Free A Deep Deceit by Hilary Bonner

was completely preoccupied too, but not happily so. I just wandered aimlessly about the house. I thought about going to the library but I wasn’t up to any banter with Mariette. I hadn’t seen her since our shopping expedition and I knew she would want to know all about Carl’s reaction, which I did not want to discuss.
    Later I cooked dinner for Carl and tried to chat normally while we ate but did not succeed very well. It was only because he was having one of his work-obsessed days, his mind totally focused on his latest painting, that he was not aware of my unease. Usually he was acutely tuned in to my moods.
    In bed I dared not sleep. Indeed, I had been dreading bedtime all day. When I heard Carl’s steady breathing and became aware of the stillness in his body that indicated he was asleep, I climbed out of bed, went downstairs, made coffee and paced the house all night, determined to stay awake, convinced it was the only way to keep the demons at bay – just as I had done when it all began.
    I also kept peeping through the curtains at the alleyway outside. ‘I saw you together last night, I watched you in bed.’ Was somebody really watching us like that? I never saw any sign of it. Nonetheless the very idea made me feel sick.
    In the morning, before Carl woke, I climbed back into bed beside him and allowed him to assume that I had been there sleeping all night long.
    I continued to do this for three nights. During the day it was a struggle to keep my eyes open. In contrast, Carl was working so hard that he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. On the third day he finished the painting that had so engrossed him.
    It was almost as if he awoke from a period of half-consciousness. I knew he was seeing me clearly for the first time in three days and became aware of him watching me acutely. At first I denied there was anything wrong, but he was not convinced.
    â€˜You really don’t look well,’ he told me anxiously. ‘Are you sure you feel all right?’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Really, I am.’
    Again and again I tried to reassure him, but it was the wrong way round for us and I was not very effective in my new role. The way I looked didn’t help, either.
    â€˜Suzanne, you look worn out. You haven’t been sleeping, have you?’
    I knew I had bags beneath my eyes and that I looked drawn and tired. Three nights without sleep is not something many of us can survive without showing the unmistakable signs of exhaustion. ‘I’ll sleep tonight,’ I told him obliquely. ‘I’m sure of it . . .’
    I didn’t, of course. I still couldn’t trust myself. And some time during that fourth night after the arrival of the letter, as I stood quietly by the picture window looking down over the rooftops at the harbour lights, afraid even to sit in case I fell asleep and entered my terrible nightmare world, I became aware of Carl standing beside me.
    He reached out for me and I could no longer hold back the tears.
    â€˜Tell me, my love, tell me what’s wrong,’ he coaxed. ‘Something has happened. Please tell me.’
    I could no longer resist. I had tried to be strong, but I had no strength without Carl. I had always been weak. I had thought that maybe I would become stronger with the years but it seemed it was not to be.
    I gave in. I took him to the cupboard under the stairs, groped about until I found the crack in the brickwork and removed the letter I had so ineffectually tried to hide from him.
    He looked very grim as he read it, then threw it angrily on to the floor. ‘You’re completely exhausted, aren’t you.’
    I just nodded.
    â€˜You’ve been refusing to let yourself sleep. You can’t go on like that. You’ll make yourself ill.’
    He led me upstairs, helped me undress, pulled back the duvet and made me lie down on the bed. Then he lay down beside me and wrapped his