Marge swallowed, her throat tight, her chest even tighter, as she watched the hearse come to a halt, then six gents in traditional funeral suits – Marge assumed they worked for the funeral directors – stepped forward.They efficiently but respectfully removed the coffin from the back of the car, then, with a nod to the family, who had now alighted from the second car, they began to make their way up the steps, coffin on shoulders, gazes straight ahead.Marge took in the pale, tight expressions on the faces of Nina and Stuart, and her heart broke for them, and for Bernadette, who walked between them, holding their hands.
In accordance with tradition, the mourners stood aside, letting the coffin and family pass, then followed behind them into the empty church.Not wishing to claim any kind of false importance, Marge, with Amber beside her, slid into a middle pew, letting others go ahead of her to the front.
‘Shit, I haven’t switched my phone off,’ Amber whispered, before thrusting her hand into her bag and pulling out her mobile, then pressing a button on the side.‘Oh, I’d have been mortified.Could you imagine the minister’s face if “You Are My Sunshine” started playing?Sorry.Doing that inappropriate conversation thing again.’
Marge didn’t mind.In fact, she realised now she was glad to have someone objective there, someone who wasn’t emotionally involved.It was helping her to detach, to keep it together, and she wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to do that if she’d been alone.Especially now that the minister was opening the service with sad words of sympathy and loss, and promises of redemption.
Marge’s gaze drifted once more to Kenneth’s family, and her chest tightened again.Bernadette stood stoically between her adult children and Marge admired her greatly, although they weren’t friends – Kenneth had been incredibly particular about keeping his work and personal life separate, so their only communication occurred when Bernadette called in or when Marge phoned Kenneth’s wife on his behalf.
As for Nina and Stuart, Marge had met them dozens of times over the years, bought gifts for them, arranged work experience and even, once or twice, in bygone days, picked them up from school or sports if Kenneth was supposed to do it and he was held up in surgery or otherwise engaged.Now that they were adults, she wondered how they viewed their late father.Like many of his ilk, his work had been all-consuming and Marge couldn’t possibly count how many times he’d asked her to call and tell his family he’d be late home, or wouldn’t make it to a special event.
And then there were the times that his absence wasn’t down to a work commitment, but to something more personal and illicit.Marge had always done as he asked, but not without a tug on her conscience.She told herself she was protecting them as much as she was protecting Kenneth, but that didn’t mean that she’d approved for a single second of his behaviour or of the position he’d put her in time after time.Kenneth Manson was many things: brilliant, dedicated, strong, compassionate to his patients, supportive to his colleagues, but he wasn’t perfect and it had been part of Marge’s job description to mask those flaws.Now, there would be no more moments of admiration for the boss she’d worked with for decades and there was no longer a need to cover for his failings.
The hardest part of Marge’s job had been turning a blind eye to Kenneth’s dalliances, and it was a moral dilemma she’d wrestled with many times over the years.But at the end of the day, the truth was that she’d overlooked his infidelities, compartmentalised them, so that she could continue to work with him.She wondered if that was something she would come to regret.But then, Marge knew she wasn’t perfect either.She’d made her own mistakes – as Kenneth knew all too well.Their relationship was a trade off.An understanding that had remained between them for a lifetime.And one that would shock many members in this hallowed congregation to the core.
As Sir Lester Kelaney took his place behind the pulpit, Marge put her head down, deciding to stick with emotional detachment, so that she didn’t show any kind of response that would draw attention.She kept the same posture as Nina took Sir Lester’s place and delivered a beautiful, heartfelt tribute to the man that Marge knew had adored his daughter beyond anyone else.
It was only when Murray Atkins, the final speaker, opened with a witty anecdote about Kenneth’s fierce competitiveness that Marge lifted her head.As the congregation laughed, she doubted if they understood the deep-rooted significance of the story, but Marge caught it straight away.Something in Murray’s posture.A slight reverberation in his voice – loss?Grief?Or perhaps malice?Maybe even triumph?Murray and Kenneth had been friends for decades, which made the truth even more unpalatable, but Marge knew that Kenneth had had a brief, meaningless but entirely secret affair with Murray’s ex-wife, Diana, while they were still married.And Murray, that the man up there praising his old friend, knew all about it.
It would be unfathomable to most normal people.Why would someone give a eulogy for a friend who’d betrayed him?But Marge already knew the answer.Men like Murray and Kenneth would never turn down an opportunity to hold court with the people in this room.She’d met many brilliant surgeons in her life who were truly decent people, but there were some who were just different – men (and yes, it had all been men in this category so far) whose psyches were made grandiose and their egos swollen by their ability to snatch life from the jaws of death.They had different standards to normal people.Different values.Different perceptions of what mattered and what didn’t, what was right and what was wrong.Kenneth had been in that category – a complicated genius driven by his ego.Now she wondered if his old friend was too.
As Murray veered off into another anecdote about his times with Kenneth, delivering it with a pitch-perfect balance of respect, humour and self-deprecation, Marge allowed her stare to wander and immediately proved her own point.
