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I made sure to close the app properly, return the phone to the screen it had been on before, and set it down in the same position in which Petra had left it. Then I sat back on the sofa, frowning.
Perhaps she’s just very good at deleting incriminating evidence? I thought. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on her phone in the future.
Just then, I heard the shower switch off, and I knew that it wouldn’t take long for Petra to get dressed and come back downstairs again. I bolted into the kitchen and stood there for a second, looking around wildly until my eyes settled on a loaf of bread and I realised I hadn’t eaten lunch. My movements rather frantic, I grabbed a bread knife and started sawing off four slices, but halfway down the third I realised Petra may have eaten lunch with Victoria.
“I’ve already eaten,” she said from behind me, as if reading my thoughts, and I nearly took my hand off with the knife by flinching.
“She gave you lunch?”
“I offered to make her some, and she told me to make myself some while I was at it. It was only canned soup and a sandwich, but still…” Petra shrugged.
“Hardly one of my gourmet sandwiches, then,” I said with a concerted effort to seem chipper, carving off the third slice of bread completely and staring at it. “You sure you don’t want half of one?”
“No, thanks.”
I tried not to look shifty.
“So… how was she?”
Petra paused.
“Cowed, I think is the word. Shell-shocked. A husk of her normal formidable self. I’ve never seen her so… beaten down by life. She can still barely move. She’s not paralysed or anything, but they put a ton of metalwork into her spine, so she’s very stiff. She’s got her neighbour coming in to help her, who’s a lovely woman… but she’s still pretty stuck. All the same, she gave me some valuable advice on how to proceed for the rest of term, and now I’ve got a whole extra bunch of items on my to-do list!” She laughed mirthlessly. “I’d best get up there and get to it.”
“Really?” I pouted. “I thought I said work was banned for this weekend. It’s only Sunday lunchtime.”
I thought I saw a flicker of annoyance cross her face, but when I looked again it was gone, replaced by a softer look of sympathy.
“But I have so much shit to do, Jean.”
“I’m feeling better now. I thought… we could try Lygate again…?”
“No, Jean.” Her voice was firm, bordering on frustrated. “I just told you, I’ve got too much to do. We had quality time yesterday. I just want to make a cup of coffee and get on with my work upstairs. Just… let me be.”
“Okay then,” I whispered, and our eyes finally met. But she dropped the eye contact almost immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m being a shitty wife. It’s not you, okay? I’m not intending to take it out on you. It’s on me.”
Guilt if ever I saw it. I swallowed hard, and left the room.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Over the course of the week, all notions I had about Petra getting some rest and time to recharge went out of the window. It was as if the kids were at school even though I knew they were off: Petra got up early and went to work, and didn’t return home until normally gone six o’clock. She seemed marginally less strung out, presumably due to the absence of the children themselves, and even commented on the Tuesday that it was satisfying seeing some of the items on her to-do list being crossed off. She also seemed to be sleeping better – some of the tension was dropping out of her face in her sleep, I observed when I got up early for work. I wondered if Stella McBride was there. And if she was contributing to the reduction of stress at all.
On the Wednesday, she gave in to my pleas and agreed to give herself the Saturday off again.
“We don’t have to do anything special,” I said beseechingly. “We can just stay at home and… potter. Titivate the garden. Wash the car. Do normal coupley things.”
“Normal coupley things?” She raised an eyebrow at me, and her lip quirked at the corner.
“No, no, not… it doesn’t have to be sex!” I protested, feeling my face heat up. “Although that would be nice if you’re up for it, of course. But we could just… I don’t know, do the stuff we used to do on weekends. And in holidays. Life stuff!”
“Life stuff,” she repeated, and raised her eyes heavenward, as if cursing my ineloquence. Then she sighed. “Okay. We’ll do life stuff. Not sure I have the energy for sex, though.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling a mild burn of disappointment. I’d always been indifferent to sex, aside from in the first heady days of our relationship when our close proximity had been as necessary as oxygen. But she’d always, always been up for it. Any hour of the day, any place, in any form. Yes, life was full-on, but we’d not even attempted it since the day of Victoria’s accident more than a month ago, and even before that it had been sporadic.
It would make sense, therefore, for her to be getting it elsewhere.
Chapter Thirty-Three
