
An Authentic Life
Avril Osborne
Copyright© 2010 by Avril Osborne
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
As the ringing of the phone lifts her from early morning drifting, a deep weight of foreboding seems to hold her down on the bed. Who is ringing her at this hour? A glance at the clock through sleep-heavy eyes tells her that it is six-thirty. Fear grips Joanna as she checks her memory of last night. Yes, both boys were safely home by eleven and in their beds by midnight, back from a pal's party and not too seriously the worse for wear.
"Hello?" she whispers, hoping that the ringing has not already roused Baby Lou and the teenagers.
"Mrs Rodgers?" an unfamiliar female voice enquires.
"Yes. Who is it?"
"Mrs Rodgers. This is Staff Nurse Jackson at Inverness Royal."
Her foreboding crystallises into alarm. Somehow she knows what is coming. But her panic does not allow her to hear all the words. The main ones, she does hear: "Stephen". "Your husband". "Accident". "Can you come immediately?"
She knows this is bad without anything being said to confirm it. Anyone would know. But she is a hospital social worker across Inverness at the Royal's sister hospital -- the City. She has heard words like these too often as she has stood with nurses carrying out their dire task of informing next of kin.
"What ward?" she utters, expecting to be told that it is Critical Care. It is Accident and Emergency. They must still be working on him.
She puts the phone down and moves in a kind of slow motion to get out of bed. At least, that is how it feels. In reality, she is dressed in two minutes in the clothes she had on last evening -- a pair of denims and a sweatshirt. She has pulled them on over her pyjama shorts, and a bra is her only underwear. Nor does she put a comb through her short brunette hair. A brush of her teeth is her only concession to the ordinary ablutions of morning. She wants no smell of morning alcohol on her breath if she is to drive her car at this hour.
Leaving her room as quietly as she can, she hesitates at the door of her older boy, Jeremy. She is so tempted to rouse him and to have him and his early maturity to lean on. But she knows that would not be fair. His father is in hospital and he will need all his strength for himself if it is as bad as Joanna suspects it is. It is better if she makes the journey alone to the hospital and finds out how serious it is. But she still tiptoes into Jeremy's room and whispers into his ear that she has to go out. Will he look after his young sister? Jeremy is awake enough to grunt "yes" and to fumble to set the alarm clock to waken him at eight. He groans and then mutters, "what's up?" but she says nothing and he falls back to sleep. After all, he has no reason to be perturbed. His mother is a social worker and there is nothing unusual in her going out on some client-related emergency. He has looked after five-year-old Lou in the past and he enjoys the responsibility.
A moment later, she is fumbling with the air blast to her car windscreen, cursing that she did not garage the car last evening. This costs her four precious minutes on this damp October morning as she helplessly watches the car clock and listens to the heater booster roaring ineffectually at the damp inside the vehicle.
It seems like an eternity of frustration till she is easing the motor onto the quiet of the Sunday roads and towards the Royal. Mercifully, the car park is quiet at this hour and she finds a space right away near to the Emergency entrance.
Everything goes back to slow motion once again as she makes her way past a couple of stationary ambulances, through the automatic doors and to the desk where a receptionist is talking quietly on the phone, reassuring a relative about some young woman's well-being. The woman will be collected, Joanna gathers, within the hour by an anxious but relieved father.
She listens impatiently. Only her experiences of seeing so many members of the public losing their cool at moments like this stop her from pacing up and down in front of the reception desk. She tries to stand close enough to make it clear that she is waiting, far enough away to respect the work in progress. Finally, the young woman behind the desk puts the phone down and looks at Joanna.
For a split second, Joanna thinks that she sees a look of sympathy on the woman's face but, if it was there, it disappears in favour of one of quiet welcome as the receptionist waits for Joanna to speak.
"Stephen Rodgers? I'm Joanna Rodgers."
"Yes, Mrs Rodgers," the woman says with her pleasant, inscrutable smile. "If you would like to take a seat in the relatives' room, I'll ask the doctor to see you."
She does as she is told, resisting the urge to insist on seeing her husband right away. And, thankfully, the small, square and airless room is empty. Time seems to stand still again, though in reality it is only a few minutes before the door opens and a tall, bespectacled man of about thirty is standing in front of her. He checks that she is Mrs Rodgers, smiles quietly and closes the door behind him before sitting down opposite her. Somehow she knows what is coming. She makes it easy for him.
"Is he still alive?" She wonders how she finds the words.
He looks at her, holding her eye contact.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Rodgers. We did everything we could. But he died a few minutes ago."
She suspects now that Stephen was dead when the nurse rang her at home. That's how they do things to keep the next of kin as calm as possible between home and hospital. These are her first, pointless thoughts, thoughts before the emotions of shock and grief set in. She has nothing to say; she just knows that the silence will be filled with the doctor's account of what happened. She waits, feeling nothing. She can only stare at the white-coated young man.
"He came in about an hour ago, just after five o'clock. Was he depressed, Mrs Rodgers?"
It must be suicide. She knows that now. She distances herself.
"No. No, I don't think so. Not as far as I'm aware, anyway." She refuses to have that on her conscience.
"He was brought in from woodlands just outside the city. It appears that he drove his car at obvious speed straight at a tree. There was no one else involved and he was in the driving seat. The police say that a couple out for a late night walk after a visit to a nightclub found him."
The young doctor hesitates and looks at her, lowering his tone before he continues.
"He had multiple injuries. We also found a cocktail of drugs beside him. I am afraid that we are all but certain that it was suicide. The post mortem will confirm this of course. I am so sorry, Mrs Rodgers."
She listens in silence to all this, numb as all the realities begin to filter into her consciousness and into her new reality. She can think of only one thing to say.
"Can I see him, please?" Her tone is more a demand than a question or request.
The doctor looks at her, his presence quiet and supportive. His gaze is steady.
"I strongly advise against that, Mrs Rodgers." He hesitates. "His face took the brunt of the injuries."
She knows that, most likely, this is a euphemistic description of the condition that Stephen's body will be in. There. She has thought the thought for the first time. He is a body now, not a person any more. He is remains. A person is dead. That is significant, isn't it? She should be feeling something, shouldn't she?
She insists.
"I should identify him, shouldn't I?"
The doctor keeps his tone gentle and stretches a hand out to her arm.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Rodgers. But it is just not possible."
She looks at him.
"How bad?"
"His face was torn away by the impact. He went through the windscreen and impacted on the tree. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but his head was virtually severed."
It is the combination of the touch on her arm and the facts that she is absorbing. The next thing she knows, she is slumped forward, the doctor and a nurse encouraging her to keep her head low and to take steady, deep breaths. The nurse puts a glass of water into her hand. She takes it, relishing the ice cold in her mouth.
She comes to slowly, relearning the dreadful information she has just been told. Stephen is dead and he has done this to himself. He has done this to her and to the children. Now she feels anger as the blood begins to return to her face and cheeks. The bastard.
"Can we call someone for you, Mrs Rodgers?" The nurse is asking.
She thinks immediately of her four closest woman friends -- the Gang, as they refer to themselves. Perhaps Geraldine would come out. But she dismisses the idea. Geraldine's husband, Anthony, died recently. She does not need this. Wendy lives close by but she is away at a conference. And the other two, Michelle and Bobby, are too far along the coast, one in Findhorn and the other in Elgin, for her to trouble them at this hour.
"No. No, I'll be fine. Are you sure that it was Stephen?" she asks now, a new thought forming in her mind.
"He left a note, Mrs Rodgers. We will do the final confirmations with forensic and dental checks, but yes, the police and we are quite certain."
Still shocked, she asks to see the police who were at the scene. The police want to see her as well, the doctor tells her. A few minutes later the doctor escorts a police sergeant and a policewoman into the room. Suddenly it is too small and oppressive in here.
They are gentle and reassuring with her. She volunteers at last that she and Stephen are separated. She has not seen him since last weekend when he brought the lads back from a football match in the city. Even then, she thinks now, she barely spoke to him, just acknowledged him with a grunt when he asked if he could stay and have a glass of wine with them. No he could not, she growled. She was going out. Where, he wanted to know? None of his business, she riposted, leaving the room and heading to the shower to get ready.
She tells the police none of this. But this was her last exchange with the man she lived with for thirteen years, the man who was legally still her husband although they separated three years ago. Worst of all, she thinks now, Lou and the boys saw all that indifference in her. That will be their last memory of the whole family together in the house.
She wants to know where the accident happened. She hesitates over the word 'accident'. The police sergeant says it would be unwise to go there. She insists. They describe a wood track to the south of Inverness, high on the moors. She knows where it is. Once they used to wander there, early lovers and, later, pushchair-proud parents.
She asks to see Stephen's letter. It will go to the Procurator Fiscal and she will have sight of it in due course. She has no choice but to accept this information. There is nothing more to do. A yawning void opens in front of her.
It is only eight-forty when she is standing outside the hospital, steadying herself before she takes the walkway that leads back to her car. The morning air is refreshingly cool. The first shock eases with the fresh air. She begins to get her head around the reality of the situation. Stephen is dead. The person around whom her life has pivoted for so long, in good times and bad, is gone. She is a widow. She is a forty-two year old widow.
She needs to see where this all happened; where Stephen did it. She decides quickly. Daniel will not be awake before eleven. Jeremy is well able to see to Lou's breakfast. She heads out of the city on the route south for three miles, then does an illegal U-turn, to head back north on the dual carriageway. Then she takes an exit onto a minor road that leads to the woods.
It is unmistakable. She knows exactly which tree it will be and she is right. Making her way on foot, she sees from a hundred yards back that it is surrounded now by yellow striped police incident tape. It is the tree where they made love once. Perhaps Jeremy was conceived there -- they always thought so. The car has been removed. What she sees with a sickening, fascinated horror is a gash -- fresh, she thinks, like Stephen's flesh - running up the tree for ten feet or so. The bark is ripped off the tree and the car must have had nowhere to go on impact but up the side of the oak. She approaches nervously, suddenly afraid of this place. It is no longer a tranquil spot, but one silent and haunted by a death that has only just happened. There are no early morning sounds, no birds. She is a few feet away now. Fragments of glass from the windscreen are around the base of the tree, resting on the roots that spread out from the base. She bends down, unable to stop herself from wanting a closer look. Blood spots are speckled over the glass. She reels back in horror. A piece of indistinguishable flesh is sticking out from a splinter of glass, missed by the emergency service clear-up team.
She turns and runs as fast as her weight will allow. She gets to the car. She vomits. She vomits from the horror of what she has seen. She vomits from the knowledge that he did this to get back at her. She vomits from the terror of having to tell the boys -- the boys who are her whole life. And how will she tell Lou, Lou who is only five and who loves her Dad, even if he has not lived with her these last three years?
It takes her a while to compose herself enough to drive. She would love to call round to see her friend Geraldine. She is one of her closest friends and Joanna needs a shoulder to lean on just now. Geraldine is a psychologist and the one she would automatically turn to. But she cannot because that would be unfair. She has to get through this alone.
She sits in the car, breathing deeply, adjusting to the notion that only her inner strength will get her through the time ahead. Slowly, she calms and her head starts to clear.
But she has to hurry now. There are the children to consider before she can think about her needs. She has to get to Jeremy, Daniel and Lou. Daniel will be coming to after a night of teenage revelry enjoyed by the two brothers and their mates. She must get to them all before either of the boys wants to take off to the sports centre or to the town to meet their pals. She must get to them to tell them something that will affect them for the rest of their lives. She has to do it well, for their sakes. She has to stay calm.
Fifteen minutes later, she thinks she is reasonably calm as she inserts the key in the front door. Her hand is shaking though, and she feels sick at the thought of the task ahead of her. Silence awaits her in the hall. Then she hears a chair being pushed back on the tiles in the kitchen. Walking down the narrow corridor, her heart is in her mouth. She pushes open the stripped pine door, the one that Jeremy and she stripped. He is inside, looking in the fridge for milk. At seventeen, he is at that wonderful moment of changing from beautiful youth to handsome young man. He is the image of his father, with his dark curly hair and his high cheekbones. But he is warmer in his smile and manner. He smiles at her now. Daniel, only slightly shorter but stockier than his brother, is lounging on a chaise-longue that rests under the kitchen window. He is absorbed in a cartoon and would not let anyone other than these two, brother and mother, know that this is his addiction. Nearly sixteen is too old for liking cartoons. He grunts as she enters.
"Hi. Where have you been?"
She takes all this in at a glance. If they are worried about where she has been, they show no sign of it. She is often called out for work reasons. And they know that she would ring if she were going to be out for any length of time. They may also assume that she has been out for early morning shopping. But, no. This is the last moment she has before she has to tell them.
"Hi, Jeremy. Hi, Danny." She sits at the table, looking first at one and then at the other. Each boy senses now that something is wrong. The moment becomes frozen in time and in her memory; tall, handsome Jeremy standing looking at her with a carton of milk in his hand, Daniel propped on one elbow, the cartoon instantly forgotten.
"Where's Lou?" she asks, and then nods as Jeremy indicates that she is upstairs, no doubt watching TV.
She sighs in inward relief. What she has to tell the boys now, they can all rally in a while to tell Lou together. They are the Musketeers, after all. They will need all their collective strength for the hours ahead.
23, Lancaster Row
Ellington
Birmingham
0121 992 9985
October
Dear Joanna,
It must be ten years or so since we were in touch, so I truly hope that you won't mind this note.
I heard from Moira about Stephen. I also heard how he died. What can I say except that I am so very, very sorry? You know that I felt miserable when you married him, but please believe me when I say that I send you all my best thoughts for the time ahead for you and the children. You are a strong person, Jo, and will need your strength. It's a good thing that you have the youngsters around you. They will support you and you will be occupied in looking after them.
Please don't misinterpret this letter in any way -- I am very settled now and the past is the past.
If there is anything that I can do, now or in the future, you will find me down here in Birmingham. (I work for the Government now, inspecting local authorities. Who would have thought it?)
Love, Annie
PS
Ring if you would like to.
Joanna reads the letter abstractedly. She has not heard from Annie for years. It is Moira, their friend in common, who has been the staunch one and kept in touch. These friends from her undergraduate days are kind to be thinking of her just now. Over the years, Annie did not keep in touch. There were good reasons for that. But Joanna often thought about her and wondered how she was faring. Now, letter in hand, she feels nothing about this woman from the past. She is numb and inured to emotion. She crumples the letter and tosses it into the bin.
It is dark and damp outside, the early winter light fading and auguring the dark days ahead after the clocks go back over this weekend. The house has only one lamp lit beside Joanna, where she has sat since Lou came home, curled up on the battered armchair with its beige throw, the cat on her lap and a copy of 'The Orchard House' open and unread under the cat. She barely noticed Mr Macnab's arrival and she has not stirred in the last hour. The dusk matches her mood. Lou is asleep on the sofa, lulled by the warmth of the fire after her day at school. The child's presence is a comfort.
The front door opens and slams shut, and she starts, aware that there is no early tea ready for the boys. Mr Macnab leaps down and starts to clean himself with his front paws, simultaneously showing his disinterest and his displeasure at the interruption to his sojourn. She listens, hoping that the footsteps will come into the lounge, which will mean that it is Jeremy who is the first lad home. But no, they head upstairs at the double and another door slams -- bedroom or bathroom, she is not sure which. It is Daniel, Daniel who has barely spoken since she told him about his father.
She gets up reluctantly, dreading the exchange that she now thinks will be inevitable, but powerless to change the impasse between her and her darling son. Even though this has only gone on for nearly three weeks, she is already struggling to like Daniel as well as love him. As if robotic, she moves to the kitchen, putting lights on as she goes, opens a packet of pizza wedges from the fridge and puts them into the cold oven. Barely thinking, she flicks the switch to full heat. She sets the timer for ten minutes and closes the blinds at the kitchen window, glancing out at the patio with its autumn leaves. As she does so, she thinks vaguely that it is high time she swept them up. A mental picture of Stephen brings her to a jarring stop. It is several years ago and Stephen is doing just that - sweeping up leaves. She remembers the ring of laughter that day as the boys came up behind him and enraged him by kicking the leaves up in the air. It was just before Lou was born, the child that Stephen had so wanted, the child, she now realises, who he thought would save their marriage. When will all the flashback memories stop controlling her waking moments, the nightmares her sleeping time?
The front door goes again and a second later, Jeremy comes into the kitchen, looks closely at his mother to check how she is and kisses her fondly on the forehead. He towers over her five foot four inches. She smiles up at him, a smile that is somehow distant as she tries to conceal her depth of misery from him. But Jeremy knows. He has his own misery by which to measure hers.
"How went the day?" he asks, his tone upbeat and his voice light. He knows that his mother has been signed off with depression since his father's death and he is doing all he can to keep things as ordinary as possible. He sits and Lou, who has heard his arrival and run through to greet him, comes to him with a hoop of delight and jumps on his knee. She wants to compare notes with him about their days at school, as if they were of the same order of things.
"Just the same, Love." Joanna smiles at Jeremy and looks into the oven to check the pizza. "How was your day?"
She listens half abstractedly as Jeremy tells her about his school's planned trip to
Paris in the spring and how he and his pal Alan intend to go to basketball tomorrow, Saturday morning. Beginning to show signs of being ready to shine academically, he says little about the day's classes -- school subjects seem to be something that he just takes in his stride. His father's death does not appear, so far at least, to have thrown him off stroke in any of his subjects. Mind you, she reflects, he was already taking the role of man of the house long before the day of the suicide. It is in Jeremy's character to carry the burden at this time. He has been sad - gutted even - but he has also been composed. His reaction to Stephen's death has been far removed from that of his brother.
She relives the moment in her mind when she sat down here at this pine table on the Sunday morning and called them to her side. They came slowly, knowing already that something had happened. She found the words. There was no way to cushion them. Dad had had a terrible accident. She was just back from the hospital. There was nothing the doctors could do. She watched as the recognition and the shock hit each boy. Jeremy said nothing, just sort of grunted and bent forward as if to absorb a body blow. But Daniel let out a kind of a howl and went hysterical for a good few minutes. They let him scream and cry, Joanna unable to touch him because he had sheered away, and Jeremy too paralysed by his own pain. She waited till Daniel's distress-torn face finally looked at her through his tears and he asked 'what happened?' Then she said the worst bit. Stephen, their father, had committed suicide. Jeremy gasped, "how?" - his face tortured with the new knowledge.
She told them, fabricating the fact that his death was instant, that he was so drunk at the time that he would not really have known what he was doing and would have felt nothing. She used this version because the boys knew their father drank. That would not be new information -- far from it. She hoped that this version was true and that it was quick and painless for Stephen.
Then she was comforting them, saying that Stephen loved them. It was hard, but this did not mean that he loved them any less. It must have been that he just could not go on any longer. It was not anything that they should feel guilty about.
They listened to her, Jeremy taking it in and coming to her to put an arm round her, Daniel just staring at her. It seemed that there was a long silence then. She felt as if her words were those of the social worker that she was; not the mother to the boys in front of her that she was. Then Daniel's face changed. She saw hate in her son for the first time ever. Daniel exploded. He screamed at her,
"It's your fault. It's all your fault. He never wanted to leave us. He wanted to be with us. You sent him away."
They were words about the separation that he had never used before, but she knew then that they must have been what he thought. Or worse, they were words that Stephen had used to his two boys.
She looked helplessly at Jeremy, but it was too late. Daniel was up and out of the room. They heard the front door slam. Jeremy shot out after his younger brother. He was back in five minutes telling her that Daniel had been out of sight by the time he reached the end of the garden.
Her younger son came home two hours later and never did say where he went. She did not tell him off. There was no point in that. But she sat on his bed and talked to him for an hour. She did the talking to a back turned towards her. He said nothing and acknowledged nothing. He did not want his mother's comfort and attention. It has stayed like this till now.
In the end it was she and Jeremy who told Lou. Daniel and Lou were never that close, Daniel the usurped youngster when the baby - Louise to give her proper name - came along. Lou was an unwanted addition as far as he was concerned. Lou cried of course, sensing everyone else's pain as well as her own. But she could not really take it in. The Daddy who was not ever a fixture in her life would not be coming home again. After that she almost instantaneously poured all the affection that she had for Stephen into Jeremy. Joanna sort of watched it happening and did nothing to alter it. If this would cushion Lou, so be it. There was no safer place for Lou's affections than with her big brother.
As the days went on, Jeremy acted as a kind of go-between between mother and son, reassuring her that Daniel would be all right if she just gave him time. And so, the four grieved and dwelt on the facts in their own different ways. Jeremy got on as best he could. Daniel went in on himself and looked constantly angry. Lou was outwardly the same, but quieter, as she adjusted to the distress in the family as much as to her loss of Stephen. There were times when Joanna worried for her daughter; times when Lou would go in on herself and become distant, as if lost in some unreachable place. Joanna went into depression. The whole thing became too much to talk about. They all simply had to get through the days as best each of them could.
Jeremy volunteers now to take the pizza to Daniel but she shakes her head. She will do it. She will act as normally as possible, just as she has done for weeks. She takes the spiced bread from the oven, divides it into three and puts one piece on a tray with a glass of milk. The other pieces are for Jeremy and Lou. She heads for the door and up the stairs. She knocks and goes into the responding silence. Daniel is at his computer, some fast moving fantasy game of warriors and guns blasting away the silence. Even in profile from behind, he is beginning to take on the same look-alike features of Stephen and Jeremy.
"Supper, Danny. I thought you might like pizza. How was your day?"
She only ever uses the name 'Danny' when she is particularly close to him. Today it is an appeal to their lost closeness.
"Fine." Comes back the monosyllable.
She sits on the side of his single bed.
"We should talk," she ventures gently.
Silence. She tries again.
"We should talk, Danny. This can't go on."
"What can't?"
She snaps. There is anger in her response.
"You know perfectly well, Danny. It was your father who decided to do this. He was ill, Danny. Otherwise it would not have happened. But no matter how ill he was, it was he who did it. No one else did it. Not me. Not you. Not Jeremy. Your Dad did this. He did it to hurt himself, not to hurt us. But we are all left with this, Danny, all of us. Not just you."
The words are reasoned. But now that she has snapped, her anger is coming through the words. And she knows that this might end up being cathartic for her and damaging to Daniel. She tries to stay calm. Her voice softens.
"No matter what, Danny, I love you and your Dad loved you. No matter why he did this, it was not about you. I know that is hard to understand."
She sees his young shoulders begin to quiver. He is trying not to sob. But he loses the struggle and she watches as he leans forward. She wants to go to him and to hold him but as she moves he shrinks away. She sits back down. The door opens and Jeremy is in the frame, checking that they are both all right. The moment for closeness has eluded her, through no intention of her older son. Jeremy goes to Daniel and puts an arm over his shoulder. Daniel does not resist. She can only sit.
"Come on boys, we have a difficult future to face. We were united at the funeral. We can do it again."
"Mum's right, Danny," Jeremy cajoles his brother with a gentle shake to his shoulder. "Dad would want us to bat together as a family. We can do it. Can't we?"
"Suppose so." Daniel mutters reluctantly.
Jeremy smiles at his mother, a smile that says that it is best left at that. But whether Daniel wants her to or not, she is going to touch him, make contact physically with him, her baby. She goes to him, puts an arm round him and presses her lips to his cheek.
"I love you, Danny. I know how you feel. And I'll tell you anything you want to know about why your Dad and I split up. I tried to tell you when it was all happening but you were much younger then. You can ask anything you want, you know."
She has gone as far as she can. She leaves the two boys alone together and goes back to the kitchen. Lou wants attention and is bringing her dolls for a cuddle. Lou wants to play hospitals, in a sad reprise of the news she heard of her father's death.
How Joanna would love a drink. But she must not, not on the anti-depressants. She knows she would be drunk within minutes. She also knows that one drink would lead to another. And she will not do that to herself. She will not do that to the children. She cuddles Lou as she hears yelps of laughter coming from above. In other times she would have called for hush and warned them about fooling about. But now it is different. This is the first buoyant moment in weeks; the first time that there has been a laugh in the house. And, ironically, it is Daniel's laugh that she is hearing. She could feel jealous of Jeremy's success in breaking the first barrier of the impasse. But she knows that she played her part just now. This is the first moment of cheer she has felt herself.
The phone rings and interrupts her moment of weakness in needing a drink.
"Hi. It's Moira. How is it going?"
Moira is her pal from undergraduate days in St Andrews, a stalwart friend in those years, and later during their postgraduate days in Edinburgh. Moira lives in Somerset now, a wife and mother who gave up her career as postgraduate secretary to a London bank.
"I'm as well as can be expected. I need a drink," she informs her friend, her tone matter of fact.
She does not need to pull the wool over Moira's eyes and she could not, even if she tried. They are the product of an undergraduate friendship that has left each with a life long sense of who the other person is. She tells Moira what has been happening since the funeral, the last time they saw each other and spoke. Moira barely knew Stephen, but she flew up to Inverness, just to be there to support her long-term friend.
It was a dreadful experience, the funeral. There were too many sympathetic people there. She and Stephen had built up a wide circle of friends who had split down the middle, as is the way of things when a couple separates. Some took Joanna's part, others Stephen's. But they all stayed friends of one of them, in some form. And they all turned out to the funeral and formed a tense, uncomfortable mass. It was her Gang, the women friends of the last twenty years, people she met in the early part of her career up here in Inverness that she felt safest with -- the very friends whom Stephen had resented do much. The Gang were all there, with their three remaining husbands. They are two husbands down now, and three left, since Geraldine's husband, Anthony, and now Stephen are both gone. The Gang and Moira saw her through the funeral.
Stephen's relatives, estranged from Joanna since the separation, were out in force at the crematorium, resentful in unspoken anger at the attention to Joanna from the Church of Scotland minister. During the service, Joanna's Gang hovered around her, ready to protect her from any criticism that might be levelled at her over the suicide. The service started in a mix of silence and hostility, and took its painful course.
The minister was wonderful and somehow steered his way through the whole thing by focussing on Jeremy and Daniel, and on young Lou in particular, forcing the different factions to respect the children first and foremost in all this. The moment when the closed coffin disappeared behind the curtains on its way to the furnace was the worst, and Joanna stood, a boy on either side of her, Lou in front of her and cuddled into her, all four of them transfixed with the knowledge that the shattered body would quickly cease to exist. That was the worst moment. It was the moment when all thoughts of suicide and of the last years of strife and separation vanished. What she was watching at that moment was the coffin of the man she had once loved as it transported his body to its waiting furnace. In that moment, Joanna felt again her love of Stephen and Stephen's love of her. That was the worst moment. She thought that her legs would give way under her. Then the whole thing was over and she was outside, in the crisp of the frosty afternoon, shaking hands with a hundred or so people, all of them somewhere on the spectrum from sympathy to blame. It was all she could do to hold her head up high. The boys were magnificent, young men now, as they stood by her, Jeremy to her right holding Lou's hand, and Daniel to her left, thanking people for coming and accepting their words of condolence, like men should.
And Moira was great. She was the one, maybe even more than the Gang of Geraldine, Wendy, Bobby and Michelle, who eased Joanna's sore heart almost without a word being said. They were used to non-verbal communication, these two, from their empathic understanding, each of the other. They just stood looking at one other when it was Moira's turn to give her condolences, all the assembled funeral party about them in their sombre clothes ceasing to exist. And then Moira held her, firmly and quietly. Her embrace brought relief and comfort.
"You will survive this, Joanna," she finally whispered in her ear.
That was the only moment when Joanna nearly broke down. Moira had grasped the essence of the whole thing. All the years of living at opposite ends of the country, filled only by phone calls and letters, simply faded away
They talked later, of course, in the round of drinks and sandwiches at the hotel nearby -- the one that makes its profits from mourners from the crematorium and the one Joanna never wants to see again. But it was now the more ordinary talk of friends because Moira's watchful husband, Malcolm, was present. A city banker -- that was how Moira met him - he has never quite taken to Joanna and her left wing views and this accounts for the infrequent contact between the two women since just after university days. If it were not for Malcolm, Moira and she would have met up over the years. Malcolm distrusts their friendship. But he cannot say much, not when they are just women friends, can he?
Malcolm is out at a weekend conference when Moira rings her just now. Otherwise, Joanna suspects, the conversation would not be happening. But she understands. There were so many times with Stephen when she also chose her moment for conversations with her friends. They were conversations that were no threat to him but about which he would inevitably have had criticisms.
She is honest with Moira. She has been on anti-depressants since the Monday after Stephen's death and off work since then. She has no idea how long this will last. It is just a question of getting through each day. A meeting with the solicitor who looked after their legal matters, hers and Stephen's, looms ahead, date yet to be set, and it seems like a brick wall that she cannot see beyond. It was the solicitor who contacted her in writing, saying that he had a letter from Stephen for her. She knows it is the suicide letter and she has delayed the moment of arranging to see it. She suspects, she tells Moira with a rueful tone, that she will not like what she will read.
Her friend listens, saying little, knowing that not much can change; that Joanna cannot move on yet. She has known Joanna in this state before, once over Annie, and again when she and Stephen split up. She knows as much as anyone does about Joanna. Her advice is simple and non-judgemental.
"You will get beyond this, Joanna. Just go on as you are doing. The days will pass and healing will happen, you know, partly whether you want it to or not."
Joanna finds the statement almost acceptable, even if she cannot feel anything more than despair and hopelessness. It is in the nature of depression to feel nothing - that nothingness which Sartre described so well; that nothingness that drags you down and holds you in a void. But Moira can say things to her which, coming from anyone else, she would rebuff. Joanna's silence on the line is as far as she can go to accept her friend's words.
It is only a phone call and it lasts just ten minutes, but it is like a line thrown to her sinking self. Moira has that calming effect on her. Joanna sits in the quiet for a while. Slowly, a semblance of calm and order descends onto her. She can face the next moment, the next few minutes, even the evening ahead. She can join the family and suggest a mid-evening take-away and a game of 'Scrabble'. She walks past the wine rack and upstairs.
Dear All,
You will know by now that this has been a dreadful year for the family and I hope you will not mind a Round Robin, just this once. I know they are so 'non-you' but I have not found the energy this year to be in touch with anyone or to write a personal letter for the Festive Season.
Stephen's death from his suicide drive in October has left us saddened and still coming to terms with his absence. He was a wonderful father to Jeremy, Daniel and Louise, and, even though we separated three years ago now, he still had a big place in my feelings and affection. You were all so kind, those of you who were able to make it to the funeral and all of you who sent messages and cards. Please take this letter as my thanks to each of you.
We still live at our family home here in Inverness and we have decided to stay here. Both boys are doing well at school and look set to be thinking of exams and, maybe, university. Louise is showing early signs of doing well in class but her head is still full of excitement and mischief. But it is early days yet for them all and the important thing is that they should enjoy these years. That will be hard in the circumstances, but Jeremy is off to Paris in the spring with the school and Daniel is swimming for his school in the Scottish Schools Olympics in May.
As far as the police and the Procurator Fiscal (That's the Scottish prosecution service and also the equivalent of your English Coroner, for those of you south of the Border!) are concerned, the matter of Stephen's death is closed -- there was no issue of public concern that might have led to a public inquiry. That relieves us all, as obviously it has been bad enough for the children without any public scrutiny. We have some matters to finish with the lawyer and after that we should all be able to face the future. I hope to get back to work and to be thinking about other people's problems by February!
A good Christmas to you and yours.
Love, Joanna
PS -- Annie -- Thanks for your note. Surprised to hear from you and I will ring when I feel stronger. Anyway what about you? Settled, you say? Is there a lucky woman? And I am mightily impressed about you being an Inspector. I bet you keep them on their toes! Love, J
She listens as the solicitor tells her that he has a series of responsibilities to discharge as the executor of Stephen's will. Beside her, her friend from the gang, Geraldine, is sitting in quiet support. Joanna so needed the presence of her fellow widow there today. Geraldine has gently been around for Joanna since she learnt of the suicide, protesting that Joanna should have called her when the hospital contacted her; telling her she is doing the right thing by staying off work till she is strong again; and calling in to the house two or three times a week just to listen or to say little, depending on where Joanna's emotions are at any particular time. The other Gang members are in constant touch, too, of course, but everyone has just sort of seen that Joanna's first comfort can only come from one of them just now. The psychologist friend who has so recently lost her own husband seems to have been the obvious choice of the Gang. A solid, reliable presence, Geraldine was the obvious person she should ask to accompany her to this dreaded meeting.
Ed Murray, the senior solicitor in the firm of Murray and Simpson was more Stephen's solicitor than hers. Ed acted for Stephen when he was setting the health centre up long before she met her future husband, and it just seemed logical that Ed would see to the conveyance of the house purchase when they married. Later, Ed saw to the revision of their wills and that seemed logical too at the time. Stephen and she were mutually willed and in the event of their simultaneous deaths, the children would inherit through a fund that Stephen's mother and brother would jointly administer with Ed. Until now, Ed was a behind the scenes prop to them. Now he is coming to centre stage.
She has only been in Ed's company across this desk on a few occasions. He is the epitome of the well-educated and well-spoken lawyer that the established universities in Scotland turn out. In his mid-forties, he speaks with a perfect, Scottish radio accent and exudes quiet concern and correct politeness. He takes all the business of his clients slowly and with painstaking attention to detail.
She has always instinctively liked him, even if he has the effect on her of feeling a little as if she is somehow back in her headmaster's benevolent office. She always feels somehow younger than her years in his presence.
This is the meeting she has been putting off since the Christmas season, four weeks ago. But she knew that she could not move on till this piece of business was complete. In the event, she chose a day about half way between their empty Christmas and her planned return to work. It gave her time to get over the void of a Christmas when she and the boys went through the motions of festivity for Lou's sake. And it would allow her time, or so she reckoned, to compose herself after reading the suicide note before returning to work. And she just wants to do that -- get back to work and get on with her life.
Ed speaks kindly now, but does not pull his punches.
"As you know, Joanna, there is evidence in the form of a written letter from Stephen that he intended to kill himself. In the letter, he described in advance his method of doing so. The police confirmed that it is in Stephen's handwriting and passed it to the Procurator Fiscal. He in turn has passed it to me. I am also duty bound to show it to Stephen's mother."
He pauses and opens a file that has been sitting on his desk, a thick file that Joanna has seen in the past. It has their legal life, hers and Stephen's, and in it are the records of their house purchase and their wills. Before today, it did not seem ominous. Now it does.
Joanna already knows from the police most of the facts that Ed is describing, but she has not seen the letter before today. She is about to. Ed passes it to her with something akin to deference. She feels that the deference is for the letter, not for Joanna. A middle-aged female secretary notes things down on her jotter, more to give Joanna a moment of privacy than to record anything of significance. Joanna has wondered what the woman is doing in the room and has assumed that it is to provide some sort of record of this curiously intimate encounter with the distinguished, prematurely white-haired man opposite her. It is as if Ed needs to have a witness for his own purposes. With four people in the room, three of them with their full attention on Joanna, she suddenly feels very much under a spotlight. At least Geraldine, sitting in her work suit with her dark brown eyes on Joanna, feels like the safe point in the room. Joanna casts her a quick look that Geraldine acknowledges with a sympathetic smile of encouragement.
Joanna may not have seen the letter before today, but she has more or less been told what it contains. Ed persuaded the police to relay some of the content verbally when she could not tolerate not knowing any longer. That was just after the funeral. After that, she did not want to face the moment of actually reading the letter in all its black and white starkness.
Only her 'third eye' on these proceedings in Ed's office stops her from railing against what she already knows about Stephen's state of mind on the night he died. She is steeling herself against the moment she will look down at his familiar way of writing large curly words with heavy, fountain pen black ink.
Stocky, and slightly plump from overeating in the last weeks, she is finding her long black skirt, kept for more routine appearances in court or in the local Sheriff's chambers on some social welfare application or other, too tight and restrictive. Overheated, her discomfort is both physical and psychological - that of a wife and widow who fears that she is about to be humiliated. There is a split second when she thinks she might flee the scene, and then she is leaning back into the heavy oak chair with its high leatherback and solid arms. It takes her into its compelling need for facing the truth. She forces herself to focus on the letter and reads the words. Even after all the time she has had to prepare for this moment. What she reads seers into her like sharp dagger attack between her ribs. She can hardly breathe.
Ed is almost professorial now and although robust and bespectacled as he watches her, he is gentle in his manner. He waits and lets the seconds tick by till she has read the letter in its entirety. She is composed and she lets the letter drop onto the desk in front of them. She looks across at him. Even this is difficult to do. Ed has seen what Stephen thought ofher. Only now does Ed speak, asking nothing of her reactions -- that is her business.
"Stephen's suicide was not your fault, Joanna. Only the person who takes their own life is responsible for that decision." He pauses and his voice softens. "Would it help to tell me something of the last months of your relationship with Stephen? It is not my business, of course, but I do have a reason for asking."
When he speaks, he is matter of fact. He would like her to describe as best she can the time leading up to Stephen's death. And she knows, somehow, that she has to do this in the wake of Stephen's letter that places the blame for his decision to kill himself fairly and squarely on her shoulders. She does not know why, but she is relieved to have a chance to tell their story from her point of view. She wants Ed to hear at least some of the facts from her side.
Ed asks her to describe what she knows, in her own words and in her own time. She reaches for a glass of water that the secretary has placed on a table to her side. She has a sip before gaining her calm and focussing, just as if she were at work, on the facts as she sees them. She gives no opinions, just facts. Now the secretary starts to take notes in earnest.
Joanna has not said all this in a systematic way in front of Geraldine before, but there is nothing her friend does not know at this point and Joanna feels no discomfort with her.
"You know a lot of this already, Ed. Stephen and I were married for fourteen years before we separated by mutual consent. That was three years ago. We decided not to divorce as there was no one else involved and we did not want the children to have to face issues around custody and access. It was an arrangement that we made in mutual agreement. Stephen was free to come and go from our house as he thought fit in the children's interest. It worked well for the first two years or so. But we rarely knew when he would come round and he often stayed when it was inconvenient."
"Did he want to return to your marriage?" Ed intercedes.
"He said so. But I was not prepared to take that at face value. He was enjoying what he described as his newfound freedom. And I knew that there were casual encounters with other women. So it was not an option; not as far as I was concerned."
She feels quietly pleased with this last statement. Stephen was philandering. She was justified in not allowing him to return; in staying out of the marriage. She thinks of Stephen's mother, Martha, a woman in her early seventies. The thought of Martha reading that letter is suddenly overwhelming. Martha will now feel vindicated in the blame she has placed at Joanna's door. Her mind wanders to the barely disguised hate in Martha's eyes when the two women came face to face at the crematorium.
She must have had an attention gap because Ed pulls her attention back into the room. But the thought of Martha stays with her. Martha will see Stephen's letter as proof that everything that was wrong with the marriage was Joanna's fault.
"Did you and he row in the years after you separated?"
Uncomfortable with the way Ed's questions are heading, she feels herself beginning to sweat. She does not want Ed's blame as well as Martha's. Her blood pressure must be soaring, but she knows that even when this happens, there are no external signs to the observer. This gives her some comfort.
"Occasionally, yes. We tended to disagree over what freedom the boys should have. Stephen was very controlling. I suppose he was overprotective because he was not there all the time."
She hears the hypocrisy of her last words. Who is she kidding? He was just a control freak.
"How would you describe his emotional health in the weeks before his death?"
"The same as usual. I saw nothing out of the ordinary."
"He made no reference to suicide?"
"No. Not in any way."
"And the first you knew about it?""When the hospital rang me."
"Joanna, you are now fully aware of the general contents of the note that was found by his side - the intimate aspects, I mean."
"Yes." She tries to look Ed in the eye. She manages, but she feels her discomfort. But Ed is used to this kind of unease after all his years working in family matters. Just now though, she realizes that she is more relieved that Geraldine does not know what the letter contains than she is embarrassed by the fact that Ed knows.
"Did you know, when you and he separated, that he blamed you for the breakdown of the marriage?" Ed continues, without changing his tone.
She flinches again at the knowledge that Ed now has about the sexual tension in their relationship. The letter was quite explicit. But she answers in the same matter of fact way in which the question has been posed.
"More or less, yes. He was not slow in blaming me for quite a lot in the course of our relationship." She does not regret the irony in her voice.
But then she thinks of Stephen's mother. Silly cow. Let her believe in her son's unblemished reputation if she will. Joanna knows differently. She and Martha have barely spoken since the separation. And the funeral was the last time that they were in the same place, Martha's hostility barely contained at the time.
Right now, Joanna is afraid of how much more is going to come out about their private life, about Joanna. What else will Ed ask? But it is not Ed's intention to drag the dark secrets of the marriage into this arena any more than can be helped. There are a few more questions, but that is it. He sits quietly before looking straight at her. When he speaks, it is with a gentle tone and he leans towards her over the desk as he does so.
"Stephen committed suicide whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed. As you know there is no need for an inquest. There is no reason for you to blame yourself - none whatever."
She sighs inwardly with relief at the confirming words -- words that, somehow, she has waited for during many weeks. Geraldine is silently nodding her agreement with the solicitor, encouraging Joanna with her expression to accept Ed's words. This is something she and the Gang members have already said before. It has greater weight somehow just now, coming from Ed.
It is over as far as external interest in their family is concerned. She makes one attempt to divert Ed from the meeting ahead with Martha.
"Is it necessary to show that to my mother-in-law?" She points, almost with disdain, at the blue sheets with their familiar scrawl. The secretary reaches for it and puts it under her notepad as if afraid that Joanna will grab it and rip it up.
"I'm afraid so. It was your husband's express wish. I am sorry."
He says no more and it is clear that the matter is closed. Martha, the mother-in-law who already blames her for the break up of her son's marriage, will see the invective that is Stephen's legacy to her.
But there is more. Ed takes off his specs and leans back in his chair with something akin to a sigh.
"I'm afraid, Joanna, that there is another duty that I must perform."
She just looks at him, no idea where this is leading.
"Stephen left me with a specific duty. I have in my possession a number of further letters, addressed to you and to the children ..."
"What?" she interjects, leaning forward in her chair, instinct to protect the children her first reaction.
Geraldine's brow furrows and she too leans forward ever so slightly in her seat.
"Letters to you and to each of the children," Ed repeats, unperturbed by the interruption as he quietly relays his information, as his duties require him to do.
"You will give them to me?" she half asks, half demands.
"It is not as simple as that, Joanna," he responds, apologetic almost.
She looks at him, a sense of what is to come silencing her.
"There will be letters held here in my safe until specified dates. They will be released to you or to the children according to Stephen's wishes."
"Can he do that?" she demands, angry now as she feels the impact of this control from beyond the grave. Because that is what it is -- control. She is sure of that.
"I am afraid so. I did check this out when he wrote his will, a few weeks ago. And I tried to dissuade him. But he just laughed it off then and said it was purely a precaution against anything like an accident happening to him."
"So you do not know what is in these letters?" Joanna searches Ed's face as if it will reveal the letters' contents.
"No. All I know is that they cannot contain any issues to do with money. All the financial assets are accounted for and, as you know, you have inherited the house and the little amount of capital that there was."
"And there is no point in contesting these letters?"
Ed shakes his head.
"I would not advise it, Joanna. At the end of the day, all any of you need to do is chose to ignore these letters. It will be a matter for your own judgement. Contesting a will is expensive and you do not want to use what capital you have on this. That would be my advice, anyway."
Until this point, Joanna has been thinking that she has faced the worst and that it is therefore a bit like a damp squib, an anti-climax after so many weeks of waking in dread fear of the contents of the suicide note to which she and the children would be exposed. It was a sickening, punitive and blaming letter but the children are protected from it. They need never know of the invective it contains and the lurid description of Joanna's sexual failings as a wife. Martha and Jake, Stephen's brother, will read it - but so what? Now, these other letters exist and she knows that they are now going to hang over the future like the sword of Damocles.
Ed comes in again, as if reading her thoughts about the letters.
"We don't need to worry about this for now. Maybe not at all."
She is tired and she accepts his kind look with a vaguely distracted smile.
She rises with Ed at a silent moment of mutual recognition that for now there is nothing more to discuss. She shakes his hand in a gesture more of protocol than of friendliness, avoids the politely penetrating look that the secretary gives her before she opens the door and exits into the outer waiting room. Geraldine follows quietly behind her. Only outside, does Joanna turn to look at her friend, who stands, waiting for friend's
first reaction. A few inches taller than she is, Geraldine has the quiet, composed demeanour of someone who works with people in crisis on a routine basis.
"I am so glad you were there," Joanna says. "That was terrible."
Geraldine squeezes her arm.
"You can begin to put this behind you now," she says, looking straight at Joanna.
"But the letters..." Joanna starts. But she is interrupted.
She recognises the man who approaches her as she exits from the city centre suite of offices. It is a local newspaper reporter. How did he know that she would be here? What possible interest can the press have in her? Are Martha and Jake behind this unwanted intrusion?
The young man is short in stature and will be in his mid twenties. She has seen him from time to time at the hospital. He confronts her now with that breach of the ordinary boundaries of social politeness that only journalists can effect. Even with her social work background, this takes Joanna off stride, albeit momentarily. He asks what the suicide letter said. She is wise to being caught off guard, though, and just says that it is a private matter. The reporter protests that Stephen Rodgers was a well-known and highly respected member of the local medical profession. That makes his suicide a matter of interest to his paper's readership. But he has to be satisfied with this -- he can see that Joanna has no intention of divulging anything or of falling for trick questions. Ignoring the man's physical proximity, she brushes past him, silently challenging him not to intrude on her any further than he has already. Geraldine uses her presence to follow Joanna and to simultaneously block the young man from following. It is done neatly and without aggression and it is effective. The young man lets her go and they head for the car park.
She needs to find somewhere quiet to reflect before she returns to tell the children about the day. Geraldine senses this and lets Joanna go without protest.
She drives from the car park and overcomes the temptation to go back to that tree. This is not the day for any tribute to Stephen. It is a day for thinking about the letter left on the car seat that fateful day and, now that she knows the contents in detail, about what she will tell the children later on. The other letters can wait. In that instant, she decides that they do not need to know about any of this.
A fast-food drive-in, once her dreaded haunt when her teenagers were younger and at the stage of craving junk food, provides an anonymous haven and she parks, goes in and orders chicken pieces and salad, the least worst thing on the menu in terms of her token attention to her cholesterol level and diet.
Amid the din and mess of lunchtime fast eating, she thinks over the content of the letter. She is glad that it remains and will remain in Ed's file, as she would refuse to take charge of it even if offered the opportunity to have it. This is something that she will not show to the boys. It may well be etched on her mind, but she does not need its physical presence in her home.
Sitting and picking at the apology of a salad, she seethes with impotent rage at her dead husband. Stephen has indeed placed the blame for the breakdown of his marriage on what he describes as her over-keen interest in her women friends. The letter made that clear. That, plus her propensity to drink to excess on social occasions, he claimed, led him to conclude that there would be no future to their relationship once the boys were up and away.
"Sanctimonious bastard," she mutters under her breathe as she recalls the point in the letter where Stephen avowed how he was devoted to the boys and went out of his way to compensate them for the failings of the marriage. And when Lou was born, he thought the world of her. That was not enough, though, to keep him in the marriage. It was not enough, he railed in the letter, when her sexual fantasies were elsewhere, even if she was not actually acting them out for real.
So he quit trying to be a father in an ordinary family and got out whilst there was still time for him to make a new life. But when he left Joanna, the letter went on, he still loved her and could not settle to anything new. So he became desperate and saw no way out but to take his life. His career was suffering and he had to admit to now using too much alcohol himself. But at least, he was normal. The boys were old enough now to make their way in life. He had been gone from home long enough for Lou to be all right without him after his death. Joanna was, if nothing else, a good mother but he could not protect the kids from her being abnormal. He was not unbalanced, he asserted in the letter, writing this in capital letters and thereby, to Joanna's mind, proving the contrary. He had thought about this for some time. He was in sound mind and it was not a suicide attempt to gain attention. Real suicide is not like that. Sex with her was like sex with someone who was not there. There was no way out of the fact that he loved a woman who was not truly available to love. And he could not live with that. He preferred death.
There was more in the letter; more of a personal and sexual nature that she cannot think about yet. She cannot tolerate the thought that Martha will read all that -- or that Stephen planned it this way. 'Bastard' is all she can think. She feels rage against the man for the impotent position in which he has left her. She may feel all the other good emotions again that she felt for him in the past and at the funeral. But today, there is only rage. If she cared, which she does not, she would be upset that there will now be no rapprochement between her and her former in-laws. And there will be more nastiness. She is sure of it. Not for one second does she believe that there will be kindness in the, as yet undelivered, letters.
Damn Stephen and that letter. It was the rationalising letter of an irrational mind. She knew that but she said nothing to Ed. She did nothing to protest the unfairness of the letter. She was right to simply hand it back without a word. At very least, she maintained her personal dignity.
After the first wave of relief that, at least, the nature of Stephen's death was without doubt, Joanna is still numbed by the injustice of all that the letter contained. How can she begin to put this behind her? How can she confront Stephen, Stephen who has left this damning legacy of their marriage for her to carry? At this moment she hates him as much as Martha, she is sure, hates her.
The sad thing is that she never hated him before this. She was angry at his suicide and thought it was cowardly, yes. She had a tempestuous relationship with him throughout the years after the honeymoon period of their relationship was over. But she was passionate about him, always, whilst they were together. For so long, she looked up to him, almost as a father figure as well as a lover, friend and father to their children. He just could not understand. That was the root of the problem. He could not understand. And there was nothing she could do to make him.
Then, when he left, she was as much distressed as he was. She did not want that separation to happen. It was she who pleaded with him to stay, partly for the boys, largely for Lou, but for herself too. They had a complex, dynamic relationship and as far as she was concerned, he simply walked away from it.
Even after he left and came back to visit, the reason always ostensibly something to do with the children, she and he would find themselves alone after the children were in bed and having sex on the sofa downstairs like a pair of secret teenage lovers. It distressed each of them for different reasons -- she feeling that she was being used as a receptacle in the absence of any other one being available; he tormented by the ambivalence behind his decision to leave in the first place. But the one thing that he wanted to change in her was not in her gift.
So it limped along like this till that evening, a few weeks before his death, when he came in and found her with her Gang. All they were doing was eating and drinking round the kitchen table, but the hilarity and obvious depth of the feelings amongst these close women friends was more than he could bear. Or so she supposes now. He certainly left that evening after a hushed row in the corridor between them over the kind of situations she was exposing his children to. She did not mince her words in retaliation, challenging him to say the words that were in his mind. He chickened out, in silent, white rage. Then, next time he was round, he asked to stay for that glass of wine and she refused because she was once again going out with her woman friends. That was more than he could bear. He just walked away.
And those were the last two times she saw him alive. They must have triggered his suicide. She knows this now. Yes, she triggered it but that does not make her responsible. Does it?
She looks around her now in the crowded fast-food restaurant at the so-called 'normal' people to her left and right, feeling that dreadful sense of being different and that simultaneous sense of her absolute right to be truly herself. She has every right to lead what they call these days 'the authentic life'. She is different. She knows that. But it is her right to be so. She feels as defiant here as she did that evening in her hallway with Stephen.
And it is these two senses in combination that bring Moira's words back to her now -- she is different. And that is fine by her. "You will survive this time." That's what Moira, said, isn't it?
"And," she thinks as she wearily picks up her cardboard plate and mug and deposits them in the chute, "I will survive. I will for my sake as well as for Jeremy and for Daniel. Especially for Daniel. And I will survive for Baby Lou."
As she finally deposits her tray of neglected food and heads for her car, she feels heavy and alone -- as if the notion of fighting to survive is much more the reality than that of leading a positive, authentic life. She is burdened and she knows it.
Lou is the first home today, bursting into the house with her usual excitement to tell her mother about the day's events. Almost immediately, Daniel follows his sister, his whole demeanour still cautious and somehow suspicious. Daniel knows that he has to wait for his brother's return home before the family can hear Joanna's news. All she will indicate is that things are OK. Her eldest arrives about fifteen minutes after the other two, just as the hubbub of listening to the accounts of school is dying down.
The two boys, of course, are desperate to hear what happened in her meeting with Ed. All that Lou knows is that Mum has been at an important meeting. She is too young to be troubled by the aftermath of Stephen's death. Suffice it that she has to grow up knowing that she has lost her father.
"What happened?" Jeremy asks, his main fear that his mother will be blamed for his father's death showing in his face.
"It was definitely a suicide letter. Your father was just not well in the last days of his life," she says, finding the softest words she can to describe Stephen's mental illness. "He was off balance, I suppose."
They look at her, expressionless, waiting for more. Lou watches, knowing that this is important without fully appreciating why.
"The good news is that Ed was very kind. He was very sympathetic. Mind you, I don't think Gran Martha will think much of me when she reads the letter. Nor your Uncle Jake."
They know just a bit already about the letter. She has forewarned them that Stephen has blamed her for the break up of the marriage and for killing himself. They know because they had one of their family conferences at the weekend in preparation for today. Daniel is clearly feeling vindicated over his first reaction to his father's death, now that he knows at least something of the letter contents. But he had the insight to recognise at the weekend that there is still a difference between who was to blame and what his father did as a result of the separation. In his straightforward way, he was able to say that he knows his Dad was not well. Joanna, as he sometimes refers to his mother, was not to blame because his father 'lost it' and killed himself. Jeremy said little, but his allegiances have always been towards his mother. He is his mother's protector. In the past, he saw his father's simmering anger too often - that and his and his ability to fly off the handle - to think that his mother was solely to blame, no matter the problems in the family. He has always taken the view, since it became clear that separation was inevitable, that it 'takes two to tango'.
Neither of the boys knows anything, of course, of the sexual conflict between the adults. But they do know that their father could be a very jealous man. Even Daniel acknowledged that at the weekend. So the family conference, a conference that did not involve Lou, went some way to easing the crisis of reactions that happened on the morning of Stephen's death.
"There is more, isn't there?" Jeremy wants to know now, his instincts picking up that Joanna has said virtually nothing that they did not know already.
"A newspaper reporter tried to get me to say something, but nothing will be printed, I don't think. Nothing very much ever is printed about suicide." She sees relief in both boys and she silently confirms her earlier decision to say nothing about the letters that they will receive at some later dates. They do not need to live with that knowledge. When it happens will be time enough. Both boys need to get on with life and to leave the pain of all this behind as best they can. No, she will not tell them.
Then, suddenly refocusing on what she said earlier about Martha and Jake, Daniel comes to her side and, to her surprise, gives her a hug.
"Don't worry, Mum - about Gran I mean. We are one for all and all for one, aren't we? Just as usual."
Joanna beams a smile of affection and gratitude at her son and hugs him in return.
"You will want to go on seeing Gran and Uncle Jake, though, won't you?" she asks, not prepared to let there be any rift between the children and their relatives, simply because she and they are now likely to be totally estranged.
The set of relationships has been significant over the years between the children and Stephen's family and even if Gran Rodgers was a pest of interference at times, the children have always been fond of both her and Jake. Married and then divorced when he was caught having a fling with a neighbour, Jake has paid at least token attention to his role as an uncle. They have lost enough in losing Stephen, without losing their grandmother and uncle as well, even if the boys at least are not too bothered just now about their relatives. It is Lou they all feel for in this and she still has that innocent affection for them that comes of not knowing any of the adult facts. When Daniel replies, he seems doubtful.
"I suppose. But only sometimes."
"And Lou will want to see them," Jeremy points out. "I can take her," he says, looking at Joanna. She smiles, gratefully. The less she sees of the Rodgers, the better.
She is relieved that they are united as a family of four. It makes the moment, this notion of Musketeers that they have all held over the last few years. The family is holding strong, no matter the pressure on it from the outside world. Family loyalty will prevail. Joanna has a long way to go with them, but she will survive. They all will.
"Hi. Is that you, Joanna?"
"Yes," she replies cautiously, knowing the voice, and not yet placing it.
"I decided that if Mohamed wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain..."
"Annie?" she says, her voice surprised but welcoming the call. She knows that she has neglected Annie's attempts to be in contact with her since Stephen died.
"That's right. You were going to ring. Remember? Three months ago. You promised you would in your Christmas letter"
"I did. Sorry." She is laughing now, letting her caller know that she is embarrassed. "I should have rung."
"Don't tell me. You have been so busy. Spare me the excuses," her caller laughs. "How are you? Are you getting over it?" Annie's voice is genuinely concerned.
Annie was always direct with her. In their time, they knew each other well. There was no point pretending with each other. It was a bit like her and Moira; only it had that extra dimension with Annie. With Annie, she had attraction, something that she and Moira never shared.
"I'm actually fine. Back at work, pushing water uphill trying to find homes for old folk, listening to tales of woe. You know how it goes."
"And the children?"
"Fine. The boys are two strapping young men now. Jeremy is starting university in the autumn. He's hoping to go to Dundee. Following in his mother's footsteps, except St Andrews and Dundee became two universities after I was at St Andrews. Daniel has still to decide, but I think he will go on to university as well. And Lou is just a honey. We all love her to bits and she is definitely queen bee around here."
"God. Can they be that old? Jeremy's not doing Literature, is he?"
Joanna's first degree was in literature, her degree far superior to that of the easily distracted Annie. If truth were known, she thinks that Annie was always a bit in awe of her verbal and literary skills and, at the time, Joanna took a mildly wicked pleasure in her superior command of language.
"No. No, he's intent on being a doctor."
They leave that one hanging in the air. Stephen was a doctor. Jeremy is following in his father's footsteps.
"Anyway, how are you?" Joanna continues. "And are you still an Inspector? I have to say, that really impressed me when you told me."
"Don't be. It's all hard grind and asking social work managers questions they would rather you didn't, while they pretend all the while that they are really in favour of being inspected in the clients' interests. They could see you far enough, if truth were known."
"But it's still important stuff." Joanna is impressed in her turn that her friend from their training days has followed the careerist route. The achievement tables have been reversed.
She did not achieve in careerist terms. She made first line manager and then followed the usual route of the married woman -- babies and return to work to the 'soft' bits of social work. That is how she sees it, anyway. She is a sort of modern lady almoner now, and one who can laugh at herself as she sweeps through the hospital.
"Well, you actually have less discretion working for the Government than you do in the real workplace. You are very bound by policy and advice to Ministers," Annie responds. Then she changes tack. "Anyway, that's not why I rang. I really have wondered how you are. It's a long while since Stephen and all that and I'm beginning to weary of these dreadful Christmas messages people insist on sending." Annie's words may be forceful, but her tone is jocular.
"Point taken," Joanna concedes. "But no, I'm fine, honestly. It's good to hear you. What made you call just now?" She wants to know -- why now, out of the blue?
"I'm going to be up in Inverness with Jemmy later in the year and wondered if we could call?"
"Ah yes, Jemmy -- so that's her name. You said that you were settled. How long?" This is what she wants to know all about. Who was Annie with now?
"Mm. Well, I was settled, then I was unsettled again. Now it's Jemmy." Annie laughs.
"Oh, I see," Joanna gives one of her chuckling laughs. "Still playing the field are we?"
"Not at all. Just looking for something that works."
The barb is not lost on Joanna. She and Annie did not work. She ignores it, deciding not to take this as a jibe.
"And have you?"
"I think so. Time will tell," Annie replies, sadness suddenly somewhere in her voice.
"Do you have doubts?" Joanna asks, responding to the hesitation in Annie's voice.
"No. I'm just cautious, especially speaking with you. I once thought that you and I would work, remember?"
Joanna wonders about the value of talking with this, the first person in her life whom she loved, the one who came into her life at just the wrong time. Why reopen all that? But it is Annie who is clear about the parameters for the call. She has had time to think things out before lifting the phone.
"I don't want to frighten any horses up there for you," Annie goes on before Joanna can respond. "I just feel that we had enough between us in the past to go on being friends. And Moira keeps me up to date from time to time on how you are. We have been keeping in touch, she and I, in recent times. It matters somehow, Jo, that you and I should go on being friends."
Joanna has used these words about continuing friendship herself over the years, even if she did not practice what she preached when it came to Annie. She has argued the principle with her Gang of women friends on more than one occasion. They all concluded in the Gang over a few rowdy suppers that it might be possible some of the time for women who were former lovers to go on into friendship, but that it was unusual between men and women. Not, Joanna thinks now, that the Gang members know about Annie and Joanna. It was just conversation in the abstract.
She wants to deepen this conversation. Annie and she have only had superficial contact since the end of their relationship. For so long, it was just too painful. Stephen would not have countenanced her continuing friendship on any level with Annie. And Stephen and the children preoccupied her. So she neglected Annie; maybe shut her out from her emotions. That was the easiest thing to do. Joanna risks talk of the past.
"Do you still blame me? And hate Dennis?" she asks, probing. Dennis was the man she was seeing at the same time as she was involved with Annie, whilst they were all postgraduate students in Edinburgh. They were a set of pals as well as lovers. They were at that age when young people move in and out of fluid social groups, exploring relationships and interests, and testing the adults they were each on the way to becoming
"I never hated you," Annie protests in answer to a question that Joanna has not actually asked. "But I couldn't bear the thought of you being with him and then coming straight back to the flat and me. I was naive enough then to believe that you were not having sex with him. That was what kept me sane at the time. But, no, I couldn't understand. More than anything else, I couldn't understand. We had such a good time, you and I. We made each other laugh so much. The others in the flat were always complaining about the noise -- remember? And the sex was good, even in our experimental youth," Annie laughs, clearly recalling the good bits of that time. "I couldn't understand why you needed him as well."
Joanna hopes the children never listen in to her phone calls. But she is hooked. Years are dropping away, revealing lost memories of what at the time was the purest of loves. And she wants, somehow, to go back to that time, back to the experience of being in her early twenties and exploring the mind and body and emotions of an attractive young woman, as Annie was then. It was a voluptuous time, an enervating, exhilarating time, and one that is long since past. If they can talk about it just now, she might reconnect with it and know that it really has been a part of her.
"We were a pair of innocents, who thought we were ready to take the world by storm," she reflects out loud.
" Innocents, yes, but we were hardly lightweight, in any sense. We were serious, young and emancipated women of the early eighties. You had all your literary background and I had mine and we debated long and hard, I remember. You used to look at my essays for the social work course and tell me that my writing style was a cross between journalese and Latinate. And we argued the merits of existentialist theory over religious nonsense -- do you still think religion is nonsense, by the way? And do you remember me all but having a tutorial from you on Casework Methods before one exam? That stood me in good stead, incidentally. I used to tutor the subject at the college I lectured at a few years after I qualified. That was due to your early influence."
"Ah well, they wanted us to go out and change the world from that Social Work course, didn't they? And you seem to be doing that."
"And yourself?"
"Not me! I just plough my inconspicuous little furrow. I give help where I can and then go back home to the kids again."
"Joanna, you don't change, do you? You were always self-deprecating, you know. You were, and no doubt still are, a first rate caseworker. I should know -- I listened to your accounts of your work with clients often enough when we were first qualified."
But Joanna wants to explore more personal stuff.
"What happened to you at the end? The end of us, I mean." She waits in the silence, knowing that this is hard for Annie.
"I kind of broke down. I saw someone at the University -- a counsellor or a psychiatrist -- I can't remember now."
"Did that help?" Joanna probes.
"Yes it did in a funny way. I only went once but he said that it was always worse when a relationship between people of the same sex break down. He said it was always more intense to begin with and so the loss is greater. It helped somehow to have someone just recognise how painful it was; that it wasn't just a lesbian jolly, if you know what I mean -- like you see in the tabloids these days." For a second Annie sounds bitter. Then, as if dismissing that time in her life, she goes on, " I picked myself up after that and got on with things."
Joanna thinks of Stephen. She thinks of Annie. She wonders if you can say which is worse -- to end a relationship with a man or with a woman. But Annie is speaking again, following the same line of thought.
"I wouldn't know which is worse, of course. There have only ever been women for me. So I can't compare. What do you think? Was the psychiatrist right?"
"I think I plead the Fifth Amendment. It was hard to lose you."
"It was?" Annie's voice is incredulous.
Joanna realises. How could Annie have known - not the way that she, Joanna, decreed that it was over; not the way she ended it so sharply?
"Oh yes. I know that at the time I never said, but it was wonderful lovemaking. We were very close. At least I thought so. I would be lost with you for hours at a time." Suddenly, the memories are too alive and too painful for Joanna. She shuts the thoughts out. Annie has heard, though, because she gives a wistful sounding sigh over the line. "But I had other issues," Joanna goes on. "It was never a straight choice at the time -- you or Dennis. There were so many pressures to marry and have children. The social thing was very important to me then. I suppose I wanted it all and couldn't have it. When it came to a choice for me, it had to be the conventional route."
"And now? Would you go back to women?" Annie is sailing close to the wind. They both know it.
Joanna sidesteps the question. She would not go back to Annie. That is history. She will not let Annie think that she would.
"Now I just get on and don't think of anything like that. I see plenty of women friends, of course, and you know who is who, if you know what I mean. But I keep my distance. My two boys act as a kind of armour. Their existence says to the world that I am not available. And there's Lou."
"And that's the way you want it?" Annie probes.
She thinks before she replies. The advantage of speaking to this voice from the past is that Joanna does not have to account for what she says to anyone in her current life.
"No. I suppose not," she admits. "But it's for the best. I have the children to consider. They've just lost Stephen."
Annie says nothing, as if there is nothing to say to Joanna's irrefutable logic.
The conversation drifts. News of parents is exchanged. They talk of Moira and her boys and of the restricting Malcolm. Annie has never met him. She declined the wedding invitation, mainly because Joanna was the friend the two had in common, and with the young lovers' link gone at that time, Annie let the friendship with Moira more or less lapse. Or so Annie tells her now. There have only ever been occasional phone calls between Annie and Moira, always initiated by Annie. Moira was moving in very different circles.
