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“Anyone?” Serena asks as her Year 9 biology class remain resolutely silent in the face of her warm up questions. “This really is basic science stuff, you’ve all covered it before.”
The first day of a new school year is generally chaotic, but they’re on to fifth period now and with the usual scrapping over who sits where and handing out textbooks dispensed with, this should be her first flush of teaching time with the new lot. She doesn’t recognise any of them from her second year group last year, which is a blessing she should give thanks for. That class were one of the worst in her career.
“Well, you leave me no choice but to call from the register then. Let’s see… Dunn, Charlotte? Can you tell me the elements that water is composed of? We’re starting easy.”
“Miss?” She looks a little dazed, clasping her long blonde ponytail in one hand over her shoulder. The boy behind her is slumped over the desk. He can’t be… no, a soft snore confirms he is in fact sleeping. Serena stalks out from behind her desk and raps the ruler in her hand right next to where his cheek is resting.
The little bugger wakes up with a jolt, almost toppling off his stool in the process. Charlotte puts an arm out to steady him, and he grasps at the workstation to right himself as the rest of the class snickers and mumbles.
Strange, something like that would normally prompt an uproar.
“What on earth is wrong with you all?” Serena demands. This time Charlotte blushes and looks away. “You, Sleeping Beauty. What’s your name?”
“Dominic,” he grunts. “Sorry, miss. We had PE before lunch.”
“And were they handing out sedatives? A bit of cross country shouldn’t have you all in a coma.”
“Miss,” another pupil pipes up from the window side of the room. “It’s the new PE teacher, miss. It was, like, mental.”
“Yeah.” The half-conscious chorus agrees.
“It took most of lunch just to get changed,” Dominic supplies, clearly leaning into the drama. Charlotte gives him a warning look. “We couldn’t move after she worked us so hard.”
Well, this won’t do at all.
“Who’s this new teacher?” Serena demands, but the natural instinct not to grass kicks in like a blanket falling over the room. There was an announcement at morning assembly, but Serena stopped listening years ago to those ten-minute sessions out in the yard, using the time to mentally prepare for her first lesson of the day. She doesn’t really mix with the Music and PE staff, they’re all over in the new buildings on the far side of the school grounds.
Charlotte finally speaks up. She’s going to be a pressure point for this crowd, and Serena files her away as such. “Um, it’s Miss Wolfe but-”
“Well, I’ll speak to her before next week. In the meantime, tired or not, you’re all going to get your books out and start showing me you know something about chemistry. Come along.”
Heading back behind her desk, Serena straightens the white lab coat she wears over her concession to a new term wardrobe. The teal blouse picked up from Next, the trousers part of a suit where the jacket never sits right on her shoulders. Honestly, it’s a bit warm for the lab coat on an early September afternoon, but it stops her forgetting it on the days when they’re doing actual lab work.
The class settles after books are finally pulled from bags and slapped on desks. Serena nudges her computer to life, and the presentation for the afternoon’s work flickers up on the board.
This ‘Ms Wolfe’ is next period’s problem. For now, it’s GCSE Chemistry.
***
“All right, hit the changing rooms!” Bernie doesn’t appreciate these single period sessions, there’s no time to really put the kids through their paces, but these lanky Year 11s are especially lazy even by secondary school standards.
God, she didn’t expect to miss the army this much.
She stays behind in the gymnasium, even though the pommel horses and trampolines have been wheeled back to their home at the back of the hall. There’s no one in here this period, and there’s only the first deluge of paperwork waiting, so Bernie hangs back.
What she ought to do is the stretching that her physio prescribed, a set of exercises that she reluctantly fits in whenever she remembers. The twinge between her shoulder blades seems like judgement, a reminder that she’s lucky to be alive, never mind up and walking around.
Instead, Bernie plucks a basketball from the rack in the still unlocked equipment cupboard, and bounces it experimentally on the scuffed linoleum floor. Not bad, this one has actually been fully inflated.
The basketball hoop is pushed back against the wall, and she ignores the markings for the proper court completely. Dribbling towards it, Bernie lifts the ball effortlessly and accepts the tiny burst of endorphins as it rattles the hoop and falls down through the net. She chases the ball down, but as she prepares to shoot from distance, back in her more familiar netball style, the double doors squeal their way open.
“Miss Wolfe, I presume?”
The woman standing there looks more than a little pissed off, arms already folded over her chest, foot tapping before the doors have even stopped swinging behind her.
“If you’re here to put me in detention, I’d like to point out I’m already down to take it next week. And it’s Bernie, please.”
“Oh, if we could put fellow staff members in detention there’d be no room for pupils, I can assure you, Bernie.”
Bernie strolls over, ball under her arm. She likes how it puts other teachers ill at ease, the fact that she comes to work in a tracksuit and trainers. After years in uniform, all crisp edges and heavy boots regardless of climate and conditions, it’s something of a relief to dress down.
