Their Very Special Marriage (7 page)

‘I meant to ask you yesterday—how's my locum getting on?'

‘Caroline? Fine.'

Ask a closed question, get a one-word answer. She should know better than that.

‘You said you'd known her for years. Did she grow up round here, then?'

‘She's the vicar's daughter.'

So he wasn't going to admit that Caroline was also his
ex. ‘Oh, right. I don't remember her being at our wedding reception.'

‘She wasn't.'

Because she hadn't been invited—because Oliver couldn't get over the fact she'd broken his heart? Or because she hadn't been able to face the love of her life marrying someone else? Rachel could hardly ask, and Oliver definitely wasn't telling. There was no way she could ask whether Caroline had been there tonight either, without Oliver wanting to know why she was asking—and discovering that she'd been talking to Ginny about Caroline. And then he'd be irritated that she'd been discussing their marriage with someone else. Oliver had always been a very, very private person.

Which just left Rachel a seething mass of questions. What a mess.

‘Right. Well, see you in the morning,' she said, closing her book and settling back against the pillow.

‘I'll have a shower before I come to bed. I reek of smoke,' he said.

Isabel didn't allow people to smoke in her house, so Oliver couldn't possibly have reeked of smoke. Though Rachel didn't think anything of it until the following afternoon, when Oliver had been called out to a patient who'd had an accident and his mobile phone beeped.

He'd be cross that he'd left his phone behind. And maybe it had been a patient: she really ought to check. But there was nothing on the ‘missed call' screen.

Then she saw the little envelope on the screen. She hadn't heard a call—she'd heard a text arriving.

Something made her flip into the ‘read messages' screen. Though she didn't open the message. She just stared at the readout. ‘C'. Who was ‘C'? Frowning, she scrolled through Oliver's phone list. As she'd expected, ‘C' was there, but it wasn't a number she recognised. They had no friends, family
or colleagues whose first name or surname started with C.

Except Caroline Prentiss.

Why would Caroline be texting Oliver? And, if it was so innocent, why hadn't he listed her under her full name, as he did everyone else—why just her initial? Nausea rose in her stomach. Maybe Oliver hadn't been washing off the scent of smoke last might. Maybe he'd been washing off the scent of Caroline Prentiss.

Knowing she shouldn't do it, Rachel pressed ‘Read'. And stared at the message on the screen.

Have you told her yet? C x

CHAPTER FIVE

T
OLD
her what? That he was seeing Caroline, having an affair? That he was going to leave her?

‘Oh—my—God,' Rachel said softly.

So the magazine article had been right after all. Oliver was having an affair. With his ex.

Her whole body was shaking. This was the last thing she'd ever, ever expected from Oliver. He was a good man, and family meant a lot to him—look at the way he'd changed his own career plans to be an accident and emergency specialist and become a GP so he could step in and take over from his father at the practice. He wouldn't have an affair. He just
wouldn't
.

But the message was very clear.

Have you told her yet?

It had guilt written all over it.

What the hell was she going to do?

Still shaking, she went to look in on the children, who were building Lego structures in Robin's bedroom. Surely Oliver wasn't going to leave the children. And then a really nasty thought hit her. Supposing he expected
her
to leave and the children to stay with him?

No way. Absolutely
no way
. She wasn't giving up her children for anyone. If Caroline thought it was going to be easy to step into her shoes, Caroline would be in for a shock—because she'd fight to the death before she would let her children be taken away from her.

‘Mummy, your face is a funny colour,' Robin said. ‘Are you getting chickenpox, too?'

‘No, darling. I'm just tired.' And shocked. But Robin was
only six. He didn't need to know about the complications of adult life. Or that his father was a lying, cheating louse. She forced her voice to sound normal. ‘Do you want a drink?'

‘
I
want a drink!' Sophie added, her baby voice imperious.

‘Word missing,' Rachel corrected automatically.

‘Please,' Sophie lisped.

‘Me, too. Please,' Robin added hastily.

