Chapter 20
Bernadette took a sip of water and reflected that stopping drinking an hour ago had been an extremely smart, but possibly a tad overdue, decision.
What had she been thinking saying such a thing to Marge?
It was one of those comments that was fuelled by the combination of an empty stomach and a glass too much of the white wine that had been circling the room all day.
‘Isn’t it staggering to look around this room?’ she’d wittered. ‘It’s like a history of his life. A chequered, very revealing one that shows exactly who he was. I mean… How many women in here do you think Kenneth slept with while he was married to me, Marge?’
Holy mother of God, the poor woman had turned bright pink and almost combusted from the shock of it.
And Marge, of all people. Bernadette doubted that Marge had ever had a discussion about sex with another human being.
She was utterly wonderful, and Bernadette had no doubt she didn’t suffer fools, but she was also very formal and extremely reserved and proper.
There was no way Marge would pop over to Val’s on a Thursday night to lie on the couch, kick off their shoes, eat sausage rolls dipped in tomato sauce and make borderline inappropriate comments about what they would do if they were ever stuck in a lift with Ollie Chiles, that bloke on The Clansman.
Or, if she did, Bernadette had a hunch that Marge’s answer would involve something like discussing the history of Scottish rebellions in the sixteenth century.
Bernadette wanted to put her head in her hands when she replayed Marge’s response to her inappropriate question about her former husband’s infidelities. Marge had spluttered, then grasped for an answer, instead of just killing the question with denials. She was too honest for that, God love her.
She’d finally settled on, ‘He was a complicated man, Bernadette,’ and both the truth and the sadness in her words had pierced a hole in Bernadette’s alcohol-sodden heart. But not enough to make her stop talking, apparently.
‘I always wondered if you knew what he was like. I wonder if all the people here knew what he was really like. Actually, I don’t think they’d care. What mattered to them was his brilliance, his charm, the way the sun shone directly from his arse.’
There must have been one tiny modicum of sense that hadn’t yet taken a dive into her pool of Chablis, because something in her mind had demanded, Stop fecking talking, Bernie. Just stop. Finito. Done. Enough. And put that wine glass down while you’re at it.
However, the rest of her inhibitions were apparently still doing the backstroke in the vino.
‘He was brilliant, yes,’ she’d gone on. ‘But he was also cold. Cruel. A terrible husband. An awful father to Stuart. He even managed to piss off Nina, and I think she was possibly the only person in the world that he truly loved. You know, I deliberately stopped at two because I didn’t want to bring another child into his world.
I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone that. ’
Poor Marge had looked as if she were about to keel over.
But then, shouldn’t two grown women be able to have honest, frank, even controversial discussions?
Bernadette had them every day at work and she had yet to have an open dialogue that didn’t at least give insight into a difficult situation.
And watching the great and good of Scotland celebrate Kenneth was definitely, for Bernadette, a difficult situation.
‘Did you love him, Marge?’
Her internal voice had piped back up. Oh, feck stop! Quit the open dialogue nonsense. The poor woman is now choking on her tea.
‘I mean platonically, of course. Only, I always thought you must, because you stayed with him for all those years. There must have been other jobs. Better bosses. Promotions. And yet you stuck with Kenneth.’
Bernadette was desperately trying to soften the outrageously personal question, and that’s when she had taken the decision to lay off the wine and switch to water.
Isla, the lovely waitress who’d been serving them, passed at that point and she’d asked for a glass of tap water, while Marge had requested another tea.
Marge had taken advantage of the interruption to recover from choking, and had come back with a calm, reasoned reply.
‘I’m someone who values security and stability.
I’m not a risk taker. To answer your question, no, I didn’t love him.
I respected his work. Admired his intelligence.
I’m so sorry to say that I was very aware of his faults, and perhaps that should have been enough to make me leave, but he was always unfailingly professional with me and treated me well.
He had a temper, and could be demanding, but I think, in many ways, I had that “better the devil you know” mentality. ’
‘I can understand that. And for what it’s worth, I know how much he valued you.
I think you were the most constant person in his life in the end.
By that time, I was gone. Nina barely saw him because he’d never approved of Gerry.