“You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. You know my name, but I have no idea who you are.”
“Campbell. Serena Campbell.” The hand is extended, the handshake surprisingly firm. This is a woman who wants to make a statement from the off. “Head of Sciences, over in the main block. Chemistry is my actual subject, of course.”
“Ah, I think that’s marked ‘Here Be Dragons’ for us over here on the outskirts. I’ve already been warned about mixing with you academic types. So was it the Year 9s who sent you over to protect them?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, they gave you up in short order. Took me all of two questions to crack them. As a professional courtesy, I should tell you that Dominic and Charlotte cracked first. Could be worth taking them under your wing if you want an easy life with that mob.”
“Charlotte Dunn?”
“Yes. You got a good impression of her too?”
Bernie has to bite back a laugh, can feel the rasping force of it at the base of her throat. “You could say that. My married name is Dunn, if that helps? Well, it was.”
“Ah, another refugee here on divorced mother-of-teenager island? My Elinor is in Year 11. Luckily the school can almost always keep them out of your classes.”
“Not so much in my case. My eldest, Cameron, he’s managed to keep me off his timetable. He might even have classes with Elinor.”
“Yes, well.” Serena straightens her spine, as though realising she’s said more than she should. “If you could keep them functional for the rest of the school day, it would be appreciated.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bernie agrees, resisting the urge to snap her heels together and salute. “On one condition?”
“What’s that?”
“That you and your colleagues over on the Sciences floor don’t bore them all into a stupor, I think that’s fair. Takes me ever such a long time to get them going.”
Serena’s businesslike smile becomes a thin, furious line. Bernie responds by letting her basketball drop and giving it a nonchalant bounce or two.
“Very well. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Bernie.”
“I have that feeling too,” Bernie admits. She stalks off across the gymnasium, and before she’s gone more than a few steps the doors swing open and closed, signalling the departure of her interruption.
Well. Some people have an entirely too important idea of themselves. Shame really, that such an utterly gorgeous woman should be a bit of a snob. Clearly smart as a whip too, and that voice just oozed refinement, despite the relative roughness of the school and its catchment area.
Oh. Oh no.
Not here, Bernie tells herself. This isn’t going to be a repeat of Alex in Kandahar, turning comradeship into something more than it ought to be. She pulls the zip of her tracksuit top all the way up and closes the equipment cupboard once more.
***
“I mean honestly,” Serena says to a thoroughly disinterested Fleur as they sit in the staff room with a half packet of Jaffa Cakes and two mugs of tea occupying the empty chair between them. “Just who does this woman think she is?”
“I don’t know who she is, although this is the third time you’ve mentioned it since last week.” Fleur sips her tea with just a hint of reproach.
“Swanning around the school in a tracksuit, probably gloating to herself all day about still having such a high and tight bum, you know the sort.”
Fleur sets her magazine aside at that. “Wait a minute, since when do you go around commenting on bums? Is this Wolfy woman fit?”
“Sssh!” Serena urges her, not wanting to draw attention from Ric or Guy, who are engrossed in their respective crossword and sudoku over on the battered sofa. “Of course she’s fit, she teaches exercise all day long.”
“Oh the new PE teacher?” Fleur finally turns her full attention on the conversation. “Now isn’t that interesting that you’ve been checking her out?”
“I haven’t-”
“Because I heard on the grapevine from my Year 10s that while she’s got two kiddies in the flock here, she’s only gone and left her husband for another woman. Was in the army for eons apparently, met her there. Not that the fling lasted, either.”
“How… Fleur, your capacity for gossip is uncanny.” Serena barely manages to form the thought, so floored is she by the revelations. It would be easy to dismiss it all as rumour-mongering, but Fleur Fanshawe has a knack for separating the wheat from the chaff. “That’s quite interesting, I suppose.”
“Is she giving you some kind of Sapphic awakening?” Fleur teases. “Only I’ve been trying to do that for bloody years.”
“Don’t be silly,” Serena dismisses the very idea with a wave of her hand and a freshly-plucked Jaffa Cake. “We just butted heads over teaching styles, that’s all.”
“Oh sure,” Fleur says with an exaggerated nod. “Tell you what, she’s started an after school step class for staff on Thursdays. Why don’t you come along, see if she really is that much of a taskmaster? Or maybe your Year 9s are having you on?”
“I swim three times a week at the Leisure Centre, that’s more than enough exercise for me, thank you.”
“Oh I understand,” Fleur continues. “I don’t like to get all dishevelled in front of a crush. She might like her women all sporty though.”
“I am not one of her women!” Serena barely stops herself from exploding, but it draws attention from all corners all the same. Including the one where Headmaster Hanssen has just entered the room.
