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Authors: Patricia Scanlan
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on her thoroughly selfish and immature husband that
he
might have caused his mother’s heart attack? But Richard would never take responsibility for that.
He’d be far more inclined to let her shoulder the blame . . . and the guilt. That was quite obvious from the message on the answering machine. The sooner she was divorced the better, Caroline
thought bitterly.
She walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. It was crazy even to think that one or other of them had caused Sarah’s heart attack, she thought glumly. That was wrong thinking.
Guilt stuff. She should ring Richard, she supposed. Find out what hospital Mrs Yates was in. See if she needed a case packed.
Reluctantly she dialled Richard’s mobile number. It went straight into divert. Caroline took a deep breath.
‘Hi, Richard, it’s me. I’m at home. Do you want me to get any night clothes and toiletries for your mother? Call me when you can.’
She hung up, heavy-hearted. He must be in the coronary care unit if his phone was turned off. Was Mrs Yates alive or dead? It would solve a lot of problems if she were dead. Caroline
couldn’t help the callous thought that sprang to mind. There’d be no more hassle about the divorce.
If she survived, she’d milk it for the rest of her days. Would Richard be strong enough to stick to his guns? Caroline didn’t dare to think about it. All she was sure of was that the
next few days were going to be hell.
There was no word from him within the next two hours. Caroline knew that he must have checked his messages. How mean of him to keep her hanging on. It wouldn’t have taken five minutes to
call her. He was obviously very angry with her. Had Mrs Yates regained consciousness and regaled him with a whole pack of lies? Knowing her mother-in-law, Caroline wouldn’t put it past her,
she thought agitatedly as she paced the lounge for the umpteenth time.
Unable to wait another minute, she dialled Richard’s number again. Again it went into divert. ‘Richard, please call.’ Her message was terse.
Ten minutes later he rang.
‘Why did it take you so long to call me back, Richard? I phoned two hours ago,’ Caroline snapped, fraught. ‘Is your mother all right?’
‘I was in the CCU. You’re not allowed to have your phone on there. She’s stable at the moment. The next seventy-two hours are critical,’ Richard said testily.
‘What hospital is she in?’
‘The Mater.’
‘Do you want me to pack a case and bring in nightdresses and toiletries?’
‘No. I can collect them tomorrow. She doesn’t need them yet.’ His tone was anything but friendly.
‘Do you want me to come in?’ Caroline asked.
There was silence for a moment. Then Richard said coldly, ‘No Caroline. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I don’t have to go in and see your mother. I just thought you might like some support.’ Caroline tried to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice.
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.’ Richard clicked off.
Caroline stood staring at the dead receiver. Hurt. After all they’d been through. After all she’d forgiven him for, and he could still treat her like this. She knew what was wrong
with him. If his mother lived he was going to back out of everything. He wasn’t going to sell the firm. Divorce was out and he was going to try and lay the blame at her feet. Well, fuck him!
She wasn’t putting up with it. She was going and he could do what he liked and go to hell.
Frustration engulfed her. For a moment she thought of the vodka in the drinks cabinet. One lovely sharp cold vodka and tonic. Would one make such a difference? How many times had she asked
herself the same old question. It was too big a risk to take. Caroline walked out of the room, away from temptation. She went into her bedroom and took a well-thumbed little yellow book from her
bedside locker. It was called
The Game of Life
and in its pages she’d found inspiration and
he
might have caused his mother’s heart attack? But Richard would never take responsibility for that.
He’d be far more inclined to let her shoulder the blame . . . and the guilt. That was quite obvious from the message on the answering machine. The sooner she was divorced the better, Caroline
thought bitterly.
She walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. It was crazy even to think that one or other of them had caused Sarah’s heart attack, she thought glumly. That was wrong thinking.
Guilt stuff. She should ring Richard, she supposed. Find out what hospital Mrs Yates was in. See if she needed a case packed.
Reluctantly she dialled Richard’s mobile number. It went straight into divert. Caroline took a deep breath.
‘Hi, Richard, it’s me. I’m at home. Do you want me to get any night clothes and toiletries for your mother? Call me when you can.’
She hung up, heavy-hearted. He must be in the coronary care unit if his phone was turned off. Was Mrs Yates alive or dead? It would solve a lot of problems if she were dead. Caroline
couldn’t help the callous thought that sprang to mind. There’d be no more hassle about the divorce.
If she survived, she’d milk it for the rest of her days. Would Richard be strong enough to stick to his guns? Caroline didn’t dare to think about it. All she was sure of was that the
next few days were going to be hell.
There was no word from him within the next two hours. Caroline knew that he must have checked his messages. How mean of him to keep her hanging on. It wouldn’t have taken five minutes to
call her. He was obviously very angry with her. Had Mrs Yates regained consciousness and regaled him with a whole pack of lies? Knowing her mother-in-law, Caroline wouldn’t put it past her,
she thought agitatedly as she paced the lounge for the umpteenth time.
Unable to wait another minute, she dialled Richard’s number again. Again it went into divert. ‘Richard, please call.’ Her message was terse.
Ten minutes later he rang.
‘Why did it take you so long to call me back, Richard? I phoned two hours ago,’ Caroline snapped, fraught. ‘Is your mother all right?’
‘I was in the CCU. You’re not allowed to have your phone on there. She’s stable at the moment. The next seventy-two hours are critical,’ Richard said testily.
‘What hospital is she in?’
‘The Mater.’
‘Do you want me to pack a case and bring in nightdresses and toiletries?’
‘No. I can collect them tomorrow. She doesn’t need them yet.’ His tone was anything but friendly.
‘Do you want me to come in?’ Caroline asked.
There was silence for a moment. Then Richard said coldly, ‘No Caroline. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I don’t have to go in and see your mother. I just thought you might like some support.’ Caroline tried to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice.
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.’ Richard clicked off.
Caroline stood staring at the dead receiver. Hurt. After all they’d been through. After all she’d forgiven him for, and he could still treat her like this. She knew what was wrong
with him. If his mother lived he was going to back out of everything. He wasn’t going to sell the firm. Divorce was out and he was going to try and lay the blame at her feet. Well, fuck him!
She wasn’t putting up with it. She was going and he could do what he liked and go to hell.
Frustration engulfed her. For a moment she thought of the vodka in the drinks cabinet. One lovely sharp cold vodka and tonic. Would one make such a difference? How many times had she asked
herself the same old question. It was too big a risk to take. Caroline walked out of the room, away from temptation. She went into her bedroom and took a well-thumbed little yellow book from her
bedside locker. It was called
The Game of Life
and in its pages she’d found inspiration and
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