‘YOU’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!’
‘Yes,’ they answered in unison.
‘It’s Wayne Groves, Lesley’s boy. She thought he had the flu, but he’s been getting worse so she made him come in—and he’s just collapsed. Could you come?’
‘Let’s take him into my office,’ Oliver said. Between them, he and Rachel supported the sixteen-year-old into Oliver’s consulting room and sat him on the couch.
‘Can you tell us how you’ve been feeling?’ Rachel asked.
‘Awful,’ Wayne mumbled. ‘Head hurts, feel sick. Don’t want to eat.’
‘He’s been complaining of all sorts of aches and pains. I thought it was summer flu or something,’ Lesley said, looking anxious. ‘He’s been off his food, which isn’t like him, and he says he feels sick every time he lies down.’
‘My eyes hurt,’ Wayne said.
Rachel could identify with that. Hers were sore, too.
‘He’s supposed to be starting a job next week,’ Lesley said. ‘Just for the summer, till he goes to college in September. But I’m not sending him out to work like this.’
‘Be all right, Mum,’ Wayne muttered.
Rachel examined him gently. ‘There’s some bruising on your skin, Wayne.’ When she touched his calves, he winced. ‘Your legs are sore?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘I don’t think this is flu.’ And she wasn’t aware of any flu doing the rounds. ‘It could be Weil’s disease,’ she said. If it was, it was a notifiable disease, meaning that they’d have to tell the public health office—and the lab would want to know where the source was.
‘Wayne, have you done anything involving water lately?’ Oliver asked.
He nodded. ‘Went swimming in the weir after the exams—it was so hot.’
‘Did you swallow any of the water?’ Rachel asked.
Wayne shrugged. ‘Might’ve done. But the weir’s safe. We’ve always swum in it.’ He glanced at his mother. ‘I know Mum’d have a fit if I ever swam in dirty water, so that’s why we go to the weir.’
‘It might not look dirty,’ Oliver said, ‘but if water’s draining into the weir from the farmland around it, it might be infected with the Leptospira bacterium—probably Leptospira icterohaemorrhagiae, which can be pretty nasty.’
Wayne pulled a face. ‘My mates went with me and none of them have got it.’
‘Yet,’ Rachel warned. ‘The incubation period is any time from two to twenty-six days. So it depends on how susceptible you are to the infection, the level of infection in the water and whether the bacteria enter your body.’
The teenager worked out what she meant and a look of disgust passed over his face. ‘That’s gross.’
‘How long have you been feeling rough, Wayne?’ Oliver asked.
‘Couple of days.’
‘We’ll need to get a blood test to the lab to check for the bacteria, and we’ll need you to give us a urine sample before you leave. In the meantime, we need to start treating you,’ Oliver said. While Rachel did the blood test and gave Wayne a sample bottle for the urine test, Oliver checked Wayne’s records to see if the boy was allergic to penicillin. He wasn’t. ‘OK. We’ll give you a week’s course of penicillin to start with. And I’d suggest you get your mates to come and see us for some antibiotics, just in case—the earlier we catch it, the better it is.’
Rachel exchanged a glance with him. Hopefully they were treating Wayne early enough. With Weil’s disease, some patients went on to develop jaundice, anaemia, renal failure and even cardiac problems. More worryingly, it could be fatal in a small number of cases.
‘So is Wayne going to be all right?’ Lesley asked.
‘Hopefully,’ Oliver said. ‘It’s a notifiable disease, so the public health lot will want to talk to Wayne about the weir.’
‘I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,’ Wayne said.
‘You won’t get anyone into trouble,’ Rachel said gently. ‘It’ll just help them identify the source so they can clear up the infection and make sure nobody else gets it.’
‘You must take the antibiotics regularly, Wayne, and finish the whole course,’ Oliver said. ‘If you get a stiff neck or a really severe headache, ring us straight away. I want to see you again in a week so I can do some more blood tests to see how you’re doing.’
‘All right, Dr Bedingfield.’
‘Try not to worry, Lesley,’ Rachel said gently. ‘I know what it’s like when your child’s ill—you feel helpless, wish you could have it in their stead. We’ll ring you as soon as the test results are back, and you can ring us any time if you’re worried.’ She squeezed Lesley’s shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ Lesley said, her face white with strain, and led her son out of the consulting room.
‘Rachel,’ Oliver said softly when they were alone.
‘I’m late for my list,’ she said, and hurried out of the room—knowing that she was being a coward, but unable to face him right at that moment.
* * *
When Oliver finished surgery, he checked the appointments screen and discovered that Rachel had already gone.
No surprises there. But hurt bloomed like a bruise inside him. They’d worked together today. Worked well together. Didn’t that prove anything to her?
He took his wallet from his drawer, planning to start his house calls. But then the catch on his wallet snapped and papers spilled out. Papers, including a photograph of him and Rachel. A very old photograph, taken in a photo booth. They’d been together for six months, and he’d been happier than he could ever remember. Love almost radiated round them like a halo. They were both laughing and Rachel was looking at him as if he was her entire world.
When had she stopped looking at him like that?
He didn’t know. But he wanted it back. All of it. He wanted the woman he’d wooed and loved and laughed with. And if it meant disappointing everyone else, then so be it: Rachel was too important for him to lose.
He went to see the practice secretary. ‘Prunella, can you do me a favour?’ he asked.
‘Of course, Dr Bedingfield.’
‘Can you reschedule my house calls, please?’
She looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. Hardly surprising. He never, but never, rescheduled patients. He might keep them waiting a little while if a consultation overran, but he always worked through to the end of his list. Well, today was different. His marriage couldn’t wait. ‘Prunella?’ he asked gently.
‘Er—yes, Dr Bedingfield. Of course.’
‘Thank you. And I won’t be available for the next hour.’
So what if the village started talking? He didn’t care any more. He wanted Rachel back, and he wanted her now. Later, he’d give her flowers. He’d give her the moon, if that was what she wanted. Right now he was going to offer her his heart. And he only hoped it wasn’t too late.