“Good morning all,” he says in his usual dry fashion. “Everything okay there, Ms Campbell?”
Serena swallows a large mouthful of tea to avoid answering, and nods briskly. She scoops up her bag and heads past with a smile, ready for the post-break bell by the time she reaches her classroom.
She’d usually spend a free period in the staff room, but there’s the small matter of updating personal learning records for her entire Year 11 class and it will be no small relief to do so in relative peace and quiet, even if Ric has an A-Level physics class at booming volume next door.
Two records in and there’s a knock at the door. Leaning back in her chair, Serena hides the sigh of exasperation well enough by calling ‘come in’. She knows how hard it is for most pupils to approach one-on-one, and over the years she’s learned to hide her frustration for fear that they won’t come again when they really need to.
“So this is how the other half live, eh?”
Serena would know that voice anywhere, with its mix of brisk Home Counties drawl and parade ground bark. Finding out Berenice Wolfe had been in the army is one of the least surprising things about the past two weeks, so much so that Serena has confided in Fleur instead of fixating on the woman privately.
“You’re a long way from home,” Serena says, making no move to get up from her desk. Carrying a gift bag casually in one hand, Bernie comes in and leans against a workbench on the front row.
“It’s been bothering me, since we met. That I wasn’t very… collaborative. Since I’m very much the new girl, I thought it rather fell to me to make some sort of effort. That is, if I’m to make any new friends here.”
“Haven’t you always lived in Holby, then?” Serena can’t help the questions, her curiosity about Bernie is as overwhelming as the desire to know how what chemicals are made of, how they interact and why.
“In name, at least.” Bernie leans forward, sets the gift bag on Serena’s desk without disturbing her neat piles of work. “In reality I was just the second name on the mortgage. After everything kicked off in Iraq, I just ended up on tour after tour. Stationed in Germany between, most of the time.”
“Can’t have been easy on family life.” Serena hopes it doesn’t sound like a judgment. Edward has always held it against her, the hours she dedicates to the job. The fact that he can work as an anaesthesiologist and still be home for Elinor more often than her mother is has been a bone of contention for years. Serena usually points out that once she is home she doesn’t head to the nearest pub the moment the credits roll on Corrie.
“No, but I don’t suppose you want to hear the particulars of all that. Anyway, I heard around the place that you might accept a bottle of red. I hope Shiraz is okay?”
“Perfect,” Serena admits before she can help it. She pulls the gift bag closer, figuring that’s an excuse to at least peek. It’s the same bottle she was eyeing in Waitrose last week, before deciding there were more reasonable options. “I’ll save this for a quiet night in, but there’s a bunch of us going out on Friday. If you’d like to take a crack at that friends thing? I can’t promise we’ll be anything other than a gaggle of sloppy drunks I’m afraid, but it’s usually fun.”
“Well, with an offer like that. Straight from school?”
“We usually get some food first, pretend to be respectable. Leave the cars here overnight and split taxis home, all very organised. I’m surprised nobody thinks to ask for permission slips.”
Bernie smiles wide at that. “Once a teacher, always a teacher? I’ve still got a lot to learn on that front.”
“Yes, you’ll have to tell us who trades Basra for teaching GCSEs,” Serena says. “Some days I think I’d take the warzone.”
“Trust me, you really wouldn’t.” There’s a glint of something dark there, and Serena knows better than to push.
“Friday, then. Like the kids, we meet at the front gates about 4. They’ll all be long gone by then.”
“It’s a date.” Bernie pales after saying it, starting to stammer a correction.
“I knew what you meant, Bernie,” Serena assures her. “See you then.”
***
“Right,” Serena announces, grabbing Bernie by the elbow. “Leave the newbie alone you lot, I’m taking her home.”
There’s a raucous cheer at that, led by Fleur. Of course.
“Not like that!” Serena protests, but nobody is listening. She does feel Bernie press closer against her side. “We’re splitting a cab. Now behave, or I’ll have the Major here start arm-wrestling you all again.”
That shuts them up. Ric is still smarting that he couldn’t best Bernie and yet somehow Serena did. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s not the peak condition athlete he likes to think.
Bernie, though. It turns out under those tracksuits she has the most deliciously slender figure. She’s actually wearing a dress, of sorts. One of those overlong shirt types, with a leather belt to cinch it and Roman-style sandals that almost match. It’s the first time Serena has seen that blonde hair down from clips and bands, and the temptation to re-tousle those softs curls has become stronger with every sip of Shiraz.
“I didn’t ask where you live,” Serena realises when they tumble into the back of the minicab, a Silver Mondeo that smells suspiciously pine-scented, in that just cleaned something up way. “I just gave my address.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’m not far from you. Next street, or the one after.”
