Trisha was curious to find that Sally Anne was habitually the first of them to get up in the morning, even at the weekend. She could understand why the dark haired woman had to get up early in the week as she had to be up early for her job, while Trisha had has a late night working at the club and she tended to lie in. Every day, her half asleep mind could hear Sally clattering round the flat in a fidgety way and then there would be a pause before she shot out for her day at work. It was the weekends that puzzled her.
"Hey, babes," she would moan when a very nervous Sally Anne would slip out of bed. "It's Saturday morning, hey. No need to get up when it's everybody's weekends including mine."
"I'm ever so sorry," she would reply nervously," I'll just nip to the bathroom. I'll be back in a second."
Trisha would turn over in bed and hang in a state of limbo, being nearly asleep but not quite. She longed to slip back into sweet oblivion but Sally Anne's movements would stop her doing that. Finally, she would emerge and slip back into bed. Sally would cuddle up affectionately next to Trisha and remarkably quickly, she would settle down to sleep. In turn, Trisha would run her fingers over Sally Anne's nightie and through her long dark, slightly curly hair and would forgive her. When they finally awoke, the dark haired woman would be much more calm and relaxed than she had been. Trisha would just work round the up and downs of Sally Anne's moods and forgive her.
She had made her investigations as she had promised Nikki, first with Charles and through his friend in Harley Street and she had been clued in on the after effects of rape. It told her quite a lot that she hadn't realized and especially, how long lasting the effects were and she got the main message that she should be patient.
One day, Sally Anne was out and Trisha suddenly decided to have a tidy up in the bathroom. She would be the first to admit that she was a bit scatty with all her various lotions, oils and shower gels and left it in a stare of disarray. Quite honestly, if a baby purple elephant had lurked in the corner, she would never have noticed. This day was one where she thought she ought to take a periodic grip on that neglected, taken for granted corner of the house and really focus on chucking out redundant, nearly empty jars. When she entered the room, she was taken aback as she suddenly realized that everything looked different. When she focussed her sight properly, she realized that all the jars were arranged into neat little groups but when she studied them properly, she realized that the near empty containers hadn't been weeded. Trisha stared open mouthed. She didn't get it.
There was something about the arrangement that defied her natural inclination to tidy them away properly and junk the empties. She sat down on the toilet seat, as there was something about the situation that didn't make any sense.
What was a long forgotten part of the bathroom was the medicine store. Ever since Trisha had stopped smoking several years ago, her smoker's cough had gone out the window and had been perfectly healthy. She rooted through the long neglected stock and one out of date cough medicine bottle was wedged on top of headache pills. She started to have a sort out and see what of the medicines she could chuck. She fiddled right at the back of the recess and fished out a small plastic container that she didn't recognize. Her eyes focussed on the printout label and were totally nonplussed to see Sally Anne Howe's name and the printout of 10mg Diazepam.
"Jesus," exclaimed Trisha as wheels revolved round in her mind. Everything started falling into place, including Sally Anne's up and down moods and her insistence on being up in the morning. She stared at the bottle for a long time trying to piece everything together in her own mind. The conviction grew in her that they should talk about the one area of Sally's life that Trisha had delicately steered away from.
The first thing Trisha did was to lay hold of a medical dictionary and study exactly what she was up against. The phrases, "sweatiness, jitteriness, things moving, sensitivity to touch and panic attacks may be experienced as withdrawal symptoms in low therapeutic dose long term users of diazepam when discontinuing their diazepam medication." Everything now added up and it was pretty obvious just why she should have been taking tranquillizers in the first place. It meant that the growing feeling that she'd had in carrying their relationship like a ball and chain was displaced by the fact that there was a more tangible problem to deal with. The first thing she did was to pick up her phone and call the club which was just starting up.
"Gill," she called into the mouthpiece," can you look after everything for a couple of hours as I've got personal stuff to sort out. When I'm clear from that, I'll ring you."
"I'll do it but it's a busy night. I could do with some help later," came the surly reply. "Besides, you've got some cheques to sort out."
How on earth did she know that, Trisha thought to herself. She knows a lot about my business but I can't shout at her if she's covering for me.
" I'll be as quick as I can. You know how it goes," she replied in a conciliatory tone of voice, wondering if she was overdoing it. After all, Gill was her employee and the business was hers.
