Caroline headed home early that afternoon, having told her team she had another appointment. It wasn’t strictly true: the only appointment she had was with her sofa and a glass of wine. Even so, she could legitimately argue it was a medical appointment, and there was no doubt whatsoever in her mind that she absolutely needed the extra rest if she was going to be able to see out this investigation.
One of the things she’d noticed creeping in recently was a distinct lack of patience and a growing irritability with almost everything. It wasn’t her usual style, but it wasn’t entirely new, either. She’d first noticed it a few months earlier, and it had continued to grow since. She supposed it was a result of a few things: uprooting the family and moving to Rutland, living with cancer, dealing with the fallout of her recovery. There’d been more than enough stressors to give her concern for her own mental state, and sometimes she felt as if she was unable to cope with it.
The boys had been great that afternoon. They seemed to know when she was at her worst and gave her the space she needed. Mark, on the other hand, had continued to misjudge.
He meant well — she knew that — but it was infuriating how often she needed to tell him she was fine, no she didn’t want another cup of tea, no she didn’t need a hot water bottle and yes, the volume on the TV was absolutely fine, just as it was thirty seconds earlier. She knew he was only trying to help, but she found his constant check-ups and questions were draining far more energy from her than anything else, and she wondered if it might have been more conducive to her recovery to have simply stayed at work.
Still, with the boys now tucked up in bed, she’d be able to head up herself before long and get some sleep. Mark was watching a documentary about the Second World War, mistakenly thinking she was interested. In reality, she didn’t have the energy to think of anything else to watch and was content enough just staring at the screen.
‘I might head up,’ she said as the documentary cut to yet another commercial break. There were only so many adverts for stairlifts and commemorative gold coins she could handle in one evening.
‘Oh,’ Mark replied, a simple sound that conveyed more disappointment than an entire Jeffrey Archer novel.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together, that’s all.’
‘We have been spending time together. I came home early.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve barely seen you, have I? You’ve been in here, I’ve been sorting the boys out.’
Caroline couldn’t help but laugh, although she feared it might have sounded a little condescending. ‘Come off it, Mark. You’ve barely left me alone for ten seconds without badgering me.’
‘Badgering you? What, by checking you’re alright and seeing if you needed anything?’
‘I’m not being funny, but I’ve spent the day at work, running a murder investigation team. I can handle getting myself a cup of tea.’
‘Alright, fine. Suit yourself.’
‘What now?’
Mark was resolute in his refusal to answer. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘No, come on. What have I done?’
‘It’s more what you haven’t done,’ Mark replied. ‘You’ve got people around you who care for you and want to help you, and all you do is throw it back in our faces. Jesus, I’ve never known anyone get so angry about not having to do any household chores, and who’s told all they have to do is sit and watch TV. But no, even that needs an argument.’
Caroline sighed. ‘I didn’t start an argument, Mark. All I said was I was going to go up to bed. I’m tired. I’m recovering from surgery. I’ve not been back at work long and it’s taking it out of me. If you want to show concern, forget the tea and biscuits and just give me the mental space I need to get back on my feet, alright?’
‘Fine. Whatever,’ Mark said, standing up and leaving the room.
‘Oh, come on,’ Caroline called, before the ringing of her phone disturbed her. She looked at the screen. It was Sara Henshaw.