Joanna brings the conversation back to Annie's proposed visit to Inverness.
"When are you two in Inverness?"
"Later in the summer. I'm intending to bring Jemmy up to see some of my old haunts. And we will go on over to the west coast to do some sailing."
"Tell me about Jemmy," Joanna prompts her.
"Drop dead gorgeous, tall, blonde and thirty-five. She's a teacher and I'm in love."
Joanna laughs. This sounds just like the impetuous Annie she remembers.
"Yes, come and see me. I'd like that," Joanna says, her tone emphatic as she decides that this is precisely what she would like. It really would be good to see Annie again and she is curious to meet Jemmy.
The last thing she needs is the approaching forms of Martha and, Jake. But there they are, momentarily as much caught off guard as she is as she exits from the bus station after seeing a quietly excited Jeremy off with his school party on the first lap of his long-awaited spring trip by rail and boat to Paris. Martha saw her before she saw Martha and the smartly dressed woman with her dyed white hair is now staring steely-eyed at her whilst Jake, once the friend of Stephen's and her marriage is as caught off balance as she is. She can see at a glance that he fears an outburst from Martha and he is right. The older woman makes a beeline for Joanna.
"You killed him," Martha all but spits in her face, oblivious to the curious glances of passers by. Suddenly the trio finds itself the sole occupiers of the area as the few members of the public who are around give them a wide berth. Mortified, Joanna realizes that the parents of other kids from the school trip are here to witness this, the first encounter of Stephen's family with her since the funeral. She stands still, unsure what to say or do. She wants the floor to open up and of course it does not.
Jake, a younger and slimmer version of Stephen stands with an arm on his mother's elbow, now with a slightly supercilious smile on his face as if he is silently relishing this moment when his mother has her say.
That letter and its contents are about to deal its first blow on Joanna. All she can do is stay silent. Silent, unspeaking dignity seems best, as she looks straight into the hostile eyes of this woman who hates her so much. She hopes that the moment is over and that Martha will have the good grace to pass on, but her erstwhile mother-in-law comes back at her.
"You destroyed him. You ate him up and spat him out, just when it suited you. You're not normal, you're not."
Joanna turns away, determined to say nothing that she will regret. No matter how much she may detest Martha, she has to remember that she is looking at the children's grandmother. She wants nothing to go back to them. She wants no one to be able to say that she set the children against Martha, dearly as she might like to. And she does feel some pity for Martha. At the end of the day, she has lost a son. Joanna can only imagine what that must be like, no matter the age of mother and lost son. She speaks to Martha as calmly as she can, with a glance in plea for support to Jake.
"I'm as sorry as you are that Stephen is dead, Martha. But he took his own life. I had nothing to do with it. He was a weak man, at the end of the day."
Martha would love to hit her -- she can see that. But Joanna is glad she has said what she has. It is the truth after all. Stephen was a weak man, a man who was cowardly enough to walk out on the lives of his family and a man who was weak enough to walk out on life itself.
Martha flushes with rage. She looks for a second as if she might just strike Joanna. But Joanna stands firm. It is Martha who walks away. Jake hesitates and hovers, unsure whether to go off in pursuit of his mother or whether to say something to Joanna.
There is an awkward silence as the two of them watch Martha's receding back.
"That was a bit hard, Joanna," he says now, his eyes searching hers for some sort of rapprochement. But Joanna is cold.
"It's true, Jake. It was a coward's way out. He killed himself. It does not take courage to drive a car at a tree. It takes drink, drugs and bravado. Yes, and exhibitionism."
Jake looks at her, towering over her from nearly the same height that Stephen was. They are so alike, these brothers, in physical attributes, at least.
"He was my brother, Joanna."
That is all he says and at once she feels ashamed.
"Of course. I'm sorry, Jake."
For a moment he looks sad and then he smiles almost wistfully.
"Can we have coffee together?" He looks around him as if looking for a coffee house.
She cannot deny him this. And she wants the comfort of being at ease with at least one member of the Rodgers family. She nods silently and he leads her out into the street and to the pedestrian crossing. A few minutes later, he is carrying a tray with coffees and a milk jug to the table of a less than salubrious downtown café.
"The best that the bus station area could do, I'm afraid," he smiles at her.
She acknowledges this with a shrug and accepts the cup he offers her, waiting for him to speak. Just for a second as she looks at him, she sees Stephen reflected in his brother. And that brings a pang for the attraction she once felt for the man she loved. As the vision passes and it is once again Jake sitting across from her, she remembers happier times when she and the two brothers played together before the children were born, sometimes camping and walking in the Scottish glens, sometimes sailing with Jake and his wife once he married.
"Mum will get over it. Give her time." Jake comments, unaware of Joanna's train of thought.
"I doubt it," she replies and he gives a rueful grin back at her. He knows perfectly well that Martha will never speak in positive vein to Joanna again.
For a few moments, he stirs his coffee as if deciding what to say.
"I don't believe it, you know."
"What don't you believe, Jake?" she half challenges him. She knows what is coming.
"What Stephen said in the letter. You know. That you are queer, in some way."
"Jake," she glares at him, "I really do not think that it is anything to do with you, one way or another ..."
"I just meant that I could protect you, Joanna. You don't want any rumours like that going round. Not when you have the kids to consider. Especially Lou."
She stares at him. A penny is beginning to drop. Jake always had a wandering eye and on at least one occasion over the years, a wandering hand. That was the reason she cooled the friendship with him - that and the disintegration of her marriage.
He leans forward, half tentative, half over-confident.
"We would be good together, Joanna."
He places a hand over hers on the table. She is tempted to snatch it away. Instead she leaves it there, inert under the pressure of Jake's. She glowers at him, her message unmistakable. He has no option but to take his hand away.
"Do you think for one minute that I would get involved with you, Jake?"
"I can protect you," he repeats.
She is furious, cold and furious. This is tantamount to blackmail.
"I do not need your protection. Not now. Not ever." She stands to leave, concealing her shaking anger as best she can. She wants as far away from this man as she can get, as quickly as she can. He sits still, knowing that his proposition is going nowhere.
"I think you will find that you did need my protection, Joanna."
It is said quietly to her back as she leaves the café. But it is quite distinct. And the menacing tone is equally distinct.
She is feeling uncomfortable with the way the conversation round the room is going. This is her weekly meeting of the reading circle. They come together over the winter weeks, this disparate group of women from all walks of the city's life. To be fair, there is always one book under serious discussion, although the level of literary critique is far removed from anything that Joanna or her academic friends from undergraduate days would recognise. But Joanna would not miss this session for the world. It is her one treat over the last months, away from her duties of the children and work. Her big financial indulgence is paying for a sitter for Lou. And the reading circle helps to keep her away from the red wine as she dutifully tramps though the next book in readiness for the weekly session. In the six months or so since Stephen died, this has been the only new aspect to her day-to-day routine. It engages her mind, if not her emotions, and it is a good antidote to the pressures of the social work task at the hospital, a task she sometimes finds overwhelming since that terrible day when she was herself a next of kin in the accident and emergency ward of the Royal. At that point, she crossed over the line from being a professional to being a member of the public. All that dreadful experience might well have happened in the sister hospital to the one where she works, but sometimes the situations she finds herself dealing with at work resonate too closely with her own trauma. Angela, her boss, may generally be considered a dragon, but she and Geraldine, have quietly seen her through the difficult times at work. So this neutral setting of the reading circle, something new in her life, has been both a welcome activity and a diversion. Sometimes she feels she cannot be bothered to make the drive to whichever member of the circle is hosting the evening, but once she makes the effort, she enjoys the focussed discussions.
The reading material is as disparate as the membership, since every one has their say about which novel they would like to discuss. She prefers to tramp through the shortlists for the round of annual major awards to make her suggestions, although some of the group simply accuse her of literary snobbery and then baulk at the comments she has to make. One of them even charged her with picking up the literary supplements at weekends and quoting them, rather than using her own judgement. Since the criticisms mainly come from those in the circle who would not dream of touching a broadsheet, she just smiles at teasing taunts like these and lets them believe what they will, giving one of those quips of hers that can bring a gale of laughter round the room. She is clever with her mix of sardonic humour. It has no malice to it and engaging people this way is one of her noted attributes - not that it is ever described in these terms.
It is this same capacity that makes her so ruthless in a serious argument and she has floored many an adversary in interpersonal conflicts at work in the past. That was how her first encounter with Stephen went, after all. She can find just the right word and tone to leave the other person speechless. But in humour, it is engaging and makes her a natural focus of these meetings. If she is not there, they tell her, the reading circle just does not have the same zing.
The numbers coming to the circle fluctuate from week to week. There are seven of them here this evening. Tonight they are in Janie's lounge. She is a single woman who is a senior manager in the Headquarters of the Education Department. It was she who wanted to review 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie' after the film was re-run on TV about a month ago. Joanna remained silent when the suggestion was made, then suggested 'Lantern Slides', one of the shortleated books in the Scottish Women's Literature Awards. But she had to acquiesce when the others at that session said that they had all seen the 'Brodie' film and thought it would be a good subject for discussion.
They do not know that she could just about quote it verbatim. And she has stayed quiet most of this evening, whilst they have speculated on the nature of influence, gullibility and political persuasion to which the author alludes. She tries a red herring of comparing the influences in the book with those of 'Lord of the Flies' but even Sarah, the middle aged mother who is doing undergraduate studies by distance learning, looks surprised at this.
So it turns, inevitably, to the sexual orientation of the character of Jean Brodie and she listens as Janie and the others draw out the evidence in the book that makes the supposition likely that the heroine was repressing her emotional attraction to her schoolgirl charges.
Pam is having none of it. Pam is appalled at the very notion. She is a very married solicitor whose own girls are fifteen and seventeen. She does not want to think that the influences on Jean Brodie's girls at their impressionable ages are anything more than educational and mind expanding.
Jinny disagrees. And she is blunt. This is a writer, she argues, talking about a repressed lesbian who was working in an environment and in an era where her interests were diverted, but none the less, really homosexually motivated. Her character's interest in men and theirs in her are diversionary tactics on the author's part and the reader has to see this, surely? What does Joanna think?
Joanna's one failing in hiding her emotions is her uncontrollable reaction of blushing. They do not know how significant this book is. They do not know that she and Annie read it together in that first summer of delightful closeness. But they can see that she is uncomfortable. Her mind has flitted back to the multiple quotes from the book that Annie used to delight in trotting out. Annie used to look down on her as she lay in bed and say things like 'give me my Joanna at an impressionable age and she is mine for life'. How sadly that quote failed to live up to its promise in Annie and Joanna's case.
Sally, across the room, looks at her now, long and hard. Joanna has long thought that Sally was 'a friend of Dorothy's, as she likes to think about it. 'Lesbian' and 'dyke' are such harsh words, depending on who uses them. They were so robbed of their true meanings when used by bigots in pejorative vein. Even their retrieval by feminist lesbians does not detract from the negative inference they carry. At least that is how Joanna feels. She would hate to describe herself to anyone as a lesbian, no matter how faint hearted she would be accused of being for feeling like this. Sally is looking at her, with a long new look of beginning recognition. Sally has twigged.
Sally smiles, looks away and pushes the boat out. She is a librarian, and already well respected in this group for her general knowledge of literature. She is the one in the group whom Joanna considers anywhere near on a par with herself when it comes to modern literature.
"For those who like that sort of thing, it's the sort of thing they like. Sorry to misquote, but I do think that there are multiple points in the book where there are at least signals about O'Brien's intentions for this character."
Pam bristles. She has just not thought of this; not read the book this way. That is clear. Sally is pressing on, knowing that their hour is nearly over and that coffee will be served soon. She wants to hammer home her point. She speaks over Pam who is about to come in to register her resistance.
"I really enjoyed 'The Prime', but it is dated, don't you think? Maybe we should have a look at more contemporary lesbian literature. We spend plenty of time on feminist stuff. From one perspective, this is only one step forward. Woman as friends, then woman as more than friends. We could look at romantic relationships between women, couldn't we?"
"What about the 'Well of Loneliness'?" This is Gayle speaking, the retired physiotherapist in the circle.
And it raises a simultaneous howl of protest from Sally and Joanna.
"I said contemporary, not something from the early part of the last century," Sally almost shouts.
"And all that misery and victim stuff," Joanna agrees, eager to kick into touch the idea of reading this particular novel.
Sally looks at her. It is obvious to her that Joanna knows her lesbian literature.
"There are plenty examples of modern lesbian literature, surely?" the librarian suggests.
No one dissents, except Pam who says,
"But it's all pornography, surely?"
This swings the group. Everyone disagrees with Pam now. Joanna listens as they agree that they want to look at some recent work of a lesbian writer. She stays silent, except to try to put the focus back to feminism.
"Well," Sally comes back, "How about looking at the link between the two? That should appease our Pam here from worrying that we've all gone into soft porn."
There is a ripple of laugher and Janie gets up to switch on the kettle in the kitchen, suggesting they leave it to Sally and Joanna to come up with a suitable title. Joanna lets Sally take the lead. She does not want the group to know just how well read she is. They put aside suggestions of looking at Virginia Woolf and Gertrude Stein as too literary and too much like 'The Prime', both agreeing that there is too much gender disguise and too much encoding in each of these literary giants' works. With an unspoken concession to the difficulty that Pam is having with all this, they go instead for the relatively lightweight but still highly acclaimed 'Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit'. Both of them know it well -- it was published just a few years ago and it is a good insight into the adjustment of a young woman. Joanna reckons it will give insight to her fellow circle members without being too explicit in its detail. But Pam does not like the nuance in the title and is still not sure. They reassure her. It is a book that could be left lying around. They end on that note as Janie arrives back with the coffee.
Later, as she is driving home, Joanna wonders why, after all these years, she is still so uncomfortable with all of this. She knows that here in Inverness, she is known purely and simply as a wife and widow. Her bisexual orientation has never come to the fore, in a way that would cause people to reappraise her. She has always found it easier to let people make their assumptions in the wider world. And the wider world, at work and in her social life, always takes it for granted that she is heterosexual. Of course it does. That is the way the world works. She is Mrs Rodgers, after all, and the mother of three, the wife, and now widow, of a local doctor and a well-respected member of the intelligentsia society of Inverness. She has left people with their assumptions over the years, living the life out of a woman who is at one with her unquestioned sexuality. That has been the way of it these last twenty years or so since she started work in social work, Annie dispatched from her life in Edinburgh and the remnants of her relationship with Dennis playing itself out till he finally accepted that she would not marry him. He then took off to make a life in Canada. She never spoke of Annie to anyone, not even to anyone in the Gang. But she referred often enough to her past with Dennis. He still keeps in touch by letter and he seems to be a successful cattle farmer now, having dropped out of professional life as an engineer and gone native in the high country, somewhere near Calgary. Sometimes she regrets not being a part of that life.
No, she stayed here and ploughed the social work furrow as best she could in those days where caseloads were at the giddy fifty plus levels. She was soon promoted to Senior. Sometimes she would say that length of service alone would guarantee someone a promotion in those days, but in her heart she knows that is not true. She was good at what she did and went on to be good as a team leader. So there she was, in her early mid twenties, symbol of the establishment, working crazy hours, sharing a flat now with a cat and available for the Bohemian social lifestyle of the era -- the strictly heterosexual Bohemian life.
And she socialised hard, attending every party and dinner she was invited to, able to play till midnight and still be at her desk by eight thirty. Her stamina and liver were in better order then. It was the trendy, narrow-trousered, longhaired young men of the time who attracted her. She steered well clear of women. In those days they were either/or - either women looking for husbands or women looking for women. They did not mix. And she kept well clear of the women who did approach her, those who saw beyond the veneer of her dress and self-presentation. She had set her heart on marriage to the right man and she worked hard during her twenties to find him.
She flirted outrageously and slept with several men, sometimes after too much to drink at someone's house, sometimes with due consideration. The men liked her for her intellect, tempered as it was by her humour and attention to them. She knew not to frighten them. And she had a cute face in those days, even if she always was, and no doubt always would be, on the plump side. Her turned up nose belied the brainpower behind the face and she could play it whatever way she chose -- serious and intelligent, humorous and intelligent or humorous and flighty. The choices were there at her disposal.
But it was a time of lows as well as of hard living. Looking back, she knows why. She was denying parts of herself in her very determination to lead a particular life. In truth, she did not think about Annie, though occasionally heard a bit from friends about how she was fairing. But people lost touch with Annie for a while and the information dried up. Then Joanna heard at some national conference that Annie had gone to work in England. She forgot about her. If anything, it was more Dennis, good looking, interesting, full of drive Dennis for whom she pined. As her friends began to marry and as the socialising changed from swinging singles events to weddings and then to christenings, she began to think that she had made a big mistake. As you do when you are in your mid-twenties, she thought that she had missed the boat and that she would end up on the shelf, an old maid forever delivering social work to failing families.
And sleeping around depressed her. It was still the era when people were experimenting as much with liberal ideas as with sex itself. It carried a price to sleep with someone outside marriage, especially given her strict middle class, stuffy upbringing. The parent in her head always punished her. Looking back, her gregariousness was her way out of that depression, her wilder behaviours her way out of the restrictions of her early, pre-university days. It might have looked to the outside observer that she was an altogether modern child of her era, but inside, she carried early scars from her past with Annie and Dennis to this time. And she would carry the scars from the Bohemian Period, as she would later refer to it, into the marriage with Stephen that was to follow.
It was only to her very closest circle of friends, those friends of whom Stephen became so jealous, that she would allow any hint of her full personality to emerge. There were Bobby, Michelle, Geraldine and Wendy. This ease was because she had known them for so long, since just after her Bohemian era. She talked social work issues with Bobby. She met Michelle who was working at the time in the poorest area of the town, respecting her for the way she was working miracles as a teacher with deprived youngsters. She had even been on an encounter group with two of them, Geraldine the psychologist, and Wendy, a nurse manager. And in that setting of psychodynamic interpretation of every nuance of communication, there was no concealing the nature of man-to-man feeling, woman-to-man feeling and woman-to-woman feelings. That was how she had become friendly with Geraldine and Wendy in the first place. They all three carried friendship out of the encounter group into real life. And it was not attraction. It was just recognition of other possibilities. All three of them were married with children and simply came to have that closeness that comes from recognition.
That group of five evolved into the Gang. It was a group of close friends that stood the test of time. It would stay at five. They socialised with their husbands and all the children but over the years ensured that, as the five of them, they had protected time just for themselves. Michelle and Bobby were also married, Michelle giving up teaching to raise the children, while Bobby juggled children and her full time job in social work training. They were there, all five, for each other, in child sickness, pregnancy, divorce, and then suicide -- whatever life threw at each of them. The women themselves titled it 'the Gang'.
Its essentially closed nature as a group made it a threat to people like Stephen. He had an unspoken sense of what it was like and referred to it frequently in pejorative terms, like 'knitting group', 'tea party' or 'dykes' bar'. He hated it and could not define why.
It was an innocent group in terms of any relationship that really could threaten anyone else. If there was recognition of the unspoken possibility for anyone in it, it was between Joanna and Geraldine. But neither of them ever referred to that, except once back in the encounter group and then it was only an oblique reference. They each had too much at stake in their elected lifestyles for that. It lurked only in Joanna's preconscious, if anywhere at all. Her life was full at that time, of Stephen, pregnancy and then children. Geraldine was a pal and a colleague and that was all.
Joanna left social work for a time and only returned as a main grade worker when Daniel was three. For a while she saw the other women only infrequently. But her friendship with the Gang continued through that period right up to the present.
She is home from the reading circle by ten, leaving the car in the drive as usual. Lou's sitter, Mary, is still here and will want to be off home herself. No doubt she will be exhausted. Aged six now, Lou is old enough to stay up to see her mother when she gets in and young enough to absorb the baby sitter's energies with games and make believe.
Jeremy is still abroad and there is no sign of Daniel. She cannot really think of them as boys now. They are all but men, voices deep, presences towering over her and habits of nocturnal existences beyond her motherly powers to interfere. They certainly have infinitely more freedom than she was ever allowed at their ages. She only insists that she knows when they are due in and that they carry their mobiles at all times so that they can all let each other know of any untoward event. Mercifully, these are rare and amount to no more than the occasional missed bus or a decision to stay at a pal's house. They are turning out well, she knows, and that is in large part due to her energy in leading them to adulthood over the months since Stephen died. And Lou is so well balanced, even if she is precocious and she and Daniel squabble from time to time. Through it all, she has the sense that they are a happy and united family, maybe the more so because of Stephen's absence and then death. Only Daniel can be moody still. If only that phase would end.
The phone is ringing as she comes in. She stays in the hall to take the call and as she realizes who it is, stays there and does not go into the lounge where Lou and Mary are ensconced.
"Joanna? It's Sally. Sorry to ring you so soon. I wondered if we could do some sort of joint thing for next week on 'Oranges'. It would be different and it would make a change."
Alarm bells are ringing, but she feels herself slipping into engaging mode. She has been here before and she thinks she knows what this is about. It is exceptional for Sally to ring. The members of the reading circle are never in touch between meetings.
"What had you in mind?" Joanna fails to keep her voice from sounding slightly seductive.
"Oh, something like the theme of awakening sexuality or of society and parents and young lesbianism." Sally's tone sounds light, but Joanna is under no illusions.
Even so, she is taken aback by the forthrightness of the challenge. And it is a challenge; she has no doubt of it, not after the way that Sally looked at her in mutual recognition tonight at the circle. She is tempted.
But the front door goes and Daniel appears in the hall.
"Hi, Mum. You're home."
"Lou and Mary are in the lounge, Darling," she calls to Daniel, and to her caller, she responds in matter-of-fact tone.
"Good idea, Sally, but I'm pushed for time till next week. I've got Daniel's spring swimming gala to attend. And Jeremy will need his clothes sorted when he gets back from Paris. But they are interesting ideas. Why don't you go ahead?"
She hears the disappointment down the phone as Sally realises that Joanna is being quite firm. She feels momentarily sorry for the other woman.
"Maybe again, some other time?" She finds herself conceding.
"Fine. I'll see you next week?" Sally asks, part hopefully, part disgruntled.
Joanna hears the questioning tone and says 'yes' with unspoken reassurance. Then she puts the phone down and goes into the lounge to join the others.
Later, as she is undressing, she is still slightly exhilarated from the phone call. She has just been approached; she knows it. It was good. It was really good. It took her back to parts of herself that she has kept dormant all these years. Thank God Daniel came in when he did. That reminded her where her priorities lie. She drifts, thinking about Sally. She is a handsome woman, all right. It is a nice feeling. Someone out there, a woman, is noticing her.
It is a nice feeling, but it troubles her. The Gang is her safe haven of women friends. The reading circle is her intellectual space, the context in which she pursues her lifetime interest in reading. Tonight's phone call has shifted the boundaries. She needs the safety of the Gang. She needs the intellectual pleasure of talking books with other women. This phone call is opening a dimension to her life that she has kept under wraps. It may be a nice feeling, but it is a dangerous one.
She is sitting across from her therapist of four months. For all this time, she has been dragging herself here weekly, sometimes dreading the session, sometimes eager to get here as if she will somehow collapse and die if she does not have this protected, 'just for-me' time. Something always happens in these sessions, and the only time she leaves frustrated is when she puts up so much resistance that Jim, the therapist, points out that there can be no progress till she does the work she needs to do.
He has been a good counsellor, there is no question of it, and she knows that she has played every trick of denial and rationalisation in the book with him.
It was the call from Sally that triggered her drop back into depression, that and the woman's persistent chasing of Joanna for a month afterwards. Joanna was tempted. She was able to admit this to herself. She met Sally away from the reading circle and they had coffee a couple of times and then dinner at a restaurant on another occasion. Sally was right up front about what she wanted. She wanted a relationship with Joanna and would tolerate the fact that Joanna was a mother with three children. She made everything sound so reasonable. The boys would leave home soon enough, wouldn't they? Wasn't the oldest one due to go to university? A girl was easy to raise by comparison, wasn't she? Joanna would be relatively free then. The boys need not know anything till after they left home, need they?
Joanna was so tempted and she struggled with her inclination to follow Sally's lead in those meetings. She even let the idea of making love with this handsome, physically fit woman play itself out in her mind. It was so long since she had had any sexual contact with anyone. It was so long since she had felt that softness of a woman's embrace, quite different from the muscular strength of Stephen's, that she found herself groaning one day at her work desk at the very thought of it. She wanted to. And she led Sally on, playing 'should I, shouldn't I?' over the dinner table that night. She even let Sally drive her home and was tempted to invite her in. Then Sally, hoping for just that invitation, leant over from the driving seat and kissed her, long and slow, on the mouth, searching for Joanna's tongue as she did so. It was glorious and it was overwhelming and Joanna let it happen. But Daniel and Lou were inside the house and Sally's attitude came back to her at that moment, the attitude that the boys were commodities to be put out of the way. She could not afford this woman to meet them; of this she was suddenly sure with a clarity that was grounded in the all-consuming mother's instinct in her.
She left Sally's car that evening, distressed and struggling to be away from her suitor as quickly as possible. Sally persevered after that, now using the reading circle to her own ends. Joanna attended less and less till she finally left for a while altogether. It was weeks before she went back to the reading sessions. By that time, Sally was showing less interest. Joanna persuaded herself that Sally had become a symbol of danger to her and that she had to protect the children. Eventually, in the summer, Sally gave up and found a colleague librarian. Joanna rang her once, just to apologise really, but Sally was decidedly cool. And perhaps that was just as well.
Of course, she told Jim none of this, not at first. She went to him after another bout of depression that kept her off work for a week. She saw her doctor who warned her about the need to do more this time than take anti-depressants. She offered Joanna counselling. It was another month before she woke up with such a ghastly depth of despair that Daniel had to hold her head over the basin he brought to the bedside. He called Jeremy on his mobile and when he arrived home they had one of their family conferences. Even though she was more herself again by this time, Jeremy was really in the chair of this session for the first time. Lou was now at the meeting, the six-year-old youngster confused, distressed that her mother was ill and needing reassurance from the ever-comforting Jeremy.
At the time of her emotional collapse, both boys assumed that Joanna was still coming to terms with Stephen's suicide. This was sufficiently true for her to nod when it was put forward as the reason for her misery. She finally agreed to see someone and so ended up at Jim's front door.
He is a tall, shabbily dressed man, usually in corduroy trousers held at his slim waist by a leather belt that has seen better days. At fifty or so, he has a calm air and searching, gentle eyes over a well trimmed, greying beard. She has had to learn over time that nothing that she can say will throw or surprise him. He puts all the responsibility on to her to be there and to talk, and she hates him for this many times. But she also warms to him as a personality and flirts with him. She finds him a good-looking, protective sort of man. He points out that this is what she is doing and that it is a normal part of the therapeutic process. But he never breaches the boundaries and she knows that he is married with a mother earth for a wife and two daughters, who have each given him grandchildren. She is safe with him and for weeks he is all things to her - father, mother, and lover - in her mind. Well, he nearly is all things. He is not her female lover.
And the reason that she is tense as she sits across from him today is that her weekly session has coincided with the day that would have been Stephen's birthday. It is four in the afternoon, she has just arrived and at this time, a year ago, their three offspring and she were preparing to drive over to Stephen's flat with cards and the children's presents.
"How are you?" Jim is asking, this his usual way of starting the session.
"Numb," is her reply. She never knows what she will actually say when the session starts, no matter how much she rehearses it.
"Why?" he asks quietly, giving her no opportunity to do anything but follow her own thoughts.
She lets them tumble out, slowly at first, almost drifting thoughts, disassembled as her thinking shifts into free association mode.
"Stephen's death. The car. I went to see it in the pound, you know. There was still blood all over it. I had to see it. I couldn't see the body. It was the nearest I could get. You should have seen the front of it. The car, I mean. The boys. They wanted to, but I wouldn't let that happen. Martha still blames me, even after all this time. Nearly a year. It has been so long. And yet it feels like it happened yesterday. I can't really believe it. It's like today and that day are side by side. It doesn't seem to get any better."
She goes on with the bubbling, distressing thoughts for a good few minutes as Jim sits silently watching her. She only occasionally glances at him in her agitation, as if there is some point she especially wants him to hear. And she is checking as she comes out from her own train of thought that he is listening. Even after all these months, she still needs to do this.
She quietens and Jim reflects for a second and then comes in.
"Let's look at the guilt that you feel for that day. Martha symbolises that for you and you reject that coming from her. But it is still with you. We talk about this a lot. She accused you of not being normal, didn't she? That was what caught you. That is what traps you still. So let's look at that today. How do you think that you and Stephen played that feeling of yours out about normality?"
She is shocked by the question and it falls into the silence between them. The silence is hers to fill. She knows this is not the venue for sympathy. But she is still surprised that Jim is not letting her have her moment of grief for the birthday that is not happening this year. It is straight on with the work. It is back to looking at her marriage. This is what they have been doing for the last few sessions. Over the months, they have explored her relationship with her parents, her marriage and her children, and what drives her at work. Recently, the focus has been solely on her marriage.
She has told him about how they met. It was during a mental health crisis in one of her elderly clients. She had to act on behalf of her Local Authority to seek the court's powers to remove the old man, found wandering in his pyjamas in the icy cold, to a place of safety. Even all those years ago, these were powers that were seen as draconian and they were rarely used over the years. She needed the GP's agreement and Stephen was the old gent's doctor, and a doctor who was distrustful of the powers of a young social worker over his elderly patient.
It was a stormy meeting, the young Stephen full of medical principles about breaching confidentiality, patients' rights and overt suspicion of social workers. She had come head to head with him right away and used commitment to her client's best interests, as well as that acerbic tongue and all that wit of hers to carry the argument. Stephen was finally persuaded. In the heat of the row, she barely noticed what a strikingly handsome fellow he was.
He rang her a week after the old man was safely in residential care; the old chap now saying that he would never want to go back to the dilapidated house he was living in, and he acknowledged to Joanna that she had been right in her assessment. This concession was unusual coming from a doctor and she was quick to joke about it down the telephone line. It went from there. He asked her out and they were quickly captivated, he with her wit and intelligence -- he was never afraid of that - and she with his smooth charm and self-assured sophistication. Stephen was a good-looking, dark set man, and she always felt somehow proud and lifted in self-worth to be at his side. He was to open a new world of restaurants and weekends away to her, so different to the lifestyle she had until recently led.
They were lovers within a week of meeting, she with no thought to the morality of it. She just wanted to be held and made love to by him. It was gloriously lustful, outrageously uninhibited and there was nothing that she would not do to please him. It was the passion of her life. They talked and they bantered. They played and teased each other. They spent all the time they could together. Each of them was free.
She thought she was lucky to be with him. She thought that she was in love with him. She thought that he was not in love with her. She thought that it would not last and that he would move on to someone else, someone more attractive perhaps. And then they had a first row over a dinner table, each of them with too much wine taken. It was about possessiveness. She said that the one thing she could not tolerate was anyone trying to make her do what she did not want to. She was really thinking about Annie as she said this, and she was more abstracted at the time than anything. It was not meant to be a particularly significant pronouncement and certainly not to do with Stephen. She was really thinking about her past experiences.
But he misunderstood. He thought that she was talking about him and went sullen and quiet. How could she take that view? Relationships were about giving up control, weren't they? He was more than forceful in his views when he had taken wine.
It took two days to sort this out, two days of difficult phone calls, misunderstandings and then reconciliation, the last happening mainly in bed. They came out of that weekend engaged. That was the point when she decided he would not understand about Annie. She never did explain that they had been lovers. Stephen's suspicion was grounded in instinct.
She has long since explored those issues of independence and control in their marriage with Jim. Today what he wants to know is why she feels guilty and why the notion of not being normal grates so much. He is pushing her, taking her away from the stuff that is already explored, and so away from safety. He tells her there is a difference between being responsible for Stephen's death -- which she is not -- and the dynamic that played itself out between them that may have contributed to it. He pushes her to look at the vignette of misunderstanding that happened at the beginning and which, they know now, repeated itself again and again. It is Jim who breaks the silence she has created in the moments since he asked about normality and its significance.
"What was it that Stephen could not have from you, Joanna?"
She has never told Jim. Somehow it has been easy to conceal all this, even from him. She wonders what she has been doing all these months. She has been waiting for this moment. She either has to say something about why the word 'normal' has such significance or leave these sessions for good. She knows it.
She looks away. She sits again in silence. She listens to the clock tick. Twenty minutes to go. They always stick to her allotted time, no matter what. She could leave, but she is anchored somehow to this chair.
"He hated my women friends."
Jim says nothing, waiting for her to continue.
"My friends -- the Gang," she goes on, her tone expressionless. "And one other friend, Annie, in particular, even though she was at the other end of the country and she and I were barely in touch. Stephen never even met her. And I resented the hate he had for Annie and then the Gang. Hate was not too strong a word, I can tell you," she glances at Jim as she speaks. "I also resented him making a fuss every time I had pals round. I resented him wanting to know whom all my letters and cards were from. He wanted to read any letters that Annie sent -- vet them, I suppose. I resented it so much. It had nothing to do with him. It didn't affect him."
She is beginning to feel all that seething anger towards Stephen that started as soon as the wedding was over and they were on their honeymoon in France. As soon as they married, all his assumptions, spoken and unspoken, about who she was now to become seemed to change. She tells Jim this for the umpteenth time. He says nothing.
"I gave him everything and it still wasn't enough. I gave him the boys. And then he wanted another child and I gave him Lou. I gave him a home. I made a good wife. I never refused him in bed. But there was a limit. I would not give up work. I would not give up my friends. I went to that encounter group against his wishes. I was my own person. I wasn't going to be the kind of sop his mother was to his father. It was the late eighties, after all, not pre-war Britain."
She knows she is rationalising as she rants with bottled up anger. She knows Jim knows it. It may all be true, what she has said, but there is more, much more.
"What could Stephen not bear, Joanna?" The question is simple; looks innocuous. But it is not. Jim is pushing her. They both know in the still of the room. Her vision seems to dim. The room is dark as if there is no light in here. She can see only a shadowy outline of Jim. It is Annie who is in the room of her mind.
"My love of a woman." She whispers.
There. It is said. The words fall into the space on the ground between them like a great thundering weight. She is rigid in the silence, waiting for the response.
It is an unexpected response.
"He knew?"
"Not in so many words, no." Then she twigs. "Did you?"
He just smiles.
"Tell me."
"He never knew, not in so many words. It was just something he sensed about Annie and her postcards and so on. I suppose."
"More likely, isn't it, that it was something he just sensed in you?"
She does not want to think that. It is too close to her guilt about his death. It is too close to the guilt that she felt after Stephen left her. She did everything she could to disguise that part of her. But at the end of the day, she was entitled to ordinary friends - her pals - like everyone else, wasn't she?
She asks Jim a straight question now.
"Was it my fault then? Was it my fault that the marriage broke down?"
"How about there were two issues? One: you could not come to terms with your sexuality and all that Annie represents about it to you. Two: Stephen could not come to terms with your sexuality and accept you as you are."
He looks at her now and changes the tone. He has a message for her.
"Joanna, I have said many times that I am not here to judge. I am here to explore with you and to understand, so that you can move forward. There is a third dimension that you may want to think about. I've said to you that other people only matter here as far as they affect you. They exist in these counselling sessions only in relation to you. They matter only in how they affect you and in how you see yourself in relation to them. That goes for Stephen as well as for anyone else." He pauses and looks at her, catching and holding eye contact. "Maybe Stephen had difficulties with his own sexuality."
She stares, taking in something entirely new.
"Was Stephen bisexual? Surely not?"
Jim smiles but says nothing, just letting the idea float into the room.
"Has this ever occurred to you, Joanna? Remember the adage that we often hate most in others what we fear may lurk in ourselves. Perhaps Stephen had such reason to fear his sexuality that he had to deny you yours?"
She says nothing, instead letting the idea filter into her conscious awareness. The idea of her macho husband having a feminine side has just not occurred to her. It was not something either of them ever suggested. The silence is long as she reflects. The conventions of conversation do not matter here with Jim.
"Did you know about Annie?" she asks, jumping to a related set of ideas.
"I know about the Annie in you."
He looks at his watch.
"It's three o'clock. Same time, next week?"
The end of the session is all too soon. She nods, reaches for her handbag and feels that disappointment that comes when there is so much more to say. She wants some more by way of reaction from him. But the session is over. That is the rule.
She follows him from the room with its shabby Victorian furniture, feeling today like a young schoolgirl and not knowing why. He smiles quietly at her as he opens the front door and lets her out. She is left with that notion of the Annie in her -- the last thing that Jim has said to her.
Outside, she sits in her car for a moment, but wants to get away before another of Jim's patients arrives. She drives, automatically heading back towards the city from the village where Jim lives. The thoughts are tumbling now, as if those last few words with Jim have unleashed a torrent. It is so simple, what has been said. But it is also so profound. She is bisexual and that has just been acknowledged between her and the therapist. The world has not stopped. Stephen knew and could not deal with it. Don't we say that we hate most in others what we are nearest to ourselves? Was that it for Stephen?
'We had to be the quintessential heterosexual couple, conventional to the bone, and I threw that into the unrealistic perspective that it only could have? Was that why we rowed so much about the simple things about family life? Is that why he watched my every move all the years? Is that why he was terrified to ever let me have any time with the boys on my own before he left? Was he scared of how I might influence them? Is that why he was over the moon when Jeremy brought a girl home?'
She is emotionally drained but she needs to talk to Stephen, on this day of his birthday and of new insights. She drives to the woods through the early evening gloom. She has not been here since the day of Stephen's death. It is different now as she approaches the tree. The scar is still there where the bark was torn away but it has faded and the area around is back to the way it used to be when they walked here as a couple. But even so, she cannot go too close, cannot sit on the ground or touch the tree. The place still feels scary, even now in the height of the sun-filled late afternoon. She stands, hands in pocket, somehow not wanting to be contaminated. Her gorge rises in her mouth at the thought of that piece of flesh.
She has one message for him.
"Stephen, you were a fool," she whispers at the tree, this symbol of her lost husband. I could have been happy with you for the rest of my life. Well, I could have been happy enough. If only we had understood. If only we had talked to each other."
Now she remembers their good times. They flood back as if a veil of grief has been lifted away to let her see back into the good times, just as it did, momentarily at least, at the point of Stephen's cremation. She remembers him laughing at the news that she was pregnant with Jeremy. She remembers him at the bedside as she gave birth. She remembers the safety of his touch and his commitment to the three of them.
"Stephen, I made the decision long before I met you. The compromise was already made. It was you, Stephen. I chose you. I loved you. That should have been enough. I thought there was no need for you to know any of this. At least I always thought that that was for the best. But you killed yourself, Stephen. I didn't kill you. I don't have that on my conscience. I won't. Not any more."
She leaves this place, wondering whether she will ever return here again. She has said goodbye to Stephen. She has shifted beyond her guilt. Something new will take its place. But something will stay with her from this. It is the understanding that she did what she could. She was as true to Stephen as she, Joanna, could be. That is the gift from her session with Jim.
She drives away and as she does so, she thinks that her work with Jim may be coming to its natural conclusion. There is some way to go in her therapy, but now she has a sense of psychological direction. She has no intention of wandering around the labyrinths of her mind in an indeterminate way; not when she could be living in her outer world. A strong feeling that her time with Jim is nearing its natural conclusion takes its hold on her.
Refocusing, she heads back towards the city and to the evening that she and the children will have as they remember Stephen. Tonight she wants them to know that she is finally coming to terms with his death. She wants to think about the future and she wants them to be free to do so also.
Jeremy has already arrived back from his summer job when she reaches the house. His battered old Ford Escort, her present to him when he passed his test, is sitting on the road outside their stone-built semi. She registers relief and pleasure all at once -- he may be a good driver but she hates that road from Inverness to Aviemore where he is working in one of the big hotels. She parks in the drive and once inside the warmth of the house, she finds the boys sitting with Coca Cola cans in the lounge. The size of her young men makes the room look small these days. They both come to hug her, Jeremy because he has not seen her since going to work late last evening, Daniel because it is today. Lou runs down the stairs and into her mother's arms. She is over excited, mainly because Jeremy is home and only secondly because tonight is the night of the birthday. Nevertheless, she is a full part of family ritual now.
They agreed last October to this idea of how to remember Stephen, by having a birthday supper on this night. She is afraid that that it will all be too painful for each of them and that Daniel's anger towards his mother, lessened over the months, will erupt once again. But shortly into the evening, she sees that it is going to be easier than she anticipated, and that they can indeed talk about Stephen and the better times they all shared. She joins them with a glass of mineral water. But before anything else, she and Daniel both want to hear about Jeremy's job and the latest goings on of the pampered guests. He tells many a tale with humour and has entertained them over the weeks with his perceptions. Lou sits enraptured by her brother's accounts. It is hard to believe that soon he will be embarking on his medical studies. All his life he seems to have wanted to be a doctor, and Joanna remembers Stephen's pride when Jeremy said so at just four years old. That was very reaffirming for Stephen at the time. And to be fair, as Jeremy got older, Stephen was the first to point out the pitfalls of following medicine as a career - horrific and unglamorous sights, long, long hours in the early years, night duty and so on. But Jeremy persevered and never wavered, and now Joanna is quietly proud of the young man in front of her for all his young maturity and level-headedness. But she knows he will also be a typical student who will know how to play hard and that he will be as keen to regale them with tales of the student union and wild parties, as he will be to tell them about lectures and laboratory work. He so wants Daniel to come to the same university, but Daniel has his eyes set on Edinburgh, having recently read a round-Britain review of higher education opportunities in one of the national broadsheets. Secretly, Joanna hopes that her sons are not going to go too far afield, but she will not hold either of them back in any way.
Later, they sit round the kitchen table and eat the Mexican meal that she prepared for them last night. She allows herself two glasses of red wine with the meal, no more. A large, cream candle sits in the middle of the table, lit earlier by Daniel as their symbol of Stephen's presence amongst them. This is better than a visit to any grave or remembrance garden for them. And Daniel starts a tradition that she suspects will continue year on year, suggesting that each of them should say one thing that they would like Stephen to know about how they are faring.
Lou goes first, as she has been promised that she may.
"I miss you, Daddy."
She never says anything else - she has been saying it every bedtime for months - and Joanna knows that there is little else for her to say. Perhaps when she is older, she will want to know more and will have more complex feelings for the person who could have been there in her life as she was growing up. For now, it is just important that she is a part of this family ritual. At least she is saying something healthy and not going into that remote place she sometimes visits, faraway from everyone around her.
Daniel goes next, pausing first to give his little sister a hug. As Lou grows older, she is becoming something of an extrovert personality with her brother. And Daniel is enjoying her presence in the family more and more. The last few weeks have changed the dynamics between the two. It has helped that Jeremy has been away from home so much over the summer as there is no third party amongst the siblings for Daniel to hide behind. He has taken on the mantle of protective big brother in recent weeks. All this is a relief and a quiet source of joy to their mother. A niggling thought that the young Lou is flirtatious with Daniel flits through Joanna's mind and passes into the ether. She will think about that some other time.
"Dad, I was inter-county sports champion in June. You should have seen me."
The words are simple and poignant. They all know, as Daniel glances at his mother as he says them, that there are different ways in which it is true that Stephen should have seen him. Daniel's words could mean 'If only you had seen me, Dad'. They could equally well mean 'You ought to have been alive to see me, Dad'.
She smiles quietly at Daniel. This is Daniel's time to be angry with his father, if he wants to be, and her smile is her way of permitting this without forcing the feeling onto him. Daniel looks at her, taking a measure of whether to say something else. He takes the risk.
"Dad, It wasn't fair on us."
This is the first time in all the months that Daniel has said anything like this. It is the first time he has criticised his father rather than blamed his mother. In between his first reaction last year and now, there has been just silence. Joanna is perhaps a little surprised, but relieved too at what he has just said. This is natural and healthy on her son's part. It is Daniel's way of saying to his mother as well as to his absent father that he knows that suicide is a selfish way out. Joanna wonders at this moment how long this birthday evening will continue in the years ahead and whether it will become too dangerous a thing for her boys to share with her as time goes by. It is maybe one of those things that will take on the mantle of a family secret and only happen from time to time till the boys are older and before there are girlfriends and then wives. For now, she is relieved that Daniel has seen Stephen's actions for what they were. Lou comes round the table to put an arm around her big brother's shoulders. This is comfort, instinctive comfort. There is no hint of flirtation here.
Joanna has never seen suicide as just the aberration of a disturbed mind and has always believed that someone can be very sane to commit suicide. She sees it as an aggressive action in some people, people who have a grudge against the world in whatever form that takes. She knows in her private thoughts that Stephen was one of those people who would have thought out well in advance just what his suicide would do to her and to the family. This was no act of someone who had completely lost his sanity. Or if it were, it was also the act of someone who chose to ensure that he would live on in the existences of those he wanted to affect. If Stephen could not have her and the children in his way, he would ensure that he had them in their reactions to his death. If the balance of his mind was disturbed as Ed said, it was not disturbed in terms of derangement. It was disturbed in terms of his need for revenge. Of this she is sure. The thought of the letters in Ed's office keep flitting through her mind. At least Stephen has not chosen this birthday for a first missive to be sent to them.
But she will not allow Stephen this control over her. She has decided this long since. She would not be in therapy but for her sense of guilt that has had to be managed and sorted. And if it were not for Jim and his counselling sessions she would be a guilt-ridden and no doubt half-destroyed mess by now. She has put all her energies into overcoming the self-destruction of guilt.
She speaks next, wanting to speak through Stephen's symbolic presence, the candle. She directs her gaze through the flickering light towards Daniel, who is sitting opposite her. Her voice is quiet and firm.
"I think, Stephen, my Darling, that I miss you more as time goes by. I miss you and I miss you for the boys' and Lou's sakes. But I think, like Daniel does, that this was not fair on any of us. It leaves the biggest burden on us. It's the burden of knowing how you must have felt. It's the burden of constantly having to remember that you did this and that we have no responsibility for it. Only the person who commits suicide is responsible. And somewhere, you wanted us to hurt like this. Well, you wanted me to hurt like this. It was not fair of you to make the boys hurt like this. It was not fair on our young Lou here. She would have liked you for her Daddy."
She will not share the full vitriol of his suicide note with them, not now and not ever. But she wants the children to know that she is the one he blamed. He only took a side sweep at the two lads in that suicide letter, as if he could not help himself from leaving the mark of his absence on them. But no matter what he wrote, it is the not knowing, not really knowing what went through his mind at the end, from the time he decided to when he wrote the letter and then made his preparations that really drags at her emotions. When did he make his decision? Was it after he asked to stay for that glass of wine? They will never know just how sober or drunk he was or how lucid his thinking as he drove to the wood. Maybe he stopped and rethought before taking pills and letting them take effect. What was it like sitting in the car? Did he get out and take time to reflect in the dark night air? Did he hesitate? Did he feel fear? Did he feel pain? That last question is almost the most unbearable.
These are unspoken questions, questions they might have articulated between them if it were not for Lou's presence. They somehow all sense that there is a fine balance to be struck between involving the little one and saying things that could distress her as she grows up. By any standards, this is an extraordinary experience for a child of Lou's age.
Daniel is looking at Joanna. She feels his eyes searching hers. He is looking for something. She waits, letting the flicker of the candle spread shadows around the kitchen. It is as if it is Stephen's spirit rippling amongst them. None of them is afraid, though. This is not a séance. None of them believes in that sort of thing. Not even Lou is perturbed. But somehow she knows that they all have a feeling of Stephen's unworldly presence. Each of them has said at some point in the year that they believe Stephen has gone on; that he still exists in some form. This is something that Joanna could not have said before his death -- that idea of life after death. She has no religious faith, after all. Now she is sure of an existence after death, even if she believes we know nothing else about the mystery of life and death.
It is Jeremy who breaks the silence. He leans forward, his short hair glistening in the light and his striking likeness to Stephen disconcerting Joanna, as has so often happened over the years. She originally saw the resemblance with a sense of pride, later with a jarring pull at her emotions. It is a different jarring from looking at Jake. Jeremy is of them. But Jeremy is his own person and the resemblance with his father is more in his physical attributes than in his personality. Less charismatic and perhaps more reflective, he is also deeper and gentler. If anything, he has more of his mother's characteristics of sharp humour and incisive perception.
"I think, Musketeers," he says, looking at each of her children in turn, "That it is time that we put a stop to letting Dad hammer us like this every month, and who knows, every day of our separate lives. He died and we miss him. But not everyone whose marriage breaks down goes and tops himself."
Joanna tries, vainly, to make light of the idea. "It wasn't the end of the world. He made it that for himself and he almost made it that for us. And at the end of the day, he left us. He left me and he split the family. Then he left us all by killing himself. It wasn't me who wandered or threw him out, was it?" She groans inwardly at her own defensiveness.
Daniel looks, first at Jeremy and then at his mother. If there is a personality likeness, father to son, she knows it exists in Daniel and Stephen's flash tempers. If there is to be trouble, it will be now.
"Why did Dad leave you?" he asks, his eyes penetrating hers.
It is not anger. It is challenging, though. And it is clear that Daniel knows that the separation was between her and Stephen, nothing to do with him and his brother.
"Private," Jeremy intervenes in an attempt to protect her but she does not allow this to make her miss this, the first time that the question has been asked. She gives her older son a grateful smile, but says,
"No. Daniel is right. I said once that he could ask what he wanted to and now he has."
She pauses and the air is filled with that expectation when no one speaks and everyone knows that the next words will be pivotal in some, as yet to be defined, way. She stares at the candle, as if to hold true to how Stephen would have confirmed what she is going to say now.
"We had a good marriage, your Dad and I. I want you all to know that we loved each other very much. I may be angry with him for what he has done, but that does not alter the fact that he was the man I chose to marry and the father of my two boys. And of you, Baby Lou." She gives her daughter a squeeze and a smile.
They listen, waiting for what she will tell them.
"We rowed from time to time. Every couple does. You know we did. You boys sometimes got caught up in it."
"And some," Jeremy laughs, still trying to keep the tone light.
"I suppose there was one thing that we couldn't sort out. Or maybe we didn't know how to."
She pauses, searching for the right words. She is crossing the age gap, the parent child gap and the sexual orientation gap, all at once. She has to make this right for the boys and for a child not yet alive to the adult experience.
"Stephen, your Dad, did not like the friends I had -- the friends I still have." She lets the weakness of her words fade away, unsure now where to go with this.
It is Daniel who reacts.
"Is that it? I remember what it was like when your Gang was here and Dad would come in. He was like a bear with a sore head, wasn't he, Jeremy?" He looks at his brother before going on.
"He hated it, like he wasn't getting all the attention. Is that what it was, Mum?" Daniel probes.
She hesitates.
"Something like that, Darling."
She watches as Daniel gives a hoot of something between relief and disappointment.
"God. Is that all it was? I thought you must have had another bloke or something."
He laughs now, and then looks puzzled for a moment before the look fades away and he lets an unspoken thought evaporate. She thinks she knows what that thought was. It was a question about why that hate of Stephen's for her friends would have led to first separation and then suicide. But if that is what he has thought, he has let it disappear into the ether. He is clearly just pleased to know there was no great and monstrous secret that precipitated all this. Suddenly, Daniel is up and round the table to give her a hug. She rejoices in that hug. Lou is smiling, not quite sure of exactly what the significance of all this is, but happy nonetheless, sensing the closeness and the easing of tension in the room. Then Joanna looks over Daniel's shoulder at Jeremy to give him a smile. There is a long, quizzical look in her older son's eyes. She cannot hold eye contact with him.
The post card is from the Lake District.
Hi, Joanna,
Sorry we did not make it up as promised this year! We have been busy with family problems -- old age in parents does not come alone. But will try next year. Hope you and family well.
Love, Annie
She gives little thought to Annie's card. There are too many short messages at this time of year. If anything, she makes a mental note to lift the phone to Annie some time soon. It would be good to hear more about how her life is panning out with her partner. But even as she thinks this, she suspects that contacting her will be a plan that will evaporate like so many of her annual resolutions to keep in touch with old friends. Abstractedly, she puts it with all the other postcards from friends on the kitchen wall in the growing collage of summer greetings.
She feels like Shirley Valentine. The September sun is beating down on her naked body. And it is a body she is feeling good about right now. The last months have been tortuous whilst she has laboured away on her fat free diet, determined to look as slim as her frame will allow for the much-anticipated holiday with the Gang. She has amazed herself at the result of her efforts. Now barely eight stone, she looks years younger than she did this time last year and, with her hair coloured for the first time to remove the grey of early middle age, she is feeling well in her skin. She could pass for thirty and not for her forty-three years. For the first time since she and Stephen separated, she feels that the words of her friends about how attractive she is and the admiring glances she has had over the holiday have some justification. Joanna Rodgers is feeling good.
And this has been a hard fought for holiday. It is the first time that the five women friends have ventured away together. The unassailable reason that they have given to husbands and family has been twofold. The children are, in the main, all grown up now. And Bobby is coming up to her special half-century birthday. Why should they not have time away together, to celebrate this and the Gang's lasting friendship?
It was easy for Joanna. She has not had to negotiate the holiday with anyone who might have felt in any way jealous. Jeremy was OK about being in charge of seven-year-old Lou in the last week before he goes off to university. His summer job is finished and he has time on his hands that he wants to fill to keep the excitement about the term ahead at bay. Lou was delighted at the prospect of a week's indulgence by her brother and Joanna knows that her daughter could be in no safer hands. And Daniel was too committed to his growing sense of independence to admit to the fact that he would miss his mother. That said, he has been on the phone to her every day to ask something or other vital to his immediate survival.
Geraldine, who has lived alone since her husband died and then her daughter married, jumped at the idea of spending a week in the company of the Gang. Joanna suspects it was harder for Bobby, Michelle and Wendy to get away. They all have husbands who probably put up some resistance to the idea. It was the time that it took them all to come to the agreement that they would make this trip to Lanzerote that led Joanna to come to this conclusion. Bobby's husband, Jerry, was glad to see her celebrating her decade with her friends, but wanted to be sure that her actual birthday would be spent with him. Michelle's husband, Sam, was worried about being left with sole responsibility for their daughter. And it was to have been Tenerife, but Toby, Wendy's husband, all but threw a spanner in the works of that idea. No wife of his was going to such a down market island. They all knew that he was more worried about the sex opportunities for Wendy there than he was about the tacky tourist culture. In the end, they reached agreements and the dates were agreed. The argument about not going to Tenerife won the day and they all compromised on Puerto del Carmen in Lanzerote and on a couple of apartments overlooking the fishing harbour in the so called 'Old Town'.
For a while, Toby became the object of humour in his absence at the Gang's social evenings. None of them took his paternalistic notions seriously, not least because Wendy has long since confided to them that she has had at least one fling in the workplace. In their eyes, Toby is ineffectual and if anything, the change of island was a sop to the man's ego and no more. It let Wendy off the hook and there was thereby a token regard to any of the other two men's residual opposition to the trip. And so it was agreed that the Gang would have a week together away from the responsibilities of home and work and that they would celebrate the first fifty years of Bobby's life and nearly twenty years of solid friendship amongst the Gang's membership.
The sun is blistering hot on Papagayo beach. They have reached the cove by a long dusty road in the open jeep they have hired for the holiday. They felt like young and intrepid explorers as they bumped across the terrain, taking photos as they went of camels who were at leisure from their duties of carrying tourists up the side of the volcanic mountain, slightly to the north of here. The women's moods have been light, their celebrations serious in the evenings and their days lazy in the sun. It is day four of their week, and rhythms and patterns are established. Geraldine, Wendy and Joanna ended up sharing one flat, this being the result of some egalitarian throwing of dice on the plane on the way out. Joanna was happy enough with this as Geraldine and Wendy are sharing one room and she has a room to herself. She has some unspoken discomfort about sharing and was relieved at this. Geraldine, widowed when Anthony had cancer of the stomach several years ago, and she have rather palled up over the days, perhaps sharing the absence of a husband in some unspoken bond. And without a doubt, Geraldine's support in the weeks after Stephen's suicide has deepened the closeness Joanna feels for her. The two of them and Wendy have done most of the hosting of the pre-dinner drinks on their apartment patio as they all sit and watch the sun go down, whilst Michelle and Bobby have taken it upon themselves to 'cover' breakfast for everyone and to fetch fresh breads and cheeses for their picnic lunches.
It is all working out better than Joanna thought that it might. She has always thought that it is one thing to be friends with people, quite another to go on holiday with them. And it was evident last evening over drinks that the same thoughts had occurred to the others. Drinks were dominated by a conversation about how surprised they each were that it was going so smoothly. Being together, as Michelle said, was sort of slotting into place. And Bobby agreed. They were learning different things about each other and enjoying it.
"Like what?" Wendy wanted to explore, her question not so much one of not having a view herself but of being keen to hear other people's thoughts.
"Like the way the dynamics have changed," Geraldine observed. "We all seem to be able to be with any one else in the Gang without any jealousies arising. Before, we tended to be all together once a fortnight or so and that was that. And we have taken on different responsibilities - not just practical things, but suggestions about where to go and what to do. Wendy seems to want to research what there is to do and we let her tell us. We've accepted that as her role. Bobby does all the practical things like go and hire the car and see to the dragons at reception when we want to complain about the sofa or the fridge breaking. Michelle cooks our breakfasts and otherwise floats around like an ethereal presence. Joanna keeps the jokes flowing and the cajoling going, like when I was exhausted with the heat..."
"And Geraldine, what do you do?" Joanna was grinning at her over her glass of gin and tonic, and smiling to herself at Geraldine's analytical skills working as well here as they do in the Psychology department at the hospital.
"You know perfectly well, Joanna my pet," Geraldine grinned back at her and touched her on the arm. "I'm the Gang guru. I interpret what's going on."
She said it with a grin and unaccustomed self-praise. It raised a groan of laughter and a tossed cushion in her direction. But it was true and each of them knew it. They tease Geraldine that, other than at work, she is vague on the practical things in life and would still be at Edinburgh airport working out which flight was hers if left to her own devices. She perhaps likes to pretend that this is a part of her persona but she is fooling no one. In reality she is razor sharp and practical, and as sensitive to group mood and process as might be expected of her with her expertise in psychology. And she has such a gentle way of observing exchanges that she has been keeping the climate of the five of them happy and open.
It feels to Joanna as she lies on the beach, desperately hoping that the sun barrier she is wearing will have the required protection from the searing heat of the sun, that there is nothing that she cannot face in life with these friends; nothing that could not be shared with the certainty that it would go no further. She has told them so much about her time in therapy -- sometimes the entertaining bits, sometimes the harrowing bits like teasing out the issue of responsibility for Stephen's death. They went through it with her when she decided with Jim that she had done all the work she needed to. Jim left the door open for her to return if she needed to, drawing an analogy that the mind is like a well-run car -- it still needs the occasional service. Bobby and Geraldine in particular approved of her decision.
The Gang also know about her work to support both boys at university, as she assumes that Daniel will follow Jeremy in due course. Her younger son is becoming more and more keen on the idea of Edinburgh, even if his chosen subject is not yet clear. Her friends know how she adores Lou. They know about the hassle she has at work with Angela, her overbearing female boss. They know that she dreads the menopause and the end of her femininity as she experiences it. They know most of what there is to know about her. They just do not know about Annie.
And she knows much about each of them. They all supported Geraldine when her husband died and she found that he had hidden his illness from her for the best part of a year. They know that Bobby is blindly single minded over career and ambition. They accept that but find the ways to tease her and so temper the worst aspects of it. They have listened as Michelle has coped with the tension between her and Sam over their daughter's use of recreational drugs -- or what she calls recreational drugs. And they fake amazement at the exploits of Wendy -- so conventional and able in role as a nurse manager; so erratic and impulsive in her personal life. It is Wendy who has acknowledged her several flings although she has never said with whom they took place. It is Wendy who is forever saying that she will leave Toby when she gets round to it. This has long since led to raising a groan of disbelief.
Joanna loves these women in the healthiest of ways. This is the way she sees it. They have been the bedrock of her life outside the family over all her years as wife, mother and social worker.
A movement to her left indicates that two of the women are off to swim again and to ease the heat. She watches the naked rear profiles of Wendy and Michelle as the two head for the water's edge, past the sun worshippers and into the chill of the sea. It was something of a shock when the idea of swimming nude was raised last night by Wendy and taken up so quickly by Michelle. Joanna stayed quiet in the hope that the idea would fade away or be taken for a joke. But things are different abroad. Here on the beach there are clothed and unclothed people of every shape and size. In a remarkable way, it is all very discreet and ordinary. She could no more imagine the five of them sitting in any of their back gardens with no clothes on than fly to the moon. But after the initial modesty of taking off that last garment, the bikini bottom, she just laid back and shut her eyes, a bit like an ostrich with its head in the sand. If she did not look, perhaps in turn no one would be able to see her.
Now she sneaks a look at Wendy and Michelle as they stand waist deep talking to each other. Wendy is tall and her shape classically pear-shaped. Joanna can see that she is attracting a few glances from white skinned British lads over to the right of them. Michelle is tiny beside her, thin and short and almost Piaf-like in her darkness. Her body hair is still dramatically dark, whilst Wendy is almost orange to match her auburn head.
Joanna rolls onto her front to watch them, comfortable now to do so and knowing that the ease has returned to the five of them. They will picnic soon, all women together but with some unspoken adjustments to be made all round to this new experience.
'I bet no one ventures to stroll naked round the apartments and that this is kept strictly for the beach,' she thinks to herself with a grin.
But she braves it. She stands up, thanking God that she went on that diet, and makes the twenty yards or so to the water, hoping that the others are not paying attention. She plunges under the water, the cold easier to cope with than the thought of Geraldine and Bobby looking at her from base camp. As the chill eases, she turns over onto her back and kicks the water, letting the chill give way to something more akin to comfortable. A shriek of 'watch out' makes her spin round but she is too late for Michelle's warning. Wendy is pounding through the waves towards her, intent on mischief and she arrives at Joanna's side to rise out of the water and to dunk her friend under. In the flesh of hands and feet and flailing arms, Joanna seethes with embarrassment but suddenly calms and laughs to herself. This is fun. It is innocent, uninhibited fun and she is part of it. She has concealed her discomfort -- or else Wendy would not be playing like this, egged on now by Michelle and cheered from the sand by the other two. This is fun and she is enjoying it. They are like teenagers right now, carefree, easy teenagers. It is as if she is finding with these friends the experience of teenage that she could never have had when she really was a youngster.
By the time she has retaliated and Michelle has helped her to dunk Wendy, the others are in the water and they are churning up a sea storm as they play and pull at each other. Somewhere in all this, she registers the strong, firm shape of forty-five year old Geraldine with her firm, good-sized breasts and slim waist. Brunette, her hair shines dark and thick still, no signs as yet of change of life affecting her athletic body. The boisterous play lasts for a good while till they are exhausted. Even Bobby seems to discard her serious personality and soaks her short, chubby body without inhibition. They do not know it as it happens, but this will be remembered as one of the highlights of the holiday. Eventually, they are all back-flipping and letting the waves of the incoming tide float them slowly back towards the shore.
They come out of the water, laughing and jostling each other, hungry for the cheese and bottled water they have for lunch and all but oblivious to the stares of the Brits to their left. The people from the Continent, Germans and Spanish mainly, are unconcerned. They are used to nudity and fun in the sun. It is a good day.
She dozes in the afternoon, whilst the others do the same or walk the beach - in bikinis for this - or read from the novels they have brought with them. It is a drifting, quiet time, little said, little to say. Towards five, Bobby suggests it is time to head back - there are baths to enjoy, clothes to rinse out, drinks to pour and plans to make for the next day before the big decision is taken -- where to eat tonight. Bobby is organising well. And they are not reluctant to follow her advice since they are getting tired of the sun and relishing the thought of baths and showers. They dress into shorts and tops and struggle up the cliff path to the bar at the top of Papagaya Bay. Bobby will drive so the others can have a beer each. It is a good half hour, with little said, while they sit people watching as others begin to drift from the beach. They watch incredulously and with hoots of disapproving laughter as, below them, a man on his own, who has chosen a particularly exhibitionist posture to lie in - lying on his front with his legs full apart to the view of the passing bathers - brings his naked presence centre stage by getting up and strolling the length of the beach. He stands, hands on hips in apparent casual mode, talking to children as they fish with nets and talking to the boatmen amongst a crowd of dressed tourists brought in by schooner. In the whole day, it is the only distasteful moment of bad behaviour and he stands out, not for his nakedness and his apparel, but for the fact that people generally seem to be aware of him and to be taking avoiding action.
There is a heated debate in the jeep on the fast road back to Puerto del Carmen about whether beaches for naturists should be open to children. Views vary, but they conclude that it is parents' responsibility to decide and to protect. And in truth, Michelle points out in a loud voice over the noise of the wind in their ears, parents on Papagayo beach were wise to the nude and his behaviour and they were discreetly heralding their children away.
"I don't know about you," Joanna quips. "I could do this nude bathing business today with you lot. But no way would I have been on that beach with Jeremy and Daniel."
Wendy laughs. "My kids would always refuse to take their kit off when they were on holiday with us. We did, but they were the archetypical Brits on the beach. In fact, the funniest thing was when Benny was twelve. He fell over, fully dressed, and grazed his knees because he was too busy having a good look at everyone else to watch where he was going."
They laughed at the thought of the young Benny doing just that. He is a young man now, well aware of the ways of the world. He would be the first to discard his clothes these days.
So the conversation piles on, comment on top of comment, as they drive and look about them at white villages and fields of lava where, incredibly, vines grow. Joanna is thinking about Lou and that man on the beach. There is no way to describe what she would do to any man who showed even the hint of inappropriate interest in her treasure.