Sally came in from work barely ten minutes later to face a solemn faced Trisha holding in the air, that inconspicuous bottle of tablets. Instantly, her face turned white with shock and her feet froze to the spot. She hesitated a full minute before words came out in a hesitant, jerky delivery.
"I can explain this, Trisha. I was holding the tablets for a friend."
"Please, Sally. We need to talk. You've obviously got your problems and I want to help you."
Her soothing words and her left arm draped round the dark haired woman's shoulders did their best to soothe her down. To her thinking, her body felt very tense. Trisha couldn't help but notice that her eyes kept flicking to what Trisha's other hand was holding. She began to realise that the fact of someone else holding her tablets was making her nervy, even if that hand belonged to her lover.
"Do you want your tablets back, Sally?"
"Yes, if you please," the tight voice responded diffidently.
'Lets's chill out on the sofa and we'd better talk. If we're going to share our lives, we need to share anything important."
Sally nodded dumbly and the words started trickling out.
*****
"I wanted to talk to you, Nik as I've got problems." Trisha urged a few days later at Helen and Nikki's flat. The blond haired woman was normally very smartly groomed, every hair in place and also very cool, calm and collected. By contrast, both women picked up on Trisha's distracted manner and extreme worry in her eyes.
"Do you want me to go elsewhere, Trisha?" Helen offered solicitously.
"No, yes…no, Helen," Trisha said, hovering indecisively, her words coming in fits and starts before they finally came out in a rush. "Come to think of it, yes, both of you may be able to help. I can't help thinking that the time both of you spent at Larkhall might get me to the bottom of the problem…………I don't know what both of you know about drugs."
"Not as much as you think, Trisha. I used to grow cannabis plants in the prison garden…."
"I didn't know that, Nikki," Helen interjected, an expression of mixed surprise and amusement on her face. To think of it, Nikki once declared that she wasn't into drugs and I believed her. She's a dark horse.
"I only grew it as my bit of rebellion and to chill out. You wrote to me once to keep my nose clean so I mulched the lot. Honest." "OK, never mind that. My experience has been ordering drugs tests, which is at one remove. I've been offered a joint once but that made me cough my guts up……but what drugs are you talking about." "Tranquillizers, 10 milligram diazepam tablets to be precise," announced Trisha in a flat, clinical tone of voice. "I've seen some of the other women strung out on the stuff and obviously heard of the drugs black market at Larkhall but it wasn't my scene, something that messed with the heads of other woman…..but who do you mean, Trisha?" Nikki replied, her even tones of past experience, switching sharply into questioning suspicions. The options were sharply narrowed down in her mind."It's Sally Anne," deduced Helen. "Trisha, I'm really sorry for you."
The way her flat, unsurprised tones of voice quickly melted into real heartfelt sympathy
really got to Trisha. Now I can see why Nik really fell for Helen, Trisha thought, feelings of generosity welling up inside her.
"You're right, there is a problem," came her unsteady evasive reply," I talked to Sally at length and I now know that the after effects of being raped started off her problems, then being unemployed added to them and the real problem is that she's really struggling to function on the prescription. I don't know what to do."
"Is she taking more tablets than she should be?" questioned Nikki. Memories of vague background conversations floated back from the recesses of her mind of other prisoners who were forever complaining about how ill they were and how they needed the drugs what Dockley dealt so capriciously. Tranquillizers sounded more respectable than mainlined heroin but still……
"Not as far as I know," Trisha said uneasily. The tenor of the conversation worried her and she fell into a reflective silence.
Helen had gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance while Nikki and Trisha talked and the thought crossed her mind that she was blindly groping for. She finally broke the long pause.
"Did Sally Anne suffer from any nervous problems before she was raped?"
"Not as far as I know. I get the idea that she was a serious hard working policewoman who was content with her life."
"So you are definite that being raped by Gossard and being forced out of her job brought on all her present misfortunes. The tranquillizer problem essentially stems from then."
"Yeah, that's a fair conclusion," Trisha observed. She could see that Helen was clearly taking the conversation somewhere and she was ready to see what this clever woman was up to, whatever it was.
"At one time, Trisha, you'd though of Sally undergoing therapy with this Harley Street friend of yours when you thought Sally's problem was the after effects of being raped.
