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The Wife – Part Two: For Better, For Worse
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.Michael 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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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © ML Roberts 2017
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (https://www.shutterstock.com)
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
ML Roberts asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
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 under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008259877
Version: 2017-09-26
For my husband. His constant support has been everything.
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc267441d-2cba-5582-a7e2-2b496dd83ce0)
Title Page (#uf57faf00-d433-567d-baa6-63c3d989e53e)
Copyright (#ua4e055aa-a3b3-5fbf-9e99-9a68a5f84ff6)
Dedication (#uadbc3246-3f34-5bdc-8e29-2ca5faafe27e)
Chapter 13 (#ub0e952a5-42d5-5f40-946f-2303e3b0bbb2)
Chapter 14 (#u7ee4a584-6db4-533f-936f-8494afaebd40)
Chapter 15 (#u77c98f5c-818b-5cde-9843-8739d416a21f)
Chapter 16 (#u58a42c88-7e2b-539c-8c6e-e8e0004b68dc)
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)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#u6a9a5795-856c-5e3a-89d2-173fa926b718)
I start to pull the door towards me, a slight breeze blowing in from outside as it slowly opens, and then I hear it – that sound, a scream that barely has time to resonate before it’s quickly stopped, and it takes a second before I realise it was me, I was the one screaming; the one who was silenced by a hand being clamped heavily over my mouth.
It was me who was screaming…
Michael blamed himself for not protecting me. He blamed himself for everything, but it wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t.
Not really.
I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tightly as I sit in the corner of the room that should have been our baby’s nursery. The light, bright yellow walls are almost taunting me, smiling down at me, reminding me of what this room should have been.
The people Michael and I should have been.
Parents.
Fourteen Months Earlier
I can’t feel anything but fear. It’s all-consuming. As I’m slammed back against the glass door I want to cry out in pain, but I can’t; that hand is still clamped firmly over my mouth.
I close my eyes, squeeze them shut, try to pretend this is a dream. I’m going to wake up any second now because thisisn’t happening. And then the hand is roughly removed, and I let out a gasp, double over, clasp my stomach. I need to protect my baby.
A smell of a strong floral perfume fills my nostrils and I look up, my head seemingly taking an eternity to raise itself – it feels like everything is happening in slow motion right now.
‘You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.’
Her words both confuse and terrify me, and I back up against the door, my hand still splayed out over my stomach. I don’t know what to do.
‘How did you get in here?’
Her eyes glance over my shoulder at the door behind me. ‘You made it too easy.’
I frown, look behind me. I remember Michael took the rubbish out a couple of hours ago… We always check every door is locked before we go to bed, before we go out. Always, without fail. At least I thought we did.
‘I was just going to rock up on your doorstep, invite myself in, but, you know, it was nice of you to give me an easier entrance. Glad I checked first. All I had to do was scale that fence and there I was, out there, in your garden. Michael talked a lot about his garden. He’s got a vegetable patch, right? Over by the summer house?’
Who the hell is she? How does she know about Michael’s vegetable patch, my summer house? How does she know where we live?
She raises her eyes to the high ceiling, her mouth falling slightly open, and I watch her – this woman who’s invaded our home. I watch as she looks around her, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees, spinning around until she’s back facing me. ‘You have a lovely home.’ She drops her head forward, her eyes staring straight at me. ‘And you … Ellie, isn’t it?’ Her head falls to one side again as she looks me up and down. ‘I don’t know … I guess I expected someone…’ She lets that sentence tail off, but her eyes continue to stare right through me, and I feel that fear rising, I’m terrified. ‘It doesn’t matter…’
She shakes her head as she turns away, walks back out into the kitchen; and that’s when I reach behind me. I try to fumble for the door handle, shifting my body slightly, I don’t want to turn my back on her for too long, I just need to see what I’m doing. But that was a mistake, turning away from her, even for a second; she’s behind me before I can grab hold of the handle. The kick she gives to the back of my legs knocks the breath right out of me, and I fall to the ground, hitting my head on the tiled floor as I land. Her fingers grasp my wrist, drag me up off the floor, a wave of pain shooting up my arm. I must have landed on it. But I don’t have time to dwell on that. I don’t even have time to take another breath before she’s thrown me back against the floor-to-ceiling window, her fingers winding in my hair, yanking my head back. Her sweet, cloying perfume is unbearably strong, and I feel a sickening jolt of fear at what this woman might do to my baby.
