by Shari Low
And now he was going to make it official, not because he had a burning desire to be married, but because he knew Lila wanted it.
Hadn’t she dropped enough hints? How many times had she said she wanted to be married by the time she was thirty? How many jewellery windows had they stopped at? How many wedding magazines had she left lying around? How many times had she mentioned that fact that marriage was definitely something on the horizon? He knew this was why she’d been a bit off for the last couple of months. She was starting to get frustrated, beginning to wonder if he really was serious about her or if this was just a passing romance, a waste of her time that could rob her of the future she had planned.
After tonight, she’d know that wasn’t the case. The whole institution of marriage wasn’t something he desperately wanted – he’d have been happy just living together forever. What difference did a piece of paper and a walk down an aisle really make? However, it hadn’t taken him long to realise that it was important to her, and he was more than willing to make it happen.
At first he’d thought of using one of those proposal agencies, the companies that planned everything and took care of all the details to make it special, but when he’d told Josie and Val, they’d been outraged. ‘Och, why would you be wasting your money on that when we could do it for you?’ Josie had exclaimed, while Val had looked at her, mouth agape. ‘You can’t stand her,’ she’d pointed out the obvious. Cammy took no offence. In fact, as Josie had said, he knew it came from a place of love. Josie treated him like a son, and she’d never think any woman was good enough for him. He could turn up with a supermodel astronaut who spent her life improving the living conditions of the poor and brokering world peace, and Josie would still find fault.
He picked up a caramel wafer, dunked it in his tea, and took a bite, as he listened to Val running through the plans.
Whether Josie approved or not, Cammy knew with absolute certainty that by the end of the day he was going to be engaged to Lila.
Chapter 3
Bernadette
Bernadette stared at the table to make sure it was just the way he liked it. Cup and saucer on the right-hand top corner of the white, freshly laundered and pressed place mat. Bowl of muesli in the centre, jug of milk beside it. Prunes in a dish to the left. Vitamins in a ramekin, next to the cafètiere filled to a centimetre from the top with Jamaican Blue Mountain Roast. The coffee took a fair chunk out of her housekeeping budget every month, but, as he reminded her often, at this stage in life he’d worked hard enough to get the best.
He’d worked.
He made it sound like she had never lifted a finger in her life. Thirty years in nursing, part-time during the kids’ first ten years, when she juggled night shifts with bringing them up, while he worked days and slept peacefully through the night. Thank God, she’d had her mother then to help out, because there was no way Kenneth would disturb his beauty sleep to rouse himself for a restless child.
Oh no. He’d always insisted on uninterrupted sleep because, as he regularly pointed out, his job was life or death. He conveniently overlooked the fact that hers was too, sneering that, she was just a nurse in A&E, while he was a cardiac surgeon who required sufficient rest to operate successfully. And one thing that drove Kenneth Manson was success. He had one of the most lauded practices in the country, based in a prestigious private hospital near their home in the West End of the city. Kenneth Manson was a renowned expert when it came to matters of the heart. The irony didn’t escape her.
She flinched, as he walked into the room, his eyes barely registering her presence as he sat down and gave a murmured, ‘Morning.’ So it was going to be one of those days in the Manson household then. It was impossible to predict. Sometimes, she got a smile, perhaps even a peck on the cheek as he passed her. If they’d had sex the night before, he might even reach for the belt on her robe and pull her towards him. That happened less now. In fact, it had been months. Thank God. It meant she didn’t have to pretend to respond, or hate herself when she did. Mornings like this were preferable. She’d rather he ignored her or even blatantly abhorred her, than have to put up with his touch.
She saw that he was already in his cycling gear, like something straight out of mid-life crisis central. What was it they called them? MAMILs. Middle-Aged Men In Lycra. Of course, she’d never say that out loud. Nor would she tell him that he looked ridiculous in the full regalia. That was one of those happy little thoughts that she kept to herself. As was the fact that there was every chance he’d freeze his bollocks off, cycling through Glasgow streets in December.
The cycling had been a new development over the last couple of years. He’d always taken care of himself – well, in his line of work it was advisable – but he’d taken it to a whole other level when the big 5-0 began to loom on the horizon. A natural inclination to vanity had ramped up many notches. It went one way or another, didn’t it? He’d been such a good-looking man in his twenties and thirties, and when the choice came to relax and accept the passing of time, or to fight the ageing process with every fibre of his being, he’d chosen the latter. Now, he cycled the five miles to work every morning, then got showered and changed there, before fitting in a lunchtime training session at the gym, and then cycling home at night. Sometimes he even went back out later for another workout, and she’d lost count of the cycling weekends, the active breaks, and marathons he’d gone off to do in cities all over Europe. She didn’t mind. Not in the least. Every day that he was away was a day less that she had to look at him over the top of his newspaper and silently hate him. Kenneth Manson. A fine, upstanding pillar of the community, saviour of many, much loved father, vile bastard of a husband.
