Книга - The Wife: A gripping emotional thriller with a twist that will take your breath away

The Wife: A gripping emotional thriller with a twist that will take your breath away
ML Roberts


If you can’t stop watching Doctor Foster and The Affair, you won’t be able to put down this chilling new four-part series.‘I was hooked from the moment I started reading’ USA TODAY bestseller Sue FortinMichael and Ellie are that couple.The ones who have it all.Success, charm, trust…but no relationship is perfect and the events of the past cast a shadow over their charmed life together.When lecturer Michael starts to mentor a new student, Ellie fears that history is repeating itself. As paranoia takes its ugly hold, it’s clear some things just can’t be forgotten…or forgiven.

















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This paperback edition 2018

First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperColl‌insPublishers 2018

Copyright © ML Roberts 2018

ML Roberts asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

ISBN: 9780008119461

eISBN: 9780008119454

Version: 2018-02-01

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

permission of the publishers.


Table of Contents

Cover (#ub2386a0a-63d8-5646-87f8-6f5379281b83)

Title Page (#ua8c7f901-7a98-541a-83fb-4ef37ddaf37d)

Copyright (#ub9373e55-1c77-55ac-9d30-a90b61543ab4)

Dedication (#ua6104f06-5776-5c69-a9d7-6ba452e28d74)

Prologue (#u6faff93a-cbdc-543c-8593-f7e065956ae5)

Chapter 1 (#u22616370-60e1-5d7d-9851-50c5aae77c8d)

Chapter 2 (#ua0277f72-1b99-50bc-a81c-abed5dbd15fd)

Chapter 3 (#u1d74f685-aefd-5e85-9687-a842bc68e7a5)

Chapter 4 (#u3dc67f6a-d560-5f20-a23a-7e6776b82009)

Chapter 5 (#u02357263-dad9-5811-a113-dbae3d0d515c)



Chapter 6 (#u8767ec74-4a3f-53bd-816a-a24af58c6cf0)



Chapter 7 (#ua05aa859-9010-51a6-b2b5-f070da0554a2)



Chapter 8 (#ud9942e0e-85fd-54a2-8838-8fbbeb13b585)



Chapter 9 (#u04810621-350d-53e2-bbc0-6d09775c50e2)



Chapter 10 (#u30e0f7db-a8e4-5a9d-a0fc-ab6f8ecc860b)



Chapter 11 (#uac187343-d5e2-5a29-a230-a16edc04be59)



Chapter 12 (#u95ca4aad-24bb-515c-b821-37d812dd5053)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)



Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


For my husband. His constant support has been everything.




Prologue (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


Sometimes you look at people and you think their life is perfect. You envy them, what they have, what you assume they have. The perfect marriage, perfect careers, perfect home. They have it all, or that’s how it seems to those on the outside. But sometimes, behind those closed doors of that seemingly perfect home, secrets live in the shadows, just waiting to reveal themselves. Secrets that make that perfect life more fragile and fractured than anyone could imagine. Secrets that cast a darkness over everything, even when the sun is shining.

I had secrets.

And my life wasn’t perfect, even when I thought it was.

We all had secrets.

We all told lies.

We all had a darkness that blocked out the sun.

No … my life wasn’t perfect …




Chapter 1 (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


‘Come on, Michael. Dance with me.’

‘When was the last time you saw me dance, Ellie?’

I lean back against the wall, the edge of my mouth twisting up into a smirk. ‘Our wedding.’

‘Almost fourteen years ago.’

I put down my gin and tonic and reach out and grab him by his belt, pulling him towards me, smiling as my mouth almost touches his. ‘But they’re playing our song.’

‘We have a song now?’ He arches an eyebrow and gives me the kind of grin that made me fall for him in the first place, all those years ago.

‘For a supposedly intelligent man you can be such a dick sometimes.’

He laughs, a low, husky laugh and I close my eyes as he kisses me, just a small kiss, his lips barely graze mine, but it’s enough. ‘We don’t have a song, Ellie,’ he whispers.

I let go of him and pick up my drink, taking another sip as my eyes scan the room. I’m not the biggest fan of Michael’s work gatherings, but as one of the university’s leading professors, a respected academic and head of the English Studies Department, it’s my duty, I suppose, to be by his side at these events. And I’m used to them now. In the beginning I’d always felt slightly out of place, as if I didn’t belong in this world. I never went to university, I wasn’t born into a family with those kind of aspirations. My family was nothing like Michael’s. My family was a mess, but I was determined not to go down the route everyone expected me to take. I was determined to become successful against all the odds, and so far I’ve been very lucky. I’ve achieved that success.

Michael leans back against the wall next me and I turn to face him. ‘We do, actually. We have a song. You just never remember what it is.’

He frowns and I look into his eyes and I can tell he genuinely wants to remember what that song is, but he can’t. And it doesn’t matter anyway, not really. I just like bringing it up, watching him squirm slightly as he tries his hardest to recall something that, in his world, isn’t all that important.

‘Liam’ll dance with me.’ I smile, and Michael returns it.

‘Any of the men in this room would dance with you, Ellie. You’re like a breath of fresh air around here.’

‘You’re hardly stuffy professor material yourself … Oh, hang on, there he is … Liam!’ I wave frantically across the room at Liam – Dr Liam Kennedy BS, MSc, PhD, to give him his full title, although, there are probably half a dozen letters I’ve missed off there – one of our closest friends and a visiting lecturer here at the university.

He turns to acknowledge me, throwing me a wide smile before he takes a drink from the tray of a passing waiter and makes his way over to us. ‘He still won’t dance with you, huh?’

Michael rolls his eyes and holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat, shaking his head, but he’s smiling too. ‘I know when I’m beaten. You two go light up the dance floor. I need to have a word with Laurel about Monday’s department meeting.’

‘Still using your charm to kick-start that research project, huh?’ Liam smirks.

‘Works every time. Oh, and don’t wear him out, Ellie. We’re playing squash tomorrow, and I need him at his best if we’re going to have any hope of beating Harry and Ed. I swear those two are taking something …’

I watch him head off in the direction of Laurel Greene, another colleague; watch the way her eyes light up as he approaches, because that’s the effect my husband has on people, especially women. He’s handsome, charming and fun, even if he doesn’t dance. Popular with both students and staff, he’s a big part of this university, deeply committed to his work, sometimes a little too committed, but that’s who he is. And I knew that the day I fell in love with him.

‘You okay?’

Liam’s voice drags me back from my thoughts and I look at him. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. A little tired, but it’s been a busy week.’

‘Another drink?’

I nod and follow him to the bar, waiting until I have a fresh gin and tonic in my hand before we resume our conversation.

‘So, how’s the new spa coming along?’ Liam asks as we commandeer a quiet table near the back of the room and sit down.

‘Well, thankfully, the grand opening is going ahead next Friday, as planned. Bob, my builder …’

Liam’s face breaks into a grin. ‘Bob the builder? Seriously?’

‘I know, believe me, I’ve been listening to the same joke for two months now. I’m as sick of it as he is. Anyway, he’s due to sign off on the work Monday morning, meaning we can now start moving things in and get everything organised ready for Friday.’

‘Your fourth business, huh? You’re killing it, Ellie Travers.’

‘Well, I might not have any letters after my name, but I haven’t let that hold me back.’

‘Three salons and now a day spa, what’s next for your empire?’

I take a sip of gin and quickly glance across the room. Michael’s charming the Bridget Jones pants off Laurel Greene. I can see, even from over here, how much he’s got her wrapped around his little finger.

‘If there were degrees given out for flirting, huh?’ Liam smirks.

‘It’s just who he is, you know that. Besides …’ I turn back to face Liam, leaning back in my seat and crossing my legs. ‘I’ve never really been Little-Miss-Wallflower, have I?’

He laughs, a louder, slightly more raucous laugh than Michael’s, but even though there are some distinct differences between the two men, they’re more like brothers than best friends. They met, as students, at this very university – Michael studying English Literature, Liam Biochemistry. They both became lecturers here, until Liam left to focus more on his work as a research scientist, but he’s retained visiting lecturer status here at the university. At a couple of universities across the UK, actually. He’s a very well-respected figure in his field.

‘No, Ellie, you could never be described as a wallflower.’ He leans forward, clasps his hands together on the table. ‘So, are we going to have that dance, or not?’

I cock my head, smiling slightly. ‘You know what my and Michael’s song is, don’t you?’

‘Beyonce. ‘Crazy in Love’. Your first-dance wedding song.’

‘I knew that.’

I feel hands on my shoulders and I tilt my head back to see Michael behind me. ‘No you didn’t. Are you done schmoozing Laurel now?’

‘I wasn’t schmoozing anyone.’ He joins us at the table, stealing a sip of my gin. ‘I thought you two were going all “Saturday Night Fever”?’

‘Yes, well, the moment’s passed.’ I retrieve my drink and throw Michael a smile. ‘Besides, I didn’t want to tire him out.’ I jerk my head in the direction of Liam. ‘You’re both on the wrong side of forty now, so …’

‘You let her get away with talking to you like that?’ Liam winks as he gets up, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on my cheek, slapping Michael’s shoulder as he slides past him. ‘I’ll leave you guys to it. I’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning, before that squash game, so I’m calling it a night. See you both tomorrow.’

I watch him stride through the crowd of people, stopping every now and again to say a few words to old colleagues and friends before he disappears from sight.

‘Maybe we should call it a night, too,’ Michael sighs, checking his watch. ‘You must be shattered, the week you’ve had.’

‘I’m okay.’

He looks at me. ‘Are you?’

‘Michael, I’m fine. Really.’

He stands up and holds out his hand and I take it as we head towards the exit, his fingers curling around mine, and I squeeze his hand a little tighter as we walk.

‘I’m really proud of you, Ellie.’ He stops and pulls me into his arms, kissing the tip of my nose. ‘And I don’t think I tell you that enough. You deserve the success you’re finally getting. It’s been a long time coming. After everything you’ve been through …’ His expression changes, for the briefest of seconds, a fleeting moment that only someone as close to him as me could possibly have noticed, before he pulls it back and his smile returns. ‘Potential Local Businesswoman of the Year, huh?’

I smile back, tugging gently on his shirt collar. ‘Hey, slow down, okay? There are only rumours of a nomination at the minute, let’s not get too excited.’

‘Ellie!’

A loud, deep voice aimed in our direction cuts through the noise and I look over Michael’s shoulder to see Ernie Waterford approaching: Michael’s predecessor as Head of Department and a lifelong mentor to my husband, not to mention a good friend.

‘Looking stunning, as always.’

Michael moves aside, allowing Ernie to envelop me in a big bear hug, the scent of cigars and port filling my nostrils. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor.’

His booming laugh almost drowns out the music and I glance over at Michael, who throws me a knowing smile.

‘Persistence is in my blood, Ellie. I’m still trying to work out how that man there snared a woman as beautiful as you, but if he ever leaves you …’ He winks at me and I laugh, too. Ernie’s harmless flirting has been part of our lives for as long as I can remember now, ‘he’d be an idiot,’ he adds, throwing me another wink before he heads off in the direction of the bar.

Michael slips an arm around my shoulders, gently kissing the side of my temple. ‘I don’t think that’s something we need to worry about, do you? Neither of us is going anywhere. Are we?’

I slide my fingers between his and I smile, turning my head so my mouth catches his, and

I taste gin on his lips as he kisses me quickly. ‘I hope not.’




Chapter 2 (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


I used to love early mornings. That time of day when it can feel as though you’re the only person awake, when everything is calm and peaceful. I used to crave those snatched hours alone – it’s the perfect time to think, when all those thoughts that may have felt jumbled before suddenly start to make sense. But now – now things are different. Things have changed. Nothing makes much sense any more, there’s too much to think about, too many thoughts crowding my brain and it doesn’t always make for those calm and peaceful hours alone I was once so fond of. I found myself waking early this morning; found myself down here, in the orangery that stretches the entire length of the back of our beautiful home on the outskirts of the County Durham countryside, drinking tea and thinking, about all those things I’d rather forget. Nights like last night; parties, dinners with friends, they help push the memories to one side, for a little while, but they’ll never go away. They always come back.

Curling my legs up underneath myself I settle back into the comfortable couch that looks out over our sprawling garden. A neat, raised decking area leads out on to a perfectly manicured lawn, its flat, green surface interspersed with patches of shrubbery and strategically placed pot plants. There’s a magnolia tree near the centre of the lawn, two apple trees to the side, and at the back of the garden there’s a small vegetable patch, which is – was – very much Michael’s baby. My fingers don’t even come close to being green. Next to that is a sky-blue painted summer house, its front porch decorated with various terracotta pots, all housing an array of multi-coloured pansies. That summer house is my office. Was my office. I used to love working out of that summer house, it was my haven. Once. Now my office is in a side room next to the small indoor swimming pool we had built onto the back of the orangery a couple of years ago. A room that used to house towels and robes, but they’re now kept in a large storage box at the back of the pool area. I needed that room. I wanted that room. A strange choice, maybe, given that we have three spare bedrooms upstairs, but I wanted that room.

I stare back outside, watching as the sun starts to break through the early morning cloud, casting shadows over the summer house. Casting shadows. Something I’ve become all too familiar with. Shadows. Darkness. Even my beautiful garden feels different, now.

Over the years we’ve turned that garden from nothing but grass and wasteland into a rustic, colourful space. We worked hard to make sure it was perfect, for us. For what we needed - wanted it to be, and I look over towards the back of the garden, to a corner adjacent to the summer house. It’s empty now, that corner, we don’t need what used to stand there, not any more. I wanted it gone.

I don’t go out into the garden all that much any more. I don’t have the time. I’m too busy. I’m about to open another new business, a day spa, and that’s taking up a lot of my time. Too much of my time, some would say, but keeping busy is important. Over the past year and a half I’ve opened a third hair and beauty studio – I already have one in Newcastle and another in Durham – as well as taking on this day spa. I’ve never really been one to take it easy. I find that even harder to do now, despite people telling me to slow down. It isn’t that simple, it never has been. It’s even less so, now.

