Chapter Text
Tuesday, 23 February 2016: Holby City Hospital
“Engine been growling or whining?” were hardly the first words that Bernie Wolfe had envisioned saying to Serena Wendy Campbell after a prolonged period of absence from her life. She had stood silently for several moments, carefully assessing her next move as she gazed covertly at the cardigan-clad consultant who was squawking heatedly down the phone at some poor unfortunate mechanic.
An unlit cigarette rolled nervously around her indecisive fingers.
She had forgotten just how adorable Serena looked when she was irate.
And yet, after the many months of enforced radio silence, a trivial mechanical query was apparently what her brain had settled upon as an appropriate greeting.
Not ‘I’ve missed you’, ‘I’m sorry,’ or even ‘Hello’. Ask her how her car is though, why don’t you Wolfe?
The brunette’s head snapped around wildly at the sound of the familiar voice; slowly lowering her phone in shock.
Is that the best you’ve got? She cursed inwardly at her inability to find the correct words as she felt the next batch of automotive drivel stumble awkwardly from between her lips.
“Any intermittent smell of hot or burning rubber?”
Anger… pain...delight…sorrow...hope… a maelstrom of emotions flickered across the medic’s haunted features.
“Bernie…” she eventually whispered hoarsely.
Thursday, 7 November 2013: The Earnshaw Therapies Clinic, Holby
“No Lawrence, I haven’t had a cigarette in three days…”
The owner of the little Mazda convertible snatched up her handbag from the front seat of the car and strode confidently across the carpark whilst desperately rummaging through the many compartments. Her mobile phone, as usual, was anchored precariously between her bony shoulder and cheek.
“Of course I haven’t… I mean, why would a therapist lie to her therapist?” the tall blonde snapped defensively as she leant casually against the smoking shelter and anchored a cigarette between her lips.
“The health risks speak for themselves, right? That’s why I’m giving up, after all… for the fifth time…” came the furtive murmur as she impatiently sparked the flint on her reluctant lighter and took the first welcome drag of a stressful morning.
Three days of utter hell…. Berenice Wolfe tilted her head back in mock rapture as she exhaled a stream of smoke which cloyed in the chilly autumnal air.
Hello, old friend.
“I mean, just because I really liked cigarettes, I’m allowed to miss them just a teensy bit, aren’t I?” A slender digit tapped a growing curl of ash away.
Dr Lawrence Benson, her stoic, ever-persistent former colleague did not appear to appreciate her response.
“What do you mean you can hear me? What on earth gave you that impression?” her hand paused suspiciously, halfway to her lips.
A stern rebuke came down the line.
“Ok, ok. Fine.” She spat bitterly as she dropped the smouldering prize to the pavement.
“Have it your way, Lawrence. You always do.” A dark mutter accompanied a heeled boot violently grinding the cigarette into oblivion.
“Does that make you feel better? Knowing that I’ve got to tolerate a day full of bitter professionals and attempt to mend their relationships whilst my bastard of an ex-husband is still trying to bleed me dry and restrict access to my children… all without a bloody cigarette!”
Lawrence appeared indifferent to her plight, given the thunderous look which suddenly crossed Bernie’s face.
“No, I’m not avoiding the wider issue, I just don’t want to talk about it!” she snarled, abruptly ending the call and stalking through the automatic doors into the luxurious lobby.
Receiving the most recent letter of updated demands from Marcus’s vicious solicitors had kick-started the chain of awful events that morning, but nothing could prepare Bernie for the abject horror of seeing an ‘Out of Order’ sign dangling lazily from the very lifeline of the centre: the coffee machine.
Today couldn’t get much worse. Over-stressed and under-caffeinated.
“Good morning Ms. Wolfe!”
The tousled blonde head of Jasmine Burrows, chirpy administrator extraordinaire, popped up into view from behind the curved reception desk.
“Not much on your list this morning, just the nine o’clock slot and then a break until half twelve. The Richardson’s have cancelled, again…” the little verbal stress was accompanied by a dubiously raised eyebrow.
“Oh for pity’s sake, not the bloody au pair again…” Bernie tutted absently as she rounded up an armful of notes, each receptacle bound neatly in the navy blue leather of the private establishment. An abstract golden emblem was stamped neatly in the centre of each binder.
