Part One Hundred And Thirty Five
George woke early on the Sunday morning, which was almost certainly due to the fact that she had slept so long and soundly the day before. She lay perfectly still, listening to the silence of the sleeping house around her. She was back home, back in her own bed, something that may have seemed a trifle to others, but which was for her a thankful step forward. But when she heard a soft thud, as Mimi left the warmth of John and Jo's bed in the spare room, followed by the dog's usual shake, she couldn't help but smile. But when the little whippet padded across the landing and nosed open George's half-closed bedroom door and began plucking with a paw at the edge of the duvet, George glanced over at the clock to see that it was barely seven o'clock. Putting a hand down, she gently scratched the dog's head. But when Mimi returned to the door and emitted a quiet but insistent whine, George sluggishly pulled herself into a sitting position, stifling a cry of pain as this pulled at her stitches. Emerging from the comforting warmth of the duvet and putting her feet over the side of the bed, she put out her hand to the little dog. "Do you want to go out?" She asked Mimi quietly, words which started the dog's tail wagging in earnest. Wrapping herself in her thickest, most concealing dressing gown, George followed Mimi down the stairs, and after unlocking the back door, she let her out into the garden. "Don't you dare dig up my roses," She warned Mimi as she slipped passed her ankles. After closing the door to keep out the early morning chill, George quietly made herself a cup of tea, not wanting to disturb either occupant of the bed upstairs. Thinking that she really ought to eat something, she selected a banana from the fruit bowl, but only managed half of it before her stomach felt almost too full.
She stood and watched the little dog out of the kitchen window, though it was barely light. When Mimi came nosing at the back door to be let in, George opened it with a smile, thinking that this little wonder probably kept John well on his toes. Clicking her fingers at the wayward animal, who was heading straight for the most comfortable corner of the sofa, George led the way back upstairs. But as she started the bath running, Mimi leapt up onto the bed, settling into the warm nest of the folded back duvet. As George sank gratefully into the steaming, scented water, she reflected that this was a very simple luxury that hospital just couldn't provide. She lay there, listening to the gently singing birds through the open window, the hot water relaxing her muscles and allowing her thoughts to wander. She occasionally dozed in that fragrant bath, waking an hour or so later to find that the water had cooled. Pulling herself out of the bath, she discovered that the dressing covering her scar was damp around the edges, and definitely needed renewing. After having dried off, she dug out the replacement dressings that Tricia had given her, and sat on the edge of the bed, first peeling away the dampened dressing, then beginning the arduous task of trying to replace it. The angle at which her scar ran, from her breastbone to under her arm, made it very difficult to get the new dressing in the correct position.
Jo and John had drifted languidly into consciousness, both of them having slept soundly because George was again home with them. Whilst John took a shower in the bathroom next door, Jo lay drifting under the duvet, until George's muffled curse reached her ears. Dragging herself out of bed, she walked across the landing and put her head round the half open door of George's bedroom. "Are you all right?" Jo asked as she moved into the room, seeing that George was having considerable trouble replacing her dressing. "Jo," George replied, almost in fright, turning her body away from Jo's bleary eyed gaze. "Did I wake you?" "No," Jo said with a yawn. "But you sounded as though you were having trouble." "Stupid bloody thing," George said in complete disgust. "My scar is at precisely the wrong angle for me to cover it properly." "Do you want me to do it?" Jo asked, though knowing exactly the kind of reaction she would receive. "Not really," George said carefully, not wanting to totally disregard Jo's kindness. "I just don't want you to see it." "George," Jo said gently, softly rubbing her bare shoulder. "If you really can't do it yourself, it's either me or John. There is absolutely no point in struggling