Thicker Than Water by Anthea Fraser

before – they’d even been to Tina and Ben’s for supper, and to his parents for a Sunday lunch. James was aware, though, of her continuing dislike of family occasions, and he’d declined several invitations rather than overexpose her to them.
    But there were little things – things that in themselves were trifling, but which taken together added to his concern. Several times she’d not replenished household supplies, claiming she’d been too busy or had a deadline to work to, and suggesting they go together on a Saturday morning. Nor, even when alone in the flat, did she retrieve the post. He would find it lying on the mat in the hall, when she’d been in all day. It was the same with the telephone, which she never answered, maintaining it wouldn’t be for her. He became used to arriving home each evening to see the red button flashing. Once or twice, the messages had indeed been for Abigail, from her London friends.
    ‘Why not answer it, darling?’ he asked lightly one evening. ‘It won’t bite, and there might be something urgent from a client.’
    But she shook her head. ‘They email me,’ she said.
    It was towards the end of November that James came out of his office one lunchtime to find his sister in the foyer.
    ‘You’re taking me to lunch,’ she announced. ‘I need to talk to you.’
    ‘That sounds ominous!’ he joked.
    ‘I’m hoping not.’
    At the Montpellier Wine Bar, Tina waited till they had their drinks and their food was ordered before putting her elbows on the table and surveying her brother.
    ‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.
    ‘Me?’ He tried a laugh, not too successfully.
    ‘You and Abigail. Things don’t seem to be – right.’
    ‘They’re fine,’ he said evasively, not meeting her eyes.
    ‘James, this is me you’re talking to. Before the wedding, you were walking on air. It was because you were so deliriously happy that I tried to ignore my – misgivings.’
    ‘If you’re referring to Sylvie—’ he began defiantly.
    ‘I’m referring to Abigail. Have you found out anything more about her? Her family, where she used to live, who her friends are, apart from those three at the wedding?’
    He was silent.
    ‘Well, have you?’ She waited a moment, and when he still didn’t speak, went on, ‘I also want to know why you hardly ever come to see us. The children keep asking for you, but even when you did come, you spent the whole time watching Abigail, waiting for her reactions.’ She paused again. ‘Has something happened?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘James?’
    He looked up unwillingly. ‘Abigail’s my wife, Tina, and I love her. I’d feel disloyal discussing her, even with you.’
    She laid an impulsive hand on his. ‘Jimbo, I’m not trying to criticize her! I only want to help you – both.’
    The temptation to confide in her was building. Though his unease remained nebulous, it was none the less real, and the one concrete fact – Abigail’s reaction to the postcard – preyed continuously on his mind. Before he could stop himself, James found himself recounting what had happened.
    Tina frowned. ‘And it was of somewhere in the Lake District?’
    ‘Yes; I know lakes bring back her father’s death, but that could hardly cause vomiting, for God’s sake!’
    ‘There was nothing else on it that might have upset her?’
    ‘Not a thing. I scrutinized it inch by inch. The only odd thing was that there was no message, but that could have been an oversight.’
    Tina frowned thoughtfully. ‘Postcards are usually of the place where you are – “Wish you were here” kind of thing. But you say this one had a Manchester postmark?’
    ‘Yes. Anyway, since then, she won’t answer the phone or pick up the mail or even, as far as I can see, go out by herself. It’s as though – it seems ludicrous, but as though she’s afraid of something. As to visiting you, she said right from the start that she doesn’t “do” families. It’s probably because she