He had no time for Stuart. All that was left was you, Marge.
Oh, and Lila over there, but she soon got bumped off too.
I never saw that coming. I thought she’d have been the trophy wife he always felt he deserved. ’
Marge had followed Bernadette’s eyeline, to the other side of the room, where Lila Anderson was apparently reeling Murray Atkins into her Venus flytrap.
Or perhaps it was the other way round. Bernadette wouldn’t trust either of them as far as she could kick them.
Although, she had to admire Lila’s gall in showing up here today.
That took a special level of entitlement and audacity that Bernadette couldn’t even imagine possessing.
Nor did she want to. She wondered if she should feel resentment, anger, disgust at Lila’s presence, but actually she felt nothing at all.
Complete indifference. If anything, Lila had done her a favour that day she’d turned up on the doorstep and revealed the affair, because it had booted Kenneth right off any arrogant high ground that his narcissistic brain could have manufactured to stop Bernadette leaving him.
When the two women had turned back to face each other, Bernadette could tell that Marge had known exactly who Lila was and what she’d been to Kenneth. Their affair had lasted longer than some marriages. Marge’s next words had confirmed it.
‘Yes, I’ve had the displeasure of meeting Miss Anderson and I won’t lie to you by minimising their relationship, but to my mind, Kenneth was never serious about any of his dalliances.
He certainly gave no indication that he wanted to make any of them permanent.
I know you might not believe this, Bernadette, and I don’t want to say anything that will upset you, but he was never the same after you left him. It was like a form of grief.’
That wasn’t a surprise to her. ‘I do know that. It was a shock to me, but from the time I left him, right up until he died, he was trying to get me to go back to him. At first, I thought it was some kind of game for him, because, God knows, he had no true understanding of love. Then I studied more, started up a support group where I saw similar stories, spoke to many people far smarter than me, and I learned what I still believe to be the explanation. It was his narcissism. He couldn’t bear that I had left him.
His ego couldn’t bear it. And I think he misinterpreted that as love and loss.
Jesus, Marge, this might be the deepest conversation I’ve ever had at a funeral.
I’m sorry. I’ve been talking your ear off.
I think a dam broke after I’d been forced to be polite, and listen to how wonderful he was all day. ’
‘I understand, Bernadette. And this might be the longest conversation that I’ve had in a long time. I’ve always been somewhat of a loner, especially since Ian died…’
‘Oh, Marge, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy talking about myself that I didn’t even ask how you were. It’s the wine, I swear.’
Marge had protested instantly. ‘No, no, please don’t apologise. It’s been nine years now and I’ve become quite used to it. And I have Estelle…’
‘I’ve loved that name since the day Kenneth told me that’s what your daughter was called. I think she was born just a few years after Nina…’
Marge had nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right…’ Then went back to her original point. ‘But what I meant to say was that I’ve enjoyed speaking to you, Bernadette, and I hope we can stay in touch. I think perhaps we have more to talk about. More we could share. I would welcome that.’
Bernadette prided herself on her perception, even after several glasses of wine, and she’d recognised Marge’s body language and tiny steps towards her.
She saw it on people in the ED who badly needed someone to talk to, but didn’t have the strength to speak up.
People who were lonely and craved connection, yet didn’t know how to reach out.
‘I would like that, Marge.’
‘Mum!’ A stage whisper from Nina, who was standing just a few feet away clutching her phone to her ear, had interrupted them and Bernadette saw Nina beckoning her over.
‘I’ll be right back, Marge.’ Something had occurred to her. ‘You know, you never answered my question earlier. About the other women.’
‘No, I didn’t. Bernadette, I’m so sorry…’
That was as far as Marge had got, because at that moment, over at a table near the bar, Sir Lester Kelaney’s wife dropped a wine glass, which smashed, scattering shards and Chablis across the marble floor.
The sound of it had chilled Bernadette to the core. How many times had Kenneth smashed something – a whisky tumbler, a photo frame, a plate – to make a point while he was in a rage?
Marge had jumped out of her seat, and immediately headed over to implement a crisis-management protocol, leaving Bernadette frozen to the spot.
