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“A nice takeaway at home would have been fine, you know.” Serena looked across at Bernie, whose gaze was fixed on the horizon as she sipped her wine.
“Fine isn’t good enough,” Bernie replied quietly, looking serious. She turned her head towards Serena and relaxed in to a smile. “Things can turn out fine, but I’ll never plan only for that with you. You should know that by now, Serena.”
Serena grinned and basked in the sound of her name on Bernie’s lips; though the first ‘e’ was often missing – ‘Srena’ – especially when she and Bernie were alone like this, somehow it made her wish she’d never have to hear it said by anyone else again. She shivered and pulled the blankets closer around her shoulders.
“Need a hug?” Bernie asked, lifting her arm for Serena to scooch under.
-
Bernie had never really been big on Valentine’s Day; she and Marcus had rarely been in the same country for the occasion, and with Alex, well, what could they exchange in camp, beyond a few extra kisses stolen here and there. If she was honest, she’d always thought it was odd that people went to so much effort for a manufactured occasion. Yet she found herself, weeks in advance of 14th February, thinking about her plans for the first Valentines she would share with Serena. Suddenly she saw the point of it. Much as she now saw the point of a lot of things.
They were both in work on the Tuesday, which ruled out doing anything too much on the day, but a day off on the Monday yawned wide open on the calendar. An overnight trip, somewhere quiet but close enough that they could wake up together on Valentine’s morning and get back to the hospital on time. Bernie couldn’t help the self-satisfied look that took hold of her features as the idea struck her; Serena walked into the office and was instantly suspicious.
“Uh oh, I know that look,” she said, as Bernie closed the laptop and crossed her arms, saying nothing. “What are you up to?”
“Me?” Bernie asked, feigning innocence. “Ms. Campbell, I don’t know what you mean. Now, I need to go and have a chat with bay five, but if so much as a speck of dust on this laptop has moved when I get back, I’ll know about it.” She moved to whisper into Serena’s ear, deliberately getting close enough that her breath would send goosebumps the entire way down Serena’s spine. “And so will you.”
-
“But what do I need to pack?” Serena asked, the pitch of her voice rising. “Come on, just tell me.” She could see that Bernie had only a rucksack plus a box that she’d ferreted into the boot of her car when she thought Serena wasn’t looking. She thought she’d seen blankets, too, and wondered with horror if there might be a tent involved. Surely even Bernie would draw the line at camping in Britain in February.
“You just need to be comfortable, Serena,” Bernie assured her, “and have your work stuff for tomorrow. I promise you there’s no catch.”
When they eventually got on the road – her attempt to snog the information out of Bernie before she could put the car into gear having failed (deliciously) – Serena watched their route looking for clues, and it wasn’t long before she realised they were picking up the M23. “The seaside?!” she squealed, staring at Bernie until she could keep a straight face no longer. She smiled as she changed lanes and then glanced over at Serena. “Yes, the seaside.”
Serena spent the rest of the journey imagining grand old hotels along the front at Brighton; imagining Bernie calling up and reserving a large, sea-facing suite and a room filled with strawberries and champagne; imagining a large clawfoot bathtub and fluffy white towels. But as they drove past one and then another, and then another, the city gradually giving way to more residential streets and long stretches of A-road, she sat back in her seat and watched Bernie’s face for any sign that they might be stopping soon. Bernie remained inscrutable. “What is it they say about patience?” she asked, a lopsided grin tugging at her features.
In fact it wasn’t too much longer before they took a left onto a single track road and began to wend their way towards the coast proper, finally pulling up outside a chalet house separated from the beach by a narrow promenade. Serena could see a whisper of smoke rising from a small chimney and a stack of logs nestling by the backdoor. Bernie turned the engine off and turned to Serena. “OK?”
