‘But you? You’ve got this, Bernie. And now you know the kids are fine, it’ll give you the strength to stand up to him. Anyway, when you’re standing in front of him, just lead with the fact that Stuart has quit medicine – nothing you say after that will register.’ Laughing, Sarah put the cups down on the coasters on the table.
Bernadette lifted them one after the other, took the coaster from underneath and flicked them, frisbee-style, into the sink. ‘I fucking hate coasters,’ she said, swearing coming naturally to her for perhaps the first time in her life. She did. She fucking hated them. Almost as much as she fucking hated him. She could do this. She could.
But first, a check… She made a quick call to Marge. ‘Hi Marge, twice in one day! I know – just like buses. I just wondered if you had an update on how the surgery is going and when Kenneth would be done? Right. Yes, of course. Okay thanks.’
Sarah waited expectantly.
‘She doesn’t have an update. As far as she’s aware it’s still due to finish around seven. She’s just about to leave so I won’t be able to ask her again, so we’re going to have to get a move on.’
‘What’s first?’ Sarah asked, pulling out the chair next to her at the kitchen table.
‘Cash,’ Bernadette explained, embarrassed. ‘I know it shouldn’t be about money, but he’ll cancel all my access to our accounts the minute I tell him I’m leaving, and I didn’t want to take any money out before now, just in case I changed my mind after speaking to the kids. We need to do it now, because he might walk through that door in half an hour. My clothes and stuff I can leave behind, but I need some of our savings to start again.’
The very thought made her heart beat even faster. At this rate she was going to be a patient on Kenneth’s operating table by the end of the night.
She reached into the drawer underneath the table and pulled out her laptop. It was Stuart’s old one, long replaced with the shiny new MacBook she’d bought him when he moved out. However, all she really needed it for was Internet and email, so it was perfectly adequate.
She switched it on and entered her password, realising that her hands were actually shaking. What if Kenneth was already out of theatre? What if he was online right now, on the banking website? He’d see the funds start to move and he’d be furious, getting angrier and angrier as he watched their money disappear.
She ordered herself to take a deep breath. He was still in surgery. It would be fine. She could do this. How many times had she told herself that today?
She signed in to the banking website, typing the username and password from memory. He thought she didn’t know them. Had no idea that she’d watched him, time after time, over the years, and sussed out both. Username: Doctor Manson. Password: Violet1966. His mother’s name and the year he was born. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to work it out, but still he would have been astonished that she knew – and more so that she knew that it was the same password for two other accounts in their names. They’d originally opened one for each child when they were born, but they’d cleared them out and given the kids all the cash when they were twenty-one. He’d told her he’d closed them down, but she’d discovered that he’d been lying and regularly transferring money into them. Bernadette suspected either a tax dodge or some messed-up power game, but if she’d asked, she’d have had to confess that she’d accessed them. The pretence of ignorance had been the path of least resistance.
With shaking fingers, she keyed in the details and then waited until the account flashed up on the screen. The first time she’d seen it she’d been astonished how much was in it. Quite a pretty penny. Although the account was, in theory, a joint one, and both their salaries went into it, Kenneth had set up a standing order to another account that was in her name only and he transferred money into it for her every month. That was all she got. Her housekeeping account he told her, like they were some kind of fifties relics. She didn’t care. It was in her name only and that was all that mattered.
With trembling fingers, she waited for the screen to fully download the details of the joint account that only Kenneth was supposed to have access to. Over sixty grand in savings in that account alone. As well as the accounts in the kid’s names, he had more tucked away in other accounts, family ones thathe already had when they met, but she wouldn’t touch those. On screen, she could see the figures showing her salary going in every month, and then the paltry amount he transferred to her as an allowance. Rage bubbled. Anger with herself, not Ken. Why had she permitted this? The truth was that she had allowed him to set it up this way thirty years ago, and never cared enough, or had the bravery, to challenge it.
She did now.
She clicked ‘transfer’ then wrote £9999 in the box. Next ‘recipient’. There her name was, ready to accept another measly cash payment for taking care of the house. This payment was going to be the biggest one yet. A quick call to the bank a couple of weeks ago had informed her that the maximum online transfer was £10000. With trembling figures, she re-entered the password, then pressed ‘confirm’. Please work. Please work. Please…
‘Payment completed.’
She said it out loud and Sarah punched the air. ‘Yes!’
She repeated it twice more. The same amount out of the old kids’ accounts he’d told her he’d closed, putting all the cash into the account that was in her name only. He’d controlled almost every pound she’d ever spent – now, he couldn’t control what he didn’t know about. Three pounds short of thirty grand in total. It was far less than half their assets, but it was all she needed. He could have the house, the stocks, the shares, the rest of the cash. Thirty grand would get her set up in a rented house, until she found somewhere to buy, and then it would be a deposit on her own home. She had her nursing salary to live off. She’d never be wealthy, but if it was a choice between being comfortable andwaking up next to him every morning, or being alone, skint and free, she’d chose the latter.
‘Done?’ Sarah asked.
Bernadette nodded. ‘Done.’
Sarah came round to her chair and wrapped her in a hug. ‘You’re doing the right thing and it’s going to be great. Keep telling yourself that. Just keep reminding yourself.’
‘I’m fine, Sarah, honestly. It’s just all a bit… terrifying, if I’m honest.’
‘But you did it,’ Sarah reassured her, then drained the last of her tea. ‘Okay, what now?’
Bernadette gestured upwards. ‘Clothes, jewellery, some things that have sentimental value. There’s still some more stuff in the garage, but I couldn’t pack too much in case he realised anything was out of place.’
Sarah followed her diligently, a large roll of black plastic bags in hand. They could use a couple of the suitcases that were in the loft, but after that they were out of carriage options, so black plastic sacks it would have to be. All her worldly goods in bin bags – and she didn’t care.
In her bedroom, she opened one of the sets of double doors, then gave a bag to Sarah. ‘Okay, so let’s start here,’ she said, pointing to the clothes inside.
They spent the next hour filling them, then dragged everything downstairs, piling it up in the hallway. Nerves and adrenaline compelled her to pick up the pace because if he came home now they were stuffed.
‘I’ll take these downstairs,’ Sarah announced, passing her with an armful of coats on hangers.
The wardrobe was bare now. The chest of drawers the same. Only one place still to empty and she’d been putting it off until last.
