Their Very Special Marriage (19 page)

‘I saw your Rachel the other day,' Nancy said as Oliver dried her foot and gently applied a dressing. ‘She's got that bloom about her.'

‘Bloom?' Oliver asked.

‘The bloom of a young woman in love.' She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Or a woman who's keeping secret news to herself. Tiny feet, and all that.'

Oliver flushed. ‘We're not expecting.'

‘I didn't expect you to tell me anything.' She grinned. ‘I just noticed, that's all.'

In love...keeping secret news to herself...
Was he missing something really important here?

Of course not. Rachel would never cheat on him. She wasn't the type. He shook himself and tried to concentrate on his patient. He was at work. He was supposed to be helping his patients, not dragging through the mess of his marriage. Dr Bedingfield first, last and always. Just as his father had taught him.

‘I'm going to give you a course of antibiotics as well. Now, even though you might be feeling on top of the world halfway through the course, it's important to finish the course or the wound might get infected.' Antibiotic resistance was a growing problem, made worse by people stopping their tablets as soon as they felt better, rather than finishing the course to make sure all the bugs were eradicated. Even when doctors explained the importance of finishing the course, Oliver knew patients often forgot.

‘I need you to keep this dressing dry. Come back and see me in five days. If you notice that the bit around where the nail went in turns red or swollen, or gets more painful, ring me straight away. If you get a fever or see any red streaks on your leg, you need to ring me straight away, too.'

She nodded. ‘All right.'

He smiled at her. ‘And try to rest it as much as you can.'

She grinned. ‘The horses won't muck themselves out, Dr Bedingfield!'

‘Delegate. Be bossy,' Oliver said.

‘I'm good at that.' She chuckled. ‘And you think about what I said.'

Oliver couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the afternoon. Two people had tackled him directly and had as good as said that Rachel had a new man. How many others had noticed but were too embarrassed or pitied him too much to tell him? Was he so stupid that he hadn't even noticed her slipping away from him?

By the time he got home his mood had turned really nasty. He answered Rachel in monosyllables—he couldn't trust himself not to snap, and he didn't want to have a blazing row with her in front of the children. It wasn't their fault and he should keep them out of it. But as soon as he heard her come downstairs after putting the children to bed, he stomped out of his office to confront her.

‘So when were you going to tell me?' he asked.

Rachel frowned. ‘Tell you what?'

‘The reason behind the new hair and the new clothes.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘The man who's put the smile back into your eyes, if half of Hollybridge is to be believed.'

‘What?' She stared at him in what looked like shock.

Did she really think he wouldn't find out in the end? Did she really think she could pull the wool over his eyes for much longer? ‘Your lover,' he enunciated coldly.

Her jaw dropped for a moment, and then her gaze hardened. ‘I haven't got a lover.'

No?

‘
I'm
not the one having an affair.'

Well,
he
certainly wasn't! ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘If this is your way of salving your own guilt, forget it.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You know
exactly
what I'm talking about.'

Was she trying to say that his work was like a mistress? When would she stop nagging him about his job, about who he was? He could feel his mouth tighten as he snapped at her, ‘Now you're being ridiculous.'

‘Ridiculous? I'm not the one throwing accusations about without a shred of proof!' She folded her arms. ‘You're not the man I married, Oliver. If you can accuse me of having an affair—when I've never, ever even
thought
about another man, much less gone to bed with one—then obviously the trust has gone in our marriage. And, without trust, a marriage isn't worth anything.'

As suddenly as it had boiled over, his anger vanished. Fear took its place. A gut-wrenching, numbing fear. As if the floor had suddenly dissolved and he was falling, falling into a bottomless pit.

Without trust, a marriage isn't worth anything.

He hadn't trusted her. Was she saying that she didn't trust him any more either? Was she saying that their marriage wasn't worth anything any more—that she wanted out?

He could barely choke the words out. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Rachel?'

Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the words were torn unwillingly from her. ‘I'm not sure if I want to be married to you any more.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘Y
OU'RE
leaving me?' Oliver asked in shock. He'd wanted everything out in the open, yes, but he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected it to be so easy for Rachel to discard fourteen years of being together. Or was it only easy because she'd been thinking about it for a long time, and he hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

‘Right now,' she said quietly, ‘I'm thinking about asking
you
to leave. I'd rather bring up Rob and Sophie on my own than make them live in an atmosphere like this.'

‘Like this?' he asked, knowing that he sounded like a demented parrot, repeating her words, but at the same time unable to force out the words he wanted to say. He didn't want her to bring up Rob and Sophie on her own. They were a family. They belonged together, and he didn't want to leave.

‘Like this. When we don't talk to each other, don't spend time with each other, don't pull together like a proper family. It's not good for them. It's not good for
any
of us. I've put up with it for way too long, Oliver, and I just can't live like this any more.'

This wasn't happening. This really wasn't happening. Any moment now he was going to wake up and he'd be lying in bed, sweating and staring-eyed after his nightmare, with Rachel in his arms.

Any moment now.

A heartbeat passed.

Then Oliver realised it was all true. That his marriage was on the point of sliding into an abyss. He sucked in some air. ‘Rachel, please. I don't want things to be like this be
tween us. I don't want our marriage to be over. Rach, I know things haven't been good lately, but—'

‘But nothing, Oliver.' Her eyes were dark with sadness. ‘It's time we faced it. It's not working between us. It hasn't worked properly for a long time. Without trust, there's nothing worth saving in our marriage.'