They arrive back at the apartments, feeling sticky from the heat, the sand and the sea. The next couple of hours drift as they have done each evening of the holiday. There are baths to have, calls to family to make, lazy conversations to hold and clothes to sort for the evening ahead.
They meet towards eight for drinks on the patio to Joanna's apartment. The venue for tonight's meal may be Tanzi's Italian restaurant. This is where they ate last night and the food was good, the drinks flowed and the waiters were more than attentive to the women. This was also where Joanna earned herself the nickname of Shirley Valentine, when the manager of the restaurant made a clear play for her, plied the table with free liqueurs at the end of the meal and offered to take the party deep sea fishing on his boat which he keeps at the marina along the coast. Joanna, in reality, paid little attention to the man and his offers, seeing them for what they were, but she was conscious today, lying on the beach, of the sexual thoughts that drifted through her head. The Italian is a big man and she yearns sometimes for the weight of a man on top of her, and the grinding thrust of a man inside her. She has not had a sexual partner for all the months since Stephen died. Lust was awakened last night and it was the bravado of the late night drinking back at the apartments that led her to suggest going back to Tanzi's tonight. Bobby and Michelle egged her on and now, on the patio, the two are only slightly ashamed of their behaviour and they offer to head to the harbour instead of along the tourist strip of restaurants for the evening meal. Geraldine is serious, suggesting that a quiet evening would be a really good plan, and her tone seems slightly reproachful of the other women's teasing of Joanna. She is watchful and somehow protective, saying little and letting the events of the evening unfold. But Joanna is very aware of Geraldine's eyes on her.
As if challenged in some way, Joanna feels she wants to shake off this scrutiny and some perverse devilment in her comes to the fore.
"Let's hit the Strip," she laughs, referring to the new part of the town with its shops and restaurants bordering the sea. She intends to go to Tanzi's. She gets up from her plastic chair and downs the dregs of her gin. "I'm starving," she states, her tone one of bravado.
This brings knowing hoots of laughter, albeit a more cautious laugh from Geraldine, and they are soon in a couple of taxis and heading to the restaurant.
It is already crowded when they get there, the familiar smell of seafood, olive oil and garlic wafting around them as they stand and wait to be seated. Bobby is at the head of their little queue, and the waiter who approaches them recognises them from the night before. They are seated at a table open to the street, and are plied with menus, bread and water. They choose wines tonight rather than more gin, and Joanna makes a mental note that she will need to keep drinking water if it is not all going to go to her head. She cannot help but look around to see whether the manager is about his business tonight. He is. She spots him behind the bar, where he is opening bottles and sending waiters around the tables with laden trays. She is still in kamikaze mood.
They are well into their main course of large prawns, pasta and salad, before he acknowledges them. Laughter is spilling over from their table to the tables around, and Bobby is smiling but from time to time pleading quietly for a bit of reduction in the decibels from their company. But this is holiday land and the people around them are in good humour themselves and not paying any special attention to them. Antonio, for so it transpired is his name, hovers now at the table, smiling at them all in general and at Joanna in particular. He has to shout to make himself heard. Have they had a good day? They would have looked 'bellissima' at Papagayo. Are they enjoying the meal? It is good to see them all back this evening. He will come back to talk later in the evening. He leaves with a particular smile at Joanna, one that they all see.
"I think," Michelle laughs, "That it's you he thinks would have been beautiful to behold on the beach, Joanna. You are all right for later on, my girl."
Geraldine just watches. Joanna is not feeling so full of bravado now and the thought of more of Antonio's company and attention is suddenly not so amusing. She sits, fleeting thoughts of all the indignities of a holiday fling overwhelming her; all that groping with an unfamiliar body; all that disarray of discarded clothes; all that empty passion and ensuing tristesse after lust is satisfied; all the embarrassment there would be when she got back to the apartment; all the ribald remarks she would have to endure from the Gang; all the hope that nothing would come out to the children back home. No. Suddenly she is sober and this is all too much. She looks to Bobby to get her out of here without disrupting the evening for everyone. They rank round her. They finish the main course.
"I know," Wendy suggests, "let's get the bill, stroll along to the nearest café bar and have coffee and ices there."
It is a good idea and Bobby calls for the bill. This brings a protesting and charming Antonio to the table. Surely they will try the 'dolce de la casa'? They decline desert and insist on the bill as cheerily as possible but he is not pleased. He pleads with Joanna. She will surely think about the boat trip. She smiles. She will give it some thought, of course. Where are they all staying, he wants to know. But Wendy is wise to this and cuts across him.
"Over in Costa Teguise," she lies, referring to the next tourist town along the coast. And she is on her feet, the other women following her lead and all but hustling Joanna out of the restaurant before Antonio can get to Joanna's side.
Out on the pavement, they make speedy progress back towards the Old Town, the climate now filled with a mix of relief that the moment has passed and amusement that they can dissect the funny side of Antonio's amorous advances at leisure. Wendy's fib about where they are staying seems wise in the circumstances, and they conclude that they will eat at the harbour on the following night.
The evening ends an hour later after a nightcap, Geraldine and Joanna the only two left together on the patio to their apartment. Geraldine, Joanna senses, has hovered in order to sit on her own with her. Joanna just waits, letting the warm night air, the sounds and smells drift around them.
"That was a close shave," she finally says to fill the silence, giving Geraldine an opening to whatever she wants to say.
Geraldine sighs and smiles.
"Very close. I thought that you were tempted."
"Oh not really, but you know what it's like. He was flattering and it has been a long time. It was titillating, somehow."
"Would you have done it? A sex fling, I mean."
Joanna is struck by the way Geraldine had asked the question. There is a heavy pause as Geraldine waits for the answer. She is watching Joanna very closely in the dim light."Would it have been so important if I had?" Joanna ventures.
"It would have been. It would have been to me."
Slowly, Joanna leans forward towards her in the dark that is lit only by a single candle, a questioning look in her eyes. Geraldine's round, serious face, is gazing straight at her, the dark woman's brown eyes intense in the glimmer of the candle. Now Joanna feels that awakening realisation again that she felt once before, years ago in that encounter group.
She realises with a jolt what Geraldine is hinting at. This is what Sally wanted with her. This is what Joanna had with Annie, all those years ago. She stares, saying nothing.
Geraldine leans forward now. She comes close to her. Her hand reaches in the dark for Joanna's and she finds it. She squeezes it and pulls Joanna towards her. As if mesmerised, Joanna lets her. There, silently, not a word said, she comes close, kisses Joanna on the lips for what seems like a very long time. It is a long, delicious time, a time when Joanna wakens again from her years of emotional slumber. Their mouths open. The kiss is wet as their tongues gently encircle.
Then, almost as quickly as it happened, it is over. Geraldine draws back and looks closely at her. She smiles. Joanna can only stare in a moment of quiet shock. Then Geraldine is standing and about to leave her.
"I am so glad you didn't go with Antonio," she whispers softly.
And with that she walks off the patio and into the apartment. Joanna hears the door to the bedroom click quietly closed behind her. She sits there, emotions whirling for the best part of an hour.
When she wakens in the early morning light, it is from erotic dreams in which Antonio has not figured. Geraldine has. She has made love to Joanna. As she wakens, Joanna is excited and disappointed all at once.
She can hardly face Geraldine over breakfast. But Geraldine is different today. She acknowledges Joanna with a smile but it is a guarded smile. She is confidant and making herself the centre of attention with the others. She barely speaks to Joanna. Now it is Joanna who is waiting to talk with her.
Her chance does not come till later in the morning when they are sitting in the grounds of one of the island's famous monuments, the Cesar Manrique Foundation where the island's most famous architect built his home. They have already wandered through the rooms created in volcanic bubbles under the ground and on the top of solidified lava flow. She is sitting on a wall admiring a mural when Geraldine comes and sits beside her. The air feels suddenly electric. She looks straight at Geraldine. Her friend's face is serious.
"That was nice, last night." She waits for Geraldine's response.
Geraldine is silent for a moment. Then she turns and looks straight at Joanna.
"Yes, It was. But it's not possible. It would destroy the Gang." She says it gently. But she is quite firm - sad but firm.
She is about to say something else, but Michelle appears and, oblivious to the depth of exchange between the other two, offers to go and buy ices for everyone.
Joanna is left disappointed and awakened. Geraldine is right. But the fact remains - she is awakened now and she does not know how she will cope with these feelings, so carefully kept at bay for so long. She puts a hand out to Geraldine, anxious that their friendship can at least continue. Geraldine smiles at her, takes her hand momentarily and just says,
"Sorry. It was something I just needed to do. It was thoughtless of me."
It was all so unsatisfactory. The end of the holiday was dominated by a sense of lost opportunity and secrecy. Oh, she kept up a front all right. She laughed and joked and let herself be the centre of the bawdy jokes about her and Antonio. They all five went up the mountain on camels and then went on in the jeep to the volcano-top restaurant. They took the tourist bus round the volcano crater edge, Michelle saying afterwards that she was hoping that their driver would not have a stroke or a heart attack as he wound the tourist machine round precipitous lanes built on top of the lava, the craters dropping to either side of them within inches of the bus wheels. Another day, they split on who wanted to dive on the yellow submarine out of the marina harbour to look at wrecks and marine life. When she realized that only she and Geraldine were to be left at the marine side restaurant, Joanna plucked up courage and faced her claustrophobia. She dived in the submarine with the others and hated every minute. But she did not want to be alone with Geraldine. Not yet. She was too raw and too shocked, not knowing what to feel or what to say to this friend of hers of so many years; to this friend who had changed the nature of that friendship in just the single second of an evening; and who had said that things should go no further. So Geraldine sat and had coffee alone at a harbour café. Secretly, Joanna could not wait to be back in her company -- well, in her company in the safety of the others' presence.
One thing Joanna made sure did not happen was that they returned to Papagayo. She had no desire to be naked again in Geraldine's company. That would have been too embarrassing; too bizarre. Instead, she suggested that they should enjoy the poolside facilities of the complex they were staying in and the others agreed without any protest.
If anyone else in the Gang guessed that there was any tension, they said nothing. As it was, she and Geraldine talked casually enough in the company of the rest, but there was no point at which they were again alone together. It was as if by some unspoken agreement, each knew that it would be too complex to talk. What could either of them say, after all? They could only move on into something that would be momentous or move further back from it. This way, things were as neutral as they could be. If ever there was a time not to talk, Joanna felt that it was now. Why she felt this way, she was not prepared to explore - not just yet. She knew that would come later. It would have to, if they were to go on being friends. For now, she wanted Geraldine's presence and no more. Her presence was vital. Something was missing when Geraldine was out of sight. Joanna knew it but did not want to face it. She feared that she was standing at a Rubicon; one that she should not cross, one that she was not going to walk easily away from. Yet, somewhere deep inside her, she was angry with Geraldine -- for the impact her friend had had on her equilibrium. All this emotion that she was feeling was stuff from the past. It was stuff that she had intended should stay in the past.
But Joanna was going back to the children, Geraldine to her empty house and her work at the hospital as a psychologist. Crucially, it was the same hospital where Joanna ploughed her social work furrow. Joanna knew all too well from watching the wreckage of other perfectly good professionals' work what the emotional price would be for having a relationship in the workplace.
'Besides, it always comes out, doesn't it,' Joanna mused to herself as she sat by the poolside in Lanzerote on the last afternoon? 'And that would make us the talk of the steamie, wouldn't it? Two pals turned lovers.' It was not an option. In the blistering heat by the pool, where she had insisted they spend the day, rather than down on the beach, she watched as Geraldine and Wendy floated about in the pool to cool off, both now respectably clad in bikinis and looking well for the days of tanning. Joanna ached for the ease of the fun that her two friends were having, ease denied to her now by virtue of that one kiss.
If Geraldine was feeling any discomfort in Joanna's presence, she was showing no sign of it. For her part, she seemed every bit as much at ease as she always was in the Gang's company. She watched over everyone with warmth and perception. After their brief conversation at the Manrique house, she seemed to relax. When she said anything to Joanna, it was with her usual kindness and gentleness.
'Did it mean so little to you?' Joanna mused silently as she watched Geraldine's strong crawl take her from one side of the pool to the other.
The last days in Lanzerote proved to be precious time, time when Joanna simply wanted to be in Geraldine's company and to look at her with fresh eyes. How long had she known her? It was twenty years, during all the time when Geraldine was making a sound reputation for herself as the assertive, capable psychologist that she was. How many cases had Geraldine and she shared, talking with children and distressed parents, supporting people with addictions, helping in bereavement? They had always had a solid working rapport as well as being friends in the Gang and each knew when to call on the other's professional services. Each knew where the other would be coming from when they were round some multi-disciplinary table or other. Tact was Geraldine's strongest attribute, a skill born of many years at the front line of human pain, distress and dysfunction. Nothing surprised either of the two of them any more, but it was still always a refreshing and new experience when they had a case in common.
Joanna had come to recognise the strength of their friendship. They had come together as friends, right back in that encounter group embarked on in Edinburgh when it was the thing to do as a professional. They had travelled up and down by train together over those weekly sessions, Wendy with them, sometimes talking, sometimes reading, sometimes stunned by the intensity of the group experience, as the train trundled through the time warp that is the Edinburgh to Inverness line.
It was a particularly stunned silence on that evening's run back to Inverness after the facilitator had pointed out the sexual tensions between women in the encounter group. In the silence of the exposure of the issue to the fifteen men and women in the room, Geraldine was the one who sought and held eye contact with Joanna. Wendy was looking at the floor, admitting nothing. Joanna saw Geraldine watching her but had to look away. After that session it was one of the quietest journeys back to Inverness that the three of them made. But rather than push them apart, it bound them together by some sort of unspoken kinship. It was never discussed, but there was a sense of safety amongst the three of them. It was as if each of them now knew of that part of themselves that was reflected in the other and there was comfort in mutual recognition. If Joanna wondered at the time about whether Geraldine or Wendy, Geraldine in particular, felt any attraction for her, it was a fleeting thought of a then mid-twenty, 'married-to-Stephen' wife and mother. Only in these last days of the Lanzerote holiday did Joanna wonder if the level of awareness for Geraldine was any deeper away back then. Somehow, she has to assume not, for her peace of mind.
'What a fainthearted feminist lesbian person I was then. And I am now,' she thought, disliking the very words even as she thought them. She was watching the two women splash about in the pool. 'I ought to just throw caution to the wind and get in there with Geraldine. I ought not to let this time go by without holding her. I want her. I admit it. I want her.'
Admitting it privately was one thing. Acting on her feelings was quite another. She knew that she would do nothing about it. She was not in the real world on holiday. She had a child and two sons to go back to. So she and Geraldine both let the time till the end of the holiday drift by in this neutral vein.
On the last night, after a day spent poolside, they all chose a restaurant in the hills, away from the tourist run and known for its local cuisine. They took two taxis and had a quiet, almost reflective evening as they recalled the highlights and the funny moments of the week. Papagayo and Antonio were the fun parts; Manrique's work the inspiring. They vowed to repeat the week as a five-some, somewhere, and sometime. At that moment, Joanna found herself relieved that she had allowed Geraldine to close down on her feelings towards her. How else would friendship continue for them all if the two of them had gone any further -- if anything had happened? Geraldine was right. She had had a lapse and pulled it back. That was for the best.
But Joanna was heavy with sadness at the thought of the week ending. She just wanted not to part from the presence of this woman whom she watched and listened to now with such fascination. She was falling in love with someone she had known for twenty years. She was falling in love with a friend whom she had supported through widowhood and her daughter's marriage. She was falling in love with someone she thought she knew. She was falling in love with someone whom she was looking at with new eyes -- the eyes of someone who is deeply attracted to someone else and who is realising it for the first time. Every move, every smile, every time Geraldine said something or looked her in the eye was significant to Joanna. And all she could do, indeed all she should do, was pretend semi-indifferent composure.
That evening, it was warm enough to sit by a window at the hilltop restaurant. A light breeze drifted across them as they sat looking out, adjusting to the notion of going home. Beyond the vertical drop below them, they could see the lights of a little holiday town they had wandered called Playa Blanca in the far distance. Over to its left, the naturist beach would be cleaned by the tide, ready for tomorrow's influx of sun seekers. This five-some, though, would be flying home, their sun holiday over for the time being. The slightly flat mood of all five was pervading the table as they sat over coffee, not wanting the last hour to finish and, with its end, to herald the long run of packing and travelling that would return them to colder climes and to reality. If Geraldine was feeling any sense of loss at leaving Joanna, though, she gave no hint of it.
Conversation turned to re-entry questions. 'What are you going back to?' The question went round the table.
"Back to Toby, I suppose," Wendy groaned.
"No-one on the horizon?" Bobby teased her, referring to Wendy's flings.
"Well, there may be. But it would be more than a fling so my lips are sealed." For a second, Wendy looked uncomfortable.
They looked at her and said nothing, each of the four recognising that this must have been a time for their friend of thinking something big out. They respected that she had decided not to share it with them. At least she chose this time with them for reflection. 'She will talk when the time is right', Joanna thought. She suspected when she listened to Wendy that they would hear before long that Toby and she were to separate. 'Good for her,' is all she thought. 'Why stay in a loveless marriage if the kids are up and away?'
Bobby broke the silence. All she was going back to was more of the same -- another year of social work students at Don University in Aberdeen, daily commuting from her home in Elgin and driving the length and breadth of Scotland visiting students on placement as they struggled for competency in their chosen career. She does not know, she said, why she goes on year after year.
"Because you do a good job," Joanna pointed out, always happy to have Bobby's students or newly qualified workers in the hospital. "We can always tell a Bobby product," she laughed. Geraldine nodded in agreement.
"And you have birthday celebrations to continue," Geraldine reminded her, referring to the party to come in a few weeks time. This gave the Gang a point in the future to focus on and to remind them that they would be together in celebration again before long.
"I'm dreading going back," Michelle admitted. "Cindy is at loggerheads with her father over cannabis. And it's been worse since I've been out here. Sam just won't lay off and let things take their course."
They listened, little to say beyond what they have all talked about these last months since Cindy got onto the leisure drug bandwagon. Like Michelle, they know that they can do little more than hope she will see sense and not become drawn any further into drug taking or find herself in trouble with the police. And they all are of Michelle's view that Sam could just push Cindy away and further into the drug culture if he takes the heavy-handed approach with his daughter. It had all been said between them before. Tonight was just about listening.
"What about you, Joanna?" Bobby asked.
She could think of nothing good about going back. She was fixed for the moment in the company of her friends and in Geraldine's presence. She muttered something inconsequential.
"Oh, I'll just be doing the usual. There's Lou, work, going down to see Jeremy settled at university. And I'll pick up on the reading circle, I expect."
She felt and sounded dispirited. Wendy looked at her. Geraldine looked away as if uncomfortable.
"And you, Geraldine?" Wendy asked.
Geraldine smiled a sort of enigmatic smile.
"Time for change, I think. I can feel it."
They looked at her, Bobby articulating the first thought of them all.
"Not moving, are you?"
Geraldine just smiled.
"I really don't know. But I have a strong feeling that it's time for a change."
If Joanna was sad as she sat at the table before this, she was even more sad and uneasy after these words. She could hardly bear to look at Geraldine. It was one thing to be standing back from her. It would be quite another to face the prospect of losing her. Bobby came in.
"No matter, we are five and we stay five. Right? No matter what life throws at us? It's always been that way. It will be stronger even, after this, our Gang."
Geraldine smiled.
"I'll drink to that." She lifted her liqueur and they all followed suit, the moment warm and embracing of them all. Geraldine gave Joanna a long gentle look that Joanna interpreted as intended to be comforting. Despite the look, she was decidedly uneasy.
Wendy, Geraldine and Joanna were in the same taxi on the way back to the apartment, Wendy in front with the driver and attempting conversation with him in her pigeon seaside Spanish. Geraldine and she sat in silence, laughing occasionally at Wendy's attempts at describing the week they had just spent and discussing with the driver the ecologically sound approach to tourism that the authorities in Lanzerote have supported since the time of Manrique's influence, both during his life and after his premature death in a road accident. It was all conveyed as much by gesticulation as by language but Wendy seemed to be getting her message across.
As they dropped from the highway onto the approach road to Puerto del Carmen, Geraldine quietly took Joanna's hand and held it. She did not look at her and she said nothing. It was comforting and safe, suddenly. They sat like that till the streetlights illuminated the car and then Geraldine quietly pulled her hand away and the moment was over. Geraldine said nothing as they alighted and nothing as they went into the apartment. It was the one oasis in the days since the kiss and Joanna could only deduce that it was the act of one friend comforting another for having stepped out of line. She did not dare, for all sorts of reasons, to think otherwise. Geraldine smiled quietly at Joanna once they were all three back in the apartment, before disappearing into her room to pack. For Joanna, it was a long, restless and troubled night.
And the next day, they travelled home, first by plane into Edinburgh and then by hired minibus taxi to Elgin, to drop Bobby to be greeted by her jubilant husband, Jerry. Then they dropped Michelle down into her seaside cottage in Findhorn where Sam and Cindy were snarled up in their long-standing row over cannabis. From there they returned Wendy to her unhappy marriage in Inverness. They crossed the city to leave Geraldine, before finally covering the few streets to leave Joanna. Each stop off was punctuated with shouts of goodbye hugs and kisses amongst Gang members and greetings between them and waiting children and husbands. By the time Joanna was alighting, only she and Geraldine remained.
The driver lifted her cases out, and she stood on the pavement ready to wave Geraldine off. This was the moment she had dreaded for days. But inside there would be safety, the children and Mr Macnab -- all that was familiar. Instead of sitting in the minibus, Geraldine got out and came round to where Joanna was standing. She stood directly in front of her and there was a second of silent eye-to-eye contact. If anything, Geraldine looked momentarily awkward. Joanna fell emotionally into that moment and into those deep dark eyes. She stood still. It was Geraldine who came to her, took her into her arms in a strong hug and just said, "I'll see you soon. Take care."
That was four days ago. She put in a restless Saturday, filled only with the demands of children, all happy to have her home, Jeremy preparing to go to university the following day and Lou and Daniel facing the beginning of the new term. She went back to work yesterday, Monday, and did not see her psychologist colleague all day. There was no particular need to. After all, she always made her first day back one that was client free and occupied with catching up with her demanding boss. She could not make this an exception. After all the years with Angela, her boss would spot any difference in Joanna's behaviour. Some deep instinct told her not to let that happen.
Now it is Tuesday. Jeremy has left in his battered old car, the others are in school and she is suffering from the vacuum in her life that Jeremy's departure has left. But there is a second vacuum. This one is the vacuum of an experience ended. It is like when she has been sailing and comes ashore and the earth seems to be in the wrong place under her feet. It is like her world is the same but different. She wants to see Geraldine for reasons that have nothing to do with the Gang of five and for reasons that have nothing to do with their shared clients and patients at the hospital. But the last thing she can do now is lift the phone or call round. Just two weeks ago, she had infinitely more access to her friend than she does now to Geraldine who has changed from being her friend to being the object of her affection. She cannot lift the phone for Geraldine's sake. She cannot lift the phone because they work together. She cannot lift the phone because of Lou and the boys. And it will be three weeks till they are together, in the company of the five of them, for a party through in Elgin to celebrate Bobby's birthday. Her life has changed. Now she is waiting. Joanna is not good at waiting.
Tonight, she should be at the reading circle. She has missed two weeks with being in Lanzerote. But she cannot face it. She wants to curl up, Mr Macnab on her lap, Lou beside her on the sofa, and to think quietly about Geraldine. If she cannot be in touch with her, there is nothing else she wants to do but reflect on the week just past, on that kiss, on that hand holding hers in the taxi and on the way Geraldine said goodbye. Will she be in touch? And if she does ring, what happens then? She strokes Lou's head. Baby Lou who is oblivious and in her own world of make believe, dressing up and fantasy, is content in her mother's lap. Childhood still holds her daughter and Joanna dreads the ending of this phase and the entry of her last child into adolescence. Her boys' growing independence somehow reinforces the closeness of mother and daughter. Lou's years are precious ones, ones that must not be disrupted.
But in the privacy of the half-lit, candle scented room Joanna can find a few hours of privacy for dreams of her own. Somewhere in the course of the long evening, it dawns on her that for the first time since Stephen's death, since their separation, she wants more than the life she thought she was settling to. She wants more than work, children, and friends. She can imagine more - much more. And if it were not for her therapist, Jim, and all those hours in sessions with him, she would not be free to contemplate her feelings for Geraldine.
Now it is Wednesday and she is at work. She is one of the privileged in this day and age who enjoys the luxury of having her own private office. She has just spent an hour with a troubled teenager, a young girl called Sarah who is due to have surgery for a suspected lump. What do you say to a girl of this age who has just spent the hour railing against the injustice of this dreaded diagnosis? If it were her daughter or son sitting here, Joanna would feel every bit as gutted as Sarah's parents did when she saw them yesterday. But her job has been to be matter-of-fact, hopeful and purposeful. And above all, Joanna has to let the young woman know that she has empathy with her but, unlike her, she can see beyond the horror of surgery and treatment that awaits her, to the hope of her recovery.
The distressed Sarah is only partly consoled.
'And no wonder,' thinks Joanna. 'Just a few days ago she had her whole life ahead of her.'
Joanna is drained as Sarah shuffles off to the ward in her bedroom slippers. As she watches the back of the youngster, Joanna allows herself a moment of deep sympathy for the weekend of youth club activity that Sarah will not have. 'Perhaps soon,' she thinks to herself.
It is not that this has been a particularly difficult piece of work. She works with this level of pain every day. She is probably still tired after the holiday and all the emotion that went with it. And here she is, Wednesday already and still no sign of Geraldine.
Something snaps inside her. 'This can't go on', she thinks with a new determination born of pent-up frustration. She knows that she will have to call round to her friend's office in the psychology unit and see her. Either that, or she has to lift the phone. If ever she and Geraldine needed to confer over a case, it was over young Sarah who needs help and counselling. And there are two grieving parents who have all but consigned the youngster to her grave, so badly did they take the news of the cancer. Geraldine can bring a depth of counselling to the family that Joanna cannot, not with her caseload. This is what she would do in the past; she would automatically ring Geraldine and combine skills with her. Geraldine and she would work together with Sarah and her family.
'This,' she persuades herself, 'is legitimate business. Isn't it?'
She is rationalising and she knows it. It should be so routine and so ordinary to do this, to ring her friend and colleague. But still she hesitates. Whatever she says to Geraldine, it will be bound to have an overtone after Lanzerote. She prevaricates. She will leave it till after lunch. It is twelve-thirty anyway, and Geraldine may well be with a patient. Resigning herself to waiting, she starts to clear her desk of files and to straighten her pens.
The decision to wait before contacting her colleague is taken from her hands. There is a knock on her half open door, and Geraldine's head appears. Her psychologist friend has the advantage of being ready for this moment. Joanna finds herself just looking, her face flushing, at this fellow professional, this friend, this object of her reawakened emotions. She can think of not one thing to say. She knows in this instant that returning from holiday has not changed her awakened feelings for the woman who is suddenly standing in front of her. Geraldine laughs quietly, not unkindly. Her smile is warm. Tanned, and in a white shirt and grey trouser suit, she looks, quite simply, stunning.
"Coming to lunch?" she asks, indicating by a movement of her wristwatch that it is their usual hour of the day for meeting up for one of their infrequent lunches together. They tend to do this perhaps only once a fortnight or so. Theirs are busy days, and more often than not, Joanna has a fat-free sandwich at her desk as she brings case notes up to date. So Geraldine must have made a particular point of seeking her out to be standing here now.
Joanna gathers her wits, and then her shoulder bag, and she manages a smile in response. She shuts and locks her desk drawer and stands to leave. Her own trouser suit is maroon and her blouse grey, and she knows now that she has been dressing for Geraldine's eyes for days.
"Where have you been these last few days?" she quips, deciding on feigned bravado.
"Staying out of your way." Geraldine surprises her with these honest few words.
"Why?" Joanna heads out of the office, her eyes averted and leaving Geraldine to follow. She is enjoying this moment, energised now that, at last, communication has started up and the first shock of seeing Geraldine has passed. She has no idea yet what Geraldine is feeling. Suffice it for now to be in this time and with her friend.
"I needed time to think. Didn't you?" Geraldine looks intently at her as they head for the lift.
"I guess," Joanna comes back, feeling her way so very carefully with this conversation. Where is it leading? She looks at Geraldine in anticipation of her respnse.
But it will go no further just now. Joanna's boss, Angela, alias 'the Dragon', is bearing down on them. They all suppose in the social work team that the woman is largely blind to her overbearing manner. She is out of the old school of almoners - all respect for the most junior of doctors - and she drives the youngsters in the team to distraction from time to time. But she is good at what she does - bargaining for resources, advocating for the vulnerable and protecting her staff of social workers from some of the more unrealistic expectations that they face in a hospital setting. And she keeps the big bosses of the local authority to whom they all account at bay, as best she can. If there is an accredited and respected social work department in this hospital, it is largely due to Angela and her many years of dedication to the job. A spinster, she is not looking forward to retirement. This is her world.
So when she joins them and they descend in the lift together, courtesy dictates that they accept that Angela will eat with them. They allow themselves no more than a wry, amused glance at each other.
Lunch in the staff and public restaurant is dominated by Angela's latest news from the Board, and, it transpires, the fact that more cuts are looming. This time, non-urgent surgery is to be delayed till the following financial year and a public outcry is bound to ensue. Their lunches consumed with shared disinterest for the familiar fare, Angela returns with them in the lift, denouncing the managerial decisions that have been taken and the fallout that will ensue for vulnerable patients. Only when Joanna says to Geraldine that they need to discuss a young cancer patient, does Angela leave them to get down to a case discussion in Joanna's office. As they sit down at opposite sides of the desk, Geraldine takes a moment to smile at her and say,
"We can talk later."
Joanna has to be content with this. She reaches for Sarah's file and work commences. Now it is straight to business for the two of them and to a detailed consultation about Sarah and her parents. They never have discussed social matters at any length when they are in working hours and this would not be the time to do so, even if Joanna has been tempted. It is three o'clock when the case discussion is finished and Joanna is now due to be in her weekly social work team meeting. That will, as ever, last till five in the way that any meeting of Angela's can be filled by expanding the agenda to fit the time available. Joanna might have been in Geraldine's company for the best part of three hours and she might have relished every professional moment, but all she knows as she heads back to the team is that those feelings awakened on holiday have not abated. Geraldine has her under her spell. But her friend has given Joanna no inclination as to how she is feeling. Being in Geraldine's presence has been like being with someone she has known all her adult life and yet someone she has been working with and meeting for the first time. All she knows is that she could not keep her eyes off Geraldine as they worked out the best way to help young Sarah. Geraldine's every gesture stays with her. But Geraldine was the essence of professionalism -- not one glimmer of familiarity passed from her.
Later, as she drives home, Joanna persuades herself that that is probably for the best. It is back to reality. It is back to business as usual. Even as Geraldine said "Cheerio" when Joanna left her office, the phone went and there was no more than a routine exchange of smiles. No doubt, when they do talk, it will be to clear the way for ordinary friendship to continue.
'Geraldine is so sensible,' she thinks. 'That is bound to be what she will say.'
Over an early tea, she abstractedly rehearses Lou's homework with her and helps her into her casual clothes for her evening out with friends. It is her pal, Jo-Jo's birthday and Lou has the unusual treat of a mid-week evening out. Jo-Jo's family have booked bowling alley lanes and there will be a beef burger supper afterwards. Joanna can expect her daughter home by nine-thirty, and is relieved that it is so easy these days to have her daughter at a children's birthday party. Lou will be entirely safe and chaperoned all evening by Jo-Jo's parents. And Joanna has no fetching and carrying to do. Lou sets out, her excitement making her forget to kiss her mother and leaving Joanna having to remind her daughter to take the parcel for Jo-Jo in its pretty wrapping.
Daniel has taken to attending the youth club in the town centre in recent weeks. It is a planned substitute for his brother's company and although she worries about how well regulated the centre is, she knows that this is better than the street life of hanging around the town centre that so many kids of his age indulge in. He is under threat of dire consequences if he is not home by eleven. Tomorrow is a school day after all. 'Mind you, when I was his age ...' she thinks. Then she chides herself. 'I'm getting old,'
She clears away and prepares to put in a quiet evening on her own. This is unusual. And she rather relishes the idea. She can have a bath; put on some of her favourite Rod Stewart music that no one else in the house will tolerate and have a glass of wine. She will just have one, in case anything happens and she has to go out for Lou. Half an hour later she is soaking in suds-topped water, letting the memory of the Papagayo beach and Geraldine's shape dominate her drifting thoughts. Her wine glass is half empty.
'Blast,' she mutters as the doorbell goes. Has something gone wrong with Lou's evening so soon? Irritated for herself and worried for Lou, she puts on her wrap and pads her way down the stairs in her bare feet.
"Who is it?" she calls, not happy about opening the door in case it is a stranger.
"Me," the quiet voice of Geraldine calls out.
She opens the door, stunned and saying nothing. She just stands aside till Geraldine is in the hall and the door closed.
"On your own?" Geraldine says, glancing towards the lounge where the light is out.
She nods, and without thinking, pulls the robe more tightly round her.
Geraldine laughs quietly, moves towards her, and kisses her gently, full on the lips. Joanna feels Geraldine's body coming close to hers and she lets herself lean into her. Joanna is the slightly shorter of the two and she feels enveloped, safe. It is a feeling of relief, somehow, that this moment has come. That is her strongest emotion. It has only been a week since she was kissed, but it has been a lifetime of emotion and uncertainty. It seems that they stand here like this for a very long time, till she pulls away and starts to say something. She wants to ask what Geraldine has been thinking. She wants to look at her, to see her face up close in the way that one does for the first time when this happens.
But Geraldine says 'ssh' and takes her by the hand. She looks down into her eyes and just says,
"I've been thinking. There is nothing to stop us. Nothing really."
She waits, searching for Joanna's reaction. Joanna has a jumble of thoughts going through her head. Stephen, surprisingly, is first. After all this time, it is the Stephen in her head who makes her hesitate. Then there is Lou. And Jeremy and Daniel. And the Gang. And work.
But these thoughts are dominated by her silent reaction to Stephen. He is dead. She has every right to move on. She does not need to feel vulnerable to him any more. Geraldine is here and it is Joanna's decision - hers and hers alone. She comes to her decision as Geraldine waits quietly, not persuading, just standing there.
In the few seconds that these thoughts take, Geraldine watches her, just waiting for her decision. She does not cajole or urge. Joanna has to decide for herself. She has made her decision and is being clear about that. She does not apologise for the silence of the week. There is no need for that. She has been clear. She has had to think. She will know that Joanna has been thinking too.
"The children," Joanna half states, half asks.
"We will take every care of them -- yours and mine," Geraldine promises, reminding Joanna as she does so that Geraldine has a grown up daughter. This would have an impact on her too.
Joanna moves beyond the point of no return. She nods. Geraldine gives something that sounds like a sigh of released tension. Then Joanna laughs, feeling young like a teenager.
"I don't suppose we need to get to know each other. We're hardly strangers." She looks doubtfully at Geraldine, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
Geraldine smiles, takes her hand, and bends to kiss it. Her smile says she knows the decision is taken. A quiet sigh of relief escapes from her. She must have been more nervous than she showed, Joanna thinks. She goes on holding Joanna's hand and then turns quietly and leads the two of them up the stairs. She knows which is Joanna's room. She has been there when Joanna has had the flu in the past, just to bring hot soup and cheer. Tonight, there is only a dim bedside light on, and the room is warm and, suddenly, inviting. They do not talk. They just look quietly at each other, their faces serious, each waiting for the moment that is now inevitable.
It goes through Joanna's head to wonder what you would say anyway, in these circumstances. What would anyone say to someone they have known for so many years? What would you say when you have just fallen in love with that person and find that she has been in love with you? Geraldine and she stand for a few seconds, as if each is waiting for the other. Geraldine raises her eyebrows, still holding Joanna's hand, and smiles at her, as if to say, 'shall we?' Geraldine leads her to the side of the bed and Joanna allows this, feeling suddenly vulnerable and safe, both at the same time. Still taking the initiative, Geraldine saves her the embarrassment of taking off Joanna's robe. Instead, she steps out of her trousers and shirt, then her bra and pants, all the time looking into Joanna's eyes. When she has nothing on and is standing there naked, looking bronzed, as she was that day on the beach, she comes close, silently kisses Joanna and then eases the bathrobe from her shoulders. It falls on the floor. Joanna feels none of the embarrassment she did when they were abroad. Now they are standing and Geraldine draws Joanna into her. Joanna can feel the contours of the other woman merge with hers. She has the vague thought that this feels so right. It is as if they fit. They kiss, slowly at first, then the kisses more ardent as passion takes over from the quiet searching for each other's emotions. Minutes pass, Joanna has no idea how many, and then Geraldine is running her hands down over her breasts, slowly, letting her touch rouse Joanna as she explores the folds of her nipples. Joanna gasps, and stands still as Geraldine runs her tongue down her neck to her breast. She is aching. Slowly, so slowly and gently, Geraldine lays her on the bed, on top of the duvet in the warmth of the bedroom and explores her with her hands -- her hips, her mouth, and then the hair between her legs. Joanna lets it happen, wanting to reach out to explore in turn, but Geraldine wants to do the touching. Then, she takes Joanna's hand and eases it down over her breasts to her own hair. Joanna has forgotten what it is to feel a woman's body like this -- so soft and firm all at once. Now their bodies' responses take over from the quiet exploration of their touch. It is so strong, the rush of passion between them and they are rolling now, hands and mouths eager for each touch and sensation. All the time, Geraldine is holding her with her eyes, this Geraldine who has been her friend for so long. She does not speak, except to call 'Joanna' as if some deep yearning is finally being eased. There is no need for other words in their connection. Then, when they are lying in the embrace and the still that precedes the charge of excitement, Geraldine whispers just one thing.
"I waited so long."
It is not a complaint. It is a statement of the depth of her feelings. Then she touches Joanna between her legs and Geraldine feels all that rush of warmth and excitement that has eluded her all these years. Geraldine knows exactly how to touch her, as if they have been together many times in the past. It is so different from Stephen. It is soft and voluptuous, thrusting and intimate in a wholly different way. This is what Joanna has wanted for so long. And it is what she knew she wanted the moment when Geraldine first kissed her out there in Lanzerote. She reaches to touch Geraldine in turn. They each know that it will not be long now. Passion is reaching its crescendo. They move in simultaneous rhythm. They try to hold back and to retain the moment. They cry out as they, one and then the other, almost simultaneously reach climax. Geraldine is still holding eye contact with her as Joanna's head falls back onto the pillow. They are both wet with exertion. She reaches to bring Geraldine down to her to kiss her. It is a different kiss now -- the kiss of passion spent and closeness arrived at through their intimacy.
"I love you, Joanna." That is all her new lover says, as she looks into her eyes, searching now for the same in return.
In that moment, Joanna knows that she feels the same. She knew it last week. She nods, smiles and brings her new lover close for a long, soft embrace.
"And I love you."
They are such simple words, so universally misused. But not tonight, Joanna knows.
She almost dozes, nothing to say for now, and a whole world to talk about in time. Tonight, though, there is only the moment. No one and nothing intrudes. Geraldine cradles her till she glances much later at the clock. Joanna feels her become alert, her relaxed body tensing slightly. It is nine o'clock. Then, quietly, Geraldine kisses her again, smiles at her and leaves her there. She dresses and says that she will let herself out. But Joanna wants to come to the door with her. Drunk from emotion and sober from alcohol, she puts her robe on, and follows Geraldine to the door. Hair tousled, the scent of her lover wafting in the air, she stands where they stood just less than two hours ago. They kiss, and Geraldine simply says,
"I'll see you very soon."
Then the door closes and Joanna is alone to wait for Lou. She leans against the hallway wall, her legs weak from the emotions of the night. She is happy. She knows that Geraldine is happy too.
As she stands there she realises that they have not talked. But then, there was no need to.
It is Friday night and they are managing to spend just one night together, one night in the three weeks since they returned from Lanzerote. Daniel is at a pal's for the night and Lou wanted to do a sleepover at Jo-Jo's house. It has been a wonderful, slow evening of eating at the kitchen table, talking till the wine and the music took its effect in the lounge and then making love in Joanna's bed in a new and different way from that first night. It has been long and slow and much more exploratory, finding out what each of them likes. Less dominant than on the first night, Geraldine has let Joanna take the lead, and Joanna has wanted to do to Geraldine all that she can with a passion that has mixed lust and love in indistinguishable melee. She penetrated her, has had her moaning in tortuous ecstasy when she found her erotic spot and has made love to her - or so it seems - again and again. They made love together with their tongues, they held hands as they came, they explored each other in the way that new lovers do. And all the time, Geraldine has watched her, holding her with her eyes and talking to her of the love she has felt for her now for such a long time. Joanna is drunk tonight, again the drunkenness of thinking she could take no more emotion, no more sexual arousal. They have slept entwined, her head on Geraldine's breast, not knowing precisely when they drifted into sleep, waking to stroke and rouse each other once again and drifting off to sleep till the early morning.
When Joanna wakes in the early dawn, it is with a mixture if invigoration tinged with mild anxiety that the children will need to be picked up in an hour or so. Geraldine is still asleep; her features strong and relaxed in the dim light.
She goes downstairs and brings coffee up for them both. Geraldine does not want the morning to end, any more than Joanna does, but she has a daughter too and she knows that Lou and Daniel must not find them like this. She moves to get out of bed quickly, but Joanna laughs and says that they have a little while longer. They sip their coffee, Joanna resting against her friend and idly stroking her arm. Only clock-watching stops them making love one more time.
"Do you know," Joanna muses aloud, "I'm surprised that Lou and Daniel have not queried why you are around so much."
"It's not as if they don't know me already," Geraldine reasons. "And I suppose after the holiday, it makes sense to be more in touch then usual," Geraldine reflects back to her.
"Daniel seems to have gone a bit quiet lately," Joanna looks up at Geraldine as she speaks, her face enquiring. "And I've caught him giving you the occasional quizzical look."
Geraldine just listens and nods without comment. But she gives Joanna a kiss on the head. When Joanna looks up, she sees that her friend's face is thoughtful.
"I should go soon," Geraldine murmurs, easing Joanna's weight from her.
"There's time yet," Joanna protests. "We are going out tonight. Why not stay for the day and we can collect your clothes later from your house?"
"Better," Geraldine advises, "If you and the children have the day alone together. That's only fair. And, yes, all right," she agrees, as Joanna is about to protest again, "I'd love to come back for tea this evening before we go out. That will be more ordinary, somehow, than Lou and Daniel finding me here on a Saturday morning."
Joanna has to accept the wisdom of her friend's advice. She knows that it is certainly not time to be changing the children's understanding of her mother's friendship.
She leans back into Geraldine, safe in the solid good sense of this woman whom she now knows so much better than she did just three weeks ago. They have explored each other's minds as much as their bodies in these weeks. Joanna has listened as Geraldine has described how she was attracted to her from the start, all the way back in that encounter group. But she was married to Anthony and she respected her husband and would do nothing whilst her daughter was at home. When Anthony died, she found herself almost relieved that the marriage was over and that she was free. Yes, she loved him and they had been good friends over the years, but she was under no illusions as to why she married him. It was for her daughter's sake. The baby was a year old when they married and she wanted Judy to have a conventional upbringing. Anthony was the father and their relationship was going on at the same time as she was in a relationship with a woman she loved very much. Geraldine looked so sad when she told Joanna this. She chose Anthony for Judy's sake, not her own. Hers was not a choice between genders, as, in effect, Joanna's was. If it had only been her involved, she would have lived with her woman lover. But she became pregnant by Anthony - Anthony who was a friend and admirer - one night after she stormed off from her lover in what was no more than a tiff. Her parents then put her under pressure to marry and she genuinely believed in those days that what she had been taught on her psychology course was true -- that all children need a father and a mother. Her woman lover tried to persuade her that, between them, they could care for the baby but Geraldine gave in to her belief that Judy would be better off with her and Anthony, albeit it was going to be a loveless match. Well, it was loveless on her part. Her lover was distraught.
The memory of that conversation comes back to Joanna now.
"Where is the woman now?" Joanna asks, "The one you gave up."
"In Devon. She has been with someone else for twelve years or so. We keep in touch, but I don't see her. Her partner, Sheina, would not be happy about that."
"I'm not sure I would," Joanna laughs, half seriously.
But Geraldine just shakes her head.
"Nothing for you to worry about there. It's all in the past. I moved on emotionally the moment I met you."
Joanna looks at her, her eyes open in amazement.
"You felt this way about me over all these years?"
Geraldine looks at her and squeezes her.
"Yep. And you did not have the same feelings for me. I know that."
"You waited for me? Was there no one after Anthony?"
Geraldine hesitates before replying. Then she speaks without looking at Joanna.
"I've had a couple of flings. One was with a man and one with a woman. I was lonely and you were not available. I suppose I was trying to make a life for myself, even though I knew each time that there was no future with either of those two."
She looks now at Joanna as if in some sort of weak explanation that said the two encounters have been insignificant.
Joanna still wants to protest and say that she had carried deep feelings for Geraldine in turn. But she knows that would not be true. Yes, she remembers her reaction during the encounter group. And yes, she always looked on Geraldine as a particularly close friend. Her true recognition and acceptance of her attraction for Geraldine, though, only came recently. What she felt in the encounter group was more visceral, somehow. She says nothing and it is Geraldine who fills the silence. Joanna realises that she feels some sort of retrospective jealousy for Geraldine's brief encounters. And she finds herself unable to say how she would have felt had she known at the time they happened. She resists the temptation to find out just how recent the flings were.
"I expect I'd have been furious," she speculates, giving Geraldine a squeeze.
But Geraldine just shakes her head with a smile. Of the two, she has the clearer sense of the Joanna who existed before they were lovers.
"I doubt you would have paid much attention. I know when you woke up to me. It was in Lanzerote. It was just before I kissed you on the patio that evening when you decided not to go off with Antonio."
"Before you kissed me? I rather thought that it was afterwards."
"Yes. I would not have kissed you otherwise. You knew by then."
Geraldine is right. It was Geraldine she was uncomfortable with when they were on the beach. It was Geraldine she did not want to share a room with. It was Geraldine who left her numb with shock when she said she was glad Joanna did not go off with Antonio. She nods in silent recognition.
"How could you be sure?" she asks. "I might have screamed blue murder when you kissed me."
Geraldine just laughs quietly.
"There is a great deal of truth in the old adage that it takes one to know one. And I know you very well. I also know that you loved Stephen. I had to wait. And I had to wait till I saw recognition dawning in you. Even then, I couldn't be sure. I had waited so long and was afraid that you would reject the idea of a relationship with a woman. If that happened, I knew that we would lose the friendship we had. And that would have snarled up our working relationship and the Gang. It was too risky. But time marched on. Eventually, I decided to trust my instincts."
"Was it dreadful -- all the waiting, I mean?" Joanna thinks of just the one week she put in between her recognition of Geraldine and the night she came round to the house. What must it have been like over all the years for Geraldine?
"No. Not really, if I'm honest. I had to get over Anthony and see Judy settled. And I had your company in the Gang and at work. It was all a good foundation. And if nothing came of it, I could accept that. Mind you," she says, looking at Joanna and squeezing her again, "It would be different to lose you now that we have this. That would be intolerable." She pulls Joanna close to her, momentarily feeling the loss she would experience if they were to split up now.
Joanna is silent and reflective, taking in all that Geraldine is saying to her. Her lover has had so much more time to think about all this than she has. In a way, it all feels too fast, too definite, somehow. But she lets that thought slip away into the ether. She wants to stay in their love bubble and just experience the present. It is too early to think about futures and that is the direction that this conversation could so easily take.
"How far back does it go? Your feeling for me, I mean."
Geraldine thinks for a moment.
"Well, the encounter group in Edinburgh started it, I suppose. Remember how we were all silent on the train that night?"
Joanna remembers all too well. She nods and Geraldine continues.
"It started then. But that was years ago and I just out it put of my head. Then Anthony died and I was free right away from any duties to him. I was conscious of you well before that, though, if I'm honest. It was more awareness than in-loveness. I was attracted to you and I knew it. But that was different from being in love with you. Then when Stephen and you separated and you were so devastated, I wanted to reach out to you then. Yes," she says, as if just firming up her identification of when awareness turned to love, "Yes, it was then. But I knew that you and Stephen ran deep and that it wasn't over for you. As far as I could see, you were still very caught up with him. Then when he died, you were so sad. Your eyes were so pained and I just wanted to hold you and take the pain into me. I suppose, Joanna, I've loved you for four years or so, at the level of being fully conscious of it. Certainly, I never thought to look at anyone else. And I gave up on the flings long before Lanzerote. I suppose I always knew that I would one day come for you."
She gives Joanna a searching look and Joanna responds with a smile that says she recognises what all that feeling and passage of time must have been like.
"And what about Lou and Daniel?" she asks Geraldine. "You said you would not have acted whilst your daughter Judy was at home, but my kids are still here."
"Yes. I thought about that long and hard. I suppose that I concluded that if I waited or you decided to wait, you and I would be well towards sixty by the time Lou was in her early twenties. That was not an option. I'm sure sex is good at any age," she grins, "But I didn't want to wait in the hope that that is true and I certainly didn't want to lose you to marriage to some eligible widower."
"Fat chance," Joanna groans. "I've done marriage, thank you very much. I was thinking more about Lou and the boys, actually."
"And I did. Truly I did. But I reckoned that you had to be the best judge. That was why I gave it some time when we got back from Lanzerote. And we both know enough about helping children to make adjustments to changes in life situations. I thought that we would be able to look after Lou and Daniel between us. In a way, Jeremy is different. He very much has an old head on young shoulders. Anyway, I have revised my views over the years about single sex parenting."
"So you don't think any more that children need a father and a mother?" Joanna's question is part serious, part in jest as she prods Geraldine gently in the ribs.
"Not any more, no. Love is what counts in my book. There are so many models of family life these days and so much new thinking on the subject. I still think that for the sake of expectations in the outside world, a good marriage is one of the best ways to bring children up, but better a good all-female partnership than any poor mixed gender arrangement. It's conflict that destroys children's lives, in my view."
Joanna nods, recognising how closely together their thinking is on this issue. She wonders whether she would have agreed when she was younger. What would she have chosen for the children if it were a straight question of the conflict between her and Stephen on the one hand, and a new relationship with Geraldine on the other? What would have been best for her family in those circumstances? At best, it would have been a judgement call. She hopes that she would have chosen Geraldine for the children's sake as well as her own.
How her how thinking has moved on. But she leaves that thought there, and teases Joanna about how long she waited after they got back from Lanzerote before turning up at the door.
"You waited a week?" Joanna is laughing. "That wasn't long."
"True, but a week is a longer time in matters of the heart than it is in politics. As we both found out." She is laughing. "Besides, the best decisions are arrived at reasonably quickly. You had a bit of time to consider the issues."
"What do you think we should do about telling them?" Joanna asks her. "We can't keep up this secrecy indefinitely."
"True. But I think we hold as we are for the time being. We need to know where we are going. And then we need to decide who needs to know and how we tell them. And obviously, Lou is the most important person in all that we decide, simply because she is still so young and dependant on you. I should think we have to consider her first and foremost. Then Daniel and then Jeremy."
A frisson goes through Joanna. She does not want to go further with this line. Not yet. The whole business of telling is beginning to weigh heavily on her. She wants to stay in her love bubble with Geraldine before the external world begins to impinge. The children are just one of the issues ahead for them. But it feels like the biggest and she is decidedly uncomfortable as she tries to picture the scene where she tells them.
But Geraldine changes the subject. She wants to know more about Joanna and her involvement with other women. After all, both of them knew on their first night that the other was experienced in lovemaking with another woman. Or was it women, Geraldine wants to know?
"No," Joanna laughs, glancing at her watch and reckoning that they are still OK for time - just. "There was just one woman -- Annie. Annie and I did our social work training together in Edinburgh. We shared a flat with some other girls."
She tells Geraldine about the fun of that relationship and about how she was torn between that and her relationship with Dennis. She also tells her how it was never as serious to her as her need for men and marriage. She treated it lightly, more lightly then than she should. She was young, after all.
"You are a very different person from me, I think," Geraldine says, serious suddenly. "I am really just homosexual, you know, but when I was young, I was too conventional and worried about what people would say to Judy to go down the road of bringing her up in a gay relationship. It was over twenty years ago. I don't know how I would chose if I had my time over again. I like to think that I would make the right decision and face the world." She sounds doubtful.
"Did you like Anthony? Sexually, I mean?" Joanna knows that she is taking a big leap into the dark in asking the question. But she has a hunch she knows the answer.
They have not talked about their sexual relationships with their husbands. Somehow, it has been avoided till now. Geraldine takes a moment to reply and when she does, she looks away from her friend.
"I hated it. I put up with it. I hated being roused. I hated being dominated. I hated the expectation that I should oblige him whenever he wanted it. I hated him feeling close afterwards." Her voice is like steel.
It seems that she could go on about how she hated it. But she goes quiet and lets the words sink in. In a way, Joanna finds it hard to imagine this vibrant, sexually alive woman lying in a kind of aroused frigidity -- because that is what she has been describing. This is stronger than her hunch. All she can do is give Geraldine an embrace that says she has at least some understanding. But this was never Joanna's experience.
"It was different with you and Stephen," Geraldine says, as if reading her thoughts.
In a way, Geraldine knows this already. Heterosexual confidences have not been unusual over the years in the Gang.
"Yes. Yes, it was. I enjoyed sex with Stephen. We played out our relationship in bed, I suppose."
She feels Geraldine tense at this. But she has to say it. There is no point in not being honest. Equally, she knows that she does not need to labour the point. That would be cruel.
"It's well in the past. And I enjoy you in a way I never did with Stephen. With us, all my emotions come into play. With Stephen, it was largely conflict and power, certainly after we were married. Physically, what we have is more equal, more sensitive. Women seem to me to be more attuned to each other in terms of what they want."
She cannot really remember the in-love stage with Stephen just now. It is so overshadowed by Geraldine. As if in unspoken agreement that they cannot explore this further, they leave the conversation there.
And they make love differently now. This time, Geraldine is more ardent, as if she has to prove that she, a woman, can make love as potently as any man. She seems to want to be more potent than Stephen. Joanna soothes her and, after it is over, just says,
"You don't have to try, you know. You are all I want. All I will want ever again."
Joanna knows just how true her words are as soon as they are uttered. With them, Geraldine seems to settle and relax into acceptance of their relationship, but she suggests that maybe they should not talk too much after this about their sexual relationships with their men. It has been good that it was discussed, but there is no need to bring the past any further into their present. There is no need to fall into the trap of being jealous over what is finished. Joanna knows that this makes sense and she is happy to concur -- this is too intrusive of the bubble of privacy they are in to talk about Anthony or Stephen. And she knows that she will save Geraldine pain this way. But she really would like to know about these flings. Are these people still in Inverness? Are they amongst Geraldine's current friends? Joanna knows she has to put the questions aside, unanswered.
She is living in a dream world, the dream world of being in love, she thinks a few minutes later as she and Geraldine share a shower before the day starts. Bodies are different again under water and only the pressure of time stops them making love from once again.
'Here I am,' she thinks, 'a mature woman of forty-three, in love with another mature woman of forty-six and feeling as though life is just beginning.'
She feels energised and hesitant, all at once. It has been precious time overnight, this first night they have spent together since the holiday. Now she is feeling sad anticipation of the end of their precious time together and then the dreadful sense of loss when Geraldine and she will have to separate, albeit only for a few hours.
They may not have slept together, but they have had so much time in each other's company in the weeks since they first slept together. For weeks now, if they have not managed lunch together in the hospital restaurant, they have met, as they would anyway, for a few minutes over one patient or another. And Geraldine has come round to her house most evenings - that is, with the exception of the nights of Joanna's reading circle. It is easier for Geraldine to come to her because the children's home and routine have to be maintained. Most evenings, the couple only sit and talk, but eventually, somewhere around nine, the children go to bed or to watch TV in their rooms and they can be together. 'Together' is only on the sofa downstairs, embracing and with half an ear to listening for any noise from upstairs. Still, they have had time to talk, and since they would undoubtedly be spending every moment in bed together in other circumstances, Joanna reckons that the frustration of not being able to touch and hold each other as they would want to has been offset by how much they have learnt and shared about each other.
Joanna lets her friend towel her dry, and watches as Geraldine dresses and prepares to leave till later in the day. She so does not want this moment of even temporary separation to happen. But another thought is niggling at her as she stands, dressed only in her underwear, to kiss her friend goodbye. She cannot face the changes that the future will bring, by definition of her relationship. She has so much to relinquish as well as to gain. And she has so much to risk, not least the respect and love of her children. She knows that she is still getting her head around this new reality and that, somewhere deep inside herself, she is stalling for time.
As if picking up the distancing that she is feeling, Geraldine looks deep into her eyes and gives her along look of enquiry. The she decides what to say, as if responding to some unspoken assessment of how Joanna is feeling.
"It will be fine, Joanna. You'll see." She whispers.
Joanna hopes she is right.
This evening is the night of the fiftieth birthday party for Bobby over in Elgin. It has seemed an interminable day to Joanna, even though she was fully occupied with shopping and spending time with the children. Lou elected to have Mary stay over with her rather than have another sleepover with Jo-Jo. Daniel is on his honour to be home from the youth disco by midnight. Mary will ring if there is any problem. Joanna and Geraldine are due to pick Wendy up at seven and drive through to the party. The three of them have booked a couple of rooms at the motel on the edge of the market town and will drive back tomorrow morning.
Geraldine is applying a hint of makeup at the mirror in Joanna's room. Lou is watching her, still unquestioning and used now to her mother's friend being in the house. Geraldine is good with her, Joanna thinks as she pulls on her black evening trousers and settles into the light blue silk shirt she has bought for the occasion. She thinks that she and Geraldine look good together as she watches her friend adjust the white cotton top over her navy trousers. Together, they look somehow expensive. They look like a couple.
But they are agreed. For the moment, no one is to know. They are not about to tell anyone in the Gang. As and when they do, it will be in the privacy of one of their Gang evenings, and not at a party. Tonight is Bobby's night and they do not even know whether they will be able to sleep together afterwards or whether Wendy will want to share with Geraldine as the two did in Lanzerote. Things will just have to take their course.
They see Lou settled with Mary and promise her that she will have some birthday cake in the morning. And they are off, Geraldine driving her sports BMW, each of them conscious that they are a couple going out together for the first time. Geraldine asks how it feels. Joanna laughs and says it feels just fine. It feels new, she says - she and Annie never went anywhere like this.
They have to wait for Wendy. Toby has chosen not to come with his wife to this evening's party. His preference is to be at home in case anything goes awry with the vaguely wayward son, Benny. And when Wendy finally climbs into the bucket seat at the back of the sports car, she is flustered and angry.
"Silly bugger," she seethes, referring to Toby. "If he would just leave the poor boy alone, he would come through this. As it is, we'll be lucky if Benny doesn't just pack his bags and go."
They listen sympathetically, reluctant to comment. Joanna has thought just this of Toby herself, albeit in more objective terms. And Geraldine lets Joanna say what little is said. She is concentrating on negotiating the fast road towards Nairn and on to Elgin. In the dark she likes to keep her mind on her driving.
"Why would he not come tonight of all nights? He usually likes a good party. And we thought that you had agreed to come together?" Joanna asks as she swivels in her seat to look at the cramped shape of Wendy in the bucket seat in the back of the sports car.
"Well, Benny wants to have his pals in and Toby was not for leaving them overnight. Suits me, though, if Toby chooses to stay home." She says, "I can cut loose."
"Uh oh," laughs Geraldine. They know how high Wendy can get when she is in this mood.
"Don't worry, you two," Wendy laughs, "I'm up for a good time, but no more."
Joanna remembers Wendy's enigmatic reference in the holiday week about there being another man on the wings. She wonders if they will hear about this as the evening goes on. She rather hopes so. News from Wendy would be a diversion from any attention falling onto them. From what she has just said, Wendy, presumably, is saving herself for someone who is not going to be there this evening. Much as she loves Wendy, she feels a degree of sympathy for Toby. She has always believed in being honest and she finds it hard to accept that Wendy might have valid reasons for having secret flings on the side. But they do not know the facts and she has to suspend judgement.
'We all have to live our own lives,' she acknowledges to herself with a hint of irony.
And Wendy wants to put home and family issues out of her mind. She wants to be back with the Gang and enjoying the evening to come. She asks what the pair of them have been up to in the three weeks since she saw them. Everything their friend in the back seat says seems to have a double entendre but Joanna reasons to herself that she is just being too sensitive to the secret they are holding. They each tell her trivia about their return to work and news of their various children. Wendy just listens.
The party is in full swing when they get there. Bobby is looking delectable in a black evening dress and is soon in her element surrounded by her Gang, her great bear of an adoring husband, Jerry, her family and her friends from the Elgin area. Presents are graciously received, music plays and people talk. Joanna and Geraldine separate and mingle, each conscious of the other and each smiling quietly in the other's direction when they get the chance. Michelle has abandoned husband Sam to the crowd and is constantly near Bobby, looking gypsy-like in floral skirt and loopy earrings, and taking care of the background details that make an evening like this a success. Towards ten o'clock, the Gang of five help to put the buffet out. The banter as people eat is all about the highlights of Lanzerote.
"Wish I'd seen that," Jerry jokes, as he squeezes Wendy's waist. He is referring to the nude bathing day and this seems to be the talking point in the hour of eating that follows. The women take the humour in good spirits and are just relieved that they had a 'no photographs' pact.
Wendy is not as wild as they feared on the drive over that she might be. She talks to the men, drinks moderately and where there is laughter during the evening, she is to be found in the centre of that particular circle. Geraldine goes off at one point to secure the keys for their rooms at the motel and to put their overnight cases into the rooms. She returns to give the thumbs up on the quality of the rooms. She lets Joanna know that she has given her the single room on her own.
"Discretion being the better part of valour," she quips," But let's see if we can manage a few minutes together before lights out."
Joanna is disappointed but she knows this is sensible. She was on her own in Lanzerote and this will seem like the obvious arrangement to Wendy.
Later, when the party is beginning to draw to its close and Joanna is standing on the kitchen patio to cool off from the heat, Geraldine follows her out and slips an arm round her waist.
"OK?" she asks and then stands slightly away to look into Joanna's eyes.
"Very. It feels good. A part of me would like to just tell them all. Wouldn't you?"
"And how. I wonder what the Gang would say."
Joanna does not have time to answer.
"Say about what?" Wendy is behind them, glass of red wine in her hand. She has a quizzical look in her eyes.
Joanna has not the first idea what to say.
"Just how things keep changing," Geraldine comes back, saying something - anything - to fill the silence.
Wendy smiles, gives Geraldine another enquiring look and goes back indoors. They look at each other. Geraldine gives a shrug that says 'not to worry'.
They go back in separately and the evening drifts on till after midnight. At one point, Michelle suggests a date ten days from now for the Gang - all five of them -- to meet in Inverness for a supper party of their own to celebrate Bobby's birthday. They like the idea, and Bobby says she is happy to go on celebrating this birthday for weeks to come. She says in a moment's expansive feeling for her friends that she cannot imagine a better bunch of friends.
The five women clear up the aftermath of the party whist Jerry and Sam share a last drink together, talking man talk and respecting the half hour that the women spend recalling the highlights of the week in the Canaries. Eventually, Geraldine, Wendy and Joanna walk the half-mile to the motel where they let themselves in and head to the lift. The motel is silent, and they whisper as they head along the corridor.
"I've put you with me, Wendy, in 45. Joanna's next door. 47." Geraldine volunteers.
Wendy stops, looks intently at each of them and then says,
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, you two would rather be together tonight."
It is not just the words. It is the way that she is looking at them. She knows.
Joanna just looks at her, a mixture of embarrassment and amused shock on her face.
"How?" Geraldine asks, capturing in just one word the muddle of questions in Joanna's head.
Wendy smiles and whispers,
"Astute observation."
Joanna is speechless. Geraldine is amused.
"We'll hear more about this tomorrow, I think," she says to Wendy and puts an arm on Joanna's arm. "Want to take up Wendy's suggestion?"
Joanna can think of nothing to say. She just nods. But Wendy comes and gives her a big, warm hug.
"About time too," she whispers in her ear.
Joanna kisses Wendy on the cheek in a moment of pure gratitude. Then Geraldine has sorted the cases, hugged Wendy in turn and the bedroom door is closed. They are alone and the night is theirs.
She wakens to the sound of the shower running. Geraldine is up and her side of the bed is empty. Joanna groans. She does not want the night to be over so soon. They have had just a few hours of sleep and she wants to go on drifting in that warm place where her lover's body enfolds hers and keeps her safe. They have only had two nights together since the start and this is not enough. Their lovemaking envelops her and leaves her unsated, even now. She calls out and Geraldine replies,
"There in a minute."
Geraldine emerges from the bathroom, naked other than for a towel round her shoulders as she dries off her short hair. Even after the times they have been naked together, Joanna still wants to look and admire the contours of Geraldine's striking shape. She is tall, straight and her stomach muscles are firm. She could pass for twenty years younger. Joanna just wishes that her years of being a bit overweight and the wrinkles of childbirth had been kinder on her own body. But, she has to admit to herself, she is still looking good from the diet and her few wrinkles are the last things that worry her lover. There is comfort in that. As time goes on, she is becoming more comfortable in her naked self. She is enjoying herself; appreciating her own attractiveness. She tosses the covers back and beckons Geraldine back to bed.
Geraldine laughs, switches the kettle on to make some coffee and says,
"All right. But we have Wendy to face."