I close my eyes for a second, just for a second, and then it’s almost as if the silence suddenly hits me, making me aware of its presence, and they spring open. I walk over to the French doors in front of me, and I know I won’t be able to stop myself from doing what I seem to do on an almost daily basis now. But they say we all have a touch of OCD inside us, somewhere. I just need to make sure that door is locked. What’s so strange about that? And as my fingers close around the metal handle I inwardly scold myself for being so paranoid. Of course it’s locked. I check every night, before we go to bed. Every morning, when I come down here. Every time someone goes outside, I check the second they come back in.

Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against the cool glass door, my fingers tightening around the handle as I close my eyes.

The sound of birds chattering out in the garden brings a smile to my face. I find their noise quite calming. I love to hear them out there, starting their day. The peace and quiet these early mornings bring is something I never take for granted. But that peace is suddenly rudely interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and I glance up at the clock on the wall. It’s just gone eight-thirty.

I wrap my robe tighter around myself and head out of the kitchen, into the hall. There’s only one person comfortable enough to visit us at this time on a Saturday morning and, sure enough, when I open the door he’s there on the step, a wide grin on his face as he holds out a box of something that smells very much like freshly baked pastries. I smile and lean back against the doorpost, folding my arms.

‘Didn’t you have a meeting this morning?’

‘Cancelled. Rescheduled for Monday, so, as I was up and about and on the road I thought I’d stop by and bring breakfast.’

I take the box of pastries from him and stand aside to let him in, nudging the door shut behind me before heading back into the kitchen.

‘Michael not up yet?’

‘It’s eight-thirty on a Saturday morning, Liam, so no. He’s still in bed. Do you want some tea?’

He nods and leans back against the island in the centre of the room, glancing behind him into the orangery, where my pot of tea and crumb-scattered plate are sitting on the table next to the couch.

‘You didn’t much fancy a lie-in yourself, then?’

He looks at me, but I don’t answer that. I know what he is getting at. ‘Are you thinking of hanging around here until you and Michael leave for your squash game?’

‘If that’s okay?’

I smile slightly and flick the switch on the kettle. ‘It’s okay. You can make the tea. I’ll go see if Michael’s awake.’

I head back upstairs, back into our room, and Michael’s very much awake. He’s sitting up in bed with his laptop open, his reading glasses perched low on the end of his nose as he types away. And he doesn’t hear me come in at first, he’s that engrossed in whatever it is he’s doing. It’s not until I’m almost right there beside him that he looks up and smiles. But I also don’t miss the speed at which he slams shut his laptop.

‘Where’d you get to? I woke up and you weren’t there.’

‘You were in a hurry to come and find me, then?’ I jerk my head in the direction of his laptop as I fling open the wardrobe and search for something to wear.

‘Just thought I’d get a jump on Monday’s meeting. Get some notes down.’

I loosen my robe and let it fall to the floor, and I flinch slightly as I feel Michael come up behind me, feel him slide his arms around my waist, his mouth brush my shoulder so lightly his lips barely connect with my skin.

‘Come back to bed,’ he murmurs.

‘I can’t.’ I shrug him off and turn around, reaching for the dress I’d dropped to the floor when he’d touched me. ‘Liam’s downstairs. His meeting’s been moved to next week, so he decided to swing by here early. He’s brought breakfast.’

Michael sighs and drags a hand through his hair, and then he reaches out and wraps his fingers around my wrist, causing me to drop the dress again. I raise my gaze and look at him, and the expression on his face – it’s one I’ve become all-too familiar with these past few months.

‘Last night, Ellie – last night, at the party, you were fine. We were fine, we were good. We had a nice time, right?’

‘Yes. We had a nice time. It was good to get out. And I’m still fine now, Michael, okay? I’m just tired. These last few weeks have been crazy, what with the new salon and the spa, so, you know? I’m just tired.’

‘Look, I know we haven’t …’

He leaves that sentence hanging, loosens his grip on my wrist and drops his gaze, dragging a hand back through his hair again. And then his eyes meet mine and he smiles at me, just a small smile, but I needed that to happen.

He pulls me into his arms, kisses the top of my head, and for a few seconds he just holds me tight and I cling onto him, breathing him in.

I look up at him, and his mouth catches mine, just a quick kiss. But I take it.

‘We’re going to be all right, Ellie.’

He lets go of me and steps back, and I watch as he pulls on his jeans, looks in the mirror, running both hands through his hair to tidy it up.

I turn around and crouch down to pick up my dress, stepping into it, but as I reach behind me for the zipper I struggle to pull it up, and he’s there; he takes my hand and he pulls it away, slowly sliding the zipper up, and as he does that he gently kisses the back of my neck, and I shiver. The first time he ever did that, kiss the back of my neck, I shivered.

‘I’m sorry, Ellie.’

I know he is. I’m sorry too.

I turn around and pull him to me by his shirt collar, quickly kissing his slightly open mouth.

‘Go see Liam. Go on. Go plan your squash strategy or whatever it is you do before one of your games. I’m going to finish getting ready. I need to stop by the spa later, make sure everything’s going to plan.’ I smile and I cup his cheek and kiss him again, stroking his skin with my fingertips. ‘Go. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

I let go of him and I watch as he leaves the room, waiting until I hear both his and Liam’s voices echo up from the kitchen downstairs before I head into the en suite.

I’ve got a busy day ahead. And maybe that’s just as well.




Chapter 3 (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


Long hours are something Michael and I are used to. Sometimes we can be nothing more than passing ships in the night. Days can blend into weeks before we realise we haven’t spent any real time together. We both love our work. We both need our work, now more than ever. But over the past few months the hours we work are increasing, the days are becoming longer. Our life, it’s changed. It had to. We changed. What happened, it was always going to change us. It would have changed anybody, but for us – Ellie and Michael Travers, the perfect couple, because that’s how people saw us, how people still want to see us – for us, those changes are something I’m still trying to cope with.

I switch on the kettle and start laying out the breakfast things just as Michael comes into the kitchen, his head down as he sorts through the post.

‘Anything for me?’ I ask, leaning back against the counter, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the briefest of seconds before his gaze drops back down to the letters in his hand. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes down, and I drop my own gaze, catching a glimpse of my bare feet, the shocking-pink nail polish I’m wearing – courtesy of some last-minute product testing yesterday at the spa – a sharp contrast against the dark tiled floor. And as I raise my head and check the time I realise I’m running late. I need to be at the spa in an hour and I’m not dressed yet.

I pour myself a mug of tea and make to leave, but I stop as I reach the door. I turn back around to face Michael but his head is still down. He’s checking over some papers he’s just taken from his briefcase. This is what it’s like now. Sometimes. The silences, the heavy atmosphere. Painful memories engulf us, both of us, constantly, but we’re finding different ways of dealing with them. I still need to talk about what happened, but Michael thinks we’ve talked enough. He’s wrong.

‘Will you be home for dinner tonight?’

He slowly raises his head, his eyes once more meeting mine, and he holds my gaze a little longer this time, but not long enough to make me feel as though anything’s changing. We haven’t really moved forward, we haven’t yet got past what happened. We’re not the same people we used to be, not behind closed doors anyway. We used to be happy, we used to be close, we had everything. Now I don’t know what we have any more.

‘I’m not sure. I have a department meeting at five, and then evening tutorials. I’ll probably just grab something in the pub. I said I’d meet Liam for a quick drink after work, so …’

He trails off and looks down again. That’s it. He’s severed that communication, and I watch him slide those papers back into his briefcase, slip on his jacket, grab his keys from the dresser. As he heads towards the doorway I’m still standing in. I feel my stomach jolt as he comes closer, and he stops, turning his head to look at me.

‘I’ll try not to be too late.’

I nod, and I take the small smile he gives me, close my eyes as he leans in to kiss my cheek. And I watch as he strides down the hall, without looking back.

It wasn’t always this way. Not so long ago we could barely make it out of the house on time because morning sex and breakfast together was an all-important part of our day. We had it all, we were that couple. Ellie and Michael Travers. Happy. Successful. So fucking perfect that our friends used to tease us incessantly, claim that nobody could ever live up to what we were. Or so we thought.

I glance at the clock again. I’m pushing it, timewise. I really need to get ready, so I head upstairs, but I’m only halfway up when I stop, turn around and come back down. I need to check that Michael locked the door behind him. Our home, it’s quite isolated. A converted barn set in its own grounds, our nearest neighbours are within sight but not walking distance. It’s all very private.

So, I just need to check that Michael locked that door. But of course he’s locked it. He’s as paranoid as I am. Now.




Chapter 4 (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


If somebody had told my thirteen-year-old self that one day I’d be a successful businesswoman running three beauty salons and a day spa; that I’d be married to a gorgeous, brilliant professor, I’d have laughed in their faces. My thirteen-year-old self had no ambition. No prospects.

I was brought up by my grandparents in a small mining village in County Durham. The kind of place where everyone knows everybody and nobody’s business is private. Mine certainly wasn’t.

I’d just turned thirteen when I went to live with them, an angry, disillusioned teenager who fought against everything. I had my reasons.

People didn’t think I’d amount to much, not even my own family. They assumed I was too damaged, and maybe I was. I certainly spent the first few months I was with them proving everyone right. I didn’t try hard at school. I didn’t think there was any point. My grandparents had done okay, they didn’t have much but they had enough. They’d spent their life ‘getting by’. Managing. And for them that was fine. For a while I thought that was fine, too, and nobody encouraged me to try otherwise.

By the time I’d turned fifteen I’d realised I wanted more than that. ‘Getting by’ wasn’t enough. I wanted to buck the family trend and be someone. Do something with my life. I wanted to show the small, insular community I was growing up in that the damaged kid I once was could be something more than just another casualty of a fucked-up family.

I stared working harder, grew a thicker, tougher skin, learnt how to look after myself. I channeled all my anger and frustration into proving everyone wrong. Nobody thought I could do it. But I did, do it. I became someone. I did something. And I did it all on my own. When nobody else believed in me, I had to. Michael believed in me. Michael was the icing on the cake, so to speak. To have a man like him – a handsome, clever, successful man, from a background the complete polar opposite of mine; to have a man like him fall in love with me, that’s when my world became complete. But now – now my world is becoming increasingly less certain. My world is changing. My world has changed …

‘It looks like you’re all set for the opening on Friday, then.’

I swing around at the sound of his voice, my heart beating hard against my ribs. I’d been so deep in thought there, he gave me a shock. ‘Jesus, Liam, don’t creep up on me like that! What are you doing here anyway?’

‘I’m on my way to a meeting in Newcastle, so, I thought I’d pop in, see how it was all going.’

I walk back behind the front reception desk and switch on the computer. I need to check all our booking systems are up and running before we open the spa in just a couple of days’ time.

‘It’s all going fine.’ I raise my gaze and smile slightly, but I’m too busy for his company this morning. I can do without any more distractions. I already have enough.

‘Good.’ He rests his forearms on the counter and leans forward, clasping his hands together. ‘So, are you going to show me around?’

‘I’m really busy, Liam. There’s so much to do before Friday, and I’m swamped here, so …’

He steps back and holds up his hands, an apologetic smile on his face. ‘It’s okay, I get it. Michael said you were snowed under.’

‘You’ve seen Michael?’

He slides his hands into his pockets and I grab a pile of folders from the desk and walk back out front, quickly glancing down at my scribbled, handwritten schedule for the day. I haven’t had time to print out a neater, more detailed, version.

‘Just for a few minutes. I needed to stop by the university to sort out a few things. I’m giving a lecture there tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘He’s fine. Any reason why he shouldn’t be?’

I look at him, and I frown, because he’s been through enough himself to know that seeming okay and actually being it are two completely different things.

‘Are you okay, Ellie?’

‘I’m fine … shit!’ A handful of papers slip from the folders I’d bundled into my arms, landing on the floor in a scattered heap and I crouch down to retrieve them.

‘Here. Let me get those for you.’

Liam crouches down too, but I hurriedly grab the papers myself, shoving them back inside the folders. ‘It’s okay, I can manage. Thank you.’

His hand briefly but gently brushes against mine, and he pulls it away, sliding it back into his pocket as he stands up.

‘You should take things a little easier, Ellie. You’re working yourself into the ground.’

‘I don’t want to take things easy, Liam. This is what I do. I work hard.’

‘At the expense of everything else?’

I narrow my eyes as I look at him, leaving a couple of beats before I respond to his comment. ‘Not everything.’

He drops his head and laughs quietly, smiling slightly. ‘No …’ He raises his gaze, his expression slowly changing, and then I suddenly realise something, and a wave of guilt washes over me.

‘Oh, Jesus, Liam, I’m sorry. The divorce …’

‘Finalised this morning. It’s all official now.’

I go over to him, and I reach out to touch his arm, squeezing it gently. ‘So it should be me asking you if you’re okay.’

‘It’s not like we didn’t know it was coming, Ellie. Keeley left me a long time ago. This is just the paperwork. Our marriage, that was dead before she even walked out.’

‘Yes, I know, but …’

‘It’s a divorce, that’s all.’

He fixes me with a look, he’s shutting me down, ending that conversation, and I understand. He doesn’t like to talk about it, says it doesn’t matter any more. But everything matters, in some small way, even if you try to convince yourself that it doesn’t. It all matters.

‘I’m still sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ He smiles, and I pull my hand away and clutch those files closer to my chest, returning his smile. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Like I said, I just wanted to see how things were going here.’

‘Are you sure…?’

He holds up a hand and I stop talking. ‘Ellie, I’m fine. I’m fine.’

‘Okay.’

‘And you need to remember what I said, all right? Take things a bit easier. Make some time for yourself.’

I throw him a small smile. ‘Is that an order?’

‘Maybe …’ He smiles too and turns to leave, walks away, but I wait a few seconds; wait until I hear his car drive off before I go outside. I need some air. I’ve been cooped up inside ever since I got here a few hours ago, and the smell of fresh paint and cleaning fluid is giving me a bit of a headache now.

‘Is there anything you need me to do, Ellie?’

I turn my head to see Carmen, the spa’s manager, join me outside. ‘Actually, yes. Could you give the linen suppliers a call? We need to make sure those towels Libby put through on a last-minute order yesterday are going to arrive before Friday.’