Could he treat Sally Anne for both sets of problems?"
"I don't see why not," breathed Trisha slowly as wheels revolved round in her mind.
"Then again, she might think about demanding reinstatement coupled with suing the Met for compensation if they won't play ball. Money doesn't solve everything but it might help eventually bring closure on the whole sorry episode. Both together would empower her rather than being having been kicked around while she's down. Legal action is pretty good therapy if you've got anyone around to give her all the backing she needs. What do you think, Trisha?"
The blond haired woman stared open mouthed at Helen's thoughtful judgment as if she were some magician pulling the proverbial set of bunnies out of the top hat from nowhere.
"Helen, you're a marvel," she exclaimed and gave her a big hug while Nikki looked on proudly as if to say, this is my wonder woman at work. The whole room felt lit up in brilliant colours, "I'll talk to Sally Anne and persuade her and if that doesn't work, you and Nik are only too welcome to try."
"That's what we're here for, babes, and in any other way. You'd do the same for us."
Trisha nodded her head emphatically. If she had to, she would move the world for her very loyal friends.
******
Jo was puzzled when she next encountered George in court. Thankfully, the judge was not John which guaranteed trouble from the word go but Monty Everard. His style of conducting a trial was along the lines of sturdy common sense and he was in the fortunate position of not having favoured either of them in personal relationships. Jo knew that George would be otherwise suspicious and uptight, forever suspecting favouritism in Jo's direction. Even then, George could and often was bombastic and would capriciously throw in spurious arguments and objections out of mischievousness. She would never forget that Jo had been directly responsible for the breakup of her marriage and refused to recognize that John's chronic infidelity had whittled away at their marriage to the point that John's involvement with Jo had been the final blow.
She was dealing with a case where the local authority was being sued for damages in failing to properly advise a woman who had fostered a boy who had shown alarming tendencies to violence. It was certain to be a controversial case and Jo's emotive tendencies were bound to clash with George's natural tendencies to side with organizations and against the individual. To her great surprise, George's manner was subdued by her standards and she approached her case in a thoroughly businesslike fashion and stuck to the business in hand. Why, she was beginning to think that George was becoming positively thoughtful and amenable.
The trial ended up as one of those table tennis matches where both sides batted the arguments back and forth and, while Jo established that the parent had a basic case, George built up a raft of mitigating circumstances in a quite fair and transparent fashion.
Right at the end, Monty delivered his judgment in favour of Jo's client but the compensation imposed on the council weren't too swingeing. There was a murmur of general assent at the end and a prompt declaration by the council representative that.
"Good trial, Jo. I enjoyed it," she declared in the locker room.
"I must admit that I was pleasantly surprised by the way the trial went. It's not that the judgment went in favour of my client but more that it was so easy going. Are you turning over a new leaf?"
"Not entirely, Jo. If I have a stronger case in future, I'll give you more of a run for your money. I just believed that the council had been slipshod and negligent without being actually criminal. It was a fair outcome that I was prepared for."
"That means you are turning over a new leaf," smiled Jo.
"Believe what you want to believe," answered George in her best enigmatic fashion. I'm afraid that you won't be seeing me for a few days as I shall be socializing with the highly talented Kay Scarpetta, chief medical examiner of the State of Virginia."
"Business or pleasure?" enquired Jo automatically, her eyes opened wide with amazement. She had heard that George had dumped Neil Haughton but by this account, was flying off in a completely different direction altogether.
"Both," answered George with total aplomb," the business side involves consulting her on a criminal case I have in the offing."
"Criminal law, eh? She has an international reputation and also an excellent line in Italian cuisine. It sounds like you're having a complete makeover."
"What you really mean by that remark, Jo, is that I am having a complete change of company from those fearful second hand car salesmen types who are my ex's political cronies. They bore me rigid and it is about time I cultivate some friends who are my choice. Even John, infuriating though he might be at times, has his advantages."
The wheels revolved faster in Jo's mind. George was being unbelievably frank and open with her. The inevitable thoughts that framed themselves in her mind begged to be articulated.
"So I'm not your worst enemy in the world, George?"
"Not in the least or why else would I be talking to you like this?"
With that startlingly direct response delivered, George strolled nonchalantly away towards the exit.