Me: *panics this chapter is gonna be too short*

Chapter: *is one of the longest I've written*

Because the tape is ended now, the songs for each chapter might not always be included in the narrative; they might be a song playing on the radio or in a *coughs* place or just something I feel fits the general vibe of the chapter.

Thank you so much for all your fantastic feedback and hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)

Missing Track: All Of My Heart - ABC

No tears.

That's what we promised one another, and that's how I stayed. I didn't expect to manage it; I had expected to get home and collapse the moment my bedroom door closed behind me. But why should I cry? In less than forty-eight hours I would get her phone call, and we would be alright. She would give me her new address and phone number and we would stay in touch, both counting down the days to Christmas and our reunion.

I made sure to sit by the phone all day Monday, waiting, and when she didn't call then I sat in on Tuesday too, forgoing a lunch out with some of my old school friends in fear of missing her. I wasn't worried, at this point; I simply thought that she had been too busy, or had not yet unpacked her address book with my phone number in it, despite knowing that she could recite it by heart.

It was on Friday morning that I noticed it, the dark knotting in my stomach, and I had bitten my nails right down until they were red raw. I told myself it was fine, she was just settling in, she *will* call, but my gut feeling was screaming at me otherwise. My first thought was what if something had happened to her? How would I know? Surely I would have heard something by now?

Sunday morning, when it was time for me to leave for university myself, my parents practically had to drag me out of the house. I spent most of the car journey making my mother promise to answer the phone every time it rang, and forward all of my mail to me first class. If Bernie did ring, I made her vow to call my halls immediately and threaten whatever poor soul answered the phone with death should they not pass on the message.

"I hate to say it, darling," my father had interrupted, his eyes flicking up at me in the rear view mirror. "But have you ever thought that she might not want to get in touch?" My stomach dropped. "I mean," he continued. "People reinvent themselves when they go to uni. Maybe she wants to leave her old life behind, start anew."

My glottis seemed to fail, my mouth opening and closing repeatedly for several moments before I managed to get any words out. "No— No, she told me— She promised she'd call..." I couldn't quite comprehend the suggestion. She had been even more concerned about us keeping in touch than I had been, if that was even possible. She had talked about it constantly, made me promise over and over that we wouldn't allow our circumstances to wrench us apart. And now?

Eventually my father simply shrugged, his attention returning to the road whilst I convinced myself that he was unquestionably mistaken.

Still, I never cried. I was certain that there had been some kind of mistake, even though my gut twisted and my heart pounded more and more with each day that passed. I spent the whole first term waiting, hanging by the telephone, waiting every morning for the postman to arrive, so much so that I ended up on his Christmas card list. My housemates always joked that I was wasted as a medic and would be more suited to secretarial college, I was so fast at answering the phone and sorting the mail. I laughed it off, never breathing a word to anyone about the real reason I could never relax.

When Christmas break finally arrived I was overjoyed. After all these months, I would have the chance to see her again. I could just go round and knock on her door, after all, and she would be there, waiting for me. She would have some explaining to do, but she would be there and we would be together.

I didn't go round on the first day I was home, though I was itching to. Her journey was longer than mine, after all, so she might not be there yet. But the following morning I sprang out of bed, put on my best blouse and skirt and strolled up the road to her home, my heart hammering with nerves and excitement. I steadied myself for a moment, before knocking loudly.

At first I thought that they might be out; the car wasn't there, and there was no noise from inside. But then I heard the key in the door, and I held my breath in anticipation.

"Yes?"

I blinked as an elderly lady answered the door in her slippers and dressing gown.

"I'm sorry to bother you. Is Bernie around?"

The lady frowned. "Bernie?"

I forced a patient smile. "Yes, Bernie. Berenice Wolfe. She lives here."

She shook her head with a frown. "I don't know no 'Berenice'," she told me, her scratchy voice going through me like needles. "I'm the only one that lives here."

I stood back for a moment, having a quick look to see if I had knocked on the right door. I had.

"She definitely lives here," I persisted. "Well, she's at university now, but her parents… Joan and Barry?" I raised my eyebrows.