‘He loves me. Did you know that? Me and Michael, we were meant to be together. We’re going to be together.’
I don’t know what she’s talking about, I don’t understand…
‘You have no idea, do you?’ she sneers, tugging at my hair, and I cry out as another wave of pain hits me, one that feels like my hair is being ripped from the roots. ‘No idea that your husband is in love with another woman. With me. Your husband loves me.’
I shake my head. This is not true. It can’t be.
‘I knew it the second I saw him. I knew he was the one. Michael knows it too, he just won’t admit it, not yet. But he will, eventually. All that time he spent with me, all that attention he showered on me, he wouldn’t have done that, would he? If he didn’t love me. So, you – I need to deal with you. You’re just getting in the way now. You’re getting in the way of me and him being together.’
She lets go of me, pushes me back against the glass with a force so hard I’m surprised it didn’t shatter, and I stay completely still for a second or two as the breath is forced out of me, painful and ragged as it escapes the confines of my throat.
My hands don’t leave my stomach. I’m desperate to protect my baby. I have no idea what this woman wants, because, what she’s telling me it makes no sense.
I slowly raise my head, but her eyes are down, they’re looking at my hands resting on my stomach, and her expression changes so quickly it’s utterly terrifying, because she’s guessed now.
‘You’re pregnant.’
It wasn’t a question, but I nod anyway. I can’t breathe, can’t speak; I just want her out of my house.
‘You’re having Michael’s baby?’
She doesn’t wait for my answer, and the terror that swamps me as she rushes towards me is suffocating, the kick to my stomach devastatingly brutal, and I cry out as my legs give way beneath me. I hit the floor again, and she continues to kick me. She’s screaming words I can’t make out. She’s hysterical. I squeeze my eyes shut as kick after kick rain down on my body. The only thing I can do is curl my knees up to my chest, keep them there, try to maintain some kind of makeshift shield for my baby. I can’t even cry. I’m too terrified, too scared of what’s happening here.
And then it stops, just like that. But I stay curled up; the foetal position seems the safest place to be right now. I keep my eyes closed, and I try to breathe through the pain, aware that, suddenly, all has gone quiet. I can only hear my panicked breathing, my heart hammering hard and fast against the threatening silence. She hasn’t gone. I know she hasn’t. I can still feel her here, in this room, I just don’t know what she’s doing. And I want to look, I want to see what’s happening, but I can’t open my eyes. My brain isn’t letting me. It’s almost like it’s shutting down all my senses, one by one.
‘You can’t have his baby. You … you can’t … have his baby … he doesn’t want you any more…’
Her tone is calmer, she’s lost that hysterical edge, but that just makes it even more terrifying. Each word she speaks is filled with an unspoken, sinister threat, and I feel hot, angry, scared tears finally start to roll down my cheeks. I’m helpless, but I need to do something. I need to get out of here. Is this woman high? Or is she just fucking crazy? I don’t know…
My eyes spring open as she grabs hold of my arm, yanks me up from the floor, presses her hand against my stomach. She’s staring at me as though I’m nothing. Nobody. ‘You can’t have his baby,’ she repeats, her voice barely audible, and as she puts her other hand over my mouth the smell of her perfume hits me again, causing me to gag. I can barely breathe. ‘Do you hear me?’ And then she laughs, just a small, quiet laugh; and she steps back, removing her hand from my mouth. ‘You know what? It doesn’t matter.’ She shakes her head, continuously, over and over again. It’s terrifying to watch. Her eyes stay locked on mine, but she isn’t speaking now, and I don’t know whether this silence is better or worse.