People told me I should never have taken on this spa, that I should have stuck with the salons, concentrated on those. The timing wasn’t right to start something like this. They were so wrong. The timing was perfect. This hasn’t just been a new business venture for me, it’s been the distraction I needed to get me through the past few months. Distractions. They’ve become such a big part of our life, and they never used to be. We didn’t do distractions, before. We hadn’t needed them. Michael and I, our work has always been important to us, we’ve always been busy people, but now – now I think he’s using work as an excuse to prevent himself from being alone with me for too long, that’s his distraction. One of them, anyway, because I fear he has others. It’s a creeping fear that’s been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now, but I don’t think it’s unfounded. And he has no idea how much that hurts me.

‘I’ll get straight on to that.’

Carmen’s voice drags me back from my thoughts and I smile at her. The last thing I want is for anyone to think that Michael and I aren’t okay. We’re fine. It’s just that we used to be so much more than fine.

‘Thanks, Carmen. That’ll be a big help. Anyway, if you could also keep an eye on what’s happening out here for a little while I’d be really grateful. I’ve got a few things I need to be getting on with, so I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’

I head back inside, back to my office just behind the reception area.

Closing the door behind me I open a window, just wide enough to let in some air, and I sit down at my desk, leaning forward to pick up the photograph I’ve got standing on it. It’s a photograph of Michael and I, taken about three years ago on holiday in southern Spain. We love Spain. It’s been our go-to destination for years now, ever since our honeymoon in Valencia. We’ve travelled throughout most of the country, stayed in some of the most beautiful and unusual hotels, met the most incredible people; made plans to buy a holiday home out there, one day. Maybe. But that was before. We haven’t spoken about those plans or even mentioned the prospect of another holiday over there, not for a long time.

I reach out and run my fingers lightly over the photograph as I remember how happy we’d been, back then. I know he feels guilty for what happened. I know that’s partly the reason why he distances himself from me in the way that he does now. It’s because he still feels that guilt. But he shouldn’t. I don’t want him to.

I put the photograph down and spin my chair around so I can look out of the window. It’s a beautiful spring day, warm for the time of year, the kind of day when everything should feel pretty much perfect. I used to think we were pretty much perfect, it certainly felt that way, at times. And then I drop my gaze, my eyes focused on my hands clasped together over my stomach and I know that we were never perfect. Even before everything changed, before the guilt and the doubt, before all that happened, we still weren’t perfect.

There’s a niggle in my mind. My gut is trying to tell me something.

Swinging my chair back around I pick up the phone and punch in the number for Sue, Michael’s secretary. She answers after a couple of rings and I lean back and swing my chair around to face the window again as I wait for her to speak, and when she finally does her tone is crisp and businesslike.

‘Good afternoon, Professor Travers’ office.’

‘Sue, hi. It’s Ellie.’

The second she hears my voice her tone switches to informal and friendly, and I smile to myself. I like Sue. She’s worked with Michael for years. I’m not sure how he’d cope without her now. And when it comes to his timetable and schedule she’s got a photographic memory.

‘Ellie! It’s lovely to hear from you, how’s everything going over at the spa?’

‘It’s all going to plan, fingers crossed. Opening on Friday.’

‘That’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you. Michael said you’d been working incredibly hard to get the place up and running as soon as possible … Anyway, I’m sure you’re still extremely busy, so, what can I do for you? Do you need to speak to Michael? Only, he’s not in his office right now, but I can take a message.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t need to speak to him. Listen, Sue, I was just wondering, does he have any tutorials this evening?’

‘I don’t think so … If you can bear with me for one second, though, I’ll just double check his schedule.’

‘Thank you.’ I hear her start typing, and while I wait I reach behind me for that photograph, and I look at it again, narrowing my eyes slightly, tilting my head to one side as I stare down at the smiling image of my husband.

‘No, Ellie, he doesn’t appear to have any tutorials in his diary for tonight.’

Sue’s voice cuts through my thoughts, although it takes a second for her words to register with me. ‘Okay.’ I distinctly remember him telling me that he had evening tutorials this morning. ‘He does have a department meeting, though, doesn’t he? I’m sure he said he did. Five o’clock, is that right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I’m just trying to plan dinner, that’s all. We haven’t spent an evening together, at home, for a while now, what with me getting the spa ready to open and his busy schedule, so – I just hoped we might be able to manage that tonight. Some time together.’

I wonder, did it seem as though I was over-compensating just a bit too much there? To the outside world we’re over what happened, we’ve moved on. And Michael has moved on. I’m still trying to.

‘You work too hard, both of you.’ Sue’s tone is mock-scolding, but she just cares about us. We tried to keep what happened as private as we could, but it was inevitable that people would find out. And some of those people, they still treat me as though I’m made of glass. I’m not. I’m tougher than some give me credit for.

‘At least we’re lucky enough to enjoy what we do.’

‘That’s very true. You take care now, you hear? And good luck for Friday.’

‘Thanks, Sue.’

I hang up and spin my chair back around, placing the photograph back down on the desk. Was Michael lying to me? Does he put all his tutorials in his diary? I don’t know. But I know that he never used to make excuses to avoid spending time with me. There once was a time we’d do anything we could to grab just a few precious hours together, yet now, it’s almost like we’re living separate lives.

Breathing in deeply, I exhale slowly, as though I’m ridding myself of those negative thoughts.

What was my husband hiding?




Chapter 5 (#u28d53c1a-ba28-5d02-b807-910d7f751486)


‘How did your tutorials go this evening?’

Michael looks up from his books, takes off his glasses and slides them into the top pocket of his shirt. And his expression – I can tell he’s slightly confused. I don’t usually ask about tutorials, they’re not something we ever really talk about. He likes to keep some kind of student-professor confidentiality thing going, but in this case, there weren’t any tutorials, were they?

‘Tutorials?’

I watch his expression change, almost a little too quickly there. I think he’s just realised what he told me this morning.

‘They went fine.’

He slips his glasses back down and drops his gaze, and that’s how it is. How it’s been for months now. And it isn’t fair, it isn’t how it should be, but it’s his way of dealing with everything – it isn’t mine.

‘Did you see Liam? In the pub, I mean.’

He lets a couple of beats go by before he slowly looks back up at me, and his expression is verging on exasperated now; he doesn’t even attempt to hide that frustrated sigh.

‘I’m extremely busy, Ellie. As you can see.’

He indicates the pile of books in front of him, and I get the message. Sometimes it’s just easier to give in rather than fight.

I walk over to the fridge, take out the bottle of wine I opened last night and I pour myself a glass. I don’t ask Michael if he wants one. When we’re alone, like this, even those simple, ordinary exchanges are rare. I keep my back to him, taking a long sip of wine, closing my eyes as the cool liquid slips down my throat, settles in my belly – that familiar alcohol-hit my welcome friend once more, though Michael thinks we’re becoming increasingly closer these days.

‘Ellie … I’m sorry.’

He comes over to me, pulls me into his arms, and before I can take another breath he’s kissing me. A beautiful, slow, deep kiss, and I wind my arms around his neck as I push myself against him, his erection digging into my thigh and I gasp quietly as he slides a hand up under my skirt, pushing my underwear aside as he lifts me up onto the countertop. I can’t remember the last time we had sex outside the bedroom; spontaneous, unexpected sex. I can’t actually remember the last time we had sex, the last time we both wanted it. So this is a surprise, and even though I think this might be his way of stopping dead a conversation he doesn’t want to get into, I think we need this. I know I want it, now that it’s happening. I want him.

Placing my hands palm-down behind me I lean back as he pushes inside me, closing my eyes as I feel him move, feel his hands on my knees keeping my legs apart, and I bite down on my lip as his thrusts start to pick up pace, quicken slightly, almost as though he’s taking an element of frustration out on me, or maybe that’s just me over-thinking this; the reasons why he’s acting this way, now. But the sex is slightly rough, and that was never Michael’s style. And then, as if he’s just realised what he’s doing, he slows down, his thrusts suddenly become more gentle, measured.

I keep my eyes closed, keep my head thrown back, but then I feel his hand slide around onto the back of my neck, forcing my head up, making me look at him as he comes with a force so brutal it almost tears the breath from my body, his eyes burning into mine, and it’s only when he’s done that he breaks that stare, drops his head, but he keeps his hand on my neck. And nobody says anything. I can’t. I don’t think I could get the words out. My throat feels tight, and my heart is beating so fast and so hard it’s difficult to catch my breath.

He slowly raises his gaze, but we remain silent. I think we’re taking a moment, to remember who we used to be, what we once were. Who we’ve become. Sex, when it happens, has been almost paint-by-numbers for us since – well, for a while now. He hasn’t done this, hasn’t touched me in this way for so long, and as I stare deep into his eyes I feel as if I’m breaking into a million tiny pieces. I feel as though I’m shattering from the inside out, I’m confused. This – us, this isn’t what we do; isn’t what we’ve done for so long, and there are reasons for that. Have we suddenly got past those reasons? No. So this – this only makes everything all the more confusing.

He suddenly lets go of me, and without saying a word he heads off into the hall, to the downstairs bathroom. I stay where I am, leaning back against the counter, turning my head slightly to stare outside. It’s dark now, but our decked terrace and part of the garden are illuminated by various solar-powered lights, and for a few seconds that’s what I focus on – the lights. It’s only when I hear Michael come back into the kitchen that I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and I smile at him. Just a small smile, and I have no idea if it got as far as my eyes but it was a smile.

‘I’d better go and get cleaned up, too.’

But as I edge past him he gently takes hold of my arm and stops me, swinging me back around to face him.

‘I really am sorry, Ellie.’

He keeps saying that, all the time, he keeps saying he’s sorry, keeps apologising.

I turn around to face him. ‘What for?’ Given our circumstances, that’s a loaded question, and he knows that.

He bows his head, runs a hand along the back of his neck, and he’s about to say something when his phone rings, and I’m not sure whether I’m irritated by the interruption or relieved that it may have stopped us from embarking on another of those conversations we just can’t seem to handle.

He picks his phone up from the table and looks at the screen. ‘I need to get this.’

I nod, and the second he gets up and turns his back to me I practically run upstairs, not stopping to take a breath until I’m safely behind the privacy of our bedroom door. That’s when I take a second to breathe, to compose myself. He’s lying to me. I’m almost sure of that now. He’s lying to me. And there has to be a reason for that. He wouldn’t lie to me unless he had something to hide. Or maybe he’s just trying to protect me. Maybe that’s all he’s doing, but I don’t need protecting. All I want is for what happened … I don’t want him to lie to me.

I head into the en suite. I need a shower. And when I’m done I pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt and I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror by the window. Turning sideways I lay a hand on my stomach, and I close my eyes, keeping them squeezed tight shut as my breath catches in my throat; as I feel my heart start to race, my skin become clammy, I can’t breathe, for a second or two. I can’t breathe. I get them every so often, these brief panic attacks that come from out of nowhere, sweeping over me with a brutal force. But I’m learning to handle them, or I’m trying to. And once again I flick that switch that pushes everything to one side, drop my hand, and step back from the mirror, swallowing down breath as it finally dislodges itself from my throat. I need another drink.

Back downstairs Michael’s nowhere to be seen, he’s not in the kitchen. I go into the orangery, but he isn’t in here either. And then I look towards the double glass doors at the far end of the orangery, the ones that lead through to the extension that houses the swimming pool. He’s there, poolside, pacing up and down, still talking into his phone, his hand running continuously along the back of his neck, and for a second or two I don’t move, I just stand there. Watching him. And then he stops pacing, faces the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the garden. He leans forward, presses his forearm up against the glass, drops his forehead so it rests against it.

I move a little closer, my eyes fixed firmly on him. He’s still talking to whoever it is who’s decided that calling him this late is a good thing. Maybe it’s just Liam, but their phone calls to each other usually last about three seconds, just long enough to make sure they both know where they’re meeting, what time their squash game or football match is. They’re not exactly your heart-to-heart kind of friends. Are any men?

I go back into the kitchen and pour myself another glass of wine before I head into the living room, switch on the TV, trying to keep things as normal as possible. Until Michael walks into the room.

He places a fresh bottle of wine on the table beside the couch and throws himself down onto the chair by the fireplace.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, not missing the slightly weary expression on his face.

‘Everything’s fine. It was just one of my students. She needed some help with a project I’ve set for a group of them, that’s all.’

I feel my shoulders tense up. She needed some help? What kind of help?

He sits back in his chair and he smiles at me. ‘Come here. Come on.’ I get up, let him pull me down so I straddle him, and I close my eyes as he kisses me; as his fingers lightly stroke the base of my spine, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. ‘I’ve told them they shouldn’t call this late, but, you know, they keep telling me I’m their favourite professor, who am I to let them down when they need me?’

I can’t help smiling too. This is what he does, how he reeled me in all those years ago with that disarming smile and those bright blue eyes. But I still want to ask him questions, ask exactly who he was talking to, why they were calling so late, was this really just about help with a project?

‘Michael…’

He gently pushes my hair back off my face, lightly kisses my slightly open mouth.

‘This is what I do, Ellie. It’s what I’ve always done. And I know what you’re going to say but I’m not going to compromise my students in any way. If they need my help, at any time, I’ll give it to them. I thought you understood that.’

‘I do, it’s just …’

‘It’s my job. To look after my students. It’s my job. Okay?’

He looks at me, his blue eyes burning deep into mine. He’s ending this conversation. He’s told me as much as he’s willing to tell.

I climb off him, go back over to the couch, and I anticipate the coming silence. He won’t want to do this, he won’t want to go where I’m heading.

Silence. Loaded with secrets. Hurt. Guilt.

‘It’s been over a year, Michael. And nothing’s changed.’

He drops his head, a sign that he doesn’t want this. And I can see what he’s been trying to do, all night. He’s been using his charm, using that smile, using sex to try and distract me. To try and stop me from doing this. But that only works for a short time. And this, what I’m seeing now, his body language, I’ve seen it all too often over the past few months, and a knot of frustration pulls tighter inside my gut. We’re done here. And he doesn’t make any attempt to stop me as I get up and leave the room, and that breaks my heart. It kills me.