The woman's face broke out into a smile. "Ah, yes! Joan and Barry. Lovely couple."

There was a short silence as she nodded to herself. I widened my eyes at her, before gesturing around me when she didn't speak again.

"So, where are they?"

The lady frowned, then shook her head. "Oh no, dear. They don't live here now. Haven't done for a couple of months now."

"Well, where are they then?"

"Wrexham."

"Wrexham?" I repeated incredulously, my mouth falling open. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, dear. The people that owned this house before me definitely said that's where they were going. My daughter-in-law's from there, you see, so I remembered." She paused, watching me as I gaped. "Well, if that's all?"

All I could do was nod, at that point. I walked home in a daze, my feet dragging along the pavement and my arms hanging limply at my sides as I tried to comprehend just what was happening.

"Mum, did you know that Bernie's family moved?" I asked as soon as I was through the door. She turned around, wiping her hands on her pinafore.

"Yes, they left a couple of months ago now. Her father has some new military project he's been posted to work on in Wrex—"

"Wrexham, I know. You didn't think to tell me?" I waved my arms around in frustration. She shook her head.

"I didn't think it was relevant. She's at uni; she doesn't live with them any more."

"Yes, but she would still have been back for Christmas!" I cried, running a hand through my hair. "Do you know whereabouts they went? Does anyone have a phone number?"

"Serena, you haven't heard from her in over three months." She put a hand on my shoulder and I immediately shrugged it off, my heart clenched. "She has your number, she has your address, she knows what university you're at. I'm sorry, but if she wanted to be in touch, I think you would have heard by now." She looked at me sympathetically, but I couldn't accept her words. I turned and went to my room to again listen to our mixtape, as I had done almost constantly since we parted. How it never wore down and snapped, I'll never know. Christmas came and went, and still I remained in denial. Still, I never cried. I couldn't bear the notion that she didn't want me. She had promised.

It was my first week back at university, when it finally all came pouring out.

I was on a night out with my housemates the first weekend back in early January. Since discovering she had moved before Christmas, I had managed for the most part to keep my feelings in check, to bury my head in the sand and to put her towards the back of my mind. Whatever had happened, she must have a reasonable explanation and she will eventually be in touch, I told myself. We love each other; that's what matters. Things will sort themselves out.

But more and more, my gut told me otherwise, and by the time I had finished my first week back at uni, my optimism had reached its all-time low. I knew, in the pit of my stomach, that this wasn't good, that my mother was right: if she wanted to get in touch, she would have done by now. I was angry, initially. Fuck her, that was my motto. But the sadness, the heartbreak, creeped up on me, gradually seeping through my body until it became all-consuming and I could no longer bear it.

As I was so bitter at her actions, I had drunk more on this night out than I had for a long time. I wanted to forget all about Berenice Griselda Wolfe. Fuck her. So I drank and I drank and I danced and I danced and I threw myself at every man in the club that night. Fuck her. I don't need her. And I made a good show of it. I almost convinced myself.

About half way through the night, I got dancing with a man called Steven, who eventually struck up conversation and we took it from there. He came and sat with my friends and I at our table and we got on like a house on fire. He was a medic too, though a couple of years above, and he made me laugh, made me feel special, made me feel attractive in a way that I hadn't felt in months. I really, really liked him. It's just that he wasn't her. But I powered on regardless. Fuck her. I was determined to have a good night, to hold myself proud, to not allow her to upset me.

Then came the last dance, a slowed-down remix of ABC's All Of My Heart.

I was fine, when the first few chords played through, standing up and taking his hand, allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor, allowing him to put his hands on me and to move me to the music. Neither Bernie nor I had ever had any strong opinions on ABC; there were no particular memories attached to the song. But the lyrics hit just that little bit too close to home, and the guilt that already gnawed away at my stomach threatened to take over as I tried with everything in me to keep detached.

Once upon a time when we were friends

I gave you my heart, the story ends

No happy ever after, now we're friends

I squeezed my eyes shut tight as he rested his chin on my bare shoulder, stubble scratching my skin in a way that made me feel dirty and invaded. Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

What's it like to have loved and to lose her touch?

