they’d have a row. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich. But, Oliver...I think we need to talk.’
‘About what?’
Did he really not know? Did he think this was a normal marriage? Then again, it might well be, in his terms. He was probably following his father’s pattern. ‘About us.’
‘We’re all right.’
He sounded so sure. Maybe he was right. Maybe the problem was all in her head. Rachel didn’t have the energy for a row. She gave up. ‘Do you want a glass of wine with your sandwich?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
She made a sandwich and quietly took it through to his office. He mumbled a thank you, but she knew he hardly saw her. Her own sandwich tasted like ashes and most of it ended up in the bin. When was the last time they’d eaten as a family? Or was she simply expecting too much?
When she checked on the children, Robin was clutching his favourite teddy in one hand and the string to a rocket-shaped helium balloon—the one her mother had sent by special delivery that morning—in the other. Gently, she disentangled the string and put it safely at the side of the room. He murmured in his sleep; she stroked his hair. ‘Goodnight, Rob. Sweet dreams. I love you,’ she whispered.
Sophie was lying like a small baby with her forearms flopped back, her hands by her ears. Her duvet was half over her face. Rachel straightened it and stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘Goodnight, Soph. Sweet dreams. I love you,’ she said softly.
Her beautiful children. Both with Oliver’s straight dark hair and china-blue eyes. Rob had Oliver’s half-shy smile and tended to keep on the edge of things; Sophie was confident and was usually in the middle. Usually in charge, Rachel thought with a smile. She’d have to teach Sophie to curb her bossy tendencies.
Her smile faded. Oliver wouldn’t. He probably hadn’t even noticed.
She shook herself. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, Rachel Bedingfield, she told herself harshly. You’ve got a good marriage, a good man and two fabulous children. You’ve got a job you love, a nice house and no financial worries. What have you got to be miserable about? Pull yourself together!
Maybe a bath would help. Preferably shared with Oliver—they just about fitted into the bath together—but she knew that was asking for too much. The mood he was in, he’d snap at her if she suggested it.
She used the expensive bath foam he’d bought her for Christmas, and settled back with a magazine.
Is your husband cheating on you? Check our ten typical signs.
She rolled her eyes. Oliver wasn’t a cheat. He didn’t have time to do anything but work. All the same, she couldn’t help reading it and answering the questions in her head.
His looks.
Ha. He hadn’t changed there. Not the way he dressed, the toiletries he used. Definitely not.
His work...an excuse to account for time spent away.
The back of Rachel’s neck prickled. She shook herself. Of course not. Oliver was just a workaholic. He always had been, even as a student.
Personality or behavioural changes.
Hmm. He’d become withdrawn and distant, but that was to do with work—wasn’t it? Rachel looked closer at the section. They may be subtle and gradual. Um. When had Oliver started being distant? Your spouse may be touchy—reflecting the effort of keeping the affair hidden, the fear of discovery and guilt. No. Of course not. He was just touchy because he was working too hard.
Telephone tip-offs.
She hadn’t had any odd calls, nobody hanging up as soon as she answered. Sure, Oliver checked his mobile phone a lot, but that was work.
Sex.
Changes in your sex life. Ha. What sex life? She couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love. She swallowed. Was that because he was doing it with somebody else? No. Of course not. It was work again. Work, and she was often tired from looking after the children in between doing her shifts at the surgery. He was tired, too, because he put in long hours. It was just a phase their marriage was going through. It happened to every couple from time to time...didn’t it?
Computer use.
An online or cyber-affair. No. He didn’t hide his files when anyone walked into his office. He just didn’t like being disturbed when he was working. That little nagging voice in the back of her head was completely wrong.
Changes in habits.
Ha. Well, he wasn’t doing that. He didn’t have time to go to the gym and his taste in music hadn’t changed recently. As for what he ate... Tonight, when he hadn’t wanted her to cook for them, he’d just been tired and busy.
Gifts.
Hmm. Well, she hadn’t noticed any gifts or receipts hanging about. He hadn’t been buying her things out of guilt either. Cross that one off.
Closed doors.
As a way of distancing himself, physically and emotionally? Hmm. Well, it was only his office door that he kept closed. Work again.
Friends and family notice discord between you.
Ginny’s comment had only been about Oliver’s workaholic habits. Hadn’t it?
All the same, Rachel couldn’t help noticing how many of the signs applied. Seven out of ten. Which she’d blamed on work.
A sexually, emotionally or physically absent partner is likely to be getting fulfilment somewhere else.
No, no and no. She was just being paranoid. Stupid. It was only an article in a magazine. It didn’t mean that Oliver was having an affair. She closed the magazine and dunked it in the bath. ‘So there,’ she said.
But there was an empty feeling in her heart as she climbed out and dried herself. And an even emptier feeling as she went to bed. Alone.
CHAPTER TWO
OLIVER blinked hard. His eyes were sore from the time he’d spent at the computer. But every time he’d thought about stopping, he’d heard his father’s voice. I’m relying on you, son. Keep the practice going, just as I would.
How could he let his father down? Nigel had dropped out of medicine after the third year, which had left Oliver as the one who had to keep the family practice going. Sometimes, just sometimes, Oliver wished his elder brother would shoulder his share of the family responsibilities. But he was realistic enough to know Nigel never would, and their mother would always have a ready excuse for him. Which left Oliver to carry the burden on his own.
The house was completely silent. Oliver couldn’t even hear Squeak, the family hamster, running on his wheel. With a sigh he checked that the doors were locked, and trudged upstairs to the bedroom. Rachel’s