“Isn’t that a small world?” Serena should stick to her side of the backseat, should certainly have her seatbelt on, but she’s been in Bernie’s personal space all night. It’s a surprisingly hard habit to break. Their hands brush in the limited space between them. “I didn’t ask, do you have Cameron and Charlotte most of the week, or…?”
“They’re with Marcus. Family home and all that. My flat is fine, don’t get me wrong… but it’s not home for any of us. Bit of a weekend mum at the moment, so mostly we go out.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Somehow it doesn’t sound like prying. Not coming from you. Jac Naylor on the other hand… I’ve been through enemy interrogations easier than her questions.”
“She’s a little… intense. As head of English, it’s a big department and they’re always getting their funding cut. She has to fight for everything. I suspect she doesn’t know how to turn it off after a while.”
“I wouldn’t cross her,” Bernie persists.
“No, me either. Unless I really had to.”
“I have every confidence you could hold your own, Serena.” Bernie pats her hand and it’s so delightfully awkward.
“You’re damn right I can. You know there’s one thing that…”
Serena realises she’s lost her nerve. So many stories and rumours confirmed tonight, all but the one that fascinates most of all. Jac would ask the question. Serena is surprised she didn’t, with how personal the conversation got over the course of the evening. For example, she knows now that Bernie is short for Berenice, a name Serena finds utterly beautiful.
“Serena?” Bernie notices the abrupt silence. “You stopped talking and-”
“Did you really cheat?”
Shit. She didn’t mean to blurt that out quite so bluntly. And it’s not, Fleur will be thrilled to know, even the question that Serena even meant to ask. She glances towards the driver, who’s paying more attention to them than the road. A glare from her and suddenly he cares about traffic again.
None of which distracts from how quiet Bernie has gone. She’s withdrawn her hand, too, clasping it with the other hand in her lap.
“I’m not…” Bernie looks out of the window, the orange glow of the passing streetlamps strobing over her face as the taxi accelerates. “It’s not something I like to talk about. It’s not… something I’m very proud of.”
“Edward cheated on me. More than once, it turns out. I always said, at the time, that I couldn’t see any justification. That if you want something new, let the old go first.” Serena hears the monotone creep in, that stiff lack of emotion that got her through the worst of the divorce. Robot mum, Elinor had called her for months.
“I always thought that, too.” Bernie glances in Serena’s direction, but can’t meet her eye. “Then again, I thought the fact that I wasn’t very happy in my marriage was just how it went, after a while. It was never love’s young dream, just the sort of settling down that we’re all supposed to do. I’d already left for the army, so much of the time. I never intended to find someone else.”
“But you did?” Serena presses on it like a fresh bruise. She can’t help herself.
“I didn’t know the difference, you see. Until it happened. I thought a husband, love, marriage, all of it… I thought it was something a person politely endured with a smile. You count yourself lucky that he’s a good father, that he’s happy to come home of an evening.”
They sit in silence. Serena looks at the roads passing, realises they’re not far from her home. She waits impatiently for Bernie to continue.
“Then someone new comes along, a friend really. The last person you’d expect, and suddenly there’s no one else you want to spend time with. You make a great team, do everything together, and then one night after a roadside bomb gets a bit close for comfort, well. It spills over. Like something out of a film. I didn’t know a person could really feel that way.”
Bernie is so softly spoken that Serena would miss most of it without listening intently. “Oh. Oh Bernie, you were miserable and then someone showed you what happiness looked like.”
She looks up in surprise at Serena’s sudden understanding. They’re both a little startled by it.
“I still could have handled it better. Marcus will get over it eventually, but I can’t forgive myself that the kids were hurt by it all. I certainly don’t expect them to ever forgive me.”
“They’re resilient, more than we know,” Serena assures her. “I really didn’t mean to push, but I’m glad you’ve told me. And I’m assuming from all the playing around with pronouns that it’s not GI Joe that you fell for?”
Bernie shakes her head. “I understand if that means we can’t be friends after all, Serena. Not everyone is comfortable-”
“Nonsense!” Serena interrupts the self-loathing sharpish. “Doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. Besides, you’re only assuming that I’m entirely straight. It’s the hair, isn’t it?”
That makes Bernie laugh, really laugh, and it’s a glorious, ridiculous honk of a sound that delights Serena entirely. The taxi slows to a stop, and Serena seizes on the empty house that awaits her, Elinor off at Edward’s for the weekend.
“You know, I quite fancy a brandy. If you’re not far from here, you could have one and stop me drinking alone.”
“Won’t it create a scandal? Having the cheating lesbian PE teacher round on a Friday night?”
“Who’s to know?” Serena points out. “They already saw us leave together, so let them bloody well talk.”
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you Serena Campbell?” Bernie asks, insisting on handing over her cash to the driver as they step out into the cool evening air.
Serena fishes out her keys, laughing in response.