What's it like to have loved and to lose that much?

My heart was in my throat, my stomach spinning with the alcohol and the agony the lyrics provoked. I tried to focus on something else, ignore the words, concentrate on the man before me, but it all just felt so wrong. His hands on my waist, too big and too clumsy, his shoulders too tall and broad beneath my fingertips, his sharp aftershave and the harsh scent of Special Brew on his breath. His hair was too short and his jaw too square and his skin too rough and his eyes too blue and just not her. It just felt wrong.

But I hope and I pray that maybe someday

You'll walk in the room with my heart

Add and subtract but as a matter of fact

Now that you're gone I still want you back

Remembering, surrendering

The kindest cut's the cruelest part

All of my heart

And that was that. I could hold it no longer, could no longer stand the feeling of his body against mine and could no longer stand the hurt that had been building up in my chest for the past four months. I could no longer keep my emotions in check, pretend that I was okay, pretend that I had a heart that wasn't shattered beyond all recognition and that I hadn't lost all sense of myself, my identity, who I was, what I lived for, which way was up.

So I burst into tears. Right in the middle of the dancefloor. And they weren't just tears, tears that I could pass off as just being a little bit overemotional or 'time of the month'. No, they were big, ugly, violent, all-consuming sobs that took over my entire body until I could do nothing but stand there, my face in my hands, my knees trembling with the effort of not throwing myself onto the floor and giving up on all life. They were the kind of sobs that give you a sore throat for days afterwards, the kind of tears that burn acidic in your eyes, the kind of hysteria that removes any self-consciousness about being seen in such a state in a public place. I did not care; all I was aware of was my own heart, laying in tatters in my chest, and the fact that I had lost her, forever, and not for the life of me seen it coming.

My friends were confused, of course. They took me home, cleaned me up, put a bucket next to my bed and a big glass of water, told me that they supported me through anything and that they would always be there, if I needed to talk. But I couldn't talk. I could never speak another word about Berenice Wolfe.

So the next day I woke up, had a shower, put the mixtape away, and got on with my life.

—

When I woke up the following morning, my stomach was alive with butterflies.

Tomorrow night, I have a date with Berenice Wolfe.

But it's not a date, I told myself firmly. It's just two old friends going out for dinner, trying to resolve a few issues. Nothing date-y about that. Not at all. Though something about the look in her eye when I suggested it…

I was brought out of my thoughts by my phone buzzing on my bedside table. Yawning, I stretched over to see who was texting me, pulling out the charging cable so that I could hold it closer to my face. My stomach dropped. Two missed calls - one from Raf, one from Ric - as well as four text messages from Ric, Sacha, Morven and Bernie. I sat bold upright in bed, my finger tapping away at the screen. Had something happened at the hospital? Was everyone okay? Had there been a major incident?

I tapped through to my inbox, my hand flying to my chest as I gasped at the contents.

Fletch just told me you and Ms Wolfe were at school together? Is he winding me up? Morven xxx

How on earth did you manage to keep from me the fact that you and /Berenice Wolfe/ went to school together?! And you were lovers!? I want details, NOW! - RG

Were you really at school with Bernie Wolfe? Sacha XD

Serena we have a problem…

A low groan fell from my lips as I tossed my phone away, flopping back down to bury my face in my pillows. Less than twenty-four hours. The NHS rumour mill really has outdone itself this time…

I picked up my phone to reply to some of the messages, but quickly decided against it. I was already running late, and I didn't have the energy to deal with all that now.

"Good morning, Auntie Serena," Jason greeted me cheerily as I entered the kitchen, quickly flicking on the kettle for a much needed coffee. I reached into the cupboard for some Fruit 'n' Fibre for breakfast and set it on the table along with a bowl and spoon, waiting to bring the milk with me once I had made my drink.

"It's a lovely morning, isn't it," Jason commented, seemingly oblivious to my current stress levels. I forced a smile.

"Quite," I responded, snapping into action as the kettle flicked off and I could finally make my coffee and sit down for breakfast.