with it, when I can help you." After a long, very tense pause, George said, "All right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Smiling slightly, Jo took the clean dressing from George's hand. "You might not want to hear it," She said, gently persuading George to turn back to face her. "But you are exactly the same as John, in that you always have to have the last word." "And you ought to know by now," Quipped back George, trying to ignore the fact that Jo could now see her scar in all its bruised and stitched glory. "That to allow John to have the last word, is the way to make him feel even more powerful and self-righteous than he already does." As Jo carefully fixed the dressing in place, George visibly cringed away from her, screwing her eyes up tight so that she didn't have to see Jo's face. "It doesn't look as bad as you think, you know," Jo told her gently. "What, so it doesn't look odd, ugly and altogether unnatural?" "Admittedly, it will probably look better once the stitches have been removed, and it's had time to calm down," Jo said matter-of-factly. "And yes, it obviously does make you look different. I've never seen anyone with only one breast before, but that doesn't prevent me from still finding you almost unbearably attractive. Under all that fear of the unknown, you're still you, you're still George Channing, the woman who taught me what it meant to fall in love with one of my own sex." George just stared at her, these words from Jo moving her almost to tears. "I don't know quite how it's possible for you to look so tired, after all the sleep you had yesterday," Jo continued, changing the subject to one that was a lot more comfortable for both of them. "But I think you should go back to bed." "Yes," George agreed with her, pulling on the clean nighty that lay on the bed beside her. "Whoever would have thought that simply taking a bath would be quite so exhausting."
It was the middle of Sunday afternoon when Charlie finally appeared. George had been lazily drifting between sleeping and waking, but had been brought to full alertness by the sound of the doorbell, followed by Mimi's yapping little bark. John was pleased to see Charlie, but he didn't like the slightly narrowed eyes and the determined look on her face that nearly always spelt trouble. "How is Mum?" She asked, not batting an eyelid at Jo's presence, though it did give her some unanswerable questions later on. "Why don't you go up and see her?" John suggested. "I was just about to take her a cup of tea." Waiting for John to make the tea, Charlie stroked Mimi, wanting something to do to break the slightly awkward silence. She wasn't looking forward to seeing her mother, but she knew it was something that had to be done, if only to keep up the sham of appearances that they always had tried to maintain. When John handed her two steaming mugs, Charlie went up the stairs, fervently hoping that her mother was asleep, so that she wouldn't be forced to make polite conversation.
When Charlie appeared in the doorway, George looked up in surprise. "Charlie," She said. "This is a nice surprise." "I would have come to see you in hospital," Charlie said as she put one of the mugs down on the bedside table. "But I've been busy." Charlie knew this to be the feeblest of all feeble excuses, but George simply accepted it. "So, how are you?" Charlie asked, sitting down in the big armchair in the corner. "Oh, you know," George said with a slight shrug. "It hurts when I so much as move a muscle, and I can't seem to do anything but sleep." "And how's Dad dealing with it?" Charlie asked, wanting to get off the subject of her mother as quickly as possible. "He's worried and slightly terrified just as I am," George told her matter-of-factly. "But whatever happens, he's got Jo to cling to whenever necessary." "It doesn't bother you that she's here?" Charlie asked, her slight hope that it would, clearly showing in her face. "No, not in the slightest," George replied, totally throwing Charlie yet another puzzle to solve. "Much as it may surprise you, Charlie," She continued firmly. "I am well aware of your father's relationship with Jo, just as she is of his relationship with me, and believe it or not, it actually seems to work that way." George was extremely careful not to add that she and Jo were also involved, as that was a conversation she really didn't have the strength for. "Yeah, until you get sick of him again," Charlie couldn't help