Part One Hundred And Twenty Six
On the Wednesday afternoon, George lay in her bed, perfectly still and absolutely silent. To say that she was hiding would have been an understatement. She was thankful that both John and Jo were at court, that Karen was at work, and that neither Charlie nor her father had yet been told. These were the only people from whom she might have expected an unwelcome visit. It had been lovely to see John in the morning, and he had stayed for a good couple of hours, but on observing that she was clearly tired, he had left, promising to come back later. She could hear the April shower pattering against the window, the late afternoon light having almost gone in the sudden early March storm. If she stayed perfectly still as she was now, she could almost forget that she had a drain in her chest and a drip in her arm, not to mention the leads fixed to her chest, keeping track of her every breath and heartbeat. It was only when she moved, or attempted to get out of bed to go to the bathroom that everything seemed to hurt, tearing at the stitches in the place where her left breast had been. She looked terrible, she knew that even without looking in a mirror. She hadn't worn make up for two days, and because of the drain and the bandages, she hadn't been allowed near a shower since the previous morning. She kept drifting in and out of a doze, day seeming to merge with night, in one long, endless hollow of pain and despair. She didn't have the energy to cry, or to shout, simply wanting to forget she existed. She hadn't eaten since Monday, and that had been almost under duress from Tricia, which was why they'd been drip feeding her ever since her admission. Her brain felt so numb, that she couldn't even be bothered to lie there counting the quiet beeps of the monitor that told them all whether she was dead or alive.
When the door quietly opened, George kept her eyes tightly shut, hoping her visitor would assume she was asleep. But Connie Beauchamp hadn't dealt with human beings on a daily basis for nearly thirty years, without being instantly able to tell whether one was or wasn't asleep. It was the perfume that George recognised at first, that subtle, very expensive scent that had been in John's chambers, on the day she'd caught him in afterglow with Connie. Opening her eyes in shock, George simply stared as Connie approached her. "So, you remember me then?" Connie asked, inwardly kicking herself for the inanity of her opening comment. "I'd be hard put not to recognise that perfume," George said dully. "Though it's far nicer without the added overtones of John's aftershave and sex." "I'm sure it is," Connie replied, not letting George's jibe halt her in her tracks, though it had forcefully reminded her that she was dealing with no amateur here, but a true expert in the ways and means of verbal cut and thrust. "Do you know why we've had you so closely monitored for the past twenty four hours?" "Professor Kahn said something about me beating out of time when I was under the knife yesterday." "You had some minor arrhythmias. It means that your heart was beating unevenly. But don't worry, it's quite a common side effect of a general anaesthetic. Though in your case," Connie added slowly, "there is an added factor that could have accounted for this." "What, the fact that I smoke too much?" "No, though that wouldn't have helped," Connie said with a half smile. "In order to keep functioning properly, the heart requires a satisfactory level of protein. This is what keeps the arteries flexible and strong. I think it's fair to say that your body hasn't been receiving enough nourishment of any kind recently. Wouldn't you agree?" "Tell you that as well, did they?" George demanded acidly, her building inner fury in complete contrast to Connie's state of calm, self-assured professionalism. "The fact that you are seriously underweight, and worryingly undernourished, is in your notes, yes," Connie replied, moving over to look at the monitor screen. After watching it for a while and examining the wave patterns for the previous few hours, she added, "I think the leads can come off now." George did her best to remain absolutely still whilst Connie gently removed the latex pads from her chest, but Connie felt every inward flinch, whenever her hands came into contact with George's skin.