"So, what are your plans for today, Jason?" I asked, allowing myself to relax slightly as the first sip of coffee passed my lips and I tucked into my cereal. It's going to be okay…

"Well, I have a couple of surveys to do in ITU, and some on the children's ward," Jason nodded, looking up from the car magazine on the table. "But apart from that, pretty easy. How about you?"

I shrugged. "You know me, Jason, I'll be rushed off my feet as always," I replied, taking a large mouthful of cereal.

"Well, it's the weekend tomorrow so then you can rest." I nodded agreement, and we were silent for a couple of minutes as I devoured my breakfast and Jason went back to his magazine. I was just standing to put my bowl and mug in the sink when he spoke again. Just when I thought I'd heard the worst…

"Auntie Serena, is it really true that you and Dr Bernie were lesbians at school?"

—

When I arrived at work, the department was in full swing. There had been a five car pile-up on the A1, so we had three new critical patients in before 9am. It didn't stop the little pause they made as I walked past, though, the little glances to one another and the smirks. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at them as I powered on through to my office.

Almost before I had got my coat off, Raf was at the door.

"Ms Campbell," he knocked lightly, peering around the door. "If you're ready, I need a second opinion on one of the RTC patients. I think the right kidney might be avulsed."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself to face the day, before following him out onto the ward. After taking a look at the patient, I came to the same conclusion as he had and we quickly got her booked in for surgery.

"Right, if that will be all?" I began making my way back to my office.

"Actually, Ms Campbell," he interrupted, following until I turned round. "I know it's none of my business, but—"

"If you utter one syllable of what I think you're about to say…" I warned, raising my eyebrows and folding my arms. He stepped back slightly.

"Sorry, sorry," he shook his head, knotting his fingers together. "Not appropriate for the workplace."

"No," I agreed with a stern look. "And you tell Nurse Fletcher that he's on bed-bath duty for the foreseeable future and that the next time I see him he'd better hope I'm in a better mood than I am today, otherwise I will not be responsible for my actions."

"You can tell him I second that," Bernie chipped in, looking up at us from the nurses station with a sarcastic grin. I smiled at her. Raf looked wary.

"Will do," he nodded sharply before returning to work. I turned to lean against the nurse's station next to her, closing my eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

"I'm guessing you've had it from all angles too?" Bernie asked, looking at me sympathetically.

"Messages from Ric, Morven and Sacha, and somehow Jason knows too - god knows where from! What about you?"

"Dr Copeland, Essie Harrison, Zosia, and a lovely one from Marcus, too," she muttered, signing off a couple of forms. "He said he heard it from one of the porters at St James'. Doesn't news travel fast nowadays?" I gaped in shock, trying to think of something to say but eventually deciding to leave it. Rise above.

"What've you got, then?" I asked, nodding at the paperwork whilst I moved around the station to the computer to check the theatre waiting list.

"Two with crush injuries - looking like we'll need to amputate there - and one ruptured large bowel and internal bleeding, though I'm not quite sure the blood is coming from the bowel," she frowned, turning over a sheet of paper. "I'm just about to take that one into theatre now, if you wanted to scrub in? It's going to be a messy one."

I pursed my lips, looking at my schedule. "Well, I suppose Raf and Morven could take care of my avulsed kidney… Sure, why not?" I stood, quickly logging out before moving back around the nurses' station. "I'll go find them. What time will you start?"

"Scrub in at ten to. Thanks." She smiled up at me briefly, and unthinkingly I reached out to squeeze her arm before rushing off to find Raf. My hand burned where our skin had touched, my chest fluttering at the thought of the contact. I quickly resolved to put it out of my mind. Concentrate, Campbell.

—

Theatre was tough. The man had started losing consciousness as we were scrubbing in, and when we opened him up there was so much blood that we wondered how he had lasted as long as he did. But thankfully, it didn't take long for us to locate the bleed and get it sutured, and the surgery was completed in good time.

"Thanks for partnering me on that," Bernie said as we were scrubbing out, standing just a step too close to me as we did. I tried not to hold my breath.

