John's concerns pressed particularly heavily on him as he got home after a particularly wearisome day in court and he lay back while a soothing classical CD played. It crossed his mind that he might have been an emotional cripple all his life and therefore overdue for therapy. Nevertheless, he felt destined to be increasingly supportive of the troubles of those near and dear to him. In a covert way, this had been part of his role in life as a barrister and then a judge, and not just the by-product of his profession. After all, had he not gone out of his way to right injustices, to offer that compassion as filtered through the dry and dusty legal tomes and precedents? It meant that he was uniquely empowered to release the afflicted, and to open up their horizons where the scales of justice could be rightfully tilted that way. The other part of his role was as an avenging force of justice to bring home the consequences of moral transgressions, however rich and powerful the culprits fancied that they might be.
The combination of his learning and his facility with the spoken word was a finely honed skill in a courtroom, but he had been belatedly learning to apply it to his troubled home life. The John Deed that went home to Jo's and George's personal troubles was far less confident and self assured. He felt that he was a novice in the arts of being a carer, and was conscious that he wore L-plates when it came to compassion at home.
He mulled over what George had gone through over the years, first her anorexia and then her breast cancer and how much the chemotherapy treatment had taken it out of her. For all that, she had been unobtrusively there for him with her quietly undemanding and unselfish care for him in the aftermath of that last emotionally shattering therapy session. Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes. When he thought about it, she had always been an extravagant and extrovert dresser but she had worn her virtues in a self-denying fashion. She had always played up to her image of being hard, uncaring and only intent on material self advancement, and a careless observer might have judged her by that mask. Regrettably, George's act had worked far too well where Charlie was concerned. He had always really known different, and had seen that split second when she let down her guard. Now others could see what he had always known about her, even unconsciously when their mutual recriminations had signaled the end of their marriage. He smiled affectionately for her as his mind dissolved away peacefully in a dream.
He couldn't help noticing that something had improved on his immediate concentration on recent events, and had given him some kind of Olympian perspective of their past. He could place all events in their historical perspective, shading back in time. Both the busy life of a judge and his temperament hadn't allowed himself that luxury up till now.
In this mode of contemplation, he was not surprised that Jo's face gradually took shape before his eyes. His perspective shifted straight away to that sensible, level headed woman whom he had always believed her to be. He conceded that although both he and George had gently stretched her self-imposed boundaries, Jo would always be Jo. What he couldn't help thinking about was of the occasions when Jo and alcohol had violently collided with each other. In his present mood, it was easy to recall when once Jo had got drunk at his digs following the Jason Powell trial and another occasion when she was clearly incapable of taking her accustomed role at Barbara Mills trial and George had taken over.
His calm contemplation was jarred by that image that came into his mind. He could see it plainly as if it were yesterday. He had offered Jo a drink in his digs and, after a moment of hesitation, Jo had poured a large measure and had knocked it back in one go, the first of several drinks. His eyes had seen it but the moment had passed him by, unregarded. The visual image it conjured up disturbed him greatly. It was perfectly understandable to overlook it at the time, as he was more preoccupied with her furious rage at his judgment. She was in such a state that his urgent need to calm her down had swept everything away, until now. His eyes had seen and observed at the time even if his conscious mind hadn't drawn conclusions.
"When I was young, I used to accompany my father to AA meetings as a recovering alcoholic." Jo's voice jumped into his consciousness. He could hear the particular intonations in her voice.
That meant that her own father had struggled to bring himself back from the brink of total ruination, loss of self respect and letting down your nearest and dearest. That was a private hell that he could relate to, he reflected to himself ruefully. If Jo had once fought to help her father to escape that hell, it ought to have made her the very last person to be drawn down into that pit and should have made her especially resolute. The words ' ought to' echoed in his head. He sensed a trap. From his experience of therapy, he sensed that life was not so easy, that it did not run in obvious straight lines like that but had an internal logic of its own. He could almost hear Helen's challenging voice ask of him who in the scheme of things is totally invulnerable. Why, even Helen, that most professionally correct of women had let slip personal glimpses of herself, the third person he knew who had lost a mother early in life, George, Helen and himself, John Deed.
It was time to act, time to consult a wiser authority, someone who might have knowledge of such matters where he, John Deed, was an amateur. He needed that input. Casting his mind about the circle of friends that he knew, Karen's face jumped into its frame of just that fount of wisdom. His mind was made up. He reached for his mobile
"John, I haven't heard from you in ages. It's good to hear from you again."
John felt uplifted by the warm tone of Karen's voice. There was not a trace of reproach but the genuine pleasure in him melted his heart.