‘No. You've got it wrong. I trust you. Of
course
I trust you. You're my wife, the mother of my children.' The woman he loved above all else. He'd walk over burning coals for her. Climb Everest. Swim through shark-infested waters. ‘Hell, Rachel.' He tugged a hand through his hair, hoping the minor pain would be enough to clear his head and let him think straight, so he could say the right thing to stop their marriage sliding away. ‘I don't know why I said what I did. I don't know... Hell,' he repeated, shaking his head. This was all going so wrong. ‘The only thing I do know, right now, is that I love you.'

And he meant it from the depths of his soul. So why did she look as if she didn't believe him?

‘I can't believe you accused me of having an affair, when you...when you...' Her words choked off. She was crying. Silently, which made it that much worse. Tears were just leaking out of her eyes as if she couldn't stop them. Hating himself for what he'd done to her, he reached over to pull her into his arms. If he held her—if they held each other—maybe everything would be all right.

‘No.' Her voice was breathy between sobs. ‘Don't touch me, Oliver. Not right now. I can't bear it.'

‘I'm sorry.' Panic was galloping through his veins. How was he going to fix this? Maybe Cally could help. Maybe Cally could explain where he'd gone wrong, what he could do to make it up to Rachel, how he could prove to his wife that he loved her more than anyone in the world. That she was the sunlight in his days. ‘Rach.' His mouth felt as if it was full of one of Robin's peanut butter and Marmite sand
wiches, as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. ‘Don't leave me. We can't...' He reached out to her again.

She took a step back. ‘I need some space,' she said, her voice shaking. ‘And I'd appreciate it if you slept in the spare room tonight.'

She didn't want him to sleep in their bed any more? ‘But...' His voice faded. If he pushed her now, said they couldn't leave it like this, he might make things ten times worse. If he gave her an ultimatum, she might ask him to leave. At least this way they'd still be in the same house. He'd be in the spare room, yes, but he wouldn't be on the other side of the village. He'd be near enough to persuade her to give him another chance. To work with him and mend their marriage. ‘If that's what you really want,' he said carefully.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she gave Oliver a look that chilled him to the bone and walked away.

* * *

Burying himself in work didn't help the way it usually did—he couldn't even concentrate on what he was doing. So he switched off his computer and headed upstairs. He paused for a moment outside their bedroom door. Should he go in? Should he tell her he'd made a stupid,
stupid
mistake and he bitterly regretted it, that he didn't know what the hell was happening and he wanted it all to stop, wanted everything to be how it used to be? But then he remembered the way she'd looked at him. She'd told him she needed space. If he pushed her too hard now, it might be the end of everything. Maybe tomorrow, when they'd both had a chance to cool down, he could try again. And this time he wouldn't make such a mess of things.

He sighed, had a quick shower, then went into the spare room. Wishing, every second, that his wife was back in his arms. And wondering if it was already too late.

* * *

Rachel heard Oliver's footsteps outside the door. Heard him stop. Part of her desperately wanted him to come into their room, take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right, that they'd make it through all this mess together. The other part of her knew that this was a turning point. That this was the beginning...of what? The end? Or a change for the better? Right now she wasn't sure which. She wasn't even sure what she wanted any more. As she'd told Oliver, without trust their marriage was nothing but an empty shell. And if he could believe that she was having an affair—if he'd somehow twisted things round in his mind to give himself an excuse for his affair with Caroline—then he wasn't the man she'd married. He wasn't the man she'd sworn to love until death did them part.

Tears leaked down her face. She squeezed her eyelids shut, but it didn't stop her crying silently, weeping for what she'd lost and feeling colder and lonelier than she'd ever been in her life before.

The next morning, her eyes felt as if they'd been sandblasted and her head was heavy and throbbing from lack of sleep.

‘Mummy, your eyes are all red,' Robin said. ‘And they're puffy.'

‘I'm all right,' Rachel lied. She took a paracetamol. ‘It's just an allergy.'

‘Oh. All right,' Robin said.

‘You look terrible,' Oliver murmured to her. ‘Don't come in to work today.'

Why? So he could have his mistress nearby again as Rachel's locum? Or because he didn't want anyone at the surgery to realise Rachel had spent the whole night crying, and then guess why—bring his dirty little secret out into the open? She lifted her chin. Tough. She wasn't going to cover for him. ‘I'll be perfectly all right,' she informed him tightly, and refused to meet his eyes. She didn't want to talk
to him, not now. Not in front of the children. She didn't want them to see their parents' marriage ending right in front of their eyes.

She wore dark glasses when she dropped the children off, so at least nobody at school or nursery made a comment about her eyes. But she couldn't hide it at the surgery.

‘Rachel, you poor thing! Are you sure you're well enough to be here?' Rita asked, fussing over her.

‘I'm fine. Hay-fever season,' Rachel said, hoping Rita wouldn't call her bluff and remember that Rachel had never suffered from hay fever.

Somehow, she got through the first half of her list. But when she took her coffee-break, Oliver was already in the rest room.

She turned away, muttering, ‘I'll come back later.'

‘Don't,' Oliver said softly, taking her hand from the door and closing it again. ‘Rach, sit down.'

No. She couldn't handle a discussion. Not right now. But she found herself sitting down anyway.

‘Coffee.' He handed her a mug.

‘Don't be kind to me, Oliver,' she said. She really, really didn't want his pity.

‘I'm not being kind. I'm trying to apologise,' he said in a low voice. ‘Rachel, I'm so sorry. I should never, ever have said what I did. I wasn't thinking straight yesterday.'

‘You can say that again.'

‘I'm sorry. I suppose I felt guilty because I hadn't noticed your new image—and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.'

‘I did it to get
your
attention, Oliver. You were the only one I ever wanted.' To her horror, her voice was wobbly. She swallowed hard. ‘But if you can think that badly of me, without even discussing it with me, then you're not the man I married.'

‘I've been an idiot. I don't know—'

But whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by Rita rushing into the room. ‘Dr Bedingfield!'