how busy he was, that he had to put the hours in at his desk at home. He was senior partner at the practice. He had responsibilities, to his patients as well as to his family. But Rachel always seemed to have an early night nowadays. Leaving him to unwind on his own in front of the news, sport or a film he didn’t really want to see.
He stripped and had a shower, half hoping that the sound of the water would wake her. Maybe she’d surprise him, open the shower door and slide in next to him, and...
Oh, who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love. Every time he made an overture, she gave him that apologetic little smile. ‘Sorry, love. I’m a bit tired. Maybe tomorrow night?’
And tomorrow never came.
So, lately, he’d stopped even asking. There wasn’t any point.
OK, to be fair, Rachel worked long hours, too. She did her shifts at the surgery, kept the house running, looked after the children. Oliver was guiltily aware that he didn’t do as much as he should on the parenting front, that he’d used work to duck his responsibilities at home. But Rachel was so much better at that sort of thing than he was. She always knew how to make things right when the kids were upset.
He just wished she could make him feel better.
His mouth tightened as he towelled himself dry. And what had that been about earlier this evening? We need to talk. About us. Was she...?
No, of course not. They were all right. It was just a phase that most couples with small kids went through. He’d seen enough of them in his surgery, women tired out by child care and feeling neglected by their spouses.
Maybe he’d buy Rachel some flowers tomorrow. Show her he appreciated her. And then maybe she’d show him some appreciation, too. And if she didn’t appreciate him...well, at least there was one person who did. One person he could talk to. And maybe she could shed some light on what was going on in Rachel’s head.
* * *
Rachel was already up the next morning when Oliver woke. He could hear her in the bathroom, cleaning Sophie’s teeth and encouraging Robin to clean his. By the time Oliver had showered, dressed and gone downstairs, the children were ready for school and Rachel had set a cafetière of coffee next to his place at the kitchen table.
‘See you at the surgery,’ she said. ‘Soph, Rob, give Daddy a kiss goodbye.’
‘Love you, Daddy,’ they both said.
Oliver hugged them back. ‘Love you, too. Have a nice day at school.’
‘Nursery, Daddy,’ Sophie corrected him. ‘I’m going to big school next year.’
He couldn’t help grinning. His daughter was so pedantic. But she had her mother’s smile, wide and welcoming, enough to charm anyone. And that cute little lisp meant she could get away with murder. ‘All right, Sophie. Nursery, then.’
She nodded in satisfaction. ‘Bye, Daddy.’
‘Bye,’ Rob echoed.
‘Bye.’ Rachel leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
Oliver was almost tempted to grab her and kiss her properly. But then she’d be late dropping the kids off and her surgery would start late, so she’d be late picking Sophie up from nursery again and...oh, it would be just too much hassle. He contented himself with a ‘See you later’. She gave him an odd look, but he shrugged it off. Rachel was just in a funny mood right now. Probably PMT. He’d go carefully for the next couple of days, and then she’d be back to her usual sunny self. He hoped.
* * *
When Rachel had dropped Sophie at nursery and Robin at school, she drove to the surgery. Her first patient, Teresa Lord, was already waiting for her.
‘What can I do for you, Teresa?’ she asked with a smile.
‘It’s...’ Teresa sighed. ‘I know this is going to sound stupid. But I’ve been so miserable, and my sister’s taking Prozac. She says it makes you feel so much brighter. And I wondered...’
Rachel’s heart sank. She hated it when patients thought antidepressants were the answer to everything. ‘It’s one of several options, yes,’ Rachel said carefully. ‘So how have you been feeling?’
‘Low.’
‘How are you sleeping?’ Waking early—often two or three hours earlier than usual—was a common symptom of depression.
‘OK. It’s just it’s a bit hard to get to sleep.’ Teresa bit her lip. ‘I lie there and think.’
‘Is anything particular bothering you?’ Rachel asked gently.
‘No.’ Teresa sighed and her shoulders sagged. ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me about it. Maybe I can help,’ Rachel offered.
Teresa looked torn between wanting to confide and afraid that it would make things worse. Rachel had a fair idea why her patient was worried. ‘Remember, whatever you tell me is confidential. I’m your doctor. I’m not going to gossip about you in the playground. Nobody in the village will hear a word from me,’ she said quietly. Teresa’s face cleared, and Rachel knew she’d guessed correctly. She waited, knowing that it was best to let the patient set the pace.
‘It’s my husband,’ Teresa blurted out. ‘I think he’s having an affair.’
Ouch. Just what Rachel had half been thinking about Oliver. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘He’s been distant with me lately. And he’s working late every night. And he snaps at me and the kids. Then he can be so loving... I thought maybe he was worried about something at work. But then I read this article, and I recognised the signs.’
You and me both, Rachel thought grimly. I bet you read the same article I did. ‘Just because you did a quiz in a magazine and the results weren’t very nice, it doesn’t mean Dick’s definitely having an affair,’ she reassured Teresa, though she was sure her words sounded hollow. ‘You’d be much better off talking to him about your worries. The longer you leave it, the more anxious you’re going to get, the worse you’ll feel and the more likely you are to end up having a hell of a row instead of discussing it calmly.’
‘So you’re not going to give me antidepressants?’
‘Antidepressants can be useful in cases of clinical depression—they change the chemicals in your brain,’ Rachel said. ‘But I think in your case, Teresa, they’re not going to help. You’re upset for a reason—a good reason—and the way to help yourself feel better again is to tackle the cause of what you’re worrying about. If you don’t want to talk to Dick about it on your own, talking to a counsellor’s a good start. It’ll help you find some common ground with him.’
‘I don’t know if he’ll agree to go.’
Mmm. Rachel could dish out the advice, but she couldn’t take it herself. If she asked Oliver to go to marriage counselling with her, he’d probably look at her as if she’d grown three heads. ‘Then why don’t you get your mum to have the kids for the night, sit down with Dick and talk things through
