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Pulling the cover back, I slid carefully into my side of the huge bed. Still wide awake, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Strange. It was turned facing away from the bed. Dave must have bumped it. Hang on. I'm sure I put the white cotton sheets on after laundry day, last Tuesday. These were the pink flannel ones. Was I going mad with the stress and the worry? I rolled away from the bedside table to my left-hand side, the side I slept best on. As I turned, my nose pressed against the pillow. A faint whiff of perfume came to my nose. Perfume is a little like body odour. You can't smell your own. I turned my nose back and took a deep sniff of my pillow. It was definitely perfume. Not aftershave or laundry detergent. Sitting up, I stripped the cover off the pillow and sniffed each component. The smell was coming from the pillow protector, not the cover. What the f...? Someone wearing perfume had slept on my pillow then changed the bed linen.
Dave stirred and rolled towards me.
"Good evening, dear. Julie wanted to know if you were meeting your lover again next weekend."
Instantly, I knew the pain of being stabbed by someone you loved and trusted; it hurt. It hurt bad.
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