One Last Day of Summer, page 10
‘Because you were a safe bet,’ he’d told her offhandedly, like he was discussing what to have for dinner. ‘I knew you’d be a terrific mother, and you’d support me while I focused on my career. You were the stability I wanted to keep everything steady while I climbed the ladder. And that’s what you’ve been. Just a shame you’ve let yourself go at the same time.’
Ouch. That one had stung. But only for a moment. Because by then she hated him so much that she didn’t give two hoots what he thought.
Over the years, Bernadette had become inured to most of his behaviour, but not all of it. She could tolerate the affairs, the disappearances, the blatant disregard for her feelings. She could put up with the control freakery and the insistence that every single thing he wanted had to be done perfectly. He once wrecked her phone because she hadn’t put his breakfast vitamins out in the correct order. While he was berating her, her mobile rang, so he’d picked it up and hurled it at the kitchen wall, smashing it to pieces. She could tolerate the temper and irrational demands, because he never showed any of those things in front of the children and, rightly or wrongly (wrongly now, she knew), she’d lived by the honest belief that keeping their family together was the best thing to do. But what she had never come to terms with was the thing that had made her gasp out loud when Hayley’s husband was here earlier: the gaslighting.
Bernadette had heard Hayley’s husband saying the same things to Hayley that Kenneth had said to her, in one way or another, a thousand times throughout their marriage.
Hayley’s husband’s words were replaying in Bernadette’s mind. ‘What the hell has got into you? You’re being totally fucking irrational.’
Gaslighting 101. He acts completely reprehensibly, and when she reacts, he tells her she’s crazy. Kenneth had done that to her too many times to mention.
The times when she’d suggested he was having affairs and he’d told her she was imagining it.
The times when she’d challenged him about where he’d been, and he’d said she was neurotic.
The times when she’d expressed doubts over his feelings for her and he’d accused her of being paranoid.
So many times. More than she could count.
And what scared her the most was that on way too many of those occasions, she’d believed him.
It had taken her a lifetime to find her strength and to walk away, and when she did, there had been the predictable rage on his part, the blind fury that she’d gone. Then, more surprisingly, came his remorse, the pleading, the genuine devastation. That led to the casual drop-ins, the fabricated excuses for family get-togethers, the suggestions of things they could all do in the future. That all led up to the biggest shock of all. A couple of years after she’d left him, the great Kenneth Manson, master of the universe, had actually begged her to forgive him and to come back to him.
It was little Casey’s fifth birthday, and they’d been at Nina’s house for the party in the garden. Stuart was working on a case, so he and Connor couldn’t make it, but as always, Bernadette was there early and happy to help. ‘You’re on bounce patrol, Mum,’ Nina had informed her when she’d arrived. She’d gestured to the bouncy castle they’d hired for the occasion. ‘You’re like the lifeguard at a pool, only it’s your job to make sure none of these lovely little buggers bounce right out of this inflatable and do themselves an injury on my whirligig.’
‘And what exactly are the requirements for this position?’ Bernadette had asked, playing along.
‘You sit over there at my new Argos dining set and I’ll bring you cold drinks while you keep an eye on them.’
‘Throw in some of this carrot cake, and I’m in,’ Bernadette had countered, handing over the cake she’d baked that morning.
Nina had laughed as she gratefully accepted it. ‘Deal.’
It was the first thing Kenneth had noticed when he’d arrived, all suave smiles and easy charm, as he pulled out a rattan chair and joined her at the table.
‘Your home-made carrot cake?’ he’d asked, gesturing to the plate in front of her.
‘Yes. The diet starts tomorrow. Or maybe next week,’ she’d answered lightly, playing her usual glib game of pretending he was a casual acquaintance, not the man who’d made her life hell for years. It seemed ridiculous, but it was the only way she got through their encounters.
Nina was keeping a discreet watch on the interaction between her parents from a distance. Their daughter loved her father, but Bernadette had learned after their split that she also saw his flaws. If there was a side to choose, Nina stuck with her mother, but Bernadette made a point never to put her in that position.