‘I'll bring something up to you,' Rachel promised, and went downstairs. She replaced the mobile phone where Oliver had left it, took the children their drinks, then sat at the bottom of the stairs with the cordless phone. She needed to talk to someone about this. Someone close—and someone sensible, who'd tell her if she was blowing this out of proportion and misreading everything.

The phone seemed to ring for ever. Rachel was on the point of hanging up when her elder sister answered the phone.

‘Oh, Fi.' She almost sagged in relief. ‘It's Rach. Is this a good time?'

‘Not really—hang on, Rach, are you OK?' Concern radiated down the line.

‘Not really,' Rachel said, her voice wobbling.

‘OK. I'm just going to put a film on for the kids to distract them—just keep talking,' her elder sister directed. ‘Even if I sound as if I'm not paying attention, I am, OK? What's happened?'

‘Oliver,' Rachel whispered.

‘Is he ill? Been in an accident?'

‘Nothing like that.' He was at an accident, yes, but as the medical help, not as the victim. ‘Fi, have you ever wondered if Mark was having an affair?'

‘No.' Rachel could almost hear the frown in her sister's voice. ‘Rach, surely you're not saying
Oliver's
having an affair?'

‘I think so.'

‘No way. Rach, he adores you. He's fought for you, too—look how he stood up against his parents when they tried to split you up.'

Rachel swallowed. ‘That's just the point.' She filled Fiona in on her suspicions.

‘Oh.' Fiona exhaled sharply. ‘Rach, I can't believe it. He—well, he's just not the
type
.'

And Fiona would know: as a specialist in family law, she'd seen enough divorce cases. ‘I didn't think so either. But what else could it be?'

‘Look, you must have got the wrong end of the stick. Just talk to him about it.'

‘I dunno, Fi. If I'm wrong, he's—he's never going to forgive me for not trusting him. And if I'm right... I'm scared. Supposing he wants a divorce? Supposing he wants to be with her, and take the kids, and...?' She broke off on a sob.

‘Rach, stop panicking. You're not going to lose the kids. If it comes to a divorce, you'll have the very best legal team on your side, I promise you that. I'm not allowed to handle it, but I can oversee the team and make damned sure your kids stay with you.'

Rachel gulped. ‘Thanks, Fi. I never thought I'd...that I'd be a statistic.'

‘You're not, yet.' Fiona sighed. ‘Bottom line. Do you still love him?'

‘Yes.'

‘And would you take him back, even if he's been unfaithful? Remember, you don't have any definite proof yet, just a suspicion.'

‘Yes.' Life without Oliver was unthinkable. She'd fallen in love with him years ago—virtually the first time she'd met him. Oliver and the kids were her whole world.

‘Then you've got two options. Confront him and ask
what's going on, then deal with the consequences. Or don't say anything and fight for your man. Win him back.'

‘Supposing he doesn't want to come back?'

‘Course he will. Look, you're just going through a bad patch. You're both working, you've got two small kids, and there aren't enough hours in the day to fit everything in. You're both probably feeling neglected and taken for granted, and things are a bit rough right now. Every marriage goes through patches like that. But you've been together for—what, twelve years?'

‘Fourteen,' Rachel admitted.

‘That's a lot of time, a lot of emotional investment. He's not going to throw that away on a whim.'

‘How come you know so much?'

Fiona chuckled. ‘I'll ask you the same next time one of my kids is ill and I'm panicking and you're calming me down and explaining that a headache doesn't mean it's meningitis.'

‘Years of training and experience, seeing it in other people,' Rachel said wryly.

‘Exactly. Talking of kids, how are my favourite niece and nephew?'

‘Rob's fine and Soph's got chickenpox.'

‘And you're doing all the nursing?' Fiona guessed.

‘Oliver's busy at work.'

‘So you're sleep-deprived as well.' Fiona coughed. ‘I think you're blowing things out of proportion, love. There's probably a good reason for this text message—something innocent. Oliver loves you to bits. Why else would he have married you, instead of some nice girl with the right accent to suit his bloody mother?'

‘Maybe the guilt's just worn off,' Rachel said. ‘Maybe he's had time to regret it. Marry in haste, repent at leisure.'