throwing back. "Let's face it, that's what happened in the beginning, wasn't it. You couldn't handle the idea of Dad loving someone else more than you, so you divorced him." "There was a lot more to it than that, as well you know," George said quietly. "I will never stop loving your father, no matter what he does. Deep down, I don't think I ever did." "Mum, even I know that any man, even one with Dad's capacity for picking up women who can keep him amused, cannot possibly love two women, not really love them." "That is where your relative innocence and total naivety betray you," George said a little coldly. "If you want to know how your father can profess to loving two women at one and the same time, just ask him, I'm sure he'll be pleased to explain it to you." "Oh, don't get me wrong," Said Charlie a little scornfully. "I can see what you get out of it, at least at the moment anyway. Someone to run around after you, someone to take care of you, someone to start replacing that outer self-confidence that you usually wear like an armour." "Don't you dare continue with that particularly pathetic line of unfounded argument," George replied bitterly. "I would give anything, absolutely anything I had in the world, for your father not to be affected by what has happened to me. He is doing everything possible to try and make me feel loved, cared for and infinitely precious to him. He is hurting about this far more than I thought he would, and I wish with all my might that it didn't have to be like that. So don't you ever tell me that I like having your father feeling as bitterly guilty as I know he does." "Guilty?" Charlie asked in angry astonishment. "What has he got to feel guilty about? You're the one who kept this quiet long enough for it to become a matter of life and death. You're the one who thought it was a good idea to let him go off to Warwick, knowing absolutely nothing about what was happening to you. I bet that was why you did it, wasn't it. That was why you left it so long before getting any treatment, so that you could milk as much sympathy as possible out of Dad and Jo and anyone else." "You really have got a lot of growing up still to do," George said as she pulled herself up to lean against the pillows. "Come here," She said, patting the duvet on the side of the bed. When Charlie did so, and was sitting where her mother had gestured, George said, "Take a long, hard look at what I've got left." Charlie was slightly hesitant to follow her mother's request, but eventually her eyes drifted to the front of George's nighty, where she could hardly miss the fact that only one breast was filling the thin cotton covering her. "Not exactly pretty, is it," George continued a little acidly. "So when you are valiantly hoping that your father will finally give up on me, just try and picture how he will feel when he sees how unattractive I will very likely be to him, because when he does, you might just get your wish." "Mum, I..." Charlie began, feeling just a little guilty for her outburst. "Don't try and tell me you're sorry," George told her bitterly. "Because I think after all these years of being referred to as The Ice Maiden, I ought to know better." Charlie stared at her aghast, not having known that her mother knew about that. "You didn't think I was aware of that delightful little accolade, did you," George continued, refusing to let Charlie see just how much she'd hurt her. "Now, why don't you do us both a favour and go? I am tired, and have had quite enough verbal battering for one day." As she turned away from her daughter, sinking back beneath the duvet, Charlie got up from the bed and silently left the room, closing the door behind her.
When Charlie appeared downstairs, John could see that something had happened. An aura of tension seemed to radiate from her, and John found himself wondering who had come off worst in the latest of George's and Charlie's arguments. "I need to get home," Charlie said without preamble, wanting to escape this house as quickly as possible. "I've got some work to do before tomorrow." Seeing John's swift glance in her direction, Jo took the initiative. "Would you like a lift?" She asked Charlie. "I've got to drop in at home for something, so it wouldn't be out of my way." This wasn't entirely untrue, so it provided the perfect excuse to try and talk to Charlie. "Thanks," Charlie replied with a smile, always having found Jo's company to be very restful compared to George.