***
Bernie wakes up on the couch, head pounding. It’s only after attempting to sit that she notices neither the couch nor the living room are her own. She isn’t entirely used to her new flat yet, but it isn’t this gorgeous space full of natural light and tasteful furniture.
Serena. The taxi.
The two glasses of brandy and the goodnight hug that had lasted a few moments longer than it should have.
God, Bernie needs a glass of water. And a bathroom, with little preference as to which order. She peeks out into the hall just as the front door opens, a teenage girl grumbling to herself and checking her phone spilling through it.
“Ms Wolfe?” Right. Year 11. Elinor. The girl is an excellent gymnast, part of that little clique convinced they’ll be professional dancers. Something far beyond Bernie’s realm of expertise.
“Staff night out,” she explains, her voice coming out like gravel. “Sorry to intrude. I don’t suppose the bathroom is…?”
“Upstairs, last door on the right,” Elinor says, before stomping up the stairs herself. “Muuuum! You didn’t pack my jazz shoes again.”
Bernie waits for a door to open and close again before making a dash for it. The bathroom is something out of a magazine too, with cruel mirrors that leave no wrinkled bit of her dress or smeared bit of mascara hidden. She freshens up with what the boys in her battalion would call a whore’s bath, and fresh-faced she steps out to find Serena making her own sleepy way downstairs.
“Morning.”
“Hurricane Elinor has made landfall,” Serena groans. “Not sure what I’m being blamed for this week but…”
“Jazz shoes?” Bernie remembers. “Apparently they weren’t packed for her.”
“Because by this point she should be packing her own things, but it still somehow my fault when she doesn’t have what she needs for a dance class she’s been taking for oh, five years now.”
“That much never changes, does it? Listen, thanks for the comfy couch, but I really should get out of your hair.”
“I can summon up breakfast, if you’ve got time?”
Bernie glances at her watch. “I would, but the kids will be round soon. Better get myself presentable. I think Cameron is insisting on some rugby match.”
“Well, rather you than me.” Serena walks her to the front door, and the awkwardness that settles between them is familiar, almost palpable.
“Thank you,” Bernie says, opening the front door. It’s easier to focus on that than Serena, whose respectable dark grey dressing gown isn’t quite tied properly, revealing the dark blue satin beneath it. A nightdress most likely, though it could be one of those camisole and shorts sets that… oh god, Bernie should really not be picturing right now. “I feel thoroughly welcomed to the Holby High community now.”
“Any time. We usually have a decent crowd every other week, just depends on the marking load.”
“And about the other stuff-”
“No additions to the rumour mill will come from me,” Serena assures her, laying a hand on Bernie’s forearm. The touch feels like a mild electric shock, but Bernie does her best to disguise it. “Can’t do much about what’s already out there I’m afraid, but it’s not all bad. The one where you fought off an entire Al-Qaeda cell with just a stick is quite flattering, when you think about it.”
Bernie snorts. “I’ll remember that next time the Year 8s whine about doing hurdles in the rain.”
“Well, I can add ‘sadist’ to the true column, then,” Serena teases. “See you Monday?”
“Monday,” Bernie agrees, ducking out and down the garden path as quickly as she can without actually running.
She’s right, at least, about not living far away. Taking one of the old-fashioned alleys between the Victorian buildings brings her to her own road. There’ll just be enough time for a proper shower before Cameron and Charlotte grudgingly descend on her, Marcus lingering with the Volvo idling like maybe this time he’ll come and say something to her. The cold silence has been easier to live with, but Bernie finds it does leave a lot more room for guilt.
The last thing she expects is for her phone to chime, but sure enough there’s a text from a number she doesn’t have saved.
You gave me yours last night, so I thought I should return the favour.
S x
So whatever last night was, it seems Bernie at least has a new friend. It puts something of a spring in her step as she heads into the flat.
***
She doesn’t notice him stay behind after the rest of A-Level Chemistry have filed out, but sure enough when Serena looks up, Bernie Wolfe’s son is lingering, backpack cradled in his arms.
“Cameron, right?”
He nods, watching her from beneath dark curls that are a few weeks overdue for a haircut. He doesn’t preen and treat his hair like some kind of machismo statement the way most of the boys his age seem to now, drowning themselves in cheap aftershave that never quite drowns out the medicated scent of zit cream.
“Yes, miss. It’s just…”
“I’ve got a meeting this period, but if it’s something simple we can talk for a minute.” Serena rustles some papers to show she means business. She isn’t in any particular rush to attend the upper school strategy session at the best of times.
“It’s nothing.” He takes long strides towards the open door before turning back. “It’s just, Miss, are you…” Whatever he says next comes out in a jumble but Serena picks out the words ‘mum’, ‘dad’ and ‘divorced’ in short order.
“Wait, why on earth would you think I had anything to do with your mum and dad’s divorce? I thought that happened before she came here?”