I feel tears start to stream down my cheeks as I run upstairs, and I hate that I’m still crying. Is he really just accepting this as us now?

I get ready for bed on auto-pilot, going through the motions until I can finally crawl under the covers and wait for sleep to take over. But it’s not coming easily tonight, and I lie there, staring at the wall, until I feel Michael slip into bed beside me; feel his arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against him and I close my eyes as his fingers slide between mine. We’ll go to sleep, wake up in the morning, and everything will be back to that new normal that fills our days now. A kind of normal I’m having to get used to, even though it’s not one I want. But this is the way it’s been for over a year now. The way I fear it’s always going to be. And while Michael may be willing to accept that, I’m not sure I can …




Chapter 6 (#ulink_d28e9b63-279a-51de-8c78-bcb6718e2179)


‘Hey! What are you doing here?’

I’m surprised to see Michael at the spa. He hasn’t set foot in the place since he came with me to view the building a few months ago.

‘You left your phone on the kitchen table. I thought you might need it.’

‘Oh, right… thank you.’

I look at the screen, see that there are about a dozen missed calls I’m going to have to return.

‘Sorry … I was in such a rush this morning, I forgot to make sure I had everything. I hope this hasn’t made you late.’

He smiles at me, jerks his head back towards himself and I step out from behind reception, let him pull me into his arms, quickly kiss the tip of my nose, and I scrunch it up, laughing quietly.

‘I haven’t got a lecture until ten-thirty. You haven’t made me late.’

‘Can you stay for a coffee? I could show you around …’

I feel his body stiffen, almost as if a switch has been flicked and he lets go of me, pulls his phone from his pocket and looks at it. ‘I’d better get going. I still have to prepare some notes.’

Disappointment floods me, but I’m not going to push it. There’s no point. ‘Okay. Well, thanks for this.’ I hold up my phone and he throws me another smile before he turns away and heads out, stopping to talk to a couple of staff members who are hovering around in reception before he leaves. I watch closely as he exchanges pleasantries with Gillian, one of my masseurs, laying a hand gently on the small of her back as he leans in to her, both of them laughing at something he says. He’s a born flirt, my husband. He’s always been that way, he can’t help himself, charm oozes from every pore, and I think a lot of women find the fact that he’s an English literature professor but looks more like a movie star quite appealing. It was probably half the reason I was attracted to him, if I’m being honest. But the way he’s talking to them, when he finds it so hard to say anything to me, it’s like a knife in the back.

I turn away and busy myself sorting paperwork behind reception, and when I glance back up Michael’s gone, but as I look outside, I see he hasn’t left yet. He’s leaning back against his car, his phone to his ear. I come out from behind reception and go over to the huge bay window that overlooks the front grounds and car park. He’s still talking into his phone and he’s smiling. It looks as if whoever he’s talking to – it’s a friendly conversation, I’m guessing.

I fold my arms and take a deep breath, briefly closing my eyes. I’m letting way too much get to me lately. Maybe everyone’s right, maybe I am working too hard, but what choice do I have? I’m not the kind of person to sit back and let someone else take the reins. Besides, having something to focus on, it’s necessary.

Dropping my head, I take another deep breath, and when I look back up Michael’s getting into his car. I watch as he pulls away, drives out of the grounds. But I don’t move, I stay where I am, even though he’s out of my sight now. He’s out of my sight …

*

‘I seem to be getting a lot of male visitors this morning.’ I glance up as Liam sits down opposite me at a table out on the terrace. I’m taking a break, but I’m still surrounded by paperwork. I just thought a few minutes out in the sunshine might be nice. I thought it might help to clear my head. It hasn’t.

‘Well, I knew you’d be busy, so I thought I’d bring you some lunch.’ He slides a tub of salad towards me, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smirk.

‘There better be a sandwich to go with that.’

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two triangle-wrapped sandwiches. ‘There you go. Ham and cheese okay?’

‘Perfect. Thank you.’

‘Are you lecturing this afternoon?’ I ask between mouthfuls of salad and sandwich.

He shakes his head, taking a sip of coffee as he looks around at the newly landscaped grounds that surround the terrace that leads out from the spa’s garden room.

‘No. I’m heading back to the lab. Got a couple of meetings this afternoon plus a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.’

‘But you still found time to go and buy me lunch, huh?’

I smile and he returns it. ‘Don’t want you going hungry. You can’t run an empire on an empty stomach.’

I sit back and briefly drop my gaze. ‘Did you and Michael …?’ I look up, my eyes meeting his. I need to know if he’s lying to me, too. ‘You met for a drink, right? Last night?’

Liam frowns slightly. ‘Yes, we did.’

‘Okay.’

‘Something wrong, Ellie?’

‘He’s lying to me, Liam. He said he had tutorials last night, but he didn’t. There was nothing in his diary, I checked with Sue. So, where was he? Between leaving the university and meeting you, where was he?’

Liam’s head drops, his hands clasped tightly together, and for a few, long beats he says nothing. But he knows, he understands what Michael and I went through; the reasons why we are the way we are now. That’s why I can talk to him.

‘I don’t know, Ellie,’ he sighs, raising his gaze and dragging a hand back through his hair. ‘I don’t know where he was.’

‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘Jesus, Ellie, come on. We don’t sit there and share emotional shit. We don’t do that.’

I look at him and I suddenly realise how tightly my fingers are gripping the arm of my chair and I quickly loosen that grip, feeling my shoulders sag as I do so.

‘Look, I know that what happened …’ He drops his head again, and I don’t miss the way he wrings his hands together. He’s frustrated, I can tell. ‘Nobody expected you to get over it in a fortnight, it was never going to be that simple, but, maybe now’s the time to start dealing with it. Properly.’

‘I’mdealing with it, Liam. You, of all people, know I’m dealing with it.’

His eyes are back on mine and he’s still frustrated, he isn’t hiding that fact.

‘Yeah. I guess you are.’

He stands up. He’s calling an end to this conversation, one I’m not even sure got started. There was more I wanted to say. Even though he doesn’t know everything, nobody does, he understands enough. And I need him, to talk to.

‘I should be going. I don’t want to be late for those meetings.’

‘He won’t talk about it, Liam. He won’t go there. I mean, sometimes it’s like he refuses to acknowledge it even happened. Is that the best way to deal with it?’

He shrugs and that irritates me, it really does. ‘Maybe, in this case, it is. I mean, how are you dealing with it, Ellie? Hmm? How are you really dealing with it, because, there are times when you don’t want to talk about it either.’

I look at him and I want to say something but I don’t know how to respond, because he’s right.

‘Sometimes talking isn’t always the answer, Ellie. You know that better than anyone.’

I stand up, gather my things together and start to make my way back inside. It looks as if we’re finished here.

‘Ellie, come on. I’m sorry, okay?’

I turn around and he comes over to me; he takes my hand and he gives it a gentle squeeze, his thumb running lightly over my knuckles. He doesn’t want me to go back inside angry or upset. I get that. He’s a good man, Liam Kennedy. A good friend, to both of us … though a better friend to one of us.

‘Okay. You’re sorry.’

He smiles, I smile too, and the mood is lightened. Sometimes he’s the only one who can make me smile.

‘Are you coming to the party on Saturday?’

It’s Michael’s birthday at the weekend. We always have a small house party when it’s someone’s birthday, even though Michael told me he didn’t want anything this year. He was happy to just let this birthday slide by. But I think we need to at least try and keep up some level of normality. It’s what he keeps telling me to do, after all. Carry on as normal. Forget what happened. Move on. So we’re having this party. If we start pulling back from our friends they’re only going to continue with the pitying looks and the questions I can’t answer. I don’t want people to know the truth; know that I’m terrified of losing my husband, scared of the secrets he’s keeping. Scared that history could repeat itself.

‘Are you sure you should be having this party, Ellie? I mean, the spa opens on Friday …’

‘It’s keeping me busy, Liam. I need the distraction.’

‘Haven’t you got enough of those?’ He raises his eyebrows.

I start to walk back inside and he follows me, falling into step beside me, and I don’t answer his question. I don’t think he was expecting me to.

‘Nobody says you shouldn’t keep busy, Ellie, it’s just that, all these distractions …’

‘They’re necessary. All of them.’

We stop walking and I turn to face him.

‘Thanks for lunch. That was really kind of you. But you should probably leave now, if you want to miss the worst of the early afternoon traffic.’

‘Dismissing me, huh?’

I smile slightly. I don’t want him to think I’m being a complete bitch. I’m not. I just think we’re wasting time now. ‘Are you coming? To the party?’

‘I’ll be there, you know I will.’

‘Good.’ I reach out and gently touch his arm, giving it a small squeeze as I lean in to quickly kiss his cheek. ‘And I really am grateful for lunch. Sometimes I forget to eat, you know?’

‘Yeah. I know.’

I step back and turn to go.

‘Ellie?’

I spin around, frowning slightly. ‘Yes?’

‘Do you need any help? With the party?’

I shake my head. I can manage. ‘No. Thank you. Michael doesn’t want a huge fuss, so I’ll be fine.’

‘Okay, well, good luck for Friday. And I’ll see you both soon, all right?’

‘Yeah. See you soon.’

I watch him leave, watch as he lifts a hand and drags it back through his hair as he walks away. Is he frustrated with me? I feel as if everyone around me is frustrated. Everyone has something they’re not saying. Something to hide …




Chapter 7 (#ulink_b6a4a488-15d7-57db-a4bc-243e12f08487)


I lean back against the counter and sip my wine, watching as our friends and neighbours chat and laugh. The party’s in full swing now. And as I look around me, it really is as if nothing has changed.

I turn away to refill my glass and I realise how nice it is to have the house full again. It feels good to hear laughter and music, any noise that helps drown out the lingering feeling of guilt.

I take another sip of wine. I need the Dutch courage and just as I’m about to turn back around, plaster on my perfect hostess face and join the party, I feel someone sidle up beside me, feel his hand brush mine as he takes the bottle from me and refills his own glass. I turn my head slightly and I smile at Michael, and his mouth catches mine in an unexpected kiss, which causes a small shiver to course right through me. But I know he’s just playing to the crowd. These brief, snatched moments when we’re in public; when we’re surrounded by people, that’s when I can pretend everything’s how it used to be, how we used to be. Before I questioned everything, before he became swathed in guilt and remorse for something he had no idea could have turned out the way it had.

He pulls back and his eyes meet mine, and I feel a wave of love so strong for this man it almost knocks the breath right out of me. And I wish with all of my heart that I knew how to fix what was broken, I really do. Brushing it under the carpet, ignoring it, that’s become the chosen option. Maybe it’s the only one we have left now, I don’t know.

He smiles at me, cups my cheek in the palm of his hand, his thumb lightly stroking my skin as he leans in to me, his mouth brushing against my ear. ‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he murmurs, his breath warm on my neck, and I bite down on my lip as he steps back from me, throws me one last smile, picks up his wine and walks back out into the party. That’s it. The moment’s gone. He’s played his part, done his bit. But I need him to show me that he loves me. I need him to make me feel as if he means it; make me feel the way he used to make me feel, when we’re alone, not just when we’re surrounded by others. I want him to listen to me and not walk out of a room or make excuses not to talk. I need him. And I love him. Of course I do.

A hand suddenly touching my arm makes me jump back, my heart beating ten to the dozen as I fall back against the counter, struggling to catch my breath.

‘Jesus, Ellie, I’m sorry … I’m sorry.’

‘Oh God. You scared the hell out of me!’ I laugh a bit too loudly to cover up the panic that shot through my body.

I look up at Liam and his expression is genuinely apologetic. He didn’t mean to scare me. ‘It’s fine, really. I’m just exhausted, what with the spa opening yesterday, and organising this party.’

‘The one that Michael didn’t want.’ He leans back against the counter beside me and folds his arms, staring out ahead of him.

‘The one we needed to throw.’

‘Why?’ He turns his head to look at me. ‘Because you want everyone to think everything is normal?’

‘Nothing’s normal any more, Liam. I’m just trying to keep up a pretence, that’s all. It’s what Michael wants. And you didn’t have to come tonight. Not if you didn’t want to.’

‘Michael’s my best friend. You know how important you are to me. Of course I had to come.’

He reaches behind him for the bottle of Scotch on the counter, grabs a tumbler from the tray and pours himself a drink.

‘You should come and join the party. People are starting to ask why you’re hanging around in here.’

I watch him head back out into the crowd, and he’s right. I should go and join the party.

Glancing around me I try to find Michael, but I can’t see him. Maybe he’s outside. It’s a beautiful evening and the orangery doors are wide open, so I look out there. And, yes, there he is, standing at the edge of the decking, a little way away from everyone else who’s ventured outside on this beautiful spring evening. He has his phone to his ear, surprise surprise, his head down. It’ll just be work. Something’s come up, that’s all it’ll be. Nothing is happening here. I know that. Don’t I? He’s just talking to one of his students, a work colleague, nothing is happening.

I can’t stop myself from turning back around to watch my husband. He’s still talking into his phone, his body language only slightly animated, and when he smiles and laughs I feel my stomach dip. Well, as long as he’s fine. He’s not letting what happened affect him. I feel angry, envious that he can just push it aside as if it never happened. I can’t do that. I can’t. I can’t pretend, like he can.

Without thinking I put down my drink and slip away into the hall. I go upstairs. I need a few minutes alone. Going into our room I head over to Michael’s side of the bed, crouching down in front of the small chest of drawers, and for a second I just stay there, I don’t move. Am I really doing this? Is this what it’s come to? Is this the woman I’m turning into?

I reach out and slowly slide open the top drawer, leaning forward to peer inside, but a sudden noise coming from the landing outside makes me jump. I almost fall backwards as I let go of the drawer handle and I have to grab hold of the duvet to steady myself. There are voices outside in the hallway and I realise now that it’s just friends from the party looking for the bathroom. My heart is still hammering away against my ribs.