“Something like that…” Jasmine smirked as she went back to typing her seemingly endless pile of correspondence. “Bulgarian this time, by all accounts…”
Mr Richardson’s distinctly un-housetrained libido had been the central topic of discussion for many a therapy session.
“Right…” Bernie murmured distractedly as she flicked through the preliminary details. “Send my nine o’clock through when they get here, would you?”
“The new ones?” Jasmine questioned, but Bernie had already retreated into her office and closed the door firmly behind her.
The notoriously brusque acting-head of relationship therapies was never one to mince her words.
If anyone had ever been more temperamentally unsuited to their job description… Jasmine smiled fondly at the closed door. Berenice Wolfe was certainly an acquired taste who had ruffled more than a few feathers since her arrival at the centre to cover Sacha Levy’s research leave, yet Jasmine couldn’t help but like the ex-army medic.
Excellent at the theory, Major. Not quite so great at the personal application…
Today was going to be a long day, Bernie sighed to herself as she paced around the minimalistic space. A white room, devoid of much notable furniture save for a centrally-located ergonomic chair and a dark green Chesterfield couch; a period piece which sat somewhat at odds with the modern aesthetic. Tastefully bland artwork decorated the stark walls and a selection of cacti adorned the edges of a large plate-glass window.
Watery autumnal sunlight pooled in a spotlight across the bare wooden floor; an empty stage expectantly awaiting its new troupe of actors.
A jug of water and three glasses had been dutifully placed on a low glass table along with a small emblem-stamped notebook, two freshly sharpened pencils and a box of tissues.
A highly-skilled trauma surgeon, Berenice Wolfe had previously taken comfort in the wild unpredictability of her surroundings; forced to adapt, improvise and achieve in the arid heat of a remote desert outpost. A million miles away from her old life; the calm serenity of her new environment almost unsettled her more than the warzone.
The silent office felt like a cell at times. Sinking into her chair, finally away from the interrogation of prying eyes, she straightened her protesting back with an agonised wince.
“Just another fortnight to go…” she cajoled herself, staring bleakly out of the window at the grey tarmac which had become her regular view. Invalided out of the army to rest and recuperate following injuries sustained from an IED explosion; she had taken the first available non-surgical role that she could badger ex-colleagues into permitting her to apply for. A period of supervisory training, refreshment of her existing therapeutic qualifications (excellent, yet long-since out of date) and some out-and-out pestering had finally seen Sacha grudgingly permit her to oversee his practice for a six-week research leave.
Anything had to be better than being stuck in the same house as her husband whilst the final negotiations of a bitter divorce campaign raged on.
The twisted irony of trying to assist others in salvaging their relationships whilst hers crumbled around her ears had not been lost upon her. The only small mercy was that the more she was required to unpick the difficulties in other relationships, the less time she was forced to spend confronting the issues in her own.
“So clients, top tips on how to save a relationship? Very simple… don’t do anything that I did to try and save my marriage, and you’ll be absolutely fine…” Bernie muttered darkly as she splashed a small quantity of water into a tumbler and swallowed her obligatory morning painkillers with a grimace.
Right on cue, a lime green Saab convertible swept through the wrought iron gates of the clinic and set about attempting to parallel park in the small space opposite the office window.
From Bernie’s covert vantage point, she could clearly see the driver: a brunette woman, difficult to age, but perhaps in her late forties if Bernie were forced to place a rough estimate. A muttered suggestion from her passenger appeared to attract a violent exclamation and a hand being slammed down on top of the steering wheel in frustration as the reversing vehicle missed the narrow space by several feet.
The second attempt proved even less successful. By now, the driver appeared to be replying to her passenger’s critique with a small selection of snapped phrases, (most of which appeared to end in ‘off’) which even Bernie’s limited lip-reading skills had little difficultly in deciphering.
“Ouch…” she chuckled to herself as the passenger unfolded himself from the car at the driver’s apparent request and allowed her to negotiate her third (eventually successful) attempt in peace.
“Edward and Serena Campbell.” She glanced downward at her appointment schedule for confirmation. “Oh, this could be interesting…”
Several minutes later, raised voices from the lobby attracted her attention. Bernie crept to the door and continued her observations unseen.