When she'd removed the leads and switched off the monitor, Connie sat down in the chair on the other side of George's bed. "How do you feel?" She asked gently. "Like I want to be left alone," George said bitterly. "Is that too much to ask?" "No," Connie said mildly. "But I don't think it's doing you any good." "Really," George said derisively. "And even if company might be the best thing for me, what in the world makes you think I'd want it to be you?" Connie concealed a smile. It was working. She'd known her presence would wind George up, make her begin to express her anger, and she'd been absolutely right. But she thought that the real place to start prodding, was that day just over three weeks ago now. It had been in the middle of that bloody trial. It had been at the end of the afternoon, and she'd been testifying for the prosecution, the drip of a CPS barrister having laboriously taken her through her evidence, with the cross-examination from the defence to follow in the morning. Connie had been accosted by the Judge's clerk, and asked to pay him a visit in chambers. Ever one to keep a man waiting, Connie had gone into the ladies' to touch up her make up. George had been the only other woman in there, standing in front of the mirror, with her hand inside her jacket, clearly in the middle of touching her breast through her clothes. Connie had immediately seen this for what it was, a woman who had discovered something that worried her, and who was examining it at every possible opportunity. George had looked incredibly guilty at being caught doing something so private in a public place. Not being able to deny what she'd been doing, George had briefly opened up to her about it. But then Connie's attempts to get George to do something about her fears had been ruined, by George catching Connie with John little more than an hour later.
"I'm not here to say I told you so," Connie said, getting to the heart of the matter. "You could have fooled me," George said dryly. "And let's face it, you were right." "Even if you'd done something about this earlier, you might still have ended up with the same result." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" George asked scathingly. "Because it's doing a pretty poor job of it. What was it you said to me three weeks ago? Oh, yes that you knew exactly what you were talking about, because you'd seen what untreated tumours could do. Well, believe me, you don't." "Why?" The question was perfectly innocuous, but George seemed to use it as an opportunity to really get into her stride. "Do me a favour," George said curtly. "Go and look in that mirror over there, or shall I save you the trouble. You are extremely attractive, incredibly sexy to the point of erotic fantasy, and you have everything that men, or women for that matter, would find desirable. After all, it's not as if John had any complaints, did he, and I can promise you, he's a connoisseur of such things." "That's what's really bothering you about this, isn't it," Connie said gently, momentarily stunned by George's unequivocal description of her. "Well, after seeing what the likes of you have to offer, do you blame me?" George said caustically, forcefully reminding Connie that George had quite literally seen everything Connie had to offer a man, when she'd caught her with John in his chambers. "I think you might give both John and Jo credit for more than a little sensitivity." "Oh, you think you know him that well, do you," George said disdainfully. "Because believe me, after all the years of being subjected to John's constant inability to keep his hands off other women, I know just how easy he'll find it to pick up someone infinitely more desirable than I'm likely to be, and leave Jo out of this," She added, the issue of Jo's possible reaction to her appearance far too hurtful to contemplate. "If they love you, it won't make any difference," Connie replied, almost despising herself for giving George such a standard, pathetically professional response. "Well, I'll find out when this lot's finally taken away," George said dismissively, gesturing to the cluster of drain and dressings. "Besides," She added bitterly. "I used to think that John loved me enough, not to screw some random surgeon, who just happened to catch his eye from the witness box." I deserved that, Connie was astonished to find herself thinking. "His doing that with me really hurt you, didn't it," She said quietly. "More than you will ever know," George said, the tightness in her chest and the lump in her throat, giving her voice a slightly strangled edge. "I love John, for all his faults, but I won't even be able to hold him with his usual antidote to stress any more." "I'm sorry," Connie said into the silence, before she could think better of it. "I know, for what it's worth," George said dully. "And I also know that it's the first time you've ever felt the need to apologise for doing such a thing." "If I'd known it was going to cause this much hurt, I never would have done it." "Yes, you would," George said matter-of-factly. "I suspect it might even have given you an extra thrill, to know that you had the power to temporarily take someone like John away from not just one, but two women." Connie was momentarily thrown. Without being aware of it, George had well and truly hit the nail on the head. Connie did use sex to get her what she wanted, she always had done. "Tell me," Connie asked, trying to change the subject a little. "If this had been Jo, not you having a breast removed, how