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‘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.