As they drove through the streets towards Charlie's flat in Paddington, Jo finally raised the subject that was flickering all over Charlie's face. "Did you argue with George?" She asked into the silence, as the windscreen wipers fought with the sudden shower of rain. "Is it that obvious?" Charlie replied gloomily. "Just a little," Jo admitted with a slight smile. Charlie was silent for a while, trying to sort out what she wanted to say. "Nearly every time I see Mum, she really manages to wind me up, that's all." Jo's expression showed that she thought this to be a pretty lame answer, so Charlie continued to explain. "It's never been what you might call easy with her," She said quietly. "And especially not when I was little." "Charlie, something you must try to understand," Jo began carefully. "Is that none of us can ever predict how we will feel when we have a child. Even when everything around you, from things you might read to the midwives who are there to help you, are telling you that this is the most wonderful thing in your life, loving your child, and successfully bonding with him or her, is never an easy thing to do. There are times when the last thing you want in the world is to be a mother, because you feel nothing but a total failure for not being able to simply get your child off to sleep." "I didn't ask her to have me just because Dad wanted a baby," Charlie threw back defiantly. "I didn't ask her to push both Dad and me away just because the only person she could really love was herself." Jo inwardly winced at this last statement. "She was always far too wrapped up in her career to care about either of us," Charlie persisted. "No wonder Dad started picking up every bit of skirt he could lay his hands on." "I would like to think that I meant a little more to him than that," Jo said quietly, reminding Charlie that Jo had originally been one of her father's little distractions. "I'm sorry," Charlie said contritely. "Besides, you were never like that. I think Dad loved you from the first moment he met you. That was why Mum finally divorced him, you know," She continued. "Because of you. I suppose she couldn't handle the fact that Dad had finally found someone who was actually capable of loving him back." There was a long, thoughtful silence between them as they sat in the car, caught behind a line of traffic. "When I was younger," Charlie suddenly said, her voice sounding truly wistful. "I used to wish that you'd been my mum." "Charlie, you have a mum," Jo said quietly, though feeling immensely touched at the compliment. "I know," Charlie said regretfully. "And just occasionally, maybe once in a blue moon, she really does act like a mum. Like the first time I got really drunk, she couldn't have been nicer to me." "What happened?" Jo asked with a smile, remembering the occasional times that either Mark or Tom had arrived home very much the worse for wear. "I was sixteen," Charlie explained. "And Dad thought I was going to the cinema with a couple of friends. When it dawned on me that no way could I go home in the state I was, because I would have risked being grounded for at least a fortnight, I ended up on Mum's doorstep instead. It was pretty obvious just how plastered I was, so she phoned Dad and made some excuse for me being there instead of home with him. I swear I've never felt quite so bad as I did that night, but Mum really looked after me. Then, before Dad came to pick me up in the morning, she said that she wouldn't tell Dad this time, but warned me that if I ever turned up on her doorstep like that again, she would tell him. The funny thing was, she was right, and it worked. Then there was the time I got pregnant. Dad was being his usual optimistic, totally unrealistic self, and when I told Mum, she helped me. I just wish she could have been like that all the time, not just on the odd occasions when Dad either wouldn't or couldn't get through to me." "George does love you, Charlie," Jo told her sincerely. "It's not something she can explain either to herself or to anyone else, but in her own way, she cares a great deal for you." "Whenever I'm with her," Charlie said with a shrug. "She makes all the anger come out in me, almost as though I'm a different person." "And that was precisely how I used to react to her too," Jo said with a slight smile. "George used to have the ability to make me angrier than everyone else in the entire world put together, and she knew it, and would take advantage of it at every given opportunity." "So what happened?" Charlie asked, wondering just how Jo had managed to overcome her perfectly natural animosity. "I love your father, and so does she," Jo tried to explain. "This meant that to avoid even more endless years of constant bitterness and recrimination, we had to come to an understanding. John will never entirely commit to one woman, because he simply isn't capable of it, and even two can occasionally stretch his powers of restraint. But in loving John as we do, we have come to understand not only him, but each other." "Does she really love him?" Charlie asked, not quite ready to believe this. "Oh yes," Jo said firmly. "That's why she originally tried to do her absolute best for you, because she knew that a child was the one thing in the world that John wanted above everything else. No matter how difficult she may have found her own feelings concerning you, the fact that a child was John's greatest wish was probably what kept her going." Then, as they drew up in front of Charlie's flat, Jo made one last salient point. "You do still have a mother, Charlie, a mother who will always want to do her best for you, no matter how much you might hurt her by the kind of thing I suspect you said this afternoon. Please don't waste that opportunity to find some common ground with her, because that opportunity may not always exist. Try to make the most of your mother, while you still have her."