Their Very Special Marriage (2 page)

‘Penny for them?'

Rachel jumped. She'd been lost in her thoughts, watching the children at the same time. ‘Just thinking how quickly they grow up,' she lied. Much as she liked her neighbour, Ginny, she couldn't talk to her about Oliver. The last thing she wanted was rumours floating round the village that all wasn't well between Oliver and Rachel Bedingfield.

‘Don't they just? I remember when Jack was six. It seems like yesterday—and now he's eleven and nearly as tall as me! Did Rob enjoy his party?'

‘Loved it.' Rachel grinned. ‘Funny, you'd think that two hours at Bounce would wear them out. But he'll be zooming round on that bike until it's dark.'

‘Ah, bless.' Ginny gave her a curious look. ‘Oliver working, is he?'

So even the neighbours had noticed. Great. She shrugged. ‘Something cropped up.'

‘Your life's not your own when you're the village doctor,' Ginny said. ‘You must get it, too—people coming up to you at nursery or in the playground to ask you “just a quick question”.'

Parents only did that so they didn't have to risk facing the practice's dragon secretary if they didn't have the luck to get Rita, the receptionist, to ask for an appointment to see Rachel. Another sticking point, another battle that Rachel knew she'd never win. But when Prunella eventually retired, Rachel was going to make sure Oliver didn't hire a carbon copy as her replacement. ‘Better them grab me in the street than have them worrying about the kids,' Rachel said, and deftly changed the subject.

Oliver still hadn't joined them by the time it was too dark
for the children to play outside safely. Rachel shepherded Robin and Sophie indoors. ‘Do you want anything to eat?'

‘I'm stuffed,' Robin said.

‘I'm stuffed, too,' Sophie said, not to be outdone.

‘Milk, bath and bed, I think,' Rachel said.

‘But Daddy didn't see me on my bike,' Robin protested.

Rachel gave him a hug. ‘He'll see you on your bike tomorrow, love.'

‘He'll be busy,' Sophie said.

Hell. If even a three-year-old spotted that her father didn't spend enough time with them—and made excuses for him—then it was time to do something.

What, Rachel wasn't sure. She pulled her weight at the surgery, as did the other doctors and the practice nurse. Maybe she should persuade Oliver to get a practice manager to take the admin burden off him. But it had been the Bedingfield practice for so long...she had a feeling he'd resist. If he didn't, his family would. The Bedingfields were a sensitive lot and it would be all too easy to start a full-scale family feud. She really didn't need to give them an extra excuse to dislike her. Being forthright and Northern was more than enough for them. She had to go carefully.

As usual, bathtime meant there was more water on the floor than in the bath. Rachel dried the children and mopped up. ‘Teeth, story, bed,' she said.

‘But it's my birthday,' Robin protested.

‘You know the routine. Teeth, story, bed.'

‘A princess story?' Sophie asked, beaming.

Rachel hid a smile. Sophie and her ‘pwintheth thtorieth'. Not that Oliver would have got the joke. He didn't do bedtime routines. Didn't have time. Just the same as it was always Rachel who helped Rob do his homework and make birthday cards, Rachel who'd taught both children their letters and colours and numbers, Rachel who listened to Robin's reading, Rachel who did all the liaison with the
school, Rachel who did the laundry and the packed lunches. ‘OK, you can choose a princess story. Rob, you can read whatever story you like, but no more than twenty minutes, OK?'

‘I'll kiss Daddy goodnight.' Before Rachel could stop her, Sophie had rushed down the stairs and flung open the door to Oliver's office. ‘Daddy!'

‘Come on, Rob. Come and have a birthday kiss, too,' Rachel said.

Oliver definitely wasn't pleased at the interruption. He was trying to hide it in front of the children, but she recognised the little furrow between his eyebrows. A furrow that was actually starting to leave a line, it appeared so frequently nowadays.

‘Daddy, Daddy.' Sophie climbed onto her father's lap and hugged him. ‘Love you.' Then she leaned backwards and put one hand out to steady herself. It landed on the keyboard of Oliver's computer.

There was a loud beep and Oliver's mouth tightened. ‘You've deleted the file,' he said between clenched teeth.

Rachel hastily scooped Sophie out of Oliver's arms. ‘It was an accident. She's three, Oliver,' she reminded him. ‘And you can always restore the file.'

‘No, because I hadn't saved it. I've lost the last half-hour's work.'

‘The system's got an autosave function,' she reminded him, her eyes narrowing.

Robin was hanging back by the doorway, looking worried. Rachel sighed inwardly. ‘Are you going to give the birthday boy a bedtime kiss?' she asked Oliver quietly.

‘Of course.' Oliver opened his arms stiffly. ‘'Night, Robin. And happy birthday.'

Not as happy as it
had
been. Not as happy as it could have been. Sometimes, Rachel thought, she could murder
her husband. Why couldn't he put himself in the kids' shoes just occasionally?

She shepherded the children to bed, read Sophie three stories about Princess Mouse, let Robin finish the chapter of his book about the robot dog, then kissed them both goodnight and turned off the lights.

Now for Oliver.

‘Don't make it into a confrontation,' she reminded herself quietly as she walked downstairs. ‘You'll just set his back up and get nowhere. If you want him to listen and do something positive, take it softly.' She rapped on the door of his office and put her head round the door. ‘Oliver?'

He glanced up.

‘Did you get your file sorted?'

‘No, thanks to Sophie. Rachel, you know I don't like the children coming in here.'

They wouldn't
have
to go in if he'd come out to them! She bit back her irritation. ‘Oliver, your memory's fantastic—it won't take you that long to put it back together.' She paused. ‘
Saltimbocca
OK for dinner?' His favourite. That would put him in a good mood, surely?

He shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I'm not that hungry. Besides, I've got a lot to do—as well as making up on that half-hour's work I lost.'

Which had been an
accident
. And it was only a computer file, hardly a life-or-death situation. She took a deep breath. If she pushed it now, 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

O
LIVER
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 bedside light was still on, but she was asleep.

It was barely half past ten.

Couldn't she have waited up for him for once? She knew 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?'