Rachel sat on the park bench, her stillness like a silent echo. Ben shifted beside her and reaching out, touched her gloved hand.

'Why here?' His question, like the icy mist, seemed to swirl around her face, sealing her answer. Releasing his light grasp, she heard him let out a small explosion of breathe. Heard him say, 'We could've had a pub lunch.'

Skeletal branches wept onto her fair hair but Rachel remained motionless as her mind raced, trying to formulate her reasons but, knowing that she had none to give, that she'd kept him in ignorance, she remained silent.

'Damn you!' he raised his voice. 'I might as well be talking to that statue over there.'
She looked across at the bronze figure of a soldier spattered in bird droppings. 'We'll talk later,' she said, getting up from the bench, throwing an uneaten ham roll into the waste basket beside her.

'And that's it, is it?' he said. 'You drag me here. Then clear off without any explanation.' It was rare that he shouted at her.

'I've a meeting.' Now she was afraid that his anger would only serve to feed her own inner confusion.

'I'm up to my eyes in work too,' he told her, his tone now petulant.

Looking down at Ben, she sensed his own hurt and confusion. Glancing away, she said, 'I might be late home tonight.' And as she spoke, she fixed her gaze upon a young woman struggling with an unruly toddler.

'What's new?' His remark stung but it gave her the excuse she needed. Walking away from her partner, heading for the park gates, she heard his hurried footsteps following and felt his hand grip her arm, jerking her to a stop.

'Are you having an affair?' Stunned she shook her head. 'I don't believe you.' Now his accusation sounded ludicrous, bringing hysterical laughter to the surface, but swallowing it down, she shook her head once more.

For a long moment,he glared at her before striding off and watching him go, Rachel wondered if she loved him enough.

That night, gazing into firelight that cast a warm glow onto the soft, caramel leather sofa where she sat, Rachel wondered what time Ben would return. Now she began to worry. Now she regretted her recent distracted silences. She wanted to apologise. Needed to explain.

Earlier, minutes after she'd arrived home, the phone rang and she heard Ben's voice on the answer phone telling her not to wait up. No explanation given. He sounded cold, almost distant. Then he'd sent her a text with the same message but she didn't text back.

Outside, sleet slashed against the window and every time an occasional headlight pierced voile drapes, Rachel tensed, waiting for Ben to walk through the door, demanding answers. Shivering, hugging herself, she felt icy cold despite sweat soaking her pyjamas.

Then she gasped as sudden pain tore through her. Whimpering, half-bent in agony, she made a dash for the bathroom and collapsing down onto the toilet, her own crying noises reached her as hot, thick fluid escaped from her body.

Finally, flushing the toilet, leaving it cleansed and disinfected, she remained gazing down into the bowl, as if waiting for a small movement in sanitised water and as she waited, she was overcome with a strange overwhelming grief.

Ben found her there, later. She heard his words of self-blame as he helped her back into their bedroom. 'What happened?' he asked and she could smell alcohol. 'Are you ill?' He sat her down on the bed.

'Just a stomach bug,' she told him.

'Into bed.' Pulling back the duvet, he tucked in. Compliant, needing to appease her own guilt with his tender administrations, she did as he asked and as dawn's first light touched curtains, Ben stirred beside her asking Rachel if she felt better.

Curling into a ball, she said, 'I won't be going into the office today.'

Ben got out of bed, swearing he'd never touch a drop of alcohol again but this time, Rachel didn't tease him. Later, after his breakfast, he promised to be home early and left, leaving Rachel to phone her PA to reorganise her busy schedule.

Then she rang another number cancelling her appointment for an abortion booked for that afternoon. And, after she'd made the call, she stood staring out of the kitchen window down into the high walled garden remembering that small death that had happened only a few hours ago.