Murray’s ex-wife, Diana, was sitting further along her row, tears falling onto her jacket that was unmistakably Chanel.She’d been an expensive fling for Kenneth.Marge remembered the Hermès scarf, the Tiffany ring, the weekend at the five-star hotel on the shores of Loch Lomond.
A loud sniff took her gaze a few rows forward.Annabel Stevenson, a politician in the Scottish government, had been expensive too – a trip to Paris under the guise of a medical conference.Although, Marge was fairly sure that conferences didn’t take place in a suite at the George V.That one had ended badly when Annabel had discovered that Kenneth was still very married and she’d freaked out over the potential damage that could cause her career.
Another shift in direction.In a pew to her left was former model, Danielle Strang, a lovely woman he’d met about a decade ago at a Christmas ball, which led to an entanglement that had lasted until that summer.
And then… Marge almost gasped as she caught sight of a face she would have been happy never to see again as long as she lived.Lila Anderson.Much younger than Kenneth.Probably not much older than his daughter, Nina.At one point, Marge had thought that affair would have been the one to bring it all crashing down and it almost did.It certainly, as far as she knew, played a part in the end of Kenneth and Bernadette’s marriage.The others Marge had some compassion for – she could tell by their actions that the women didn’t have a full picture of Kenneth’s married life.But Lila?No.She was dangerous.Nasty.Vicious.Marge made it a point never to disparage another woman, but if she were to break that rule, she would call Lila a first-grade bitch.For the seven years of their affair, Marge had put up with her demands and her spoiled brat behaviour.She’d been forced to cover for Kenneth when Lila had shown up at his office and they’d suddenly locked the door, the sounds coming from inside making it clear what was happening on the other side of the wall.Lila Anderson was the closest Marge ever had to a nemesis, and she couldn’t believe she had the absolute audacity to show her face here today.Marge just hoped that Bernadette didn’t spot Lila in the crowd.
The minister was wrapping up the ceremony now, saying the goodbyes, and notifying the congregation that Kenneth’s body would be taken for a private burial, but that they were all invited to join the family at a hotel in the city for the wake.Marge had known that in advance of today.The burial was taking place tomorrow, with just the family present, because the gravediggers didn’t work on a Sunday.Even God had a day of rest.
Marge felt Amber slip her arm through hers and realised that they’d been asked to stand to sing the closing hymn.Kenneth’s favourite.‘O Come All Ye Faithful’.Of course it was.Because it was always the most righteous and duplicitous that completely missed the irony of their choices.
As she joined in, singing quietly, she watched as the coffin passed her by, a solemn procession of mourners behind it.Nina.Stuart.And, of course, lovely Bernadette.Then the speakers… Murray Atkins.Sir Lester Kelaney.Followed by other VIPs as they filed out row by row from the front.
And as she sang and watched the procession, Marge felt a slow burn of shame rising up her neck.
For thirty years she’d been keeping all of Kenneth Manson’s secrets.But this morning was the starkest reminder that she had a couple of her own.
NOON–2P.M.
9
BERNADETTE
At the nurses’ station in the middle of the Emergency Department, Bernadette glanced up at the whiteboard again, deciding this was the medical equivalent of Whac-A-Mole – but for every one that they got rid of, two more appeared in its place.Two things weren’t helping – the ice on the roads and pavements outside, and the fact that the Saturday morning school sports fixtures were still going on across the city’s pitches, which inevitably resulted in a wave of sprained ankles from adolescent football players, blunt-force traumas from hockey players, and way too many broken bones, head wounds and concussions from the rugby squads.On top of that, there was a slow, walking-dead procession of people who’d woken up after their Friday night out and discovered the tiny cut or bump they had after a drunken fall, fight or collision was actually a gaping wound or an injury that needed medical attention.
‘Tell me why I chose this life?’Caleb asked, coming up behind her.‘I could have been anything.A lawyer.A politician.The bloke that sells deckchairs at the beach clubs in Ibiza…’
‘Ah, but you wouldn’t have met me if you’d done that.I avoid lawyers, don’t trust politicians and I burn like a barbequed chicken in the sun, so I never go near the beach,’ Bernadette shot back, all of it true.
‘Or me.’That came from Stevie, a radiographer in the X-ray department and Caleb’s best friend, who’d just joined them, and was now handing a chart over to Bernadette.
Every time Bernadette saw her, she thought of Stevie Nicks, the iconic songstress that her colleague had been named after and bore a striking resemblance to.Although, the original Stevie Nicks didn’t generally wear scrubs and had definitely never been in the ED of Glasgow Central Hospital.
‘I was coming this way anyway, so I brought this.Your runaway bride.Ankle fracture, ligament damage, a growing hangover and a huge case of marital remorse.And you might want to put security on standby, because I just heard there’s a drunk bloke in a morning suit and top hat roaming the corridors, shouting for his bride.He must have come in another entrance and worked his way through the hospital.’
