7
Bernadette
‘Bernie, what happened to your phone?’ Sarah asked, clocking the screen as she placed a large box down on the table next to it.
‘Dropped it when I was coming down the stairs earlier,’ Bernadette replied, her face flushing as she realised she was still lying for him. Why? Habit of a lifetime.
One that she had to break now.
‘Okay…’ Sarah answered, failing to hide her scepticism.
Bernadette cut her off. ‘What’s in the box?’
‘A cake. The order got cancelled last night after I’d already made it. Not sure what happened. They just left a message on my answering machine to let me know. Anyway, it’s already paid for, so thought we could use it to comfort eat our way through any flashpoints of stress today.’
With a flourish, Sarah lifted off the lid to expose a perfect cake in the shape of a push-up bra. Bernadette reckoned it was probably around a 44D.
Despite the tornado of apprehension that was twisting her guts, she couldn’t help but smile. Sarah had been her friend since high school, bonded over a mutual adoration for Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet, and shoulder pads so wide they had to turn sideways to get through a door.
Sarah had recovered from her Martin Kemp crush and gone on to marry a journalist, Drew, who – oh the cliché – had left her for a younger woman when their youngest was onlymonths old. Sarah had spent the next fifteen years working away at her home-based cake business, avoiding any kind of relationship, until she went on a cruise last year and met Piers, the man of her dreams. If Bernadette was being honest with herself, it was one of the events that had contributed to her final decision to leave Kenneth. Sarah was so happy now with Piers. At fifty, she had finally found the man she was meant to be with and it had given her a second lease of life. She radiated happiness, loved every day, and went to sleep beside a man who adored her and wanted to make her happy.
Bernadette had always thought the chance of that had passed her by. Sarah’s joy convinced her otherwise.
Not that she wanted another relationship. No way. Not for a long, long time. Maybe ever. She’d be happy just going to sleep at night, content and relaxed, not on tenterhooks or seething with unspoken disgust for the man lying next to her.
‘How are you feeling?’ Sarah asked her gently.
‘Like I want to forget the whole thing,’ Bernadette answered truthfully, ‘but don’t worry, I won’t.’
Listening, Sarah reached over for a spoon from the draining board and took a chunk of the cake, saying nothing because it had all been said. Bernadette had shared everything with her friend over the years. Sarah had never judged her for staying, but always made it clear that she would do anything she could to help her leave. Bernadette could sense that she was delighted that day had finally come.
‘Want some?’ Sarah asked, pointing to the sponge.
Bernadette would normally be first in the queue to join her, but not today. Didn’t have the stomach for it.
‘So what do we do first?’ Sarah asked.
‘That’s the problem, I don’t know. Any of the things could tip him off, so I don’t know where to start. I need to tell thekids, but either of them could tell him. I need to take my share of our savings – I’ve set up my own account that he knows nothing about – but if he looks at the online banking he’ll notice. And I need to move everything I love out of the house, but what if he comes home at lunchtime and there I am, trying to manoeuvre my mother’s standard lamp into the back of your van?’
‘Your mother’s standard lamp will stick out the back window, but we’ll get it in somehow,’ Sarah retorted, trying to diffuse Bernadette’s rising panic with humour. It wasn’t working. ‘Okay, breathe. Just breathe. Let’s think about this rationally. Let’s pack up the stuff from your wardrobes and anything else that isn’t in plain sight, and take it to my house first.’
Sarah had convinced her to go stay with her and Piers at first. Bernadette was fairly sure it was so that she wouldn’t crumble and return to Kenneth, but her friend’s fears were unfounded. Once she got out of there, nothing would ever bring her back. This was the house that she’d brought the kids up in, that she’d lived in for thirty years, but she wouldn’t miss it for a second. It was tainted. Every shade of paint, every carpet, every painting on a wall chosen by Kenneth, whether she wanted it or not. He’d controlled everything and she would be happy if she never saw any of it again. In fact, she was counting on today being the last day she had to look at it.
Sarah was still planning. ‘Then we can come back later, once he’s in afternoon surgery, and get anything he might notice.’
Bernadette nodded her agreement. Made sense. Jesus, she was a charge nurse, a woman who organised and ran a busy ward like clockwork, who commanded the respect of her peers and managed healthcare plans, traumas, tragedy, and – worse – patients’ relatives, but this whole situation had completelyparalysed her coping skills and initiative. He wasn’t even here right now and still he was having an effect on her. Come on, Bernie, time to get moving, she told herself.
‘And I think we should go speak to Nina first,’ Sarah added. Just the very thought of it made Bernadette want to vomit. Kenneth had always presented the best of himself to the kids, so they only ever knew the public Kenneth, the funny, charming, successful, perfect dad they’d grown up with. How could she tell her daughter that she was walking out on her father after thirty years of marriage? Nina was a mother, with kids of her own, but still… no one wanted to deal with that kind of news.
Sarah didn’t give her time to ponder the devastation she was about to wreak. ‘Right, come on then, let’s get started, before I eat any more of this cake and my hips explode.’
She forced her legs to move and follow Sarah. Upstairs, Bernadette pulled every one of their suitcases out of the hall cupboard and within an hour each one was full. Over the last few weeks, on the pretence of having a clear-out, she’d already sorted out everything she was taking with her. The jewellery her mum left her? Taking. The keepsake box from every one of the kids’ milestones? Taking. Her uniforms and everyday clothes? Taking. The outfits she’d bought for yet another one of Kenneth’s interminable work functions? Leaving. Her wedding dress? Leaving. Preferably on a pyre in the back garden before nightfall.
They humped the cases downstairs, Bernadette rejecting Sarah’s offer to have Piers come over and help them. Her closest friend she could handle, but – much as she’d grown hugely fond of Piers in the short time she’d known him – she didn’t want any other witnesses to the most traumatising, nerve-wracking episode of her life.
It was only when they were loaded and leaving that Bernadette’s heart began to slightly decrease from a speed that would set off a monitor in her husband’s ward. That was all she needed – to leave her husband and then end up on his operating table. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. If she made it through this day it would be a miracle.
The traffic was light all the way to Sarah’s home, only a couple of streets away in the West End of the city. Sarah backed the van into the garage and they unloaded in five minutes of pulling, pushing and exertion.