“I’m sorry, but I specifically booked our appointment with Mr Levy upon a personal recommendation.” The well-spoken voice belonged to the brunette who drummed impatient fingertips upon the desk whilst a clearly flustered Jasmine Burrows scrolled determinedly through the automated booking system.
“Mr Levy is currently on research leave, so all his current appointments have been rescheduled for Ms. Wolfe...”
Even Jasmine’s usual effervescent enthusiasm wilted in the scowl that she received from the authoritative patient.
“Can I help?” Bernie opened the door and interjected before her new acquaintance could build up a head of steam. “Mr and Mrs Campbell?”
“Correct,” the accompanying gentleman smiled, his eyes swiftly raking up and down Bernie’s slender frame. “Well, Sacha has certainly improved in appearance since we last met…”
His flippant remark earnt him a caustic glare from his wife.
“Edward Campbell, delighted to meet you.”
“Bernie Wolfe, I’m covering for Sacha.” Bernie extended a cool hand of greeting to her new clients.
“Oh good. Larry Locum it is then. Shall we?” The clipped brunette smirked unapologetically and strode past impatiently past Bernie’s outstretched hand before seating herself upon the couch without invitation.
“Sorry about Serena…” the bespectacled, balding man in a pale blue shirt and tie mouthed as he stepped past Bernie into the office.
Initial pleasantries were exchanged and broad aims of the sessions introduced before Bernie seated herself opposite the couple and picked up her notepad, finally ready to start the session.
“Right, okay. So, if I was to start by asking you both what you think the main reason for you being here today is, what would you say?”
“Our daughter seemed to think it may be a good idea.” Serena offered dryly. “She asked us over dinner the other night why we were still together and neither of us seemed to be able to come up with an appropriate answer.”
“That was a fun evening…” Edward smiled sarcastically, carefully moving to drape his arm around Serena’s shoulders. The subsequent result was a slight flinch of resistance from an increasingly rigid frame which retreated two inches further down the settee.
“So would it be fair to say that it was an observation from your daughter that maybe first made you both think that perhaps something wasn’t quite right. Do you have more than one child?” Bernie scribbled a quick note in her scrawled handwriting.
“Elinor’s an only child,” Serena continued tersely, fidgeting with a delicate locket which hung from a slender chain around her neck. Edward’s arm felt like a leaden shawl around her shoulders. “We’d have liked to have had more but–”
“Someone decided a two-year sabbatical in America to complete an MBA at Harvard would be a much more interesting challenge,” Edward added with a knowing wink at his wife. “Priorities, eh? A real career girl: high-flyer, formidable surgeon, earned every promotion she’s set her heart on. Except for the elusive CEO job, of course.”
“Let’s keep things simple for now.” Bernie cleaved effortlessly through Edward’s goading, the sparkle of hurt evident in Serena’s outraged expression.
“How old is Elinor?”
“Eighteen.” Edward supplied smoothly, “Just started her first year at university. Studying French at Cambridge; although she already sees herself as the next Jeremy Paxman by all accounts.” He chuckled; an unctuous laugh which echoed hollowly in the minimalist space. “Making a name for herself already, given the legendary going-over for the university newspaper that she gave the poor candidates in the student council elections. Knows her own mind and certainly isn’t afraid to speak it.”
“True…” Serena muttered in agreement. She had been on the receiving end of many an outburst from her outspoken daughter.
“So, there’s been an empty nest for the past couple of months then? Must have taken a little adjusting to?”
“Hmmm...” was the most articulate response that her gentle probe received from Serena.
“We were actually separated for a while… a few years back now.” Edward added, his confident voice suddenly stilted. “Things were just getting a little… too much. I moved out for a bit, before we got things back on track again…” He glanced sideways at his wife; suddenly nervous.
Bernie’s pencil paused expectantly, impatient to resume its scrawling dance across the page; a tango of staccato turns and loops punctuated with graphite swirls.
Serena remained steadfastly silent.
“Okay, actually let’s come back to that at a later point…”
Another note; underlined this time for emphasis. A pointed signpost for future discussion.
“Why don’t you both say what you would most like to achieve from these meetings? Just one or two ideas would be a great way to focus the sessions a little; see if there’s anything more specific that you would both like to work on. Something that will allow us to work together to set a bit of an agenda.”