Deep breath. Calm down, Ellie. I peer back inside the drawer. The contents are lined up neat and tidy – a couple of pens, a notebook, some papers he’s using to help his research. Michael’s writing another book and he likes to make notes before he goes to sleep.

I reach inside and lift up the notebook, but there’s nothing underneath it. Did I think there would be? I open it, still not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but I quickly flick through it anyway. And there’s nothing but page after page of Michael’s ridiculously neat handwriting. What was I expecting to find, exactly? I don’t know, because I’m not thinking straight. I just know that he’s hiding something from me. Again. Something’s going on. Michael’s behaviour – it’s familiar. He’s been like this once before. It’s happening again.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs up underneath myself, the noise and the chatter from the party drifting upstairs. I look at the picture of me and Michael hanging on the wall opposite our bed. One of our wedding photos, blown up and framed in all its perfect glory. Two smiling, incredibly happy people, madly in love. We had everything. We had it all, that perfect life, that exciting future ahead of us. Until it was all snatched away, just like that. We lost it all.

There was a time when I thought nobody knew me better than my husband. When I fell in love with Michael, I fell hard. I fell so hard, because I never thought a man like him could love someone like me. He was the charismatic one, the centre of attention. I was the adoring wife. But he’s underestimated me. You see, I’m not ready to lose my husband. So whatever’s going on, whatever he thinks he can hide from me, I’m going to find out what it is. Whatever it takes.




Chapter 8 (#ulink_6eae7c28-a921-53a2-a626-f52542bf7c78)


‘Do you want some breakfast?’

Michael throws a pile of files down onto the countertop and reaches for the coffee. ‘No, I don’t have time. I’m already late for a meeting with my research students. I’ll grab something at work.’ He takes a sip of coffee, slides a hand onto the small of my back. ‘And where are you going to be spending your day today?’

I turn to face him, his hand moving around to rest on my hip. ‘The spa.’

He smiles, and for a moment everything feels like it used to. He cups my cheek, leans in to kiss me slowly, and I close my eyes and take this moment because it’ll soon be over.

‘I’d better go.’ He steps back from me, throws me one last smile and grabs those files he’d discarded not thirty seconds ago. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

‘Hang on … Michael!’

He stops before he reaches the door, and I can tell from the way his shoulders sag that he’s frustrated. He just wants to get out of here.

‘How about I cook tonight? I’ll get a bottle of that wine you like, make you your favourite …’

‘What’s going on, Ellie?’

I’m actually quite stung by his question, by his tone of voice. It’s verging on suspicious, as though he thinks I’m doing this because I have some kind of ulterior motive. And maybe I do, but only because I’m trying to save something here. I’m trying to save us.

‘I want to cook my husband dinner. There’s nothing strange in that.’

‘You’ve just opened a new business, and when you open a new business you’re usually there more than you’re here. You don’t have time to cook dinner.’

‘I’m making time. Maybe I need to do more of that.’

He throws back his head and sighs quietly, backing off towards the door. ‘No, Ellie, you really need to stop this.’

‘Stop what, Michael?’

‘You’re fishing. I know you want to talk, but it’s over. Done. Finished. I don’t know how many times I can say that. And dragging it back up, it isn’t going to do anyone any good. So you need to stop pretending to be housewife of the year and let’s get back to normal. Okay? Let’s do that.’

I lean back against the counter. My fingers grip the edge. Tight. It makes me angry that he issues instructions and expects me to obey them. He thinks he can control how I’m feeling, but that isn’t his right. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do.

‘Ellie? Look at me.’

I do as he says. I raise my gaze and I look at him, right into his eyes. He has the most beautiful eyes. Piercing. Bright. Almost cobalt blue in colour. Eyes that looked into mine that first night we met, and I knew then that I wanted to be with him.

And his voice, it’s a little less harsh now.

‘We need to move on, Ellie. What happened …’

For a second there’s a connection. Something we very rarely have any more, but right now, I feel its brief but powerful presence.

‘It’s going to be okay. And I need you to believe that, Ellie. I can’t keep telling you, every day. So, I just need you to believe it. Believe me. Please.’

I want to believe him.

I watch as he drops his head, runs his hand along the back of his neck, and then he raises his gaze and his eyes lock on mine. ‘I understand that what happened – what I did … nobody expected you to get over it in a heartbeat, but you said you would. You wanted to. It’s been a while now. Hasn’t it? It’s been a while. Long enough.’

There’s that silence again.

‘You can’t let it take over, Ellie. You can’t, so please, let’s just try and move on. All right?’

He briefly drops his gaze again, and I hear him breathe in deeply, see his shoulders stiffen.

‘I need to go. I’m late.’

I smile and I nod, I let him think he’s won, but I know what he’s doing. I’m the one in control here, not him.

I encourage the kiss he plants on my cheek. I let him go. Watch him leave the kitchen, hear him out in the hall collecting his things together, and I wait until I hear his car drive away before I move. I need to be at the spa in a little over an hour but there’s something I have to do first.

I head upstairs, along the first-floor landing to the set of stairs that lead up to a small roof-space conversion that houses Michael’s office. I know what I need to do. As I approach his office there’s a louder voice inside my head telling me I have no choice.

My husband is distracted. More distracted than usual. He may try to cover it up with charm and smiles and kisses but he needs to be focused on me. His wife.

I push his office door open and walk inside. The room is a cluttered mess of books and files, a wall of shelves filled with more books and papers that have spilled over onto his desk, the floor, but he knows where everything is, or so he tells me. It’s an organised mess, but not the kind I could work in.

I head over to the window, peering outside, just to make sure that he’s gone. It’s all quiet out there, nothing but the sound of birds chattering and the distant noise of traffic. It’s an ordinary, everyday morning.

I sit myself down at his desk, looking at the photographs he’s got scattered about the surface, in amongst the piles of papers and books – us on our wedding day; on holiday, in Andalucía; one of us with Liam taken at a university Christmas party a few years ago. So happy. The three of us. There’ve been no photographs taken in the past year. Nothing on display, nothing anywhere to act as a reminder.

I switch on Michael’s desktop computer. He has his laptop with him, but I’m assuming everything he has stored on that will be on here, too. I feel no guilt, no nerves. This is my right. I scan the icons on his screen, looking for the one I need. One I’m sure he hasn’t password-protected, and then I see it. His tutorial timetable pops open, filling the screen, and my eyes flick over the coloured blocks he uses to distinguish his students. They each have their own personal colour. That’s just the method Michael likes to use and my eyes continue to scan the document. A name in a light-green block, and even though the colour isn’t in any way significant, the name might be. Ava. The only female student he has a tutorial with today. Do I know who she is? No, I don’t. But I know what she might be. There’s a twisted sense of relief as I stare at the screen. I have something to work towards now. I have something to focus on.

Her tutorial is at twelve-thirty this afternoon. Scribbling the time down on a piece of paper I shove it into my pocket as I close the timetable down. I go to switch off the computer when my eyes fall on the email icon staring back at me from the screen, my hand hovering just slightly above the mouse. Do I dare? Is this who I’ve become? Yes. I think, maybe, it is.

My hand falls back onto the mouse and I move it slowly towards that email icon, stopping only briefly as a flicker of rationality creeps in, but it’s soon pushed aside and I click down on the mouse. But whatever it was I was about to do, it’s halted. He’s password-protected his email account. So he does have something to hide.

Shutting the computer down, I get up and go over to the window once more, resting my forehead against the glass as I stare outside at the view, at the surrounding houses in neighbouring fields, all of them set in miles of countryside, green fields dotted with more houses here and there. I can see for miles from up here in the roof space. It’s peaceful and beautiful and this house – I loved this house. When we first moved in here we had so many plans, it was our little corner of the world, our hideaway, a place where no one could get to us. After that night – what happened – my initial reaction was to run, to leave it all behind, everything we’d created here, all those plans. Michael thought that staying here – he thought it was for the best. He thought that facing up to it all might help fix what was broken, but maybe it can’t be fixed?

Finding the slip of paper I’d pushed into my pocket just a few seconds ago, I start to play with it, twisting it between my fingers. I can almost feel the lies, they’re so real to me now. I know they’re there, I know he’s telling them. I’m …

Something crashes downstairs.

Jesus!

It’s just the post – that noise that nearly stopped my heart beating, it was just the post being pushed through the door. I know that. The postman is walking down our driveway. I got such a shock I’ve hit my head slightly on the glass. A dull ache spreads across my forehead. I need to stop this. I need to pull myself together.

I get up and walk out onto the small landing here on the top floor. There are only three rooms at the top of the house – Michael’s office, a tiny bathroom and a box room that Michael uses to store his overflow of books, files and papers. I very rarely come up here. It’s Michael’s floor, really. His space.

Back down on the first floor I slip into our bedroom, tidy myself up. I tie my hair back, apply a little more make-up. I’m painting on that mask again, putting up that shield. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Ellie Travers stares back. Confident businesswoman. Loving wife. Loving wife who’s snooping around her husband’s things. What are you not telling me, Michael?

As I turn to head back downstairs, something catches my attention. I can hear something, a noise; it’s vague, a low, heavy rumbling … where’s it coming from? It’s getting louder and there are raised voices now, they’re outside. Shouting. I quickly move into the empty bedroom to my right to get a better look out the window, my heart beating so fast I think it might explode. There’s someone outside. Is it her?

Get a hold of yourself, Ellie. It can’t be.

As the refuse lorry rumbles down the lane my eyes close with relief. All I heard was the bins being emptied. That’s all. My paranoia, that unwelcome rush of anxiety, it’s ramping up when it should be waning now. I should be able to deal with it all, after fourteen months. But I can’t. Or I won’t. I don’t know.

It’s then I realise which room I’m standing in. It’s empty. There isn’t even a bed in here. The walls are painted a bight lemon yellow and the carpet’s a soft, plush cream pile, but that’s all there is – painted walls and cream carpet. Maybe we’ll get around to making this more of a room and less of an empty space one day, but not yet. There’s no hurry. It’s not as if we need another guest room right now.

The view is pretty from this room. It gets a lot of sun in the afternoon, on the days when the sun dares to make an appearance. That’s why I painted the walls yellow, to make the most of the sunshine. I wanted this to be a bright and happy room.

The sound of my phone ringing out from the kitchen startles me. It’s becoming exhausting now, this almost constant fear that something is going to happen. I need to get my shit together.

Closing the door, I run downstairs towards the ringing phone. It’s Carmen, at the spa. It’s time to focus. But as I listen to Carmen’s update, my fingers curl around the scrap of paper in my pocket. This is far from over.

I love my husband.

My husband loves me.

Nothing, and nobody, is getting in the way of that.

*

‘Ellie! How lovely to see you!’

Sue’s smile beams out as I walk into the outer space that houses Michael’s office, and the offices of two of his fellow English professors. It’s a bustling, busy area comprising three desks for the secretaries, countless filing cabinets, a large table with two desktop computers on it at the back of the room, next to a huge wall of windows that look out over university grounds, an old battered leather sofa positioned beside a large, ornate fireplace, which Sue always makes sure is decorated beautifully at Christmas, and a small kitchen area with a kettle, microwave and a Belfast sink. It’s actually all rather homely, given that it’s a workspace.

‘Are you here to see Michael?’

‘I was just on my way to the spa, and seeing as I was passing I thought I might pop in, say hello. Bring him some lunch. Is he in his office?’

‘I think he’s just finishing a lecture, but he’s due back any minute now. He’s got tutorials this lunchtime. Can I get you a coffee? A cup of tea?’

‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I’ll just wait, if that’s okay.’

‘Of course it is … Oh, speak of the devil. Here he is.’

I turn to see Michael stride through the door, his expression a mixture of surprise tinged with something else – is that anger? But then his expression quickly changes and he smiles at me, that easy-going smile I’m all-too familiar with. He wasn’t quick enough. I can tell he’s using that smile to mask something; whatever it is he’s hiding from me.

I know what you’re doing, Michael. I’m your wife. Remember?

‘Darling? What are you doing here?’ He takes a step towards me, leans in and gently plants a kiss on my cheek, that smile still there on his handsome face.

‘I was on my way to the spa and I just thought I’d pop in and bring you some lunch, seeing as you missed breakfast this morning.’

His eyes meet mine. It feels as if he’s searching my soul. ‘Sue, can you stick the kettle on, please?’

‘Of course. Are you sure you don’t want anything, Ellie?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Michael nudges his office door open with his shoulder. ‘I’ve got tutorials in a few minutes. Did you want to see me about anything in particular?’

‘I was just passing. I thought it might be nice to drop by and say hello, that’s all. Does there have to be a reason for your wife to pop in and see you?’

He glances over at Sue, but she’s in the kitchen area chatting to April, one of the other secretaries. They can’t hear us.

‘It’s just not something you make a habit of. It never has been.’

‘Do you want me to leave?’

I can’t stop the slightly irritated edge to my tone and he narrows his eyes as he looks at me.

‘No, Ellie, I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t have a lot of time. Like I said, I have tutorials.’

Sue comes back over and hands Michael his coffee, his face breaking into a smile as he takes the mug from her.

‘Thank you, Sue.’

He turns his attention back to me.

‘Come inside. I’ve got a few minutes to spare before my first student gets here.’

I follow him into his office and close the door behind me. He puts down the pile of folders and books he was carrying and leans back against his desk, folding his arms, his eyes boring into mine.

I don’t think he wants me here, and I know why. But I’m not going anywhere, yet.

I go over to him, take hold of his shirt collar, my lips brushing the side of his neck as I lean in to him. ‘You said you had a few minutes,’ I murmur, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, my fingers playing with his hair, stroking his skin.

He lets out a low groan as I press myself against him, drops his hand to my bottom as I kiss him. It doesn’t take much, Michael, does it?

‘Do you remember those days when you’d come visit me at work, at the salon?’ I whisper, as his fingers dig into my thigh, push me harder against him. ‘You’d meet me for lunch but we’d always end up never leaving my office. Remember?’ I push his head back slightly so I can look at him, look right into those beautiful blue eyes. ‘Those days when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I miss those days. Don’t you?’

His hand slides up under my dress and I gasp quietly as he touches me, as his lips brush the base of my throat, his thumb stroking my inner thigh.