That was the first day that Bernadette had noticed the subtle difference in Kenneth’s appearance. He’d always been immaculately groomed, masterful in the organisation of his life, his work and his appearance. To the untrained eye, he would have seemed the same as always, but Bernadette saw something different. The slight shadow on his face that revealed he’d left the house without shaving. The curls of the hair on the back of his collar, unheard of for a man who had a standing fortnightly booking with his barber. The creases on his white linen shirt. The missing belt on the waistband of his chinos. None of that was standard Kenneth, and yes, her first reaction was to have a shallow dig in his direction: clearly whatever thirty-year-old model he was dating now wasn’t keeping up with his standards.
There had been quite a few of them since Bernadette had left. Not just the one he was shagging for the last few years of their marriage. That dalliance had fallen apart the night the young woman had shown up at their door and exposed their affair to Bernadette, Nina and Stuart. Kenneth had exploded with fury on their front step that night but Bernadette didn’t stick around to watch what happened next. She’d already packed her stuff and was leaving him anyway.
After that, there seemed to be a steady stream of young beautiful women, few of them older than their daughter. Turned out Kenneth had a type. And it was about as far from Bernadette as it was possible to be.
Not that she’d vocalised that thought, of course. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking she cared enough to notice, and she’d made a promise to herself that she’d always keep things civil, for the kids, the grandkids and for the sake of her own dignity.
‘How are you, Bernadette?’ he’d asked that day, like she was an old friend and not the woman who’d been his psychological target practice for three decades.
‘I’m good. Really good,’ she’d answered honestly.
That’s when he’d proved that even after knowing him for over thirty years, he could still surprise her.
He’d taken a sip of his coffee, eyes focused on the bouncy castle, not even making eye contact with her when he’d said, ‘Bernadette, when are we going to put an end to all this nonsense?’
Bernadette was puzzled. What nonsense? Casey’s birthday party? Did Kenneth have something against inflatable play structures?
‘Nonsense?’ she’d asked, genuinely confused.
‘Yes, this… separation. Between us.’ He’d made a dismissive gesture with his hand, one she’d seen him make a million times.
Bernadette had felt the hackles on her neck begin to rise and reminded herself to keep it together, keep it amicable. Nina was still glancing over every few minutes, and Bernadette was damned if anything was going to spoil this day for her daughter, her grandson, or the fourteen five-year-olds who were bouncing themselves into a frenzy. ‘Separation?’ She was staring straight ahead, a fixed smile on her face, her light tone a stark contrast to the words she was actually saying. ‘You mean our divorce. The one that came about because you cheated on me throughout our whole marriage, undermined me, betrayed me, bullied me, scared me and made me miserable every day of my life. That separation?’
He acted like she hadn’t spoken. ‘Bernie…’ He never called her that, so it jarred with her. To him, she was always Bernadette. Or bitch. Depending on the day. He turned to face her now, put his coffee down and reached over, putting his hand over hers. ‘Bernadette…’ he said this time, and for once in his life he seemed to be struggling for the words. ‘I’m so sorry. For everything. I know I treated you terribly and it was a mistake, all of it. I see that now, though.’
Bernadette had still stared straight ahead, never straying from her bounce watch duties. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Nina’s jaw drop as she glanced over and spotted the hand hold.
She slowly tried to extricate her hand, but Kenneth just held on to it tighter. ‘I’ve been vile. Inexcusable. I know that, but I also know that we had a wonderful life together and I want that back, Bernadette. I want you back. Nothing makes sense without you. Nothing works. It just all seems so… empty. Like the ground isn’t stable any more. Please, Bernadette. Please let me make it up to you. I could cut back on work and we could travel. Take trips. Fly off whenever you wanted. Enjoy our time together.’