would you react?" "In theory, I wouldn't give a damn what she looked like, as long as she was alive. But I can't pretend that I wouldn't be incredibly nervous at showing my immediate reaction to how she looked." "And don't you think that that's how Jo might be with you?" "I don't know," George said miserably. "It took her long enough to get used to the idea of being sexually involved with a woman. This might be the thing to really frighten her off. As for John, well, I know only too well how fickle he can be with regards to female flesh." "I know you don't want to hear this," Connie said carefully. "But you're not going to make the situation any better by not eating." "You're quite right there," George said tartly. "I don't want to hear it." Connie realised that with the reference to her anorexia, the barriers had gone right back up. "But as your surgeon," Connie continued valiantly. "It is my duty to point this out. I don't want to give you more scars than you've already got, but keep on going the way you are, and you will be back under the knife, only this time it'll be mine." "Tell me," George said cuttingly. "Precisely how do you deal with the parts of your life that you don't much like? Though I suspect I can already come up with an answer. I expect you sleep with more men than you've ever cut up, in order to cover up an enormous great gap somewhere in your life, in the same way that I stop eating, because physical discomfort and deprivation are far easier to deal with than the acknowledgement of my many and varied failures. Am I right?" Connie sat stunned, simply staring at this woman, a woman whom she'd come in here to help, who had just told her more home truths than she'd heard in a long time. "You don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do you?" George almost taunted. "Yes, admittedly what I do is bad for me, I know that. But at least it doesn't routinely hurt anyone but me." This seemed to snap Connie out of her speechlessness. "And just what do you suppose both John and Jo would do if you died?" She demanded. "I don't know," George said quietly. "They managed relatively satisfactorily without me before, so I'm sure they would again, in time." "You really have no idea, do you?" Connie said in astonishment. "You wouldn't know this, because you were still out from the anaesthetic for most of last night, but Jo didn't leave your side from the time you came back from theatre yesterday, and when John arrived in the early evening, they stayed here with you, until Tricia virtually had to throw them out. When Jo saw you, when we brought you back, I briefly thought I was going to have to admit her alongside you. When John arrived, he asked Ric and Zubin more questions than I suspect he usually does in court, his most difficult one being why had you left it so long before seeking treatment. So, don't you dare try and tell me that they won't stand by you in this, because anyone with any common sense can see they will. You would too, if you had half an ounce of self-esteem in you. If you want to get through this, you've got to start fighting, because believe me, your battle has only just begun." "I can't lose either of them," George said in a tiny, strangled voice, the tears now pouring down her cheeks. "I love them both, so much." Getting up to perch on the edge of the bed, Connie helped George sit up, put her arms round the far too thin body, trying not to put any pressure on George's wound. George clung to her, needing someone, anyone, to prevent her from sliding altogether off her crumbling ledge of sanity. She gently held George, just letting her cry, allowing her to begin the grieving process for a part of her body that had made her the woman she was. George's hurt was almost violent, but it needed to come out. If she'd allowed it to remain inside, it would corrode her just as skilfully as the cancer itself. "I shouldn't be doing this," George said, eventually beginning to calm down. "Yes, you should," Connie said gently. "You need to." "Why are you doing this?" George asked, as Connie leaned over to reach the box of tissues on the bedside table. "Because having had first hand experience of your anger via cross-examination, I knew you would need someone to shout at, and having already established something for you to niggle at with John, it only made it easier for you to start letting it out." "I really don't know what I'd do without John and Jo. I know it's a pretty bizarre set up, but it works for us. Well, most of the time anyway." "If it works, then it doesn't matter how bizarre the set up," Connie said matter-of-factly. She could see that George had worn herself out with both the sniping and the crying. As George lay back down, and Connie adjusted the bedclothes around the drain, George could feel the energy seeping out of her. "I never knew that arguing could be so exhausting," She said drowsily. "You're still very weak," Connie replied. Then, taking George's hand, she said, "Promise me something, try to start looking after yourself, because you're not going to make it through the next few months if you don't." George gave her a tired smile. "I'll do you a deal," She said, the tiredness gradually taking her over. "I start looking after myself, and you stop hiding behind the front of part time man eater." "We'll see," Connie said with a small smile, making no promises. She waited until George drifted into a restless sleep, wondering if, by chance, she may finally have come across the knot in her so far smooth scane of sexual power.