He takes hold of my hips and swings me around, pushes me back against his desk. I wind my fingers in his hair and pull him down. I kiss him. I breathe him in because I love him. My husband. My husband.

I wrap my legs around him, feel his hand on my lower back push me against him, and then, almost as if a switch has been flicked, he steps back from me, drops his gaze for a second or two. And when he raises it I can see how on edge he is now.

‘What’s all this about, Ellie?’

‘What’s all this about?’ I frown, but his expression doesn’t waver. ‘When did stopping by your office become something you’re suspicious of?’

‘It isn’t, I just …’ He sighs quietly and pushes a hand back through his hair. ‘It just isn’t what you do. Bringing me lunch, dropping by to say hello. That isn’t what you do. You’ve never done that, so why now?’

‘Now I have a business not fifteen minutes away from your office, Michael.’

I watch as his expression turns from one of suspicion to one of guilt, almost. But he still wants me to leave. He isn’t making a secret of that. It’s written all over his face. He wants me to go. But that only makes me more determined to go through with this, because I need to know now. I need to fucking know.

‘Look, Ellie, I know things have been a bit strained lately …’

He leaves that sentence hanging and I almost laugh at his simplified summing up of the past few months. He thinks things have been strained lately? Things have been strained for a long time now; he just chooses to ignore that fact. But I don’t want him to be suspicious of anything, not now. I can’t risk that. If he thinks I’m being irrational or that my behaviour is changing – if he is hiding something, that would only alert him to that fact, give him a chance to cover his tracks. And I need to know if something’s going on. I need to know if there’s something – someone – standing in the way of me getting through to my husband. Something that threatens us. I need to know that. I need to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself, because he sure as hell isn’t doing that. I have a mission now, something to focus on, something that’s giving me back a little bit of that control I felt I was losing.

‘Anyway, I really need to prepare for this tutorial …’ He slides his hands into his pockets and walks behind his desk, firing up his laptop, ‘and I’m sure there are things you need to be getting on with.’

I watch him for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to the laptop screen, and then he checks his watch and I’m sensing a slight hint of irritation coming from him now. He really does want me to go, right now. Is there a reason for that? Is it guilt? More guilt? He doesn’t want me to come face to face with this student who’s about to turn up here, at his office, for their lunchtime tutorial, is that it? Is that why he wants me gone? Because his body language, Jesus, it’s screaming at me to leave.

‘Yes. You’re right, there are lots of things I need to be getting on with.’

I look back over my shoulder, outside into the outer office, but there’s no one out there except Sue and April. It’s quiet, even though it’s lunchtime.

‘I should be home for dinner.’

His voice causes my head to shoot back around.

‘Providing nothing comes up, of course. You know how it is sometimes.’

Yes. I know how it is. I know how it’s become. I know ‘sometimes’ is turning into ‘most of the time’, and I feel my stomach twist itself up into a tight knot as I catch him checking his watch again.

‘Okay, well, I’ll see you tonight.’ I reach into my bag and take out a small plastic box, placing it down on Michael’s desk. ‘Your lunch.’

He looks down at the box, but he just leaves it there. He doesn’t touch it.

‘Are you going to be working late?’ he asks, raising his gaze, and I look at him. His expression is verging on hopeful. Is that what it’s really come to now? How desperate he’s become to make sure we spend as little time alone together as possible?

‘No. I don’t intend to be. I’m learning to delegate more, Michael. I’m trying not to drown in my work quite so much, not when there are other things I need to concentrate on.’

I don’t know whether he can read between the lines of that sentence, whether he realises that that was a dig, a hint. I don’t know if he’d even acknowledge it if he had. But even though I leave his office, leave the outer office, I don’t leave the building. I didn’t come here to waste this chance, to not see what I need to see, I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to bring Michael lunch. That was nothing more than my excuse.

I remain outside in the corridor, stepping back against the wall alongside a large display cabinet and I pull out my phone. I check the time. If she’s the punctual type she should be here any second. I’m feeling strangely invigorated. The rush of adrenaline is both breathtaking and frightening and I don’t know who I’ve become, how I got to this point. I just know I can’t leave it alone now.

The sound of chatter coming from the entrance invites my attention and I turn my head slightly, putting my phone to my ear as I embark on a fake conversation. A group of three young women stop outside the open door to the outer office I’ve just left. They chat for a few seconds before saying their goodbyes and I watch as two of them head off in separate directions, leaving one still there outside the office. I’m guessing that’s Ava. She’s dressed in an unflattering long sweater and boyfriend jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, but she seems pretty enough. And as she glances back over her shoulder, casting a wave in the direction of someone I can’t see from where I’m standing, she smiles and her whole face lights up. She’s really pretty, actually. The knot in my stomach returns, pulling tighter as I see Michael come to the door, watch as she turns around to face him, and her expression changes again, her smile growing wider. As does Michael’s. They start talking, but I obviously can’t hear what they’re saying and I shrink back into the shadows, just in case Michael’s gaze wanders, but he seems too focused on her.

I keep the phone to my ear, although I’ve stopped pretending to talk into it, I’m too busy watching my husband. I watch Michael lay a hand gently on the small of her back, guiding her inside. I’m almost sick in my mouth.

I slide my phone into my pocket as I calmly walk outside, but the second air hits me I have to stop and lean back against the wall. My heart’s still beating wildly and that knot in my stomach is so tight now it hurts, but I know what I saw – the way he smiled at her, touched her; the look on her face the second she saw him. I know that look only too well.




Chapter 9 (#ulink_e58b5c60-fb2d-56a5-9f2e-6f43a8aa33de)


I’m in the kitchen, cooking a dinner I’m not sure we’ll finish eating when Michael finally gets home. We may not even start, I don’t know. I’m just trying to keep up some kind of routine.

I glance up at the clock as I hear him out in the hall, and I feel that familiar ache in the pit of my stomach, that nervous anticipation, that worry – is tonight the night something changes?

A loud crash from the garden startles me.

‘Ellie?’

Michael runs into the kitchen, crouches down to pick the wooden spoon I’ve dropped in shock up off the floor.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I … I heard something, out there. Out in the garden. And the security light … the light’s been triggered.’

He goes over to the back door and I close my eyes as I wait for him. I’m so on edge these days. Lack of sleep and working too hard, I guess it’s all building up. It’s coming to a head. I love my husband but we never were tied to each other. But now – now I dread being alone. I’d rather have Michael here, rather endure the silences and that painful gap that’s growing wider between us as each day goes by; I’d rather have that than be alone. Here. In this house.

‘It was just a fox.’

I look up as Michael comes back inside; watch him as he locks the door, I watch him closely. Has he flicked both locks?

‘They knocked a couple of pots over, that’s all.’

‘Okay.’

He comes a little closer and I crave his warmth, his attention.

‘Everything’s fine, Ellie. All right? It was just a fox.’

He steps back and the gulf between us widens again.

‘I’m going to grab a quick shower before dinner.’

I nod and return to the stove.

The doorbell ringing makes me jump again and I take a second to pull myself together before I go out into the hall, checking the small black and white security monitor by the door first to see who’s outside. It’s only Liam.

‘Hey …’ He frowns. ‘Are you okay?’

I fold my arms and throw him a small smile. ‘I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. When did you get back from Berlin?’

‘Landed about an hour ago. I’m on my way home from the airport, but I found this in my car, Michael must’ve left it there. And as I have to pass your place on the way to mine, I thought I might as well drop it off.’

I take the jacket Liam holds out, his fingers accidently brushing mine as I gather it up, laying it over the crook of my arm.

‘Thanks. Do you want to stay for dinner? I’ve got a casserole on the stove. There’s plenty.’

He shakes his head and steps back from the door. ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got a meeting first thing, not to mention copious notes to write up for a conference I’m attending next week, so …’ He shrugs and gives me an apologetic smile, ‘I’ll pick up a take-away on the way home. Are you sure you’re okay?’

I nod and try to muster up a more convincing smile. ‘Yes. Michael’s just grabbing a shower, then we’re going to have dinner, maybe grab an early night.’

Liam drops his gaze, scuffing the toe of his boot against the step, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything and even when he raises his gaze he just smiles at me again as he starts to walk backwards towards his car. ‘I’ll see you later, huh?’

‘Yeah. Later.’

I close the door before his car’s left our driveway, flicking the locks and double-checking them before I hang up Michael’s jacket. And I’m about to go back into the kitchen. I should check on that casserole, but I don’t. I stop and I glance quickly up the stairs. I can hear Michael moving around up there. I can hear his voice. He’s talking to someone.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to look at the jacket Liam’s just returned. It really has come to this.

I slide a hand into one of the pockets and feel around inside but there’s nothing in there. So I try another pocket. Still nothing. But I’m sure this jacket has an inside pocket and I reach around to find it. And the second I put my hand in there I feel it. A slip of paper. A receipt, maybe? I pull it out and look at it. It is a receipt, for lunch at a Spanish restaurant in the city. The same restaurant we used to love going to, but we haven’t been there for a long time now. We haven’t been there, but he obviously has, and I check the date – it was a few days ago, his lunchtime visit. Just a few days ago. I scan the receipt more closely. Definitely a meal for two. He wasn’t alone.

Shoving the receipt back into his pocket I glance up the stairs again. His voice is a little more muffled now. It’s barely audible. He must’ve gone into his office. It isn’t Liam he’s talking to … so who is it?

Climbing the stairs, carefully, quietly, I try to avoid those steps that I know have creaking floorboards. He’s still just that little bit too far away for me to make out what he’s saying.

I make my way along the first-floor landing, again moving slowly so as not to make a sound, but I stop when I reach the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the top floor. His voice is a little louder now, but he’s definitely inside his office and the door is closed, so whatever he’s saying – whoever he’s talking to, I still can’t make anything out. And then it goes quiet, and I hear him moving about again, so I turn to go, but he’s already coming down the stairs. I dart into our bedroom, pretend to look for something I don’t need.

‘Ellie?’

I turn around and he’s standing there, in the doorway.

‘I needed a change of shirt. I splashed something on this one.’

He comes over to me, takes the shirt I don’t need from my hand and tosses it onto the bed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to change my …’

‘Why were you really at the university today?’

I laugh quietly, fold my arms across my chest and step back from him, shaking my head. ‘You think I had some ulterior motive for dropping by to leave you lunch?’

‘I don’t know what to think, Ellie. I don’t. I mean, there are times when you’re fine, you’re good; times when everything is normal …’

‘You think everything is normal, Michael?’

He takes a step towards me, reaches out to take my hand and I let him, his fingers curling around mine. It’s a feeling I’m so unfamiliar with now, him touching me, so when it happens, even under these kind of circumstances, I take it. Because I just want to feel him touch me again.

I drop my gaze and look at his hand holding mine.

‘Please, Ellie, don’t do this.’

‘Who were you talking to? Just now?’

He lets go of me and narrows his eyes, pushing a hand back through his hair. ‘Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? You turn up at the university, out of the blue, you demand to know who I’m talking to … whatever the hell you think is going on it’s all in your head, okay?’ He jabs the side of his temple hard as he says that, his eyes darkening as he stares at me. Yeah, he’s angry. So am I. I’ve been angry for a long time. I have every right to be. ‘And that call was to Neil Haywood, a colleague of mine from Edinburgh. He’s visiting the university next week for a guest lecture. I just wanted to make sure he has all the details he needs before he gets here.’ He pulls his phone from his back pocket and holds it out to me. ‘Go on. Check my call history if you don’t believe me.’

I lean back against the wall and fold my arms tighter against myself. I don’t know what to feel now. I don’t. ‘I’m not going to do that.’

‘Look at me.’

I slowly raise my gaze, my eyes meeting his. The darkness has lifted slightly. He’s trying to understand what’s going on in my head.

‘Nothing is going on. Okay? Nothing’s happening, everything is fine. And you can’t – you can’t keep doing this, it’s not healthy.’

I pick up the shirt he threw down on the bed and slide it back onto the hanger.

‘Ellie? Are you listening to me?’

‘I’m not one of your students, Michael. Don’t talk to me like I am.’ I swing back around to face him. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer it if I was one of your students.’

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing …’ I start to walk away, out of the room. I’m done here.

‘No, you don’t get to walk away like that. Jesus … Ellie!’

I stop in the doorway, but I don’t turn around.

‘Ellie?’

I stay still, I don’t move. I just lean against the doorpost and sigh.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly, and I ache for him to touch me, to make all this shit go away. I want it all to go away. I want my husband back. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m just tired.’

Excuses. That’s all they are. He makes them regularly. He’s too tired to talk, too exhausted to go over it all again. Didn’t the counsellor help us? She helped him. Nothing helped me. But even she never got the full story, did she? And he’s still okay with that. I’m not.

‘How about we eat dinner, then have an early night, hmm?’

I slowly turn around. I look at him, but his eyes – he doesn’t look at me the way he used to look at me. There’s always a hint of something else there now. Is it pity? I want my fucking husband back.

‘When I tell you I love you, Ellie, I mean it.’

‘I know.’ Liar.

‘That’s what we need to concentrate on, okay? Us. Everything else – all of that, it’s in the past. It’s over. It’s over. I promise.’

Michael – he needs a distraction, something to stop him from going over and over it all in his head; something to take away his guilt. I think he needs that. And I think he’s found her, his distraction. My husband’s lying to me and that’s not right. None of this is right.

‘It’s over,’ I whisper. I’m just telling him what he wants to hear, and whether he believes that or not – no. He’ll believe it. He’ll tell himself that he’s managed to pacify me. That’s exactly what he’ll do. Because he’s done it before, so many times.

He smiles and he takes a step forward. Yet, when he touches me, as his thumb gently strokes my jawline, his mouth lowering down onto mine, I actually let myself believe that everything’s fine. It’s all going to be all right. But that only lasts a second because, okay, he’s kissing me, and the kiss is soft and warm but there’s no passion there. That rarely makes an appearance now. We barely touch each other in that way any more, and when we do have sex it’s as though we just go through with it every so often to tell ourselves something, and I don’t even know what that something is. It feels as if we’re clinging onto what remnants of a relationship we have left, and that breaks my heart a million times over. I want it to be so different. I want him to want me the way he used to want me, fuck me the way he used to fuck me.