A half hour later, after a love session that is more fun and play than passion, they are caught on the hop when a knock on the door sends Geraldine out of bed and into the bathroom. She indicates to Joanna that she can answer the door.
"Dare I come in?" Wendy whispers.
Joanna closes the bathroom door, grabs her shirt from last night's party and dons it as she opens the door. Wendy bounces into the room, a cheeky and questioning grin on her face. She gives Joanna a quick peck on the cheek and asks,
"Sleep well?" Her amused expression deserves Joanna's response.
"Very well, thank you. Yourself?" responds the bemused Joanna.
Geraldine emerges from the bathroom, pants and bra on, and greets Wendy with a wry smile.
"So how did you know?" She starts to dress, finding a cotton shirt and denims, looking first at Wendy and then at Joanna as she does so. She seems completely unperturbed and Joanna reasons in her mind that if they are not safe with any one the Gang of five, something is very wrong.
"I realised on the last night in Lanzerote in the taxi coming down from the hills," Wendy says in matter-of-fact tone, checking her makeup in the mirror as she speaks.
"You were in the front seat," Joanna starts to say. How could Wendy have seen anything?
"I just had a hunch, that's all. And I suppose I've watched Geraldine for a while now. I guessed about her feelings for you first."
Geraldine grimaces and turns to Joanna.
"Oops. Sorry."
Joanna just smiles. There is no need for apology.
"Anyway," Joanna risks the next question. "What about you and the hints you gave in Lanzerote?"
"A long story." Wendy sits on the bed. "It's someone who has to keep it quiet. I want to move out and for us to live together but that's not an option. And there's Benny. So we just muddle along as best we can for the time being."
"Does Toby know?" Geraldine asks.
"God forbid," Wendy comes back. "I think he could be very nasty. I wouldn't put it past him to tell my bosses, or, worse, to take Benny and leave."
"And I thought we had problems," Joanna mutters. Then, "How long has it been like this?" She is remembering Wendy's hints to the Gang over the last few months.
"About a year. Long enough to be feeling the strain." Wendy sighs, her face momentarily distorted with fatigue.
But then the look on her face passes. Wendy is a buoyant person and she does not want to dwell too much on this impasse in her life. Just now, she is full of excitement for the two friends and she positively bubbles with delight as she gives each of them a hug. Joanna relishes the moment. Someone knows and has approved. And it is someone who matters to each of them. It is one of the Gang.
Joanna goes off to shower and leaves Geraldine to dry her hair and to talk to Wendy. When she comes out in her underwear and a T-shirt, the other two women are debating the rights and wrongs of Wendy not telling Toby about her extra-marital affair.
It seems so matter of fact, somehow, that she and Geraldine have just spent their first night in a hotel room together and that one of their closest friends is here with them in the morning. It feels as if she were with Stephen, so ordinary is it. She realises that she is relishing this feeling of once again being one of a couple.
They breakfast quickly in the small dining room, managing croissants and juice and little else. And they start out on the drive to Inverness that will take just over the hour.
The talk turns almost inevitably to what Joanna and Geraldine intend to do now. And as they struggle to answer Wendy's straightforward and up front questions, Joanna realises how little they have talked together as yet about the future. They have not agreed much, except that it is not time to tell Lou and the boys.
"Should we tell Lou or wait till we have a better idea of where we are going?" Joanna asks to neither of the other two in particular.
"That sounds about right," Wendy observes as she replies. "Presumably, the boys should know first. And Lou is just at the age when she will be starting out on her own awakening sexuality before too long. It will be a lot for her to take on board. It may even be a lot for the boys, even though Jeremy's away at university now and Daniel will no doubt follow in his footsteps."
Suddenly Joanna feels totally overwhelmed by it all. Why does it have to be such a big issue, she wonders to herself? Why do some people have to hate it so much? She remembers a psychiatrist making the point, so hard for her to hear even then in the context of an in service training day, that the hate of homosexuality goes way beyond that notion of fearing it in others or even oneself, to simply finding it abhorrent in some primitive, even primordial way.
As she stares out over the fertile countryside and looks over to the hills of the west coast, she feels suddenly drained with weariness. But Geraldine seems to sense something of what she is feeling and reaches across the car to touch her on the arm.
"It will be all right, you know. We just have to take it step by step."
Joanna smiles weakly, feeling comforted by her lover and safe in her presence. Geraldine, short of being the vague soul who can somehow seem just a bit removed from reality, is proving to have her head very much on her shoulders. And that is precisely what Joanna needs from her.
When they reach Inverness, they drop Wendy outside her house and decline her offer of coffee. They get the impression that it will be easier for Wendy if she returns to Toby on her own. And they smile at each other as Wendy says to them as she gets out of the back seat of the car, squeezing past the driver to ease herself from the sports car,
"You two have a good future, you know. I feel it. Just play it easy and you'll be fine."
"I guess she doesn't -- have a good future, I mean," Geraldine remarks as she pulls out into the Sunday morning traffic.
"Mm. She is such a good soul. I'd like to see her happy." Joanna muses, reflecting on the generosity of Wendy's actions of the night before. It could not have been easy for her to take the risk of assuming that she and Geraldine were an item. She doubts if she could have done the same for other women if she had been in Wendy's position.
They do not want to separate. Even Geraldine, who has been so strong in holding the line for Lou and Daniel's sakes, wants the morning to go on. A gloom falls over Joanna as she faces the moment when she will have to get out of the car and re-enter her other life, as it increasingly feels like, by going through her front door. She sits there as the car follows the route round the Victorian part of the city, silently willing Geraldine to just divert them out to the country. It is an idle wish, but it is there, just the same. They stop outside Joanna's front door. She has to go in and start the day with Lou and Daniel. It will soon be time for her to get into her own car and take Mary back to her flat on the other side of the River Ness. She just sits, looking at Geraldine.
"I could come in, just for a moment," Geraldine says doubtfully. "I'm due at Judy and Tom's for lunch, but there's time for coffee." Geraldine has taken to having Sunday lunch every month or so with her daughter and son-in-law. She is keeping it infrequent, vowing that she is not going to be in the way of the youngsters. 'No one wants the mother-in-law around all the time,' She has joked, still getting the idea of her new status round her head.
Joanna laughs and is out of the car now, the prospect of more time with Geraldine enlivening her. And she leads the way into the house to be greeted by Lou coming down the hall to tell her that the dishwasher has flooded and the water is flowing over the laminate flooring. If there is a hint of rebuke in the youngster's voice, Joanna chooses to ignore it, instead telling her daughter to say hello to Geraldine. Lou looks at their visitor, and gives a semi-indifferent, 'Hi'. Joanna busies herself heading to the kitchen where she finds Mary on her hands and knees, mopping up water with a tea towel. The young woman is full of apologies, although she and Joanna both know that this is an accident. Back in the hall, Geraldine is talking to Lou, trying to engage her in telling her about how the youngster spent her Saturday evening. Daniel, it transpires, is still dead to the world in his bed. Joanna can hear that she is having little success with Lou and that the child is making it hard for her. She sighs inwardly, knowing that her daughter is heading straight for difficult behaviour. This is not a good time for Geraldine and her to be embarking on a relationship that Lou will inevitably find difficult. 'How,' she wonders, 'do you tell a youngster of her age that her mother has a woman lover and that she is happy? How, when you think of it, do you tell a youngster of that age that her mother has anyone new in her life?'
But Geraldine is unperturbed by Lou's diffidence, and when she has a moment on her own with Joanna once the mopping up of the floor is done, Mary has left after declining a lift and Lou is answering a phone call from Jo-Jo, she persuades Joanna that the child was only sulking mildly because her mother has had a night away. This, she is sure, is no more than mild jealousy and certainly nothing to do with the nature of their relationship. Joanna hopes she is right. She wants to tell her daughter in her way and in her time without having to respond to some sixth sense in Lou's makeup.
And when Lou comes off the phone and into the kitchen, she is in quite a different mood. Jo-Jo's Mum has invited her to lunch and to go swimming with the family in the afternoon. Please, please can she go? After a second's disappointment that she will not have her daughter's company for the day, Joanna agrees, but only after the usual tranche of questions and advice that any parent doles out on these occasions. An hour later she and Geraldine drop her at Jo-Jo's house and the child is as quick to peck Geraldine on the cheek, as she is to hug and kiss her mother goodbye. With all the speed for shifts in emotion that any child can achieve, Lou is now generous to both her mother and her mother's friend. Daniel has surfaced, only to retire in monosyllabic mode to his room with a bowl of cereal. Unexpectedly, the day is theirs for the two women.
"Happier now?" Geraldine asks as she heads the car out of the city and over the bridge to the Black Isle.
They will do the hour's walk that circles the hills to the north of Inverness; through forestry tracks and along the shoulder of the hill that overlooks the Moray Firth. It is a favourite walk of dog lovers and they have done it themselves, together and separately, often enough in the past in some configuration or other of friends and family. Today they walk it as a couple, quiet in each other's company and well wrapped against the first chill of winter. The colours are stunning shades of autumn reds and gold still, the sky is clear and there is only the slightest of breezes. It seems perfect. Joanna finds it hard to believe that this feeling is one of deep contentment. She has not felt like this for so long.
"Actually," she voices her thoughts aloud, as if Geraldine has been following them, "I don't suppose I have ever felt like this."
Geraldine stops and looks deep into her eyes.
"You mean more to me than anyone else ever has. The fact you feel like this makes up for not having you to myself all the time."
Joanna looks at her, the moment of eye contact overwhelming her with happiness. This is connection of a sort way beyond sexual passion or in-love-ness. Love has brought a sense of peace she has never experienced. If there is any shadow to her feelings, it is because she cannot reply in like terms to Geraldine. She realises in that instant that she has no means of comparing her feelings for Stephen with her feelings for her new lover. How can she be sure that she feels more for Geraldine now than she did in the past for Stephen? How do you compare your love of a man with your love of a woman? She chooses words that tell Geraldine how she feels about her, words that are still true to her self.
"I want this moment to last for ever," She says and smiles at Geraldine. "I love you and will always love you."
Comparisons between the significant people in her life can wait for another day.
"There's no reason why it shouldn't last," Geraldine whispers and links arms with her.
They stroll on like this, nodding to occasional groups of afternoon walkers who approach them as they head round the walk in the opposite direction. Somehow, the two women transmit a sense of well-being that brings smiles of greeting from those they meet.
It seemed easy when she discussed the principle with Geraldine. They agreed in most part. It was too early to tell the boys. After all, they have only been together for a few weeks and they have their plans to make yet. There is nothing to be gained by speaking with Jeremy and Daniel so soon. It can wait at least till Christmas, two months from now, when Jeremy comes home from university. And Lou is only to be told when the boys have been told first. That is right and proper, isn't it? Lou may well be the most significant person, but the boys are now young adults and they should be told first.
But here they all are, the boys, Lou and Joanna, sitting in the candle light in the middle of the working week. They are at the kitchen table, and Joanna is feeling deceitful, distracted and, yes, disinterested. It is not because of the family around her that she is feeling like this. No, it is because she knows that she does not want to be dragged back emotionally from where she is just now, completely wrapped in her feelings for Geraldine, to thoughts of Stephen. She does not want to think very much at all about Stephen. She does not want to revisit all the grief, anger, guilt and trauma of the years of conflict, then of separation and then of the time since he died. She wants to rejoice with her family over her newfound happiness. But that is not an option.
And, maybe she is mistaken, but she thinks that somehow the three young people sitting round the table are at different places themselves. This is quite a different evening from the one they spent on the evening that would have been Stephen's birthday. It is the first anniversary of his suicide and, a year ago just now, the boys and she were sitting in the early evening, in a funeral parlour, discussing coffins, flowers and funeral service order. But it was Jeremy who volunteered that he would return from Dundee for this evening and, despite her reluctance to have him drive that dreadful road between there and home, she was glad to know that he wanted to share this time with them all.
So far, here has been much more talk about what is going on at university and at school than there has been about Stephen. It feels forced almost, that sense that they each have to say something to Stephen. Finally, it is Daniel, Daniel who arguably felt most devastated of the four when Stephen died, who breaks the awkwardness and puts it into words.
"You know, Mum," he says as he helps himself to another bowlful of the home made curry that she prepared for them, "You think each time like this will be the same, but this is different somehow. It's not that I don't miss Dad. I do. But the more time goes on, the more used I feel to not having him around. I used to feel guilty about that as if it was some sort of betrayal. But it feels more and more that I only remember him on high days and low days, if you like, than I do on a day-to-day basis."
He does not look up as he speaks; just sits and munches on his naan bread, waiting to see how the others will react. Joanna looks at him in the candle glow, vaguely amazed, as she so frequently is, that she has such a strapping and dark, handsome young man here in her midst. As Daniel has filled out, he has become strikingly good-looking. A rugby player, he is also well over six feet tall and muscular. Can this be her son, the one who watched cartoons well into his teens and the one who cried so hysterically and blamed her for Stephen's death?
Jeremy fills the silence.
"I wanted to come home for this. Don't misunderstand me. But I found it hard to think about going back to that ritual of speaking to Dad. Time moves on, I suppose."
"What about you, young Lou?" Daniel asks, a squeeze of his sister's waist a new sign of growing affection for this, his erstwhile rival - in his eyes at least - for Joanna's affection.
Lou looks round the table at them all, her young face serious and troubled. Again Joanna finds herself thinking of the handsome family she has produced. Lou is going to be a beautiful young woman. They can all see that. Jeremy whistled in fact when he came through the door earlier in the day, much to Lou's mixture of delight and embarrassment.
She fiddles with the food on her plate, little eaten. Then she looks at her mother who is gently waiting for her to speak
"He left me. Why should I feel sorry?" She says with that defiant tone that only a young girl can produce. Behind the defiance, though, there is real, raw pain.
Joanna wonders how much her own distance from the Stephen she loved is contributing to the shift in all the children. That would be unforgivable of her. She hates to see Lou so angry, the boys so distanced from her father. And she does not want to influence them, one way or the other. She just wants to comfort Lou and make it OK for the boys to move on as they come to terms with Stephen's death, each in their own way.
"Never mind," She smiles, raising her glass to sip some lager, "We would all regret it if we did not remember Dad tonight and remember all the best things about him. At least these suppers bring us all together. That's as important as anything." She reaches over and gives Lou a cuddle. Jeremy tickles his sister and she comes to sit on his lap. They eat in silence for a minute or so, Lou playing at cracking the poppadums and passing them round.
"Mum, I was wondering," Daniel starts, "Could I bring a friend next time we're all together?"
Jeremy whistles. "Ah. A girl friend, I presume?"
Joanna always knows when the boys are playing out some already rehearsed script between them for her benefit. This is clearly one of those occasions and Jeremy will know perfectly well already that there is a girl friend on the scene. But Joanna plays along with it, just as she has done for as long back as the boys were able to be in cahoots together.
"Of course, Daniel. You don't need to ask. May we know who is coming? Are you talking about Christmas, by the way?"
Daniel grins his thanks and tries to sound grown up and cool.
"Yep. And her name is Zoe. She's from Boston. Just arrived with her parents. Wants to do post grad research in Scottish archaeology."
"Yuck," observes Lou. "How boring."
Joanna doubts whether Lou really knows what archaeology is and suspects that this is some instinctive jealousy coming into play. It also dawns on her that this Zoe must be older than Daniel.
Daniel gives his sister a mock cuff round the ears and a tussle breaks out.
Joanna watches her family. She registers that this Zoe must be years older than Daniel, but for now she says nothing. She will ask later.
She would so like Geraldine to be here with them to share all this. Tonight, for the first time, it feels as if something is missing. She has never felt like this on any occasion when she has been with the children. Being in this foursome has always been a complete thing in itself. She did not even feel that Stephen was missing, after the separation. Then he was dead and she accepted that from the start. All she needed of that birthday evening was her children. But now she is one of a couple. And that leaves her feeling that a part of her is inert tonight. This distance form the evening is one of the changes she did not foresee. And she would so like to be like Daniel, announcing that she too has someone she wants to be here next time. But she has made her agreement with Geraldine and that keeps her from reacting to her temptation to seize this moment.
The conversation turns to Joanna's Lanzerote holiday and Jeremy asks about photographs. She goes off to the lounge to find the couple of packages. And the boys are less than polite as they jest and tease her about her all-girls, week-long party in the sun. They know all the friends in the Gang, of course, as they have grown up with those dinners in the kitchen that caused so much laughter at the table and so much tension between her and Stephen. And in the way that children pass remarks in a family without reserve and with equal lack of malice, they comment on all of the friends. Joanna gets reluctant praise for her new shapeliness. They like Wendy's shapely hips; they are amused at a photo of Bobby on a camel; the almost New Age image that the diminutive Michelle portrays baffles them; and finally they whistle at Geraldine's tan and the shapeliness she has in her swimming costume. Joanna cannot help allowing herself an extra long gaze at that particular photo. The comments are jocular, though. Women of their mother's age hold no interest for these young men. Lou jumps in.
"She's been here a lot recently, Geraldine has. It was good that Mum wasn't alone when I went out last Friday with Jo-Jo. And she's nice, Geraldine. She listens to you." It is all said in a rush as if Lou is sending Jeremy a message. Joanna watches as Jeremy and Daniel exchange a glance she is not meant to see.
It rests there and the momentary awkwardness when she does not want to say anything passes. More photos are handed round. Even she can see now that there are many more photos of Geraldine than of any of the others. She puts them away, offering fresh strawberries and more coke for Lou; strawberries in an unlikely combination with beers for the boys; wine for her. The evening drifts and Daniel and Jeremy tease Lou about when she will have her first boyfriend, but this is too sensitive for her and Joanna gives them the nod to change the topic of conversation. The talk drifts to football, rugby and university. Jeremy is committed to his medical studies and to the city where he is learning fast and playing hard. A healthy sibling rivalry about the respective merits of Dundee for Jeremy and Edinburgh for Daniel, when his university time comes, fills another hour or so. Daniel has recently set his heart on business studies and the fact that the as-yet-to-be-met Zoe intends to do her archaeology work at Edinburgh has clinched this city for him. He is not to be dissuaded.
She clears up, and lets them wander to the lounge, finding ten minutes for a quiet phone conversation with Geraldine. Geraldine listens with unspoken pleasure to Joanna's account of Lou's comments. Joanna puts the phone down all too soon, with a promise that she will ring back when she is in bed and the house is quiet. How she wants to have Geraldine there with her. And she will not see her tomorrow as Geraldine is spending the day shopping with her daughter, Judy.
When she finally goes into the lounge, she finds Jeremy alone. Daniel is upstairs with Lou, playing some computer game or other with her. As soon as she goes into the room, she senses that there is something on her son's mind. She sits down in her arm chair and looks across at her son, again seeing not a boy, as she calls him, but a man who, at one level, can not wait for the years to pass so that he can embark as a graduate on his houseman responsibilities in Dean Park Hospital in Aberdeen, and who will soon have life and death decisions on his shoulders. Once again, she finds herself wondering at this miracle of motherhood that transforms tiny, dependant babies into the next generation of adult existence. And in front of her is one who, she knows, will turn many a woman's eye before he makes his decisions on settling down. He has been making it clear for some time that career will come first and girls second - for the time being at least. Joanna believes him. She wonders where all the years are going.
He waits for her, smiles quietly and when she has settled in her seat, last glass of beer untouched but in her hand, he leans over and says in a quiet voice,
"Is there something you would like to tell me, Mum?"
She looks at him, nonplussed.
"Something about Geraldine, I mean?"
She still looks at him, frozen, tempted to feign confusion. But she knows her son too well and respects him too much for that.
"Geraldine?" is all she can think to say. She squirms inside.
He smiles.
"Geraldine."
"You know?" She is stunned.
"Yes. At least I suspect. Am I right?"
She gambles on his reaction.
"Yes." She can hardly whisper the word, but she tries to sound non-committal, comfortable. She knows that she fails.
She sits still and the silence as she waits is all but intolerable. It seems like an eon of time, but in all truth, probably only a few seconds pass. But they are seconds when she feels that flush of anxiety turning into a real hot flush of her cheeks. Jeremy laughs, kindly.
"You never would be able to keep a secret, would you?"
"Do you mind?" is all she can think to say.
"No. Well, yes and no. It was a strange idea to get my head round - the idea of you with someone new and not Dad. But not once I took some time to think about it and to remember that it's your life. If you are happy, I'm happy for you."
It is strange to talk to a child about your sexual life. She never did really talk to the boys in any great depth about Stephen and her. And she never thought that she would be in this lounge, talking to the adult in her boy about her sexual relationship with Geraldine. But that is precisely what she is doing. It feels uncomfortable and it feels safe, all at once. It is Jeremy who is making it safe for her and she loves him at this moment as much as she has loved any human creature in her life.
They talk, Mr Macnab kneading with his claws and purring ecstatically on Jeremy's lap. An hour or so passes as she learns how Jeremy has sensed this aspect of his mother since the early days of the Gang. It was something pejorative - he will not say what - that Stephen said one day that set him thinking, whilst he, Jeremy was still only an early teenager. Over the years, he kept his counsel. He was ashamed and embarrassed when he was young. But time went on and there was a discussion at school during a national outcry about promoting gay culture in the Arts. It helped at the time, he remembers, that the teachers were sympathetic to the needs of young gay pupils; well, sympathetic but cautious. He remembers how much fun she had with the Gang. Tonight, he tells her, he was as certain as he could be. So he decided to ask her.
"And," he says now, "I like Geraldine. She is sensible and kind. You have made a good choice."
"There was not much choice about it," she laughs, remembering privately the speed with which she fell for Geraldine and the 'no decision to take' way she felt about it when Geraldine came round that night.
Jeremy is honest with her. He has found this hard -- harder than he cared to admit to himself. It dawned on him a couple of weeks back when he grasped how much time Geraldine was spending at their house. He knew then that his home would change forever; that this would be a serious relationship. He ran, he said, a whole gamut of emotions; just the same as if he had learned that his mother had a new relationship with a man. And he worried how Lou would take it when she realized and how Daniel in particular would react.
"Does Daniel know?" she asks as the notion hits her with a feeling of alarm. She sees Jeremy's expression change so slightly that only his mother would have noticed it.
"No, he doesn't. And I wonder if it's best left like that, for the moment at least. Maybe once Lou knows and accepts would be the best time to tell him."
The idea of telling Daniel last strikes her as curious. Jeremy must suspect that Daniel is not going to react well. She cannot bear to think of going back to the kind of hostility she had with her younger son after Stephen's suicide.
They have an unwritten rule in the family that no one of them breaches confidence with another or criticises them in their absence. So she knows that he will not say any more for the moment. She simply nods, accepting as wise counsel Jeremy's hint that Daniel might not approve and might therefore have a negative influence on how Lou is going to feel about things.
"What are your plans, anyhow?" he asks now, diverting the subject away from who knows what and who should know what.
It occurs to her once again that as yet they have none. It is all too immediate and they have not talked about the future. They are only living the moment of their experience. She shrugs with a smile.
"Too early. We haven't thought. I don't suppose we have any."
"I'll bet Geraldine has, if I know your friend," Jeremy chortles.
That is a new notion to her and as soon as it is said, she knows that that is precisely what Geraldine will have -- a plan for their future. At once it rankles her that she is so far behind her friend. And yet, somehow, there is comfort in the idea of being looked after. She has not been looked after since the early days with Stephen. It is so tempting to float away into the safe place that Geraldine offers, wherever it turns out to be. She has no sense of her future except that it is going to be enveloping.
There is not much more to say for now. Jeremy has some idea of what it is for two women to love each other. He admits he does not fully understand, but there are two women on his course who are together. So he knows how real the feelings are that they have for each other. He just wants his mother to be happy, he says, and in a funny way, he is relieved that she has not found another man. He laughs as he says this, pointing out that he can still be the man of the house.
Before she says much more to Jeremy, she wants to talk with Geraldine. She hugs him and can only think of thanking him as her way of saying goodnight. He just laughs.
"Nothing to thank me for."
He could not be more wrong in that and she knows she will be grateful to Jeremy for all the rest of her life.
But as she undresses for bed later, a feeling of foreboding overwhelms her. She rings Geraldine from the warmth of her duvet. Geraldine is still up and watching a film on TV. She is warm and welcoming and wants to know how the reunion night has gone. She listens quietly as Joanna tells her about how the family seems to be moving on from the paralysis of their grief reactions to Stephen's death. Then Joanna tells her about Jeremy having guessed. Geraldine is relieved that Jeremy has been so accepting. But she reflects in silence for a second and then she goes on to say that she is very uncomfortable about Jeremy's advice to put a hold on saying anything to Daniel for the time being.
"Why?" Joanna asks, surprised at the serious note of caution coming over the line.
Geraldine takes a few seconds before she responds.
"Jeremy is giving you advice that you may want to listen to. I see that it's possible from what he has said tonight that he is anticipating that Daniel will not react well. But you should not necessarily accept that as fact and maybe thereby create the self-fulfilling prophecy of Daniel reacting badly. At the end of the day, no one can predict how someone else will react to significant news like this. And people will tend to be influenced by how they hear things, when and from whom. So maybe you won't want to leave it too long."
She pauses to let her words sink in before continuing.
" I know it's hard, Darling, but it is true that this business of coming out, if you want to put it like that, is ongoing and never over. We have to constantly assess how we are seen and whether and when and how to come out. It's as true in the family, as it is at work and in our social circles. It's tough, Joanna. But we need to think about this reasonably quickly. I suppose we need to think about this before we are really ready ourselves to face the outside world. If we don't, the outside world will take over and control us."
Joanna listens to the words and can see the common sense in what Geraldine is saying. Her friend has not saifd any of this lightly. It has been carefully thought out before tonight. But Joanna protests inside at the very notion of having to define herself to the world. She wants her privacy and her time of absolute intimacy with Geraldine to be untarnished by anything else. It is good that Jeremy knows, but someone else is already, at one level, interpreting her very new relationship. Fine, Jeremy's has been a positive response. But it is all happening too soon. It is too soon for Joanna. She is scared and she knows it. And she knows that in thinking about privacy, she is kidding herself.
'For privacy, read secrecy.'
The last thing she wants is the voice of Annie on the line.
She has barely adjusted to the quiet in the house after Jeremy went back to Dundee this morning, keen to have the weekend in his university world rather than in his home city which has no immediate attraction now that his friends, by and large, are scattered across the centres of higher education in Scotland. Joanna put up a few suggestions for how they could all spend the weekend together, maybe including a day's hiking in the Torridon hills, but the allure of the night spots was too great and off both boys went, picking up the girl friend Zoe as they went, all in Jeremy's beat-up car. She had the mandatory call from them by lunchtime to confirm they had all arrived safely, and with the few words of how well the anniversary had gone, words of affection exchanged all round and exhortations from her to look after themselves, the house returned to quiet and calm. It should stay like this till Daniel slams through the door late on Sunday evening, ready for school on Monday.
She misses them and probably always will each time they leave to go to the next exciting episode of their busy lives. And this is certainly a big change -- one boy away and the other with an older girlfriend hitting the city lights, albeit under the watchful eye of his older brother. Lou wandered around this morning like a fish out of water after they went and nothing seemed to console her. Each time either of the boys is gone, it takes time for her to adapt once again to her life of school, her after-school club and visiting friend Jo-Jo.
But for Joanna today, the departure of the boys opens opportunity. She will see Geraldine tonight when her friend has finished her day's shopping with Judy and then dropped her daughter back to her cottage on the Beauly side of town. In a frosty call to Joanna, Martha has invited Lou round to sleep over and Joanna has agreed, albeit reluctantly. She does not much like Lou being with the Rodgers. But Joanna is freed from her maternal responsibility by virtue of Lou's planned sleepover with the Rodgers and she is going to spend her first night at Geraldine's home. She knows of old that Geraldine loves cooking and has something special prepared for the meal. All that Joanna has to do is put in Saturday and then it will be time.
Now, out of the blue in the late morning, Annie is on the line saying that she is on the road, heading towards Aviemore for a conference over the next week and asking if she can come and stay with Joanna for this weekend before the conference starts. Joanna is not at all sure that she wants this to happen. It is so typical of her former lover to just assume that she can land like this, with precious little warning. Joanna's time with Geraldine is already so circumscribed and she wants all the privacy of time alone with her that they can manage. And she has no idea what kind of behaviour she can expect in front of Lou from Annie, the woman who was once her lover. Her instinct is to protect Lou, who will be around during today and most of Sunday. Only after she has thought this, does it occur to her to consider that Geraldine may have some feelings about one of Joanna's ex-lovers turning up so soon into their new relationship. Will she think that Joanna has engineered this? How would she, Joanna, feel if the shoe were on the other foot and one of Geraldine's ex partners was heading up for a weekend?
Joanna stalls for time. She is friendly enough, but she has other arrangements, she explains to Annie. So today, Saturday, is out but she will speak to the people she was going to spend Sunday with and perhaps they could at least arrange something for tomorrow. Maybe lunch? She hears Annie's disappointment and listens as she makes some quick adjustment to her provisional plan. Annie thinks she could be in Edinburgh by three o'clock, spend the night there and drive on up to Inverness tomorrow, Sunday morning. Perhaps if she was in town by twelve-ish, they could meet up then?
What will she do in Edinburgh, Joanna asks, expecting the answer that her old friend will be off to the latest theatrical production -- there is a revival of Jacques Brel showing at the Queen's. But no, Annie surprises her. She is going to go to the Lavender Link. Joanna has only heard of it -- never been there. It is one of Edinburgh's 'places for women' as it is euphemistically called - a lesbian pub and disco club.
"What in God's name are you going there for?" she almost chokes on her coffee as she listens to Annie. "You're surely not going there on your own, are you?"
"Why not?" Annie laughs. "It's got a safe reputation and I haven't had a night out in a club for ages. I'm only going to have a drink - and a dance, hopefully."
Joanna does not want to think about all the reasons why Annie should not be going to this club. There is the fact that not many professional women would dream of being seen in such a place. There is the fact that places like this attract some of the toughest of characters and the worst of drink related incidents. Then there is the fact that Annie works for the government and has, at very least, the protection of her professional status to think about, albeit she will be reasonably anonymous away from Birmingham. Joanna could go on thinking of all the reasons why this is not a good idea. But she and Annie have only had a bantering closeness on the phone over the recent calls and postcards and Joanna knows that she will not influence Annie even if she continues to try.
Annie is clear -- she is as far 'out' as her job permits her to be. Her relationship with Jemmy is quietly understood and accepted. If she is invited to the home of her colleagues, she is invited as one of a couple. Even when one of her team was married recently, Jemmy and Annie went together to the reception. So she sees no problem in going to a club. If anything gets back to the workplace, there would be no surprise for the government masters.
"Maybe it's easier for you down there in England," Joanna comments. "There is no way that I'd go anywhere like that."
"Why ever not?" Annie asks, unable to understand Joanna's reticence. "I want the company of like minded people. I spend all my working time being caught between the need to be circumspect and wanting just to be me."
Joanna sighs inwardly as Annie heads off on one of her diatribes. She has heard all this before. Annie's words take her straight back to student days of rhetoric.
"It's all so conditional, this business of being accepted at work whether by your colleagues or your bosses. I rather feel they would prefer it if you didn't do or say anything that would frighten any horses. That's the only way they can accommodate you. It's a very subtle imperative on us, but it leaves us with a very invidious balance to achieve. And it makes me mad when people say that it's a non-issue. Being gay is a very big issue to me. It defines my life. So when I can get the chance to go and be with some kindred spirits, I take it."
"Sure you won't wander? You wouldn't be unfaithful to Jemmy, would you?" Joanna laughs, diverting Annie from her political stance and knowing precisely the nature of Annie's ability to hold to her polemic and to rant for minutes at a time. She wants to cut the conversation before she has Annie's full positional statement.
"Not at all. I'm a reformed character. No. I just want to be absolutely myself for an evening. That's all. Jemmy understands that. She works in a school -- did I tell you? She knows what it's like to have to pretend to be some sort of sexual neuter. She's a gym teacher and they would have a field day with her if she admitted to being gay. The staff would be worse than the kids. So she keeps her own counsel and just refers to me as her friend."
Annie sounds critical - cynical even -- of Jemmy's method of surviving in her working world.
"Is that not sensible?" Joanna asks, aware of the homophobic attitude that prevails in so many circles -- the attitude that says that lesbians should not be near children; as if they might corrupt them by their presence, or worse, seduce them as young adolescents. Her mind flits back as she speaks to Pam's reaction in the reading circle and the woman's instinctive fear for her two teenage daughters when it came to discussing a lesbian-themed novel.
"Well, it may be something we all have to do to some degree or other. But I for one hate it. I get so sick of having to adjust how I relate to the outside world in a way that I find so, so - I don't know - so dishonest to myself."
"So you are going to this club to be yourself for a few hours?"
"Precisely."
"Does that not strike you as a contradiction in terms, Annie?" Joanna probes, her voice humourless but not unkind. "You are saying that you have to go somewhere separate, if not secret, in order to be yourself."
There is a long silence on the phone as Annie thinks about what Joanna has said.
"Maybe. Well, no. I don't think so. At the end of the day, in a club like that I at least know what it is to just be myself, totally woman focussed and myself. That's precious, Jo."
Joanna ignores the familiarity in her name and makes a mental note to ask Annie some other time not to use the abbreviation.
"But is that so far removed from how you live your social life as you described it just now? You are mainly accepted as a couple. You live as a couple, even if Jemmy is careful at work. Don't you just have to be circumspect in the wider worlds whether that's at work or in the every day life of where you live?"
But Annie is not happy with this idea and Joanna suspects she is getting irritated. Annie is rationalising her need to go to this club and Joanna has spotted it. Annie's tone is frustrated as she says,
"I just have to do it, Joanna. I have to go clubbing sometimes. You wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not," Joanna says, backing off and sorry for pushing Annie so far. "At the end of the day, we've all got to do what we've got to do, haven't we?"
"That's right. Lead the authentic life. That's what I try to do, to the best of my ability and in all the circumstances."
Joanna feels small, somehow, as though she has judged someone who is much further down the road of personal adjustment than she is. Maybe Annie's struggle is a hard one for her. At the end of the day, Annie has stayed true to her orientation. She has had female relationships and has lived with Jemmy in the unlikely circumstances of being a government civil servant and a representative of the establishment. That takes courage. She finds herself wanting to see Annie, and she leaves the call, promising to ring her back.
She rings Geraldine to tell her about Annie's visit. But she must have gone out really early with Judy. There is no reply. Joanna remembers now that she wanted to beat the shopping crowds. Should she try Geraldine's mobile or just make a decision? She goes for the mobile. Geraldine will be able to handle the conversation, she reasons, even if Judy is there with her.
It takes just a second for the phone to be answered and there it is -- the voice of her lover on the other end. As all lovers' voices do, it has the effect on her of connecting right away to her emotions. Geraldine's voice can still make her stomach churn with longing, even after the weeks of being in her company and in her arms. And Geraldine is clearly delighted to hear her too, even if she is talking with her daughter's listening ear at her side and so partly for her benefit.
No, she doesn't mind a friend joining them tomorrow. But Joanna will still be round this evening, won't she? Of course, Joanna reassures her.
"Geraldine," she says, the use of the name bringing her next message to particular significance. "It's Annie who wants to visit."
There is silence on the other end of the phone.
"Is that OK? What do you think?" Joanna cannot interpret the silence.
It takes a second or two more before Geraldine replies. Joanna is conscious that Judy is listening to all this.
"In for a penny, in for a pound." Geraldine's voice is serious but definite.
There are a few more general questions and answers about how the shopping is going, Joanna sends her love to Judy and the call is over.
Joanna rings Annie back. Tomorrow will be fine. She may have a friend there as well as Lou but they can all have lunch, a walk and supper later. Would Annie like to do that?
Annie agrees to be there for lunchtime and as the call ends, Joanna knows that once again, the question of whether to tell someone is at issue. She has not explained to Annie who Geraldine is.
But there is this evening ahead, and to be honest, she is much more interested in her time with Geraldine over in her home than with anything that will happen tomorrow. She bathes and shaves her legs, the anticipation of the night of sexual intimacy ahead a pleasure in its own right to experience. And Lou is oblivious to her mother's contained excitement as she hops out of Joanna's car and heads down the drive of Martha Rodger's house. The youngster's grandmother is at the door to greet Lou and to barely acknowledge Joanna. Jake appears momentarily at the door, just staring at Joanna in silent, reproachful communication. And ten minutes later, Geraldine opens the front door of her modern, spacious bungalow and Joanna is inside and in her arms.
It has been the same each time that they come together in privacy, this need to kiss and hold and be held. It is a different passion from the one that will come later. It is the passion of inhibition of being alone together. They kiss, Joanna's arms still full of the bags of wine and flowers she has brought as gifts, and Geraldine clasps her tight and holds her as if a wave of relief is washing over her. They say the things that lovers say at this moment -- how the day would never end, how they now have hours together, how no one will intrude. The evening and the night are theirs.
Eventually, they disentangle, and Geraldine offers to bring Joanna's overnight bag from her car. Joanna wanders into the kitchen where the aroma of Indian food is wafting around the kitchen. The lights are low in the house and in the lounge. Geraldine has candles lit. Joanna recognises the soft music that is playing from a previous and very different visit. A log fire burns in the grate. Joanna wanders to the bedroom and goes into it for the first time as Geraldine's lover. She looks at the king size bed, where the bedspread is already turned down.
She has not been in this room since the week after Anthony died. She remembers that day now. She called to see Geraldine to see how she was coping after the funeral. She followed a still shocked and exhausted Geraldine into the room where Geraldine cried with her -- the first time, she said, that she had cried since Anthony died. It was the shock of the knowledge that Anthony kept his illness from her till he had to admit that he was in pain and that his cough was not just bronchitis. He was dead within five weeks of that, a mere forty five year old. Joanna sat with her that day, her hand in her friend's and then holding her in a warm hug, no thought at that time of attraction for her friend.
Now, as she stands in the room, she knows that Geraldine already had feelings for her and did not let any hint of them escape. Joanna wonders now what that day was like for her. She must have been crying for so many reasons.
The room looks different now. Geraldine has had the furniture changed, and in place of the dark mahogany suite, she has had a pale cream bedroom fitted. Subtle colours fleck the wallpaper and a Persian carpet softens the new wood floor. Tonight it is swathed in soft lighting and the familiar scent of Geraldine's perfume pervades the room.
Joanna starts as her friend comes up behind her and puts her arms around her.
"Welcome," Geraldine whispers softly in her ears. She needs to do nothing in reply save turn and smile. She feels she is home. They leave her bag on the floor by what they already know will be her side of the bed and return to the lounge. Geraldine has champagne on ice and they sit curled by the fire for an hour or so, no one and nothing intruding in their time. They drift, little bits of news to exchange, leaving talk of more serious matters till morning. Tonight is for them and them alone. Later, Geraldine suggests supper and they almost reluctantly head to the kitchen. Geraldine is known for her culinary skills and tonight is no exception. She has made an Indian meal with a difference. Spiced crab cakes with a coriander and lime dressing, followed by a marinated rack of lamb, stir fried vegetables with salad and home made bread -- this is food to delight the palate and with no wild heat from chillies and not a poppadom in sight, Joanna can only murmur in appreciation as they drift through the meal.
"Let's go back to the lounge," Geraldine suggests as she pours another glass from the second bottle for each of them.
"Not bed?" Joanna asks, surprised.
Geraldine shakes her head, takes her by the hand and leads her back to the fire. She leaves her there, and comes back a moment later with a duvet and a bottle of oils. Joanna sinks down onto the already heated cover, allows Geraldine to gently remove all her clothes and lies on her front. The hot oil seeps onto her back and she lies, drifting in a sort of trance-like state as Geraldine kneads her shoulders and her back and then sweeps her hands slowly down her legs. It lasts and lasts and she loses touch with where she is being touched. Geraldine's hands are strong and her movement over her body firm and rhythmic. Joanna wants it never to end. It does end, much later, when Geraldine quietly changes the massage from being soothing to being erotic. And there, on the mat, in the glow of the fire, they make love in a new way, not inhibited despite the lack of covers, freed from the constraints of other people in proximity and rejoicing in the wonder of each other's bodies. And as ever, Geraldine holds eye contact with her till Joanna feels that she is lost somewhere inside a new soul, which is partly her, partly her lover.
Somewhere towards one o'clock, they sleep in the new bed, drifting in and out of wakefulness to make love or just come close into the other's contours. And when they waken, wonderfully refreshed, just after nine o'clock, the light is creeping through the silk curtains.
Joanna groans as she does on every occasion when the end of time with her lover is close. But Geraldine laughs softly at her and, sitting up on the pillows, pulls her in to her chest to hold her.
"Another day ahead and we have the whole time together. Lou to collect, your friend Annie to entertain and I don't have to go round to Judy and Tom till suppertime. And till I go off to Beauly, we are together all day."
"I wonder what you'll make of Annie," Joanna asks, actually wondering if Geraldine is going to feel any jealousy for the past relationship.
"I do too, I have to say. She sounds a bit wild for my liking, even if she does hold down a very conventional job. I'm not sure that I would ever want to go to a club like that. Still, it takes all sorts to make a gay world."
"What do you mean?" Joanna asks, assuming that Geraldine is thinking very much along the lines of whether someone is in or out. In every sense, Geraldine is not out. She is not out to Judy, to work or to their friends.
"Just that I weary of the stereotyping of people into lesbian moulds. Annie sounds like someone who can't accept that other people have issues over her sexuality. She just does not comprehend it. She sounds as if she struggles with resentment for the outside world's reaction to her. She would feel it was unfair to be judged for who she is. From what you say, she sounds to be someone who would consider herself 'born' as it were this way."
"You don't see yourself as being born gay?" Joanna wants to know so much more, conversation by conversation, about Geraldine and how she ticks.
"No. Not at all. I certainly feel exclusively homosexual, but not born that way. It was a choice. I think for me it was recognising that I had more of the things that truly matter with my woman lover than I ever could have with a man. There was greater emotional depth and more psychological connection for me with her than with Anthony. I was too young to put it in those terms then, but it was like a close spiritual connection. She was a fair bit older than I was and I felt I was in the presence of wisdom almost. It was very defining, really." She looked at Joanna before going on. "It sort of paved the way for me and you. I suppose that when I was young, I felt that I had the choice. I chose a woman emotionally. For me it was the preferred option, even if I did marry Anthony."
"I thought you said you were exclusively homosexual?"
"That's right. As opposed to being bisexual. But I see that as different again from being born that way. It was a choice. At least I think so."
"I should be grateful to your woman. What was her name, by the way? You never have said."
"It's Lou. I could hardly believe it when you chose Louise as a name for your baby. I considered it an omen."
Geraldine laughs at this and shifts her position in the bed. Joanna knows Geraldine is really too sensible to deal in omens but she likes the idea that when she decided on Lou for her baby, it was already significant.
"Poor Anthony never stood a chance, did he?" she says, looking up into Geraldine's eyes.
"Not really. He was a nice man and a good one. And if he suspected, and I think he probably did, he never said anything. It was his way of being tolerant."
"And of not taking the risk that he would lose you."
"That too. But he did not need to worry. I took the view that I had made my bed for Judy's sake and that was that."
"And if he hadn't died?"
"An academic question, my Darling, but I like to think that I would had the guts to leave him and come to you."
"Just as well for you that you said that," Joanna laughs and tugs the hair between her lover's legs. A free for all of tickling and what Geraldine later called unseemly behaviour ensues.
Two hours later, they are ready to leave the cocoon of their night at Geraldine's home. Joanna has showered and prowled around the house looking at it with a new perspective. She could see that only Geraldine's presence is here now. Nothing of Anthony except one photograph remains. Judy's childhood room has become an office. Geraldine says that this was her way of reclaiming her life and preparing for whatever her future would hold.
"And maybe you will share this place with me, one day?" she says as they stand in the hall, coats on and wanting one last moment of touch and embrace before they face the outside world. Joanna just looks at her and says nothing.
She says nothing till they are in her car.
"Did you mean what you said about moving into the bungalow with you?" she keeps her eyes on the road as she asks the question.
"I mean it, if it's what you would want too. The main thing I mean is that I want to live with you."
Jeremy was right. Geraldine is ahead of Joanna in her planning for the future. She does not know what to say except,
"Give me a little time." She reaches to touch Geraldine and feels her lover's pain as she does so. But she can say no more. Not yet.
Nothing more is said till they are approaching Joanna's Victorian semi. As they pull into the drive, she finds herself thinking about her home and all its history. She came back from honeymoon to this house. She had her boys here and brought Lou home from hospital to here. She lived here with Stephen till he left. She faced his suicide with the family here. The children have been here all their lives. And she reflects about the fact that this house of hers is still home to all three of her children even if Jeremy is now at university. How could she up and leave it? As if Geraldine knows exactly where her thoughts are focussed, she simply says,
"We have one thing on our side. That's time. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us and we are young enough to make it a good and new life together when the time comes."
Joanna feels a rush of gratitude for that sensitive observation and at once is more able to contemplate the idea that there might be a new future ahead for her -- an idea that she has not allowed herself to consider. She never thought about it before her relationship with Geraldine started, assuming that she would shift slowly from social worker and mother to retired senior citizen and grandmother. Even now that she and Geraldine are together, she has not really thought beyond the idea that Geraldine and she will have an enduring relationship, so wrapped in the present has she been till now.
As they get out of the car and head to the front door, Geraldine asks,
"Are you going to say anything to Annie about us?"
Joanna looks at her before replying,
"Let's see what sort of creature our Annie has become before deciding. But if it's OK with you, then 'yes' in principle."
Geraldine nods.
Lou returns shortly afterwards, little to say except that she had a nice time. Joanna has noticed this reticence to discuss what happens at Martha and Jake's house on previous occasions. She has elected not to push her daughter for information. They make the house warm and bring it back from the rather empty and lifeless place it has become just in the short space of overnight. There are curtains to open, coffee to make, the fire to light in the hearth and the Sunday papers to be fetched from the supermarket.
It is towards one when the front door rings. Geraldine is playing a game of Junior Scrabble with Lou and Joanna is busy in the kitchen with the roast pork that will be their main meal of the day. She, Lou and Annie will eat after Geraldine goes off to Judy and Tom's.
Annie is looking good, Joanna thinks as she opens the door to her. She is smartly dressed in expensive leisure gear of matching beige cotton denim trousers and jacket. At five foot five or so, she has a good figure and striking blue eyes under a short crop of brunette, slightly greying hair. There is laughter in her smile and eyes as she stands there on the doorstep, a quip about just how far north Inverness is her greeting to this, one of her first lovers. It is a good moment, one where the years of distance fall away and each of them recognises in an instant the person they loved, wrapped now in the maturity of an older body and persona. In the embrace of friendship that follows that second, and in the moment when they draw back to take a closer look at each other's faces, Joanna senses that an unspoken shift takes place. Two ex-lovers are now friends, sharing a past that gives them a very particular familiarity in their friendship for the future. Nothing is said, but each of them knows that this is the case.
Joanna is very conscious that Geraldine is waiting in the lounge and deliberately keeps the moment brief.
"So how was the journey and the club?" she asks as she ushers Annie down the hall.
"The journey was long. The club was more interesting than I can say," Annie answers, her voice slightly ironic and her tone of bravado telling Joanna all she needs to know.
"You didn't?" she asks, mock shock in her voice.
"Afraid so," Annie says, no hint of remorse in her voice.
"Oh Annie," Joanna half mouths at her as she puts her hand on the lounge door handle. She rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. Annie mimes back to the effect that she has a headache and is not to be stressed. It occurs to Joanna to wonder whether Annie was well enough to make the drive north but she has no time to comment, She has the door open and they are in the room. She introduces Lou first, and - give her her due -Annie knows enough about relating to children to greet her warmly and to take an immediate interest in the game she is playing. Geraldine waits, quietly watching and taking in her first impressions, letting Lou respond. Then Joanna is introducing the two women. Annie is no one's fool. She has surmised the situation right away and her handshake and greeting are unspoken words of recognition. The women respond pleasantly to each other. That is as much as Joanna can expect. Annie and Geraldine are going to make this a comfortable time for Joanna. She is not going to have to worry about tense atmospheres or veiled hostility over the course of the afternoon ahead of them all.
They talk easy enough conversation about their work, about how life in England compares with Scotland and in very general terms about the student life that Joanna and Annie shared years ago. They have home made soup, and bread and cheese for lunch and Joanna suggests a walk for the four of them in the afternoon. They manage no further than round the Islands on the Ness in the centre of the city, Lou feeding the birds with leftover crusts. Annie is impressed with the cleanliness of the city and the clarity of the air. It is neutral time, somehow, as if all three of the adults want it kept that way and Lou's presence makes it easy. The conversation flows easily enough. It is just that nothing very much is said
Back at the house, Joanna is very conscious that Geraldine and Annie both seem to be hovering, as if each woman wants time with Joanna on her own. Unaware, Lou heads to her room and the awkwardness seems to intensify.
"Coffee?" Joanna offers, giving each of them the opportunity to say that they want to stay or leave. She has invited Annie to eat later. Annie has yet to accept.
Each of them nods and she concludes that they are each sitting the other out.
'So be it', she thinks.
It is Annie who pushes the boat out. As she accepts the mug and pours milk into the freshly brewed coffee she asks,
"Give me a break here, you two."
They both look at her.
"You two seem to get on very well?" she goes on.
Joanna casts Geraldine a glance. Her friend responds with a raised eyebrow and the slightest of nods of the head that Joanna interprets as, 'All right. Go ahead.'
So Joanna finds the words.
"That's right, Annie. We're together."
It feels good to say it. She watches both women for their responses. Annie grins a wide grin that says, 'I thought so.' She claps her hands in pleasure. Geraldine smiles quietly.
"Well done, Geraldine," Annie says.
Geraldine laughs and immediately relaxes. Annie has given Geraldine her place and she likes that.
And they talk now, Geraldine letting Joanna take the lead in describing how they came together. Annie has the sense not to ask too many questions. She is more focussed on the fact that her friend of so many years ago has come back to the world of relationships with women.
"Don't get me wrong," She reassures Geraldine. "Jo and I had our day and it was tough at the time when it ended. But it's over and we have both moved on. I am just so glad for her." Then in a moment's generosity she adds, "And you seem like an eminently sensible and kind person, Geraldine. You'll be good for her."
Joanna knows Geraldine well enough to realise that she is still saying little about herself, and that she is letting Annie put her cards on the table. She is watchful and leaving the main talking to the other two. And it is time for her to head off to Judy's. Joanna can sense her reluctance to go and knows that it is as much because Annie is still here for the meal as it is because she is separating after their time together. But her commitment to the evening with her daughter is made and she stands up to leave.
"We'll meet again, I'm sure," she says to Annie, holding out her hand.
"I'm sure we will," Annie responds and shakes hands. "Good luck to you both. I mean that."
In the hall, Geraldine whispers,
"She called you Jo."
Joanna laughs quietly,
"I'll deal with it. Don't worry. You're not, are you?"
Geraldine smiles.
"Not at all. But only because I trust you."
Annie is not slow to start on the subject when Joanna comes back into the room. Now the familiarity of old relationships really comes into play. Joanna is not sure that she wants this conversation to go very far.
"Tell me all then, Jo," Annie starts.
"Not much to tell, and I would prefer if you called me Joanna. Everyone else does."
Her wings slightly clipped, Annie changes tack.
"You love her, don't you?" She is serious now and supportive.
"Of course. You don't think I'd have embarked on this if I didn't, do you?"
There is a hint of the old conflict in her tone that Annie somehow used to engender in her. Well, in the past she used to blame Annie, but she knows now that people behave and then others react. It is her response. Annie is not making her angry. She is becoming angry. She resists the anger and calms. Annie just shakes her head. Then she asks,
"Have you thought about the fact that you work together? Won't that be difficult?"
"Why should it be? Plenty of people work together and enter partnerships. Don't they say that half of all marriages start in the workplace?"
"Marriages are for men and women. I just hope for your sakes that you don't find that it's one law for them and another for same sex relationships. You don't have much protection, do you? In law, I mean?"
Joanna knows that Annie is right. The law will change soon but the law and the forces of bias can be two very different things. But she has not given the issue any thought to speak of before now. Why should it be a problem? She and Geraldine work in different professions and they are highly responsible in the work that they do. How could their relationship cloud their judgement or create any conflict of interest? She doesn't think that she needs worry about this. But she just says to Annie that she will think about it. This means that Annie cannot pursue that line any further.
"Anyway, Annie. What about you and last night? I take it that you managed a one night stand?"
"Yep. Can't say that it seemed such a good idea when I woke up, mind you."
"Who was she?"
"Her name was Phil. Handsome dyke."
Joanna winces at the description.
"Are you seeing her again?"
"Hell, no. She's a bus driver..."
"A what?" Joanna can hardly credit Annie's lack of sound judgement. "What about Jemmy? Will you tell her?"
"God no. What good would that do? It was a lapse, fuelled by the wine and the music. Nothing else. It meant nothing. Telling her would give it a significance it just doesn't have. You wouldn't tell anyone in the same circumstances, would you?"
"Annie, I wouldn't be in the same circumstances."
Annie laughs. Her tone has a cynical edge when she speaks.
"Ah yes. I remember. You believed in fidelity, didn't you?"
Joanna has just set her own trap and walked right in. She has the grace to blush and look embarrassed.
"Ok. I'll not rub it in," Annie laughs, each woman knowing that she is referring to the nights when Joanna came back from Dennis' flat straight to Annie's arms.
"Anyway," Joanna protests, "That was then. I never double-timed after you. I never looked beyond Stephen. And I won't look beyond Geraldine."
"I believe you," Annie smiles. You've got it bad, haven't you?"
"Yes. I've got it bad, as you put it. But Annie, don't you see how cruel to Jemmy it is to sleep with someone else?"
"Not really. You place much more significance on physical loyalty than I do. For me, sex is just something that can be brought out or put away. Last night has no bearing on how I feel about Jemmy. She's what is important in life. But that's not to the exclusion of who I am."
"And how would Jemmy feel if she found out?"
"Oh, I imagine she would not be best pleased. But she won't find out and what she doesn't know won't hurt us."
Joanna knows that there is no point in reasoning with Annie. Annie is Annie and Joanna suspects that this Jemmy must be a strong person to be living, by all accounts reasonably successfully, with her. As she listens to more of Annie's account of her relationship, Joanna realises that they have made a go of it for a good while now and that they have done so in the face of considerable opposition from Jemmy's sister who could not adjust to her sister's sexuality or to the outspoken Annie. In fact, the sister refused to invite Annie to her wedding and Jemmy in turn decided not to go herself. In an unintended way, these events only served to consolidate the couple and it certainly looks to Joanna as if Annie is settling to a good life and a balanced career.
"Just don't blow it," she advises as she helps Annie to a glass of wine before dinner.
The meal is all but ready when the front door bell rings.
"I'll get it," Lou shouts as she jumps up from in front of the TV where she has just perched herself, stopping any more private conversation between the two women.
A second later, Geraldine appears, a clearly delighted Lou stating the obvious,
"It's Geraldine."
Joanna beams in delight.
"Judy had four others there. They arrived unexpectedly. So what could I do but offer to give up my share of the roast beef. Is there enough for a hungry soul at this table?"
It is a good evening. They talk comfortably till Lou's bedtime. Annie stays just for a short while after that. She has to drive to Aviemore where, it transpires, she is due to deliver a paper on the value base of inspection. She seems to metamorphose into careerist as she talks about the paper and as her mind turns back to professional matters. She gets ready to leave them towards nine, a kiss for Joanna and an unexpected hug of affection for Geraldine.
They are in the process of standing up when the front door bangs and a buoyant Daniel bounces into the room.
"Hi. Good weekend, was it?" Joanna greets him with a broad smile, partly in relief that he is safely home from the evening train.
"Fantastic," he responds, his stare at Annie one of curiosity and enquiry.
"Daniel, this is Annie. You remember me telling you about her? We Were at university ..."
"Oh sure. Hi," he manages in a slightly offhand way. Then he is gone, a nod at Geraldine, in the way that only an awkward teenager who is playing it cool can manage. There is a quiet smile of amusement around the room after he has gone. And Annie leaves, full of promises to keep in touch.
"Why did you come back?" Joanna asks, coming into her lover's arms.
"You didn't think I was leaving you alone with her for too long, did you?" Geraldine smiles as she kisses her.
Joanna laughs, says 'let me check on Lou' and returns to say that the child, exhausted from the weekend, is sound asleep.
They embrace quietly one more time in front of the fire before the weekend comes to its end.
They do not have the chance to talk until the following Friday evening. They have each had hectic weeks at work for different reasons and over a snatched lunch on Thursday, Joanna wanted to talk through a difficult case. But Geraldine seemed abstracted and although she did her best to listen, she failed badly. Despite her own work preoccupations, Joanna saw at once that this was unlike her friend. Usually in the work setting, she is calm and quietly confident in her day-to-day performance. Ask as she might, Joanna could not get her to say what was worrying her. Instead, she gave up and suggested a drink after work at the end of the week.
"What's troubling you?" Joanna asks her as she sets down two glasses of wine on the alcove table.
It is a wine bar that serves pleasant enough French style food and they have eaten here occasionally. This evening, though, their time is limited, as Joanna will be collecting Lou from swimming at six-thirty. Geraldine smiles her thanks for the drink and takes a thoughtful sip. She hesitates before speaking.
"John from Human Resources called in to see me today."
Joanna is alert now, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach because she has a shrewd idea of what is coming.
"Nothing specific was said and I may have put two and two together and made twenty two," she prevaricates, "But I had the distinct impression that John knows about us."
"How? What did he says?" Joanna tries to keep the alarm from her voice. Though why she should be alarmed, she realises as an afterthought, she is not absolutely sure.
"It was a very veiled sort of conversation. He came to see me, ostensibly, about the numbers of student placements I'll be having in the next six months. Then he diverted the conversation to issues about sexual orientation. I didn't pick up at first that he might be talking about us. I thought he was just talking about something that was preoccupying him -- he often comes in for a coffee and to talk something through. Anyway, he suddenly started talking about how unfair it is that lesbians and gay men have been denied equality in the workplace. Then he mentioned this new set of government regulations that came into force in the UK to protect lesbian, gay and bisexual workers from discrimination. He was wondering how effective they would be. He thinks that harassment can be so insidious and difficult to prove, let alone wipe out, that it will be years before the regulations have any deep effect. John thinks there are unlikely to be any test cases to the regulations here for the foreseeable future, so all people affected really have is Human Rights Legislation." She pauses for a moment and looks at Joanna. "I was left wondering why he said there would be no test cases. I thought maybe it was advice rather that an simple observation."
"But the Human Rights legislation gives us protection in general against discrimination, surely?" Joanna interrupts, the implication of what she is hearing only slowly filtering through her mind.
"That's fine to a point, Joanna, but not specific enough, given all the outpourings of bigotry and undisguised hatred there's been in Scotland in recent years over the issues of sexuality." Geraldine speaks now as if this is something she has been giving a lot of thought. "Look at attitudes in the Churches, and in those public debates a few years ago when changes to legislation were proposed. John thinks that people will remain vulnerable in the workplace in Britain as a whole, Scotland in particular."
Joanna listens, memories of the coverage of a number of social issues by the media, tabloids in particular, bringing back her revulsion at the way reactionary attitudes prevailed in a number of high profile debates during the late nineties. In her view, Scotland stepped back to nearly Dark Age attitudes in popular opinion. She and, happily, her friends and the boys were united in their horror at the way some public figures presented hostile and sometimes very nasty hatred as voices of apparent reason.
"But why," she asks Geraldine now, "Are you worried? Is that not a fairly usual conversation for John to have with you? Are you not just being over-sensitive? Do you really think he was referring to us? Why do you think from that conversation that he knows about us? Anyway," she goes on, not waiting for Geraldine's reply, "I thought you were sure it wouldn't matter if anyone did get to know? Aren't you the one who said to me the other morning that we have to get over the desire to just get on comfortably in life if we are to be authentic to ourselves and to the children? What if people do find out?"
A mental picture of a naked Geraldine lying in her arms in bed, arguing the need not to be secretive about sexuality, comes back to Joanna. But she is not feeling anywhere near as confident as her words to Geraldine imply. She is somehow looking to Geraldine to be the stronger of the pair of them. It is Geraldine's confidence she is seeking, as much as her own. Geraldine's lack of ease is troubling Joanna.
Geraldine looks down at her glass.
"It was what he said as he was leaving. He said it just as he was at my office door. He turned back and mentioned you and then said that we seem to be in the restaurant together more often than usual. It was no more than that and he wrapped it up with a remark about the improvement recently in the food. But I think he was advising us that we are being talked about."
"So what?" Joanna challenges. "What if people do guess? Surely it's our business?"
"You would hope so," Geraldine says, doubtfully. "But I think he was advising us to be careful."
"He and you get on well and you do a fair bit of work together. Was he warning you for your sake? I mean, is he on your side?""If push ever came to shove, John is the officer of the Health Board. He has to be on their side. For the moment, he was concerned for us. I'm sure of that. It was off the record."
"You're not saying that there's an employment issue, surely? That would be discrimination." Joanna leans forward in quiet outrage. "Who I spend my lunch hour with is my business. And don't tell me that there aren't dozens of relationships in the workplace all the time. And out of hours, it's our business and no one else's."
"Let's hope so. The only thing I'm worried about is that we share work cases. I don't want anyone saying there's a conflict of interest. For any reason. At the end of the day, Joanna, regulations are not law. And there is no protection as yet in law. It's coming, but we don't have it yet."
"Why should there be a conflict of interest? Nonsense." Joanna is sounding braver than her fainthearted inner self actually is. The last thing she wants is to be caught up in any struggle to protect her interests in the work setting. "Anyway, for John to come to see you, he would have to be responding to something that's been said to him. Someone would have approached him. I can't see him just taking it upon himself to approach you, can you?"
"No, I can't. That's the way my thinking was going, too." Geraldine looks at her and they stop in a moment of joint recognition. At the same time each of them says,
"Angela."
Joanna laughs. Of course, it has to be. Her 'in-the-closet' social work manager, Angela, has been commenting to Joanna in recent days about her lunches, trying to fix lunchtime meetings and hovering in the restaurant at every opportunity. Is this their self-appointed social policewoman? It becomes clear now. It would be more than Angela could cope with to have her respectable widow of a social worker in an intimate relationship with her psychologist colleague.
"You can see the conversation now, can't you," Geraldine says, humour and no trace of anger in her voice. Angela goes to John and wraps up her worry in very veiled, 'it's no right, John' terms. You can just hear her Inverness accent, can't you? John says to her not to worry and to leave it with him. Then John has a quiet word of warning along the lines of 'go canny' to me."
"So do you think that's the end of it?"
"Probably. We are doing nothing wrong, Joanna." Geraldine's tone is more assertive now.
"What do we do about lunching together?"
"Well, we are speculating and I could be wrong about this. But somehow I don't think so. Assuming we have interpreted this right, the question is, do we conceal ourselves or not. For one, I don't think so. That would be a slippery road to secrecy and lies. And we would hardly be being true to ourselves or to each other, would we? No, lunch as usual, I think, don't you? I for one am not prepared to let anyone bully me into not using my break time as I choose."
"Agreed," smiles a more relaxed Joanna. She feels happier now that she has some idea of how this has arisen. And she makes a mental note to find the opportunity to remind Angela about the social work values on anti-discrimination that underpin their profession and the work of the team as soon as she gets the opportunity. Hopefully, she thinks, something will arise at the next hospital team meeting that will allow her to put a clear message to Angela.
Geraldine lifts her glass.
"To the authentic life," she smiles.
"Whatever form it takes. The authentic life." Joanna smiles, takes a last sip and glances at her watch. It is six-fifteen.
"Must dash," she says, as she puts the still half full glass down and reaches for her keys.
But as she stands to leave, Geraldine catches sight of a couple of doctors entering the bar. They indicate to her to join them and she smiles her acceptance to them. She will no doubt have supper with them. Joanna likes them. They are young, thirty-ish men, full of fun and earnest desire to change outdated practices as they go about their surgical tasks. Both of them carry enormous respect in the hospital. They wave at Joanna, indicating to her to join them also. But she shakes her head and points to her watch. She picks up her bag and smiles farewell to Geraldine. Even at this difficult moment of separating from her, Joanna hesitates from any physical contact and she leaves without the kiss on Geraldine's cheek that she wants to plant.
'Discretion is the better part of valour,' she reassures herself silently as she slips into the car and waits for it to demist on the inside. How she would like to be able to afford to replace this vehicle. And as she sits there she recognises another truth. Back there under the oblivious eyes of the two doctors, invisibility of their relationship was so much more tempting than recognition. She has, at one level, just denied Geraldine. What would it have mattered to give Geraldine a farewell kiss? The doctors would have seen two colleagues at the end of a hard working week. If they thought beyond that, what would it have mattered? They might have been pleased for the two women, mightn't they? They are young liberally minded doctors, after all.
She lifts her mobile and presses the recall button to Geraldine's phone. It is answered immediately.
"I didn't do that very well," she says, knowing that Geraldine will understand what she is talking about.
"Never mind," Geraldine laughs down the phone.
"How about shopping tomorrow?" Joanna asks, wanting to be back with her lover as soon as practicable. "We could take Lou to get the ice skates she's been asking about."
"Done." Geraldine laughs.
Lou is delighted at the idea of buying her skates when she piles into the car at the swimming pool. And when Joanna suggests that Geraldine can come and help, Lou is genuinely easy about the idea.
"Geraldine knows about skates. She used to skate when she was young," Lou tells Joanna who learns about a conversation she does not know has happened.