“Trust… honesty…. finding a way to spend more time with Elinor….” Serena offered quietly after some thought.
“Reduced need for control…” Edward immediately looked pointedly across at his wife. “The trust and space to do our own things as well as together….”
“Okay…” Bernie murmured in concentration, her pencil dancing in scrawled pirouettes across the lined pad. “Good, that certainly looks a nice selection of goals.”
She settled comfortably back into the leather chair. One slender leg crossed over the other in habit; a restless foot meandering in slow half-circles.
“Now, as you may or may not have already established, I have a few methods which may seem a tad unorthodox… a little brusque perhaps, but I’ve a feeling that we’re all of a professional approach which values efficiency and clarity, would you agree?”
“Quite.” Serena nodded curtly. “I’ve no time for nauseating displays of sentiment, soft-soaping or beating around the proverbial bush… whatever you have to say, please…” she leant forward and quirked her head expectantly, “Spit it out. Some of us have a hospital ward to run and don’t often have the luxury of bunking off work, even in the well-meaning pursuit of therapy.” she injected the final word of her tirade with uncharacteristic venom.
“Do you argue?” Bernie asked bluntly, initial niceties firmly eschewed, spurred on by Serena’s vicious rebuttal. She leant forward slightly in her chair. “More than you used to, since Elinor left home? Over tiny little things which get blown out of all proportion?”
God, she wanted a cigarette. Her inattentive mind was wandering off across the room and rummaging distractedly through the many compartments of her handbag. She could almost feel the silky caress of the papery prize beneath her eager grasping fingers.
“Of course, who doesn’t argue now and then?” Bernie’s attention snapped back to the couple sat in front of her as Edward countered her smoothly, “High pressure jobs, very little down time… not really a surprise that we get under each other’s skin from time to time, is it?”
He patted Serena’s arm gently. “Even if someone is seemingly set on bringing half of Holby City’s paperwork home of an evening!”
The patronising edge to his voice set Bernie’s teeth on edge.
“Part of the Deputy CEO’s job, I’m afraid.” Serena snapped icily. “Not all of us are able to swan in and out as we please on a locum contract. Double the fee, half the hassle of a real job, and all that…” she shot a scathing glare at Edward.
“True, but at least I’m able to stick to a schedule a little more… provide a little more stability for Ellie, turn up for family events when I say I will…” Edward allowed the accusation to hang lightly between them. “You know, even Hanssen thought this might be a good idea in the long run…”
“And how do you both think Ellie feels, when a commitment is broken or rescheduled without much notice?” Bernie determinedly muscled her way back into the dialogue before all-out verbal war could commence; immediately wondering as the words left her lips if she were applying a little too much guiding pressure too soon. “Does she say anything?”
The conversational balance overturned with an awkward clatter.
“If it was that easy to schedule an accident or emergency surgery with a receptionist for a convenient day and time of the week, no doubt the NHS would be miraculously efficient.” A seething Serena made little effort to conceal her sneer of disgust as she angled a stare upon Bernie that Medusa herself would have been proud of.
“However, if a youngster with half of their guts hanging out arrives on my operating table near the end of my shift– inconvenient thought it may be in terms of theatre scheduling– I can hardly set the timer for thirty minutes and leave them to fend for themselves once the buzzer goes, can I? Medicine is an unpredictable beast, one which I try my very best to work around, but just occasionally, things don’t go to plan…” She gritted her teeth in a bid to rein in her notorious temper.
A warning growl instead. “I think you would do well to remember who you’re talking to, Ms. Wolfe.” A well-practised line which had previously sent the most senior of medical officials scuttling for cover.
“Right, ok that’s enough. Look,” Bernie snapped tersely before setting down her pencil and pushing her tortoiseshell reading glasses up onto her head with a faint tut of irritation.
If there ever was a morning which required a concentrated hit of nicotine, this was it.
“I could sugar-coat this for you, but that’s not really my style. Evidently there are issues in your relationship, otherwise you wouldn’t be here seeking my help. Of course I know of you both by professional reputation alone–who wouldn’t? – but let me tell you both now, power couple or not- you don’t scare me. I’m tough, I’m bloody tough and I don’t give in to professional intimidation or manipulation easily. I’m good at what I do, very good indeed; one of the best in fact, and I’m sure I can help you, but you’ve got to work with me on this. If you feel you can sort your marriage out by yourselves, please, do feel free to walk away right now.” She raised her slender hand flippantly towards the door.
