Part Fifty-Six
On the Saturday evening, George went over to see Jo uninvited. But then neither she nor John ever needed an invitation. Jo was a little surprised to see her, and George seemed unable to find the right words to explain why she was there. Jo could see that something was clearly eating away at George, but she made no comment, knowing that George had to be allowed to raise whatever it was in her own time. Jo had been out most of the day, visiting friends, having lunch with Yvonne, where they barely mentioned Barbara's case, and generally catching up with people with whom she hadn't spent any time for far too long. She had also managed to fit in a supermarket shop on the way home. Spending an evening in with George, therefore, seemed like the perfect end to a perfect day. But George was miserable, clearly bitterly upset about something. But Jo had no idea what. Unless this was about last Tuesday, the night of John's birthday. Jo had been entirely aware that George had faked her orgasm, and she thought it very likely that John had as well. Jo had put some music on, a Tori Amos CD that she'd borrowed from George some time ago.
"I can't seem to find my way out of your hunting ground."
As Jo glanced over at George on hearing these words, she saw that George had silent tears running down her cheeks. "I wish you could talk to me," Jo said softly, taking George's hand in hers, wanting to comfort but not to crowd. "I wish I could too," George said miserably. "What makes you think you can't?" Jo asked her gently. George opened her mouth to reply, but being unable to think of any suitable response, she closed it again. "I might not understand," Jo tried to persuade her, "but I will listen." George looked utterly terrified on hearing Jo's suggestion, and her assertion of, "No, you can't," also bore evidence of her fear. "Why can't I?" Jo asked fondly. "Jo, please, I really can't discuss this, not even with you." "All right," Jo said resignedly. "But I am here any time you change your mind."
They cuddled on the sofa for the rest of the evening, barely speaking, though not needing to. They found it inexplicably easy to be in one another's company, without constantly feeling the need to break the surface tranquillity of their silent thoughts. When they eventually went up to bed at around eleven-thirty, George said, "Are you sure you don't mind me staying?" "Of course not," Jo replied with a fond smile, wondering whether or not George might be persuaded to talk in the warmth and darkness of their bed.
"Jo, do you mind if we don't... I mean..." "George," Jo said with a reassuring smile. "I'm not expecting anything of you just because you're here." "That's all right then," George said sounding thoroughly relieved. After pulling a thin, cotton nightie over her head, Jo thoughtfully handed one to George. She had looked so small, so unsure of herself when she'd asked Jo this question, and it made Jo's heart ache at her far too evident distress. When they were lying in Jo's soft, warm bed, George sought out Jo's comforting embrace as almost a haven, a refuge from her shattered thoughts. Jo held her for a long, long time, neither of them falling asleep, simply playing with a few strands of George's hair, trying to get her to relax. "I think you're fretting about last Tuesday," Jo eventually said into the silence. George's whole body stiffened. "He told you then," She replied almost resignedly, thinking that she would quite likely kill John when she saw him. "No, he didn't," Jo slightly admonished her. "I'm not entirely inept at picking up on feelings, George." "No, I know you're not," George said bleakly. "But I didn't want you to know." "That was obvious," Jo said matter-of-factly. "Why did you do it?" "Jo, John's birthday was supposed to be special, not just for him, but for all of us. I knew you'd enjoyed it, as I knew he was, and the last thing I wanted was for anything to spoil it. But then I suppose faking it isn't something you've ever had to do, is it," She added almost bitterly. "No, it isn't," Jo insisted vehemently. "Because I wouldn't ever give anyone the satisfaction of thinking they'd given me pleasure when they clearly hadn't." George's lips twitched upwards into half a smile. "And I certainly don't want you to fake an orgasm with me, not ever. If it really isn't what you want, you should say so, not put up with it because it makes either John or me feel better." "Not something you've ever thought you'd hear, is it," George said miserably, "that Georgia Channing has gone right off sex." "It happens," Jo said matter-of-factly. "To all of us. Wasn't that what you said to John only a couple of months ago?" "That's different," George said dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous," Jo told her fondly. "You'll get over it, just as John did, and the more you fret about it, the worse it will become." As they cuddled even closer to drift towards sleep, George wondered where half of herself had gone in these last few weeks. She felt cut asunder from her fully-fledged soul, as though the part of her that was capable of feeling happiness had been parted from her forever. In the kitchen, the light on the answering machine flickered, something Jo had completely failed to notice.
On the Sunday morning, Jo felt well rested and peaceful. As she went to make them both a cup of tea, she saw a coat and a pair of discarded shoes in the hall that she ought to have recognised as not having been there the night before. But in her sleepy, slightly befuddled state, she dismissed this as completely normal. But when she entered the kitchen, she found her eldest son Tom, sitting at the table eating a bowl of cornflakes. "What are you doing here?" Jo asked in astonishment. "Good morning to you too, Mum," He said with a slightly pained grin in her direction. "I didn't know you were coming home," Jo said, moving to fill the kettle. "A little thing called an answering machine?" Tom suggested, gesturing at the flickering unit in the corner of the kitchen worktop. Staring at it blearily, Jo realised that she hadn't checked its contents the night before. "A load of us got invited to a Christmas party down here, so I thought I'd save myself the hotel bill."
Having heard voices, George dragged herself out of bed to see who it was. When she appeared in the kitchen, Tom stared at her, a spoon of cornflakes half way to his mouth. George looked sleepy, tousled, and thoroughly adorable in Jo's eyes, but she would have preferred to keep this particular part of her life from her sons. "Wow," He said in awe. "And who was it who said that one always knows what one's mother gets up to on the quiet." Blushing furiously, Jo said, "George, this is my eldest son Tom, who neglected to let me know that he would be staying here after a party last night." "Mum, it isn't my fault that you don't listen to your answer phone," Tom insisted, returning to his cornflakes after giving George the visual once over. "Tom, this is George Channing..." "...Your new girlfriend," Tom finished for her. "Something like that," Jo admitted sheepishly. Tom looked thoughtful. "George Channing," He said, the name clearly having sparked off some memory. "But didn't you always use to..." "...Hate my guts," George finished for him. "Yes, she did. Funny how things change." "Oh, well," Tom said as he rose to put his bowl in the dishwasher. "As long as you're happy, Mum." "Thank you," Jo said, giving him a soft smile, this brief word of approval meaning so much to her. "Hey, does this mean that you've finally given the judge the elbow?" Tom asked, clearly hoping this to be the case. "It's complicated," Jo told him evasively. "Mum," Tom said smiling broadly. "Even I know not to run two people at the same time." "And why doesn't that surprise me?" "Yeah, yeah, okay," Tom replied with a shrug. "Just one thing though, Mum, I wouldn't tell Mark about this. He's not likely to be so open-minded about it." "I had absolutely no intention of mentioning this to your brother," Jo told him, entirely agreeing with his assessment of his brother's probable attitude. "I've had quite enough arguments with Mark to last me a lifetime." As Tom walked towards the kitchen door, he stopped next to George. "You know something, there's one very distinct bonus about you being here this morning," He told her with a conspiratorial smile. "It's prevented my mother from giving me the usual lecture about treating this house like a hotel." "I could soon start," Jo warned him as he departed and went back to his room. When there was silence in the kitchen once more, George said, "Well, that was a little unexpected." "Yes," Jo agreed dryly. "He's a credit to you, Jo," George told her sincerely. "I wouldn't have expected any offspring to be quite so accommodating."