His face flickered with annoyance as her mobile phone buzzed to signal an incoming message. He didn’t approve of phones at the table, but he could hardly ground her, could he? She wasn’t one of the kids… though even the kids weren’t children now… Nina was twenty-nine and Stuart was seven years behind her. Who was she kidding? She knew good and well that the fact she was his wife wouldn’t stop him doling out a punishment. Maybe a day-long sulk. Perhaps a barbed insult. A criticism of her appearance.
She didn’t look at the text, aware that it could set him off, yet hating herself for succumbing to that fear and allowing him to control her actions. It would be Sarah, her friend, and lately, her co-conspirator. Nothing actually illegal. At least, not yet.
Because everything was about to change.
Today was D-Day. Operation Freedom. They’d been building up to this day for months and she still wasn’t sure that she was going to go through with it, that she had the strength to take the steps and make it happen. But she had to believe that she had the courage to do it.
The fact that she had stayed with Kenneth for so long wouldn’t make sense to most people. In the beginning she’d stayed because she loved him. For the first couple of years, she’d truly adored him and couldn’t believe her luck that he’d loved her back. When that began to dim, and then finally die, she stayed for the kids, to give them the security of growing up in a stable home, God knows, he’d reminded her so many times that if she left him, he’d get custody. A man of his reputation? He was sure of it. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to put it to the test and subject the kids to that kind of trauma.
When Stuart left home a couple of years ago, that should have been her moment. Nina was long gone by then, married and living over on the South side, while Stuart moved into a flat in the city centre with a friend, Connor, from University. By then, though, her mum and dad were both poorly, and her marriage was the least of her worries, as she nursed them, visiting every day, co-ordinating with the care team and the nursing staff, spending every possible hour with them until the end.
She’d buried her dad in the spring, and then her mum in the autumn, so now there was no one who was still relying on her, no one to focus on, to take her mind away from the hell of this existence with a man she no longer loved. In some profou
nd way, their deaths had convinced her that she had to start living. Now was her time. She just had to have the nerve to see it through.
‘How hard?’
She barely made out what he said. ‘What?’
‘How hard is it to get this fucking right?’ he said, and she realised he was staring at the assortment of vitamins in the tiny receptacle.
Her heart sank. She’d been distracted when she’d counted them out, too busy thinking about the rest of the day and everything that she had to do to make it work.
‘Sorry, I…’
‘Don’t be fucking sorry,’ he hissed, through gritted teeth, his words delivering a vicious slap. She’d almost have preferred it if he shouted. At least then, she could switch it off, like a thunderstorm, knowing it would blow itself out. But when he was like this… this was the worst. The most dangerous. This was when the insults started, the criticisms, the long list of her inadequacies.
Her eyes flicked to the clock. He had to leave in five minutes and he was never late. Just hold on. Five minutes. Three hundred seconds. Surely, there was nothing that couldn’t be endured for three hundred seconds. The last three hundred seconds she’d ever spend looking at his face, contorted into disgust and fury.
Her phone buzzed again and it was all she could do not to get up and run, not stopping until she was free of him.
He snatched it up, threw it at the wall. ‘What have I told you about that phone?’
Bernadette heard the crack as the glass met with the corner of the picture that hung there. She’d always hated it. Inherited from his family home. A hunting scene. Apt, given that she’d been trapped for years.
Once upon a time, she’d chased him. He’d been so suave, so dashing, she’d gone out of her way to bump in to him, had hung on his every word. He still had that effect on people now. She saw it all the time, at social events or work gatherings, especially in some of the single (and married!) women. Oh, how they thought he was a catch, a debonair, charismatic alpha male with a twinkle in his eye and a reputation for brilliance.
She knew that’s what they thought, because she once did too.
For those women, the fact that he was married didn’t even factor into it. He didn’t wear a ring, so many didn’t know and the ones that did didn’t seem to care. The only thing that made her feel worse than seeing him admired by others, was when someone with their eye on him realised who he was married to.
Bernadette had seen it many times, read their minds as they went through the steps of realisation. The incomprehension as they took in her appearance, her demeanour, her forgettable presence. He was married to her? Really? She must have some personality because she didn’t get him on looks.
In the early years, the physical chasm between them hadn’t been so wide, and anyway, she consoled herself with the fact that he came home to her every night. When the sheen of adoration wore off and she realised who he really was, it had stopped hurting altogether.
She was sure people wondered why he stayed. She did too. But then, thirty years was a long relationship to walk away from and he was from a family that stayed. Wasn’t that what his mother, the evil old cow, used to say? We’re fighters, us Mansons. We don’t walk away.
Sometimes, Bernadette wished to God he had, then she wouldn’t have to face him every morning and listen to yet another poisonous attack.
‘Why do you always have to do this to me? Can’t I even have my bloody breakfast in peace and quiet, and have it the way that I want it. Is it really too much to ask? Is it?’