Cameron’s glare at that is sullen. “Elinor says...”
Oh whatever comes next can’t possibly be good. Serena hasn’t seen her daughter since Saturday morning, when she ran out of the house with some kind of dance shoes in hand. There’s a horrible collision of facts that Serena’s brain is resisting putting together. What Elinor saw. What Elinor’s bad mood might mean. What she has most likely said to her friends in that bad mood. It’s not a pleasant imagining.
“I can assure you that Elinor has the wrong end of the stick, Cameron.”
“But she said my mum stayed at your house and-”
“Friends do that, you’ll find. I know you think all teachers are locked up in a dormitory at night, a group of us went out on Friday. Your mother, not that she has to answer to you, simply crashed on my sofa, as you would put it.”
“Oh.” Cameron visibly deflates. “Okay, but you know that Elinor is telling everyone you’re probably um, youknowwhatImean?”
“And what would it matter if I were?” Serena’s exasperated now. They’re supposed to be past all this now, the enlightened children who are allegedly the future. Her own schooldays where gay or queer were the worst of all possible insults are the dim and distant past. Until the embarrassment of attending the school your mother teaches in, apparently. That trumps all kinds of open-mindedness. “My personal life really isn’t up for discussion, but if you see Ellie next class, could you tell her to come and see me?”
Cameron nods and then departs at a run.
What’s strange is that Serena’s first instinct is to warn Bernie. To protect or insulate her somehow. Ludicrous, given the imagination of teenagers. There will be ten other rumours about each of them by tomorrow, depending who’s pissed off and who wants to make a stab at popularity with their peer group. She hasn’t reacted to any gossip this strongly in years.
Common sense has her thinking better of it. Adding fuel to the fire at this stage is pointless. Elinor will get a sharp talking to, and that’s the end of it.
At least until the meeting, where Fleur is practically lurking in the shadows so she can pounce.
“Guess what I heard? You’re a dark horse, Campbell.”
“Excuse me?”
“All that possessive grabbing at the pub. You took Bernie Wolfe home on Friday, you saucy minx!”
Serena sighs. If Fleur weren’t such a dear friend, there would really be a field day from the Governors and the local education board over appropriate conversation for the work environment.
“A little louder, Fleur. I don’t think they heard you in Aberdeen. It was perfectly innocent and my own daughter started that particular story. Rest assured, she’ll be grounded until she graduates university.”
Fleur looks even more pleased, if anything. Serena’s relieved when Hanssen calls the meeting to order. They’re determined to climb the league tables in all A-Level subjects this year, and that means a lot of work for all of them.
“And we’re very pleased this year to be offering A-Levels in two new subjects, including Physical Education. Given the number of students each year applying for Sports Science degrees, it seemed time our curriculum reflected that. Spearheading the new timetable will be Major Berenice Wolfe.”
Which of course, is Bernie’s cue to arrive at the door of the headmaster’s meeting room. She’s not in her tracksuit today, but a simple black trouser suit with a creamy camisole beneath it. “Sorry, had a bit of a situation with a sprained ankle. All taken care of.”
Of course, Bernie slips into the empty chair next to Serena, raising so many eyebrows around the room at once that Serena would swear she can feels a stiff down draught from them.
“Afternoon,” Bernie mutters under her breath as Hanssen picks up his presentation again. Serena just gives a tight little smile in return.
***
There’s something odd in the way Serena doesn’t acknowledge the little nudges or whispers during the meeting, and no mistaking how she scarpers at the sound of the bell. Bernie does try catching up with her in the car park, but sees Serena caught up in what looks like a serious conversation with Elinor by the car. It’s such an eminently sensible car, too. Bernie isn’t too hot on makes and models outside of army issue Land Rovers. When the reliable old Defenders had been replaced by the Wolf models, Bernie had never heard the end of it from the troops she served with. They’d joke about leaving their packs ‘out in the Bernie’ or count vehicles lost to insurgents as the number of ‘Bernies’ and civilian units.
Back in Holby she’s treated herself to a nippier little number. No grinding axles and oversized tyres for her. Even second hand it had taken a good chunk of her retirement payout, but she likes the speed and the smooth gears of it after decades of wrestling with old reliables.
Elinor storms off past Bernie as she reaches her little BMW, giving her a particularly nasty glare. Luckily, that sends Serena in Bernie’s direction, so she holds off on unlocking the car.
“This yours?” Serena seems faintly impressed at least. “I’ve seen it in the car park, but I confess I rather thought it was one of the Tech teachers having a midlife crisis. No offence, of course.”
“None taken,” Bernie says with a grin. “It’s absolutely my midlife crisis. Bit of a speed demon, I’m afraid. Not sure if it’s any good for picking up women yet, but there’s still time.”
Serena freezes, and there’s no mistaking the look of panic that crosses her delicate features.