‘Michael …’

He slides his thumb over my mouth, silencing me, shaking his head as his eyes stare deep into mine. ‘No, Ellie.’ He steps back from me, slips his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower, then we’ll eat. Okay?’

Nothing is okay.

I know he’s lying.

I know he’s hiding something.

I know that he wants me to move on and forget, but I can’t do that.

I won’t, do that …




Chapter 10 (#ulink_f0e17858-a564-5b00-96a1-a45e1803d91d)


I throw my bag down on the floor and lock the front door behind me, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards me, just to make sure it’s secure.

I know Michael’s home, his car’s in the driveway, he’s early. It’s just gone four-thirty and I’ve only popped back myself to pick up some papers I need from my office for a meeting at the spa in an hour.

I glance through into the living room as I walk past, but it’s all quiet in there. He isn’t in the kitchen either, so he must be upstairs.

I go to my office, find the papers I need and head back out into the hall, sliding the files into my bag before I make my way upstairs. And I’m about to call out Michael’s name, but I stop myself. I can smell paint. Fresh paint. We aren’t decorating, we haven’t talked about making any changes, haven’t talked about repainting anything.

I climb the stairs slowly, and when I reach the landing, when I see where Michael is, what room he’s in, it feels as though someone’s reached into my chest and yanked out my heart.

‘What are you doing?’

He spins around, almost dropping the paintbrush in his hand. ‘Ellie! I didn’t expect you home just yet. I wanted to surprise you.’

I look around me. Three of the walls are still sunflower yellow, but the wall he’s standing in front of is now half-painted a deep purple colour.

‘Don’t,’ I whisper.

He frowns. He doesn’t understand, but he should.

‘Put the brush down.’

‘Ellie …’

‘Put the fucking brush down, Michael.’

He narrows his eyes, watches me as I move towards him. And then it hits me, like a volcano erupting inside of me. The anger. The pain. It spills out of me, so fast I can’t control it.

I run towards him, snatch the brush from his hand and I slap him. Once. Twice. Again, harder. I want to lash out, hurt him, the way he’s hurt me, by doing this. But he grabs my wrist, he grips it tight, because I’m fighting this. I’m fighting him.

‘You had no right to do this.’ I hiss, my eyes burning into his. ‘You don’t touch this room, you don’t do that.’

‘Ellie, we talked about this …’

I wrench my wrist free of his grip. ‘No, Michael, you talked about this. And I told you I didn’t want it. Not yet. It’s too soon.’

‘You weren’t thinking straight back then.’

I look at him. I shake my head. What happened to us? ‘Fuck you.’

‘Jesus Christ, Ellie, come on!’

‘Put it back how it was and don’t touch it again.’

‘This isn’t rational behaviour.’

‘And you’re not being fair.’

‘Ellie …’

‘Leave this room alone. Do you hear me? Leave this room alone.’

*

‘I don’t think he meant to hurt you, Ellie.’

Liam hands me a bottle of beer and sits down opposite me at a table out in the pub’s riverside beer garden. I needed to talk to someone. I needed a friend.

‘Did you know what he was going to do?’

‘No, I didn’t, but, you know, maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time to do something about …’

The look I shoot him shuts him up, but his frustrated sigh tells me he’s on Michael’s side over this one.

‘I’m sorry, I just think …’

‘I don’t care what you think.’

His eyes meet mine. ‘You should care what I think. You should try listening to people every now and again because, contrary to what you might think, they’re only trying to help you.’

I hold his gaze. ‘And is that what you’re doing? Are you only trying to help me?’

He doesn’t answer that. He just continues to stare right into me, until I finally break the stare, looking down at my beer.

‘I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.’

‘You don’t need to fight all the time. You don’t always need to be so defensive. People care about you. Let them do that. People worry about you. I worry about you.’

‘He shouldn’t have done it. Not without talking to me first. He was wrong to do what he did. He was wrong.’

I glance out over the river. It’s a beautiful evening, warm and sunny, and the banks of the river are busy with people out for a walk, enjoying a drink, making the most of the good weather we’ve been having lately. I’ve always liked it here.

‘Hey.’

Liam’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts and I turn to face him. He smiles at me and that, somehow, makes me feel a little better. That smile.

‘I’d like to think that’s what I’m trying to do, Ellie. I’d like to think I’m trying to help you.’

I leave a beat or two before I say anything and I smile back. ‘You are.’

He is.

Helping me …




Chapter 11 (#ulink_bd6c2754-1c6e-5514-ae50-8b17e17f92b3)


It’s Saturday and I’m busy going over the books from the Durham salon. I’m popping in there later, after I’ve dropped by the spa. My new business is really taking off and I’m so lucky to have an amazing team of people looking after the place because I can’t be there all the time. I have four businesses to oversee, so I need a good strong team of people behind me, to help me. I have that.

I look up as Michael walks into the kitchen, throwing his kit-bag onto the floor before he goes to get himself a cup of coffee. I’m still angry at him for what he did yesterday, but I’m not letting him see just how much it affected me. He didn’t do it out of malice, I get that now, but he still should have understood why I reacted the way I did. But, like everything else, we haven’t spoken about it any more. It’s become something else we’ve just swept under the carpet.

‘You’re going out?’

He looks at me, leaning back against the counter as he takes a sip of his coffee. ‘It’s Saturday. I always go to the squash club on a Saturday.’

Not always. He never used to go every Saturday, but lately – yeah, lately it’s been that way.

‘What’s the problem? You’re going to work, so …’

‘There’s no problem.’

He takes another sip of coffee, puts down his mug before he heads back towards the door, and as he passes me he gently squeezes my shoulder, drops a quick kiss on my forehead. ‘Have a good day, darling. I’ll see you later.’

He goes back over to his bag, picking it up and throwing it over his shoulder. I drop my gaze, go back to checking over those books. ‘What time are you going to be home?’

‘I’ll probably grab some lunch with the guys, and then I need to stop by the university later to pick up some papers, so, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

I look up to see his retreating figure head out into the hall, watch as he stops by the line of coats hanging up by the door, his eyes falling on that jacket Liam returned.

‘Liam dropped it off a couple of nights ago. Said you must’ve left it in his car.’

I continue to watch as he rummages around in the pockets. Oh Michael, I know what you’re looking for. I can’t quite see from where I’m sitting, but the fact that he puts his hand straight into his jeans pocket makes me think he’s slipped that receipt in there.

He says nothing more to me as he lets himself out and closes the door behind him.

I get up and go out into the hall. Glancing down at the security monitor I watch as Michael’s car pulls out of the driveway and I turn around and take his jacket off the hook by the door, immediately feeling around for the inside pocket. It’s empty. He did take that receipt out of there, but I check the other pockets anyway. I might have missed something. No. They’re all empty.

I hang the jacket back up and sit down on the stairs, dragging my hands back through my hair. Our Saturdays, they used to be good. They used to be something we enjoyed. If I had to work then, yes, he’d play squash, maybe organise something with Liam. But if I wasn’t working we’d always do something, even if it was just going into Durham to look around the shops, take a walk along the river, have lunch outside if the weather was good. We’d always do something, together. Now it seems he can’t wait to be apart from me.

I stay there, at the bottom of the stairs, for a good few minutes, just staring at that small black and white security monitor, even though nothing is happening. It’s all quiet outside, but I keep staring at our empty driveway, at the shrubs and pots of flowers that dot the gravel and block-paved space. It’s all quiet.

Suddenly I don’t want to be here, in this house, alone. I get up, grab my coat, and I let myself out. I’m not going in to work, not yet. There’s nothing urgent waiting for me. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I need to get away from here, for a while. I need to be somewhere else. So I get in my car and I drive. I turn up the radio and I try to drown out that silence I’m so tired of now. I just drive, until I find myself passing a supermarket. I pull into the car park, stop the car and turn the music up a little louder, and for a few minutes I sit there, listening to a song I don’t know as I look out around me, at people going about their lives with no idea how much mine has changed. So much, I don’t recognise it any more. And then that numbness hits me again, washing over me with a breathtaking speed, and I breathe in deeply, try to compose myself because I can’t sit here all day. I have to do something.

Reaching over onto the passenger seat I grab my bag. I can’t remember if I put my purse in there before I left the house. Yes, it’s there, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll go and do the food shop. I’ll do something mundane and ordinary and try to forget all the crap that’s complicating my once beautiful, perfect life. But as I walk across the car park it’s as if all eyes are on me, as though every person here can see my pain so clearly, a loneliness that’s so glaringly obvious to everyone I can almost feel their pitying looks boring into my back as I pass them. So I keep my head down, grab a shopping trolley from outside the store and go inside. But I still feel exposed, and yet, at the same time, it’s as if I’m the only one here. I’m in a busy supermarket, surrounded by noise and chatter, and yet, I feel alone.

I raise my head slightly, just to see where I am, which aisle I’ve just walked into and I stop by the milk, my eyes scanning the shelves, but I’m looking at everything and seeing nothing. So I just reach out and grab something, anything. I don’t care. Just putting something into the trolley fills me with a sense of relief, as if I’m less exposed now I’ve actually started to do what I came in here to do. What did I come in here to do? I did a big food shop two days ago, there’s nothing else we really need.

I continue my slow walk up the aisle, glancing at the shelves as I pass, watching as everyone around me picks up items, talks to the person they’re with. Almost everyone is with someone. But even those who are alone don’t seem to have that weight on their shoulders that I feel I carry constantly now. They’re walking around with a sense of purpose, while I don’t even know what I’m doing in here. I have one carton of milk in the trolley and no idea what else I’m looking for. So I just start to grab things, anything – a can of soup, a packet of pasta, bread, cereal, teabags, even though I know we don’t need any of it. I want to get out of here now. It’s time to go to work. I need to take my mind off all of this. I need to grab onto reality.

‘Ellie?’

A voice behind me makes me jump, causing me to drop the jar of marmalade I was holding, and I watch as it clatters against the metal of the shopping trolley, landing on its side next to a loaf of bread.

‘You not at work this morning?’

I look up. It’s Liam. And my eyes lock on his for less than a heartbeat before I drop my gaze, glancing down at the basket in his hand. It’s filled with things he probably does need, as opposed to my randomly filled trolley. ‘I’m on my way to the Durham salon. I just needed to pick up a few things first.’

And then I realise something and I frown, and he doesn’t miss that change in my expression. ‘Is there something wrong, Ellie?’

‘I thought you’d be at the squash club this morning.’

‘I was. I’ve just come from there, but there’s nothing happening. Most of the guys are away on business this weekend, so there’s not really a lot going on.’

‘Was Michael there?’

It’s his turn to frown, and that causes my stomach to twist up into that all-too-familiar knot of fear, anxiety once more taking over. ‘No, he wasn’t.’

‘It’s just that – he said he was going there. This morning, when he left the house. He said he was going to the club.’

‘Well, I didn’t see him …’

More lies. My husband. The liar.

I start to push the trolley towards the check-outs, but Liam puts a hand on my arm to stop me, and I stare down at his fingers grasping my wrist.

‘Is something wrong, Ellie?’

He repeats that question and I just look at him. I don’t want this conversation here. In fact, I’m not sure if I want this conversation at all.

‘Okay. Let’s go for a coffee.’

‘I need to get to the salon.’

I try to push the trolley away again but his fingers tighten around my wrist. ‘We’re going to grab some lunch, all right?’ He loosens his grip on me and I drop my gaze again, eyeing those random items of food in my trolley. ‘All right?’

‘Yes. Okay.’ I look up at him and I don’t know if I feel angry or sad or frustrated. I don’t know. I just know that my husband is lying to me. ‘Let’s go.’

Liam smiles, but I don’t smile back. I’m not really in the mood for smiling. I’m not really in the mood for lunch, either, but I don’t think I have much choice as far as that’s concerned. And I know that Liam – he’s going to try and take my mind off something that can’t be ignored, but ultimately, he’s going to fail. Because I can’t ignore it. I can’t ignore any of it. Not any more …

*

‘You’re selling the house?’

I’ve become so selfish lately, so consumed with my own problems that I forget to take notice of what’s going on in our friends’ lives. But Liam’s our closest friend, and I had no idea the repercussions of his divorce had come to this.

‘Well, Keeley wants her half of the equity.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s time to move on, I guess.’

‘I’m assuming you’ll be looking to buy a new place of your own?’

‘I’ve been checking out a few properties, yes.’

‘Anywhere in particular?’

‘Somewhere between Durham and Newcastle, I thought. That would make my commute to the lab a little easier, seeing as I’m there most of the time at the minute. But I’m definitely looking for a smaller place. If it’s just going to be me.’

His eyes meet mine and I look down, reaching for the salt at the exact same time that he does, our hands clashing together, and I quickly pull mine back, laughing as he does the same.

‘Ladies first.’ He smiles and I return it. I’m glad I bumped into him now. I’m glad of the company. I don’t think I’d really wanted to be alone today. It’s just that house, the irrational feelings it can kick up inside me sometimes.

‘Ellie?’

I hadn’t realised I’d drifted off. ‘I used to have friends, Liam.’

‘You still have friends.’

I raise my gaze and my eyes once more meet his. ‘They’re all too scared to be alone with me these days. It’s fine, in a crowd, at parties, weddings … They don’t know what to say to me. I mean, they think me and Michael are fine, but they still don’t know what to say …’

I leave that sentence hanging and drop my head again, watching as I absentmindedly fiddle with the salt shaker.

‘They’re still there. All of them. They’re still there.’

I slowly look back up and I smile slightly. I have to stop this self-pity because he’s right. My friends are still there, they haven’t distanced themselves from me, it’s the other way around. I’m the one who can’t face the girls’ nights out or the weekends away. I’m still being invited, I’m just making excuses not to go.

‘You need your friends. You need me.’

‘Yes. I do.’

He breaks the stare and looks down, picking up his fork, although all he does is move his food around the plate a bit.