"No problem," I murmured, quickly clearing my throat as my breath caught. "You'd have done the same for me." I frowned at myself inwardly for rambling. We were silent for a few moments, and I tried to steady my rapid heart rate. She was so close, I could even smell her perfume. Black Opium, if my nose was correct. It was dizzying.

"So," Bernie announced suddenly, after a sharp breath. "I was thinking about maybe that new Italian on Princess Street on Saturday night? I've got a friend who could get us a table last minute." She looked across at me as she rinsed her hands and I met her gaze.

"Yes, of course," I replied softly. "That sounds wonderful."

"They've got an excellent wine list," she winked, nudging off the tap with her elbow. "Three different types of award-winning Shiraz, I've heard."

"Mmm, you do know how to show a girl a good time," I grinned, winking back at her. We stood there for a few moments, our eyes never leaving one another's. I couldn't breathe. Being stood this close, all alone in the scrub room, made me feel more nervous around her, seeing as we were away from prying eyes. I thought about reaching out, resting a hand on her arm, on her cheek, or pulling her into an embrace. Just telling her that I was glad she was here, that I was happy to have her by my side again, in whatever capacity that might be. Or, of course, there was the other option, the one that had occupied my dreams and late night musings for many weeks now: grab her by the scrub top and kiss her senseless.

Before I could decide upon any of these, one of the scrub nurses appeared at the door. She looked at the two of us with a smirk.

"Ms Wolfe, Mr Hanssen wants to see you in his office. He says it's urgent."

Bernie held my gaze for one last moment, before turning away. "I'd better…" She gestured towards the door. "I'll see you later."

"See you."

She made her way off just as the next team were arriving to scrub in for another op. I quickly dried my hands, before rushing away to get on with my job.

—

The morning dragged, really. After the RTC victims were all either treated or shipped up to ITU, it was a relatively quiet shift. I resolved to pass it by catching up on some paperwork in my office, but my mind was focussed on other things, namely counting down the seconds until we were to go out for dinner tomorrow night. All these months, I had held myself back from her, taken a back seat and kept my distance. How was it that I couldn't stand to wait just thirty hours to go out with her?

My feet tapped and my fingers twiddled with my pen. I was itching to know why she had left, yes, but my mind seemed to have other priorities when thinking about this particular night, now. Above all, I was looking forward to spending some time with her outside of the workplace, away from the stress of our lives and able to relax around one another, once everything was out in the open. I missed her as a lover, yes, but most of all, in those lonely months following her departure, I missed my best friend. The wonderful, funny, fierce, beautiful girl with the honking laugh and the fire in her eyes. I missed her, and it was that that I longed to have back more than anything. The rest was a bonus.

"Afternoon," I greeted her as she stepped into the office, closing the door softly behind her before going to sit in her chair. "Did you find out what Hanssen wanted?"

She laughed quietly. "Before or after he asked me whether there was anything I needed to discuss with him concerning the nature of our relationship?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "No, it wasn't all about that. I… I've been headhunted." She didn't take her eyes off her computer screen, her fingers tapping away.

"I'm sorry, what?" I leaned forwards in my seat, my eyes widening. She sighed.

"I've been headhunted, for a new trauma hospital they're building in New Zealand. They want someone to oversee the whole running of the place. Kind of like Hanssen's job but a lot more practical, more time on the ground. He wants me to get back to him by the end of the day."

My stomach turned to ice. After all this time… She couldn't leave again, could she? Could she really do that? But then my heart hardened as I remembered, this was Berenice Wolfe, the master of all disappearing acts. She could leave her family without a second thought, she left Alex, she had left me. Why on earth would she stay now?

I swallowed hard, sniffing slightly, holding my head high. I could feel myself closing off, could feel the walls building back up. Fuck her.

"Right, well, um," I stood from my chair, logging out of my computer and grabbing a stack of files. "I'm sure you'll be sadly missed, but what can we do? I, um— I'm not feeling too well actually. I think I might be coming down with that stomach virus that's going round. Do you mind if we take a rain cheque on the dinner?"

"Sorry, Serena. Are you—"

I was already out of the door.

