For The Babies' Sakes. Sara Wood

she mourned the man she had loved? How her very heart was shrivelling because her unconditional belief in him had been shattered? She felt more than empty. There was nothing good left in her life. Nothing to look forward to.

      ‘I doubt that you do,’ she whispered.

      He looked down on her with an impassive expression, his tall figure dauntingly rigid.

      ‘It’s not surprising you’re on edge. You’re not well. And you had a shock.’

      Helen drew in a shaky breath. They were talking like polite acquaintances. She was apologising for ranting at him, he was making allowances for her. It was bizarre.

      Helen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Helplessly she gazed at his handsome face, which had so often turned her to jelly. Her mouth had kissed those dark and haunted eyes and even now her memory could vividly recall the silk of his thick lashes against the softness of her lips. Her fingers had stroked the fine jaw and she’d marvelled at the strength of the underlying bone. Time after time, her body had lain against his, ecstatic, replete…

      And so had Celine’s mouth, Celine’s fingers, Celine’s body.

      Anguished, ripped apart by pain, she jerked her head away in a sudden, violent movement.

      ‘What is it?’ he enquired urgently, gripping the fragile bones of her bare shoulder. His voice gentled. ‘Helen, tell me!’ he coaxed. ‘Is it a pain? Where?’

      Everywhere. She was hurting so badly. And he was trying to get round her with soft words of concern, imagining they could brush this aside and carry on as normal. But she’d lost the love of her life, her hopes for the future, father of her future children…

      So many times she’d dreamed of their life together, of another, nicer house they’d have when they’d saved enough, a mews house in Chelsea perhaps; of the dinner parties with good friends; their much-adored children. Four, she’d thought. To make up for the family Dan had never had, for the bruising childhood and emptiness of his youth. There’d be jolly outings, holidays abroad, a life built on love and happiness, the security of their high-powered jobs.

      All for nothing. Because she couldn’t ever let him into her heart again.

      ‘Helen!’ he muttered in alarm when she screwed up her body in despair. His grip tightened and he shook her slightly. ‘Please! What is it?’

      ‘You! Don’t you understand? I can’t bear to look at you!’ she yelled in misery.

      Dimly she heard Dan thundering out of the room. To her confusion, she began to sob, because she’d wanted him to be there beside her, stroking, soothing… What a fool she was. It seemed she didn’t know what she wanted at all.

      Weak and defeated, she slumped against the pillows. Perhaps he was leaving and she’d never see him again. Horrified, she began to wail in earnest, her whole body succumbing to the sense of terrible desolation she felt.

      To be alone, without him. Never seeing his face, never hearing his breathing beside her as they lay in bed together, never lovingly and lingeringly smoothing out that dent in his pillow…

      Oh, why hadn’t she seen the danger signs, noticed that they were neglecting one another, put her foot down and insisted that they had time together?

      If only she could put the clock back! Then she’d never know he was really weak and flawed. But…was that so surprising? He’d had such a harsh and unloving upbringing… Maybe, she mused, he’d always covered up his faults, in a desperate attempt to make successive foster parents like him. And so he’d built his life on lies, on a mask that hid his true nature.

      She almost felt sorry for him. And consequently was more muddled than ever. But she had to remember that he wasn’t the man she’d imagined. She’d married an illusion—and couldn’t live with the reality: someone who cheated and lied for his own selfish ends.

      ‘Helen.’ His voice was strangled, close to her ear. She put her hands up to shut him out but he hauled her up and roughly dabbed at her streaming eyes. ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,’ he said rawly. ‘I’ve brought you some brandy. You must drink it—I insist. You’ll be so ill…’

      She couldn’t be ill. She must be strong and organise her new life. See solicitors. Produce lists of things to do.

      The jagged sobs came less frequently. She allowed him to hold the glass to her trembling lips, to enclose her feeble hands with his because they both knew she’d drop the glass otherwise.

      The brandy silked a warm and beguiling path to her stomach and revived her. She kept her gaze fixed on the glass. On his hands. She’d always loved them. Big and capable but with long, slender fingers that had lain against her face while his mouth had slowly descended in a sweet or sometimes blistering kiss… She choked.

      ‘Just drink,’ he husked. ‘Don’t think about anything. Don’t torture yourself. It’s all right. Honestly.’

      But it wasn’t. And the sooner she accepted that the better. Though she couldn’t help grieving.

      ‘How is it all right?’ she whispered mournfully, her voice cracking midway.

      He swallowed, some unknown emotion overcoming him. ‘It is. Believe me. We’ll sort this out. I can’t bear to see you so upset,’ he husked.

      ‘You should have thought of that before you played hunt the dolly-bird,’ she muttered.

      His mouth clammed up and he stalked over to shed the towel and grab his robe, turning around once he’d drawn it around his nakedness and had begun to yank the belt into an angrily tied knot.

      ‘You know how hard I’ve been working!’ he lashed. ‘I’m not Superman. I would never have had the energy for a dolly-bird!’

      She fell silent. Energy could always be found for the things one wanted to do. And he’d proved a moment ago that his sex drive was still active.

      He stood there, brooding, dark eyes narrowed and hostile.

      ‘I need you to be calm,’ he said flatly.

      Her eyes silvered and she averted her head again. Calm? Yes, she was—but only because she felt numb with cold, as if the blood had stopped bothering to do the trip around her body.

      She shivered and slid further under the bedclothes, suddenly scared of hearing some trumped-up explanation that had so many holes in it she’d be sieving out the lies for days to come.

      ‘Superficially I am,’ she replied in stilted tones. ‘But don’t let that fool you. Go on. Let’s have your explanation.’

      Dan inhaled long and hard. ‘I can’t talk to the back of your head.’

      Sullenly she turned over and glued her eyes to the ceiling, her body a taut mass of terror.

      ‘Get on with it,’ she whispered.

      ‘Give me a break!’ he protested.

      ‘Why?’ she blurted out.

      His hands clawed into fists. ‘If you see no reason, then there isn’t much hope for us, is there?’

      After that bitter statement, there was a long and painful pause. A sickening atmosphere of hate and suspicion thickened the air between them. She could feel Dan mentally leaving her, the bonds being severed. Despair entered every corner of her heart.

      It was incomprehensible to her that he was angry. Surely he realised she was all but dying inside?

      ‘Tell me,’ she said in a flat monotone.

      He was silent for a few seconds. ‘To my mind, it’s perfectly simple,’ he began eventually, so quietly that she had to strain her utmost to hear. ‘I’ve worked it out. I think that Celine had been planning this for a while.’

      ‘Sex in our home?’ she shot miserably before she could stop herself. ‘It’s the crowning triumph, isn’t it?’ she cried, more