"You like Geraldine, don't you?" She ventures, suddenly risking the question she has thought about for some time.
"She's smashing," Lou says, "She's a special friend, isn't she?" Lou is looking straight at Joanna as her mother eases the car into the road that leads to their home.
"That's right, Darling. She's a special friend."
But she hesitates to go further. How do you tell a child as young as Lou about the sexual orientation of her mother? She needs to talk with Geraldine before she discusses this any more with Lou. Geraldine will know how to tackle it. She turns the subject to the swimming session that Lou has just had and to her daughter's growing prowess in diving.
The next morning dawns wet and windy and Joanna is glad that they will be meeting in the enclosed town centre with its arcade of shops and coffee houses. She and Lou are parked in the under cover car park before ten and take up position in a new coffee lounge. Sitting on a sofa and not at a table impresses Lou as she drinks hot chocolate and lets the froth form a brown moustache around her lips. This time, when Geraldine comes up to them, Joanna gets up and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Then she laughs and kisses her on the other cheek, French style, saying 'that's for last night'. Lou watches, and waits for Geraldine to give her a friendly hug before she launches into a question and answer session with her about what would be the best brand of skate to look for.
It is a fun time, this shopping morning, Joanna conscious that Geraldine has adopted a kind of parental role, checking with Joanna with her eyes that she is comfortable with this and leading them from shop to department store and back again. In other times, this is a trail round shops that Joanna would have hated, but Geraldine seems to have unlimited energy and the morning is accentuated with peels of laughter.
Two hours later and three shops later, a further stop for nourishment is needed. The search for skates has been intense, Joanna holding back and letting Geraldine take a lead role in helping Lou to try on the blades and balance the child as the youngster surveys her feet in yet another mirror. They choose a café from the circle of food outlets in the centre where they know there will be bacon rolls available. Joanna orders coffees for themselves, coke for Lou. Joanna sits there as she watches her daughter pour tomato sauce over the bread roll, feigning horror at the amount of ketchup that is oozing from the bread down Lou's fingers and around her mouth. The debate continues over the right blades until Geraldine suggests one particular pair that has a flash of light blue along the sides. With a glance at her mother for confirmation, Lou's decision is taken. All that remains now is to go back to the second shop they visited and complete the purchase. They rise to leave the table, Lou a sticky and red mess and the brown of the morning's hot chocolate still evident on her lips.
"To the 'Ladies' to get cleaned up, before we do anything else," Joanna starts to say as the three of them start to pile their plates to some semblance of order for the patrolling attendants.
"Lou!" An exclamation behind them stops them in their tidying.
All three of them turn at once. It is a moment that freezes all three of them. Looking at them, expression horrified in a frieze of distaste and barely concealed loathing, is Martha.
Joanna gathers her thoughts quickly, not prepared to let Martha upset Lou.
"Hello, Martha. How are you?" she puts a protective hand round Lou's shoulders. "Lou, say 'Hi' to Gran Rodgers."
"Hi, Gran," Lou says, her face friendly enough for the grandmother she sees from time to time. "This is Geraldine. She's our special friend. We're buying ice skates."
Jake appears from a food counter, carrying a tray with what looks like lemon cake and two espressos and which stands in marked contrast to the picnic the threesome have just devoured with such gusto. Joanna stands there, feeling trapped in a situation she senses will be volatile. She is right.
"So this is the happy family, is it?" Jake spits out, as he takes in the scene. "Lou said you had a friend, didn't you, Lou?"
Lou looks puzzled, not knowing how to respond, aware that she has somehow caused a problem, but not understanding how.
Geraldine stays quiet, taking in the scene, moving slightly closer to Joanna who feels her proximity with something akin to relief.
Joanna ignores the jibe from Jake and moves to steer them away with a nod at her erstwhile brother-in-law. She feels protective for her friend and her daughter, her mother's instinct wanting more than anything else to remove Lou from what might just become an unpleasant scene. But Martha all but has the way blocked.
"Is this the way you are bringing up Stephen's daughter?" she almost sneers. Then her face turns to something like triumph. "He would turn in his grave if he could see you two," she snorts as she sweeps a finger of accusation at the two women. "You won't get away with this. You and your dyke will hear more of this. Look at the poor mite. She's filthy, bless her. You are not fit to look after her, you're not. Jake, give me a napkin."
But Joanna is not going to let this go any further.
"Come on Lou. Let's go and get these boots." She glances at Geraldine. "Let's go."
She hears Jake rasp in Geraldine's ear as they walk away.
"Frigging dyke."
Geraldine looks straight at Jake and then at Martha. Her bearing is upright and if she is ruffled, she gives no sign of it. Instead, she just raises her eyebrow in mild criticism. It is perfectly understated.
Joanna turns and walks on. She does not look back. Geraldine touches her arm in support as they head back to the shop where the boots with the blue stripe are to be found. It is a walk in silence.
Then Lou finally says,
"Gran wasn't very pleased with us, was she?"
"She didn't seem to be, Darling," Joanna says lightly, trying not to dismiss the incident and knowing that Lou has to be able to deal with events in her own way and without deception from her mother. But still she tries to down play what has just happened.
"I suppose we did look a bit dirty."
Geraldine rolls her eyes in semi-amused, semi-serious disbelief at her.
Lou stops and looks at them both before asking,
"Mum, Geraldine, what's a dyke?"
"I think you have to go back to first principles, Joanna. How else can you decide how to handle the question of telling Lou? Lou is a very young child and that is both the advantage and the disadvantage of the situation. She is both malleable to new and good ideas, but by the same token, vulnerable to unpleasantness. And I'm worried that this business with Martha and Jake may not be over. If this goes any further, Lou could be caught up in some very nasty exchanges. I suspect that Hell will have no fury like a spurned brother-in-law."
Geraldine and she are sitting over a glass of wine, waiting for Wendy to arrive to join them for the evening. It is only a few hours on from the incident with Martha. They both know that they have barely scratched the top of the subject with Lou.
When Lou asked the 'dyke' question, Joanna knew that she had to be honest with her about her relationship with Geraldine. But this was not the way, not on the back of Jake's pejorative comment, to tell Lou.
Instead, she answered the child's question honestly enough for the moment.
"A dyke, Lou, is how people sometimes describe a special friend - like Geraldine and I are to each other. It's not a bad word, but sometimes people use it if they want to be unkind. They make it sound a bad thing when it's not."
Lou looked very seriously at each of them and then, after a moment said,
"I think Uncle Jake is jealous. Just because he doesn't have anyone except Gran Rodgers."
Joanna smiled at this tangential interpretation and said,
"Maybe. We can talk about it later, Darling. Let's get those ice skates."
Sitting by the fire now, Joanna looks at Geraldine and pleads,
"Tell me the first principles, then. Somehow when it's your own family, you have to be reminded."
"Well, the ones that are universal are the best. Start where the child is. Move at their pace. Frame what they need to know in their own terms."
"And I didn't do that this afternoon?" Joanna asks, referring to the discussion over the term 'dyke'.
"Yes, you did. To a point. But we both know that there's more. And telling her as much as she can understand at her age is only fair to the child. So we have to think about the principles about us being together in particular."
"And those are?" Joanna asks, glad that her lover has taken the time and forethought to prepare for this conversation. Once again, it occurs to her to think that Geraldine is so far ahead of her in preparing for these events in both their lives.
"First and foremost, that Lou has to adjust to the fact that her mother has a new partner, irrespective of the gender. That is maybe the biggest thing and we could forget that at our peril. Her father is dead and she may have assumed till now that she would have you to herself. Then the fact that her mother is in an intimate relationship with a woman may be difficult for her to grasp. You have put it in terms of 'special friend' till now and that may be enough for now. But I doubt it. I think you might have to define 'special', even if it's only in terms of special cuddles and sleeping together, like she saw with you and Stephen. It all depends how much she knows about the physical aspects of loving, I guess. And it depends how far you want to be natural in front of her."
"I think she would know the basics from me and from school," Joanna says, reflectively. And she certainly plays dolls and seems to understand the ideas of being in love and getting married."
Joanna knows this affects Geraldine as much as her. If she goes down the path of keeping everything from Lou, she will be imposing a reserve on Geraldine as much as on herself. She thinks she can talk to her daughter about anything. Lou is at the age when there is no embarrassment or shame about what would otherwise be personal or intimate matters. All Joanna will need is a bit of common sense and, yes, courage.
"Good," Geraldine says emphatically. "She has a lot to deal with after Stephen's death and the way it happened. Mind you, she seems remarkably to terms with all that from what you have said. Now she has to adjust to me becoming more central to her life. That is, if that's what you want?"
Joanna nods, not wanting to divert this conversation into one about where their relationship is going. She knows how Geraldine feels about her and she about Geraldine. For the purposes of this discussion, their long term future together is only significant in the way it is to the child.
"You are going to become a parent figure, then?" she smiles at Geraldine.
"Don't you think it's nudging that way already?" Geraldine smiles in reply.
"How do you feel about her?" Joanna asks for the first time.
Geraldine looks at her closely.
"I suppose, I feel like any step parent who really likes their partner's child. She is your daughter and not mine, but I want you to know that I think I will come to love her, if she'll let me, a great deal."
Joanna knows just how much effort Geraldine has quietly been putting into the friendship with Lou over these weeks and she could not be more grateful. As if acknowledging it would somehow change the essence of what has been happening, she has not said much till now.
"She really likes you. You are so good with her."
Geraldine smiles away the compliment.
"It's different with Daniel, I'm afraid. He is very cautious of me."
"I know," Joanna has to admit. Her mind goes back to the morning after Annie's visit when he made a pejorative remark about Joanna's old friend. "Swings both ways, that one, does she?" It was not what was said; it was the way he said it, with a decided sneer in his tone. She has not said anything to Geraldine about it, then or since.
"I don't know how we'll tackle that," Joanna says, not seeking any particular response. She is just glad that Daniel has been out playing rugby or with Zoe and his pals. With any luck, Lou will have forgotten the 'dyke' incident and will not say anything to him.
Geraldine sits silently for a moment, and then says,
"One thing at a time, I agree. The immediate issue is how to sort out the damage Martha intends."
She turns back to the topic of Lou and her adjustments.
"Lou will have her work cut out in the outside world as you and I become known as a couple. Daniel will too when he becomes aware. Firstly, Lou in particular stands to lose the nurturing of her extended family if things go much more sour with Jake and Martha. And even in the best of climates, she might come to have feelings of differentness in the outside world, at school or with her friends. In a way, it will be the same for her as it is likely to be for us. Every social and family situation is one where the decision has to be taken about being known and recognised as 'out' for want of a better term. That's true for you and me. It will also be true that Lou will have to judge how to tell people or not as she grows up. She will have to judge what she says in every new situation. Lou will have to be prepared for that. For a teenage boy, it will be equally difficult."
"So the best we can do is be open to the best of their ability to understand? And help them to avoid any discrimination in the outside world?"
"Exactly. And the way to do that is to make sure that they can always talk with us openly and especially with you."
"Should we leave it for now? Maybe till either of them raises the subject?" Joanna asks. She knows that she prevaricating.
But Geraldine shakes her head with a sympathetic smile.
"Until lunchtime today at the shopping centre, I would have said yes. But today happened and we don't know what is going through Lou's head. It was not a nice experience, Joanna, and she saw it for herself. It will only be a matter of time till Martha wants Lou to visit again. You need to prepare the child for that."
Resolved and armed by the need to protect her daughter, Joanna nods, kisses Geraldine with a 'wish me luck' wry smile and makes to the stairs to tuck her daughter up in the nightly ritual that is so important to them both. She is a mix of confidence and nerves as she goes upstairs to her daughter's room. As she heads to the top landing, she hears the front door bell and the sound of Geraldine heading to answer it. It will be Wendy, she knows, and now she can have some time with Lou whilst the two women have some wine downstairs and start the evening.
The words are hard to find as she wraps the duvet round Lou and asks if she has had a good day. It is Lou who gives her the intro.
"Why was Gran so angry that you and Geraldine are special friends?"
"I suppose there are people who do not like it when people of the same sex are as close as Geraldine and I are, Darling."
Lou looks at her mother and thinks for a while.
"Why?" is all she asks, her face full of scrutiny. Then she says, "Gran says it's not natural."
'Does she indeed?' Joanna fumes inwardly, aware now that the child must already have been quizzed on one of her recent visits. Instead of reacting, though, she says,
"I suppose it's because of how much I love Geraldine." She stops and lets the words sink in to Lou's consciousness. Then she goes on,
"Do you know," she says, as if in surprise, "I think I love her as much as I used to love your Dad."
"As much as you love me?" Lou asks.
Joanna looks at her and laughs gently.
"I love her and you differently. No one can take your place, my little cherub."
"That's all right then," Lou says, snuggling down as if for sleep. Then she says, "I love you, Mum. And Geraldine is smashing. Will she be coming to stay with us?"
"We haven't talked about that yet. Let's see how it goes, shall we? What do you think of that as an idea, anyway?"
She waits whilst Lou chooses her response.
"Where would she sleep?"
"Well, she would have to be in with me. There are only the boys' rooms and yours. And you all need your rooms. Anyway" she pulls back, conscious that Daniel knows nothing of any of this and that it is far to early for any thoughts like this, "That would not happen for a very, very long time."
"Could I still come in with you on a Sunday morning?" Lou asks, ignoring the last thing that her mother has just said.
"Of course, Dafty. Now, how about some sleep?" She kisses the proffered lips of her daughter and savours the scent of her soapy warm skin as she hugs her, thinking that this is a moment she will treasure in the future. She hopes that Lou will remember it too and that it will be as important for her.
And a few minutes later, she is walking back downstairs, wondering how it could have been so easy and whether it will stay as uncomplicated for Lou as it seemed just now. She could not love her daughter more than she does at this moment. But she feels immediately vulnerable. She has given a hint of what is happening to her youngest child. Jeremy knows and Daniel is still being kept in the dark. This does not feel good.
The warmth of the atmosphere when she enters the room shifts her to adult matters. She hugs Wendy who rises from the armchair to greet her. Wendy is her bubbly and expansive self, still full of recognition of the twosome that her friends have become. Almost without thinking, Joanna goes and curls her legs under herself on the sofa by Geraldine. It is their first time of being together in company like this. It feels spontaneous and comfortable and Geraldine stretches out to rest her hand on her arm.
Wendy wants to know all that has been happening to them, asking questions that only close friends can. They talk about knowing that they are in a committed and long-term relationship, smiling at each other as they say the words. It feels good. And Joanna says it.
"We would like to live together, I think," she half whispers, looking to Geraldine for confirmation. Geraldine nods. "We just haven't worked out the details yet, have we?"
Even as she says it, she feels her own deep-seated ambivalence. Daniel flashes through her mind.
Geraldine smiles and strokes her on the arm.
"You'll get there," Wendy laughs and raises her glass. "To you both."
"And the authentic life," Geraldine adds.
"What does that actually mean? I hear it used as an idea from time to time." Wendy asks, directing her question more to Geraldine than to her.
"I suppose for us it means leading a life that is true to ourselves, adjusted to our sexuality and to our own homophobia - if any of course," she smiles. "And living to principles of what it is to be a grounded homosexual woman in the world that makes it hard to do so."
"And the principles?" Wendy asks.
Geraldine thinks for a minute.
"Well, I do believe that it starts with being true to thyself, as the saying goes. You know -- 'choose the life you live and live the life you choose', like they said in that film. For me, that drives and determines everything that I do. So, for example, I don't see myself as a left wing, man-hating political activist of a lesbian," she laughs. " I see myself more as living in society as it is on the same basis as the next person, with equal rights to exist on my own terms and doing my bit, mainly through my work, to improve the lot of those around me who are less fortunate than I am."
"That's very general, though, isn't it? Presumably each of you has to work out what the authentic life is in relation to your sexual orientation?" Wendy probes.
"Sexual orientations," Geraldine points out.
Wendy looks at each of them, puzzled and waiting for one to elaborate. Joanna glances at her lover who nods her assent for her to speak for them both.
"Geraldine sees herself as lesbian, in that her feelings are exclusively for women, whereas I would say that I was bisexual."
"What about Anthony?" Wendy asks, sitting forward in her chair, preparing herself for the anticipated response.
"Quite." Is all Geraldine says. Wendy rolls her eyes in surprise at the revelation of what Geraldine's marriage must have been like. Then Geraldine asks,
"Anyway, why is that definition too general?"
Wendy thinks before sipping from her glass.
"Well, irrespective of where you end up on the so called continuum of sexual orientation, there is still a whole lot more to leading the authentic life for a homosexual person than for - let's say - anyone who is leading the conventional heterosexual life, like dealing with the issue of being 'out', or with discrimination, or with the political agendas. There's legal equality at work, there's marriage and civil partnerships, civil rights of inheritance of pensions, legal rights as next of kin. You name it, there's a massive tranche of issues for women in your situation, which are maybe present for women generally but not so pronounced, surely? And there are the attitudes of the churches. Mind you, I don't suppose the religious stuff worries either of you two too much."
Wendy pauses, her speech over, and Joanna has the impression that she has just tabled the product of a great deal of reflection on their behalves since she understood the nature of their relationship.
Joanna picks up the themes.
"If Geraldine has the right notion of the authentic life, then presumably it's about being true to yourself in relation to every personal, family, social, political - whatever - dimension that affects you either as gay or as bisexual?" She wishes she felt as strong as her words make her sound.
"Yes. That's helpful," Geraldine says, animated now as ideas begin to bubble out between them. "No repression of self. No suppression of self. No dishonesty to self or others. True to yourself with purpose. No guilt. Just being who you truly are and all that you can be." If she has any sense of the doubts in her lover's mind, she shows no sign of it.
"I like it," Wendy laughs and raises her glass. "To the authentic life."
The phone rings. Joanna is keen to get to the loo and calls to Geraldine to answer it. She returns a few seconds later to find Geraldine patiently waiting for her, holding the phone out to her.
"Daniel," she says, her tone quiet and serious.
"Can I stay over at Chuck's?" Daniel asks without ceremony.
She quizzes him, speaks to Chuck's parents and then relents, somehow against her better judgement. Daniel is spending altogether too much time away from home. Is it the attractions of this new girlfriend? Or, she allows herself to face the thought, is it the fact that home is changing with Geraldine's presence?
But opportunity has presented itself, she realizes as she puts the phone down. She can invite Geraldine to stay.
Hours later, after Wendy has left in her taxi and as Joanna undresses, waiting for Geraldine to join her for their first overnight stay in Joanna's bed, she reflects on the day. Wendy has been a significant catalyst in their journey to their relationship. She has helped them to celebrate being together in a quiet, almost understated way and that has been affirming. Of Wendy's secret relationship, they have heard nothing and each of them senses that tonight was not the evening to ask. The main dissonance to the day was the incident with Martha and Jake, but from that came the power of the discussion with Lou and the knowledge that Joanna, her child and her new lover have made the first steps to becoming a new family unit. And out of that in turn came the decision that it was safe to sleep together and for Lou to know that Geraldine would be here in the morning. They have made a start with Lou and it has been a good start. Only Daniel sits like a shadow on the horizon. She senses that it will be a very different thing to start to explain all this to her second son.
Too tired to make love, they embrace and let the kisses they have waited for during the evening ease them into drifting sleep talk.
Joanna wants to know how her lover felt about Jake's verbal assault on her.
"Never been called that before, and it was a shock at the time just to be so hated. At first, I was so taken aback that I just kept walking. Then I thought of all the things I could have said. Then I concluded that I would not give anyone the satisfaction of dignifying that sort of behaviour with any response. And then, my Darling, I realised that the world did not fall apart because some idiot took against me out of vicious and petty hatred. So I'm OK. Honestly."
Joanna squeezes her.
"What about you? How did it feel to be treated like that by relatives?"
"It caught me off guard. And I also got caught up into all the old guilt about Stephen for a while. Then I was incensed and afraid for Lou. If it weren't for you and the work I did with Jim, I'd be lying in a crumpled heap by now. But it worked out all right. Let me tell you what Lou said tonight when I told her that I love you."
She gets in from work at just after five. She gathers up the array of post, registering the usual number of circulars, bills and official looking envelopes that in reality only offer deals on mortgages, insurance and the like. There is a postcard from Annie in thanks for the day she spent with them and a white envelope with her name on it. She dumps the lot on the kitchen table, closes the curtains and puts on the oven ready for the evening ahead. Upstairs, she can hear the sound of heavy music, heralding the fact that Daniel is in ahead of her.
"Hi, Danny," she shouts, encouraging him down.
"Hi, Mom," comes back the friendly enough reply. But Daniel does not appear.
Lou will be in from the After School Club in a few moments and the next hour or so will be one of concentrated activity as she sees to the meal, sits with the family over supper, then supervises Lou's homework and tries to get the last chapter of the novel read in time for the reading circle. Mary is due to sit with Lou and there is a supper tray to leave out. And in all this, she must find the reserves to look relaxed and to give the kids the time they need to tell her about their days at school and anything else that they want to chat about. This might be family quality time, but to make it so demands all the calm and stress management that Joanna can muster.
And sure enough, the seven year old is a bundle of energy when she rushes through the door five minutes later. Rather than being delighted that she has her mother to herself for a short while, she looks disappointed that Geraldine is not here to hear about the trip the class has made today to the city museum where there is a child focussed exhibition about Stone Age life and how boys and girls lived in those olden times. Disappointment gives way quickly to absorption in telling her mother about the trip. So she sits at the kitchen table as Joanna prepares pasta and bread for them all and rustles up fruit and yoghurt for pudding. Daniel finally appears, cheery enough but pushing the boundaries of what he can do with his later evening. He wants to be off out with his pals and Joanna wants him home doing homework and preparing for forthcoming exams. They finally compromise on a ten-thirty curfew and he can only go out on the proviso that all the homework is done in advance. They talk on as they eat, the youngsters as bright at this time of the evening as they are first thing, whilst Joanna wonders where the stamina will come from for her evening with the reading circle. 'Perhaps', she thinks to herself as she clears the dishes and encourages Lou to see if there is any good game in the cupboard that she can play later with Mary, 'I need to think about giving up the circle if there is going to be so much going on in life with Geraldine'.
But it is a thought that she dismisses, knowing that to discontinue their separate interests would not be healthy in the longer term. While Lou and Daniel head to their rooms, Joanna throws herself through the shower and, dressed in leisure gear of trousers and sweat shirt, she feels more ready to face the evening ahead. She heads downstairs just before seven to wait for Mary's arrival and to oversee the setting up of the board game that Lou has selected. There is no time left for her to read that last chapter so she will just have to bluff her way through -- or own up.
The doorbell goes and she leaves Lou to answer it, going through to the kitchen for a final check that the supper tray is in order. There is just time to have a quick look at the post and then she must head off.
It looks official, she realises, as soon as the white envelope is opened. And it is. She knows the legal firm who sent it -- Morrison and Law. They are a Glasgow based firm and they have a tough reputation. When she has clients using this firm, she knows she has a hard fight on her hands to protect the interests of whatever child is involved.
'How dare they contact me at home and not at the hospital' she fumes inwardly. Which of her clients in which family situation has this firm got a hold of now?
'Dear Mrs Rodgers,
My clients, Mrs Martha Rodgers and Mr Jake Rodgers advise you of their intention to pursue an action to gain custody of their granddaughter/niece on the grounds of your unsuitability as a parent, given the nature of your relationship with Ms Geraldine Spence ...'
Shock as she scan-reads the letter has a numbing effect on her capacity to absorb the words, let alone think about the full implications of what she is reading. How can this be happening? She is paralysed by anger and by terror for Lou's safety.
The kitchen door bursts open and Lou is in the room, followed by a cheery and bustling Mary.
"Mum, Mary and I...'
She half hears the word and nods her apparent pleasure and excitement for the child's plans for the evening. As she stuffs the letter back into its envelope so that Lou can not see it, she gathers up her keys, makes her usual greetings of Mary and leaves with advice about supper and bedtime. She is in the car before the shaking in her limbs calms and she can begin to focus. The child and Mary are at the window to wave her off. She slides the car into gear and waves in turn, then drives slowly round the corner and parks. She reaches for her mobile and presses the button for Geraldine. No reply. Of course. She is going round to Judy and Tom's this evening. Damn.
She sits, undecided. She is raging now that the first shock is over. How dare they? How dare they presume to judge her and to think for one minute that they could take her daughter from her? She is tempted to drive round there right now and deal with them face to face. That wet apology of a man, that failed version of his older brother, could no more look after a child than fly to the moon. How many women has he tried to marry since his divorce, only to be sabotaged by that domineering bitch of a mother? Joanna will not tolerate this. No one is going to say that she is not a suitable mother for her daughter.
But she begins to calm and to think. Morrison and Law are a nasty bunch of tough solicitors. She will deal with this and she intends to win. But she must do nothing to fuel their position. No. She will wait to talk it through with Geraldine. And they will face it together. Meanwhile, she thinks as she sits in the car, Lou must know nothing of this. So she can't go home, much as she would like to. No, it is better to go on with the reading circle, even if it is now the last thing on her mind.
They are meeting again, as it happens, at Janie's house and as Joanna enters, she sees that Pam, the lawyer with the daughters and the uptight attitudes is there. Sally is there, a woman in her early forties so close by her side that this has to be the new partner. Her name turns out to be Sylvia and she clearly knows something of Sally's attempt to date Joanna. Sylvia sits very close to Sally, and does not take protective eyes off her, watchful eyes off Joanna all evening. Pam rather seethes in unspoken distaste at the physical proximity of Sally and Sylvia. Gayle the retired physiotherapist is there and that makes up the evening's discussion group.
Joanna barely pays attention to the dissecting of the tonight's book and is so quiet that she uses the fact that she did not complete the novel to cover for her preoccupation. She manages a quip about the basic premise of the novel just to show that there was some, at least, willing spirit in her. But she declines the coffee at the end and uses the pretext that Lou has a temperature to extricate herself. But she cannot leave till the next session is agreed and she has volunteered her house and supper for the following week. The list of suggested titles is handed round and they agree without too much difficulty. Then she can leave and flee to her car to once again try Geraldine's number.
"Can I come round?" she asks without preamble.
Geraldine knows at once that this is for a serious and not romantic purpose and says 'yes' right away. She asks no questions but is on the doorstep to her bungalow when Joanna pulls up.
"Is it Lou? Or Daniel?" she asks now as they head to the lounge.
Joanna sits down on the edge of the sofa and looks at Geraldine as she comes to her side. Without a word, she reaches to her handbag and passes the crumpled letter across. Geraldine reads it in silence.
"I thought it might be something like this. But it's worse than I feared. Morrison and Law -- that's bad news."
Her tone is flat, neither disturbed nor frightened. But she is worried. Joanna can see that. She looks at Joanna now and takes her hand
"What do I do?" Joanna asks quietly
"Fight. Win, obviously. No one is taking your daughter from you. The question is how you win. Let's think through the options. One: go and see them. Two: deny anything between us. Three: get your solicitor and try to rebuff all this in writing. Four: go to court if necessary." She pauses and then asks, "What does Lou know as yet?"
"Nothing. I didn't say anything. And I want to keep it that way."
"That will mean not letting her go round to the Rodgers' for a while. Maybe not ever. And that will certainly up the anti with your in-laws. You may add to the tug of love if you don't let her visit them."
But Joanna is adamant.
"Geraldine, I can't have them poisoning her mind. I won't have it. It's more important that she is protected from that than anything else."
Geraldine accepts the strength of feeling that Joanna is expressing and nods quietly. She changes tack.
"Is it possible she has been quizzed already when she has been round there?""A bit, yes. I think so. She usually tells me what happens wherever she goes, including there," she says, "Do you remember the day she came back from Martha's when Annie was due? Think how little she said then. At the time we were busy getting the meal ready and I didn't give it too much thought. Mind you," she remembers now, "She did say that she has referred to you as a special friend. And I think from something she said that the Rodgers have already had a go at her over us. I'll check it out with her when I get the opportunity."
"She will lose out on their affections, you know," Geraldine warns her, coming back to the issue. She is clearly thinking through what this could mean to Lou, even if it does not go to a full-blown legal dispute.
"Yes. But a tug of love would be infinitely worse. And worse still would be having them plant rubbish in her head about my ability to care for her."
"There is another way," Geraldine says quietly.
"What?" Joanna asks, having a good idea what is coming.
"That we don't see each other. Then there is no issue. You are the widow and a single parent again."
Joanna looks at her long and hard. Such a notion is all but intolerable.
"I thought about it on the way over. Hardly the authentic life, don't you think, to give up our relationship and our futures at the first hurdle?" For the first time ever, Joanna finds herself feeling almost cross with Geraldine.
"It's a bug hurdle, my dear Joanna, to fight for the custody of a child. Look at what you will be accused of if this goes the full ten rounds. You will be an unfit parent by virtue of your sexuality. This is not a heady Saturday night discussion any more, like we had with Wendy. This is the real thing."
"No, Geraldine. It won't come to that, I'm sure. I won't give you up. Let's go on as we are and as we plan, but keep Lou away from them. Then, as to your options, I don't think I'll see them face-to-face. I'll get a solicitor."
"You don't have one?"
"Yes. But he was Stephen's and mine. I may need a specialist"
"Why not start with the devil you know? It will be up to him to decide whether you need Council's opinion. That will be what matters if it goes that far. But I'd be for seeing what can be negotiated away first."
"Will you tell Daniel now?" Geraldine asks after a silence whilst they each reflect on all this.
She hesitates as she thinks whether that is just what she should do. But the idea of telling him in these circumstances is too dreadful to contemplate. She just shakes her head.
"I won't tell any of them, if I can avoid it."
Geraldine can see there is no room for discussion and says nothing.
There is little more to say about the whole business and Joanna has to get home to let Mary away. They hold each other in the hall, Geraldine saying that she would like to be able to take Joanna's pain for her. Joanna cannot face this particular parting, heralding as it does a return to a home that now has a major attack on it from outside. She so needs Geraldine with her. And that would be disastrous for now in terms of playing into the hands of the Rodgers. She aches with sadness as she drives home. They have had such a short time before the outside world has started to intrude.
She wakens the next morning with the same sense of dread that she felt two years ago when she was called to the Royal Hospital. Struggling to consciousness, she groans to herself at the realisation that Lou is heading straight for the kind of conflict situation that she has watched other children suffer when she has worked with families in separation and divorce situations. She knows that grandparents have no rights to custody. But the way ahead is likely to involve weeks and months of contentious solicitors' letters. She knows too that she is a good mother and that there should be no problem at the end of the day in proving that. But if it comes to it, how does she argue that you can be a good mother and in a relationship with a woman at the same time? In her bones, she thinks that this is going to be nasty and sordid.
And the person who matters in all this, Lou, is likely to be affected by it, no matter how she tries to protect her. Even as she thought about asking Lou last night about whether Martha or Jake had put any pressure on her for information, she hung back. At seven, children pick up on questions like that and know that something is wrong. Instead, last evening, she said nothing at all. This will have an impact on her whole family, way beyond anything she can imagine. She knows it could damage them forever.
'The only good thing,' she thinks, as she heads to the shower, 'is that Lou rarely, if ever, asks to go and see Martha and Jake.' Joanna will not mention their names for the time being at least. And she will use the answer phone in the house for a while so that she does not lift the phone to the Rodgers. They have had it as far as she is concerned over seeing Lou. Maybe later, she'll think about this again, but not at the moment.
At work, the first thing that she does is ring and arrange to see Ed. He has almost become a friend now, so, when she takes time out in the late afternoon and waits to see him in the reception area, she is not nervous. She is just still steamed up with outrage that this could be happening to her and to Lou.
He greets her with a peck to the cheek and a shake of the hand, this tall, prematurely grey haired man in his matching grey suit and blue tie. She finds herself hoping that he will be so committed to his profession that his accumulated wealth will not see him deciding on early retirement while she still needs legal services. But she is diffident in getting to the point and she knows that she spends too much time asking about his wife and the kids. Eventually, it is he who asks how he can help and she reluctantly reaches into the bag at her feet and pulls out the letter, passing it to him without a word. He reads it silently, then pauses as he pretends still to be reading it, though she knows that he is deciding how to respond. Eventually he looks over the edge of his gold-rimmed specs and looks at her.
"Outrageous."
She heaves a sigh of relief. The man is on board to help.
"To try to take Lou from you, they would have to contest and prove that you are an unfit mother. There is plenty of incontrovertible evidence to prove the contrary - that you are more than fit, that you are an excellent mother and that you love your child and she loves you. I have to ask. Is it true that you are in a relationship with the woman named here?"
He looks at her, waiting for her reply.
"Yes." She tries to say it without any sense of guilt and more or less pulls it off.
"I see."
"Could I lose Lou?"
"I doubt it. I think any court would throw it out. But we don't want it to get to court, do we?"
She hears the hint of doubt in his voice.
"Are you and Ms Spence intending to live together?"
"Not at the moment. Maybe later."
"Right. And who knows of your relationship?"
"One of our closest friends. Jeremy. I told Lou that Geraldine is a special friend."
"Could she have said this to the Rodgers?"
"Yes. She could also have told them that Geraldine is around a lot but she hasn't seen her grandmother or Jake since ... since Geraldine and I decided what we want to do. Ed, how bad could this be?"
"Well, I think that it could be unpleasant. To take her from you, they would have to apply for a Residence Order to the court, under the 1995 Children Act, but you will know this from your work?"She nods, hardly crediting that this legal business, so familiar to her in the workplace, could actually be impinging on her and her family.
"And to be successful, they would have to prove that you are unfit by virtue of your relationship. We are not in a position to deny the relationship, but we can argue back and forward that the claim is spurious and malicious. I'm afraid the correspondence will be unpleasant, but let's see if we can hold it to that. We will, unfortunately have to argue that it is in Lou's best interests not to have contact, at least for the time being. That just might be a lever to get them to drop their case - the risk of not seeing her - even if it is a bit distasteful to use her as a bargaining tool."
"Whatever it takes, Ed, just as long as she is not in the direct line of fire. I don't want her to know anything of this."
Ed asks what counter arguments could be used, later, against the Rodgers' ability to care for the child and they spend minutes on Martha's age, Jake's drinking patterns and the total disruption to a child's life that such a change would bring. Ed reminds her that the paramount issue is Lou's best interest and he suggests that a strongly worded letter of rebuttal of the notion of Joanna's unfitness as a mother should now go off to the Rodgers' solicitors from Murray and Simpson.
"Fine. Anything to get this scotched," she agrees. Then she asks, "Whatever it takes, I know, but can I afford this?"
They go through costs and Joanna mentally writes off the money she has been saving for a holiday abroad for her and Geraldine. But that is cheap at the price in the circumstances.
A few minutes later, she stands on one of the footbridges that cross the Ness, watching the flood-turbulent waters sweep below her out to sea. A log is pounding its path to open waters. She feels that she is slightly more confident than she was before her session with Ed. But she is under no illusions. Unlike the waters below, this is not going to go away. And as likely as not, as soon as one log of assault on her personal credibility is swept away, the Rodgers will launch another to take its place. Even if the case never goes to court, there is a deeply troubling time ahead.
She feels less than ready for the evening ahead. It is the evening of the Gang's planned dinner party to celebrate Bobby's fiftieth birthday. Geraldine is having Bobby to stay overnight after the do and she has offered to have Michelle with her. This way, no one will need to drive and taxis will collect the two out-of-towners from the station and then Wendy, Geraldine and her from Joanna's house. There has been no time today to talk in any depth with Geraldine about Lou, or for that matter, to spend any time on her own with her lover. The day has been taken up for each of them with their respective daughters. Joanna has been helping Lou to pack an overnight bag, ready for the child to be collected to go round to Jo-Jo's to spend the night there. Wendy and Geraldine are due to arrive in time for drinks before the taxi arrives. As seems usual just now, Daniel is out seeing Zoe. "Missing in action, again," is how Geraldine laughed with just a hint of query and concern.
As she puts in her earrings and dons a light amount of makeup, finishing with a spray of perfume, her exhaustion begins to lift and she can face the evening ahead. This life of hers that was so quiet in the months after Stephen died is now a rush from event to event and from crisis to crisis. Or so it seems when she is at her most tired.
She hears Lou answer the doorbell and the child's enthusiastic greeting of Geraldine makes her smile to herself. At least that bit is going well, thank God. She has little time to do any more than glance at her black evening top and silk black pants, check that she looks OK and register that she is keeping her weight down well - the product of nervous and physical energy rather than attention to diet. She heads downstairs, that thrill of seeing Geraldine as alive tonight as it always is now. She pecks her lover on the cheek in front of Lou. There is no privacy to say much but Geraldine has the ability to take in at a glance how Joanna is feeling. With an unspoken message, she tells her that the evening will be fine.
It is only after Wendy has arrived to a great bear hug from each of them and Lou has been collected at the sound of Jo-Jo's mother's car horn, that the pair are left alone for a moment while Wendy pays a last call to the toilet. The two catch a quick word in private.
"Do we say anything tonight?" Joanna whispers as she puts on her black evening jacket, the one she keeps for special evenings at the theatre or dinners out like tonight.
Geraldine has not seen it before and gives her an appreciative raise of her eyebrows.
"If the opportunity arises -- I think so. It's not fair to Wendy to be the only one who knows and unfair of us not to tell the others as soon as we are all together as the Gang. What do you think?"
"I'm just worried about the effect it will have on the Gang. It seems like a light year since we talked about this way back in Lanzerote, but it's only a few weeks. We may have changed, but the issue is the same, surely?"
Geraldine nods quietly. It was she who made this very point in Lanzerote.
"We have to trust that the Gang will understand. And I think that they will find out sooner or later. And anyway, we would want them to know, wouldn't we? They are our best friends, after all. And people tend to resent it later if they are not told something. I think if the opportunity arises, we tell them."
Joanna nods quietly. Wendy appears at this moment, takes in the private nature of their conversation at a glance and guesses accurately what this is about.
"I envy you two," she says with a smile. "There is no need for you to be secretive. I wish I could say the same."
They do not query her over what her secret is but accept her implicit advice with a smile as they head off to the waiting evening.
Even with the support of both Wendy and Geraldine, Joanna finds herself tense with anxiety as the celebrations get under way. Bobby and Michelle are there ahead of them and have taken up seats at the round alcove table so that there is space between them for one person. Wendy takes it and Joanna sits by Geraldine, glad of her physical proximity.
Bobby and Michelle are both in good form, freed from family and, in Michelle's case, family conflict for a few hours. Wine flows, the talk is of celebrating age and maturity and of being able to find pleasure in day to day living. As the evening goes on, the jokes and laughter give way to a more reflective climate at the table. Each in their own way is a serious woman, Michelle perhaps the one of them all who is in the most difficult current situation, caught up as she is in her family struggle with Sam and Cindy over adolescence, paternal control and drugs. Michelle makes the observation that she and Wendy have similar family problems just now. It may look to the external observer, Wendy comments, as if she has similar problems to Michelle, but she, Wendy, has the capacity to stand outside all that and find fun in other pursuits. She lets the family difficulties flow over her. And her son Benny comes to her for support when he needs it.
"Don't get me wrong," she protests as Bobby queries her, "I care every bit as much about my son as Michelle does about Cindy. It's just that I don't feel as caught up in it all as she does. I suppose I closed down emotionally on Toby a long time ago and wouldn't be there now if it weren't for Benny. You, Michelle, I suspect you stay in your relationship out of a sense of obligation. Only you don't admit it to yourself."
Michelle, always quiet and unaffected by other people's perceptions of her just smiles,
"Well, I look inside myself for fulfilment. But I wouldn't be with Sam if I didn't love him. I just have to let the fight between him and Cindy burn itself out. They love each other but they are too alike. I get peace of mind by looking inwards and I find fulfilment that way. And I just have to hope that time will sort out Sam and Cindy's fight."
Joanna remembers now. Michelle spends a lot of time at the multi-faith, spiritual centre near to where she has her cottage overlooking the bay in Findhorn. It is a place of spiritual and personal growth and Michelle chose her cottage to be near by, years ago, so that she could explore her spirituality. It is a quest, Joanna knows, that means an enormous amount to Michelle, and although much of the philosophy of the centre is similar to Joanna's own search for her beliefs, Michelle's is not a route to growth and insight that she would have chosen for herself.
It is Bobby, as it happens, who inadvertently opens the opportunity for the anxious Joanna to say something about her newfound happiness.
"I often find myself talking with students about this business of 'who am I?' Very often," Bobby observes, "They are in processes of personal growth and change as they struggle with their values and ideals on the way to becoming qualified. I suggest to them that, at the end of the day, we have to strip away the masks we all carry just to get by in the world, so that we can truly be ourselves. My usual homily to them at some point of their time with me is that they have to be open to who they truly are. If they want to be the real person they are, they need to relinquish all the dross about pleasing others, seeking power and prestige and so on. If they listen to their inner selves, they will be proportionately happy and fulfilled."
Wendy nods, a sadness fleetingly crossing her face as she recognises the extent to which she is dissembling, for reasons that only she knows. Wendy knows that what Bobby is saying is true and is the sadder for the recognition that she is not following this life path. And Joanna knows as she listens, that in their friend Bobby they have someone who has the rare gift of early wisdom.
Joanna glances at Geraldine who nods and waits. They both seem to know that it is Joanna who has to do the saying. She gathers her courage, waits to let there be a moment's silence, and then fills it - she feels - awkwardly.
"I have to say that I took the opportunity to dare to be myself recently and I found it was a good experience. Scary but good."
They are all looking at her, Wendy smiling silent encouragement; Geraldine silent support. She leaves the silence, perhaps for a second or so too long, and it becomes difficult to find the right words. Geraldine comes to the rescue.
"That's right. Daring to be you really pays off."
There is a ripple of anticipatory laughter round the table and Joanna pitches in.
"I entered a new relationship."
Bobby and Michelle both smile, Bobby clapping her hands together in delight.
"Who? Can we ask?" Michelle reaches to her and touches her arm.
"Someone you know well and I just hope you are going to be pleased for us." Joanna prevaricates.
"Let's dare to be," Geraldine encourages her.
A beginning light of recognition seems to come into Bobby's eyes.
"I discovered that I love Geraldine here as much, no more, than I loved Stephen."
Joanna watches for the women's reactions. Bobby is nodding slowly, looking as if some recognition that has been lurking in her preconscious is bubbling to the surface of her mind.
"Of course. Lanzerote."
"I thought I would never be as happy as I've been these last weeks," Geraldine says, smiling first at Joanna and then at the table in general.
Michelle is just looking at them both, shocked into a silent frieze of fixed smile. The hand that touched Joanna on the arm is now firmly crossed with the other one. In a surreal moment, Joanna is aware that she and Geraldine are sitting before the other three, more like a pair of defendants before a tribunal of justices than two people in a circle. It is a moment that sets into her memory box and she knows she will revisit it in the days ahead as she remembers this evening. Wendy breaks the silence.
"I have to confess that I had guessed and have had time to think. I was just hoping that you two would spill the beans tonight for all our sakes. I for one," she says, looking to Bobby to her right and then to Michelle to her left, "think it's great. These two are lovely people who deserve happiness and I think they will find it together," she beams. "I just wish it was me," she then quips, as if to lighten the moment.
Michelle is still staring at Joanna. Then she seems to kick herself back from some far away state of shock. She raises her glass, and says something that must be from her mantra repertoire.
"Our purpose is to live from true awareness. It is not to live life according to what society deems correct." She takes a sip from her glass and sits staring into it rather than at anyone at the table.
Joanna has the strong impression that she is persuading herself as much as anyone, but Michelle goes along with Wendy's exhortation to them all to raise their glasses to the pair of friends.
"To you both," Bobby says, hiding her own shock and affirming her acceptance. She is the social work tutor, after all, and she of all people should not be shocked. And as the glasses are placed back on the table, Geraldine touches Joanna on the arm and says,
"One thing that I want to say is that we are both very concerned to make sure that the Gang goes on from here. It's just as important now as it always has been ..."
"It's bound to be different," Michelle interrupts her, not in anger but in some sort of sad resignation.
Wendy, Geraldine and Joanna start to protest all at once, Joanna well aware as they do so that the reality is different from what each of the three of them is espousing. She thinks quickly and comes in,
"Well, if it does turn out to be different, let's hope that it can be an abundance of new and better difference."
Bobby nods. Then she seems to recognise that she is the one who can hold this moment together for the five of them.
"There are so many things for you two to think about and we could talk about them all night. For tonight, we need to stick to the here and now. And the here and now is the five of us. I can't pretend that I really understand that shift from friendship to entering an intimate relationship with another woman. But it holds no bad feelings for me. I suppose I can understand it in my head, though it would never be my way. So I say that this Gang is still the place for us all in the years ahead. What about you, Wendy?"
"Absolutely. I think it's great. You both know that," she says as she refers directly to Joanna and Geraldine. Then she looks to her other side and asks,
"What about you, Michelle?"
Michelle is quiet, unhappy looking and uncomfortable with the question.
"I suppose I don't understand. It's just not something I've ever really come into contact with. I know you'll not like this, but you both look so unlike, well, unlike lesbians."
Geraldine laughs quietly.
"You mean, no denims and blazers, cropped hair sleeked back with oil and heavy brogues on our feet?"
Michelle has the good grace to blush.
"But what do you do?" she now ventures the risky question of the evening, emphasising that last word, 'do'. The others can all see that she regrets the question as soon as it is uttered.
Wendy saves them by hooting with laughter.
"Leave them alone, Michelle. They make love, that's what they do. Use your imagination."
"But with no man ..." Michelle starts, but Bobby cuts across her.
"Come on, Michelle, that's really not the issue. These are our friends and they have been for twenty years. They haven't become different people all of a sudden."
"No. You're right. It was a shock, that's all. I spend long enough at the Findhorn centre with all sorts of people exploring their lives. At least this is about happiness and peace. It has to be good."
Joanna knows that the right words are coming from Michelle's mouth. She also knows that the poor woman is deeply troubled and doing the best she can to be kind. At least she has done her best to hold things together, no doubt out of a mixture of respect for the two of them, for the Gang and for the values she seeks to fulfil in life.
There is no talk tonight about Joanna and Geraldine's plans for the future. Enough attention has been given over to them. It is late and it is Bobby's special evening. In a flurry of goodnights, and suggestions as to the next social evening, they all decide to go with Michelle's proposal that they should meet at one of the Findhorn pubs for a bar supper. Then Joanna and Michelle are on their way to Joanna's house for the night, sitting making small talk in the listening presence of the driver.
And when they get to Joanna's house, Michelle does not want to talk. She is tired and needs to sleep. Claiming exhaustion, she heads off to bed with only the barest of courtesies covered. Joanna is alone, wondering if they have done the right thing in telling their friends. As she heads down the hall to the bathroom, she hears the murmured voice of her guest talking on her mobile, presumably to Sam. She does the unforgivable. She stops and listens quietly at the door. "That's right. They are sleeping together," she hears from the other side of the door. "What about poor Lou? And the boys?" Michelle's whispering voice continues behind the door.
"Serves you right," Joanna tells herself as, mortified, she heads to the safety of her own room. She picks up the bedside phone to ring Geraldine who answers right away.
"I think it went as well as we could have hoped," her friend whispers. "Apart from Michelle, who is going to struggle a bit. But the Gang will survive. You'll see."
"I hope so," Joanna replies uncertainly. She is too embarrassed, somehow, to tell Geraldine of the overheard conversation of a few moments ago.
And in the morning, when Michelle and she are sitting over breakfast, she tries to raise the subject.
"You don't approve, do you, Michelle?"
"I don't disapprove. I just don't understand. How can any two woman make love together?" Michelle's tone is flat, as if she is overwhelmed by this revelation from the evening before.
Joanna risks tackling the subject head on.
"Well, I won't talk about Geraldine. That wouldn't be right. I wouldn't expect you to talk about your sex life with Sam. So let's just say that the feeling of holding a woman and having her make love to you is so much more intimate than anything I ever felt with a man. And, I won't talk about Stephen either, by the way. A woman knows what you want and she is attuned to you in a way that a man can't be. She knows how to bring pleasure and passion and intimacy all at the same time ..."
But she can see that Michelle's face is clouding with incomprehension. This is a lost cause. All she can do is ask her friend,
"Look Michelle. You and I have been friends for years in the Gang. And I suppose we are the least alike of us all. But I like and value you and all that you stand for. I want us to go on being friends, maybe even get to know each other better through this."
She reaches to touch Michelle on the arm and there is no response. She withdraws her hand, startled that even this level of contact, so ordinary just last night as they arrived at the restaurant, is now a problem for the other woman.
Michelle nods in silent uncertainty and Joanna can see that she is caught between her natural reaction and her commitment to the Gang. She will try to accept Joanna and Geraldine but for her it will be hard. And there is not a thing that she or Joanna can do about it as they sit in awkward silence at the table.
Lou is sound asleep in the adjoining room. Silently, they stroke each other in the candlelight and under the covers. Slowly, Geraldine runs her hands over her, soothing the tension out of her and taking her back to that place of intense intimacy that reminds her that the struggle for their togetherness is worth it. She rises and then falls back onto the bed in a wet lather of quiet pleasure that leaves her able only to whisper 'I love you' in Geraldine's ear. Her lover smiles and nods, her silhouette in the shimmer of the light strong and engulfing. Geraldine smoothes the hair back from her friend's eyes and then quietly gets out of bed to check that Lou is still sound asleep. Joanna is as happy as she can imagine being.
It is only a week since the dinner party but Geraldine had the idea that they should get away for a weekend. Daniel and the girl friend Zoë have gone down to Dundee for the weekend.
Geraldine chose Aviemore for its proximity to Inverness and for the particular hotel with its swimming and leisure complex. It has the facilities of a children's club that they both knew Lou would enjoy. They packed in a whole busy agenda of activities to keep the youngster amused and as they enjoyed the walking by lochs, taken the funicular railway up the as yet green ski slopes and swum in the pool, they have had the chance they both were needing to talk about their future. It was on their Saturday afternoon walk around Loch an Eilean that they talked about where they each saw their future going. They picnicked at the edge of the loch and watched Lou tossing tree twigs into the otherwise ripples water.
"I told Judy. I though you wouldn't mind if I went ahead ..."
"What? When?" Joanna asked, more in surprise than in concern.
"The opportunity arose and I took it. We were out for a meal on Tuesday whilst you were at the reading circle and she said something about not wanting me to be on my own for the rest of my life. So I said that I wasn't on my own any more. She was fine, honestly," Geraldine reassured her in response to Joanna's unspoken question as they admired the sun gleaming through the red and yellow leaves of the still laden autumn trees. As the light shafted towards them Joanna said, almost as an aside,
"You know, that's my mental picture of the authentic life - the warm sun coming through mature trees, trees that symbolise the maturity of our ages, and shafting towards us as if to lighten the way forward." She stopped and they watched the light and the mist for a while, caught in the analogy of the view to their life concept, before she turned back to Geraldine.
"Was she really all right about it?"
"Not only all right about it. She and Tom want to have us over for Sunday dinner as soon as possible. And we're to bring Lou and Danny. It looks as though we are beginning to be a couple, my dear Joanna."
If Lou were not close and now watching geese above her head through toy binoculars, Geraldine would have kissed her lover. Instead, Joanna squeezed her friend's hand and linked arms.
"So, have you thought any more about the future? I mean, do you think we could live together?" Geraldine asked, looking deep into Joanna's eyes.
"You mean after Danny goes to university? And we would raise Lou together?"
"Of course."
"I want to, Geraldine. I do." Joanna did not know how she was going to respond until the words formed in her mind. "But I think it's too early. There's Martha and Jake and the custody battle. And we work together. And there's Daniel. He doesn't know yet. I have a strong feeling he will not react well. Look how much time he is spending away from home just now. I can hardly get him to prepare for his exams. I suspect it's not just this new girlfriend. And Lou doesn't know - not really. And look at Michelle's reaction last week. How many more times would we have to put up with that sort of lack of understanding?"
"Are you wanting to back out?" Geraldine asked her, clearly shocked by this barrage of Joanna's worries.
It was the first time Joanna had seen her friend's face troubled like this in all the weeks. She could not answer at first, the thought of backing out new to her, but once there, it was a thought that had its perverse attractions. There would be no more trouble for her and the children from relatives or at work or from friends. Life could revert to the quiet of the time when she was rebuilding her life after Stephen. But as soon as these thoughts crystallised, she dismissed them as frivolous. And she smiled in apology to Geraldine, who had seen the second's doubt in her eyes.
"No. No, I don't want out. I just wish it could be easier, that's all."
"It will be hard from time to time. But this is the worst time, I'm sure. Martha and Jake have been the worst and I don't suppose it's over yet. But once it's done in terms of people knowing, it's done. And at the end of the day, it's our business, Joanna. Our business and then Lou's and the boys'."
She felt fortified by Geraldine's words. It was so reassuring to have the strength of Geraldine as well as the love of the woman. And she felt slightly ashamed of her faintheartedness. How could she have thought to seek an easy escape at what could only be at Geraldine's expense?
They had fun after that, later in the pool as they played with Lou and again as they showered, Lou now in front of the TV, before eating all together in the dining room. She felt she was one of a family and if there were glances of curiosity from other tables, it was no more than that. The weekend had been a good idea.
And in bed in the dim light, they made the plan for their future. They talked through what it would be like for Geraldine to move in with Joanna. They saw without much discussion that that would be a non-starter. To the family, Geraldine would always be the incomer. Besides, it was a relatively small house, and emotionally, full of memories of times past, including a marriage. It was not a serious option. Geraldine's bungalow was perfect for Joanna and Lou, but would have no bedrooms that the boys could consider as theirs. And the boys would end up feeling like guests, or worse, staying away. It would be best to give up each house, they reasoned, and to start afresh so that they make the home for the future that they could share equally. This would stop either of them living in the shadow of the memory of a marriage that was ended. And, of course, whatever property they purchased, there would have to be a base for the boys to return to from university. Geraldine was as strong on that point as Joanna herself.
But even although their words formed and created a potential new future, Joanna felt herself beginning to grieve for the present life where she is the pivotal point to Jeremy and Daniel and where the house that has been her home for all her adult life was going to be a place which she would have to relinquish and see sold to strangers. She felt fainthearted as she woke in the morning and saw the quietly assured Geraldine sleeping by her side, unaware of the depth of the nagging doubts her lover was harbouring.
Too soon, it is Sunday late afternoon, and they are heading back up the main road to Inverness, piled into Geraldine's BMW as the less comfortable but more reliable option over Janna's beat up saloon. And too soon, Geraldine drops them at home, leaving them, she says, to finish a report she has promised will be ready for forwarding to the Board for its next meeting on Thursday. Apparently it is on the future of the psychological service at the hospital and the need for additional resources. Joanna pays little attention, just disappointed that the weekend is coming to its close. She would have liked Geraldine's company over supper. As she watches the car move off, loneliness seeps through her, albeit Lou is by her side. It is just not the same any more when Geraldine is not with her. Now she wishes she had been stronger in her conviction that they will live together as soon as it can all be negotiated.
Inside, there is a now familiar white envelope on the mat. She knows before opening it that it will be from Morrison and Law. She despatches Lou to have a bath before bed, closes the curtains and turns up the electric fire in the kitchen. Only then does she muster the courage to open the envelope. What she reads horrifies her.
The letter alleges that Lou is being kept in a filthy and unkempt state, is being exposed to the moral danger of seeing her mother in a lesbian relationship and is being deliberately kept away from the family of her late father. But the worst bit is at the end of the letter. Words from the grave are reproduced. Her late husband's concerns will be conveyed as necessary to the court. They assert that she, Joanna, is a frigid, man-hating lesbian whose influence on any female daughter is likely to be damaging in the extreme. They are words that she realizes Stephen has left as part of his legacy. They are an adaptation of what she read that day in Ed's office. They are just some of Stephen's cruel words from the letter he left in the car when he ran into the tree; words twisted now by the Rodgers family to fit their nefarious case to take Lou from her. They are words that she vows quietly the children will never see. And Martha must still have the letter, presumably photocopied that day when she read them in Ed's office. Presumably, also, Martha and Jake kept it till they had the occasion and excuse to use it against her. The fight for Lou goes on.
She knows that her solicitor will reply in forceful terms. She knows that the going was always going to be nasty and hard. She knows that whilst the feud goes on in correspondence, she has little to actually fear. But all that does not help one iota. She is sick, afraid and weary. She is so very weary. She is too weary to even lift the phone and tell Geraldine. She cannot face the ignominy of saying all that the letter contains down the phone - not even to Geraldine. Anyway, she concludes, there is a limit to how much she should burden Geraldine with.
She sees Lou to bed, holding the child long after she is asleep as if to protect her from the unseen evil of the intrusion into their lives that threatens them. Daniel arrives back from the last train in from Dundee. She wants to challenge him about the lateness of his return but he is sullen tonight and she senses that she needs to stand back. Better, she concludes to be welcoming and to see him settled for the night with the offer of a hot drink. Tomorrow, she will talk to him; persuade him to bring Zoë to meet her.
And when she finally crawls into her own bed, it is a fitful sleep, full of dreams and eventually the recurring nightmare that has long since disappeared, of Stephen in his car racing towards the tree. In the nightmare, she is by his side. Tonight, in the dream, Lou is out there on the car bonnet, waving in to her father.
She does not say anything to Geraldine the next day or the next. Something stops her as she rationalises that she does not want to upset the other woman, especially at work, when she is so happy just now. And she sees Ed, who says little except that the legal firm will rebut the assertions in the letter in the strongest terms. She is not to worry.
And she does not notice that Geraldine is seeing less of her at work. At least, she does not notice at first. By Friday, it has dawned on her. They have not had lunch once this week. The last time they spoke was on the phone last evening and then it was about plans for the weekend. Geraldine was decidedly vague.
Joanna goes in search of her in the late afternoon, needing, in any event, to discuss the case of an elderly lady whose mentally ill son appears to be stripping his mother's house of its assets whilst she is in hospital for post stroke treatment. It looks as if a Guardianship order may be appropriate to protect the woman's interests and Joanna wants Geraldine's advice. Joanna is on legitimate and urgent business
She heads to the Department of Psychology and sees the team secretary as usual as she enters. The young woman is at her desk, sorting papers for filing. She glances up in surprise as Joanna enters.
"Hello, Mrs Rodgers. What can I do for you?"
"Hi. Is Mrs Spence around?"
The secretary looks surprised again.
"She's not here, Mrs Rodgers. Did she not tell you? She has transferred. She works at the Royal now."
Joanna knows that something is seriously wrong. She backs out, feigning an unruffled acceptance that is far from the truth. What is going on? Why has Geraldine transferred? And why has she not said?
She heads back to her office, closes the door behind her and reaches for the phone. She rings the Royal, thinking of the last time she was there -- the day of Stephen's death. The receptionist puts her through to the Psychology Department over there right away.
Yes, Mrs Spence is now working here. But she will not be in until Monday. Does Joanna want to leave a message?
She declines the offer to leave a message and puts in the time as best she can till the afternoon's social work team meeting. There, she sits in silent bewilderment till Angela has used the last minutes before five o'clock. Joanna has always thought that her boss does this to stop the young ones disappearing on a Friday afternoon and now she sits there silently cursing the woman and her inconsequential agenda. There is the only thing of importance she takes in. Cuts are coming. A staff memo will be out shortly. Then, finally it is time to leave. Angela wishes her a good weekend. As her manager does so, Joanna wonders if she is giving her a particular look of scrutiny. But she does not dwell on it. She has to get round to the bungalow and find out what is going on.
She picks up Lou, drops her at the swimming club and promises to be back within the hour. The traffic is slow, and she is almost beside herself when she gets to Geraldine's home. There is no answer. She rings again, in case Geraldine is in the bath or something.
Still there is no answer. She stands on the doorstep and rings the mobile number. That does not answer. Perplexed and upset, she checks Geraldine's empty garage and then sits in her car and lets the minutes tick by, watching the end of the drive for the familiar BMW. It does not arrive.
'Where is she?' she asks herself, worry for Geraldine now coming to the fore.
Time is running out and she has to collect Lou. She leaves reluctantly, then picks up Lou and suggests they call round to Geraldine's and see if she wants to come with them to get some fish and chips -- Lou's favourite even beyond chicken burgers. Oblivious to her mother's distress, the child hoops with delight. But Geraldine is still not there and still not answering her mobile. There is no option but to head to the chip shop and join the queue.
An hour later, she and Lou are home. Daniel is in the shower, preparing for an evening in town. Half desperate with worry, she listens abstractedly to the child's account of her day at school, miserable without her lover and from not knowing what to think. All she knows is that there is something seriously wrong for the day to have taken this turn. Geraldine is a reliable person, both at work, in their friendship and in their relationship. And now she is not there. It makes no sense.
She finally sits with Daniel in the kitchen as he gulps down a portion of oven-ready chicken and chips. She wants to get close to him and to address his increasing absence from home with him.
"How about bringing Zoë round tomorrow? She suggests, conscious as she does so that her need to be free to find Geraldine just might conflict with any arrangement she might make just now.
Daniel looks up from his plate and gives her a searching look.
"Geraldine round this weekend?" he queries.
"Probably," she nods, hoping fervently that that will be the case. "We could all have supper together. How about it? It's ages since we had an evening home together as a family."
"Yes. It is."
That is all the boy says. But it sends a frisson down her back.
The next day dawns bright and the last strains of the late autumn sun promise an opportunity to be out in the country, perhaps with a picnic and a walk on the west coast. She wakens to the idea and as soon as it filters into her mind, she knows that that is not going to happen. Geraldine is not by her side and the day will be one of locating her and of finding out what is wrong. Jolted to anxious clarity, she lifts the handset by the bed and pushes the redial number for the bungalow. It rings and Geraldine's voice comes on the line. But it is the answer phone and if Geraldine is there, she is not lifting the phone. If Joanna were alone, she would get into her car and go straight round. But at seven o'clock, Lou is still sound asleep in the room next door, and should not be left. Joanna drags herself to the kitchen and returns to bed with a mug of coffee. It is an hour before she looks at the clock again, an hour in which she has tried to take stock of the events of Friday and her lover's absence. By nine o'clock, she is dressed, and thinking about what she can do to establish what has happened. She checks on Daniel's room and is relieved to see his sleeping form under the duvet.
Lou appears downstairs, bleary with sleep and immediately wanting to know if Geraldine arrived after she went to bed last night. The child looks disappointed. Joanna reassures her that she probably had to go somewhere urgently and suggests that they call round to the bungalow and see if she is back yet. She curses silently to herself. They were intending to use a lunch hour to get keys cut, each for the other's house and the week did not pan out as planned. If only she could get into her lover's house.
She thinks of ringing Judy and Tom to see if Geraldine is there or if they know where she is. But she hesitates to do that. After all, she has not seen them since Judy was told about her mother's relationship and it might be awkward. Geraldine was looking forward to that dinner with her and Lou, hopefully Daniel too, over at Beauly. Joanna does not want to alarm Judy or suggest to her that something is wrong between them. If something is wrong, that is.
Lou is more than keen to go round to the bungalow and they are at Geraldine's front door by ten thirty. There is no car in the drive and no answer when they ring the bell. Again, Joanna looks in the garage window. The garage is empty. She makes reasoned assurances for Lou's sake. Geraldine must have been called away. She will get in touch as soon as she can. What would Lou like to do today?
They drift into town, neither of them with any great interest in shopping. They have coffee at the same coffee house with its sofas as they did before. Lou chats and has chocolate again whilst Joanna scans the passers by, hoping for her lover to appear; hoping that Martha and Jake will not. Eventually, Joanna rings home and Daniel answers. His plans do not include a family meal, she realizes as her son tells her he is going to spend the day with Zoe. Disappointed, she suggests taking Lou to the latest Walt Disney at the multi screen complex and they spend the middle of the afternoon there. It is a safe place to let silent tears flow amidst the din of children's laughter and screams of excitement.
Saturday night was unplanned, other than for the suggestion that she would cook for the family. So she does not know what they would have been doing if she and Geraldine had been together. She thinks of ringing people she knows who could tell her what the reason for Geraldine's transfer was. John in Human Resources would be involved in any change of job conditions. Angela might know something. She could fabricate some pretext about a client that means she needs to be in touch with her psychologist colleague. Maybe the son who is fleecing his mother would be reason enough. Or maybe young Sarah who is struggling now with the radiotherapy would be reason enough. Although all these thoughts, and more, tempt her, she hesitates and some sixth instinct tells her to sit this out. But it is difficult and tortuous to just do nothing.
Sunday is marginally worse than Saturday. Joanna has never been keen on Sundays at the best of times and she wakens now to virtual certainty that she will not hear from Geraldine. The minutes drag. The hours drag. She resorts to cleaning the house, a task she normally leaves till a Monday evening. Daniel has finally knuckled down to a backlog of studying and, to her relief, she realizes that he is genuinely hard at work. Maybe this Zoë has persuaded him to focus on his entry to university. Joanna can only guess at the transformation. She agrees when a bored Lou, sensitive to the atmosphere that pervades the house, asks if she can go to see Jo-Jo. But Jo-Jo is out and so Lou asks if she can go round to see Gran Rodgers.
"Do you really want to see Gran Rodgers?" Joanna asks spontaneously, and then kicks herself for so negatively influencing the child.
"Well, no, not really. I want to see Geraldine," the child mutters plaintively.
"I know, baby, so do I," Joanna says as she hugs the child to her. "Tell you what, let's you and I go for that nice walk round the hill on the Black Isle. I don't suppose for one minute that Geraldine is home yet, but we could just check as we go past, couldn't we?"
It is so tempting to keep checking, even if by now she knows that there is going to be no one at the house. So they do and the child is almost as disappointed as she is when they leave the road where the empty bungalow is and head off over the bridge to the promised walk.
