Part Forty-Two
On the Monday evening, John decided again to check on Karen. He had kept in phone contact with her over the last couple of weeks, trying to get her to talk, but not so far having much success. He was entirely at a loss as to how to help her, not something he was used to feeling. Self-harm wasn't something he'd come across before in a personal context, and not knowing how to get through to Karen was making him feel more and more useless every day. She hadn't told him that she'd cut herself again, but he highly suspected that she had. What he certainly did know was that it wasn't something she would simply be able to give up at the click of her fingers. He hadn't so far shared his knowledge or his concerns with either Jo or George, because in truth he really didn't know how to tell them. He knew that George would be bitterly upset, and that Jo would be immensely concerned. He could have done with their advice and their gentle sympathy, but he wasn't altogether sure that Karen would want either of them to know her secret.
Karen knew that she was going steadily down hill, but she really didn't know how to stop it getting any worse. Nikki was perpetually trying to keep an eye on her, doing her damnedest to persuade her to talk, whilst at the same time trying not to make it as obvious as it was. Karen desperately wanted to stop cutting, to halt that urge in her that would compel her to take any sharp edge to her once beautiful skin, but she couldn't. The feeling of panic would come upon her, and the need to exhume her pain and allow it to drip silently away was far too alluring. Only that release of her life force gave her the ability to cry. No more could she use her tears to let out the agony and frustration of her unresolved anger against her son. She hated herself for being so angry with him, alternating between anger that he had done this to her, and the guilt that she clearly hadn't been there for him. She wasn't entirely certain what had provoked this latest bout of self-mutilation, but something had yet again sparked her off into that terrifyingly downward spiral. Given what date it was, she thought she could probably hazard a guess. It was around this time of year, that she had plucked up the courage to inform her parents that she was pregnant with Ross. She'd been only seventeen, and had been pregnant for nearly three months. Her father's anger had petrified her that night, though she would never have admitted it to him. He had castigated her total lack of decency, her complete absence of a moral code of ethics, and told her that she was no longer good enough to be called his daughter. What on earth would he think of her now, Karen thought ruefully to herself? Her son was dead, she was single, and spending each and every working day locking up women for a living. He certainly wouldn't be remotely proud of her, she knew that much. Her thoughts of this time twenty-three years ago had almost taken her away from what she was actually doing, so that she had ended up cutting deeper than she usually did. But oh, to feel that sense of calm serenity once more, to really experience the sensation of all that pain simply flowing out of her. That was why she did it, to take back the Karen who could cope, the Karen who could continue as normal, the Karen who could almost fool everyone into believing that she was all right.
When the doorbell rang, Karen was holding a towel to her arm, trying to staunch the flow of any more of the crimson fluid. The wound was raw, tender where the material of the towel chafed against it. Wrapping it more securely around her arm, she took a glance out of the front window. Thank god for that, it was only John, and he did at least know about her new little habit. Running quickly downstairs, she opened the door, a half defiant, half ashamed expression on her face. "Karen, I..." He began, and then caught sight of the towel around her arm. "Please don't say it," Karen told him belligerently, turning from him to walk back up the stairs. "Because being told just how stupid this is, and how much I really don't need to do it, is honestly not going to help." Closing the door behind him and following her up to the living room, John was still trying to get his head around the fact that he'd clearly disturbed her in her cutting. When they reached the lounge, he laid an arresting hand on her shoulder. "Let me see," He encouraged her gently, but she flinched away from him as though he'd slapped her. "No," She replied, sounding almost terrified of doing such a thing. Then, calming down slightly, she added, "It's not something you want to see, John, believe me." "No, you're right there," John said dryly. "I don't want to see it, but I think you should let me see it." There were two visible tear tracks on her cheeks, showing that she had previously been crying, but what really alarmed him, was the wild, almost primeval look in her enormous blue eyes. She reminded him of a bird whose territory had been penetrated, as though the distance she usually managed to maintain had been threatened. Glancing back down at where she was holding her arm protectively against her body, he saw that the blood had begun to soak through the towel. Without a second thought, John steered her by the shoulder into the bathroom, pushing her to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet. Holding her left arm over the washbasin, he gently unwrapped the now bloody towel, wincing as he saw the extent to the damage she had done to herself. "That could probably do with a few stitches," John said quietly as he gazed at what one woman's pain could achieve in so little time. "Tough," Karen said a little bitterly. "It'll have to go without." Dampening a corner of the towel under the cold tap, John washed away some of the blood, resisting the urge to tell her that she'd made a real mess of herself this time. Opening the door of the bathroom cabinet, John retrieved alcohol wipes and a sterile dressing. "You're certainly well prepared," He said dryly, unwrapping one of the wipes and running it over the wound, causing her to suck in a breath through her teeth, in an attempt not to utter the most vile phrases she could think of. She bit furiously down on her bottom lip, the agony of having the alcohol in contact with her raw and bleeding flesh almost insurmountable. "I used to be a nurse," She told him through gritted teeth. "What do you expect?" "Which begs the question, of why you can do this in the first place," John replied a little bitterly, discarding the alcohol wipe and covering the wound with the dressing. "Perhaps because I know just how far I can push it," Karen amazed him by saying. Still holding her arm between his hands, he stared at her. "That doesn't mean that one day you won't go too far," He told her eventually, the thought of that day arriving utterly terrifying him.
