Chapter 2
|ONE MONTH|
After a few weeks, Bernie notices the empty Shiraz bottles filling up the bin and buys a glass cutter. She stops by the corner store to get some flowers on her way home so as not to appear too passive aggressive. Not to mention, the arrangements sent right after are wilting and she can’t shake their depression of the environment. Remembering fragments of an old joke amuses her momentarily: here are some flowers, now watch them die because I care about you.
Bernie wonders how one person can handle so much loss as she sweeps shriveled chrysanthemum petals into her palm. (Saving a few for posterity, just in case.) She starts cutting the tops off of each bottle and puts them in with the rest of the glasses, save one, which she uses as a vase for gardenias.
Serena arrives home with a fresh bottle, as expected. She senses that something is amiss immediately, but can’t quite put a finger on it until she sees Bernie.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Bernie freezes.
“Just erm, little craft project that’s all.” Stupid, stupid, stupid! “Thought you could use some more glasses?”
“Yes. Is that so?” She puts her wine on the counter. “Are you trying to imply that I’m drinking too much Ms. Wolfe?”
Bernie shakes her head, but they both know she’s a terrible liar.
“The foyer’s unoccupied Major, why don’t you excuse yourself and phone one of your children? See, I’d do the same except...Oh, wait. Yes! That’s right. I’d completely forgotten there for a second.” Bernie squeezes her eyes shut. This is not going how she expected it to, though, things rarely do. “You know I did have quite a heavy lunch, I’m not really that hungry for supper.”
With this, Serena leaves the kitchen and clatters up the stairs with the door predictably slamming soon after. She and Bernie share few words the rest of the evening.
//
Bernie spends the next day at work distracted. She’s behind the desk replaying yesterday’s events in her brain blaming herself for each misstep and volunteers for every appendicectomy so she can figure out exactly how to right things. After surgery number four, or five (she can’t recall) Bernie sits at the computer, hands idle above her keyboard - failing to notice Morven and Cam outside the office.
Her hands plink at the keys as she bites her lip. Make up flowers. A bunch of faces pop up. Morven gestures wildly, still going unnoticed.
“Cam, you have to tell her.”
“I’m going to do it! I just need some space, that’s all.” Morven rolls her eyes.
“Were you going to tell her before you got on the plane or after?”
Flowers to say -
Cam opens the door.
Flowers to say LASKJDF
“Cameron! Hello.”
Morven stares at them from outside the office.
“I um, just needed a consult on something is all.”
The entire ward hears the resounding smack of Morven’s palm against her forehead. Cam purses his lips and shuts his eyes. He turns around, closes the door, and waves off his surveillance.
“Actually, I have to tell you something.”
Bernie closes the tab on her computer. “Oh?”
“I’m taking a sabbatical.”
“Cam-”
“Wait, hear me out.” Cameron raises his hand as a platitude. “A colleague of my old professor’s has a charity clinic that’s not far from Accra. He needs some extra help so I accepted.”
“Accra.” Bernie is perplexed. This is the first time she hasn’t thought of Serena all day, and it’s because she needs a geography lesson.
“...in Ghana.”
“Accra in Ghana.” Bernie sighs. “I, erm, obviously I don’t think you should go but I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it.”
It’s not as though she doesn’t want to try, but it hits her soon after her heart stops momentarily that he has felt a similar pain for many years and now she must take her turn.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’ve committed to a year, but I’ll be allowed some time off after six months.”
“When do you leave?”
He pauses before answering, not sure how to explain himself. His eyes hit the floor.
“Tomorrow.”
TOMORROW! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? Bernie stops herself before responding.
“Well then.”
“I wanted to tell you sooner, but all of the things with Elinor…” His voice trails. She pulls him into a tight hug before he can continue. After a moment, she grabs his shoulders, refusing to break eye contact.
“Do you need anything? Can I take you to the airport?”
“Everything’s been arranged.”
They are back into a tight embrace, and Bernie speaks low.
“Promise me you’ll be safe.”
“I promise.”
//
That evening after Bernie has managed to remember the words ‘I’m sorry’ she arrives home with a few Stars of Bethlehem picked up from the florist. She doesn’t much appreciate the clerk’s commentary either. While laying her collection of white-petaled blossoms on the counter, he chides: “That bad, eh?”
Those few words make the rest of her drive all-the-more miserable.
After returning, she finds that Serena’s stepped out. Bernie pops her lips.
“Fish and chips night.”
She uses the alone time to clean all of the half-sliced Shiraz bottles out of the cupboard and bring them outside. A few crack when she tosses them in the glass bin, but she’s resigned to not care. When she gets back in the house, the flowers stare up at her loudly announcing their presence.
“Bugger.” Then the realization hits. As Jason and Serena arrive home, Bernie opens the last Shiraz bottle in the fridge.
“Hello Bernie.” Jason sits down at the table. Serena glances at the bottle, then back to her love.
“Hello indeed. What’s the occasion?”
Bernie pours too much wine into each glass.
“My son is moving to Ghana.” She places them on the table with a punctuated plop, taking extra care not to spill. “I suppose tonight we imbibe together.”
Serena is stunned but also is in no mood to endanger her precious intoxicant. They spend another dinner in silence.
A little under an hour later there are only a few sips left of the bottle, maybe a quarter glass, so Bernie tops herself off. In trying to set it back on the table, she loosens her grip just early enough for it to fall on the ground and break.