The autumn colours are all but gone now and the drab afternoon light matches their mood as they almost dutifully plough on round the walk. Joanna recalls the very different afternoon here just a few weeks ago when she was so profoundly happy. And she thought that Geraldine was as happy as she was.
'Maybe it was all based on a false premise,' she broods as they head on the final long straight of the walk before the car park comes back into view. 'Maybe she has cold feet for some reason and has pulled out. Maybe she asked to be transferred and that was the quickest way to end it. Maybe the pressure from the Rodgers got to her. Maybe she did not like being called a dyke.'
Mother, son and daughter have a supper of pasta heated in the microwave. It is a relief when Lou is in bed and Daniel has gone off once again to be with his girlfriend. How she hates this acceleration to adulthood that her younger son is going through. She feels redundant somehow to him just now. He is so unapproachable. But Joanna can sit in the lounge on her own, contemplating the way the last three days have changed her life. She is a widow and a social worker again, she is sure of it. She is sure that she is not Geraldine's lover. How could she have thought for one second that this was what would be the best for the future?
If tonight were any other than Sunday with work to follow tomorrow, she would drown her emotions in the red wine that sits in front of her on the coffee table. But Lou is upstairs. That is one thing that keeps her from doing more than sip from her glass. And she needs all her strength to face work tomorrow. It will be a work place empty of the person who has brought quality to the task that they each performed. It is a workplace where the person she has loved over these weeks will be absent.
She lifts the phone one last time as she sits there. Maybe Geraldine is home now and will answer. But if she is home, she does not answer. The answer phone kicks in.
There it is in black and white. The Chief Executive's memo is in circulation on Monday morning. She reads it, trying like all staff do, to read between the lines to see what it really means. In her case, she is looking to see if there is a different reason from the one stated for the transfer of part of the Psychology Department to the Royal.
But it looks straightforward enough and so like the usual rationale for bringing services home within budget.
'The Board decided at its October meeting on Thursday to make a number of cost-saving measures that will simultaneously improve services in a variety of Departments'.
She searches in the text for the part that matters.
'The Department of Psychology at the Royal will be amalgamated with that at the City and the new unit will be sited at the Royal. With judicious and immediate staff transfer, there will be no need to fill current vacancies at the Royal and savings will consequently accrue with no detriment to patients'.
At another time she would have had a more than critical comment to make about this as she sits in the social work secretary's office with her fellow social workers, drinking coffee and bemoaning the direction the Board is going in. Rumours abound about the need for a two point five million claw back in services before the end of the financial year and no one is happy. Three vacancies in the social work department will not be filled. They know that is a foregone conclusion as far as their own service is concerned. The gloom in the room is palpable.
But Joanna, frankly, could not care less about the bigger picture just now. Here in front of her is confirmation that Geraldine has had to move and that the reason was probably beyond her control. Joanna is beginning at least, to know the basic facts as far as work is concerned. But she is wary and conscious of Angela sitting with the rest and she has already caught her manager watching her carefully as she was reading the memo just now. She is not going to ask questions, even if the others all have plenty to say about cuts in social work and psychology services.
And as the others sound off about the Board and the financial mismanagement that has brought them to this point, she just listens to the debate, sips her coffee and thinks. Angela knows more than she is saying. She would. She is one of the establishment -- one of the management. Her job just now, Joanna knows, is to absorb the wrath of the team, to let them talk about going to the unions over staff cuts and to try to avoid that happening if at all possible.
It is back to work after coffee and the day follows more or less its usual course. Time and again she has her hand on the phone in the privacy of her office, intending to ring the Royal and ask for Mrs Spence. She holds out till just before five. Then she thinks of a new reason to ring. It is client related and it concerns a patient with depression they were working with together. Joanna will see the young woman again tomorrow and it is only correct that she should ask Geraldine about how the session she had with her husband went when she saw him last week.
She gets the same secretary and with her best official but friendly tone -- the one that professionals reserve for each other to indicate that they are in the same team -- she asks to speak to her psychologist colleague. But Mrs Spence is in a meeting and will not be available for the rest of the day. And tomorrow, she is in a training session all day. The secretary is not at all sure what she is doing later in the week. Can she take a message for Mrs Spence?
Joanna can only conclude that Geraldine does not want to speak to her. Her hurt is sufficient to make her lock up her desk and get out of the department and to her car. As usual she has to demist it and the only comfort in that is that no one can see in and watch her tears roll down her cheek. How could it all have ended like this?
This evening, she waits till Lou is in bed and Daniel is studying, and she rings Moira. She rang Annie but there was no reply. She thought of trying Wendy but she cannot face the Gang. It would be unfair to Geraldine and it is too soon. This might all just turn out all right and she would have involved them needlessly. She has to talk to someone and Moira is so sensible. She will help. She does not know about Geraldine and she is someone who will listen sympathetically. So she thinks anyway, as she lifts the phone and waits for the answering voice of her longest standing friend.
Moira, mercifully, is alone. Malcolm is at a Rotary meeting, planning the Christmas charity collections. It must be several months since the two women talked. And much of the first ten minutes is taken up with talk of the families and telling each other about their summer just past. It takes Moira to ask why she has really rung before Joanna starts to tell her the story. Moira listens. She has heard so much in the distant past about Joanna's relationship with their mutual friend, Annie, that there is little surprise for her in hearing that Joanna has re-entered a relationship with a women. But she focuses on the Rodgers and the threat to Lou. As far as she is concerned, that has to be the central issue.
Joanna is no less clear of the danger to the family that Martha and Jake pose but she is not as cool headed about it as Moira is. Moira's advice is clear. No matter why this woman Geraldine has copped out of their relationship, Joanna cannot afford to risk Lou. She does not go quite as far as to say that Geraldine cannot be worth this if she has walked away for whatever reason, but she certainly infers it. It is certainly a good thing not to tell Daniel or Jeremy about any of this. It would only worry and perhaps alienate them. Joanna comes off the phone regretting that she rang. She did not need this.
And she recognises after the call that it was a mistake to think that Moira would be sympathetic. Moira might want to forget the fact, but she is the one who had a pretty wild and free spirit of a young lesbian, Pip, chase her at college. And she is the one who would give anything for that not to have happened. And that is because her husband must never know, as if she might somehow be judged for Pip's feelings for her. She totally gave up any hint of that aspect of herself to the point of denying its very existence. That was her way of coping with her dilemma. She would be the first to say in her conventional circles that the whole lesbian thing is a scourge. Joanna should have known better than to ring. No wonder their phone calls are few and far between. Solid and supportive as Moira was over Stephen's suicide, she cannot help Joanna now.
The days begin to drift together in a haze of grief. It is as if Geraldine has died and her feelings are so like the time when Stephen left her. It is more like that time than when the suicide happened. When Stephen left, she was still deeply involved with him in a way that made that time worse than the suicide. But this time is worse even than both the other times. They had such a short while together as a couple, Geraldine and she, and the time they did have was all but perfect. And then it was over, ripped away from her without explanation or the chance to at least say goodbye. There are times she feels paralysed by pain. There are times she cannot face the next task at home or at work. And there are times she wants to just go round to Geraldine's home and rail at her.
She sits it out till the Sunday two weeks after Geraldine transferred from her job. Then, that morning, she can stand it no more. Lou wants to go to Jo-Jo's house where the family have a new puppy Labrador. Joanna is alone and decides to go to the bungalow.
It is a strange drive over there. She feels like a sort of spy who should not be in that part of Inverness and certainly not in the road where Geraldine lives. As she approaches, she sees the car in the drive. There is water all round it and Geraldine has obviously just been out washing it. She must be at home. Joanna hesitates down the road, and then pulls her car to the kerbside. From the lounge window, it will be obvious that she is outside. She hesitates before getting out of the car and going to the front door. She feels sick with nerves and has to remind herself that Geraldine is someone she has known for the best part of twenty years as well as having been her lover these last weeks. Geraldine loved her for years before she knew it. Why is Joanna so nervous? Surely Geraldine will be kind? At very least she will be kind, won't she?
She hears the familiar tone of the bell. There is a long silence. Then she rings it again. Finally the door opens and Geraldine is on the step. This is not the Geraldine she knows. In her place is a woman who looks haggard and drawn. Her face is expressionless. It is not hostile -- Joanna can see that at once. But it is closed down to her. She can also see that. They look at each other for a moment. It seems longer.
"Why have you come?" Geraldine's question is more surprised than challenging.
"Why do you think? I need to know. Why have you left me?" her words sound so pathetic. She would wince at them if she were not so desperate.
"It's best this way, Joanna. Believe me."
"Do you not care?" Her voice is trembling.
"It's for the best, Joanna. You should go." Geraldine turns to go inside, the question unanswered.
Joanna wants to put out a hand to stop her. But she will do nothing that could look like a confrontation either to her friend or to any neighbours lurking behind their Sunday curtains.
"What about the Gang?" she asks, knowing that she is pleading for at least their former friendship to continue. There is the supper at the pub in Findhorn coming up.
"I'll see them soon. Just give them my love for now."
Geraldine stands there now, not going in and leaving Joanna no option but to walk away. She can do nothing else. She turns away. And she takes a look back from the end of the drive. She tries not to look reproachful. And she manages because she sees momentarily behind Geraldine's façade. The woman is as grief torn as Joanna is. But the impression is gone in an instant. And she goes indoors and the door clicks to.
Out in the drive, Joanna is left with a mixture of emotions. Her fantasy that Geraldine has somehow disappeared off the face of the earth and that she would never see her again -- that is gone. She has seen her and her reaction was no different to any time in the previous weeks when they were together. She loves Geraldine as much as ever. Somewhere lurking inside her is the feeling that they will go on seeing each other, somehow in the future, if only as friends in the Gang. She could almost settle for that at this point. And was she mistaken in what she saw? Was Geraldine upset? Surely she could only be upset? How else could she be after all that they have so recently experienced?
But later in bed that night, she does not think that it will be enough to see her friend and recent lover over the metaphorical 'crowded room' of the Gang. Lying in her empty bed, she aches for the woman's embrace and the wonder of making love with her.
Work holds no pleasure for her in the days that follow. That zing of working with her psychologist friend is gone. And she knows she is almost impatient as she listens to the troubles of other people. Shame comes over her for that. How dare she, she asks herself, how dare she view the pain of others as so trivial by comparison with hers?
On Friday evening, after a week in which she has been conscious of Angela keeping an eye on her, she and Wendy go through to Findhorn for the promised bar supper. Wendy arrives at her house, knowing, she says, that Geraldine cannot be there tonight as the evening clashes with son-in-law, Tom's birthday. She is oblivious to the real reason for Geraldine's absence and chatters all the way to the pub about the sheer delight she feels for her two pals. Joanna does not enlighten her and assumes that this is the way Geraldine has decided to play it. She is miserable to the pit of her stomach but she keeps up the pretence as best she can. It is Bobby who scrutinises her over the evening but says nothing. And on the way home, after a pleasant enough evening but one where the combination of Geraldine's absence, Michelle's continuing awkwardness and her own misery brought a pall to the fun of the evening, Wendy starts to question.
"Are you sure you are OK? You seem out of sorts tonight."
She passes over it, lying and saying that she is just missing her friend. She is, of course, but not for the reason that Wendy surmises.
She tries to change the subject.
"You never have told us who you are seeing and why it is such a big secret. Tell me to mind my own business," she adds as Wendy goes quiet, "But we love you, you know. We all do. And it's unlike you not to be open with us."
Wendy thinks about it. Joanna can see as she glances to her left from the driving seat that she wants to talk. She leaves the silence to see whether Wendy will fill it. She knows that Wendy will assume that if she tells Joanna, Joanna will pass that on to Geraldine.
"Whatever you say, it stays with me. I promise."
Wendy decides.
"He is married man." She lets that sink in.
"Oh." Joanna says, unsurprised. Then, "Tricky."
"Quite."
"Dare I ask -- who is it?"
The silence seems to last for ages.
"Jerry."
"Oh God. No." Joanna's reaction is out before she can help herself. Jerry. It's Bobby's seemingly adoring husband. How could Wendy? How could Jerry?
"I didn't expect you to be too pleased." Wendy says, miserably.
Joanna rallies.
"It's not up to me to be pleased or otherwise. But Bobby is our friend, Wendy. How on earth did it happen?"
The story comes out slowly. Jerry adores Bobby; Wendy knows that. But Wendy and he had what started as a fling a couple of summers ago after one of the Gang's barbecues on Findhorn beach. Joanna remembers that evening. How could she have missed the flirtation that must have been going on?
"And the rest, as they say, is history."
"So what are you going to do about it? I mean, you said before that for two pins you would leave Toby. If it weren't for Benny, that is."
"Jerry won't leave Bobby. And for her sake I don't think that he should. At least that's what I tell myself when I am being generous and concerned for her and the Gang. Then Jerry and I get together as best we can and I just want him. So I'm pretty miserable, actually."
Joanna is sure that she is miserable. She feels and says that she is in a glasshouse and should not throw any stones. She has, after all, managed to get herself involved in the workplace with a woman, and so, who is she to make comment about Wendy's situation?
"That's different. You are in love with Geraldine."
"And you aren't with Jerry?"
"Good God, no. It's lust. It's pure lust and we both know it. But it's great and it's compelling and it gives something to my life that would otherwise be misery with just Toby and Benny and their perpetual bickering."
"So why risk everything that the Gang stands for over an affair that is going nowhere"
"I wish I knew."
"Oh Wendy."
Her words are as much in sympathy as in sadness for her friend. How muddled Wendy must be to know she is not in love with this man and yet to contemplate a life with him. But Joanna does not really understand how this could have happened. She saw not a sign of it and she has no doubt the others have not either. Somehow she had assumed that it would be someone at work. It had even crossed her mind to think that it might be a woman. But that it should be Jerry of all people -- the husband of one of their best friends. She knows it is a classic situation with no happy ending. But that makes it all the worse.
She can only give Wendy a hug as she drops her off. Not judging people goes with the territory of her job and if she can apply it there, she can surely apply it here where it matters most - with one of her closest friends and one who has supported her all the way in her relationship with Geraldine. Although Wendy does not know it, each of them is heading home to a sad bed.
And it looks to Joanna as she settles for sleep that the time of the Gang must by definition be limited. How can it survive one of the members having an affair with another's husband, a relationship between two of the women and, on top of that, the fact that it is now a secret that the two women's relationship is over?
Annie is clearly under the influence when she rings late into the evening. Jemmy is out at a sports conference for teachers and she has time on her hands at home. She expects to find Geraldine and Joanna together and just wants, she says, to thank Geraldine for being so friendly when they met.
Joanna is tempted to lie and say that her lover is tied up with family. But she wants a sympathetic ear and she has also had a gin and tonic after Lou went off to bed. Even a slight amount of alcohol tends to disinhibit her these days and she tells the listening ear on the phone of Geraldine's transfer at work and her silence since. Annie listens, sobering quickly at the revelation that such a new and apparently solid friendship has come to an abrupt end. She can make little sense of it, but she immediately suggests that Joanna is owed an explanation. Her response is so different from Moira's that it is somehow refreshing.
"No one should treat you like this, Jo. It's not as though you hardly know her. You've been in the same circle for the best part of twenty years. I think you have every right to find out what's going on. She seemed so certain when I met her. Something has changed that and you need to know what it is for your own peace of mind."
Joanna begins to pick up the reflected anger in Annie. For the first time in all this, her feelings shift from bewilderment and hurt to anger.
'That's right', she thinks, 'I am worth more than this'.
"Should I ring her?" she half asks Annie, half asks herself.
"Or write. Or just turn up again where she has no choice but to talk with you. Does she go to any leisure centres or golf - or something like that anyway?"
"She does play golf, right enough," Joanna thinks. She could go through to Nairn tomorrow morning and see if Geraldine is on the course where she is a member. And as soon as the idea is in her head, it is hard to shift it from her mind. Tomorrow will be spent, she knows now, debating whether or not to set out to try to find Geraldine. But whatever she does, it has to be in the right frame of mind. Geraldine is not an angry or confrontational person and neither, in the ordinary way of things, is Joanna. She must not say or do anything that she will regret afterwards.
She changes the subject slightly.
"I spoke to Moira the other evening. She didn't want to know, really. She obviously thought that I shouldn't be involved with a woman."
She hears Annie take a sip of whatever the drink in her hand is.
"Not surprised," the voice over the line says. "Pretty typical of Moira, I would say. Do you remember when we were students how she pretended to all and sundry that she was absolutely straight? That poor woman - what was her name - had a miserable time with her. She was very serious about Moira. But Moira would do nothing."
"Didn't she call herself 'Pip'?" Joanna recalls with amusement. It was in the days when men's names or gender-neutral names were all the rage amongst lesbians.
Memories of those days come flooding back to them both. Annie wants to reminisce.
"Did you ever feel any regret about me? Or was it over and that was that?"
"I missed you," Joanna answers honestly, "But I needed to move on. I suppose I was just a slightly less determined version of Moira. I did wonder over the years how you and I would have worked out."
There is a long silence before Annie speaks again, her voice thoughtful now.
"I don't suppose we would have made it, you know. I couldn't cope with you and Dennis, and that feeling of being betrayed would have stayed with me. The reality was, if I'm truthful, that I needed to sow my wild oats. I doubt if I would have been faithful."
"That's honest, true enough," Joanna laughs, knowing that this is absolutely what would have happened. They were too young and there were too many pressures on them. "And you went on and sowed your wild oats right up till the night club in Edinburgh."
"Ouch. A lapse, that's all," Annie laughed. "Jemmy and I are doing fine. You won't say anything if you ever meet her, will you?" Annie is suddenly worried over her recent nightclub incident.
Joanna thinks she has heard this before recently. The last time it was Wendy who did not want Bobby to be told about her affair with husband Jerry. Why is dishonesty so easy? But no, she knows that she will not say anything, not simply because the likelihood of meeting Jemmy is remote but because she is used to holding other people's confidences and just accepts that the way they tell or do not tell the truth is for them to judge. But she wants to make the point.
"I think it's best to be open about what we do. Do you not think it would be better to come clean with Jemmy?"
"There's only one other time that I did not tell the truth," Annie reflected aloud. "I regret that now and I suppose I regret my Edinburgh fling and not telling Jemmy. You know, that maxim from philosophy that the end never justifies the means may well be true. But it is the safest thing to do, not to tell Jemmy. I live with the consequences of not telling her and knowing that I deceived her. It grinds me down. I actually hate secrets."
Annie sounds weary, suddenly, and older than her years.
"Then tell her if you hate lying and it weighs on your conscience," Joanna encourages her. "I bet you find that the earth does not open up and swallow you and that she will accept it if she knows you made a mistake and that it meant nothing. If she has anything about her at all, she will realize how hard it was to come clean and she will respect you for that. Won't she?"
Annie listens quietly and says that she will think about it. Then Joanna asks,
"What about the other time you lied? Can you sort that?"
"I could but it would not be wise."
A penny drops somewhere at the back of Joanna's mind.
"Don't tell me. All the time you were complaining about Dennis and me, you were actually seeing someone else?"
"Not quite," Annie stalls.
"But?"
The silence is short lived. Annie wants this out in the open.
"But I had a sort of rebound affair for a few months."
"After me?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's no surprise. What's the big deal about that? Why did you not say over the years? You knew that I had moved on. There was no reason why you should not have as well."
"Jo, it was Pip."
Joanna is silenced. Annie had an affair with Pip, the friend to them both, the woman Moira liked and would not allow near her. Pip and Annie must have had a double rebound thing, Pip from Moira, Annie from Joanna.
"Did Moira know?" Joanna asks, suddenly thinking that Moira, the woman who has kept in touch all these years, and who comforted her when she and Annie split up, has been keeping a secret from her.
It feels like a double betrayal to Joanna as Annie confirms that she told Moira at the time. It is one betrayal that Moira has kept this secret all these years. Annie kept it secret too over all the years. That is the second betrayal.
This should not matter, she thinks to herself as she tries to adjust. It was twenty years and more ago. They were just youngsters, coming to terms with adulthood and sexuality before it was OK to talk about these things. It should not be a big deal to hear this now.
But still, she is shocked and in a muddled way tries to sort out her first thoughts and reactions.
"Why did you not tell me?"
"Loyalty to Moira I, suppose. She was adamant at the time that you were not to know, for your sake."
"You didn't go to her wedding, did you," Joanna recalls now. "You were invited weren't you?"
"My nose was out of joint. It was not that important a thing between Pip and me but it was over and she was also invited to the nuptials. I was not best pleased. And also, I did not want to see you there. I wasn't ready then to be friends with you. Maybe I didn't want to look you in the eye over Pip either. Not that I saw that then. But anyway, it was too early."
"But you kept in touch with Moira?" Joanna probes
"Only after a while, then I had someone else. But it's very superficial between her and me, Jo. She is always scared that that tight-arsed Malcolm will ask who is on the line when I ring. Talk about running scared. And frankly, I don't need to be treated like that."
'What women will give up for the conventional life', Joanna thinks. She believes that Moira will do anything to protect her marriage. At least this is what she has always assumed. Joanna thought that he was the ticket to an affluent Sussex life style and that Moira jumped at the opportunity when it came along without a backwards glance. How different that was from how she felt about Stephen. She wonders how many women live like that -- choosing a life, or having one chosen for them, of husband and family when their true self, or at least a big part of themselves, lies elsewhere. For those women, the price must be high in emotional terms. Only they will know how the price compares with what they gain in terms of children and social standing.
She was not like that. And neither was Geraldine. No. That was not true. Geraldine had been just like that -- only she was deeply ambivalent about her life choice. Would she really have broken free if Anthony had not died? Maybe when Judy left home and married? But she knows that is only speculative. She has to believe that she and Geraldine would have come together whatever their circumstances. And then there is Annie, different again, from both Moira and from herself. Annie would never contemplate life with a man.
She gives in to a terrible temptation to ask what Pip was like in bed. Annie laughs.
"As superficial as you can imagine. Wanting it at the time and off as soon as it was over without a word of acknowledgement. Not the most exciting time of my early years."
"Serves you right," Joanna laughs. "You should have known better. Nothing if not rampant, mentally and physically, was Pip at the time."
"Let's hope Pip faired well," Annie quips. Then, she adds, "Sorry. I know she was more your friend than she ever was mine."
Yes, that's it. That is why Joanna is so thrown by this relatively minor revelation. It was because Pip was one of their circle of friends, one who claimed unswerving attraction to an indifferent Moira. Joanna and Moira laughed about it, equating it to a latter day schoolgirl crush. Moira had the effect on Joanna of confirming in her mind that her lesbian inclinations were somehow an immature problem to be overcome. Pip and Annie, both prepared to sleep with someone for the sake of it would have confirmed that to Moira.
"If this were not twenty years ago, I'd be pretty put out about it, you know."
"You would?" Annie feigns surprise.
"Yes. But it is twenty years ago. I just need to do some conversion of my understanding, that's all." She knows that she sounds defensive.
The conversation begins to drift and Joanna wants to think in the privacy of her late evening solitude. With one further reminder to Annie that she does like to be called Jo, a reminder that just brings a chuckle over the phone, she promises to think about contacting Geraldine and they say good night.
It all feels so chaotic.
All those years ago, Annie and Pip were two young women playing with emotions and sex. That is how it seems to her as she sits, looking back down the years. But unlike how Annie felt about Pip, Joanna knows that Annie felt strongly about her. Maybe Moira was wise in keeping the truth from her.
Of course, it also protected Moira to keep it quiet. Convention and marriage would shortly remove her from these circles where woman-to-woman attraction was not unusual. She certainly had a set of parents who would have very strongly influenced her away and to the wedding bed. It was quite a wedding reception, Joanna remembers. The parents pushed the boat out with a reception in a hotel with a garden marquee and champagne -- the works. Moira's parents gushed. Moira at least looked the part of the ecstatic bride. Moira was much more under family influences than ever she had been.
As she recalls the wedding eve confidences Moira and she shared that night, Joanna concludes that Moira probably never meant to do more than protect her from Annie's indiscretion with Pip. It is just curious that she invited both Pip and Annie at all to the wedding. Why did she do that?
As Joanna sits there, she wonders if all these memories are diminishing her feelings for Geraldine. Sitting there in the dark, against the backdrop of those early adult relationships, where such fickle behaviours could and did occur, her time with Geraldine feels somehow devalued. How easy it is to get sucked into the notions of homosexuality as some sort of aberration of immaturity, a view that Moira will hold to this day.
Yet Joanna knows that is not how she experiences this present time. She sorts the cushions on the sofa, preparing to go up to bed. As if looking for a lifebelt to her feelings, she remembers reading somewhere that there is plenty of research to suggest that lesbian women score better than their heterosexual counterparts in psychological ratings such as self-esteem. Tonight, though, Joanna's self-esteem could accurately be described as being at an all time low.
And people with such a low level of self-esteem, no matter how temporary it may or not be, do not go off in search of the one person whom they most desperately need to see. Joanna is no exception. She knows that she is spiralling down into devaluing both herself and everything that she and Geraldine have so recently shared. Instead of dwelling on any thoughts of trying to see her, she is putting time in as best she can, counting the hours till it is time to sleep again, as if sleep will come easily, and then finally rising, exhausted, to face another day and another working week.
A tedious process looms ahead in the workplace. Staff appraisal has been running now for several years in the social work department and takes the rather conventional form of the so-called 'grandparent' approach. The person being appraised has a formal interview with their line manager, who then agrees a report with them, which in turn is the basis of the worker meeting with the manager's senior officer. It has the benefit of acting as a kind of check on the worker's performance as well as on the supervisory relationship the manager brings to the individual.
Joanna hates it. To her eye, it is a nit-picking review of her work over the last year. It is too crude an instrument to truly measure the nuances of the work she does with troubled patients and their relatives. And it is not as if she is some youngster who needs to be monitored. She is good at what she does and she knows it. Even Angela who is so modest in her praise knows it. Joanna is all but self-programming and has been for years. If she needs Angela's help, it is in the allocation of her workload and in the accessing of resources for her clients whilst she gets on with the next assessment and gives the next piece of support.
But Joanna is like every other employee and has no choice. Angela and she go through with it each year, Angela structuring the interview and then the report around the range of undisputed competencies that Joanna has and giving her a ranking of ninety percent in overall performance. No one gets more. That would be beyond the unspoken limits of the protocol. And they both have the common sense to go about the task with good grace. In the section where the individual's career potential is discussed, they know that Joanna has no aspirations for management and this is set down accordingly.
At the end of her annual session with Angela, her supervisor leans back in her chair and looks at Joanna, long and hard.
"Well, now, there is just one more thing."Joanna waits, unperturbed by this new departure from the usual pattern. She sits and waits, knowing that Angela will be enjoying this moment of using the power she holds by virtue of the as yet unknown communication.
"It's to be announced in the course of the next few days. I shall be retiring in a month or so."
Joanna knows that it will be happening soon, but has put Angela's age as nearer fifty-six or so and not, as is obvious now, almost sixty.
"Angela, this is a surprise. How do you feel about that?" They wince at the same time at this bog-standard social worker's question. But Angela has the good grace to reply in serious vein.
"On the whole, I'm looking forward to it now. I suppose I'll find plenty to do. There's my great nephews to see and, who knows, I might just do that round the world cruise," She says doubtfully.
Each of them knows that this idea of a cruise is unlikely. Angela would be lost in the sophistication of cruise ship dinners. More likely, she might go off with her ornithologist's book to Mull or Skye for a month.
"But the reason for mentioning this is to think with you whether you would be interested in applying for my job. It's not the soulless work you sometimes seem to think it is, you know," she adds as she sees Joanna beginning to automatically shake her head. "I do hope that you will consider this seriously, Joanna. The department could do with your talents."
"I suppose you are saying this to all the team members?" Joanna tries to quip, knowing that it would be quite out of character for Angela to favour any member of the team in particular.
"I am saying it to you and to one other. Please do not get me wrong. The job will go to external advert and I will not be involved in the appointments. I just want to think that the people in the team who are well capable of doing this job will consider it. Will you?"
"I really don't think so, Angela, though I am pleased to be asked. I'm not sure that I could grovel to those doctors who see social work as some sort of pointless placebo to the irreparable damage that some people suffer in life. You deal with such nihilistic attitudes, such arrogance and such conceit on a day-to-day basis. I just could not put up with some of the stuff that you do."
Joanna is surprised to hear herself speaking with such vehemence. In her everyday work, she has learned how to work with most of the medical professionals and how to avoid the minority she has just described. And it is clear from the surprise on Angela's face that she is equally taken aback.
"I didn't know you had such strong feelings. And if you want to change attitudes, you need to be in a position to do so. Anyway, that's always been my philosophy."
"I suppose so," Joanna concedes, thinking for the first time about the work that the team manager's role would entail.
Could she do it and if she did, would she like it? It was never really something she contemplated before now. It is so many years since she was a manager that she has become accustomed to her direct work with patients. And then, what if she ended up not applying and some youngster just barely out of college applied? Where would she and the other team members be then? Perhaps this is not such a way out idea after all and perhaps, now that she has sourced just what it is that she dislikes about Angela's role, she might just be able to do something about it. Why not give it a try?
"I never thought that I'd hear myself say this, Angela, but I'll certainly give it some thought."
Angela smiles, her work in this session over.
"Fine. I'll write the apposite words in the section about career potential and we can pass the report up the line to HQ. Your appointment with John Barnes is Thursday, isn't it?"
Courtesies about Angela's work as the team manager seen to, Joanna gets up to leave and to return to her desk. As she reaches the door, Angela says one last thing.
"By the way, how are you getting on without Geraldine Spence's input? It must be quite different for you."
Joanna blushes. She knows that she does and she curses silently at doing it.
"Fine. I suppose. It was odd how she moved so quickly, wasn't it?" She braves turning back round, hand on the door, to look her manager straight in the eye.
"Mm. It was quick, but it was for the best."
"What do you mean? For the best?"
Angela looks at her.
"I think we both know why, Joanna."
Joanna just stands there, recalling the conversation in the pub about John in Human Resources and his inferred advice to Geraldine. There is more to this than has been said. Suddenly, she is livid at the thought that there has been some sort of conspiracy to remove Geraldine. But Angela carries on speaking before Joanna gathers her wits and says something about her suspicion.
"Anyhow, do think about applying for the job. It would be a shame not to have a clear run at it, wouldn't it?"
Joanna leaves before she says something she might regret. She has always hated meta-communication and the way you are left working out the real message behind whatever the words and the looks on the other person's face tell you. But this time it seems pretty clear. Geraldine and her relationship were known about and it was 'best' taken out of the equation. Did Angela have a hand in this? And if she did, was it to clear the way for Joanna to be the boss of the team? Or is the suggestion that she should apply for the job the sweetener to the bitter pill of Geraldine's transfer?
And, of course, it dawns on her, if she is being put under scrutiny like this, then presumably Geraldine was also. In fact, was Geraldine put under pressure to leave and go to the Royal? If she was, had it as much to do with them as a couple as about the official line of financial cuts and service realignments that the Chief Executive's memo specified? Of course, there was also the report that Geraldine was preparing about resources for the meeting of the Board from which the memo ensued. Did they use Geraldine's report to sign her own transfer warrant?
Was their relationship a political embarrassment that had to be dealt with? If it were, 'they' would have had to act under some pretext or other. The new anti-discrimination regulations would not have allowed management to tackle the two women head on, would they? No authority would start down the road on something that they knew would be so open to challenge.
'If they try anything,' she fumes to herself, 'I'll take them to industrial tribunal. Mind you," she reflects immediately as bravado and a sense of reality conflict, "Where would that get me at the end of the day? I suspect not many people will go down that road and that says more about how inoperable the regulations will be than it does about how equal the rights of people like us are in the workplace'.
A new perception is dawning on Joanna as her thoughts tumble out. A new determination grips her as she heads her car out into the evening traffic. No longer is she prepared to accept the breach in their relationship without understanding it. Now she is convinced that she should act. With new life beginning to breathe itself into her and the memory of Annie's advice ringing in her ears, she pulls into the service station forecourt, calls Mary from her mobile and asks her if she could baby sit for Lou at short notice. She reaches home, prepares chicken bites for Lou and at six o'clock, Mary turns up, no questions asked, and Lou, with significantly more, but unanswered questions of her own, is settled as best as possible to an evening of board games. Joanna is once again heading across the city to the bungalow. This time her mood is determined; her driving assertive.
The light is on. The BMW is in the drive and behind it, a small four by four.
'Does she have someone else?' she thinks immediately then dismisses the idea and gets out of her car.
She is sure that that is not what their separation is about. If she hesitates, she will not do this, even if someone else is there. She rings the doorbell and has only a couple of seconds to stand there before it is answered almost immediately. Judy is on the doorstep, a look of embarrassment on her smiling face.
"Hello, Joanna," the young look-alike of her mother says in a voice they both know is loud enough for Geraldine to hear inside.
Judy stalls, not letting Joanna in and asks how she is. Joanna knows that this is to give Geraldine time to gather her wits. It is obvious that Judy knows what has happened here or the reception would have been very different. They have always liked each other and Joanna has known Judy since she was a baby. Now, she accepts Judy's hug and in the awkwardness between them, Joanna at least knows that the young woman still holds her mother's friend in her affections.
"Mum's in the kitchen, I think," Judy says, still playing for as much time as she can. "Mum," she calls, "It's Joanna."
Geraldine finally appears coming slowly down the hall, drying her hands on a dishtowel. Her face is inscrutable, other than for the look of enquiry.
"Hello, Joanna," she says quietly.
Judy looks at the pair of them and decides to cut and run.
"I was just leaving actually, so I'll get my coat."
She ignores her mother's look of surprise at this and heads to the cloakroom at the end of the hall. She fills the airspace with "good to see you" and "see you soon, Mum" and in a flurry of activity of finding her scarf, her keys and her gloves, she is off before Geraldine can protest. The door closes and for the first time since Geraldine sent her away from the doorstep, they are alone in private.
Joanna looks at her now, with that feeling of overwhelming longing for her lover coming back in an instant from its long journey through doubt, hurt and anger. Geraldine stands there, nonplussed and vulnerable somehow, in her own home. Joanna does not talk. She comes close to Geraldine and stands there before putting her arms out to touch her lover on each shoulder. It is gentle, the way she does it but it is as if it causes Geraldine bodily pain.
"You love me." Joanna says the words in a quiet whisper.
It is a statement, not a question.
Geraldine looks down into her eyes in silence. She seems tortured. She whispers,
"Yes."
"And you were forced to leave the job." It is another statement, this time a shrewd guess in the dark.
Geraldine purses her lips and nods.
"And the reason you did not see me was because I was vulnerable in the workplace."
Now Geraldine shakes her head. But she also draws Joanna into her and holds her. It is a moment of the release of all the pain that has been between them for all these days and weeks. Now, strong, calm Geraldine is fighting back tears. She holds Joanna as if she will never let her go again. Joanna brings her lover's face down to within reach of her own. She strokes the tears. She brings their lips together. Now in the moment of reconciliation, they are both crying as they search to hold each other as tightly as they possibly can.
"I thought I'd lost you," Joanna says finally, pulling back and reaching for a tissue to clear her eyes. "I thought I would never hold you again."
But Geraldine is distraught looking now. She pulls away, grappling with some dreadful inner burden.
"You shouldn't have come. I can't see you. You don't understand."
"What don't I understand? You love me. I love you. It has to be as simple as that. Sod the job if that is all this has been about. There are other jobs and there are ways to fight all this bullying. Because that's what it is - bullying."
Geraldine composes herself and takes Joanna by the hand. They go into the kitchen where Geraldine has clearly been preparing a smoked salmon and pasta dish for herself and Judy. She reaches for a couple of glasses and pours two glasses of wine from the fridge, bringing them to the centre island cooking range with its breakfast bar stools.
"It's not just the job. That was bad enough but that was not what made me make the decision I did."
"What then?"
She looks at Joanna, hesitates and then says, "Wait here".
She goes out into the hall and returns a few seconds later with an envelope. Joanna recognises it immediately. It has the Morrison and Law crest on the back. Geraldine hands it to her in silence.
It takes only a few seconds to read it through by scan reading but the content is clear enough. Morrison and Law, representing the Rodgers, will pursue full custody of the child Louise Rodgers and in so doing will cite the relationship Joanna and Geraldine Spence have as being morally corrupting to the child. They will also assert that the child has told them that the two women have the child to sleep in their bed whilst they are involved in sexual acts of gross indecency. Further, they will seek to ensure that the child will be interviewed by a Curator appointed by the court and they confidently expect that Louise will confirm that she has been told that she is to grow up to be like her mother and Geraldine Spence. Daniel Rodgers is prepared to confirm aspects of the Rodgers' concerns for the girl. The letter goes on. Joanna cannot go on reading these lies and scrunches it in her hands. It is Geraldine who speaks.
"The end of the letter is the important bit. They wanted me to accept that I am in a relationship with you. If I did, they would not draw our relationship to my employer's attention. They must have gambled on my reaction. But they lost if they thought I was going to take the 'so what if we are gay' route and try to protect my job that way."
Joanna groans out loud and just stares at her lover, waiting for the rest.
"I could not let any of it happen. I had to make the decision for you, Joanna. It would not have been fair to ask you to decide. You would be deciding between Lou and me. So I wrote to them via my own solicitor and denied any involvement with you and counter threatened them with actions for slander and libel."
Joanna listens in shock at all this. Geraldine was protecting her and the children.
"So why did you accept the transfer and why didn't you put up any resistance?"
"Because as soon as I sent my letter, they wrote to the Board as our employers. I did not see the letter, but John had a meeting with me. It seems Angela saw the full script. She saw it, as did the head of Psychiatry and Psychology, the chairman of the Board and the Chief Executive. There was not much the Board could do in legal terms because of the new Regulations. But I decided to roll over and accept their offer without a fight. It was for the best, Joanna, believe me."
She comes to Joanna and puts an arm round her.
"It has to stay this way too, till the whole thing is over. That could be years. It is certainly five or so years before the court will accept that Lou is of an age to express a view about her interests. She is too young to be exposed to all this."
Joanna sits numbed with misery. How dare they suggest that the two of them have acted improperly with Lou? And have they talked to Daniel? Does he know and has he rejected her? Is this why he is so distant just now? Could they take Lou from her?
"What can we do?" she asks, miserably.
"The only thing I can do to help is stay out of the way. The best thing you can do is let your solicitor fight it out on paper and try to resolve it in terms of giving them some access to Lou. Maybe it could be supervised so that they see Lou with Lou or she sees them with a third party. It's vicious, Joanna, and we have to protect Lou."
"Yes. But at the expense of lying and not seeing each other?"
Geraldine looks at her.
"I don't think I know what else to do. The other route would be a fight, maybe in the public eye and it would do the child no good."
"I need to think. Geraldine, do you still love me? Enough to come back to me?"
"I love you enough to stay away from you. I will never forgive myself if I cause you and your family to break up."
"You gave up your job."
"A small price to pay for your safety, at work and at home."
"Would they have gone for me at work?"
"Not directly, no. They can't. But there are ways of easing people out from their jobs."
"As you found to your cost."
"As I found to my cost. But don't worry, there is plenty to do at the Royal and I do like the work in continuing care of the elderly much more than I thought I would. And there's accident and emergency, renal and cancer care over there. It's the children's work I miss, if I'm honest."
Joanna thinks but does not say that the City's loss is the Royal's gain in all this. Geraldine is highly skilled at what she does.
"Judy obviously knows all this?" Joanna asks, remembering her hasty exit.
"Yes."
"And what does she think?"
"Well, she thinks I should do what I'm doing as far as your interests are concerned. But she's a fighter is Judy and she hates to see me taking it lying down, as she puts it. She says it's not like me." Geraldine smiles as she says this.
Joanna knows just how true that is. She sits in silence. She needs to think.
Geraldine offers her the supper of pasta that she and Judy were about to share. She is tempted but knows that they will be hard pressed to stay out of bed. She declines, saying that she only has the baby sitter for a very short time. And she watches the same mix of disappointment and relief in Geraldine's face that she is feeling herself. But before she gets up to leave, she has one simple question for Geraldine.
"Will you wait for me?"
Geraldine takes Joanna's hand across the work surface and whispers, 'of course.'
She shows Joanna out, kissing her on the lips before she opens the door.
And in the cool night air, as she drives back across the city, Joanna swings from the elation of knowing how her lover feels about her to the sense of impossibility that this can be her only way forward. The Rodgers family and Geraldine seem like two irreconcilable forces. And if they are forces, Geraldine has elected not to wield hers. To protect her family, Joanna now has to do what Geraldine has already done -- relinquish her partner and with her, her future happiness.
Damn the Rodgers. Damn Martha Rodgers for her vitriolic hate. Damn Jake Rodgers for his vengeful malice in putting his mother up to this legal action.
A fleeting thought goes through her head.
'Should I agree to sex with Jake? Would that sort all this in one?'
She dismisses the thought at soon as it crystallises. Prostitute herself she will not do.
As soon as she has piled Mary and Lou into the car, seen Mary back to her house and then settled Lou, who insisted on a chicken burger on the way home, she takes her gin into the lounge and brings the phone to her armchair. She allows herself a generous sip before ringing Daniel's mobile phone number. A woman's voice answers and she finds herself feeling like an intruding stranger and asking if Daniel is there. 'Can I ask who is calling' the foreign accented voice says and she knows that this must be Zoe. She is tempted to say that she will ring again, but she needs to know.
"It's Daniel's Mum," she explains.
A few moments pass and Daniel is on the line.
"Hello."
"Hi, Danny. I just thought I'd give you a ring and see how things are. Where are you?"
She mentally curses at the use of the word 'just'. That's always a sure sign the person has more on their minds than 'just' anything.
"Fine. We're at the Club," her informs her, referring to the city's youth venue."
The monosyllable tells her what she dreads. Daniel knows; she is sure of it.
"Not much to say? It's Zoe who's with you, I take it?"
"What do you want, Mum?"
Daniel's voice is verging on rudeness. But she knows that it will be all the harder to talk later if they do not talk about this.
"Daniel, Has Gran Rodgers been in touch with you?"
"Jake, actually,"
She can hear the anger in his voice now.
"What has he been saying, Daniel? You know there is some trouble here?" she asks, trying to engage him onto her side.
"So I gather. I take it that it's true, then?" he asks.
"Daniel, we can't talk like this. You have someone with you ..."
"I can say anything in front of Zoe. She already knows."
Joanna groans aloud. She wonders just what it is that Zoe thinks she knows.
"Daniel, I saw a letter that suggests some terrible things that are just not true. What is it that Jake has said to you?"
She hears Daniel's intake of breath as if he is bracing himself to speak.
"You are having it off with Geraldine. Lou is caught up in it and needs to be protected, She is likely to end up in care if they don't step in and offer to the courts to look after her. Jeremy and I could do it, but they know that Jeremy's at university and I'm still too young." Her son's voice is flat and staccato as he relays what Jake has said to him.
"Most of all that is a load of nonsense Daniel. You are being manipulated with lies and half truths."
"That's what Jeremy said," Daniel concedes.
"Will you come home so I can talk to you about all this, Daniel? It won't take all evening, I promise." she reassures him. Saturday evenings are precious, the young person's world over. And she senses that she is in no position to insist. This is not as if he is just being grounded till his homework is done.
"All right," he agrees after a muttered conversation with the girlfriend in the background.
"But is it true? Are you involved with that woman?"
She goes straight for the truth. There is no point in not.
"Yes. That bit is true."
Then she thinks to ask,
"Did Jeremy not say when you discussed Jake's call with him?"
"He said I had to ask you."
'Good for Jeremy,' she thinks, impressed by her elder son's loyalty.
She avoids asking for Daniel's reaction. She knows without doing so that he is reacting badly. Why else would he call Geraldine 'that woman'? And until she can speak to him and talk about the truths and the lies, she cannot give him the right information on which to really come to terms with this.
But she thinks quickly about what she can say that will reach out to him.
"Daniel, I am so sorry that you heard this way and that Jake has lied to you. I wanted to tell you in the best way possible and that was to be at Christmas when you and Jeremy are here. That's what I thought, anyway," she finishes lamely.
"Well, Jeremy said to suspend judgement and that's what I'm doing."
'Daniel is growing up', she thinks, almost overwhelmed that this is the same person who reacted hysterically to Stephen's death so recently. It may not be in the same league, this news about his mother's sexuality and the troubles facing the family, but it is still a big issue and she is left feeling that at least she will have a listening ear when she meets up with him. Daniel is clearly struggling with all that Jake has said but he has been prepared to listen to Jeremy's counsel where, just so recently, he would have reacted with anger and blind hurt.
They leave the call there. She cannot say that there has been much warmth between them, but at least Daniel has not jumped to conclusions in taking Jake's story at face value. Nonetheless, she has a task in front of her to talk with her son in the most difficult of circumstances - after the event of him being told about her in just about the worst possible way.
Forty minutes late, he appears, sweeping into the house, coat flying behind him and looking flustered. He offers no hug and no greeting. Nor does he kiss her on the cheek as he normally would.
"Hi, Daniel. You made it," she smiles, refusing to be thrown off balance or to ask why he is so late.
"Gran Rodgers has decided to ask for custody of Lou.You know that now. I think they will appoint a Curator at court," she continues, in matter of fact tone. "He -- or she -- will interview us all about what's best for her."
"It's nonsense. How on earth could they think you should not have Lou? She should be here with us."
Joanna sighs inwardly in relief. Thank God they have not influenced him in their vitriol.
"They say that I am unfit."
"Because of Geraldine?"
"Yes. And they say I don't look after her physically."
"That's nonsense."
"I know. But there is absolutely nothing I can do about it."
"You can give her up."
"Geraldine?"
"Of course." The tone of his voice is turning fast to anger. "You have to."
"I already have." She feels her dishonesty to herself as she says this. It is another betrayal of Geraldine and of her. "At least, she gave me up. To protect Lou."
He looks at her in momentary disbelief and then realises that she is serious in her words. She sees the tension go out of him with something akin to belief.
"Thank God for that."
She looks at him now, braving the next question and Daniel's likely answer.
"You mind a lot, don't you? About me and Geraldine, I mean."
"Yes I do. How would you imagine I would feel, telling my friends or having Zoe home?" Then he adds, "And I mind for Lou, of course."
She has not thought of the onward ramifications for Daniel outside his relationship with her. At least she has not thought properly about it. Now the reason for his constant absence and for her not meeting Zoë are patently obvious. He must feel very strongly about it.
"Do you not understand, Daniel? Is it such a big thing?"
He sits silent, playing with the trifle he has chosen.
"No, not really."
She knows when her son is not being fully truthful. It clearly is a big thing for Daniel -- a very big thing.
"I just don't see how it could bring any happiness. Let's face it, look at the trouble it's brought already."
She can think of little to say to him in response to his very poignant comment, and all the rehearsals she had in her mind over the last weeks fall away to redundancy. She looks across the gulf of the kitchen table and their unhappiness at her son, the boy who is on the verge of manhood and whom she loves so much.
"I can't make this easy for you, Daniel, I just want you to know that I was happy with Geraldine for the first time in all the years since your father left us. It was as simple as that."
From somewhere deep inside his hurt, it seems as if Daniel has heard her. He looks down, saying nothing. It seems that some small sense of recognition or shame has overcome him.
"How does Zoe feel about it? She asks, making the assumption that this has been well discussed.
He says nothing.
"Daniel?"
"She says it's cool," he half acknowledges, half snorts.
"Does that not tell you something?"
"It doesn't tell me how we are going to protect Lou in all this. And I doubt I can really understand. I'm just glad it's over, to be honest."
"I don't know that it is all over, Daniel. Not for sure. Daniel, the letter that the Rodgers sent to Geraldine said that you would support an application to have Lou removed from my care."
She watches him closely as she risks saying this. He hesitates and then manages - with difficulty, she thinks - to look her in the eye.
"It wasn't like that. Their solicitor rang me. He asked what I would think if you were .... were taking Lou to bed with your partner."
"And you fell for that?" Joanna is angry but trying not to show it.
Daniel looks at her and then away. He knows he has fallen into a trap in saying whatever he did to the solicitor.
They talk on some more, but Daniel is closed down to her. All she has gained tonight is the knowledge that at least he has not shut down all communication with her. But he has the good grace to say that he will speak to any Curator about how well his family get on together.
"The Rodgers are not having her," he says with determination.
"The Musketeers," Joanna laughs as she stands to end the evening.
"The Musketeers," he agrees, "All for one; in this case, all for Lou."
The notion of being united by the common enemy comes to her. At least they have that at they say goodnight. She wonders how this would have gone as a conversation if she and Geraldine were still together. But she does not have the courage to ask. All she can say to him is that they have time on their side. Perhaps in time, he will understand and accept this part of her. He looks at her slowly, doubt in his eyes.
There has been no suggestion that she should meet Zoë and she knows this is because of his strength of feeling about his mother at the moment. Perhaps, she suggests, things will settle and Zoë will visit them, like any ordinary girlfriend situation. She has the distinct impression that Zoë's visit being in doubt is down to Daniel and not to the young woman.
Her dreams that night are tortuous. She is with Geraldine and they are in the bungalow. But when they head together towards the bedroom, which is suddenly not in the bungalow but somewhere down an ancient hospital corridor, they are waylaid by an army of terracotta soldiers, just like the Chinese ones. As she looks closer, they start to move in a slow motion of regimented goosesteps, designed to terrorise. Geraldine tries to stop her from looking but she breaks free. Slowly the faces start to come alive and to glare at her in silent threat. There is Lou and there is Daniel. Then in officers' uniforms, there are Jake and Martha. They hold axes in the changing forms of pens and then swords. But, alone now, she walks through the army and she knows that Geraldine is being held back somewhere out of sight. She tries to turn round to see but the pull towards the army is too compelling. She has to see what lies beyond. Martha is laughing. And beyond them all, a figure in double proportion to the rest is sitting on some kind of horse that is not a horse but a car bonnet. She wakens just as the car, with Stephen heading straight for her, is about to crash straight into her.
Sweat is pouring down her brow as she sits up and glances at the clock. It is four thirty and there will be no more sleep tonight. Shaken, she knows that the dream needs little interpretation. It takes minutes for her heartbeat to come back to its usual rhythm.
Over a pot of coffee in the kitchen, she considers the problems she faces. She sees no way out of the trap she is in. Yet in the still of the early morning, there is comfort in the knowledge that across the city, there is a woman who loves her and whom she loves. Would that it were as simple as living life out on that basis. This is probably the most intense of romantic relationships she has ever experienced or will ever experience again. And it is not available to her.
She wonders how far the silence between them over the last days and weeks will have created a gulf that cannot be closed. What would it be like to be back in that place of warmth and intimacy with Geraldine? She has no idea. At one level, it feels almost like a dream, a mirage that is already beginning to fade. It is gone for good. The unsullied nature of it has been corrupted. The hurt and then the anger she has felt before last evening would taint any potential they might have to come together in the distant future. She can only imagine that the decision that Geraldine was forced to make will take its toll on her as well. How must she have felt about making that decision about her job, let alone the decision to walk away from Joanna?
Jaded, she faces another day, emotionally somewhere closer to Geraldine, practically every bit as far away.
Wendy turns up in her office just before lunch. She is serious faced and tired looking.
"I had a meeting in the staff training unit," she says, by way of explanation for her presence in this hospital. "Can we eat together?"
Joanna is glad of the chance to be with her friend, but knows that there is some bad news to come.
"Something's wrong, isn't it?" she asks when they have cleared away from other colleagues they meet as they head for the restaurant.
Wendy nods and focuses on her tray as they walk along the self-service queue taking salads and bread, fruit and water in abstracted and disinterested fashion. The queuing seems interminable and Joanna can see that her friend is close to tears. Finally, she steers her towards a corner of the vast dining hall and they sit down. Joanna asks again.
"What's wrong?"
Wendy looks at her.
"Bobby knows."
"Oh God," Joanna says before she has time to stop herself. Her reaction is one of concern, as much for Bobby as it is for Wendy. How is she going to support each of the two women in these circumstances?
"How did she find out?" She thinks to ask in the silence of Wendy not knowing what else to say. The generally spirited and fun packed Wendy is far from her usual ebullient self.
"Jerry left a hotel bill in his wallet and Bobby was hunting for money to pay the window cleaner yesterday while Jerry was out walking their dog."
"God. What happened?"
Wendy winces at the memory of what did happen.
"She rang me last night. Jerry and she had had an almighty row, or so I gathered when he rang me later on. It was awful, Joanna. She was more stunned and hurt than angry. That was the worst part. Even over the phone, I just wanted the ground to open up."
"What did she actually say?"
"That she needs time to think. You could tell she was trying to stay composed. She's suggested that once we have all three had a chance to think about it, we should meet."
Joanna thinks that this is typical of the social work trainer in her friend Bobby. If, sometime in the past, someone of the Gang had slept with Stephen, she doubts if she would have taken the calm and reasoned approach that Bobby appears to be doing. As it was, when she found out that Stephen was sleeping around after they separated, she was beside herself and that knowledge put the nail in the coffin of any prospect of reconciliation with her husband.
"What happens now? You said you have spoken to Jerry?"
"He's asked me to deny anything happened."
"How did Bobby know it was you in the hotel bedroom?" Joanna asks, realizing that there is something missing to this story.
"It was stupid. I told Bobby on the phone before all this came out that I had a night at the hotel on my own, having a massage and a facial and a general indulgence for one."
Joanna groans inwardly at this aspect of Wendy's character where she seems to want to sail so close to the wind of her own self-destruction. Or maybe she wanted to be found out, somewhere deep in her unconscious?
"And she put two and two together?"
"That's right. Except Jerry has denied it."
"So what did you say on the phone? Did you deny it?"
"I was caught off guard. The actual words I used were 'Jerry and I were at the hotel, yes'.
"So Jerry denied it, you said you were there, and she believes you are having an affair. But she does not know for certain?"
"That's about it. But you know what a wife's instinct is like. I would say that she is all but certain."
"All she's got to do is ring the hotel and ask who was in which room," Joanna observes.
"If they will release that information." Wendy argues, the thought of this eventuality hitting her for the first time. She is more than alarmed. "She could tell Toby," she all but groans at the prospect of her husband finding out.
"Toby would not be as measured in his reaction as Bobby appears to be at the moment," Joanna comments, wryly. "And what do you want out of all this?" Joanna asks after a few seconds of silence as she picks at the food in front of her with total disinterest. She does not intend the question to be as harsh as it sounds, but Wendy does not appear to notice.
"I wish I knew. Jerry is a fling and we both know it. But I am very fond of him and it hurts that he wants to pretend it didn't happen. I don't know how I'll cope with nothing in life but Toby. He's such a pain."
'Better the devil you know', is on the tip of Joanna's tongue, but she restrains herself. This is not the time for advice. It is time for a listening ear and nothing else. Except, she is as concerned for the Gang as she is about the fact that two marriages are under severe threat.
"Are you going to deny it? Have you decided yet?" She asks, focussing on the potential fallout from this situation.
"That's why I wanted to talk to you. Would you be there? When the three of us meet, I mean."
"Me?" Joanna almost starts in surprise. "Why on earth would I be there? Isn't this between the three of you?"
"Of course. But I need help, Joanna, and you were the one I thought of. I love Bobby, you know. She is a good friend. And I don't want her or me to get any more hurt than we are already. If it all gets nasty, you would be a very levelling influence. I wouldn't ask if I could face it on my own, believe me. I know it's a lot." Her voice trails away.
Joanna is tempted to say what she is silently thinking; that Wendy would not be hurt just now if she had not slept with her friend's husband and Wendy is not half as hurt today as Joanna imagines Bobby is at this moment. But she bites her tongue. Recriminations will not help.
"Have you agreed to the meeting?""I said I'd think about it."
"And did you say you wanted me there?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd ask you first."
Joanna thinks for a few moments as Wendy finally picks up her fork and takes a bite of salad. Maybe she could help by being there. Maybe it will make matters worse. It will certainly take it away from the privacy of only the three involved parties knowing about this. And it will bring the whole issue, inevitably, to the Gang as a whole. Bobby will assume that Joanna will tell Geraldine. That will leave only Michelle who does not know. It will all come out, won't it? And that will mean the end of the Gang?
"Ask Bobby if she is prepared for me to be there. And if she agrees, I'll be there. But, Wendy, it's on one condition. That you tell the truth, no matter how difficult that is. And what happens after that will at least be based on the reality of the situation."
Wendy looks worried at the idea of facing Bobby and Jerry.
"What if they tell Toby?"
"I don't know that they will. In fact, I'd be very surprised. But it's a chance you have to take. Your husband may be volatile but he does love you and I suspect would forgive you anything."
Wendy sits for a moment and then looks straight at Joanna.
"It's time I was more honest. That's what you think, isn't it?"
Joanna nods, but she does so kindly.
Then Wendy looks relieved, some inner conflict resolved. She touches Joanna's hand across the table.
"Thanks, Joanna. It means a lot."
Joanna is only just able to contain her irritation with Wendy. How could she have done this to the Gang?
And as she walks back to her office, a heavy evening session with her two friends and Jerry - all of them in deep distress - looming ahead in the not too distant future, she realises that Wendy is not the only one to put the Gang's future in jeopardy. Is that not what she and Geraldine have also done?
Chapter 35
The week drags now and it seems an eternity before it is Thursday afternoon. She has an appointment to see Angela's manager to complete her staff appraisal. John Barnes is a nice enough young man, ambitious and 'pro' the establishment; full of all the departmental rhetoric. He may only be in his early thirties, but he has already worked out the way to career advancement in his dogged adherence to policy, to the counsellors' wishes and to all the latest in management theory. Joanna prides herself in never having followed this path and in her basic belief that her work is, in its essence, an autonomous activity. She is a light year away from the 'John Barnes' of the social work world and unlike her senior manager, thinks that respect is something that managers have to earn; not their God given right.
This stands to be an interesting interview, the second with this particular manager. Last year, they agreed to differ, Joanna not quite obstructing the meeting with her ill-disguised disinterest in John's appraisal of her. Then, she was deeply influenced by her counselling sessions with Jim and there was nothing that she needed, personally or professionally, from the combined efforts of Angela and John. She was secure in her job, the hospital team was stable and there were no personal issues facing her in the workplace. Her recent widowhood was her private business. She was first class at her job and that was the end of the matter. The whole notion of hierarchy for the type of work she did was anathema. In her terms, John Barnes was wet behind the ears of true social work practice. This year, things are quite different. She and Geraldine are known about within the organisation. She approaches her appraisal with a degree of diffidence.
But she enters the meeting with pleasant banter, just as she did a year ago.
"Here we go again, then," she quips cheerfully. "Don't think I've seen you at the hospital for a while, have I?"
John ignores the taunt. They both know that he has a span of twelve teams scattered about the area, several in the community, two at the hospitals - one of those psychiatric - and another over at the prison. He no doubt has much more critical matters to attend to in supporting those first line managers who are less experienced than the 'long in the tooth' Angela. There is little that Angela needs that John Barnes can help with other than the occasional shortfall in resources.
"Let's run over the purpose of this meeting and then look at Angela's report. You have seen it and agreed it, according to your signature here?"
He turns his copy of the report towards Joanna. She has hers on her lap.
He is not unfriendly - just focussed. Behind his mahogany desk and sitting in his leather-bound swivel chair, he oozes his sense of self-importance. This is a man on his way to the top and everything he does is a function of that aspiration.
Joanna just nods and smiles a warmth-free smile.
'Let the boy do the work', she thinks.
And they go through the report, noting her sound performance, her slightly self-contained attitude within the team this year and her ability to work in a sound non-discriminatory way. She has little to add and when John asks how she feels Angela has supported her over the year, she confirms her line manager's skills at enabling the workers in the team as a whole. If the small, inferred jibe on John's performance, as being significantly poorer than Angela's, hits home, he shows no sign of it. No doubt, he would not even pick it up.
Then, the meeting appears to be almost over. Except John has not yet mentioned the last section of the report -- Joanna's career potential.
"It says here that you are well able to take responsibility at first line level."
"Yes. It does."
"It's a very different job, of course, supervising staff. Would you enjoy it?"
"Angela thinks I would," she smiles.
What has she to lose by making John drag her intentions out of her? It is her decision whether to apply for the job when Angela retires and that decision does not need to be taken today in this meeting.
"Well, you know that there is going to be opportunity within the department in the not-too-distant future," he says reluctantly.
He waits, leaving it to her to comment.
"Yes. I have not made my mind up yet, John. There's time yet."
"Well, you are fully entitled to apply, of course."These are euphemistic words -- Joanna knows what they mean. It is both the words and the finality in the tone. 'You can apply, but don't hold your breath to be appointed'.
She wants out of the room. But her hackles are raised.
"What will the appointment procedure entail?"She means 'Who will appoint?' and they both know it.
"It will be the Senior Assistant's appointment and I will advise him, along with John in Human Resources. There will no doubt be a presentation required from each candidate and then set questions."
John is turning her appraisal form to the last page and reaching for his pen, ready to sign it away and relegate it to the filing system. In his mind this task is over. Joanna is getting more and more angry as the seconds go by.
"I will be considering an application, in all likelihood."
"Fine." There is an almost imperceptible pause as John signs her form. She gets up to leave.
"By the way, how are you all getting on without the psychologist back up the team had till recently?" He looks up from the form and watches for her reaction.
This question is not kind. It is not what it seems. It is a clear dig and message to Joanna. 'You are known about, so be careful.' So she immediately infers.
She leaves the office, not bothering to close the door behind her. So that is the way she is to be treated. The Rodgers have just about done their worst. They have cost her her relationship. They have threatened to try to take Lou from her. And now the organisation she has worked for all these years is happy to ensure that she is not promoted -- at least that is how it seems to Joanna as she makes her way to her car. It all feels chaotic. She seethes inwardly with a sense of impotence and rants inwardly at the injustice of it all.
But there is the ordinary stuff of life to get on with. Lou needs a new coat and she has promised to take her to town before the shops shut. The house needs a good clean and the reading circle is due to be at her house tomorrow evening. So she needs to buy some savouries for supper and she must finish this week's book. She gives John Barnes and her future as a main grade or senior social worker little more thought for the rest of the evening.
The phone rings just before ten, when she is sitting up in bed and drinking some hot chocolate whilst she reads the last pages of a relatively indifferent novel. Immediately, she hopes it will be Geraldine, though in her heart, she realises that is unlikely. And it is not. It is Annie. It is Annie in distress. She can hear the choking of someone who has been crying.
"Jemmy has left." The words leave Joanna momentarily speechless with surprise. " She walked out about an hour ago."
"Why, for heaven's sake?" Joanna asks, her voice filled with both sympathy and with a anger Ion behalf of Annie. She instantly fears that is probably Annie's wanderlust that has led to this.
"She met a woman at that conference whilst I was up in Aviemore and visiting you." Annie's tone is flat, void of emotion, as if she is in shock.
So Joanna is wrong. This time, it is Annie who has been left for another.
"What happened, Annie?"
"It went on behind my back till I walked in on them last night. And we had a blazing row that lasted all night. When I got home tonight, she was gone. Everything is gone - her clothes, her furniture, the lot."
"God, Annie." She barely knows what to say. She can imagine the shock and trauma that Annie is experiencing right now. It takes her back to the evening Stephen packed his bags, a not comprehending Lou helping him to arrange his socks in the case.
But she rallies quickly in the recognition that it is she whom Annie chose to ring. It is Joanna who is going to have to help her through the next minutes of this dreadful night.
She listens, she asks questions as Annie rails and finally cries, and then uses the phone call to let out the first surge of grief. All she can do is reassure her that she is on the end of the line, reaching out as best she can in a few words of comfort.
Her mind flits back to Annie's recent description of her time the two of them split up and she knows now what that was like for her young lover. Gone now and then is the devil-may-care Annie. Gone is the woman who thought that a fling was a minor indiscretion. Exposed now and raw, is an Annie who loved her partner and must face the betrayal of Jemmy whose reciprocated love died long before Annie realized it.
"Ssh," she calms her as another wave of pain takes its uncontrolled course. "We'll get through this, Annie. You will, and I will be here to support you."
The moments tick past in silence, as Annie says nothing. Her breathing is laboured but it begins to calm. She is taking deep intakes deliberately. Joanna lets her calm before speaking again. She wants to leave the line open as long as Annie needs her, but she also has to prepare her friend for the moment when the call ends.
"Maybe you should try to get a bit of sleep? Is there anyone who could come over for just tonight?"
"I don't want anyone here." Annie sounds angry suddenly. That anger will help see her through the hours ahead.
"You'll ring me if you need me?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
A thought of suicide goes through Joanna's mind, but she decides not to dwell on it. Something tells her that Annie will not go down that route. She could say something about the future, but she hold back. Annie just need so get through tonight.
"Ill ring you in the morning if I haven't heard from you overnight," she promises, beginning to frame Annie's time for her. She waits till Annie ends the call.
Poor Annie. She did not need this, no matter her indiscretions in Edinburgh. Annie has a lot of grieving and hurt to go through in the days ahead. Joanna wishes she were closer to help, but something stops her from offering to have her friend up to stay till the worst of the pain passes. She knows that it is a selfish thought, but there is only so much pain and supporting her friends that Joanna can cope with right now.
Instead, she will offer what comfort she can. In the days ahead, there will be practical and legal matters to think about. The house that Annie and Jemmy lived in together is in their joint names and there will be a tedious time ahead for Annie. Joanna doubts whether she could afford the house on her own, so she is likely to have to sell, downsize and start again. She can only hope for Annie's sake that Jemmy lets any sale go through as quietly as possible and that the end is not protracted into nasty legal wrangling. She can at least be a listening ear, if that is what Annie wants.