“Sorry, was that not…?”
“My darling daughter misinterpreted your presence at the house on Saturday morning. Quite on purpose, I think. But it’s only fair I tell you we’re the talk of the school. It’ll die down, it always does, but well. Now you know.”
Six months ago Bernie would have panicked. There’s still the initial plunge in her stomach, the sick feeling at the back of her throat for a few seconds. But no, this isn’t her old, miserable life. Now she gets to be open, to be herself for the first time in more than forty years.
“Right,” she says, nodding as though it’s exactly what she expected to hear. “Well, that’s fine. Seems like you have it handled.”
“I… Bernie, aren’t you just the slightest bit angry?”
“Why would I be?” Bernie bites her tongue for a second and then goes for it anyway. She’s getting too old and too tired not to take the occasional risk. “I’d say that’s a rumour that has me punching above my weight. I think I should be flattered, don’t you? That the kids think I could get someone like you.”
She doesn’t give Serena much chance to reply, unlocking the car and sliding in with a slam of the door right behind her. Heart hammering in her ears, she almost doesn’t hear the engine rev. Still, she has presence of mind to reverse out boldly, fast and with a couple of sharp turns to speed off into the late afternoon.
A glance in the rearview confirms Serena is still there, seemingly gobsmacked. Maybe Bernie hasn’t lost her edge entirely, then.
***
She doesn’t see Bernie for a week after that, bearing the sniggers from pupils and fellow teachers alike with quiet irritation. A grudging apology from Elinor has shortened her grounding period, but not by much. They both know Edward will let her do whatever she wants come the weekend, anyway.
It’s unfortunate that it takes some real nastiness for their paths to cross. Come lunchtime Serena has been out for the quickest of errands - collecting some long neglected dry cleaning, and it’s easier to park up again in the less-used guest car park over by the PE and Music blocks. It should be a quick stroll across the main yard from there back to her own department and staffroom, but one glance at the amassed group of pupils separating into two distinct sides prickles every one of her teacher’s instincts.
Luckily, she’s not the only one. From other sides of the yard, other teachers have noticed on their own short walks or through their windows. There’s been something brewing all week, some falling out between some of the boys in Year 9. Somehow the older boys are involved too, but Serena is surprised to see Dominic from her GCSE class facing off with a Year 10 that she thinks might be called Isaac. Charlotte Dunn is tugging at Dominic’s sleeve, but he refuses to back down.
It doesn’t quite kick off, not on a grand scale. Whatever this grudge is, it’s personal. Dominic tries to fend off the blow, but Isaac is clearly more used to fighting. He drops Dominic in seconds, before any of them can react. Though the younger lad makes a brief rally of a comeback, the real sickener comes as Isaac pulls out something that glints in the weak sunlight.
Instinct makes Serena run, though it’s stupid. Just as stupid as whoever charges past her, taking out the boy in a tackle that any rugby union side would be proud of, the knife skittering across the gravel of the schoolyard.
When Serena’s momentum brings her to a halt after a few steps, she recognises the shock of blonde hair first. Bernie has the boy restrained, arm pinned up his back, and the crowd of children is starting to retreat in horror. Dominic is still on his knees, watching the scene play out in shock.
The bell ringing saves them all.
“Get to your classes! Now!” Serena knows her voice is booming, because she needs it to be. There’s a wail of sirens from the far side of the school; this is far past something they can deal with in-house.
She waits with Bernie, who doesn’t let up on the wriggling Isaac. Sacha Levy and Ric Griffin stand guard over it all, daring anyone to so much as glance back in this direction. It’s only when two police officers come jogging over that Bernie finally gets up, dragging Isaac right over to them. Whatever angry words she has for the boy are muttered too low for Serena to hear, but it’s a matter of minutes to have the boy taken away in cuffs, the knife gathered up in a plastic evidence bag, and Hanssen on the scene looking solemn.
It’s only when they’re left alone that Serena notices Bernie is hurt. She went down hard, and the navy tracksuit she’s wearing now has a hole over her scraped and bloody right knee. She’s holding her arm a little too stiffly as well. Serena has been trained in First Aid since the Brownies, and it comes as naturally to her as breathing at this point. Waving off the other teachers, she guides Bernie towards the PE block and her own office that she gets in lieu of a classroom.
“It’s absolutely fine, Serena,” Bernie insists, but she sits heavily in her chair. “I didn’t judge the angles, that’s all.”
“You probably saved Dominic McAllister’s life, actually.” Serena spots the green box of first aid supplies on top of a cupboard, relieved when she pulls it down that it’s actually stocked. After her own department with its potential spills and burns, she supposes PE is the next most likely candidate to be on top of these things.
“You were well on your way to charging in if I hadn’t. What were you planning to do, exactly?”