-
It wasn’t that Bernie hadn’t thought about the big hotels, with their imposing staircases and their king-size beds and their five-course Valentine’s menus; of course she had. And there was a certain appeal to spending an afternoon and an evening with willing staff at the other end of a telephone. But it hadn’t taken her long to realise that she didn’t want to share Serena with anyone else today – didn’t want to have to talk to receptionists, or well-meaning waiters, or, god forbid, other diners. So she’d scoured the listings until she spotted the cosiest, most beautiful, most isolated place she could find, and gathered supplies that would mean they could stay in this bubble without interruption.
A case of Shiraz was enough, wasn’t it?
-
Bernie slid the box of food and drink onto the counter as she watched Serena take a quick tour of their home for the night; there wasn’t much to it, but every detail had been attended to, and the log burner in the living room spread warmth to every corner of the place. Well, except the toilet seat, Serena quickly discovered with a shriek. She shot a look at Bernie when she emerged from the bathroom but was quickly distracted by the beach: the tide was in and the surf juggled pebbles around almost within touching distance. Bernie slipped her arms around Serena’s waist and nuzzled her chin into her shoulder.
“You old romantic,” Serena said, turning in to Bernie’s cheek and leaving a layer of lipstick there. “I know,” Bernie replied, “what on earth have you done to me?”
-
“Did you know when you booked this place that the only thing you can see out of the window from the bed is the sea?” Serena asked. Bernie looked up from the hearth – she couldn’t resist making work of the fire, even though it was managing just fine without her – and blew her fringe out of her eyes. “Is that your best line?” Bernie smirked.
“Depends,” Serena answered, tipping her head to one side. “Has it worked?”
Bernie already had hold of her hand, her smoky hair tickling Serena’s cheekbones amidst the kiss as they stepped back towards the bed. Bernie slid Serena’s top over her head and knelt over her, their chests rising and falling at the same accelerated pace. “Oh yes,” Bernie said; “I see what you mean about the view.”
-
They cooked dinner together, already having fallen into a rhythm of doing so at home and found that Bernie’s willingness to attend to the “bits and bobs”, as Serena called them, without peering over Serena’s shoulder at the hob, made for great teamwork. This morning Bernie had packed in ice the finest steaks she could find this side of Argentina, the perfect complement to the full-bodied Syrah (it practically drizzled down the sides of the glass like a syrup, Serena observed with delight) she’d bought.
They could just about pick out the edges of the landscape outside the window as the sky darkened, the clank and clatter of their cutlery against mismatched plates louder now than the retreating sea. When Bernie cleared the table and reappeared with two generous portions of tiramisu, each topped with a cluster of raspberries, it was all Serena could do to hold in the marriage proposal that boomed across her internal monologue. Instead of “MARRY ME NOW YOU PERFECT WOMAN”, all Bernie heard was a small moan as Serena took her first spoonful.
When they’d finished dessert – Bernie licked her bowl clean and Serena had thumbed the mascarpone off her forehead and chin and licked that in turn – Bernie stalked over to the porch (god she was all limbs) and pulled out some blankets and a sleeping bag.
“I’m not sleeping on the beach,” Serena quipped, eyeing the pile warily. “Even you can’t warm me up enough for that.”
Bernie smiled. “These are so we can spend the evening on the veranda, listening to the sea.” She looked at Serena through her fringe. “If you want to, that is. There’s, um, there’s a chimenea out there. And more wine.”
-
“Tell me about Alex.” Serena cocked her head and smiled softly as Bernie looked at her from beneath a confused frown. “What?” Of all the things that Bernie might have expected to intrude on the silence in which they’d been luxuriating as the waves broke on the shingle beneath them telling the world to sssshh, this was not one of them.
“I don’t mean that stuff,” Serena said. “Tell me how it happened; tell me your story.” It was a request, an invitation, not a demand, and as ever Bernie found herself unable to deny Serena her wish.
“It’s hard to tell a story when you’re not really sure where it starts,” Bernie said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She looked apologetically at Serena, who smiled again - that same warm smile, the one that had repeatedly been a source of strength for Bernie, a refuge from her doubts and insecurities.