She breaks the stare, her eyes darting this way and that, as though she’s looking for something. I don’t know what, and I don’t care; I just want her out of here.
‘What’s in there?’
She jerks her head in the direction of the indoor swimming pool at the far end of the orangery, the dim lights that surround the small oval pool making the water seem almost blue, what little of it you can glimpse from back here.
‘You can see what it is,’ I reply, my flippancy instantly rewarded with a slap across the face, so hard it snaps my head around.
I reach up, touch my cheek, the skin burning from where her palm caught me, my heart racing so fast now it’s painful. Hard to breathe. I feel a terrifying inevitability, and I wonder if it’s best to just let this happen. Let her do whatever it is she’s come here to do. I don’t think I have the energy to fight her. I feel an overwhelming exhaustion flooding over me, taking charge of every sense, every emotion.
Her hand clamps around my wrist, pulling me back from those dark thoughts, and I suddenly find myself being dragged along behind her, towards the pool, my legs crashing into tables and chairs. She doesn’t care that she’s hurting me
And then everything starts to fade.
Everything goes black…
Chapter 14 (#u6a9a5795-856c-5e3a-89d2-173fa926b718)
Present Day
Yellow is such a happy colour, but this isn’t a happy room any more. The day I returned home from hospital, the day after I miscarried our baby, I stripped this room of all the furniture, got rid of all those things we’d already bought even though we’d only known our child for a short time. I got rid of it all. And even though none of it was Michael’s fault, for a while I couldn’t help but throw some element of blame in his direction. I was angry. I was upset and confused and angry. How could he not have noticed her behaviour? How could he not have seen this coming? He was her lecturer, for Christ’s sake! He’d tutored her one-on-one; hadn’t he noticed anything? Hadn’t he seen some sort of sign? I didn’t understand how a man as intelligent as him could have missed something like that. So I blamed him, and that was unfair, but I’d needed to blame someone at the time. We were both to blame, really. Both of us. All of us.
I get up off the floor and leave the room. It still hurts to be in here sometimes. But even though people tell me I should change the colour scheme, turn it back into the guest room it originally was, I can’t do it. I can’t … I can’t forget.
I go back into our bedroom, walk over to the window and look outside at the garden – at the higher fences Michael had erected after that night. Security cameras were installed all around the house, locks put on all the outside gates. I couldn’t feel safe until something had been done. It’s just that: I don’t feel safe. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel safe again.
My eyes shift to the corner of the garden, to that space next to the summer house; that empty spot where a swing used to stand. Michael had bought it just two days before that night. I remember the huge grin he’d had on his face as he’d lifted it from the back of the car and hauled it into the garden. I remember him and Liam trying to build it, testing it to make sure it was safe, and I can’t help but smile slightly at the memory of them pushing each other like a couple of kids – the way I’d laughed so hard at their messing about – and I’d known, right then, that Michael was going to be an amazing dad. And then she came along, that night happened, and our entire future, everything we’d planned, was all ripped away from us, just like that. So yes. I blamed him. For a while.
‘Ellie?’
I don’t turn around. I don’t reply. I continue to stare out across the garden. I feel him come up behind me, and I flinch slightly as he touches my hip, causing him to pull his hand away. I want him to touch me, yet there are times when I hate it. His touching me. No wonder he’s looking for a distraction. And maybe that’s also why his touching me makes me flinch – because I know he’s touching someone else?
‘We really should think about redecorating that room…’
‘Because a lick of paint will help erase the memory? You tried that once before, remember? And I told you not to touch that room again.’
‘Ellie, will you look at me, please?’
No. I won’t look at him. Why should I? Why should he get to say how this all works?
‘This isn’t helping. This behaviour…’