It is a deep sleep of exhaustion for Joanna and she keeps her promise to ring. Annie is there, and has spent a sleepless night. She seems void of emotion and just wants to stay in bed. She has called in to say that she has a virus and will be off for the rest of the week.
"I couldn't face anyone right now," she explains. Joanna wonders if she is harbouring any last hope that Jemmy will be in touch.
Annie says something about coming up to stay later in the week. Joanna prevaricates. Wendy's problems and her own are enough pressure for now. She could be down to Edinburgh tomorrow she volunteers, reluctantly. On the other hand, she thinks to herself, she should perhaps be around at home to be near Daniel. This is a difficult time and she should be at home to talk if Daniel will allow that. So it might not be for the foreseeable future. She starts to pull back from her suggestion but Annie is ahead of her.
"Could I join you in Edinburgh? I need to talk to someone and there's no one down here who is not involved with us as friends. Please, Joanna. I feel so miserable. I'd stand you a decent meal." Annie pleads.
Joanna relents and says she will be in touch if it is definite that she can get down to the Scottish capital. She feels boxed into a corner. But if she cannot help her friends when they are at their lowest ebb, what value her friendship? She agrees. Annie brings the call to an end, wrung out but definitely quieter. She has a point on the featureless horizon to aim for
Joanna hopes that the ninety minutes they have just spent talking will help Annie through what will probably be the worst time of her life. It will do no more than ease the pain. But Joann has done her best. Now she is exhausted.
She has enough on her plate, she thinks, without this. But, as if the fates heard that and wanted their pound of flesh, no sooner is the phone set down than it rings again.
"It's Bobby," the voice says, the tone flat.
"Bobby," is all she can say, mustering her energy to send the message in the one word that she knows what Bobby is going through.
"You offered to be there when the three of us talk."
"Yes, I did. But it is up to you and I don't want to interfere in any way."
"No. I'd like you to be there. I rang to see when you could be free."
"I suppose it needs to be as soon as possible in all the circumstances?"
"And how."
"What does Jerry say about me being there?"
"He says he doesn't care. The whole thing is not true and he doesn't mind how many people hear him say it."
This will be fun, she thinks to herself. One of them is thinking about the truth, the other is lying in his teeth and Bobby will take the fallout of the whole thing, no matter how that meeting goes.
"Look," she says, recognising that it is too late to back out, "I've got to have the reading circle tonight. The only day that Pam could make this week was Friday, so the date can't be changed. And I have to see a friend in Edinburgh tomorrow. Is Sunday any good to you? Or is that too late?"
"No. I can wait and the other two can damn well wait as well. I'd rather wait and have you there, Joanna than go ahead without you."
"Are you sure? I don't want to intrude."
"No, that's fine."
"Bobby? I'm so sorry this has to happen, you know. I mean that it has come to a situation like this."
"Thank you, Joanna. I appreciate that. It's not a good time as you can imagine."
Bobby has that capacity for understatement that in other times delights Joanna. Tonight, it sounds heartrending.
Joanna sips her coffee in bed, reluctant to face the day. She is so miserable, for herself, for her friends and for the hopelessness of the future. She is not coping at the very time when her friends are asking most of her. She is not coping just when Lou is at her most vulnerable to the forces around her. She is not coping just when Geraldine must be at her most lonely. She is not coping when her son's relationship with her is on the line. She is under attack from her former family and her credibility at work has been affected. Her friends are not here for her and they need her to be there for them. She is lonely and frightened.
It is at this moment, just before she eases herself reluctantly towards the shower, that she thinks that she will ring Jim. She needs help.
In the cold reality of the day, she does not ring Jim. It is weeks since she finished her sessions with him and she knows that to return to any form of therapy would be heavy. Besides, she is not troubled. No, it is just that she has troubles and that is entirely different from when she went to him after Stephen's death. Then, she was depressed and she knew it. Now, she may have troubles and she may be sad about Geraldine, but she is not depressed. What could Jim do that sound common sense and strength of character cannot? Therapy is not something to be entered into lightly, nor is it something that can be dabbled with. She thinks she can handle things. All it takes is determination. These are her thoughts as she crawls through the work time traffic in the gloom of a dark, damp Highland morning.
It is a routine day in the department, where at least the ordinary pressures of the job deflect her from the issues in her private and her friends' lives. She has a round of visits to undertake in the care of the elderly ward, and then the onward liaison with colleagues in the community to arrange discharge services for those who need home care and the like. A young man has attempted suicide and she has an interview to do with him at the request of the psychiatrist. He is not ill -- just suffering from the negative reaction of his parents to his transsexual orientation. He would be best living away from home and in another city, but he has to come to this for himself -- Joanna will not give advice; just explore what the lad sees as his options. A stroke victim and his wife need counselling about the man's future and the adjustments they will have to make to their lifestyle. The morning is busy but nothing out of the ordinary.
At two thirty, she is in Ed's office. He rang her this morning, asking to see her and Angela agreed to her having a couple of hours off before the team meeting later in the afternoon.
He does not have good news.
"The Rodgers are determined to go to court over Lou. The first hearing is set for the first week in December. It will be procedural," he reassures her as she starts to protest at this news. "In all probability, the Sheriff will appoint a Curator who will report to the court once everyone has been interviewed. I am so sorry, Joanna. We were not able to dissuade them from this course of action."
He looks at her before continuing.
"Is Mrs Spence still involved? I'm sorry to have to ask."
She shakes her head, feeling as she does as though she is embarking on a betrayal of her friend and the quality of their relationship. Ed listens as she outlines their separation and the fact that Morrison and Law wrote to Geraldine and to her employer. Ed seems to bristle with unspoken anger as the facts emerge. Then she tells him about their contact with Daniel.
"You didn't know about any of this?" she asks, watching his barely concealed reaction.
"No, I didn't, Joanna. And I think Ms Spence has surmised very accurately what they intended to achieve. I know that it is sad for you both, but in terms of Lou, her decision is perhaps for the best."
He looks at her, scrutinising her face.
"You are quite certain that it is over?"
She has no choice but to nod.She leaves the office, shaken when she does so more than when she was inside. It is like being given bad news by the doctor. In the surgery, it is shocking but nowhere as bad as when you are back in the outside world. This is perhaps the worst thing she has heard since the day of Stephen's suicide. She cannot lose her baby. She will not lose her baby.
She stands in tears on the footbridge across the Ness, looking down on the waters just as she did when this first started. Oblivious to passers by and the occasional look of concern -- many people over the years have jumped from these bridges -- she stares into the dark swirling rush of the froth below. It is dusk already on this early winter afternoon and over towards the town, Christmas lights glisten and hold the promise of the season ahead. If only she could fast forward her vision into the future and see how things will be for her and Lou in the time to come.
She fights for composure as she lets the sickening waves of fear for her daughter pass. She is a good mother and she knows it. What will they do in the court about her relationship with Geraldine? How on earth has it come to this, that her care of her daughter is under threat?
Composure is hard to gain but in the dusk she can at least stand with her back to the walkway and let the tears run their course.
"Are you all right, Missus?" a voice asks behind her.
She looks round. It is an itinerant she recognises right away. He must be in his fifties but he looks older. She has seen him outside the main shopping precinct over the winter with cap in hand. She also saw him in outpatients a few weeks ago, when she was called in to give him a voucher for some food and to see him on his way when he ended up in a fight after a drinking bout and was brought in by the police.
She smiles a watery smile as she sees that he also recognises her.
"I'm OK. A bad day, that's all." She reaches for her tissue and pulls her coat tight to take the breeze from around her neck She has not realised how cold she is.
"Ay. Yours is a tough job, right enough," the old fellow says. He has acquired the Invernesian dialect in the months he has been up here and whenever she hears it, it always appeals to Joanna's Edinburgh ear. She smiles as much for how he said this as for what he has said. She lets him think it is work that troubles her.
"Well, never mind, you can't win them all. How are you doing, Jamie?" she asks, focussing away from her onto him.
They chat about Jamie's plans to move on down the line to the Clyde coast for the winter. The old chap, as she thinks of him, always chooses his crime of the year in time for Christmas in the local jail and he fancies Greenock this time. She finds a few pound coins for him and she heads off the bridge with a reminder from Jamie that no job is worth the upset she is feeling. He knows. He was an accountant once. She believes him.
The team meeting is in full swing when she gets back to the hospital. Angela glances at her and continues with no comment. The agenda is still all about the cuts but it moves onto Angela's forthcoming retirement and the advert for her replacement. Just before four-thirty, serious matters over, the conversation turns to the idea of having a leaving do for this team leader who has supported them all these years. John Barnes will do the official presentation to Angela in the Board Room at the Board HQ on the last Friday before Christmas. But the real celebration will be in the Inverness Riverside Hotel that evening when they will put a kitty together and have drinks and savouries from seven o'clock onwards. The team members have all discussed this before today's meeting and Joanna is pleased that she is back from her meeting with Ed in time to see the genuine delight and surprise on Angela's face that her team want to do this for her. It stands to be a good evening and it is to be open invitation for all those from the social work department and the hospital, husbands and partners included, who feels they can make it. Joanna knows that in other circumstances, she and Geraldine would have looked forward to this. Now it will be agony if Geraldine is there; agony of she is not.
As the meeting comes to its end, Angela asks if she can have a quick word with her. There is nothing unusual in this -- there is often a case to be allocated urgently or a message to pass on.
The others leave and Angela gets up and closes the door. She comes and sits beside Joanna, not opposite her at her own desk, as she would usually do.
"Something is wrong, Joanna, isn't it?"
Where Angela is involved, Joanna never mixes her private life with her work. But it must be clear to Angela that she has been crying. She just hopes that the team were too busy with the excitement of arranging the leaving do to notice. And she does not want Angela to think that her upset is to do with the staff appraisal meeting she had yesterday with John Barnes. She nods and says nothing, wondering how to get her explanation out and finding that she wants to do so.
"It's a family matter, Angela."Normally, that would be the signal for a manager to back off other than to offer appropriate easing of the work demands, but Angela is about to retire and the nature of the relationship, worker to manager, changes in this instant.
"Anything I can help with?" Angela asks.
Joanna looks at her. It would be good to talk because her world is shifting on its axis. She is suddenly about to be catapulted from being the professional who gives counselling and accesses resources to being the subject herself of the attention of the court and its officers.
She explains whilst Angela listens in silence. Her mother-in-law wants to take Lou from her. She says that she is an unfit mother and that Lou is not properly cared for. She does not say the words 'Geraldine' or 'relationship' or 'lesbian'. She leaves all that out of the conversation. But Angela is no one's fool.
"A great deal will depend on the Curator who is appointed. I genuinely cannot believe for one minute that you will have difficulty proving your suitability to care for young Lou. Just be yourself, Joanna, and let the court exercise its common sense."
Angela looks at her long and hard before continuing.
"In this day and age it should not be an issue."
Joanna just nods. She does not want to say any more. They both know how terrified she is. And Angela has supported her. In those few words she feels less alone. Maybe her line manager's role in Geraldine's transfer was not the negative one that Joanna has till now surmised. Or maybe she supported the move more from some misguided concern than any moralistic view. Whatever, Angela may have little or no influence on what happens from here on in, but these are the kindest words Joanna could have heard today. She smiles, and for the first time ever, gives Angela a hug as she leaves her office. The woman looks nonplussed.
That sense of being comforted stays with her till she is welcoming the members of the reading circle. It is unusual to be meeting on a Friday but it was the only way that Pam could get to it this time and since for all the women, it means the end of the week, Joanna has done a special shop to the supermarket and laid on a particularly nice buffet with a glass of wine.
It is the usual stalwarts of the circle -- Pam, Sarah, Sally - this time without the new partner in tow - Janie and Gayle. Jinny could not make it this evening, as she is away to Madeira for an early winter break.
The discussion is about how writers should create their plot. Views in the reading circle diverge. Sarah, still on her undergraduate studies, is convinced that the writer should know the plot from beginning to end before pen goes to paper. That, certainly, is what her current reading advises and that is how she is going to set out, just as soon as she graduates, to write children's stories -- about a cat.
'There's only so much a cat can get up to,' Joanna almost sighs to herself. She cannot see Sarah's writings being inspired.
She is of the school that believes the plot grows out of the characters and that the best writers set their characters off and, within a basic idea of how a story line will develop, the characters take a life of their own and something happens.
This is all too whimsical, of course, for Pam, who has never agreed with anything that Joanna has had to say since the sessions that they had on lesbian feminist literature. Over the weeks, she has kept a safe distance from any one of the circle who threatens her - Sally, the partner who appears now to be off the scene, and Joanna herself.
But the debate is at least a healthy and stimulating one and Janie, with all her skills that she must use on a daily basis in her highflying education post, humours the meeting along with pithy observations about the current book under discussion. Then it is time for the wine and the supper. Lou and Mary, who have been in the kitchen, help Joanna to bring in the trays and the session shifts to one of quiet chat in the room. Lou and Mary stay and Lou becomes a centre of attention, able to hold a conversation about the books she is reading at school and telling them about the book that Joanna is reading to her at bedtime. Then Mary ushers the child off to bed and Lou eventually leaves reluctantly to be tucked into bed by her baby sitter.Sally sits sipping her glass of wine and watching Joanna, and soon finds the opportunity to come and sit by her. Joanna is uncomfortable and knows what is coming. Janie sees the move and asks Sally how her friend is doing. Is she going to be coming back to the circle? Her question is intended to steer Joanna's former admirer away from her but it has the opposite effect.
No, Sally tells them, quite unperturbed. She will not be back. She has turned her attentions to the world of sport. Joanna infers that the attention to sport will be to some sporting woman but she says nothing and gets up to offer round some more wine. She does not like this situation one bit. This reading circle is her erstwhile sanctuary and it is being intruded upon by unwanted attentions. She can feel Sally's eyes on her as the woman sits, one leg over her knee and her hand resting on her ankle, waiting for her glass to be filled. She avoids Sally's attempt to gaze into her eyes by concentrating on filling the glass.
And there seems to be nothing she can do to stop this. Sally has no intention of being circumspect. Short of being cautious in front of the others, in particular the silently critical Pam, Sally asks Joanna if she is interested in the latest film on release and in going along to it one night in the following week. Joanna knows that it has a lesbian theme and assumes from the look on Pam's face that she does too.
No. Next week is busy, so she cannot find time to go to the cinema.
But the damage is done and the atmosphere is uncomfortable. Pam is judgemental, Janie is trying to change the conversation, Sally is thinking of another tack and the others are looking at their watches. The evening is over.
They all leave at once, Janie making sure that Sally has no opportunity or excuse to stay behind. Pam will not be able to make it to the next session, she announces in the hall as she outs on her jacket. Janie says that she will make sure Pam gets the details of the following one. Sally leaves with one long last look into Joanna's eyes. And Joanna knows that if the woman could have had her wish those weeks ago, there would never have been the partner she later brought along to the reading circle.
And if that had happened, she, Joanna would never have known the time she had with Geraldine. Her feelings for the two women bear no comparison. No, there was never any question about it. Geraldine always held a place in her emotions that Sally never could. She smiles a sad smile at Sally and gives an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Sally leaves, head down in disappointment that only she and Joanna see. She has felt the finality of that shake of the hand.
And the door is closed to the outside world. Only Mary has to leave and the evening is Joanna's once again. Daniel, as ever, is out. Now she does not even know where he is. An hour later, clearing up done, Lou asleep and Mary off home, she goes to bed, a metaphorical bad taste in her mouth over the silent proposition from Sally. And yet, as she lies down, she knows that it was not Sally's fault in particular, any more than it was Pam's. If this had been a mixed group this evening and one member had suggested an evening at the cinema with someone of the opposite sex, everyone would have known what was going on, just as they did tonight. But it would not have caused the reactions and the atmosphere that happened. No, why should Sally not have done what she did, even if it was not an invitation that Joanna welcomed. It was Pam's reaction that was the problem. Wasn't it?
At four o'clock she is in the main lounge of the hotel near Edinburgh station. She sees Annie as she walks in past expensively clad ladies sitting over their afternoon tea. This was a good place to arrange to meet, but a kiss on the cheek between the two women and Joanna suggests a walk round the main department store and then a drink before she has to get onto the train at seven-o'clock. The hotel suits neither of them.
Considering her raw emotions over Jemmy, Annie is in reasonably upbeat mood. She has survived the first days and some steel has come back into her. Joanna knows this is partly because she is here in Edinburgh and out of the pattern of the last days of living in to her empty flat and of starting the dreadful business of packing possessions and memories.
As they stroll round the clothes department, browsing the evening wear fashions of the season ahead and neither of them with any particular interest in current style, Annie announces that she is off to the Lavender Link club again and why does Joanna not ring and say she will not be home till the next day? They could go together. It's time Joanna loosened up and enjoyed herself. Geraldine would not mind, surely? It's not as if Joanna would follow Annie's example in the one night stand stakes, is it? She has a room at the hotel two streets away from the club. Joanna could bunk down there? They could have a bit of fun, couldn't they?
Joanna stops in the middle of the isle they are walking down and looks Annie straight in the eye.
"I don't see Geraldine any more. We were blackmailed, basically. Geraldine bailed out for my sake. They are trying to take Lou away."
She hears herself say 'blackmailed' and sees for the first time that that is just what has happened. It may not be what the Rodgers thought they were doing, but that is the net effect. They went to the Board. They went to solicitors. They went to Daniel. Geraldine was blackmailed to give her up.
Annie is looking at her, dumbfounded.
"Tell me."
They head for a pub. It is nearly five, in any event. Annie buys two glasses of wine -- the size of at least two units per glass. She decides to take the offer that if the whole bottle is bought, a big discount is offset against the next bottle. This is dangerous, but Joanna needs the alcohol. She takes too big a sip. It kicks in within seconds. She feels herself begin to give in to the one thing she has wanted to do for so long. And with the alcohol and its impact, the tears begin to fall in the semi dark of the booth they have chosen. Annie sits quietly with her, waiting for the tears to take their course and for Joanna to start talking when she is ready.
The story comes out bit by bit. Annie listens, saying little but her face becoming more and more set in unspoken anger.
"So she left you because she felt she needed to protect you?"
"Yes."
"But why do you not just face it out together. Am I missing something here?"
Annie just does not see why there is so much dissonance between the life that Geraldine and she wanted to live and the ability of them both to withstand pressure to actually live it. But she feels for Joanna and can only suggest one thing.
"Jo, if you do not follow your star in all this, you will regret it for the rest of your life."
Joanna nods, not really taking the words in but slowing down on the wine and realizing that she will have to sober up somewhat if she is going to get safely to the train on time.
Annie tries again to persuade her to at least come to the club for the company and to share the need they both have, for different reasons, to be cheered up. But the last thing Joanna could think about would be a night in a gay club, surrounded by women she does not want and risking the chance that in the small place that Scotland, at the end of the day, is, she would bump into someone who would know her and thereby further risk the situation with Lou. It is not an option.
Annie sees her to the train towards seven and stands on the platform with her. It is a funny mix of closeness and distance, the relationship they have now. They have known each other so well as young women. Now, all these years later and both their lives in crisis, there is a connection that has nothing to do with attraction or to do with wanting to reawaken the old link. That is not in either of their minds. They feel reluctant to separate, though, and Joanna thinks that if all Annie had suggested was an evening in a decent restaurant, she would have jumped at the chance. And she would probably have saved her friend from whatever indiscretion she is about to commit tonight. But that's not what life is about. Annie must look to her own interests.
She sits on the train, last hug of goodbye over, and Annie stands on the platform, still mouthing advice through the window as the train almost imperceptibly starts to draw away from the station. Then Annie is gone and she has the four-hour and tedious journey ahead of her. The train picks up speed and heads towards the Forth Road Bridge. By the time it reaches it and slows, Joanna is asleep.
For a second, she has no idea where she is. Then the rhythm of the train as it trundles its way north brings her back to the present. She looks at her watch and then out of the window into the dark. It is after nine, which means they must be north of Perth where the line becomes a single track. At some point, near Pitlochry, they will wait for the southbound evening train and then the night train to London, before they can head on again. She is warm but stiff from the awkward position she has been in and the hunger pain she feels reminds her that she has not eaten since lunch. That seems an age ago. Hopefully, the food trolley will be along and she can buy what will inevitably be an indifferent sandwich.
The carriage is quiet, and by the time they have eventually left Pitlochry and are heading up through the glen that connects Drumochter Pass with Aviemore, she has the carriage to herself, with the exception of an elderly couple who have flask and plastic boxes on the table between them in readiness for their late supper.
She should have bought a book, having finished the one she was reading for the reading circle and not yet having replaced it with the novel for the week ahead. In the absence of anything better to do, she picks up a tabloid left by another passenger and browses it. She feels just a bit seedy from the wine and the sleep, and will be glad to be in the station and home again.
Her reflections on the day are that, overall, she is glad she made the trip, tedious as this train journey back from the capital might be. It was good, she admits to herself, to see Annie. She just wishes she could have given her more comfort over Jemmy. Mind you, she reflects, Annie is nothing if not resilient. The same wanderlust that she indulged in a few weeks ago in Edinburgh will stand her in good stead as and when she meets someone new. Grass will not grow under Annie's feet.
She looks at her watch again. Annie is probably in the heat and noise of the club by now and no doubt in the company of like-minded women. She would not be one to sit on her own and see what happens. She will have made friends for the moment, irrespective of what else happens later on tonight.
'Thank God I did not go there with her,' Joanna smiles to herself. The thought of a gay club is not something she would ever contemplate sober but, with that wine on board in the pub earlier, she just might have been tempted by Annie's exhortations. 'A close shave,' she thinks.
The words of Annie's advice come back to her.
'You have to follow your star or regret it for the rest of your life.' She can hear Annie's Edinburgh accent as if she were here in the carriage with her. The words stay with her. They are words she has heard often enough in the past in different contexts. They seem to have bigger significance tonight. It is unlike Annie to use such -- such what? -- such spiritual words.
What would Joanna's star be and where would she follow it to if she did so? Who would Joanna Rodgers be if she followed her star? Her mind goes to the other notion that has stayed with her over the weeks. That notion of leading an authentic life that they talked about with Wendy that Saturday evening -- that seems so far removed from her reality now.
'Well, if one thing is certain,' she thinks, 'it is that I am not doing that. I am not being truly myself. If I were, who would I be? Who would I be if I were truly myself?'
She knows the answer and it is uncomfortable. She would still be Joanna Rodgers. But she would be empowered beyond the life she is living now because she would not allow anyone else to trap her by what they think of her. She would be unencumbered of all the judgements and expectations of her in-laws, the Rodgers, the bosses in the department, the disapproving 'Pams' of the world and the doubting Michelles of the world. All that would simply cease to matter.
"I need to be myself"
She says it quietly but the old couple still look up and smile.
"That's right, my dear," The old grey haired lady says and returns to her book. Joanna smiles but she is not embarrassed.
"I suppose I need to be authentic with myself. That must be the way, before I can be authentic with anyone else. Joanna, what needs to change?"
She has to say the words out loud but this time she makes sure that she is not overheard.
She goes back to some forgotten words of Jim's, said just before she finished her time in therapy with him.
"Let yourself just be, Joanna. Learn that your purpose in life is not to live it according to anyone else's expectations. Until you know your true self, and live from that awareness, you will feel oppressed, whether by the memory of Stephen or Annie or the in-laws."
She remembers Jim saying the words. At the time she thought they were profound. But she just accepted them then. She may have heard them, but she did not internalise them in terms of acting on them. Only now is she thinking of the depth of the truth of them and of the shift in her that now needs to take place if she is to be true to herself. It is not that things have to change around her. It is that she has to change. God, what a lot of time she has wasted.
Can she do it? Can she sit here tonight and decide to make some life-changing adjustment as to how she lives her life? It occurs to her that it is not simply a question of struggling with all her problems -- her sexuality, her relationships, her work and everything else that burdens her. No, she could take them all one by one and come up with some sort of workable solution. It has to go somehow beyond that. Jim said it all those months ago. She thought her treatment was over. And she walked away. Only now, when she feels she is at rock bottom and the future holds no sparkle, no joy, does she see that she has a step to take, one from which she can face the world and what it throws at her again.
"I have to dare to be me." She likes the sound of what she whispers. "I give up what is not me. I give up what is not real. I give up what is not authentic." She smiles to herself as if she is coming to a wholeness that was split until just a moment ago.
"I have to stop feeling guilty. I am who I am. I am a woman who loves another woman. That is who I am. I defy anyone to judge me. I am free of what anyone thinks about that. I had so nearly forgotten who I really am."
Joanna is alert now, bubbling inside with the words that have come together for her. They are words which, in different forms, she has heard before - in encounter groups, with the Gang and, especially, with Jim. If she had listened and applied them she might be at a different place now. But it took a trip away and the time out of being alone in this railway carriage for her to realise just what it is that the notion of the authentic life is.
'Follow your star or be unhappy for the rest of your life.'
Those were Annie's words and her friend could not have known as she said them what a catalytic effect they would have on her. On their own, they were not that significant. Taken together with all the work she did with Jim and at this particular point in her life, they have jogged her into a new position. If she were having a religious conversion, this moment could not be more significant.
The words and the experience of being on this train take her back to a night, over twenty years ago, when she sat up in her bed all night, unable to sleep, thinking about Annie, the student social worker in the room next door, and making her decision about what her feelings were. It was new to her then. She had never felt like this for a woman before. She listened to her inner self that night. She acted then but she let other needs and drives take over. Then so many years went by. Not for one second does she regret Stephen and the children. But she has no need of guilt, either for being the person she is or for the Stephen who still haunts her mind. Guilt is gone. Doubt is gone. And with the departure of both, she is free.
It would be unnerving if it were not so simple. It would be unreal if it were not so profound. But here, quietly in a railway carriage, Joanna knows that she has a made a shift. She has done it alone. There has been no need of more time with Jim. And she should be exhausted and rung out. But she is not. She is energised.
The train approaches Inverness. She can see the familiar lights of the city ahead of them as the carriages edge their way slowly on the last few hundred yards to the platform. She reaches for her phone and makes a call to the house. Daniel is there and all is well. Yes, she thinks, she could be out till the morning.
They all three stand, the elderly couple and she, as they wait in the doorway for the carriage to be opened. They chat, quietly. The couple, Americans, are on holiday and are heading for Skye the following day. They ask her if she has far to go. She smiles and says her journey is just starting. They smile back and know just what she means.
"Going with the flow?" the old chap asks.
"Absolutely," she replies.
"Travel peacefully," the lady says and touches her on the arm.
At the beginning of this train journey, she would have just smiled indulgently. Now she is grateful that she has met two spirits who appreciate her metaphorical journey in some unspoken way.
She heads for her car, her energies at a new high. This is not the Joanna who had some wine and slept, exhausted and sad, just a couple of hour ago. This is a new Joanna who does not yet know how the change will make her life different. But is a Joanna who is prepared to find out.
Ten minutes later, she is knocking on her lover's door.
Geraldine takes some minutes to answer. She is in her dressing gown and has obviously been asleep. She is surprised but she sees at once from the expression on Joanna's face that there is something different. She stands back to let her in. Joanna waits till the door is closed and then says, quite simply,
"We can not throw away what we have. I can't do it any more. And I can't expect you to either."
Geraldine knows not to protest. But she is too afraid of the pain to stop herself asking just one question.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"What about Lou?"
"We'll face it together."
Joanna moves towards her lover, not in pain this time, but in silent joy. This time it is she who takes the overwhelmed Geraldine into her arms.
They talk by the embers of the fire into the small hours. The pain of the weeks floats out of them as they share what it has been like for each of them. Joanna asks her to forgive her for her lack of strength in standing up to the pressures of the outside world. And Geraldine says that it was the worst thing she has ever done when she denied Joanna. She would never do it again and thought she would never have the chance to make amends.
They do not need to ask each other if the gap they have created between them can be filled. They trust each other and they love each other. As Geraldine says, they can live from the awareness of that.
It is nearly two o'clock when they go to bed. Their lovemaking is a slow and wondrous rediscovery of their love of each other. The emptiness of the last weeks fades away as they embrace. They are not back together again. They are at a whole new place; one that, as they waken the next morning, they both believe they will not ever leave again.
"Geraldine," Lou screeches as they come down Joanna's hall reasonably early the next day.
The child, already showing signs that she will follow the male line of the family in her thin physique and stretching height, jumps up into Geraldine's arms, legs around the woman's waist and arms round her neck. The two women smile at each other at the youngster's exuberance. Her squeal of delight says it all to them. But Daniel is quite different. He appears after ten minutes or so and without a word to his mother and only an inscrutable stare at Geraldine, he leaves and lets the door bang loudly behind him. Even Lou is uncomfortable, and says,
"He's in a bad mood, isn't he?"
It is otherwise a happy morning as the child tells Geraldine all that has been happening whilst she was gone. She asks just once why Geraldine has not been round and the answer is veiled in terms of having to change jobs and having a lot of work to do because of that.
Lou tells her mother that there was a phone message for her. Daniel's writing is on the note pad by the phone. The message is from Michelle. Will Joanna ring?
With the reminder of the existence of the rest of the Gang, it comes back to Joanna in this morning of mixed elation and quiet happiness that she has the task this afternoon of being with Bobby, Wendy and Jerry. She needs this like she needs a hole in the head. She uses the phone upstairs to ring Michelle in peace, leaving daughter and partner to prepare some lunch in the kitchen.
'And, yes,' she thinks to herself. ' Partner is the right word. I have a partner as well as a lover.' The words sound good.
"Michelle? Hi. How are you?"
Michelle's voice, as sparrow-like as her physical frame, comes on the line. Joanna suspects there is going to be talk of more problems between Cindy and Sam, but that is not why Michelle has rung. She was out walking on the sands along from the village, she tells Joanna, and she suddenly had this dreadful feeling that something was wrong with the Gang. Is something wrong, she asks? Has something happened to her and Geraldine?
Joanna knows better than to dismiss Michelle's sixth sense. The woman spends a great deal of time at the spiritual centre along from the village and never boasts about the fact that she does seem to have some ability beyond the ordinary to sense when there is something adrift in other people's lives. It has happened before, once in the context of the Gang, when Bobby had a stillbirth, the only child she ever bore. Michelle rang Jerry at work the day before it happened and suggested that he should stay with his wife in case anything went wrong. She did not tell Jerry what she already knew. Instead she rang Wendy since she was a nurse and asked her what could be done. By the time Wendy and Jerry both arrived at the house, it was too late -- the baby had stopped kicking. That was fifteen years ago and Michelle has recounted other incidents along the line since then, things that have happened to members of her family or to people in the village. But it is the first time since Bobby and her lost baby that she has sensed anything about the Gang. Whether it is sixth sense or coincidence, no one in the Gang knows, but they long since decided to ignore anything that Michelle says at their peril.
But Joanna thinks she can see what has happened.
"Geraldine and I are fine. The truth is that we had a sticky patch, but we are fine now, honestly."
She feels heartened that Michelle has worried for them. Their friend has come a long way in a short time.
Mr Macnab is purring on the bed beside Joanna. He, at least, knows how well things are.
"Are you sure? It is something to do with the Gang. Something is wrong."
"Honestly, we are fine. Anyhow, I thought you did not really approve of Geraldine and me?"
"It's not that I disapprove, honestly, Joanna. It was just a shock, that's all. I don't pretend to understand but I don't judge, you know. I just want the Gang to go on."
Then she realises.
"It's not you and Geraldine. It has something to do with Wendy, doesn't it? I thought it was you, because you know what it is. You know that something is wrong, don't you?"
This feels uncanny but there is no point in denying it.
"Well, as a matter of fact, there is a bit of a problem. But it's not mine to tell, Michelle. I haven't even told Geraldine. Wendy has a problem. She asked me to help if I can to sort it out."
"When?"
"Today, as it happens."
"Does this involve Bobby?"
"Yes. But, Michelle, I don't think I should say anything else."
"That's funny. Jerry and Sam are having a pint together at the Findhorn Arms this lunchtime. Jerry doesn't usually come over here. If anything, he generally wants to go golfing if he rings Sam. We both thought that was a bit odd."
Joanna does not know what else to say. She knows she should not betray Wendy and Bobby's confidence, even within the Gang. And it is true - she has said nothing to Geraldine; just that she has to be out for a few hours over the middle of the day. Geraldine asked no questions.
"I'm sure it will sort, Michelle. You are not to worry."
But Michelle is decidedly worried and Joanna has the shrewd suspicion that her friend will now put two and two together.
As if echoing her thoughts, Michelle says,
"Let's hope so. If anyone can help with this, you can. As long as the Gang survives. And that will mean a bit of damage limitation, I doubt."
Is it intuition, sixth sense or just an astute guess - Joanna is none the wiser.
But she leaves the call with a half promise to let Michelle know that things are well. Then she gathers Mr Macnab into her arms and heads back down stairs. As she descends the steps, she savours the thought that the call has brought one new and good thing into place in her life. Michelle has sorted her head as far as Geraldine and she are concerned. That feels good.
She wonders if some of that acceptance of her and Geraldine has come from Joanna's own inner acceptance of who she truly is. If she and Geraldine were still estranged, Michelle and she would never have had the conversation that they have just had.
Her good feeling is short lived. Yesterday's post, unopened overnight is waiting for her on the hall table. It went unnoticed in the flurry of Lou's welcome and Mary's departure.
There is a court citation waiting for her in a civil case being brought by Martha Jane Rodgers against her in relation to Louise Stephanie Rodgers. She is to appear in cour four days from now.
She has had such little notice, such little time to consider what to tell Lou and to contact her own solicitor. She finds herself thinking the trivial thought that at least her best suit is going to be slack enough for her will look well in it. It is a thought she dismisses in a flash of irritation at herself. She comes into the kitchen and makes a fuss of the cheese scones that Lou has been making, with no small amount of adult assistance, and she silently passes the letter to Geraldine.
Geraldine says nothing in front of the child, just folds the letter and puts it back into its envelope.
"What are we doing today, Mum?" The oblivious Lou asks.
Certain that her friend will agree, she comes up with a suggestion.
"I vote we all go along to Elgin. Mummy's got to see Wendy and Bobby, and Wendy can come in the car with us. You and Geraldine could go the park and have some time at the swings. Then if we want, we can have tea at the coffee house in Findhorn and call in and see Michelle. Cindy might show you her latest fashions."
Geraldine nods. It was going to be a day on her own for her before Joanna came round last night.
"All I have to do is ring Judy and tell her my good news," She says with a wink at Joanna.
"What good news?" Lou asks, curious as any child of her age.
"The good news that we three have lots of time together again," Geraldine smiles at Lou.
They have a few moments to talk while Lou is brushing her teeth and getting ready to go out.
"How do you feel about tackling this?" Geraldine asks of the court hearing.
"Actually, I feel different than I would have if I had read this yesterday. Today, after last night on the train and after coming back to you, I feel angry and ready for a fight. They will have a real battle on their hands to take Lou from me."
"You may be risking Lou by coming back to me."
"I can't pretend anymore, Geraldine. I just can't. I thought about this long and hard on the train. I would be living a lie for all the years ahead, till Lou is sixteen or so. That would put me into my early fifties. And if you live a lie for too long, I imagine you diminish yourself beyond the retrievable. I would end up a shell. No. I'm prepared to argue my case on the basis of the truth of who I am. I'll tell Ed that in the morning as soon as his office opens. He can look to case precedent on this court case. That is," she thinks to check, "If you are prepared for me to do that?"
Geraldine smiles.
"Yes, Ms Rodgers, I am ready. I was before and I am again. I may have faltered, but I'm right here, back with you. I won't let you down. Let them ask what they want to."
"And another thing, Geraldine. I've been thinking. I don't want to be called Rodgers any more. Not even 'Ms'. My name was Waters before I married. I am going to revert to that."
"Why?"
"Would you want to be called Rodgers if you were me?"
"I take your point," Geraldine smiled with a wry expression. "What about Lou?"
"Let's ask her, shall we?"
Joanna strikes whilst the iron is hot. When Lou comes back down stairs, she says that she has been thinking that now that she and Lou are starting to have a new time with Geraldine, she would like to have the name that her mother and father had before Lou was born. It is the name Joanna had before she married Lou's dad. What does Lou think?
Lou wants to know what her own name will be. Lou can choose -- Rodgers or Waters, her mother tells her.
"Waters," Lou says.
"Why would you like that?" Geraldine asks.
The child, not too sure what all this is about, still knows that it is important.
"To be the same as Mummy, of course." Then she has another thought. "Will Daniel be Waters too?"
"Jeremy and Daniel can both choose for themselves," Joanna reassures her daughter, looking over at Geraldine as she does so.
Joanna thinks she might pitch in with the problem of the court, but she has no idea how to tell a child that she might just have to go and live elsewhere. She leaves it alone for now. Maybe the child will never have to know any of this. And sensing just what is going through her lover's mind, Geraldine nods and suggests they had better get a move on whilst there is still a good bit of the short day left.
Joanna rings Wendy and the plan changes as they all think about the best way to have everyone together but to give Wendy and Joanna time to talk. Lou and Geraldine will walk on the Findhorn beach and visit the whole food shop and the bookshop with all its New Age music and spiritual and psychological books. Geraldine wants to look for texts on art therapy that she feels could help some of her patients with dementia and she thinks there will be plenty of children's books to interest Lou as well.
So, two hours later, Wendy and Joanna drop the two others at the slipway by the yacht club on what is a glorious and still sunny day in early winter. The pair are well wrapped up and they know that the exercise of playing in the sand and walking will keep their circulations stimulated and their bodies warm. They will walk to the spiritual centre from the beach and Joanna will pick them up there. Joanna could not feel more secure in leaving her daughter with anyone than she does with Geraldine.
"Wendy," she says almost as soon as they are alone for the twenty-minute drive to Bobby's house, "What do you hope to get out of today?"
After a long silence in which she thinks about the question and Joanna manoeuvres the car out of the village and back to the main road, Wendy finally says just two words.
"To survive."
"Do you think it will be that bad?"
"Yes, I do actually. Look at it from Bobby's point of view."
They do not need to rehearse how that must be. Joanna knows that Bobby has been deceived and that Wendy and Jerry were doing this long before Lanzerote, long before Bobby's birthday party and long before the supper they all five had together when Joanna and Geraldine's relationship was discussed. How many more times, Joanna chooses not to ask. On the way to Elgin, she has little idea how the session will go, but she just hopes that Wendy is wide of the mark and that it is nowhere as near serious as being about survival. She is not too confident, though, but she says nothing.
They are a nervous Wendy and a worried Joanna who arrive outside the bungalow in its cul-de-sac. The sun is beginning to drop towards the horizon and the lights are already on in the lounge that faces the road. Joanna wonders just what she has let herself in for. She would like to be back on the back on Findhorn beach with the people she loves most.
It is Bobby, of course, who shows them in. She does it with just a weak smile at Joanna and she can barely look at Wendy. But she manages to say, 'Hello, Wendy'. Wendy manages 'Hi', in reply. Joanna reminds herself that these two are as much friends as everyone else in the Gang. She needs to hold on to that right now. So do they.
They are shown into the lounge in silence. It is empty. Jerry is not there. Joanna looks at Bobby, waiting for her to explain.
"He's just coming," she says. "He's working on the computer."
Jerry is an IT expert and he works at the local college. The three women sit in three separate armchairs, Joanna taking up position so that she can see the expression on Jerry's face when he finally shows.
"Jerry," Bobby calls finally, her voice patient. "They're here."
And the moment that Jerry comes through the door, Joanna knows how this will go. Sheepish is not too strong a way to describe how the great bear of a man looks. Always a gentle man and one who, till now, she thought lived only for his wife, he has clearly made his decision. He has told Bobby the truth and has played to save his marriage this way. He comes into the room, hands in pocket, and does not kiss either of his two guests. In other circumstances, the charming Jerry would always do this. Today, a kiss on Wendy's cheek would be an insult to her and an anathema to Bobby -- Joanna can see that. Instead, he gives first her and then Wendy a weak smile and comes in to sit on the sofa -- beside Bobby. He leans forward on the sofa, elbows on knees and finally says,
"It was a mistake."
Bobby looks ill and grey. She is looking now to Joanna to say something, to lift them all from this mess. And in an instant, Joanna knows that Bobby is devastated, Wendy is humiliated and Jerry is safe - scarred but safe.
She gathers her wits, from this, the quickest of appraisals.
"It seems to me that now everyone knows the basic truth of the matter. The question is - where do each of you go from here?"
She turns to Bobby.
"Bobby, you have two decisions to take. You have to decide what to do about Jerry. And you have to decide what to do about Wendy."
Bobby sits silent and still. She is composed but Joanna can see that she is right on the edge of her emotions. Finally she speaks, looking at Joanna and not at the other two.
"Jerry has promised me that it is over. I have to learn how to forgive and trust him again. That will take time. A bit of me died today. That's as much as I can say about Jerry just now."
"When did he tell you?" Joanna asks as she tries to gauge just how raw Bobby will be.
"Just before you arrived. He and Sam talked this morning. He says Sam thought it would be for the best," Bobby answers, referring to her husband in the third person as if he were not there. And at one level, he is not there, as he is not in her affections at the moment.
Joanna asks Bobby again,
"And what about you and Wendy?"
Wendy starts to say something, but Joanna nods quietly to her to let Bobby answer and she stops.
Now Bobby looks directly at Wendy.
"How could you?" There is more enquiry than animosity behind the question.
Wendy seems to choose her words after some thought. She glances at Jerry and then says,
"It was pretty meaningless as a fling. I want you to know that, Bobby. And I fell into it without truly thinking it out. I would not have hurt you for the world. I just did not mean it to go on and I certainly did not mean you to find out. It was just not that significant, I suppose."
She looks now with something like disdain at Jerry and says,
"I never did put as much emphasis on physical encounters as most women do. I should have thought about how you would feel about it, Bobby, and I didn't."
Now it seems to Joanna that Jerry is the one being humiliated. But at least Wendy is saying the right things, though Joanna doubts their sincerity. Joanna knows from their previous conversation how Wendy felt about Jerry as a place to offset the failed marriage she feels herself to be in. Jerry was important to Wendy, no matter what she is saying now.
"Jerry, I guess this is hard for you, having all of us here. Is there anything I can say to make this easier, now or later?" Joanna tries to make some sort of connection with the man who is still looking at the floor, head bowed.
When he looks up, there is raw anger in his face. Joanna knows this is to the good. Gentle Jerry would much more easily say nothing and seethe later. At least, they will all know where he is coming from and what that will mean for the future. What each of them says here matters. It will be something that they will all have to hold to. It will be something that will cement them, whether they like it or not.
But what he says is tempered, as if he knows that he holds the key to sorting out this mess. He may be angry, but he is also suddenly confident.
"Bobby and I will no doubt be OK. At the end of the day, I love her and we go back a long time. I deeply regret ever getting entangled with you, Wendy, and I will as long as I live. In fact, I just hope that Bobby has the good sense never to see you again."
'So, he is leaving the impression that Wendy is some sort of scarlet woman, is he,' Joanna thinks, protective of her friend. 'That's not on.'
"Come on, Jerry," she challenges him, "Wendy is no more in the wrong in this than you are yourself. You're not suggesting that she led you astray? Or are you?"
Bobby laughs.
"Typical. For God's sake, Jerry, it takes two to tango. You're a bit long in the tooth to be trying that line."
Jerry sees the funny side for a second and he laughs quietly in an abstracted way. If any one else in the room realizes, at least they ignore the fact that some memory - presumably of a seduction scene between him and Wendy - is playing itself out in his mind.
"No. You're right." He gives Wendy a glance in acknowledgment of apology.
"Anyway, Jerry," Bobby raises her voice for the first time, " I'll decide who my friends are. You certainly won't. And that goes for Wendy. She and I have been friends for a long time. It's between her and me whether we go on from here."
"And your lesbian pals?" Jerry launches the words like a missile. It is not the words; it is the way he says them that is meant to sting. It does sting Joanna. She sits quietly, though, as though unfazed, and lets Bobby reply.
"And my lesbian friends. And don't you ever speak in pejorative tones about my friends again." Bobby is quiet, firm, determined.
Jerry could not have played his cards in worse fashion. Joanna knows that they are all but through the woods.
"Bobby, have you decided what you want to do about you and Wendy?"
Bobby looks again at Wendy
"It is truly over?"
"Yes. I am no threat to you and never was."
"True. But you deceived me."
"Yes. I know. But I want your friendship, Bobby. Yours and the Gang's. The Gang won't be the Gang anymore if we don't sort this out."
"You won't deceive me again?"
Wendy shakes her head. Everyone in the room can see that she is in earnest. The two women will make it. 'Bobby is some woman to handle this like this', Joanna thinks. 'I'd have torn the eyes out of any woman who had a fling with Stephen.' But it is not time for praise. She turns to Jerry.
"Jerry, can you and Wendy see each other in the future without either ending up back in an affair or going at each other's throats?"
Jerry and Wendy were neither of them expecting the question. They look at each other in silent communication. A whole new future has to be determined in the course of a few minutes. What does each of them want to do in all the circumstances?
Wendy speaks first.
"My women friends mean most to me in this now. And it won't help anything if Toby finds out. Jerry is only one of the issues."
She looks at Bobby. Bobby shakes her head. She will not say anything to Toby.
"There's been enough damage," she says to Wendy, by way of promise. Jerry nods in silent agreement. No doubt he does not want Toby's wrath on his doorstep.
"So if it helps us to go on being friends," Wendy continues, "I do not mind either seeing Jerry when all of us in the Gang socialise, or not seeing him, depending on what you think, Bobby."
Wendy could not have put more on a plate for Bobby if she had tried. It is also clever. Bobby has the control of the future. Bobby says nothing. She looks at Jerry.
"Jerry?"
"I like Wendy. I always did, long before we ...long before it all happened. If we see each other, it will be in company. Anyway, nothing will happen again. It's over."
Joanna does not know why she is so certain, but she believes him. On a hunch, she says,
"Hating each other will not help, either, Jerry, Wendy."
"Indifference is a better place than hate, believe me." Jerry's words are cutting but then they are the words of a bruised man. She can let them go. Wendy looks at the floor. No matter the position she is adopting, that remark hurt.
Bobby comes in.
"I guess it will all take time."
"Where do we go from here"? Joanna asks.
Jerry laughs and says,
"I vote we start as we mean to go on."
"How?" Bobby asks, relinquishing control, at least superficially, to the man who during all their marriage has looked after her and the way they live.
"Let's have a drink and toast the future and everyone's survival."
But Joanna looks at her watch and says,
"Actually, Geraldine and Lou are at Findhorn. I need to pick them up."
"Well, let's go to Findhorn," Jerry suggests. "I owe you and Geraldine a drink, I think."
That is as far as he can do to withdraw his dig at Geraldine and her and she smiles at him. And she also sees an opportunity.
"Jerry, why do you not come in the car with me, and Wendy and Bobby can come behind us?"
No one disagrees and Joanna knows that this will give the two women a chance to talk in private. But before she gets up to leave, she asks,
"Is there anything we should be saying before we go that we'll regret later if we don't?"
There is a silence and then Bobby asks,
"Do Sam and Michelle know? Does Geraldine know?"
"Sam knows," Jerry says, looking a bit awkward, I had to talk to someone."
'Fair enough,' Joanna thinks, conceding that Jerry has had a big life crisis to face alone. Aloud, she says,
"Geraldine has not asked. I think she knows something is up. And Michelle's antennae are up. She knows something is wrong and probably guesses."
"Sam will have told her," Jerry reasons. Then he continues, "Would this be as good a chance as any to meet up? We could all have supper at the Findhorn pub."
He goes off to ring Sam and the women resist the temptation to try to hear what is said. That would not be the way forward. And as they head for the cars a few minutes later, Bobby turns to Joanna and just says,
"Thank you."
The two cars arrive almost at the same time and as Wendy and Bobby get out of theirs, Joanna can see at a glance that they have made some form of peace between them. Whatever has been said, they have ensured that the Gang will continue.
Cindy agrees to look after Lou and an hour later, the five women and the two men are sitting holding the kind of ordinary conversation that follows a crisis. The talk is low key, the humour easy and the caution amongst them as they regroup is palpable. But it is good that it is happening. Bobby is reasonably at ease, and Geraldine has the instinctive sense to chat to Wendy; Michelle to Jerry.
And later, on the way home, Lou asleep in the back and curled up against Wendy, Geraldine asks,
"Is any one going to enlighten me?"
Wendy laughs.
"I suppose so. You seem to be the only one who does not know."
And an hour later again, the child in bed and Joanna and Geraldine having a mug of hot chocolate before they separate, Joanna has a thought which she shares with her friend.
"I doubt I would have been any use to them if I hadn't had that train journey yesterday."
Geraldine laughs.
"From barely coping yourself in life to enabling others to move on, and all in one go. I like it."
As she gets into bed, Joanna thinks that the Gang may be fragile right now but it is still their Gang. She has played a big part in that. But then, today, each and every one of them did. Her last thought is to wonder if Toby, the only one not party to the day's proceedings will ever be any the wiser. She suspects not. But she also suspects that Wendy and he will make out and that he will be a part of their circle of friends in the future.
Across the desk from them, Ed is looking serious. Joanna knows that it would be an expression of worry if his professional role permitted that look.
She and Geraldine have just explained. They intend to fight this issue of Lou's future together. He has not tried to dissuade them He knows that they are far too set on their path for him to do that.
"But I do have to point out the fundamental change you are making to what may happen. Now the issue is one where you are maintaining that you are in a relationship with another woman and that it can still be in Lou's best interests to remain with you." He looks at them in turn as they nod their agreement. "You are changing the situation from us arguing, Joanna, that you are a single parent family to a position in which you are prepared to argue that you are in a relationship and it remains in the child's best interests to be raised by you, possibly with Ms Spence here in the same house."
Again, they both nod.
Ed has no choice but to labour the distinction. And he knows that their minds are set. He accepts that his legal representation is about to change. He leans forward and says,
"Fine. So be it. I suggest we start rehearsing the facts and the issues."
Geraldine smiles at him. This is only the second time she has met him but she has clearly taken to him.
"Thank you. If you had said anything else today, I might yet have persuaded Joanna that this was not a good idea."
Ten minutes later, after Geraldine has talked at some length about her own family and professional life, Ed smiles at her in turn and says,
"Until we had this conversation, I might have been persuaded myself to advise against this course of action. But you are two mature and sensible women, each of who is well able to bring quality of life to any child. I think the issues in front of you are threefold. One: to persuade the court that you are a fit mother, Joanna, and that the testimonies of the Rodgers are just malicious. Two: to persuade the court that you can provide an appropriate upbringing for Lou as two women in a relationship together." He stops and looks at them.
"Three?" Joanna asks, unsure that there is anything else.
Ed hesitates.
"Joanna, do you remember, back on the day when you read Stephen's suicide letter here in my office?"
Joanna pales and looks at him.
"Yes."
I said that day that I would have to deliver other letters.
"Oh God," she groans aloud. "What letters?"
Geraldine is looking at her, concerned.
"Stephen left instructions," he says, looking now at Geraldine, "That if ever this situation arose, I was to deliver letters to various persons. One is to go to you, Geraldine, as the woman that Joanna has chosen to have a relationship with. I know that this will not be easy, Joanna, but I took the liberty of having the letter here for this meeting."
Recognition is dawning on Geraldine. She nods. Ed reaches to the ever-thickening file on his desk and removes a white envelope with what Joanna recognises with rising fury is Stephen's handwriting. It says, 'To the lesbian in Joanna's life'. Geraldine leans forward and accepts the letter. She looks at it. She turns it over and taps it on one hand. She looks at Joanna. Then, very slowly, with no expression, she tears it, unopened in two.
"Do you have a waste paper bin, Ed?"
Ed takes the letter, face equally expressionless, and deposits the paper in the bin at his feet.
"Will you read that?" Joanna asks, knowing that the letter is now available.
"Not if you do not wish me to. Before you decide, though, you should be aware that I now have no choice but to deliver a second letter to Jake Rodgers."
"For God's sake, how much more interference will that man inflict on me?" Joanna asks, white with contained anger. This is still a solicitor's office and she has to have regard for controlled behaviour.
"As little as we allow him," Geraldine says, her tone steely. She has not taken kindly to this attempt at manipulation from beyond the grave.
"True, but forewarned is perhaps forearmed. It just might help to know what is in the letter that Geraldine has elected not to read. A good decision, if I may say so at a purely personal level," he adds.
But Joanna shakes her head.
"Let's not fall into the trap of letting him influence us. He can do what he likes with the Rodgers. He can't influence the court, can he?"
Ed reflects.
"Testimony from the deceased has been allowed in particular circumstance. But I fail to see how anything he had to say in a letter written many months ago would be seen as pertinent."
Ed seems to come to a mental decision to accept Geraldine's wishes. He leans down and takes the letter back from the bin. He presses his intercom and his secretary appears.
"Shred this, would you, Lucy?"
A few seconds later, they hear the whir of a machine through the half open door. Ed wants no misunderstandings between them.
"I liked Ed," Geraldine says inconsequentially, as they stand outside Ed's office. But she does not succeed in diverting Joanna from that sense of impotent rage she is feeling over Stephen.
"How dare he? How could he?" she storms, as if Stephen were still alive.
"He's gone, Joanna. No harm done. He can't interfere. We won't let him."
Joanna hopes that it is going to be as simple as that. Now she hugs Geraldine in thanks for what she has just done in the office. Prurient interest could just have taken hold of a lesser mortal, she thinks to herself.
At least the hearing is in private and Lou is not present.
Ed is at Joanna's side. Across from them sit Martha and Jake's solicitor -- towards whom Joanna has taken an instant dislike. Luke Mantel is an obese, forty-plus man with an obvious sweat problem, as the beads on his brow indicate. He is as arrogant and patronising towards her and he is obsequious and deferential towards the Rodgers. It has been clear since the trio on the opposite side of this case walked into the Sheriff's chambers that he intends to have fun with Joanna's sexuality. Nothing was said to that effect. Nothing needed to be. It was the look of pure salacious malice that he gave to Joanna as she and Ed took their seats. That told her what to expect.
Geraldine is outside in the public waiting area. Nothing was going to keep her from being as close to Joanna to support her today as she could be. And Ed accepted it with good grace after he had established that the two women were prepared to take a stand together and that he could rely on them to be firm and assertive in their arguments. But since the hearing is in chambers, she has no right to be present though the proceedings. She is prepared to be called and to give a statement if the Sheriff asks to see her.
No solicitor needs faintheartedness and Ed has rehearsed Joanna well for today. It is not important in the grand scheme of things, but it may just help that Ed has taken a strongly sympathetic view of the two women's position. And at least the hearing is in private and Lou is not present. Other than that, it has to be one the worst experiences of Joanna's life.
Mantel takes what Joanna can only think is spurious and spicy delight in laying out the grounds for the Rodgers' application. Joanna listens in silence, bolstered by Ed's prior warning that the words would be unpleasant and that she should prepare for them. They would only be words, he assured her, and it was his job to refute them. So the two of them listen in silence, expressionless and unmoving as the alleged gross behaviour of the two lovers is portrayed as damaging and is deemed to be corrupting to the innocence of the beloved granddaughter of Martha Rodgers.
As she steels herself to the falsehood of the words, Joanna finds that it is easy, somehow, to let them wash over her. Every word is a nail in the coffin of any compromise she might have contemplated with the Rodgers family. Every word is a nail in the coffin of her previous life as wife and then widow. And every word is the beginnings of her new life as she prepares to assert her belief in her relationship with the woman who waits for her downstairs. She believes in their joint ability to give her daughter a sound and beneficial upbringing, and she intends to state her position to the court with all the force she can muster.
In contrast to the lurid delivery of the case that Mantel lays out, Ed stands quietly to refute the case and to argue for the quality of upbringing that Lou enjoys. He is calm, measured and gentle. He treats the Mantel case with understated derision, is almost apologetic in the way he calls the Rodgers malicious, vengeful and bigoted. He attests to the happy and lively state of young Lou. And it is all done in the best possible taste, so that as he smiles with kindness at the Rodgers, he could just as well be admiring Martha's sartorial elegance as denouncing her vicious agenda.
The Sheriff wants to hear for himself from the respective sides.
Martha does not mince her words, though even she is slightly cowed in the presence of the Sheriff and the authority of the court. This does not stop her from saying what she thinks of women who sleep together. It is an unnatural abomination. Joanna is sick and that dyke, Spence, could not be trusted not to sleep with Lou herself when the child is old enough. These things happen - Jake has been reading about it, hasn't he? Jake nods in satisfaction.
Ed indicates to Joanna, just as she is about to intervene, to bide her time. She knows he is right. Losing her temper to protect Geraldine is the last thing she needs to do just now. The Sheriff listens and probes. What is the actual evidence they have that suggests that Lou is not well cared for or is at any kind of risk?
Martha is momentarily flummoxed, but Mantel intervenes. The facts speak for themselves. It is not a safe environment in which to bring a child up -- two women in a sexual relationship. The court will surely agree? By definition, it is not a morally sound way of life for a young girl.
The Sheriff says nothing. This is the kernel of the issue and they all know it. He asks Joanna what she has to say. Joanna does not like the way that is put but she gathers her wits and makes her statement, trying to hold to the same composure as she would if she were in front of the Sheriff on a client-related matter. That proves not to be so easy, but her newfound sense of purpose in her life comes back to her as she fleetingly remembers her journey north on the train from Edinburgh. This is no time for nerves.
"Your honour, it is absolutely true that I have a relationship with a woman friend. For me, it is every bit as important and stable as my marriage was when I was married. I have to say that if my husband had not left me, I doubt if I would ever have moved on from being married and living with my family. But all that happened and I entered a relationship with my friend after the most serious of consideration and with the issue of Lou's future very much in mind. My friend is herself widowed and has a daughter. Geraldine and Lou are very close, and contrary to what you have been told here today, I would trust Geraldine with my daughter before anyone else. She cares about Lou and will be a second parent figure to her ..."
"You see, Sheriff," Martha buts in, pointing a finger of accusation at Joanna. "That tart thinks it is OK for poor Lou to have two mothers."
The Sheriff glares at Martha.
"Please be quiet, Mrs Rodgers. Ms Waters is speaking. And whether it is in the child's interests to live with two women is for me to judge. Not you."
He looks at Joanna and nods to her to continue. For a second, she has to gather her wits.
"Lou has a stable and loving home. Geraldine can only enhance that. The Rodgers will twist everything in her mind and it is them she needs to be protected from."
There. She has put it in a nutshell and she sits down, Ed looking at her in quiet surprise. He somehow expected her to argue her case in more graphic terms. But then he smiles at her and waits for the Sheriff to agree that he can speak.
"Ms Waters is absolutely right, your honour. My client could not have put the case more succinctly. Lou has and will continue to have a good and loving home and one where she will flourish. Given the hostility that now prevails between the Rodgers and Ms Waters -- through no fault of Joanna, I may add -- it would not be in the child's interests to be exposed to contact with the Rodgers, even if they are close relatives."
Mantel is on his feet in a show of outraged indignation. With a wave of the hand, the Sheriff tells him to sit.
Barely deterred, Mantel produces a piece of evidence with a flourish He wants the wants the court to take it into consideration.
"You may wish to think very seriously about the suitability of Ms Waters to parent. In my view, her unsuitability goes far back, well into her time of so-called marital bliss."
He glares at Joanna as he gives the word 'Ms' a pejorative emphasis that denounces lesbianism and feminism all in one go. But that does not concern Joanna. What makes her take an inward gasp is the 'evidence' that Mantel is proffering to the Sheriff.
She recognises the document right away. It is a copy of Stephen's damning suicide note. The Sheriff takes his copy and scans it. Ed takes the copy handed to him. In the long silence that ensues, as the Sheriff reads the document, Joanna has the sense that she is being trapped and judged from beyond the grave. Yet somewhere in her she wonders if this would have been Stephen's choice if he had been here today to have his living say. Would he have chosen Martha and Jake for Lou in these circumstances? Joanna does not know the answer to that question.
But there is more. With full attention to drama, Mantel stands once more and craves the court's indulgence. His clients have just come into possession of a further letter from the father of the child Louise. He proffers a further missive to the court. He takes evident delight in passing a copy to Ed.
"You will see, Your Honour, that the father of Louise states in this letter, written just before his untimely death, that he had a strong sense of foresight. He states quite unequivocally that in the event of Joanna Rodgers entering a relationship with a woman, his express view is that his brother, Jake Rodgers, and his mother should assume the care of his daughter."
"Can he do that?" Joanna whispers angrily to Ed.
"He just did," Ed whispers ruefully. But he jumps to his feet to protest the letters -- both of them -- and to state that they must surely be irrelevant. Stephen Rodgers is dead.
The Sheriff says nothing. He will consider. He retires and they sit in awkward silence. Ed and Mantel are used to this part of proceedings. Ed, in other circumstances would have had a quiet chat with his counterpart solicitor but today that would just not be appropriate. He steers Joanna out for some fresh air. Geraldine is watching through the open waiting room door and comes to join them, saying nothing, and just giving Joanna a questioning smile. She can see for herself that Joanna is shaken.
"They gave the Sheriff Stephen's letter. And another one."
Geraldine has not seen the letter; no one has except the Rodgers and Joanna - not before today anyway. But she knows the significance. She scans them as Joanna indicates to Ed that she wants her to see them. She reads them in silence.
"So they are arguing that the question of your suitability goes way beyond me." Geraldine looks at Ed.
Ed nods. Then he reassures his client.
"It's a suicide letter, Joanna. Someone whose mental balance was disturbed wrote it. I'll say all that as I make my summing up comments. Don't worry."
But she is worried.
"How can you prove a negative, Ed? How can you prove that you are not a bad influence on your own daughter?"
"By proving that you are a good mother, Darling," Geraldine whispers, taking her hand and squeezing it."
They are called back in. Joanna and Ed make their way back to the room and sit, Joanna without looking at the other parties, and waiting for the Sheriff's return. They all stand in polite silence as he enters.
He sits, looks at them all, indicates that they should now sit and starts to speak. He will not come to a judgement today. He wants to know more about Joanna's parenting ability and he wants to see how the child is currently faring. He also wants to know more about Geraldine Spence and about the two women's plans for their future and that of Lou. He will make a judgement on what is in the best interests of the child on the basis of a report to the court. He will appoint a Curator to investigate and report.
The whole thing is left in the air. He has given no deliberation on any of the issues. But what he has not said, Ed advises her as they walk back downstairs, is that being in a relationship with Geraldine is not of itself reason for him to find in the Rodgers' favour. It was as Ed expected the case to go.
That evening, as she and Geraldine hold each other in the quiet of Geraldine's lounge, Joanna still smarting from the proceedings of the day with their inbuilt humiliation of her, Geraldine does her best to reassure her. Her lover's home is beautiful and it is the home of a child-focussed family. Lou is a bright, high-functioning and open child who will be the first to say to anyone that she is happy with her mother. She has no great desire to go to the Rodgers, even to visit, and that will come out. She performs well at school and she is well balanced and adjusted. She has taken to Geraldine being around and accepts the relationship within the bounds of her understanding. In fact, Geraldine points out, she positively loves Geraldine being around.
"But what about all the nasty innuendoes that Mantel made?"
"We just refute them - absolutely. Treat them as nonsense and suggest they are motivated by revenge. That's all we can do."
Geraldine stays silent for a while and then Joanna asks what she is thinking.
"I know it's none of my business and tell me to mind my own business. But I was wondering about Stephen's suicide letter. It hurt you a lot, didn't it?"
Joanna wants to tell her. Geraldine is talking about the stuff between her and Stephen, not the stuff in the letters about Lou. She feels the tears beginning to flow silently down her cheeks as Geraldine just holds her in the semi-light.
"We had a time of sexual problems just after Daniel was born. Stephen called me a frigid dyke and blamed it all on me. I just didn't feel like sex and he said all the problems were an illness of sexual dysfunction. He talked about that in the letter and said if he had not insisted, we would never have had Lou. The words he used were vile."
"At the time or in the letter?"
"Both," Joanna says quietly, the pain of the words hitting her afresh.
But Geraldine surprises her with her next question.
"Did he force you into sex with him to have Lou?"
Joanna says nothing. Geraldine holds her tightly. Eventually, she finds the words.
"We had better and worse times over the years. Before Lou was conceived, things were pretty bad. I suffered sex in the last few months before Lou was conceived. I just lay there passively. It was as much an act of defiance to do that, as it was revulsion at the time. I never admitted to whether I had an orgasm or not. It was an act of empowerment to make him suffer for all the backbiting. I suppose I was in a phase of wanting to castrate him over the treatment he was handing out to me over the Gang. I'm not proud of it now and it was a phase that passed. But for a time I hated sex with him. I used to think of Annie and want her back whilst it was happening. Then, when I knew that I was pregnant again, I was happy about it at one level but I felt trapped at another."
"How did you feel about Lou when she was born?"
"It changed. As soon as I saw her I just loved her. In a funny way, she was the more special because I had been so cold when she was conceived. I wanted to make it up to her every day for the rest of her life."
"And Stephen?"
"I hated sex with him after Daniel, really. When Daniel was two months old, Stephen decided that I'd hade enough recuperation time and he wanted it every night when we went to bed. It wasn't love making, It was just bonking. I never really forgave him for that time, even though it got better."
Geraldine listens quietly; learning for the first time that Joanna's sex life was not the easy, passionate experience she has till now assumed.
" After Lou was born, I had a closed down spell, really. It was not much to do with Stephen. I just wasn't interested for while. But we went on with it after that till we separated and sometimes when he came round afterwards. I needed him and it was the way to keep him coming back to the house. Right up to his death, a part of me wondered if we would get back together again. It was a very complex relationship, Geraldine." She says the last words by way of feeble explanation and they both know it.