Serena shrugs. “Whatever needed to be done, I suppose.”
“That’s how people end up stabbed. Or worse.” Bernie looks quite shaken now, her already pale skin drained of its limited colour. “I was telling myself to stay out of it, then I saw you move and…”
For a moment it looks like Bernie might be sick, but she gets a hold of herself. Nodding at the antiseptic wipe Serena holds up, she lets the leg of her trousers be rolled up and the cleaning begin.
“Motherf… ouch.” Is the reaction to the stinging. Serena smirks and tries to be more gentle. Who knew their big macho army teacher was a big baby? The scrapes are angry and fairly deep, but they’ll cover okay. Nothing that needs stitching it seems.
“And your arm?”
Bernie tries to drop it to her side but that draws a full expletive this time. “Great. I suppose that means a trip to hospital?”
“Only if we can take your ridiculous car,” Serena offers. “And let me make a quick call to get my sixth period class covered.”
“I don’t think I can drive,” Bernie says, looking quite despondent.
“I know, I just want a turn at your midlife crisis. Don’t worry, I have fully comp. I can drive anyone’s car.”
“Oh.” Bernie looks doubtful to say the least. “Well, if you insist. Just remember I love that car almost as much as my children, would you?” She retrieves the keys from her desk and throws them to Serena with her good hand.
Serena catches them even though she’s already calling Ric to cover for her. “I’ll do my best.”
***
Bernie should be in a positively foul mood by this point. She loathes hospitals, always has, and a three hour wait to get her broken wrist set and put in a sling isn’t ideal by any measure.
And yet.
She’s even smiling about how Serena handles the car when she drives it. It’s like Driving Miss Daisy with a 2.8 litre engine. They miss the rush hour at least, and it’s not even too late for dinner by the time Bernie directs Serena to her house.
“Now, let’s get you inside.”
“I’ll be fine, Serena. Really.”
“You could have been stabbed, and it’s not like you got off lightly. And what about dinner?”
“My dialling hand will be just fine, thank you.”
“Nonsense.” Serena simply plucks the car keys from the ignition, seeing the house keys on the ring with them. She marches ahead until Bernie confirms which door leads to her flat.
It looks so bare now Bernie is seeing it through Serena’s eyes. The large couch dominates the living room - big enough for Cameron to sleep on at weekends, since Charlotte called dibs on the spare room. She still remembers his disappointed ‘it’s not a three bedroom?’ remark, just another marker of her failings.
Not that anything stops Serena barrelling into the kitchen, returning with painkillers and a glass of water.
“For someone who lives and breathes fitness, that is a depressingly bare fridge, Ms Wolfe.” There’s a hint of reprimand in there. “Woman cannot live on protein bars and coconut water alone.”
“I was going to go shopping this evening,” Bernie lies. “In the meantime, there’s still curry.”
“Fine,” Serena agrees. “But I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. I’m in no mood for Elinor’s sulking, and I don’t feel like cooking much myself.”
If Bernie hadn’t chosen that moment to brush past her, to go looking for a takeaway menu even though she knows there are apps for that now, it might never have happened. But she does, jostling her arm just enough to make her wince.
And Serena is there, in an instant, taking care of her and so close. God, so close, and so relaxed about touching, and Bernie can’t remember the last time she actually felt comforted and it’s a mistake, a stupid, foolish mistake, but she ducks her head just enough to kiss Serena on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispers by way of expressing her gratitude. “For being there.”
“Oh Bernie.” Serena should move away, be a little embarrassed perhaps. Instead she strokes a strand of Bernie’s hair between two fingers, studying her face like the secrets of the periodic table might be contained in it. “What are we doing?”
Bernie doesn’t get a chance to answer before Serena’s lips are on hers. The first kiss is barely contact, both of them breathless and trembling at the unexpected development. Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline, maybe it’s something in the air, but when Bernie moves to deepen the kiss, Serena comes right along with her.
“Well,” Serena says minutes later, when they can finally bear to pause. “Turns out where there’s smoke, there’s fire after all. Do you think everyone else just saw something we were missing?”
“I think I’d like to kiss you again,” Bernie replies, because it’s the most honest thing she can think of. “And if this is too complicated-”
“Can’t we at least have the naughty part before talking ourselves out of it? Only I think we both got quite a shock today, and I’m firmly in the carpe diem mood right now. You?”
“I can think of a few things we could seize, I suppose?”
“That’s the spirit, Bernie.” Serena kisses her again, long and slow and full of promise. “I’ll be careful of your arm, but why don’t we get you out of these clothes?”
“I’m beginning to see why everyone believes the rumours about you, Ms Campbell.”
Serena’s only response is a wink, offering her hand to Bernie and leading her down the hallway to the bedroom.
If this is how she hits the Holby High rumour mill for real, then Bernie finds she doesn’t mind very much at all.