‘You didn't get married in haste. You lived together first.'

‘Mmm.' And that had got right up Isabel's nose: the idea
of her precious son cohabiting. Socially, that was even worse in her eyes than being married to someone with the wrong accent.

‘I think you and Oliver just need some couple time. A second honeymoon, even if it's only for a couple of days. Look, I can't get any time off for a fortnight or so, because I can't shift my case-load, but if you want me to have the kids for a couple of days in the school holidays that's fine—I'll come down and pick them up even.'

‘Thanks, Fi. I might take you up on that.'

‘No “might” about it. Do it. Oh.' Fiona growled. ‘Sometimes I wish I didn't live up here in Newcastle! If I'd stayed in London, I could have been with you within an hour. Look, I'll get the next train down. It's three and a half hours from here to London, then if I change at King's Cross for Victoria, I should be with you in—'

‘Fi, it's OK. Really. I'm fine,' Rachel lied. Right then, she would have given a great deal to see her elder sister. But she couldn't expect Fiona to spend the best part of five hours on a train—with lots of hanging about in between, as it was Sunday service—and get back again the same night ready for work in the morning. Fi was right. There just weren't enough hours in the day.

‘Right now, it sounds like you need a hug.'

‘You're talking to me. That's enough.' Rachel's voice wobbled.

‘Rach, everything's going to be fine. I promise. You're tired, you and Oliver are going through a bad patch, and you just need some time for the two of you.'

‘But what if he
is
having an affair?'

‘Then you need to think about what you want. If you want out, you need evidence for a fault divorce. If you want him to stay, then you have to fight for him. Win him back. Though that means forgiving him—
really
forgiving him. If
you don't trust him, it'll corrode your relationship and eventually you'll start to hate him,' Fiona warned.

‘I just want things to be as they were. Me, Oliver and the kids. We were happy.' Rachel drew a deep breath. ‘Sometimes I wish we'd never come to Hollybridge. If Oliver had done what he wanted to do, become an emergency medicine specialist, and I'd been a paediatric specialist—if we'd stayed in London or even moved back home—then we wouldn't be right under his mother's nose the whole time.'

‘He might have hated it here in Newcastle,' Fiona pointed out gently.

‘I suppose so.'

‘And you're not under Isabel's nose. She lives on the other side of the village.'

And hardly ever came to see the grandchildren. Rachel or Oliver always had to take the kids over to see Isabel. If Rachel's parents had lived that close, they'd have been far more hands-on. They'd have offered to babysit, taken some of the strain off. Rachel envied her friends whose parents lived nearby and delighted in their grandchildren. Isabel—on the two occasions when Rachel had asked her to babysit—had made it very clear it was an enormous favour and had put her out severely. And yet at the same time Isabel seemed to oversee absolutely everything and made judgements—usually disapproving. It drove Rachel bananas, but she tried to hold her tongue. At the end of the day, Isabel was still Oliver's mother and, despite the way she treated him, Oliver loved her. Speaking her mind would achieve nothing but ill feeling. She'd already learned that the hard way.

Right at that moment Rachel felt like bundling the children into the car and spending the rest of the day driving up to Newcastle. She wanted her family round her: people who accepted her for who she was. Who
loved
her for who she was. But eight hours of motorway driving wouldn't be
much fun for the kids; and Sophie was ill; and it wasn't fair to take Rob out of school just because she was feeling miserable; and then there was the nagging feeling that if she left Oliver, even for a couple of days, it would be tantamount to admitting defeat and letting Caroline win.

‘Go and make yourself a cup of tea.
Proper
tea, strong enough to stand the spoon up in, with three sugars for shock,' Fiona counselled. ‘Then, when Oliver gets back, talk to him about getting some time together. A second honeymoon. I'll have the kids. Or you can ask Mum.' She laughed. ‘On second thoughts, better stick to me. Mum'll spoil them rotten and Soph will be a monster when you get her back.'

Rachel smiled unwillingly. ‘And you wouldn't spoil them rotten?'

‘Auntie's privilege,' Fiona informed her.