"To what do I owe you this call"
"I want to see you for some practical advice, Karen, on a medical matter. Is it all right if I come over and see you"
The mixture of directness and diffidence struck a new note with Karen. This wasn't the John Deed that she had known.
"Of course. No time like the present"
Karen's simple response made John feel more centred on his purpose. He knew what he had to do and was not afraid to act.
A little while later, John made his way up the flight of steps and into Karen's smart flat. One glance at her told him that she had not changed and neither had her home surroundings. It gave him a sense of reassuring normality. One glance told him that Karen had achieved her own sense of balance, since his hair raising experiences of seeing Karen gamble recklessly on top of the prison roof with her own life as well as Denny's.
"I assume that the demands of the prison service have kept you busy. From my limited experience in the past, I can't imagine that it would have got any easier"
"You're right there. It gets to the point that I feel more married to Larkhall than any man I've lived with. I do my best to fight it but there you are. Want a drink"
"I'm thirsty but mineral water will be fine, Karen. It's been a warm day"
Karen smiled briefly to herself and pored a couple of drinks, scotch for herself.
"So what do you want my opinion about, John"
"It's this way. I needed some advice from you on a medical matter, not my own I hasten to add. You have the advantage over a doctor because you are a friend and because you have a mind and opinions which I respect"
This is definitely not one of John's 'chat up' lines, Karen concluded. It was interesting that what John was saying had a new transparency of manner.
"Fire away. I'm all ears"
"Have you had any experience of any kind of an alcoholic, especially in the early stages"
Karen sipped her drink as an alternative to reaching for a cigarette. The question was very open ended.
"I've seen it in all shapes and sizes down the years, now that I remember. I started my training as a state registered nurse when I was 17 and joined the WRAF and then left to work at St Mary's Hospital. The forces and the medical profession both have a high percentage of alcoholism, the one because of a prevalent macho tradition, the other because of, well I don't know"
Karen's deliberately neutral and technical dissertation faded away, when she focused in on why, amongst the highly talented and highly dedicated intelligent surgeons, there were the walking casualties.
"Everyone has an idea of the obvious alcoholics, hanging round town centers. They include those who periodically end up at Larkhall where they end up temporarily drying out. When they serve their term, they end up back in their own private hell for lack of follow up action despite the best efforts of my officers. If you remember Denny Blood, that was exactly what happened to her mother. These are the obvious examples, who went past the point of no return many years ago. The problem is with those out there who work in occupations who just about cling on with their teeth, despite the odds is that they work unbelievably hard in concealing their addiction, first of all from themselves and then from their colleagues"
"How do they get into that situation in the first place and how on earth do they hold down their jobs"
"There are many patterns of alcoholic behaviour, John. Some are regular, steady drinkers who don't notice how it takes over their lives. Others binge drink, long periods of sobriety and then periodically falling off the wagon, whether in celebration of being let off the internal leash or just to drown their sorrows when events in life become too much for them. There's"
Karen was about to carry on her discourse when she saw John's eyes widen in shock, however frozen his features were. She fixed John with a penetrating look to pin him down to specifics
"You haven't asked to see me to talk about alcoholism in general but about someone you know. I know you better than that, John Deed."
John let out a long sigh of resignation. He was getting used to being pinned down by sharp eyes, perceptive women who saw through the guard that habit always erected at uncomfortable moments. The difference was that he was learning to stop fighting them off. He might as well bite the bullet and say what he had fully intended to say in the first place if it weren't for the problem in sometimes just coming out and saying it.
"You're right, Karen. It was foolish of me. Why I really wanted to tell you is that I'm worried about Jo"
The words sprang out of John's mouth with the speed of a bullet. It might have seemed indecent if John hadn't concluded that the situation was far better dealt with by getting to the heart of the matter.
"What makes you think that she has a drinking problem, John"
Karen's carefully deployed words centred John. It both carefully described and avoided stigmatizing her at the same time.
"There are events that I know from seeing with my own eyes"
John was on home territory, in the world of evidence, and he set out the facts as best as he knew them.
"And what is it that you sense and feel without putting your finger on it, John"
"Is there any merit in it? It could all be in my head"
"It could also be your intuition at work," Karen offered.
John shook his head. He dwelt in the world of verifiable facts and intellectual certainties. Intuition, whether feminine or otherwise, was a quality of mind he had heard of but which lay outside his experience even supposing it ever existed.
"The problem is that you and I know that we have not enough to go on. I can't advise you to do more but watch and wait." Karen finally concluded. She was touched for his unselfish concern for her and wished that she had more comfort to offer him She had to be gently honest about the matter.
"It seems somehow inadequate," John said at last.
"Sometimes, that is all we can do. If you are right, you will find out soon enough if your fears are justified if you can read the signs right."