If she’d dropped a glass at a function, in front of his peers, Kenneth would have been insane with fury, but he would keep a lid on it while they were in public, and then verbally torture her the minute they were alone.
The abuse would last for days, sometimes weeks, until Bernadette was almost broken with the exhaustion of it.
And still she’d stayed. It struck her that she probably had no right to question Marge’s choice to work for Kenneth for all those years, when Bernadette had stayed for decades too.
While Marge had gone to organise the clear-up, Bernadette had made her way over to Nina, who’d got off her phone just as Bernadette reached her and immediately rushed into an explanation of why she’d summoned her.
‘Mum, that was the babysitter – Milo just threw up everywhere and she thinks he might have a slight fever.’
If Bernadette’s switch to water hadn’t already cleared her head, that would have done the trick.
‘You go on home, love.’
‘But I can’t! How can I leave my dad’s wake before it’s over? I’m supposed to be the one in charge here. What if something goes wrong?’
‘Don’t worry, Stuart is here…’ As she’d said it, she’d spotted that Stuart was making his way to them, with Connor by his side.
Those two were so lucky to have found each other.
Bernadette had never seen her son as happy as he’d been since they had realised they were meant to be together.
Although, as she’d watched him approach, she could see the strain on his face and knew how much this must have taken out of him.
He was someone else who would find a day of people praising Kenneth Manson to be a form of psychological torture.
‘Sis, we’re just about to head off.’
Nina’s panic had escalated. ‘But, Stu, the babysitter has just phoned and Mum said—’
Bernadette had immediately cut her off. ‘Sweetheart, it’s fine,’ she’d assured her daughter. ‘You and Gerry go on home and take care of the wee one. And Stuart’ – she’d turned to her son – ‘you get off now too.’
‘But, Mum, if something goes wrong…?’ Nina had said again.
‘Then I’ll be here to fix it. I’ll stay. It’ll be fine. And Marge is here too – she knows all the details. Between us, we’ll take care of everything.’
Nina’s groan had come from gratitude, relief, and the understanding of what Bernadette was doing.
‘Urgh, Mum, I’m sorry. After everything, you’re still the one that ends up making sure everything is okay for Dad.
I swear you deserve a medal. Or a blooming trophy.
If I win the lottery, you can have it all – how about that? ’
Bernadette had laughed. ‘I’ll settle for enough to have a cleaner, a chef and four holidays a year. Phone me later and let me know how the wee one is doing.’
She’d hugged her daughter, then waved her off, before switching back to Stuart.
‘Okay, what am I getting from you, if Nina is pitching up with the cleaning staff and the holidays?’
She’d always been able to get round Stuart by making him laugh.
He’d been a shy kid and that had made him a target for someone like Kenneth, who’d perceived Stuart’s shyness as weakness.
In the couple of years before he died, Kenneth had made an effort to build some kind of relationship with his son – mainly, they all suspected, as a way to show Bernadette that he’d changed – but it had been too late.
‘Unlimited Saturday bottomless brunches and we’ll come on those holidays with you.’
‘Deal. I couldn’t possibly say no.’
‘Anyway, don’t worry – we’ll stay and keep you company. I’m not leaving you alone with this this lot,’ he’d said, scanning the room. ‘If the company you keep shapes your personality, no wonder Dad was a dick.’
Bernadette had to supress a chuckle. She wasn’t sure she could have summed it up any better than that.
‘No, honestly, it’s fine. You two go while you can. Save yourselves. If I don’t make it out, you can have my china and my overdraft.’
That had made Stuart smile again. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. Honestly. Besides, I know that Marge will want to stay until everyone’s gone too, so I’ll stay and keep her company.’
‘Are you absolutely sure or just saying this so we don’t feel bad?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
As she’d given her son and his boyfriend a hug, Bernadette had realised that she meant what she was saying. She did want to stay with Marge.
And now, as she took another sip of her water and replayed the important points of their conversation in her mind, Bernadette decided that they still had more to discuss.
Because she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the woman who’d been loyal to Kenneth for the last three decades had something on her mind that she wanted to talk about.