No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t too much to ask at all. He’d have plenty of peace and quiet from now on, and his breakfast would be bloody perfect, because he’d have to make it himself. She had to stop herself smiling at that thought. He’d have been sure to take that as a sign of defiance and that would rile him up even more.
A few more minutes. She just had to hold her nerve for a few more minutes. Sod him and sod his bloody prunes.
A phone ringing, this time his, not hers. He swore again, kicked the table leg like a petulant child as he got up, reached for his backpack and pulled it out of the front pocket. So it was ok for him to look at his phone, but not for her. A little voice of sarcasm in her mind pointed out that must be because he was a very important surgeon who lived by a whole different set of rules from lowly mortals.
He pressed a button as he put it to his ear.
‘Yes? Okay, prep O.R. three and tell them I’m on my way in. I’ll be about fifteen minutes,’ he said, his furious hiss replaced with a matter-of-fact calm, the public side of him that everyone else saw and admired. ‘No, no worries at all, you didn’t disturb me, I was just leaving anyway. That’s fine. Okay, I’ll be right there.’
Yes, there was Doctor Manson, cardiac surgeon. A man of medicine, of healing. Someone who had chosen to dedicate his life to making others better.
By the time that thought reached her brain the wave of hate was so violent she could taste it.
A dozen times in the last few months she’d resolved to go and backed out every time. Spineless, she knew.
If she could just go through with it, if she could actually take the step she’d been dreaming of for more years than she could count…
It had to be done properly, the ties had to be split before he even knew it was coming. That meant she had… she looked at the clock again… Twelve hours. If his surgeries went to plan today, that’s how long she would have until he walked back in the door. A whole lifetime to unravel in half a day. It was the only way. She couldn’t risk him getting wind of it and freezing their money – of course, it was all in his name. She couldn’t let him tell the kids before she could explain, lest he spin a story that wasn’t true. She had to get all the things she loved out of the house, otherwise he’d never let her have them. She had to get settled somewhere else and make sure she was absolutely confident in her decision. No loose ends. Nothing that could force her to come back.
After thirty years, many of them spent looking at that face and hating the sight of it, of listening to his criticisms spat out in a voice that made her teeth grind, of feeling her skin crawl under his touch, of being controlled and constantly on edge because she never knew if she would be dealing with Jekyll or Hyde, it was time.
Bernadette Manson made a promise to herself that by the end of the day, she would have walked away from her husband forever.
Chapter 4
Lila
As decisions went, starting the day off with a tough choice between white, silk and virginal, and black, slutty and crotchless, hadn’t been the worst one in the world. The anticipation had turned her on so much she’d almost made a mess of her eyeliner. Almost. Lila wasn’t that kind of rookie.
Cammy was already sitting up in bed when she left her dressing room, so she’d distracted him with a joke about keeping him because he looked so great. There was some truth in that. His light brown hair, usually swept back, was falling over his eyes. His tan was still a honeyed, caramel colour, thanks to a weekend in Marbella last month, and that torso… It was the kind of six-pack that came from great genes and a dedicated gym regime.
Her phone rang, and she tapped a button on the steering wheel of her Evoque. One of the perks of the job. When she’d started with Radcal Pharmaceuticals at 22, as a junior rep straight out of university, she’d been given a Mondeo. Oh, the indignity of a standard rep’s car. Since then, she’d worked her way up, courtesy of record-breaking sales and no-nonsense demands, until she got this baby. Red. Black roof. Sexy as hell.
‘Good morning, gorgeous, how are you doing?’
Her smile was instant. ‘Morning Mum, I’m great. What are you up to?’
‘I’m just about to leave for the golf club with you father. We’re booked a double session on the simulator and we’re teeing off at eleven.’
Lila frowned. ‘Hang on – you’re going to the golf club. To actually play on some computerised machine?’
‘Yes. You know, if you can’t beat them…’
/> ‘Join them on the fake golf course?’ she finished for her, with a sigh.
‘Honestly, you’d almost swear it was real. We’re playing St. Andrews today. We did Pebble Beach and Mar-a-Lago earlier in the week.’
Lila was no longer listening.
Bugger. She’d been planning to pop in on Mum later, but since Dad had taken early retirement, he’d been totally monopolising her. It had always been her and her mum, Louise, just the two of them, with Dad coming back maybe a week or so in every month. One of the sacrifices they’d had to make for a dad that supported them by working away, in his big shot consultancy role in the oil industry. Mum always said they shouldn’t complain because it was so much harder for him being away from them. And besides, he made it up to them. There had always been a couple of incredible holidays every year: the Maldives, California, Hawaii. Mum traded her BMW in for a new model whenever she felt like a change of colour. And when Lila had turned seventeen, her brand-new convertible Mini had been wrapped in a huge ribbon, waiting outside the door.
When Dad was away, she definitely enjoyed the rewards, and she didn’t even care that he didn’t seem to particularly notice her when he was home. Her mum had more than made up for his distance, in all respects, by lavishing Lila with love and affection. If anything, they were more like sisters or best friends than mother and daughter.