‘That jacket you dropped back for Michael a couple of nights ago …’

He raises his head, his eyes back on mine. ‘What about it?’

‘I found something. In the pocket.’

He frowns, putting down his fork. ‘Found what?’

‘A receipt. For that Spanish restaurant – the one me and Michael used to go to regularly.’

He’s slightly confused now, I can tell.

‘It was for lunch there. A few days ago.’

‘So?’

‘So, we haven’t been there for a long time. Not since … It was our place. Why would he go there without me? And who was he with, huh? Who did he take?’

Liam sighs and it’s one filled with frustration as he picks up his fork and resumes eating. He isn’t even entertaining this conversation. And I want to tell him I dropped by the university, I want to tell him that, too; tell him what I saw, but I stop myself, I pull back because I’m not sure he wants to hear that, either.

‘I think I’m losing him, Liam.’

He keeps his head down and I watch him, the way he stabs his pasta with a fork, the sound of metal hitting china loud enough for me to hear above the noise of the busy bistro.

‘When he touches me, which isn’t all that often, it doesn’t feel like it used to. He doesn’t feel like he used to.’

‘Have you talked to him?’ Liam asks, but he keeps his head down. And there’s a slight edge to his voice, a hint of frustration, and I don’t want to push him away too, I really don’t.

‘I’ve tried. But you know how it is, he doesn’t want to listen.’

Liam looks up and sits back in his seat, his eyes finally meeting mine.

‘I love him, Liam. And yes, I’ve told him that. He knows I love him. And I know – I think he loves me …’

‘You think he loves you?’

I break the stare this time, glancing around the bistro at couples and families and groups of friends all enjoying lunch. The place is full of laughter and excited gossip, conversations that aren’t darkened with unfounded suspicion and doubt, like mine are.

‘How long is it going to take? How much more do we have to go through before it pulls us so far apart we can’t ever come back together?’

‘I can’t answer that, Ellie, you know I can’t.’ He sighs again, running a hand back through his dark-blonde hair, and I turn my head back around to look at him, but he’s turned his attention to the people around us now. And I just watch him for a few seconds. I try to read his expression and I start to feel that guilt hit me again. I keep dragging him into this, into my and Michael’s problems, but he was involved too, to some extent. He went through it with us; he knows how hard it’s all been. He understands. He’s been there for me. More than Michael has. But I still feel that guilt, sometimes.

‘Surely we didn’t go through all that shit just to lose everything?’ I say quietly, and I wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t, not really. Instead he checks his watch and continues to eat as though I hadn’t uttered a word, hadn’t asked that question.

‘What if he keeps putting those barriers up?’

Again, no response.

‘I know Michael’s hiding something.’

He finally looks up, laying down his fork, his attention is on me now. ‘Hiding what?’

‘I don’t know … I don’t know anything for sure, I just …’ I sit back. I can feel that weariness start to flood my body again. That doubt, that uncertainty, it’s rushing forward, threatening to overwhelm me, but then I remember what I saw, at Michael’s office. I remember the way she looked at him, the way he looked at her. I remember that. I remember what’s gone before too. I remember the past. And now that doubt and uncertainty is being chased away by a fire in my belly. I have a mission, right? I have a job to do. ‘He’s looking for a distraction.’

‘And you’re not?’

Liam looks at me, right into my eyes, and I drop my gaze, because he’s right. We’re both looking for distractions. We both need them, and that’s part of the problem. ‘I saw her.’

‘Saw who?’

‘Ava.’

I wasn’t going to say anything about this, but I really can’t stop myself. I can’t.

‘Who the hell is Ava?’

‘One of Michael’s students …’

‘Jesus Christ …’ He throws back his head. He’s not even attempting to hide his exasperation now. And I can see it on his face. It’s not there as much as it is on Michael’s – that expression I’m all too familiar with – but it’s there all the same. The disappointment, the frustration, the wishing I’d just drop all this shit and get on with my life. It’s there, now, I can see it clear as day.

‘And you think, what? That he’s sleeping with her?’

His bluntness shocks me a little, but maybe he’s just doing that to try and make me see things more clearly, but I know what I saw. And I don’t want to argue with him. I don’t need that. ‘The way he looked at her … the way she looked at him, there was something else there …’

I leave that sentence hanging, because I’m not entirely sure how to finish it, and Liam, he stays silent for a few seconds, his eyes down, and now I’m wondering if I should’ve confided in him at all. Maybe I should’ve kept this to myself, until I had something more concrete. Until I knew, for sure.

‘My husband refuses to talk to me. He refuses to talk about something that we still need to talk about, I still need to talk about. It doesn’t matter whether he’s moved on or not, I haven’t. I haven’t. And if he’s looking for some kind of distraction … Is it my fault? Have I pushed him into this?’

‘Pushed him into what?’ He looks up, and his eyes – that frustration is still there, but there’s something else. He understands, all too well. ‘What exactly do you think is going on, Ellie?’

I let a couple of beats go by before I answer him. ‘What if it’s happening again?’

My voice is barely a whisper. I’m not crazy. I’m not imagining anything.

‘What am Isupposed to do? Just fall into line, suck it up and wait for him to get whatever he’s doing out of his system? Is that how it works now?’

‘Maybe he’s just found his own way of dealing with things.’ He finally faces me again, and looks at me hard. ‘And you have yours.’

He holds my gaze for the briefest of seconds, and then he’s signalling for the bill. He’s calling an end to this now. And I feel that rush of guilt return.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep using you as a sounding board, it isn’t fair.’

And it isn’t, but right now life isn’t fucking fair, and I’m tired of everyone just expecting me to be over this. To forget. To accept that things have changed. To move on. I’ll move on when I’m ready, and I’m not ready yet.

‘I’m always here, Ellie, if you need me. You know that.’ His tone has lost that slight edge now, and I smile, reaching for his hand, but he pulls it away as the waitress places our bill on the table. I just wanted to thank him, for being here. For listening to me, again.

‘Liam, I … thank you.’

‘Are you going to be okay?’

I nod. I’m going to be fine.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here … Look, I’ve got nothing on this afternoon, do you want me to come over? Keep you company?’

I look at him, and his expression’s one of concern now. Jesus, I don’t need his pity, too. ‘I don’t need babysitting.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘No. I know it isn’t, I’m sorry.’

‘I haven’t got anything planned, and if Michael’s not home …’

‘I said no, Liam.’ I hold his gaze, because I mean it. I don’t want him to come home with me. I don’t need him to do that. I don’t need looking after. ‘Besides, I’m not going home. I’m going to work.’

‘Okay.’ He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I get the message.’

I gather up my things and fish my car keys out of my bag, and then I hesitate for a second. I give his offer of company a second thought. If Michael still isn’t back. Then I push that thought to the back of my mind. I need to be on my own now, to think.

‘I really am grateful, Liam. For everything.’

We fall into step alongside each other as we walk to our cars, the silence between us so different to the one that constantly haunts Michael and me. This one is a friendly, comfortable silence, whereas the ones that have gradually developed between me and my husband – they’re laced with unspoken words, locked-away feelings, they’re tinged with guilt.

‘Hey. Come here.’

We stop by my car and I turn to face Liam; let him pull me in for a hug.

‘Remember what I said, all right? I’m always here, if you need me.’

I step back from him, and I smile. ‘I know.’

I watch as he heads down to the street, to his own car, wait until he’s driven away before I get into mine, and once again I just sit there. I don’t make any attempt to drive away, not yet. I turn on the radio and I sit back and look outside at the busy street. I need another minute, that’s all. And as I sit there my mind goes back to that phone call I heard Michael make just a couple of nights ago. Was it really just a work colleague he was talking to? He offered me his phone, told me I could check for myself, but that could’ve been nothing more than him calling my bluff. He knows I would never do that. I couldn’t be that woman, except, I am. I am that woman.

I close my eyes and sigh quietly. Has it helped? Offloading all my crap onto Liam’s shoulders? I don’t know. I don’t know if anything can help. I just know that I’ve started something I have every intention of finishing now. And if I have to do that alone, then that’s fine, I’m okay with that. It might even be better that way. But I need to know what my husband’s hiding. I need to know who my husband’s seeing; why he’s lying to me. I need to know what he’s doing when he isn’t with me. I need to know. And I’m going to find out.




Chapter 12 (#ulink_4503bf82-0405-589d-8836-b3215bad7841)


‘Liam told me you bumped into each other today.’

‘We did.’ I hand Michael a glass of wine and sit down on the couch by the fireplace, curling my legs up underneath myself. ‘We went for lunch, at that new bistro not far from the Durham salon.’

I haven’t asked him where he went today, why he wasn’t where he said he would be. I haven’t asked him anything. I’m biding my time. Waiting until he trips himself up, gives something away, because he will. He thinks he can hide behind his charm, use that smile to disguise his deceit. I’m watching you, Michael. I’m watching you.

‘So, what did you talk about?’

I take a sip of wine. ‘Nothing in particular.’

‘Did you talk about us? About me and you?’

I frown slightly, because that’s a strange question. Would he be angry if he thought I was talking about us?

‘We talked about a lot of things. But, yeah, I mentioned us.’

It’s hard not to, when it’s all I can think about most days. Us. What we had. What I want back, at any cost.

‘Do you remember who we used to be, Michael?’

‘We’re still those people, Ellie.’

‘Are we?’ I don’t want him to answer that. He doesn’t need to. ‘Do you remember who we were?’

He looks at me, and there it is, that change of expression, the fear that I’m about to launch into that conversation he continually avoids, and I wait for the inevitable shut-down.

‘We loved each other.’

That throws me slightly. I wasn’t expecting an answer, I was expecting the usual barriers to come up. He used the past tense; we loved each other, that’s what he said. Loved. I still love him.

‘We were those people who loved life and lived it, every day, like it was the last one we were ever going to experience.’

My wonderful, idealistic husband. It can never be that way again, and I think, deep down, even he knows that.

‘What happened changed that. What happened changed everything.’

‘For a while, yes. It did …’

‘For a while?’ I put my drink down and sit up, my eyes fixed on his. He is going to listen to me now and he is going to understand the pain and the fear I still feel, every day. ‘I lost our baby, Michael. I miscarried our child, I … you think that changed everything for a while?’

He gets up and comes over to me, sits down beside me. He takes my hand and he brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently, and I’m so angry at myself for crying now. So fucking angry.

‘We can’t go on like this, Ellie. We can’t. It isn’t good for us. It isn’t good for you. I hate seeing you like this.’

‘Then let me talk, Michael. Please. Let me talk about it.’

He drops his gaze, but he keeps hold of my hand, his fingers tightening around mine. ‘Ellie, sweetheart, I just think – I think that dwelling on it, on what happened, it’s unhealthy. We can’t change anything, we can’t turn back the clock …’

‘I know. I know that, but – do you know how difficult it is for me? To keep all this shit bottled up inside because you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘We’ve talked about it so many times, Ellie. We’ve been over and over it, so many fucking times, and it needs to stop now. It needs to stop.’

‘And what? That’s it? Where does that leave me, Michael? Hmm? Where does that leave me? Should I be – I don’t know – grateful that you’re over it?’

‘That isn’t what I meant …’

‘I still need to talk, Michael. I still need to talk; do you understand that? Because I don’t think you do. Oh, you’ll give your students all the time they need, they can talk to you, but your own wife?’

‘Ellie, come on …’

‘They can talk to you, Michael.’

He slowly raises his gaze, his fingers gripping my hand tighter still.

‘What’s going on here, Ellie?’

I pull my hand away from his. I sit back, pull my knees to my chest, hugging them to me as I stare out ahead of me. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to go there again, I don’t want to keep remembering, but the memories are racing forward now. They’re too powerful to ignore.

‘When I woke up, in hospital – when I woke up, and you told me …’ I drop my head, bite down on my lip, I don’t want to cry any more. ‘When you told me we’d lost the baby, I felt so empty, Michael. So fucking empty. It felt like – like I’d died, too.’ I look up, turn to face him. ‘Like we’d died.’

‘Ellie …’

He reaches for my hand again and I let him take it. ‘We didn’t just lose a baby, did we? We lost us?’

He rests his palm against my cheek, his eyes looking deep into mine, and I feel a wave of love so strong for this man flood me. It knocks the breath right out of me.

‘No, my darling, we didn’t. We didn’t.’

I think we did.

‘It’s like you’ve forgotten our baby ever existed,’ I whispered, covering his hand with mine, our fingers sliding together. ‘And I can’t do that.’

He sighs quietly, squeezes my hand gently. ‘You were hurting so much, Ellie. I just didn’t want to hurt you any more.’

‘I felt so alone, Michael. A huge part of me had been ripped away, taken from me in a way that …’ I don’t finish that sentence. I can’t. Losing the baby was painful enough, but remembering the way it happened …

‘We had it all planned, remember? Names. The books we’d read to him or her. The school we wanted our child to go to. Where we were going to take our son or daughter on his or her first holiday …’

‘Don’t do this to yourself, Ellie, please.’

I look away, look down at my arms hugging my knees. ‘I wanted that baby, so much.’

‘We wanted that baby. It hurt me too, losing our child like that.’

My head snaps up, my eyes meeting his. ‘Did it?’

‘You really have to ask that?’

‘You were ready to get rid of the nursery. Ready to paint over the past like our baby had never existed …’

‘That’s not what it was like, and you know that. Losing the baby hurt me too, Ellie.’

‘It’s just that, you were so busy telling me we had to put it all behind us, had to forget …’

‘I didn’t tell you to forget about the baby. I never once told you to do that.’

‘Losing our child makes up so much of what happened that night, Michael. So forgetting isn’t something I can do. Even if you can.’

I want to ask him who Ava is. I want to ask him, but if I mention her name, if I go into specifics he’ll think I’ve been spying on him. And he’d be right, that’s exactly what I’m doing, but I don’t want him to know that. So I can’t mention her. Not yet.

‘I worry, Michael. That it’s going to happen again, that history is going to repeat itself and I can’t go through it a second time, I can’t … I can’t do it.’

He looks at me, right into my eyes. He’s throwing me a silent instruction. He’s telling me to end this, to stop this, to shut up.





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