Going back into the lounge, John poured himself a drink and Karen lit a cigarette. "Are you going to tell me what brought this on?" He asked quietly, feeling that she did at the very least owe him an explanation. "What do you want me to say?" Karen asked a little defiantly. "It was something I needed to do." "I'd like you to tell me why," John replied evenly, resisting the urge to show her just how furious he really was with her. "You tell me something first," Karen said on a whim. "When Charlie told you she was pregnant, what was your reaction? What did you do?" "What's Charlie got to do with this?" John asked, entirely mystified as to where this was going. "Just satisfy my curiosity," She replied, for the moment not giving him a reason for her slightly odd question. "Erm, I suppose you could say I took it in my stride," John said after a moment's thought. "I certainly wasn't vastly opposed to the idea, and once I'd thought about it, I was really quite enthusiastic about it." "So you definitely wanted her to keep it?" Karen asked him, wanting to get this point absolutely straight. "Yes," John told her firmly. "Part of me was delighted at the thought of Charlie becoming a mother, but Charlie had other ideas. When she said that she wanted a termination, I wanted her to stay and discuss it, but she was adamant, and because I wouldn't immediately help her to get what she wanted, she went to George. I was pretty angry that she'd done something so drastic without even discussing it with me, but George and Jo managed to convince me that it was Charlie's decision. Why did you want to know?"
"I was only seventeen when I discovered I was pregnant with Ross," She began a little hesitantly. "Yes, I know," John replied gently, thinking that he may at last be able to see where this was going. "And one thing that you have never told me anything about, is your parents' reaction to that." "If you want the details on my parents, ask George," Karen said bitterly. "She managed to break through my vow of silence some time in May, and that's not a conversation I'm particularly eager to repeat. Suffice it to say that my father wasn't amused. They never knew Ross, they never wanted to know him, or me after he was born. I just got to wondering what they would think of the complete mess I've made of everything. My father would probably tell me that it was all he could possibly have expected of his daughter. He always resented the fact that I wasn't a boy, and my son having killed himself would probably just reinforce everything he's ever believed about me." "And that is not the way any man should treat his child," John said all too vehemently. "Fathers aren't supposed to call their daughters some of the names he called me when he found out about Ross's future arrival, but that didn't stop him." Suddenly realising that she'd definitely said far too much, Karen went and stayed quiet.
"Karen, you did everything possible within your power to help your son," John told her gently but firmly. "Did I?" Karen replied, bitter tears rising to her eyes. "Because it doesn't bloody look like it, does it." She turned her face away from him, not wanting him to see her cry, even though in the circumstances she knew this to be ridiculous. Laying a strong, warm hand on her cheek, John turned her face back towards him, his soft, blue eyes watching hers. When she could no longer maintain her control, he carefully slid his arms round her, holding her against his chest, and resting his cheek on her hair. No words needed to be said between them, as they were both deeply aware of her inner torment. Karen was almost silent as she cried, the slight trembling of her body the only thing to betray her grief.
After a while, when her tears had dried, she still leant against him, taking an enormous amount of comfort from simply being held in a pair of strong, male arms. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" John asked eventually, knowing that he certainly didn't trust her to be left on her own. "John, I don't have the right to ask that of you," She said a little regretfully, lifting her head from where it had lain against his shoulder. "That wasn't what I asked you," He said with a smile. "Besides, as a friend, you have the perfect right to ask anything of me that I have it in my power to give. I can't always guarantee to deliver, but I can try. So, would you like me to stay?" "Well, yes I would," Karen replied with a watery smile. "But I am at a loss as to know why you are offering such a thing." "Two reasons really," John said a little evasively. "The first is that I think you need the company, and the second is because part of me doesn't trust you." "That's honest, I suppose," She said ruefully. "And the thought is appreciated, really." But a good while later when they were lying in her large, comfortable bed, Karen couldn't help but to wonder whether this really was such a good idea. She was wearing a blue cotton nightie, and John his boxer-shorts, therefore all could definitely be said to be perfectly respectable, but she couldn't help being thoroughly, almost painfully aware of his body there behind her, lying tucked up against her as he was, with one arm around her waist. John could feel how tense she was as she nestled in his arms, so he took one of her hands in his, gently chafing at it until she began to relax. "It isn't wrong, me being here," He told her softly. "Who are you trying to convince," She asked him dryly, "me or yourself?" "You," He said with a laugh. "Now go to sleep."