“Shit.” It's clear that neither of them have finished drinking. Even with full glasses, they can tell where this night is headed. Bernie’s exclamation is as much for the flowers as it is for her liver, but the silence doesn't last long. Not even a peep from Jason whose eyes are still glued to the telly.
“I’d figured this day might arrive eventually.”
“And?”
Serena pulls open the middle drawer in her china cabinet. It’s where she stores the Christmas dishes. In it lives another full bottle.
“Just in case…”
Bernie’s eyes start to well up, hurt that Serena doesn’t trust her enough to keep everything where she wants it. She’s then quick to hide her mood watching Serena open the bottle with impeccable dexterity - even after downing three glasses herself. Listening to the cork effortlessly pop, Bernie is impressed and they continue their descent together .
The next bottle empties quicker than they imagine it will. The women have moved next to each other at the table, and Serena runs her fingers through Bernie’s hair with an intoxicated chuckle, using her thumb to brush the Major’s fringe out of her face.
With the following utterance, Serena brings her merriment to a halt: “What a bloody rotten month.”
Bernie does not do well with words. She feels her heart jumping out of her chest and shattering. She cannot say I know, I’m sorry. She couldn't put together a coherent expression with language if someone offered her a hundred quid and an entire freezer of raspberry ripple, so she does the next best thing.
Serena can taste cheap chemist’s lip balm immediately. It’s comfortable. Bernie is the most pragmatic person she knows, and it is during the exchange of Shiraz tinged saliva that Serena realizes Bernie is just trying her best.
They both know that it isn't a comparable loss and gain, but it is still loss and gain. For this, they share a small sliver of gratitude in an otherwise bleak, unforgiving sea of emptiness.
After a few moments, Serena breaks away for a breath careful to savor this momentary joy before speaking:
“I feel like I’m back in…”
“Stepney?” Bernie smiles, unable to contain her amusement.
“I was going to say school!” They chuckle, quashing earlier tensions.
“Clearly your schooling was much livelier than mine.” Neither of them can hold back now, and the eruption of laughter is a sight to behold.
Jason, with a pillow over his ears, clamors from his room: “I can't sleep with you two shouting!”
Bernie raises her brows pursing her lips, while Serena cups her hand over her mouth to stifle an impending snicker.
//
Cam absentmindedly thumbs through a textbook before deciding to lay down. Earlier he had asked Morven over for a drink, though after checking his phone one last time, he finds no correspondence. With each step closer to his bed, he continues to hold on to this wish that the brief goodbye they shared earlier wouldn’t be the last time they spoke.
With cinematic coincidence, (and also his waiting for five minutes before taking the last step into his bedroom), there’s a knock at the door. Cam turns on his heel and prays it’s not his flatmate, or that his elderly neighbor’s locked herself out again, or worse, Bernie.
He hesitates for a second, wondering what he’d say to his mother if it was her when a voice pipes up on the other side.
“It’s bloody freezing out here, can you let me in please?”
He smiles, opening the door. Morven stands outside, holding a brown paper bag tied up with a red ribbon.
“Come in.” Cam fights to contain his excitement. In this way, he is nothing like his mother. “I didn’t think you were coming?”
“Things got a bit nuts, sorry. Got sent into theatre last minute with an infected stoma and couldn’t message you.” After rolling her eyes at the shift’s inconvenient conclusion, Morven holds up the bag and offers it to him.
“What’s this?”
“Just a going away present. Open it!”
Cam is surprised and slightly confused when he pulls out a four-pack of toilet rolls.
“Thanks, I think?”
“It’s the most expensive stuff in the store. S’posed to make your bum feel ah-mazing.” Morven punctuates her review with an excitable hand gesture.
“Am I supposed to leave it for my flatmate?”
Morven hits his shoulder: “Don’t be dim - it’s to take with you! You’re going to be without the luxuries of the modern world for an entire year, it’s the least I could do.”
“I’m sure Ghana’s not that prehistoric.”
“Either way, your bum will thank me.” They laugh. Cam is heartened that Morven's been thinking so much about his backside.
“Can I get you anything to drink? I think we’ve got some scotch around here somewhere?”
“No thanks. Last time I was hungover for three days.” Morven sets her things down near the couch. “Maybe just some water actually?”
“Sure! Sure. Water it is.” After filling the glasses, they sit next to each other on his lumpy futon. Cam takes a sip to quell the bubbling awkwardness in his stomach. Morven puts her cup on top of his textbook.
“Just to be clear, you didn’t invite me over with ulterior motives did you?” It is in this exact moment, Cameron knows he's ruined things.
“No! No. Absolutely not.” He pauses, placing his glass on the table. “Why, is there a problem?”
“Well, yeah. I kind of wished you had.”
In this way, he is exactly like his mother. (However, if it came down to it, he could probably be motivated to work on something eloquent for a freezer full of raspberry ripple.)
Water, pleasantries, toilet tissue, and the last month fraught with sadness are brushed aside as they collide into one another. It is as though they need to get all of this out of the way right now, fearing they may not find a time in the future where such things are as convenient. Cameron is elated. He may be gone for some time, but he’ll be able to keep the memory of her skin’s softness with him forever.
//
Early the following morning, in the midst of daybreak before the sun fully makes its appearance, a hungover Bernie makes her way down the stairs. She rinses the last few drops of wine out of the evening’s bottle before cutting the top off, filling it with water, and putting the white-petaled Stars of Bethlehem inside.
She places them next to the Gardenias on the windowsill and heads back up to bed.