“We worked together for a long while,” she said, tucking her knees up as Serena topped up their glasses. “It’d never bothered me to be working in a male-dominated environment – a military career was what I’d always wanted – but it was nice to have Alex beside me. We didn’t always see things the same way, but I think maybe we had the same way of arguing about it. We talked a lot. I felt like I had a friend. I don’t know… of course I’d had friends, but somehow the word meant something different now. More.”
Bernie shook her head and smiled in to her wine. “Does this even make any sense?” she asked through an embarrassed laugh.
“Of course it does,” Serena said, putting a hand on Bernie’s arm and ducking her head to catch her eye. “Of course it does.”
“I’d never thought of myself as needing anyone; I didn’t need anyone. But gradually Alex was helping me to shoulder things, giving me perspective on stuff - letting me be weak, sometimes.” Bernie cleared her throat. “Not often,” she said, her voice dropping an octave as she sought to protect her reputation. Serena laughed. “No, not my big macho army medic.”
Bernie chuckled and took a deep breath.
“And then one day she kissed me.”
Serena looked down at her drink and then out towards the sea before turning back to Bernie, whose eyes were fixed on the sky. “We’d flown two boys back to Brize Norton with life-changing injuries, and we were having trouble moving supplies by road; we both felt wretched. Alex was ready to punch something or someone, so I tried to calm her down. And she…” Bernie looked down at her hands, working the wine glass in circles between them. “She, er… she kissed me.” She gulped the last of her wine and put the glass down on the table.
“And after?” Serena’s voice was soft, rich and warm. “I mean after that day.”
“We were friends. We were lovers. Everything was different, but somehow nothing at all had changed.” Bernie chewed her lip, only looking up at Serena when she again felt a comforting hand on her arm. They looked at one another for a moment, a million words passing between them in silence. Bernie still had the shape of Serena’s kiss imprinted in Bold Persimmon on her cheek.
Serena smiled. “It sounds an awful lot like our story.”
Bernie scoffed, but didn’t break her smile as she said, “No, it’s not. It’s not.”
“Oh I don’t know: gorgeous lesbian comes swaggering into your life-”
“I don’t swagger!” Bernie tucked her hair behind her ears. “Only a bit, anyway. And only sometimes.”
“Ahem, I repeat: gorgeous lesbian comes swaggering into your life” – Serena fixed Bernie with a look that said hush – “and becomes such an important part of it, of your world, that you can’t quite believe you hadn’t previously realised she was missing.
“And she reads even the slightest dip in your mood. She knows you need a hand before you do. You don’t even realise, except perhaps deep down, she’s the one holding you up because her touch is so light, so gentle, so natural.”
Serena’s face broke in to a cheeky grin. “And then she kisses you.”
“Turns your world upside down,” Bernie huffed lightly.
“Buggers off to Kiev.” Serena squeezed Bernie’s hand, still smiling.
“That’s why it’s not the same story,” Bernie said quietly, rubbing her thumb across Serena’s knuckles. “I was such a coward; you’ve been so brave.”
“Ha!” Serena’s guffaw is so loud that they listen to it skip down the beach. “I was terrified! Don’t you remember the lift? I think I was actually shaking. And you’d barely buttoned your shirt up; I swear you were doing it deliberately.”
Bernie allowed herself a little smirk, thinking back to that day. “Ah yes, the lucky lady in Stockport – Stoke–”
“You know damn well it was Stepney.”
Bernie turned Serena’s hand over and traced her finger tips of her palm, focusing intently on the lines weaving this way and that under her touch.
“I didn’t say you weren’t scared,” she said, eventually. “But you were scared and you did it anyway. You were brave.
“And you’ve given me such courage. Alex staked a claim for me but you... I'd've given you everything, anything, almost the moment I met you.” She kissed Serena’s hand and held it to her cheek. “Thank you.”
The look Serena gave her made Bernie's tummy fizz; it was so warm and filled with love and Bernie almost feels spoilt by it, she gets to see it so often.
“I love you, you big soppy thing,” Serena said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Bernie’s lips. Bernie hummed. “I love you too, Fräulein. Time for a cup of cocoa?”