—

For the rest of the shift, I avoided her, and in the times when we were forced to converse I was frosty. She seemed oblivious to what it was she had done, how she had made me feel. As I was looking over a scan for her and offering a second opinion, Bernie Wolfe, the least tactile of all creatures known to man, put her hand on my forehead, murmuring whether I was okay and offering to cover my shift if I needed to go home. I stood back quickly, telling her I was quite alright to finish my shift and that I had to get on. She looked at me with such care, such sympathy, that it made my stomach turn, knowing that it was all a show.

By the end of my shift, all that was left in my heart was anger. How could she do this, again and again? How did people mean so little to her? How could she just turn off her feelings for people? Did she even feel anything in the first place? I felt so used, so deceived, even more so for the fact that I had allowed myself to hope that she was different, this time. I had thought that we were getting somewhere, finally, and that she cared. Clearly not.

For the last three hours of the afternoon she had been nowhere to be seen, not that I particularly wanted to see her. Maybe she had taken the hint, and was avoiding me too, or perhaps she had packed in already, in favour of her swanky new job in New Zealand. I was seething, and I knew that I couldn't drive home before I had calmed down, but didn't want to bump into her so instead took myself outside for a breather, choosing one of the more secluded corners of the peace garden.

I loved it out here. The contrast between the busy confines of the hospital and the small, quiet garden just beside it was heavenly. It allowed a step back from the drama and the chaos, the hurt and the pain of our everyday lives, allowed a private moment to collect oneself.

I cried. I couldn't help it. The rage in my chest combined with the fresh sense of loss and betrayal made tears inevitable, and I had only just managed to hold them in long enough to get out of the hospital doors. But now, with only the sounds of my thoughts in my head, it was all too much. I hated her. Why did I let her get to me like this? I felt so weak, so ashamed of myself for not being able to control my feeling. My stomach twisted painfully and I thought for a moment that I might be physically sick, but managed to calm myself down just enough for that. I pulled a tissue from my pocket, taking deep and unsteady breaths as I wiped my eyes and nose.

"Oh, there you are! I've been looking for you."

I almost gasped at the voice behind me, cutting through me like a shard of ice. The anger in my gut swelled. She doesn't even realise what she's done. I couldn't get words out. I sniffed deeply, not turning around, not wanting her to see my tears. Pull yourself together, Campbell.

"That was one hell of an afternoon! I've just finished a splenic artery aneurysm repair. I thought for a moment I might have been a bit out of my depth, but… I asked a nurse to page you but they said you'd already left?"

I simply hummed agreement, unable to unclench my jaw. How could she be so oblivious? How could she just wander around having the time of her life, not caring about any of the hurt she's caused? I swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. Calm down.

"I've just been to see Hanssen—"

"Why did you do it, Bernie?"

I spun around, my pulse racing in my throat and my cheeks reddened with rage. She looked a little like a deer in headlights, her eyes wide and cigarette drooping in her mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

"How can you be so cold? You just leave everyone that loves you, bugger how they feel! Why? Why did you do it?"

"Serena, I don't—"

She stepped towards me, her arm outreached, but I stepped away, quickly wiping my eyes on the sleeve on my cardigan.

"Did you ever feel anything for me?"

"Serena, stop—"

"And now you're leaving again," I ranted on, not caring that my eyes were brimming again. "You left me, you left Alex, you left your husband and children. Do people really mean nothing to you? You weren't even at Jonty's funeral—"

"No, I was with Adam making sure he didn't drink himself to death. And no, I'm not leaving again. I told Hanssen that I didn't want to lose you. Would you please just stop for a second?!"

I froze, my fists still clenched as I stared her down, wrapping my arms around myself protectively, my teeth grinding and my jaw tight. I was seething.

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Well, I—"

"No more excuses, Bernie," I waved a hand warningly. "This is it. If you can't do me the courtesy of explaining, once and for all, well… Maybe it'll be me that does the disappearing act this time."

She stood back slightly, blinking, her mouth open slightly. "I…" She gaped, her arms limp at her side. "I don't know what to say."

I laughed harshly. "How about the truth, for once," I spat, my eyebrows raised.

"You need to tell me why you left."