The sound of the bell belonging to the church opposite the house rang out. Jill started, counting the chimes with her eyes closed. Midnight. She hardly dared believe it had been an entire hour since the sounds had last reached her. She didn't want to believe she'd spent the last hour sitting in the same position, not moving, only thinking. She opened her eyes and immediately squinted as they protested to the introduction of light. The free-standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room cast only a dim glow; her reaction to which was testament to the length of time she'd spent with eyes closed.
She released a heavy sigh and rose slowly from the chair. Her body protested like that of one twenty years her elder. She stretched gingerly, closing her eyes as every muscle seemed to respond with pain. With another sigh, she walked slowly across the room, switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness. She knew the house sufficiently well to pick her way across the room, stepping between the coffee table and the settee, turning left and making her way through the doorway. The rest of the house was in darkness, only two long rectangles of the hallway carpet were illuminated by the street light flooding through the two glass panes in the front door.
Jill tried the handle, noting it was locked, then turned and wearily began climbing the stairs, stretching to miss the squeaky fifth step. The doors to the children's rooms were ajar. She pushed both open a fraction; both occupants were sound asleep. The door to her own room was fully closed. The handle made no noise as she depressed it fully, releasing the door from its frame. The bottom of the door brushed the carpet though the noise was quieter than the breathing of her husband.
She stepped inside the room, pushing the door back to its frame, though this time forgetting to depress the handle. She winced as the door clicked into position. Gordon, however, appeared to be oblivious; his breathing continued steadily, a noise familiar and comforting to her after nearly a year of marriage.
She undressed quietly, and entered the adjoining bathroom, wincing as she stepped onto the cold floor tiles. The door closed, she switched on the light, allowing her to gaze uncomfortably at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. The situation was beginning to tell on her features; her eyes were held none of their customary brightness and were underlined by dark circles even make-up struggled to hide. She splashed water on her face, removing her make-up to reveal the dull pallor of her skin. She tore her gaze away, focussing instead upon brushing her teeth, trying to think of anything but their situation, trying to just for a few seconds relieve her mind from the worry that constantly plagued her. She knew it was impossible.
She re-entered the bedroom. Though she couldn't see her husband's face in the darkness, she could imagine it; his features would be relaxed, holding none of the worry that hers did; for she had noticed a similar weariness adorning his face as her own. The situation was affecting him, though she suspected it had more to do with her reaction than any worry of the situation itself.
She settled herself beside him, wanting to reach out and touch him, needing to feel some solid presence of what she could not see. But she stopped herself. She couldn't risk waking him. He needed the sleep, she couldn't contribute anymore to his tiredness.
He turned then, startling her. She was so sure he had been asleep. The thought that she woke him added new guilt to that already settling heavily on her heart. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't apologise." His voice was thick with sleep. He slipped his arms around her, pulling her gently against his chest.
She smiled sadly, draping one arm around his waist, her hand pressing firmly against his back.