She wanted to be there, be prepared, be in control of the situation, not walking into a confrontation because he’d already guessed what was happening.
Please don’t let him be home yet.
It was well after eight, but it wouldn’t be unusual at all for him to be delayed this late.
Please don’t let him be home yet.
They stopped at the traffic lights around the corner from the end of her street.
Please don’t let him be home yet.
They turned, her house was just up ahead on the right now.
Please don’t let him be home yet.
Ken’s car was in the driveway.
He was home.
As they drew to a stop outside the house, Sarah saw it too. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come in? Or to wait for you? You don’t have to do this alone, Bernie.’
‘I know,’ Bernadette replied. ‘But I do really, for me. This is between Ken and me. It’s why I didn’t want the kids here either. If anyone else was here, I’d be too worried about them to say the things that need to be said.’
Sarah tried again. ‘You know you don’t have to worry about keeping things from me, though, Bernie. I’ve seen everything that’s happened. I know the truth of what you’ve been dealing with.’
‘I know that, lovely, and thank you,’ Bernadette replied gently, ‘but part of walking away is knowing that I am finally standing up to him, taking responsibility for my future and having the strength to do it on my own. So I’m going to go in there,’ Bernadette steeled herself to go on, ‘I’m going to tell him I’ve left him and then I’m going to get in my car and drive away, and I won’t look back. Not even once.’ It sounded so easy when she said it like that, but her confident tone belied the butterflies in her stomach.
Sarah leaned over and hugged her, squeezing her tightly. ‘You can do this. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.’
Bernadette knew it wasn’t true. ‘Strong would have been walking away from him years ago,’ she argued, ruefully.
‘Strong is staying in a crap situation because you feel it’s what’s best for your family,’ Sarah countered.
Bernadette didn’t carry on the debate. She’d often wondered how she’d have reacted if Kenneth had been openly abusive, or physically harmed her? Would she have left then? She was sure she would have. There was no way she’d have allowed her children to be brought up in that environment. Somehow, though, because she was the only one affected by his behaviour, she’d decided, somewhere along the line, that she could tolerate it in order to give her children a life with their father. Now, with the benefit of detachment and hindsight, she could see how ridiculous that was, how it was a shocking testimony to her feelings of low self-esteem, how he’d broken her down to the point where her own happiness didn’t matter to her. How many times had she tended to victims ofdomestic abuse, and told them they deserved to be happy, to live their lives free of suppression or pain? Yet she was the one who had not been able to live by that advice.
It would always be a regret, but not one that she would dwell on. She had too much living to do.
She hugged Sarah again, then climbed out of the van and walked up her driveway. From the outside of the house she could see that the lights in the front rooms were not on, but there was a faint glow from the back of the house. He was in the kitchen then. With a heavy heart and a trembling hand, she put her key in the door and pushed it open.
Be strong, she told herself, repeating another line of the encouragement she’d given to so many other women, and a few men too, over the years.
She walked down the hall, through into the kitchen, and there he was, sitting at the table, typing something on his laptop.
Chest palpitations were thudding as he stopped, looked up at her.
‘Where have you been?’
‘With Sarah,’ she replied, trying desperately to gauge his mood. Did he know? Had he been upstairs and noticed her stuff missing from the wardrobe? He was dressed in his suit, having driven his car back from the hospital instead of cycling, just like he did every Friday. On Monday morning, he’d drive in, with his bike attached to the back, and then cycle home, leaving his car at the hospital for the week, biking back and forth every day. Bernadette had never questioned why – quizzing Kenneth was something she preferred to avoid – but she had a sneaking suspicion it was so the car was always there, in his named space at the hospital door, serving two purposes – first, it would make him look like he was so dedicated that hewas first in and last out every day. And secondly, it meant that Bernadette couldn’t use it while he was at work. Not that she ever would. Flash cars like that just made a driver look desperate for attention, as far as she was concerned. She much preferred her Fiat – even more so because Ken hated the sight of it and went on and on about it lowering the tone of their driveway. Pretentious arse.
He was just staring at her now, telling her nothing. Of course, he’d be furious that he’d come home to an empty house. If she wasn’t working, he expected her to be there, waiting for him when he walked in the door. It was Friday, so he liked to eat out, to go to one of the nicer restaurants in the city, where he’d smile and shake hands with acquaintances and show that he was a man of cosmopolitan habits, while the waiting staff gave impeccable service in return for a generous tip. The whole world thought this guy was something. Only Bernadette knew he was nothing.
She felt unsettled, unsure of her next move, unable to gauge where she was with this. She decided to go for it. Pull the Band Aid off.
‘Kenneth, I need to talk to you,’ she said calmly. Reasonably. For all he knew it could be about the weather or a blocked drain.
‘Is it about the thirty grand you stole from me today?’
Her pulse went into overdrive. Oh dear God. He knew.