Who was this man? Bernadette wanted to check him for signs of a mental aberration. A stroke, maybe. Then it struck her. He was the man she thought she’d married. Somewhere in that, there was a moment of vindication. Looking at him now, or rather, half looking at him, half focusing on some serious bounce action, he was so genuine, so vulnerable, so utterly believable, that it gave her the answer to the question she’d asked herself more than any other in the last few years. How could she have fallen for him? How did she not see that he was a monster? This was why. He was this person too. This loving, sweet, tender man who could win her over with his words. She hadn’t been a fool. He’d just been a really good actor. But she was no longer interested in watching the performance.
‘Kenneth, move your hand off mine,’ she’d said calmly, and only Kenneth was close enough to see that it was through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t ever touch me again without my permission.’
‘Bernadette, come on—’
‘Shut. Up. I’m speaking. Let me tell you something in very clear language. I will never come back to you. I will never touch you again. I will never want to be in your company, but I’ll do it for the kids and so will you. There is no world in which there will ever be more than necessary civility between us. But if you don’t take your fucking hand off mine right now, I will find a way to break it. Do you understand me?’
There was such cool venom in her voice, such absolute conviction, not to mention the completely uncharacteristic profanity, that he’d removed his hand, made an excuse to leave early, and he’d never said any of those things again.
The astonishing realisation that the man who had treated her like mess on the bottom of his shoe had somehow hated living without her, gave Bernadette no satisfaction whatsoever. Rather, it just made her despise him and pity him more. He was a flawed character, Kenneth. A broken person. But one who paraded in a costume of respectability and success. A bit like yer man who’d been sitting in the seat at the end of this row just a few minutes ago.
Watching Hayley deal with her husband had made Bernadette’s heart break, just as it had done every single time a victim of domestic violence had come through the doors at A&E. In those cases, the broken bones and scars were visible, but Bernadette also knew that repeated psychological abuse left wounds that cut just as deep. Her scars still ached sometimes, especially when someone reminded her of how she got them.
So yes, Bernadette knew exactly who and what Lucas Ford was. And while she completely understood that – for whatever reason – Hayley hadn’t yet found her voice to fight back, Bernadette knew that if he pulled any of that nonsense with his wife again, Bernadette was ready and able to shout loud enough for them both.
14
TADGH
Tadgh was finding it difficult to swallow his food. He’d put his earphones in, and he was blasting some Marvin Gaye into his brain, trying desperately to get back some kind of grip over his thoughts, still unable to accept that the worst could be true. It couldn’t. It just couldn’t. Not Cheryl. Not Shay.
And not another seven hours stuck in the fecking sky, on the way to his wedding, with his whole life hanging in the balance.
He sighed, gave up on the food, put his blunt knife and mini fork down and tossed his napkin onto the tray. That’s when he noticed that the tray on the table next to him was untouched too. He glanced over to his left and saw that Hayley was staring straight ahead, eyes on the mini screen in front of her, watching a bank heist movie that he recognised. He’d watched it with Cheryl just a few weeks ago, one night at his flat, when they were chilling out, wrapped up in each other on the sofa. They’d yet to move in properly together. He’d shared with Shay and Conlan since college and Cheryl had a free room in her sister’s house. It had made sense to keep rent costs low while they were saving for the wedding, while Tadgh and the guys were on the road so much and while he still spent a couple of nights a week at his da’s place, keeping him company. When Tadgh was at the flat, Cheryl pretty much moved in with him though. After the wedding they were going to rent another apartment in Tadgh’s block. At least, that had been the plan when they were happy. Excited about their future. When she wasn’t screwing his brother.
He must have sighed really loudly, because Hayley turned to stare at him, and he saw her lips move. He pulled his headphones out of his ears, and she half smiled as she repeated the question. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.’
He was about to leave it at that and put his earphones back in, go back to contemplating the shitshow of his life, when she went on.
‘Yeah, I can see that you’re good. Dandy. When I’m good, I can’t eat and I blast Marvin Gaye into my head too. You’re giving off all the signs of being good. Great, in fact.’