Her lover is quiet for a while as she absorbs this. Then she asks, her tone barely concealing her distress,
"Where does this leave us?"
"Just where we are right now, as far as I'm concerned. The day I came to you was the day I closed down finally on Stephen. I didn't want him sexually but I needed him. He was a very powerful force in my life, right up till you came for me."
"Are you sure it's over? He doesn't have to be alive for him to have a hold on you."
"Absolutely," Joanna looks seriously at her lover's face in the semi-light. "Absolutely."
Geraldine gives her a squeeze. Joanna can feel her sadness.
"Don't fret over the past. It is the past." Joanna reassures her.
"I know. It's hard though. I'll never share that part of you that is heterosexual."
"Geraldine, don't. You sound like Stephen. That's what he felt, except the other way round. I chose you and I probably would have done if he had still been alive. I just can't prove that to you."
"Or to yourself."
She hears the depth of hurt in Geraldine. For the first time, there is some dissonance between them and Joanna knows she has to hold them together. This moment is pivotal.
"You know, my personal identity was hard come by. I fought long and hard to overcome all the expectations on me from family, from social pressures and from Stephen. I have faced oppression and unadulterated hatred from people like Martha. I don't want to end up being misunderstood by you, Geraldine. You are the product of a whole life crisis of choosing my identity. I am happy with the route I have chosen as my route for life from here on in." She looks as deep into Geraldine's eyes as she can, wanting to see into her very soul. "You have no need to be jealous of the past or of that part of me that still exists. I identify with women. And I always will."
Geraldine relaxes. Their gaze is unwavering. She quietly puts the palm of her hand to Joanna's cheek.
"You are right. I could cause havoc with my own uncertainties. I suppose I just have to keep believing that this is real and not something that will break."
She leans forward to kiss Joanna.
They make love, eyes open and fixed on each other's, searching in their emotions for that connection that will remind them that each is significant to the other in a way that transcends all their other life experiences. Later, in the late evening before Joann has to go home and in their exhaustion of passion spent, they know that they have found it. And as Geraldine says in the whispers of their intimacy, they have moved to a new place -- a place that no one will be able to destroy. They have found that connection. No matter the outcome of the court hearing, they each know the depth of their feelings for each other.
Towards eleven, Joanna wakens from a short deep sleep in Geraldine's arms. Lying quietly, she reflects on the challenge ahead of her. If she had not had that experience on the train, she doubts if she would be able to face the days to come. She knows that it is not just the strength of Geraldine's commitment to her that matters just now. There is something new happening inside her. No one has been harder on her over the years than she has been on herself. That is fading. She is becoming free of what others think, and with that is coming something new and invigorating. She is giving herself permission to live life according to what she believes and desires. She feels as refreshed as if she has just risen from a round the clock slumber.
One week from now will be Christmas Eve. Jeremy is due home that day, wanting first to enjoy the festivities in his university city right up to the last moment. She still has not had final confirmation that Daniel is definitely inviting Zoe to join them for Christmas lunch.
And tonight, a Mrs Lock, the appointed Curator, is due at six o'clock to interview them. The letter came from the court just yesterday and it asks if Ms Spence could also be present. This delighted Joanna and Geraldine was pleased at the prospect of having her say and supporting her friend at the same time. Joanna does not know Mrs Lock, but she is well rehearsed as to what she wants to say to her. She chose a date when she knew that Daniel would definitely be at home. Her son has made it clear that he will do all it takes to persuade this official that Lou should be with her mother. 'A strong case of being united by the common enemy', she found herself thinking, as the atmosphere between mother and son and between son and Geraldine shows no sign of easing.
And they spent the weekend preparing Lou for the fact that a lady would be coming to talk to her.
"What about?" the child asked.
They decided to tell her as best they could.
Gran Rodgers and Uncle Jake would like her to go and live with them.
"But I don't want to," the child answered immediately, mistaking the reason as being her reluctance to go and visit her grandmother in recent weeks. Joanna tried to explain. It was because Gran Rodgers thought that it would be better if Lou were living with her than with Mum, now that Geraldine was staying so much. The child could not see what the problem was.
"But I like Geraldine. We all do lots of things together." The child was by this time, near to tears.
They rehearsed the idea of 'special friend' again, not using the words that carry so much negative connotation but making it as clear as possible that their special friendship was a bit like being married. Except, they were two women and so it was like having a second Mum in the house.
They knew it was dangerous to cover the whole business so quickly but they felt it was better that Lou knew than that they could be accused of keeping her in the dark and pretending that things were other than they are.
And they waited as the child said little but went quiet and deeply thoughtful for a while. She went away to that unreachable place she used to retire to within herself just after Stephen died. Even Daniel tried to talk to her to no avail.
Jeremy rang somewhere over the weekend and Joanna told him what was happening. He asked to speak to Lou. What happened in that conversation, neither Joanna nor Geraldine knew, but the child was more relaxed afterwards. And Lou's affection for Geraldine remained as warm and comfortable as usual. So all they could do now was wait for the longer-term reaction. At bedtime on Sunday night, Lou gave her mother a serious look and said just one thing.
"I don't want to ever leave you, Mummy."
Now, Tuesday, it is six o'clock and they are all waiting for the lady from the court to arrive. Lou is quite clear. She will tell the lady that she is not going to Gran's. The doorbell goes.
"Can I answer it? Please." And then when Joanna is about to say that she will go, Lou repeats, "Please, Mum."
Joanna relents and glances at Geraldine who is sitting watching the evening news. Daniel is staying in his room for now. Joanna registers that she has not heard Lou's voice. She switches off the TV in readiness for the interview. It registers with Joanna that she has not heard Lou's voice and the anticipated speech to the Curator that she does not want to live anywhere but here. Then Mrs Lock walks in to the sitting room. They are all surprised. It is someone they know, or at least Joanna knows, who now appears in the lounge. It is Pam.
Joanna looks perplexed as Lou shows their guest into the room. The reading circle is over for the season. Why is Pam here? Then it dawns with a sickening shock. Pam is a solicitor. Of course. She did not recognise the surname on the letter and the letterhead was from the court and not from Pam's firm. Pam is Pam Lock. She remembers that now. They so seldom use each other's surnames at the Reading Circle.
Pam is looking as awkward as Joanna is feeling. She hastens to explain.
"I have just started taking on Curator duties, Joanna. I did talk to the Sheriff about this since I have prior knowledge of you. But he reasoned that I really barely know you and they are so short of Curators. This was going to have to wait till well into February if I did not accept the appointment."
Joanna has no real objection to the fact that she knows Pam already. What is terrifying her is that this is the woman who made all the fuss about 'The Prime Of Jean Brodie'. This is the woman who did not want 'Oranges' discussed. This is the woman who was afraid to have literature like that lying around in front of her teenage daughters. What chance will they have of any kind of objective appraisal from Pam Lock?
Geraldine realises how shocked Joanna is and gets up to stand by her.
"We haven't met. My name is Geraldine Spence." She puts out her hand to shake Pam's, her manner mild but firm.
Pam has little choice but to shake the proffered hand. The way she does so makes Joanna think wryly to herself, 'don't worry. It's not contagious, you know. You can't catch lesbianism.'
She toys quickly with the option of challenging this Curator's appointment. To Geraldine, she says,
"Pam and I know each other already."
Geraldine looks concerned. She nods and she is the one to raise the question.
"Well, does that affect your likely judgement, Mrs Lock? I would hesitate in my own profession to take on a piece of work in similar circumstances."
Pam's words in response are measured -- probably already rehearsed before she came to the house and in anticipation of this very criticism.
"I think I can be objective. I do not know Joanna and Lou terribly well and all I would say is that what I have seen of mother and daughter together has been very positive."
Joanna recalls the evening when Lou handed round the savouries. Maybe she can have some confidence in Pam. Perhaps they are off to a good start. She glances at Geraldine with an enquiring look. Geraldine gives a shrug that seems to indicate that it might be as well to continue. Lou has watched all this, seeing that it is sensitive for reasons she does not comprehend, and knowing that she is at the heart of the meeting. She breaks the potential impasse.
"Are you here to ask me if I want to stay with Mum?" she asks with the straightforward approach that only a child can bring to something like this.
"Well, something like that," Pam starts and then tries to tell her how she is too young in the court's eyes to be able to express an informed opinion. Lou is having none of that.
"I love my Mummy. I want to stay with her and Geraldine."
Pam smiles, a vaguely adult to child smile that says, 'Yes dear. I'm sure you do'.
"Please sit down," Joanna invites her, the relationship between the two of them fundamentally changed in the last five minutes. This is no discussion group now about interesting books.
Pam asks to talk to the two women alone and also to talk to Lou later, also on her own. And could she see Daniel? Lou looks put out at the suggestion of leaving this meeting but accepts Joanna's request without protest that she should go and watch TV. Joanna silently blesses her for her quiet obedience. She knows how reluctantly Lou has left the room.
Pam starts the interview on the areas that are contested by her in-laws about physical standards and general care of the child. These are not too difficult to deal with. Pam has been in the house on a number of occasions and has seen for herself the high standard of domestic living in every sense that Joanna ensures. Geraldine listens quietly and watchfully as Joanna trots through her answers. It is not too difficult to refute that Lou is kept in a dirty state or that she is in any way neglected. Nor is there any problem in producing a statement from the school about her general adjustment, happy disposition and excellent scholastic progress.
They come to the question of Joanna's opposition to Lou seeing her grandmother.
"I don't want her corrupted or in conflict because of the way they judge me. I am taking this position to protect her." Joanna says it quietly, without rancour.
"They would say," Pam points out, looking straight at her to gauge her reaction, "That it is you who corrupt her -- by virtue of your homosexuality."
Joanna keeps her cool,
"Point one. I am not homosexual. I am bisexual. And incidentally, no one says homosexual anymore. It's always gay or lesbian." She bites her tongue. She did not need to risk raising the woman's hackles with a lecture on politically correct jargon.
"Point two," she goes on before Pam can respond. "I do not in an any sense corrupt her. I am her mother. She knows all she needs to know consistent with her age, at this point. It would be far more damaging to her to be in a bad relationship with a heterosexual couple -- or with Martha with her bigoted views, come to that -- than with Geraldine and me."
Geraldine hears the change in tone of her friend's words as it turns confrontational and steps in.
"Mrs Lock, Joanna has had a tough decision to make in choosing me as her partner. But it would have been a far worse situation for her and for Lou if she had chosen a life of pretence and lived without love in her life. Pretence and concealment, whether to yourself or to your family, can only produce stress and anger. It would be a half-life of lies of omission - I can assure you of that. Joanna would be less fulfilled and Lou less rich in her upbringing."
Joanna listens to her psychologist friend, enjoying the words she is hearing and hoping that Pam will not react negatively to the fact that she is listening to an expert. But Geraldine has the wit to know that tonight she is not the expert -- she is the interviewee and no more. She stops and waits for Pam to ask her a question, her manner polite and unassuming.
"That's as may be," Pam concedes, "But how can a child of her tender years deal with two women as parent figures? That's not normal."
They watch in concealed amusement as Pam recognises her mistake. It is a gift and Geraldine accepts the opportunity it provides.
"I think we all know that the idea of normal is becoming outdated in our multi-layered culture and society. At worst in this case, it is heterosexist to talk in these terms. We cannot assume that everyone in society is heterosexual. In this day and age, that's discrimination."
Challenged, Pam tries another tack.
"The Rodgers assert that Lou is at sexual risk now and in the future from you both, and from you in particular, Mrs Spence."
Geraldine keeps her cool. She is not the angry type. Her anger, when she uses it, is a technique she deploys from time to time in confronting issues with her patients. Joanna watches as she uses it now.
"I find that reprehensible, Mrs Lock. I do not know why the Rodgers would say such a thing. There is absolutely no question that I would ever corrupt a child. My whole professional task has been based on the protection of children."
"Until now," Pam interjects, looking at her notebook. "I am not sure that your employer agrees." Her tone is icy.
Joanna stares, her emotions a jumble of feelings -- that Geraldine is unfairly accused and that her own rage is real but impotent.
A penny drops for her. It is confirmed. The Rodgers have indeed said something about this to the Board. Geraldine is looking at her. She has also realised. But that has to wait for another day. Lou is the one at issue here, and not Geraldine's professional reputation. Joanna breaks the silence.
"I adore my daughter, Pam. I would never expose her to inappropriate behaviour."
"But you would have her in bed with you both?"
"Not in the way you might be suggesting. But, yes, if she wants to sit with us and watch TV in bed or have a cuddle, that's fine. Any couple would do that."
"And that is the point, Mrs Lock," Geraldine intercedes. "If there is love, and safety and support, it does not matter one iota if it is a same sex couple or a mixed sex couple."
She says this with such affirmation that there is no more to say. Pam is silent for a good few seconds. But it is the silence of disagreement. To Joanna, it feels like a standoff.
"I will have to think. May I see Lou now?"
"Certainly. I'll show you up."
But Pam wants to find her own way and Joanna calls out to tell Lou that her important guest is on her way. And it is a long hour, as Geraldine and she sit downstairs, dinner not touched and little to do but wait.
Eventually, Lou appears with Pam in tow behind her. She bounces into the room, her smiles of greeting for both the women reassuring.
"Mrs Lock has been playing dolls with me. And she went and saw Daniel's room."
Joanna looks at Geraldine in a frozen moment of panic. Has the woman been playing with anatomically correct dolls to check Lou's understanding of sexual matters? But Pam smiles and reassures her.
"Don't worry. It was not the sort of game that you psychologists and social workers play when you interview children. We were having a good chat, weren't we, Lou?"
They glean no more. Pam will have her report ready for the Sheriff, if she possibly can, before Christmas. She gives them no hint of what it will say. That in itself is a dangerous sign. She leaves without sitting back down in the lounge. As she gets to the front door, she turns as if on impulse. It is as if she wants to look at the two women standing in the hall to see them one more time. It is not that she says anything. It is a look of something between distaste and sheer incomprehension. As the front door closes behind her, Joanna and Geraldine look at each other. There is no need to say anything. Each of them has the same bad feeling abut the interview.
Geraldine finally manages a quip.
"I think we should nickname her 'Doorknob'. That's what people are called who leave what they have to say till they are leaving a meeting."
Joanna manages a weak smile. The fight for her daughter is a long way from over.
And Lou has little to tell them, except that she has said to Pam that she does not want to go to the Rodgers again. She knows, she tells them, that they have caused all this trouble.
"We are happy. That's our business, isn't it?" she tells her Mum.
They barely touch supper. Daniel does not put in an appearance till after Geraldine has left. All he will say is that it went fine and he told the official what he should. Joanna is drained and exhausted. She has a bath when Lou is in bed. She is asleep by ten.
They are sitting together once again in Ed's office. Christmas Eve is now just three days away. They both know now that there will be no court date this side of the New Year -- it was a fond hope that that could happen in the time between Pam Lock's visit and the completion of the court's diary before the holiday commences.
But Lou is not the primary focus of this meeting. They are here for Geraldine's sake. She wants to talk to Ed about her recent redeployment to the Royal and the revelation that came out in the session with the Curator -- the revelation that the Rodgers went to the Board with actual or inferred statements about Geraldine being a risk to children. Ed is listening and asking questions. He and Geraldine have yet to decide what to do about this and whether Ed should act for Geraldine.
"Let's go back, first of all, to the conversation you had with your employer about your transfer."
Geraldine recalls the interview in detail.
"It was with the head of the department - my line manager - and with John Macphee from Human resources. I was told that the Board had my report on staffing and had taken it into consideration. But they could not accept my recommendation about the need for more psychologists in the City. In fact, John told me they had decided to rationalise the service and combine it with the service at the Royal. There would be three less posts but a new post of Principal would be created over both hospitals, and thus there would be a significant saving on the budget. And that would help with the financial crisis the Board as a whole is facing."
"How did they put it to you that you would be transferred?"
"As an offer I could not refuse."
"Go on," Ed encourages her without putting any words into her mouth.
"I was told that my current post was designated for redundancy. The only route forward was for me to agree to the transfer. And I was free, of course, to apply for the post of Principal in due course. I knew it was rigged but there was nothing I could do. I just asked why my post was the one to be made redundant and they said I had the newest post on the establishment. It may be true, but I held that post for the best part of twenty years."
Geraldine sounds bitter for the first time in all this. Joanna has not heard her speak in this tone before, ever.
"Nothing was said about you and Joanna? Or about the Rodgers' correspondence?" Ed asks.
"Not at that point, no. But as I told Joanna when it happened, John had a private word with me before all this and he sort of warned me about not spending time in the staff restaurant with Joanna. 'For our own sakes' was how he put it. And John came over with me to the Royal the next day after the Board met, when I moved. I tackled him then. He did not say much, but he did tell me the Board had had some unpleasant correspondence. We know now who it was from."
"This is discrimination, Ed, isn't it, if Geraldine was transferred because of that letter?" Joanna pushes Ed, leaning forward in her chair as she does so. She has already made it clear that she feels they should take this on.
"Discrimination, perhaps. Proving it, though, is quite another thing. Discrimination is defined as 'less favourable treatment'. We would have to challenge the Board that Geraldine was subjected to less favourable treatment, firstly because of the revelation that she is in a relationship with another woman and secondly because of a spurious allegation about her and children. So far, the only reference to Geraldine and children has come from Pam Lock, and it could be argued that you both leapt to conclusions there." He pauses before looking at Geraldine. "Geraldine is not out in terms of being open about her sexual orientation at work. I'm correct in that, am I not?"
Geraldine nods.
"You would have to consider whether there is more to be gained by progressing your case than by accepting the situation. There is a bit of a double bind in this. You could end up drawing more attention to yourself than you want or intend to. And that is always the problem in terms of discrimination rules generally, no matter the reason."
"What about these new regulations on sexual orientation. They are in now, aren't they?" Joanna pushes Ed.
"They are in, yes. And for the purposes of this issue, it is almost the same as the rest of the legislation on employment equality. At very least, somewhere in the workings of the Board, staff will be looking at their policies and practices now that the regulations have come into force. And that is to the good."
"Could Geraldine make a claim on harassment under the Regulations?" Joanna again pushes Ed, not liking that he is being so diffident on all this.
"This situation arose before the regulations came in. I'm afraid they do not apply retrospectively, so no. Even if this was all happening to Geraldine now and the regulations did apply, it would still be hard to progress. We could certainly claim that Geraldine had been inappropriately advised by Human Resources to conceal her orientation. That would be a harassment case, if we could prove it. If, and only if, we could demonstrate that the job transfer was linked, we could also claim harassment on that. And if, and only if, there was a proven link with a libellous letter from the Rodgers, we could prove harassment there."
"Could Geraldine sue the Rodgers?" Joanna asks, frustrated by all the brick walls that they seem to be hitting in this conversation.
"Absolutely. At least she could, of course, if the Board would release the letter. But I think they would have good grounds not to do that under the Data Protection Act. So even if the letter a) exists and b) is libellous - and I think we can safely assume both a) and b) are true - there may be little to achieve in trying to proceed down that route."
"Ed, you're not saying that we should just leave this? That there's nothing we can do? Geraldine's reputation has been challenged and her job taken from her. We can't just leave it at that, surely?"
"I'm not suggesting that for a moment, Joanna. But I really need to ask you, Geraldine, what you want out of this?"
Geraldine thinks for a moment whilst Joanna waits, slightly chastened. Ed is right. This is for Geraldine to determine as to what, if anything, needs to be done. When she speaks, Geraldine is reflective.
"My job is gone. I have to accept that. The time to fight was when the issue arose but I was shocked and taken by surprise at that point. But I've had time to think since. I would like my reputation cleared. And, if truth were known, I would like to be the Principal Psychologist. It's a practitioner post as well as carrying senior responsibility and I would just love that. But that seems out of the window now. They would not give it to me after all this."
"I'm not so sure," Ed responds immediately, leaning forward on the desk and looking straight at Geraldine. "The important thing is that if you decide to apply, you are given exactly the same chance at the job, as you would have been before all this happened. Otherwise it would be discriminatory. Maybe," He smiles, "We can begin to see a way forward here. And, actually, Joanna," Ed says, now turning to look at his primary client, "This might equally apply to you too. I know that there is this issue of a senior post in social work coming up and you told me about your staff appraisal session and your senior manager's attitude. I just might see a way to take some pre-emptive actions in relation to your employer on each of your behalves. And we could do it separately with separate solicitors acting for you. Or I could represent each of you. We would have to consider the merits of each course of action."
Ed is running ahead of them as his enthusiasm for his cause energises him.
"What do you mean by pre-emptive?" Joanna is intrigued.
"We use recent events to protect you in the future," Ed says, leaning back in his chair and throwing the pen that he has been playing with onto the desk.
They listen, totally focussed on Ed.
"I start with the assumption that for each of you, the question of confidentiality about your orientation and your relationship is important. There are many people who are out in the fullest sense, at home and at work and in social circles. Each of you is different and would not have chosen automatically to be in the position where all your colleagues know your situation. For you it is a matter for your discretion as to who knows. Am I right?"
They nod and Joanna says,
"That's very fainthearted, isn't it?"
"Not really," Ed replies. "In an ideal world, all this would not matter a toss. But we are not in an ideal world, as each of you has found to your cost in recent weeks. So your employer should respect your confidentiality - even if workplaces do tend to have all the features of a sieve when it comes to confidentiality. Their duty is to do everything they can to respect your confidentiality. If anyone breaches that, there is a case for disciplinary action against that person."
"But they now know about us, separately and together in the formal sense, don't they?" Geraldine asks.
"Yes, they do, even if they will not admit that to you. And what we do now is use that to your advantage. We write to them, acknowledging that they know and asking them to keep your confidentiality as a matter of importance. We ask them to confirm that any correspondence they have received has been treated with the contempt it deserves. We warn them that you are considering separate legal actions on that account, directly with the persons who are believed to be making false and libellous statements against you. Finally, we ask them to confirm that there has been no question of discrimination against you in the due processes of the Board in relation to your redeployment, Geraldine, or to your staff appraisal, Joanna. We seek assurances that you can each look forward to equality of treatment in the future on the key areas of equal opportunity in promotion, career development, job evaluation and so on. And," Ed adds, looking with a broad grin at Joanna, "We can include family issues, so that you have all the concessions that can come from having a young child."
Now a broad smile is spreading across Geraldine's face.
"So we tell them that we know that they know and that we also know they handled it badly up till now. And by virtue of the new regulations, we are watching them?"
"Correct," Ed smiles back at them both.
"So we are asking for nothing in terms of positive discrimination; just equal treatment without prejudice?" Geraldine goes on.
"That's right," their solicitor almost shouts in his glee.
"Neat," Joanna comes in. "But what about the fact that we are in the workplace as a couple?"
"You are no different from any couple in the workplace. By definition, that happens. The issue is that there is no conflict of interest in your job. If you were a heterosexual couple, the parties concerned, in confidence, should probably tell the employer of course, and that should be all there is to it. They would just say that they are involved, wouldn't they? Don't tell me there are not plenty of married couple and partnerships within the employ of the Board?"
"Plenty," Geraldine says, looking at Joanna.
Joanna can think of half a dozen off the top of her head.
"And if we did find ourselves in situation of a conflict of interest?"
"The duty is on the employer to resolve that and to do so in the same frame of confidentiality. It should not affect your employment, as has happened in your case already, Geraldine."
"How?" Geraldine asks. "How should the Board resolve it?"
"The same way they should if you were a heterosexual couple. With negotiation of the issue and with an agreed, open and above board resolution."
"Like moving me to a new job?"
"Certainly not. I do not see why you and Joanna cannot work together in the same location. No. You should be able to work together just as you are doing. But of course, conflicts of interest could arise for you or for any other people in partnership in like circumstances. It should then be a judgement call for you and your line manager as to whether to work together on specific client-related matters. That should be sorted on a case by case basis."
They sit together, the three of them for a good few minutes more, grasping the strategy that Ed is proposing. The two women like the whole idea of using the implementation of these national regulations as the means to take a pre-emptive strike with their employer as to how they should be treated from here on in. It should draw the fire of the organisation. After all, The Board will only now be at a point where it has to get its policies right from this time forward. It obviously was not ready for all this, despite the lead-in time it had from all the government circulars.
Geraldine and Joanna do not want to be test cases in any formal sense of the word. They each want to go on working for this Board. They want to go on working on the same basis that they have enjoyed hitherto. Neither do they want to be the 'cause celebre' of the gay world at local level. They just want to be quietly respected for the good work that they do. And they want to be free to get on and do that work without the kind of spurious attacks on them that the Rodgers have perpetrated. Joanna knows all this without having to say so across the table.
"What about the Rodgers?" Joanna asks. "What can I do about them? I don't mean in terms of Lou. I mean in terms of Geraldine's reputation. And mine, I suppose."
"Well, the priorities are to let the court decide on Lou's future and on Lou's access to the Rodgers side of the family. After these, I think a well-worded solicitor's letter might be the way to deal with them. But we need to keep our powder dry on all that till the court business settles."
"And at the end of the day, Lou's interests are more important," Geraldine says quietly, looking at Joanna. We have to put the question of our reputations aside if that is best for Lou. Time will tell on that one."
Joanna smiles in gratitude at her friend. This is one of the most levelling comments of the meeting. Lou is the central issue. It is not their jobs. It is not their relationship.
"And do you represent us both, Ed? Or should Geraldine and I be separately represented?" Joanna refocuses.
"In most circumstances, I would have said that you should each have your own solicitor. And you may well choose to do that. But the Board will have the same questions to address, no matter who writes to them. There may be no great purpose in each of you having your own solicitor in this case, except putting more money into my profession," He laughs and then takes a few seconds to think the issue through. "I would represent a heterosexual couple on this. So the principle should maybe apply and be seen to apply. But as I say, it's your judgement call, not mine."
The two talk on their own over a coffee in a riverside café. Away from Ed's office, it still looks like sensible advice and action. They agree that not taking action is not an option. They agree that, first and foremost, Lou has to be protected. But the idea of using the new regulations in relation to their work is attractive. It is not so much using them in any formal sense, but simply using their existence to strengthen their position as professional women with careers to protect. And they decide that they will each of them use Ed's services. They ring from Joanna's mobile to say so and he agrees to draft letters, one from each of their perspectives, and to have them ready for the Board on its return to business after the Christmas break.
Joanna has a feeling for the first time that she can enter the Festive Season with something to celebrate. There is a long way to go with all this, but at least they are not sitting like a pair of rabbits caught in the lights of a fast approaching car.
"Pass the gravy, please," Jeremy asks, as he sets the bread sauce on the side of his plate. He is the life and soul of the dinner party as they all four look at the meal in front of them. He may be the life and soul, but they all know that he is doing his best in the circumstances.
Daniel has not turned up and there is no answer from him when they try the phone. He has been gone since before supper on Christmas Eve. Geraldine says that Joanna can be forgiven her check with the hospitals and police in Inverness. The roads, after all, are bad with icy conditions and the winds sweeping snow into deep drifts. And Jeremy is careful in what he says. He thought that Daniel would make it.
It has blighted Christmas day, despite Joanna's best effort to make it a happy time. And at one level it is. Geraldine is staying over for the whole holiday, visiting Judy and Tom on Christmas Eve to deliver presents. Jeremy is home and as happy to see Geraldine there as the others are. And Lou is over the moon at having her brother here once again. They have always had a very traditional family time - of presents in the morning, lunch over the middle of the day and a walk in the afternoon before sandwiches and children-focussed games in the evening. It is a good day, but with a great big hole in the middle.
Towards two o'clock, when Joanna gives up on any hope that Daniel will turn up, they head out to the riverside to walk along the islands of the Ness and to let lunch digest. It is dusk in Inverness as they return just after three.
And when they are in the hallway, they realise that Daniel's coat and gloves are on the hall coat rack. An unfamiliar woman's jacket is on the hook. Joanna beams in silence at Geraldine who catches on quickly to the fact that there are more people here.
"Hi." A young man's voice calls out. Joanna smiles again at Geraldine and heads into the lounge. But Lou is ahead of her and in Daniel's arms before she can get across the threshold to the room. He looks over the child at this mother, a rather embarrassed, if not sheep-faced expression on his face. Joanna smiles at the young woman in her trendy, ethnic clothes who is standing in polite expectation of the introduction to come.
"Daniel. You made it." She gives him a hug, one that he comes into with warmth and relief.
"Hi, Mum. Mum, this is Zoë. Zoë, Mum."
Then something happens that Joanna would not have believed possible, just a few days ago. Daniel turns to Geraldine.
"Happy Christmas Geraldine. This is Zoë."
Geraldine smiles at them both, and responds with an apparently casual wave. She knows a hug would be premature.
Zoë is a sweet, smiling woman, with curly short dark hair. She is earnest and watchful at this moment of her boyfriend and his mother reuniting in unspoken affection. Joanna learns in the minutes that follow that this young woman has an older and wiser head on her shoulders than her age would suggest. It all comes out slowly, and later in a private conversation between mother and son. It has been Zoë who persuaded Daniel out of his determination not to spend Christmas with Geraldine and his mother. It was she who persuaded him of the folly of his attitudes. And give him his due; in the privacy of his late Christmas night conversation with Joanna, he is able to say that he has been wrong. His mother and her happiness are important. The family comes first. It is not right of him to stand in the way of everyone being together at Christmas. He likes Geraldine -- always did. It has been a shock, that's all.
Joanna laughs as she sits with him.
"Even a mother finds it hard to think of her son in a relationship with someone. I can see how this would be difficult for you, having your mother in a new relationship with anyone, let alone with a woman."
Jeremy, it seems, has played his part. He knew how strongly Daniel felt about all this and he and Zoë were the two to sit with Daniel in the evenings up to Christmas to persuade him to be with his mother. Far from spending the days in the lead up to the holiday in Dundee, he has been doing his best with Daniel, staying at Zoë's flat. He thought it best that Joanna did not know any of this.
But no one is under any illusions, perhaps with the exception of Lou. The first night when they all retire under the same roof, Geraldine and Joanna in one bed, Daniel and Zoë in another, is a strange time of uncertain reconciliation.
"Time is important, Darling. Time and good will all round are both important. I think we have the both." Geraldine advises. "Just give it time. Zoë is a nice lass and she is very sensible."
But as Joanna goes to sleep, she feels all the same emotions that mothers feel when their son is in the arms of a woman and embarking on his own sexual path of discovery. It is a very strange Christmas Night, one where she cannot respond to Geraldine's sexual urgency and instead just curls into her woman, resting her head on Geraldine's breast and drifting away into sleep to avoid thinking. If Geraldine is upset, she says nothing.
The days run together as they always do at this time of year. It is a time for family and friends. They all visit Judy and Tom Boxing Day and it goes well. Nothing much is said about Geraldine and Joanna but everyone knows that it is their togetherness that has brought about the social occasion. Geraldine points out that the very ordinariness of the time they all spend together is a good thing for Daniel in particular.
"It shows that the world has not shifted on its axis because of us," she laughs.
So they walk and they talk and they play with Lou. Judy finds a few minutes on her own to give Joanna a hug and to say that she is happy for her mother. She thinks Joanna is great and always has done. In the midst of a very uncertain time, Joanna finds quiet and even a sense of inner peace. She also finds Geraldine's constant presence over the holiday fortifying and begins to dread the end of the long holiday and the return to work in the early New Year. And she finds her way back to the passion of being made love to as she lies, Geraldine kneeling over her, and as the rest of the family is in her house but not in her mind.
None of the Gang suggests getting together. Joanna reckons that things are still too fragile and that a bit of time has to elapse before they can all five meet again. And Geraldine points out that they tend not to meet over the Christmas season as they are all usually tied up with family events. They usually get together in the depths of January as a mid winter boost. They agree to make sure that this happens.
The end of the holiday comes after what feels like a long time and no time at all, both at once. Lou is bereft when the three young adults head south to university in Jeremy's car where they will bring in the New Year before the terms start once again. The weather is still snowy and the trio has to wait for the right day to journey when the road south is open and safe. Eager to be in Jeremy's world, they set out with flasks and a snow spade, and exhortations from Joanna to keep in touch by mobile on the journey. Zoë has continued to be the wisest of young women and she is warm in her embrace of both Geraldine and Joanna as she leaves. Joanna strongly suspects she has already met her new daughter-in-law.
The first days back at work are a wrench. Angela is conspicuous by her absence. Geraldine is over at the Royal. Ed's letters are probably filtering through the upstairs echelons of the Board as they are given consideration and as responses are drafted. As yet, there is no court date set. There is nothing to do but to focus on the needs of the patients and to obliterate her own worries and loneliness from her mind.
Since the holiday, Geraldine has decided to start staying over at Joanna's house on at least one night in the week and on the three nights of each weekend. And despite the troubles they have, both behind and in front of them, they still find time for quiet privacy, passion and warmth. What could be tearing them apart is not having that effect. Somehow, they are strengthened - 'as if, by the common enemy', Geraldine jokes. And it is true. Joanna knows she could not have faced the hate of her in-laws, the distress over the threat of losing Lou or the near estrangement of Daniel without Geraldine's closeness and support.
The court letter appears on the doormat at the end of the first week back at work. The date is set for just ten days from now. And the Friday broadsheet is also there, adverts for the posts of Principal Psychologist and Social Work Manager in prominent centre page spread of the employment supplement. Ahead of them, they have a weekend of thinking.
Geraldine is clear right away. She will apply. She does not need to know how the Board will respond to Ed's letter. She just needs to go in and be interviewed and give her best performance.
"I have to take the process in good faith. I could run myself into the ground wondering what will happen and whether I will get a fair and equal shot at the post," she reasons aloud to Joanna over supper.
"I suppose it is a bit of a double bind all round, this, isn't it?" Joanna muses. "How can they even think they are being even-handed when they know they are under scrutiny?"
"Well, I've been thinking along the same lines. It's of the order of a paradoxical injunction, the letter to the Board."
"What do you mean?"
"In the same way that you tell someone to be spontaneous. As soon as you say that, spontaneity is out the window -- by definition."
"So they can't be even handed?"
"Well, I think they can have a good attempt at it, if they follow the most rigorous of interviewing protocols. But it will be hard. If it was a more junior appointment, and the interviewing panel knew none of the circumstances, it might be different. But the appointment is a Board appointment. All I can ask of them is that they follow the principles of equal opportunity. And let's hope there is an external adviser to the appointment. That is usual at these levels, after all."
"I don't know whether to apply or not," Joanna comments, sipping the wine that is their Friday treat.
Geraldine waits to hear what her friend is thinking.
"I don't know whether it is what I want. Point one. I don't know whether I stand any chance in terms of my ability. Point two. I am not sure that I feel as OK as you do about putting my head above the parapets in all the circumstances. That's point three. And I don't know how good an idea it would be for us both to be in managerial positions in the same employ. Point four."
"Point five?" Geraldine laughs and squeezes her arm.
"I don't think there is one." Joanna smiles.
"Well, if you want to have my thoughts on it all, I would say you are excellent manager material. You have managed before. You know social work inside out. You will give them solid, safe decisions. If you are pipped at the post, at least you tried. As for working together, I can only believe that if you and I were a married couple in these two posts, it would be accommodated. So the principle should apply. That was precisely the point Ed made to us, wasn't it?"
Joann has the grace to acknowledge that she should have seen this for herself.
"And let's face it," Geraldine continues, "No matter what Ed's letter does, it can't stop them making a judgement not to appoint either you or me - if you'll excuse the double negative. They could refuse to appoint me and still give reasons that are nothing to do with our relationship."
"So nothing ventured, nothing gained?" Joanna asks doubtfully.
"Precisely. And I would not hear of you not applying and standing back because of my application. Why don't we run with it and just see what happens? We don't have anything to lose. I'd maybe feel less confident without Ed's letter and his shot across their bows. If they appoint, that's well and good. They know the circumstances. If they don't, they know they will have to have good grounds around our ability to do the jobs as measured against the other candidates. What do you say?"
"I say that leaves me thinking about whether I want to manage again or not. Can I think about it?" Joanna says this as if a mist has lifted and she can see what the central issue for her is.
"Of course. It's a big decision and you have a full week before the closing date."
And the rest of the discussion focuses on Lou and on how to prepare her for the possible eventualities of the court hearing. All their common sense tells them that the Rodgers will not win, but now that the date has been set, Joanna is frightened. Her head races with all sorts of 'what if' scenarios. What if custody goes to the Rodgers? How would she tell Lou? What would her right of appeal be and how long would it take? When will they see what Pam has written?
Geraldine can do little to soothe her. No one knows the outcome. All Joanna can say is what she believes herself. It is unlikely to go against them.
In the dark January weekend, Joanna tosses and turns over Friday and then over Saturday night. She rises on the mornings that follow as weary as she when went to bed. The warmth of Geraldine's sleeping presence is some comfort, and she so wants to rouse her and to have her waking embrace. But having Geraldine beside her is comfort for the tiny frightened child in her and she resists the temptation to rouse her lover. And when Geraldine does stir towards five, she realizes how wide-awake Joanna is. Stretching her arms, she pulls her troubled lover into her body shape and soothes her. It is comforting and then it shifts. Even in this low time, she and Geraldine can make love and find something akin to joy in each other. Towards seven, they slip back into a deep slumber that they waken from still entwined as they lay immediately after their lovemaking reached its zenith.
And on Sunday, they access the Internet home page of the Board on Joanna's computer and draw down the application forms for both jobs. These are in envelopes; ready for the post box by the time the Sunday meal is prepared. That night, Joanna sleeps soundly, one decision taken and another forming itself as she wakens. If that journey that she made from Edinburgh and all it means is to have any worth, she has to live as well as she believes she can. It is very fragile, this notion of leading the authentic life. It is for her anyway. She has to keep telling herself that she must take conscious decisions about what it means on a day-to-day basis and in relation to the things that are happening in her life.
And leading the authentic life today means appreciating herself enough to post that application form. And she has to dump any guilt that might just be lurking there over Lou. Stephen's decrying of her is not for her. She needs to be free of that. She needs to have sufficient of a sense of honouring herself to know that she can argue her case over her ability to care for Lou as the child's rightful place. And she is the child's source of creativity and love. She, with Geraldine, can give Lou more than any other person in the world can.
And, fortified, she says to Geraldine as she kisses her before they head off in their separate cars to work,
"If you resonate to the colour violet, then be violet. That's what I say."
She leaves Geraldine looking both bemused and amused. But Joanna knows precisely what she means by that. She means, do not be pink, or blue, or any other colour for that matter. Be violet, if that is where it is at for you.
"I have to dare to be me."
Joanna chants it to herself like a mantra as she sits in the outer office to the Sheriff's chambers where the hearing will start in a few moments. Her words from the train journey back from Edinburgh are needed now more than at any time in her life. Today she is going to stand up for who she is and for the child she adores, at one and the same time.
Geraldine is at her side, not as nervous as Joanna but still tense. To Joanna's right, as if well placed to ensure physical distance between the two women and the Rodgers' contingent, Ed sits perusing the Curator's report. Over to the right of the room, the in-laws and Mantel are absorbed in conspiratorial whispers.
Pam Lock is standing alone, watching as the parties read her court report. Her face is inscrutable. She delivered the report just five minutes ago to the parties in the room, careful to show that each side in this debate was receiving the report at the same time.
It is no wonder that Joanna has to remind herself of her mantra. Because, although the report is couched in the gentlest and almost apologetic of terms, the bottom line is that, reluctantly, Pam Lock has to advise the court that she can not support the notion of the child, Lou Rodgers, being raised by a lesbian couple, no matter how affectionate the relationship between the two women and the child.
Such an arrangement will undoubtedly cause issues of identity for the child, the report argues. Her awareness of sexual matters will stand to become distorted as she grows up. And as much as the child clearly loves her mother, and is well provided for, the balance of more appropriate love and affection that the uncle and grandmother can provide between them is the preferred option for Lou. The mother, Joanna Rodgers, should of course have as much access to the child as the grandmother feels is consistent with the child's needs. This will be in the child's best interests.
Joanna has good cause to be as nervous just now as she is feeling. She knew that Pam Lock would not be easily persuaded. But she thought that, when they were interviewed in Joanna's home, she and Geraldine had demonstrated their ability to care for Lou to an indisputably high level.
Ed tries to reassure her as the court usher comes from the Sheriff's chambers and asks the parties to go in. Joanna can hardly bear to look at the Rodgers and even less at the Curator. Ed whispers in her ear,
"Try not to worry. Just do your best. And don't forget - it's not over till the fat lady sinks."
The reference to the game of billiards would make Joanna smile in any other circumstances. But all she can manage today is a sideways glance at serious-faced Geraldine, who must sit and wait in the outer chamber as the hearing convenes.
And as the Sheriff arrives and they all stand in polite ritual, she finds herself gathering her strength from Geraldine's words of the previous evening.
"Don't forget, my darling. You have no need to feel guilty about any of this. You are a woman who loves another woman. That is who you are. There is nothing wrong in that. That is who you are and there is nothing to judge in that."
She wishes Geraldine were in the courtroom and by her side. But there is enormous comfort that Ed is sitting with her, as reassuring a presence as she could hope for. The Sheriff asks if the parties have digested the Curator's findings. Ed nods and waits his time to speak in full. Ed is quiet, dignified and respectful to the court and the people in it. But he is also assertive and treats the report as misguided and, sadly, outdated in its views.
Mantel speaks, excessive in his praise of the report and scathing of Joanna. He is vituperative in his onslaught. But with firm contradiction that leaves the other solicitor looking less than professional, Ed is on his feet. He looks straight at Mantel and suggests that he is ill advised to think that his client is not a suitable mother for Lou. Ed's tone as he says this is suddenly again mild and matter of fact. He will want to address the court more fully in due course. In one sentence, Ed dismisses the Rodgers' case and Mrs Lock's views.
The Sheriff, it is clear, has a task on his hands. Silencing both solicitors, he now invites Mrs Lock to speak to her report. She rises, her bird-like face prim and self important behind her specs.
"Your Honour, this was a difficult report to write. I say that because I found that much of the argument put forward by Mrs and Mr Rodgers was unfounded. Lou is a well cared for child who is loved by her mother. That was not the issue as far as I was concerned. The issue was one of the appropriateness or otherwise of two women who are in ... in a sexual relationship having the care of the child of one of the women. Sheriff, I have to say that there is plenty of evidence to suggest that this is an unhealthy way to raise any child, and particularly a child of the female sex. Now clearly, Lou is too young to have an informed opinion about this and she undoubtedly loves her mother, but in my opinion that is not the issue. As well as the sexual issues of what would go on in the household, there is the question of the inherent instability of women in relationships together. And of course, there is the question of the emotional instability of lesbian women. ..."
The Sheriff interrupts Pam Lock.
"I have read your report Mrs Lock. We all have. Have you anything to add to it?"
"No, your Honour. I have made clear my views about Lou's best interests as best I can. They must be paramount, that is the most important thing in all this. Reluctantly, perhaps, I think those interests do not rest with her mother."
"Thank you, Mrs Lock. Mr Mantel?"
Mantel rises to his full five foot two inches of height, and pulls at his waistband as he does so. Joanna allows herself a feeling of nauseous distaste at the very sight of the man. But then, he appears to hold her in equally low esteem as he all but sneers at her in his remarks.
He can only praise Mrs Lock for the wise counsel she has provided to the court. It is surely self evident that two women could not meet the normal needs of a growing young girl. What kind of life would it be, in the half world of the gay community with its contingent use of drugs and alcohol? Are the gay city pubs not testament to how women like this live? What kinds of moral danger would Joanna Rodgers expose her daughter to over the years from this Geraldine woman or any other lover that Ms Rodgers might move on to? It is unthinkable to allow this to happen. Surely it is unthinkable?
The Sheriff listens to this, his face impassive.
"Thank you Mr Mantel. Does your client wish to comment?"
Mantel looks at Martha. He nods encouragement.
"Your worship," she starts, forgetting the correct titles in her fluster. "I can't thank Mrs Lock enough. The poor wee mite, Lou, is best off with her uncle and me. It's not natural," she spits, staring now at Joanna.
The invective goes on. Eventually, the Sheriff asks if there is any specific point she wants to make. She does not think so, she says lamely. She sits back in her chair, handbag clutched on her knee in apparent triumph. Joanna stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on the crest above the Sheriff's head. She hopes for justice. That feels a long way away.
The Sheriff asks Ed to speak. He takes a few seconds of silence to let the atmosphere in the room settle and to bring attention on to what he will say.
He strips away the arguments, one by one. There is plenty of research to point to the relatively well-balanced personality of women in Joanna and Geraldine's situations. There is nothing to suggest that there will be anything other than high quality care and love for the child. To argue that homosexuality is in some way catching is nonsense. There is no reason to suggest that Lou will be adversely affected by the dynamics of the family situation. The world is a more modern and enlightened place than either Mrs Rodgers or Mr Mantel assume it is. Or, he adds, as the Curator assumes it is. Their arguments are based on bigotry, pure and simple. They are based on bigotry and, in the Rodgers' case, a misplaced need for revenge over Stephen Rodgers's untimely suicide. Tragic as that was, it was the deceased who killed himself -- no one else. He can testify to the character and stability of both women. Geraldine Spence is available to be called, if the Sheriff so wishes. And he has one more paper, which he would like to submit to the court.
Joanna looks at him, unprepared for this. She recognises the handwriting straight away. It is Daniel's. Ed passes her a copy which she reads whilst the Sheriff reads the main document.
It is a testimonial, on behalf of both Jeremy and Daniel, and signed at the foot by each of them. It tells the Sheriff of the depth of love that they have as a family, each for the other members, and of the particular way that Joanna has held them together since their father died. They talk of her care for Lou and of Lou's distress at the prospect of having to live elsewhere. And they confirm that in their view, Martha and Jake are acting out of spite to avenge their relative's death. Lou should be with their mother. If Geraldine, whom they have known and liked for many years, and their mother love each other, then Lou's life will be the better for that.
The Sheriff puts the paper down and looks at Joanna over his gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Does your client wish to say anything?" he asks Ed.
Ed looks at her. She nods and takes a deep breath before speaking.
"Your honour, I came here today determined to do two things. I am here to tell you that I love my daughter unconditionally. But the second thing I came here to do today is to tell you that I absolutely believe in my relationship with Geraldine. I believe in it for me and for Lou. I am a woman who loves another woman. And she is a good, and well-balanced woman who has successfully raised her own children. She can bring warmth and love into the home we live in. She can and does love Lou. That has to be a good thing. I do not mean any disrespect to the court when I say this, but I defy anyone to judge me negatively over my love for Geraldine. It is, quite simply, a good thing."
She pauses, her adrenalin giving her a flush to her cheeks that tells the court that she is giving a speech of major proportions. But she will not waste words. Her message is clear and simple. She gives Pam Lock a look more of pity than of anger.
"Mrs Lock is wrong. It is as simple as that. I can and do give my child the best future for her well-being. There is no love to match the love she and I have. The Rodgers can not substitute for it, no matter what they think."
Ed is looking at her, riveted like everyone else is. She can see the anxiety in his eyes. But there is also respect. She goes on.
"I love my daughter and I love Geraldine. I love all my family. Lou is a child. She has to come first. If necessary, I would put my responsibility to Lou first. But please do not expect me to apologise for my love of Geraldine. I cannot do that. And I would not deny it."
The Sheriff looks at her, his face still impassive. Joanna is terrified that she has just given the Sheriff the solution he needs; to let her have Lou without Geraldine.
"Your Honour, I could bring Mrs Spence in to give testimony, if you would wish?" Ed suggests.
But the Sheriff shakes his head and indicates that he will retire to consider his opinion. An uncomfortable hush falls over the room. Ed looks at Joanna and suggests that she might like to get some air. She nods her agreement, knowing that she is emotionally drained. They leave the chambers. The others follow suit, keeping their distance from them.
Out in the waiting room, Geraldine looks at her and sees in an instant that it is not yet over.
"How did it go?" she asks, her tone solicitous.
Joanna cannot look at her.
"I've done something I should have discussed with you before this."
Ed looks uncomfortable and moves away to give the women some privacy. He diverts Mantel by speaking to him now as if they were respected colleagues, duties to their clients finished and able once again to talk informally from their positions in their professional club. Pam Lock looks on, her solitary figure uncomfortable now that her work is finished and only the Sheriff's confirmation to come.
Geraldine waits for Joanna to tell her.
"I told the Sheriff how much I love you."
Geraldine smiles.
"Was that wise?"She has not understood -- not yet. Joanna struggles to find the words.
"I said that Lou has to come first."
There is a long silence as this sinks in. Geraldine's face flushes with unspoken pain. Joanna can see the shock coursing through her. Geraldine holds her composure, though, under the curious scrutiny of the others in the room. Joanna justifies her earlier words to the court.
"I had to do it. It was not till I was in there that I realised I had to do it. You should have heard what they said about us." Her eyes plead with Geraldine for her to understand.
"I can see that. I can see you might have had no choice." Geraldine's tone is flat.
There is a long silence now, as they stand together, each suddenly unable to look the other in the eye. It seems to last for an eternity. Joanna cannot think how to fill it. She wants to reach out and touch Geraldine's hand. But she knows that Geraldine has withdrawn into herself. Joanna cannot reach her in any way.
The usher comes out. Would they all return? The Sheriff is ready.
They troop in in silence. Martha Rodgers is smiling. She smiles at Pam Lock. She smiles at the Sheriff. Ed sits to Joanna's right as if to shield her from the other parties in the room.
The Sheriff waits till they are once again seated. He looks over his specs at them all. Then he looks at Joanna.
"Ms Waters, I will address most of my remarks to you."
Joanna's heart sinks. She wonders what the right of appeal will be. The Sheriff continues.
"I have considered your position very carefully. I have also read Mrs Lock's excellent report. And I have taken account of the assertions of the Rodgers' case as put forward so ably by their solicitor, Mr Mantel."
So that is that, she thinks. She is going to lose her baby.
"I have also heard all you have had to say about your relationship and the potential for well being that it may provide for Lou. And of course your sons have spoken well of both your care of Lou and of Geraldine Spence."
'But,' Joanna thinks. 'Here it comes. All the reasons why I can't have my baby.'
" Ms Waters, I am going to find in your favour ..."
Joanna hardly hears the rest of the words. She is too stunned. But the Sheriff is saying that he has every reason to believe that she is meeting Lou's needs now and will continue to do so, irrespective of who else is involved.
"As to the nature of your relationship," he continues as Joanna refocuses on what he is saying, "In an ideal world, I would take the view that a man and a woman as partners, ideally within marriage, should be the first choice for every child. But that is not the situation here. Your relationship is now a given. The court will respect that. I see no reason why you should not raise the child as well, in the circumstances, as you would with a male partner, had that been your choice after widowhood."
Martha starts to protest but he silences her with a look over the top of those spectacles.
"I conclude that much of the argument put forward by Mr Mantel on behalf of the Rodgers is spurious. I also conclude that I disagree with the position that the Curator has taken. I see no reason why you, Ms Waters, with Ms Spence should not raise Lou in a healthy and caring environment."
Joanna smiles in relief at Ed.
"However," the Sheriff continues, "I also take the view that Lou has an established relationship with both Martha and Jake Rodgers and that it would not be in her interests to see that severed. Access will therefore be granted to the Rodgers."Now Joanna's heart sinks at the prospect of the conflict that can only ensue. As if reading her mind, the Sheriff now says,
"To avoid the child being caught in any sort of tug conflict of interest or perspective, it will be supervised access. That is," he adds, to inform the questioning look on Martha's face, "The court will require an independent person to be there during access. At least for the foreseeable future."
Joanna could not be happier or more relieved. A weight has fallen from her shoulders. She hugs Ed who looks pleased and smiles warmly as he accepts her embrace. The Sheriff looks momentarily nonplussed at this behaviour in his court. The usher says that the court will rise. They do so and then it is time to go outside and tell Geraldine the good news.
But the waiting room is empty. Geraldine is no longer there.
"What have I done?" she asks Ed, humiliated as the other people in the waiting room realise what is happening here. Ed says nothing. There is nothing he can say to ease this moment.
She gathers her wits.
"I should have discussed this with her, shouldn't I?" she half whispers.
Ed just gives her a kind smile.
"I am sure it was a spontaneous decision to speak to the Sheriff in the terms you did just now. But yes, it would have been better if you had talked with Geraldine. The words that a child comes first are hard for someone in a relationship to hear."
"I thought it would help the Sheriff to see that Lou is as important as she is." She says lamely.
Joanna realizes that the Rodgers are taking in the situation as they watch Ed and her. Under the angry and now gloating gaze of her former in-laws, Joanna shakes hands with Ed in gratitude for his representation and heads as quickly as she can out into the cold winter sun. She stands on the court steps, looking for Geraldine, the memories of recent weeks when she and Geraldine were out of touch coming to the fore in her mind. How can she face all that again? How can she live without the one woman who has meant so much to her? She stands outside the court, looking down over the river below her and at the snow-covered hills that surround the city. Is this it? Is this the end of her relationship? Will Geraldine have left now for good, unable to accept that Lou came before her when the moment of testing came? Tears begin to course down her cheeks. They are tears of exhaustion and relief that the hearing is over and Lou is safe. But they are tears, also, that she has just lost her partner. She has had a Pyrrhic victory today.
Composing herself before the Rodgers also leave the court and afraid of an unseemly scene with them out of the controls of the court setting, she reaches into her coat for her keys. The car is in a multi storey park just five minutes from here. She turns to head towards it; shoulders hunched against the sub zero temperatures.
"How did it go?"
She turns round again. Geraldine is standing there directly in front of her, white faced and expressionless.
"I thought you had left. I mean, I though you had left me?"
"Never," Geraldine says, face still without emotion. "I just had to get my head together, that's all. Hearing you put Lou first was hard. My head says that that was the right thing to do. But everyone wants to come first with their partner."
Joanna comes to her and reaches to hug her, relief pouring through her like a torrent.
"I have Lou."
"Good," Geraldine says, still not responding to Joanna's touch.
"I have hurt you," Joanna murmurs, looking close into her friend's eyes.
"Yes and no. It was hard to hear, that's all. I had to get out and think. I suppose, if it had been Judy, I would have had to say the same thing."
"I don't feel any less for you," Joanna says, reaching for a tissue. Her eyes are watering, whether she wants them to or not. She cannot say that Geraldine comes first.
"I feel quite, quite differently about you. I am connected with you in a way I never could be with anyone else."
"I know that. I just had to have some space."
"What now?" Joanna asks her friend.
Geraldine looks deep into Joanna's eyes. The moment is frozen in time as Joanna waits for her lover's response.
"Let's go home and tell Lou and Daniel."
The house stands on the shoulder of the hill on the opposite side of the Firth, looking out over Inverness. Its southerly aspect holds the main public rooms, and the wings behind and on either side hold a range of en-suite bedrooms and small sitting rooms. There seem to be people everywhere, such that the guests are mingling and wandering in the house and around the young plants in the grounds in small groups, bumping into other groups as Lou and her friend Jo-Jo proudly show people around.
It is a long July day of open house and barbecuing, and the keener walkers amongst their guests have taken the opportunity to circle the hill on which the new house stands, just as Joanna and Geraldine did all those months ago.
There are different reasons to celebrate. Not all of the celebrations are Joanna's. The Gang has survived, thanks to the combined efforts of the women and their men. And they are all here today. Jerry and Sam are tending the meats on the barbecue. Toby, never as close as the other two men are to each, other is happier talking to Geraldine's daughter Judy, who will no doubt be explaining to the puzzled Toby why two women can actually be happy together. Wendy is steering well clear of Jerry but if there is any animosity after the end of the affair, it is not apparent. Joanna thinks the ease they have somehow accomplished is genuine. And Bobby has been at Wendy's side to demonstrate the continuing friendship of the two women. The rest of the Gang smiled to each other and heaved a sigh of relief. A crisis has been averted and as far as anyone knows, Toby remains none the wiser. Joanna suspects that Wendy is making more of an effort to get along with her husband and is also putting more of her life energies into things other than sexual encounters. The whole business of Jerry and being found out by Bobby has had a levelling effect on Wendy. The exuberance is still there but there is a quiet about her that seems more about some unspoken inner peace than any unhappiness.
Michelle, wandering around in a flowing long summer dress, remarks to Joanna at one point that their wandering friend may finally be learning to be happy. Michelle is still on her spiritual journey and when she is in her outer world, she is supporting causes about world peace. She is only here today because the occasion is so important to the Gang. Otherwise, she would have been on a peace march in London.
The Gang accepted the invitation from Geraldine and Joanna to this day at their new home. That is the symbol that the five women will survive. And it was Bobby who suggested over the lunchtime drinks of Buck's Fizz that they should have another holiday abroad -- just to celebrate the Gang. Michelle, the one who struggled so much over Geraldine and Joanna was the first to insist that they should return to Lanzerote and that the two should have one apartment and the other three should share together.
Jeremy, Daniel and Zoë are here and they, of course, are all staying over. The house has been designed with them in mind for the years ahead and one of the two wings is really for them. Later, it will be for visiting grandchildren. Geraldine and Joanna have made sure that their plans are inclusive of the families on both sides. Zoë is proving to be a true intermediary between Joanna and Daniel, her, until recently, stubborn son.
Jeremy looks after Joanna at every turn and Geraldine makes sure that she leaves mother and her older son together as much as possible when Jeremy is home. There is much man's work of building walls, hanging shelves and so on for him to do and, without question, he has taken on the role of general overseer of the property. He dragoons Daniel into helping when he and Zoë are not away on the new motorbike and exploring the Highlands. Joanna likes the young woman and her refreshing views on the world.
A critical moment of choice came for both boys last evening. They were in the garden, setting up the barbecue for grilled sausages. They were all six there, Zoe and Geraldine organising Lou to skewer the vegetable kebabs, the two boys arguing as they have done over the years, as to who should light the charcoal and Joanna sitting watching her family as she quietly enjoyed the moment with some sparkling wine in her hand.
Ed turned up unannounced and apologising for gatecrashing. He knew that everyone would be here. Could he have a quiet word with Joanna? She led him into the house where he told her, his face showing some discomfort as he did so, that he had one final letter to deliver from Stephen. Joanna groaned. But she did not hesitate.
"Let me see it, then," she said, a tone of resignation in her voice. But it was not for her. It was for both the boys. Ed told her that he was under instruction to give the letter to the boys in the event that their mother moved to live with another woman. He felt he could no longer delay carrying out the terms of Stephen's will. She sighed and, seeing no point in delaying, took Ed back to the garden.
"Boys, Ed has a letter for you."
The boys stared, Daniel standing with a tray of sausages in his hand, Jeremy instinctively drawing Lou in to his side and putting a protective arm around her. Both seemed to know at once what this was.
Ed explained. He passed the letter to Jeremy, clearly aware of the protocols of respecting his position as the older brother.
"You say this is because Mum is with Geraldine?" Daniel interceded.
Ed just nodded.
Jeremy looked at his brother. Daniel was staring at Joanna. Then in an almost imperceptible exchange of non-verbal communication, the boys agreed what was to be done. It was Daniel who took the letter and slowly placed it on the barbecue. They all watched as the last vestiges of Stephen's handwriting on the envelope shrivelled to ash.
"Sorry, Dad," Daniel murmured.
Joanna went to each boy in turn and gave him a slow hug. She could not have loved them more than she did at that moment. Stephen's negative influence on the family was over. Maybe in time, and with their remembrance suppers, his many good influences will prevail.
And there is other news. Since Judy is pregnant now, she and Tom will be the first to bring the next generation to the new house.
Annie came up for the weekend to share in the celebrations and is she staying over. She has proved to be an excellent cook and has helped with the salads and savouries for the buffet. Her news is as might be expected. There is no one new on the horizon yet; at least no one serious. But that has not stopped her from enjoying herself and there is this nurse working for the Government in London ... Joanna just groaned and threw a cushion at her. And today, it is clear that she is enjoying the company of Sylvia from the reading circle. The two have paired up to see to food and to introduce people who do not know each other. Joanna is watching this new budding friendship with interest. There is certainly a spark there and a part of Joanna thinks that Annie falls in love all too easily. On the other hand another part of her thinks that if Annie wants to enjoy their home in a particular way over the weekend, well, that is fine with her.
Several of the reading circle accepted Joanna's invitation, although Pam is not here. Joanna just could not bring herself to invite someone who is so diametrically opposed to her lifestyle and she argued to Geraldine that it would be hypocritical to do so. Geraldine did not demur.
Joanna invited Moira - somewhat to Annie's discomfort. But Joanna argued over the phone to Annie that it would be good to see the original trio of friends in the one place at the same time. "Thank God you did not invite Pip," Annie had rejoined, recalling that they were originally an unlikely group of four. That would be some catching up, would it not?
But Moira did not come. The invitation was declined. Joanna thinks that it was Moira who could not face the prospect of the event. Annie thinks the up tight Malcolm would not grace an event of this nature with his presence. Possibly, they are both right. They did receive a good wishes card, but Joanna doubts whether she will ever see Moira and Malcolm visiting her here. And so be it, Joanna said to Geraldine. Life, she concluded, was too short for fainthearted friends. She suspects that that friendship will dwindle now to Christmas cards and little else. She is only fleetingly saddened by this.
Lou surprised them when they asked her who she would like to invite. She wondered if Gran and Uncle Jake could come. Lou has said little about her supervised access visits. But it was a reassuring moment to know that the time the child spends with them must be sound enough for her to ask this. And Joanna did ring Martha and explain that Lou would like them to be there at the housewarming. But the phone was put down on her.
"Rome will not be built in a day," Geraldine commented, "But let's see whether a few more months will help. Time is a great healer."
Joanna doubts there will be any rapprochement. And she has little inclination now to tolerate any nonsense from her former relatives. She has so far forborne to write through Ed about the Rodgers' letter to the Board. She may still do so if there is any more trouble.
Lou was not too perturbed that the Rodgers were not going to be here today. Jo-Jo and Jo-Jo's parents would be her special guests.
"Are you two going to have a commitment ceremony, then?" Annie presumes to ask now, and Sylvia is quickly moving in to hear the answer.
"Not on your life," Joanna laughs, and laughs again at the half serious look of disappointment on her friend's face. "Sorry, Annie. I just don't see us doing the Pink Wedding thing."
"Why ever not?" Annie pushes. "After all that's why the law changes recently; to give people like us new rights on an equal footing."
Joanna nods.
"Absolutely. But look around you, Annie. What better day of celebration could you have than this? This is all I need at the social level. Geraldine agrees. Mind you," she continues, "For those who want to dress up and 'do' the ceremony bit, that's fine by me. 'For those who like that sort of thing ...' Don't you agree, Sylvia?"
Sylvia laughs at the allusion to their reading circle discussion of 'The Prime' and before she can comment further, Geraldine is by Joanna's side, ready to talk about the legal changes for people in their lifestyle.
"We do see great benefits in the new law, you know. We talked about it a lot when it came in. We might well register our partnership for all sorts of legal reasons. Joint financial responsibility would be good as a right and a responsibility. We could use the law to secure our pensions for each other as and when we get to that stage of life. But we would have to think carefully and consult the youngsters. And I agree with Joanna. Today is our celebration. No need for special banners, Annie."
"Well, when it's my turn, I intend to play it differently," Annie says, taking a large sip of sparkling wine.
"We'll be there, if invited," Geraldine laughs.
"You will be," Annie assures her.
Somewhere in the melee of their guests are Ed and his family. He has done sterling work for both of them and they see him now as a friend as well as a solicitor. He is genuinely fond of them and steered all the work of buying land and building for them. He is almost as enthusiastic about this house as they are. It may not be long till he is also building here on the Black Isle. By definition, they will never know whether the letters that he sent to the Board on their behalves played a significant role in how their two futures panned out till now. They did each receive almost identically worded bland letters from the Board, saying that every employee can expect equal opportunities and fair treatment -- that went without saying. Ed's view was that the Board could say no more. But that the exercise was well done. They had made their point.
Geraldine was duly interviewed for the post of Principal Psychologist. She was successful, and took up post, based back at the City, at the beginning of the month. This is part of today's celebrations. Equal opportunities appear to have prevailed.
Joanna decided that her future was at the front line and withdrew her application. She 'did' the world of management as a much younger woman. She went through some soul searching before she concluded that her true expertise and preference lies in the face-to-face work with her patients and clients. She concluded that part of her interest in applying was to test her position in terms of equal opportunities. And what she really wanted was the job she had come to love. At the City, she sees a great deal of Geraldine in the working context because Geraldine still carries a caseload. Her working days are well fulfilled now that Geraldine is once again a colleague and she likes the young man who has been appointed to lead the social work team. At least, she thinks she will over time. It is a matter of adjustment - that is all - as she said one night to her lover.
Towards the late afternoon, the crowd in the house and gardens must number more than fifty. In one way or another they are all family and friends. The conversation has flowed, the children have had a ball and the adults have mingled and been truly and genuinely happy for the two women in their new home.
Bobby tells people that the food is ready and they might like to congregate on the lawn. The sun is high in the sky and there is no breeze. It is a glorious Highland day. They mill, finding plates and forks, and banter and conversation is mixed with laughter.
Jeremy does the toast just before the barbecue meats are served.
"To Mum and Geraldine. May they be happy in their new home. May they enjoy life."
Joanna and Geraldine smile at each other, quietly and with a depth of love in their eyes - for each other and for the people around them. They raise their glasses in thanks for everyone being here today.
From somewhere in the group, Wendy's voice comes over.
"To the authentic life."
Joanna laughs in recognition of all their conversations over the months. She looks at her lover. She whispers in her ear,
"We made it, you and I. We have an authentic life."
Other Books by Avril Osborne
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