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‘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.’