It was cheeky, intrusive and really, really unwelcome… but there was something about the way she said it, with such complete matter of fact-ness, that made him defrost just a little.
‘Sorry. Yeah, I’m not having a great day.’
‘Worse than mine? You’ve met my husband.’ There was something so endearing about the fact that she was trying to make conversation, even though they were both very obviously having a shit time.
‘Okay, you win. But it’s pretty close.’ He could feel the gravel in his voice as he spoke. Not enough sleep. Too much Jack Daniel’s. One huge big fecking problem.
‘Are you going to St Lucia on your own?’ she asked, and he recognised something in her expression – she just needed to talk. She just needed to take her mind off whatever she was struggling with right now. And Tadgh’s money was on that absolute prick of a husband.
On any other day, he’d have been happy to pass the time with some small talk. Some of his favourite moments had been sitting next to strangers in bars or coffee shops, passing the time with a bit of craic. His mam could talk for hours to a stranger sitting next to her on a bus and he’d inherited the gene. Today, he really couldn’t face it, but he didn’t have it in him to be rude either. His mother would haunt him if he snubbed anyone. ‘Tadgh Donovan, cop onto yerself and treat other people with the kindness you’d be wanting for yerself.’ It was her mantra for life. He wondered how she would feel about Shay taking that a few steps too far when it came to his brother’s fiancée. He pushed that thought aside, and focused on channelling his mam’s elite small talk talents.
‘No, my brother and my best mate are back in economy.’
He saw a hint of a frown cross her face and he rushed to explain.
‘I didn’t ditch them like… you know.’ He didn’t have to say what he was thinking. He didn’t ditch them like her husband had ditched her. ‘There was a problem with my seat back there – it had been given to someone else – so they put me here instead. Just one of those lucky breaks.’
Not that he felt very fecking lucky.
‘Ah, in that case you’re forgiven. What is it, then, lads’ holiday?’
‘No. I’m going to…’ The words got stuck in his throat. ‘I’m going to get married. Day after tomorrow.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Holy shit, really? Congratulations. That sounds…’ A pause. He saw that she was clearly trying to process the mixed signals that he was giving off. Going to get married should evoke giddy glee, yet he knew that he was more on the funereal side of both giddy and glee. ‘… That sounds, erm, great?’ she finished weakly. ‘Or it would, if you weren’t trying to claim you’re having a worse day than me. I feel like you’re using some kind of false pretences to get the sympathy vote.’ There was a hint of teasing in there. ‘Are you having cold feet? Changed your mind? Have you forgotten where you’re getting married? Is your fiancée called Euphemia and you’re worried about having to say that name for the rest of your life? Or did you sleep with a stripper on your stag night? Only I nearly did that, so I’d understand. Her name was Bubbles. She could do some very interesting tricks.’
That made him chuckle out loud. ‘Please tell me you’re not making that up?’
‘Sorry,’ she conceded. ‘I was totally making that up. I’ve had a few Proseccos and I was just trying to build a bit of empathy to make you feel better.’
‘I appreciate that.’ He realised she was waiting for an answer. ‘But no, I didn’t sleep with a stripper called Bubbles on my stag night. Or anyone else. And I don’t have cold feet. I haven’t forgotten where the wedding is – I’ve already sent the entire contents of my bank account to a place called The Sands to pay for it. And her name is Cheryl, although now I kind of wish it was Euphemia. I’m just… Look, it’s complicated. I wouldn’t want to bore you with it all.’ He wasn’t about to unburden himself and share his deepest darkest secrets with someone he’d just met. Conlan had been his best mate for a million years and he hadn’t even cracked a light to him. Time to steer the conversation away to safer territory. ‘What about you? Why are you having such a bad day if you’re flying off for a swanky holiday?’ He was tempted to add, ‘Apart from the obvious reason that your husband appears to be a complete wanker,’ but he didn’t.