Her invitation was greeted with stony silence.
“No? Good. Whilst I like to exercise my formidable powers of psychic deduction now and then, sessions are so much more bearable when the couple sat in front of me actually want to cooperate with me. Now, how about you give me the chance to work with you? Shall we start again?”
Two mumbles to the affirmative.
“Excellent. I’ll take that as agreement.” she rustled her notepad and lowered her glasses back onto the familiar groove upon the bride of her nose. “Where were we?”
“I’m sorry.” Serena managed finally after wrestling awkwardly with her indignation. “That was uncalled for. Of course I feel guilty for letting her down, time and time again…” she grew quieter, “It just seems as if I’m vilified for wanting a career and a family. And it becomes harder and harder to manage the expectations of the two.” she finished almost inaudibly.
“Right,” Bernie nodded encouragingly, her tone softening immediately. “Well, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable way to feel Serena; you’re evidently a highly skilled surgeon, why wouldn’t you want to work to pursue all of your goals? Perhaps there’s a way that you and Edward could work together, discuss a back-up plan for when there is a family arrangement so that everyone knows where they stand in advance?”
“Sounds good to me…” Edward agreed, “Although, you’ll have to prise her fingers off the controls first…” he lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper, “Serena doesn’t really like to delegate, do you darling?”
“Why should I, when I know that I can do it better and more efficiently than someone else in the first place?” Serena drawled back immediately in a self-assured sentiment which immediately rang true with Bernie. Supremely confident, yet stopping just short of arrogant. She couldn’t help an approving nod of the head, which was mercifully only spotted by Serena’s sharp reflexes.
A rare twinkle of warmth ignited in the brunette’s eyes, briefly transforming her whole appearance as she momentarily met Bernie’s gaze.
Oh, a girl after my own heart, eh? A shrewdly raised eyebrow seemed to inquire.
Most definitely in this instance… The corner of Bernie’s mouth quirked upward by means of reply as Edward continued to splutter at Serena’s brazen dismissal.
Highly unprofessional, Wolfe, Bernie swiftly chided herself, glancing quickly downward at the little notepad which sat expectantly in her lap.
The reprieve did not last long before the shutters closed over Serena’s guarded expression once more. Caustic put-downs and deliberate avoidance strategies were still very much the order of the morning, which left Bernie to all but squirm upon the edge of her seat with the effort of holding back her temper. Eventually, she felt as if she had carved out a hard-won truce when Serena and Edward agreed to draw up an evening rota with Elinor’s help for her next visit home from university.
Bloody woman. Always has to have the final say on everything…
The graphite of the pencil dug deep troughs of irritation into the cream paper. A sufficient distraction for the time being.
“Same time next week, Ms. Wolfe?” Serena swept past at the end of the session as Bernie held open the door.
A swift nod to the affirmative was all that the flustered medic could manage. It was taking all of the self-restraint she had not to elbow her particularly grating client out of the way and slam the door shut behind her.
“Oh, and Ms. Wolfe?” a cool hand rested momentarily upon her forearm. Dark eyes met directly with Bernie’s. “Word to the wise. Next time you choose to give up smoking during the working week, might I suggest nicotine patches? Less aggravation for all concerned.”
“How did you? –” she spluttered.
“I’m usually right. Doctor’s intuition and all that, you know.” A confident smirk greeted Serena’s correct diagnosis. “Second attempt to quit? Third?”
“Fifth, actually…” Bernie admitted sheepishly.
“Hmm, ever thought you’re fighting a losing battle?”
Bernie would have surely snapped if it hadn’t been for the unexpectedly jaunty wink that her new associate had thrown her way. Instead, her mouth gaped slightly as she sought an appropriate comeback; words frozen in her throat.
“Don’t worry. We all have our vices, Ms. Wolfe.” Serena chuckled softly as she withdrew her hand with a soft pat of reassurance. “See you next Thursday.”
“Yes, yes. Right…” Bernie mumbled disjointedly as she watched her latest client stride across the entrance foyer, swiftly collect her husband from his idle conversation with Jasmine Burrows and exit without a backward glance.
“See you next Thursday.”