You'd think some of them were still kids, wouldn't you." "On a day like this, yes, you would," Karen agreed with her. "You're on the late shift today, aren't you." "Yeah, for my sins. Still, as long as Dominic doesn't forget to video Eastenders for me, I don't care."
When Gina had gone, Karen picked up the letter that had accompanied the flowers, and sat down on the couch across from her desk. Something seemed vaguely familiar about the writing on the envelope, which had clearly been written by the sender, not the florist. Slitting open the envelope with a paper knife, she slid out the thick, very expensive notepaper. Glancing down to the end of the letter to see who it was from, she felt incredibly touched to see the simple words, Joe Channing, left in the slightly shaky scrawl, that had liberally adorned the margins of the conductor's score.
"Dear Karen,
First of all, please allow me to offer you my sincere condolences. I cannot begin to imagine how you must feel after losing your son. Losing my wife was difficult enough, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. But I found that having a ten-year-old George to take care of, gave me something to focus on, a reason to stop me from entirely disintegrating. I threw myself into work, as I suspect you are doing now, but I would urge you to be careful of making the pursuit of your profession, your only focus in life.
I have waited until now to write to you, because I have had to grapple with my conscience, in order to arrive at a particularly difficult decision. At the risk of possibly ruining the beginnings of a very interesting friendship, I feel that to be entirely honest with you, is the only course of action I can and must take. I too knew of the situation your son was in, as John sought my advice on whether or not he could break the confidence. I wish with all my heart, that I had not known of this, and that I had not therefore been forced, by virtue of the law, to keep such knowledge from a fellow parent. John knew that he couldn't tell you, but he came to me just to make absolutely sure. He was vehemently opposed to keeping this from you as, inwardly, was I. John told me that day that he felt culpable, as if he was directly increasing the hurt that you would inevitably one day feel. It is extremely rare that I actively disagree with the law as it stands, but on this occasion, I did. The day on which you told me that your son was the result of a misspent youth, I also felt culpable, as it would have been so simple for me to tell you, then, as on other subsequent occasions. I have never before felt the deep-seated desire to break the law, but in this instance it became almost unbearable, as I know it has been for John.
I have reached the point where I should ask for your forgiveness, though I am not entirely certain that such a request would either be welcomed or appropriate. All I can do is to offer you my sincere apologies, and to hope that in time, you may come to understand why an old man foolishly acted as he did. I believed you when you said that you loved my daughter, and I would not want this to have any effect on your relationship with her. I may not understand a relationship that exists between two women, but George appears to be happy with you, and I would not want to jeopardise that.
If you should ever require a willing ear, please do not hesitate to make use of the above address or phone number. As John would no doubt testify, I will do my best not to be too judgmental.
Yours sincerely,
Joe Channing."
Karen hadn't realised she was crying, until one of her tears dropped onto the expensive paper, slightly smudging the s of sincerely. Holding it away from her to avoid any further smudges, she stared at the bleary words in front of her. No one had ever written her anything so heartrending as this, and especially not a man. She could feel the pain and the regret he must have felt for her, almost exuding from the paper itself. He'd said that both he and John had felt culpable, in some way responsible for her grief. She hadn't spoken to John since the funeral, both of them avoiding each other, because neither had the first idea of what could be said. Karen didn't blame him, and she certainly didn't blame Joe, but she could see how they might think she would. But how on earth did she go about putting that right?
Being utterly submerged in the contents of the letter and her reaction to it, she hadn't heard the tap on her door, but becoming aware of Nikki's presence, she glanced up at her, trying to wipe away the tears. "Do you want me to go?" Nikki asked gently, never having seen Karen in such a state before. "No, stay," Karen said, trying to get herself under control. "Who are the flowers from?" Nikki asked, moving towards the desk. "George's father," Karen told her, holding out the letter. "He wrote me this." Hesitantly taking the letter from her, and feeling as though she really shouldn't be reading something so personal, Nikki read it, seeing that Karen wanted her to do so, immediately realising why it had affected Karen so much. When she eventually reached the end, she put the letter back on the desk, and regarded Karen with concern, seeing that the cracks in her emotional armour were far more visible than they had been up to now. "You're wondering who else knew, aren't you," Nikki stated simply. "Just a bit," Karen said bitterly. "Tell me, Nikki, did you?" "No, no, I didn't," Nikki reassured her, taking one of Karen's hands in hers, gently smoothing her thumb over the knuckles. "Probably because Helen knew I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut." "Do you think anyone else did?" Karen asked almost desperately, badly needing to know the answer, no matter how devastating it might be. "I can't be certain," Nikki said carefully. "But I don't think anyone else, apart from Helen, the Judge and George's father knew. Most of us wouldn't have been able to be that restrained, and there wasn't any need for anyone else to know." "I just wish..." Karen stopped, knowing this was utterly futile. "I just keep thinking that if I'd known, I could have helped him." "I know," Nikki said gently. "And part of you probably always will." "I'm sorry," Karen said, grabbing some tissues from the box on her desk, and furiously scrubbing at her face. "This is hardly a very professional state to find your boss in, now is it?" "Karen, you're not just my boss," Nikki said sincerely. "You're my friend, your Helen's friend, and that means far more than a couple of extra Governor grades any day."