The Wife Page 14

  He looks at me, ignoring the wine. And then I realise he’s also ignored my earlier question. Have I done something to upset him?

  ‘I didn’t tell him. What you’re doing. I didn’t tell him anything.’ Liam’s eyes fix on mine, holding my gaze. He wants me to believe that what he’s telling me is true. I believe him. He hasn’t told Michael anything; if he had, I’d know.

  ‘I didn’t think you would.’

  ‘That sure, huh?’

  My eyes remain locked on his. ‘That sure. Yes.’

  The corner of his mouth twists up ever so slightly, it’s barely a smile. It’s not even a smirk, but it’s something. ‘You need to do what you need to do, Ellie.’

  I lean back against the counter, sipping my wine.

  ‘And you shouldn’t be drinking, if you’ve taken painkillers.’

  ‘You’re not a doctor.’

  ‘I am, actually. Just not that kind of doctor.’

  I smile at him, grateful that he’s here, that I don’t have to be alone in this house tonight. ‘What did you mean, before? I need to do what I need to do?’

  ‘If you think he’s having an affair…’

  ‘I do.’

  His eyes meet mine again, but again he stays silent for a good few beats. ‘Okay.’

  That’s all he says, he leaves it at that, and I frown. I’m a little confused now. But I don’t push it. ‘I saw him. Michael. I saw him today. This afternoon, in Durham.’ I down another mouthful of wine. It’s helping to dull the ache in my hand; helping to dull the pain, bring that numbness back. ‘He was with her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Ava.’

  Once more I spit out her name, and Liam almost flinches, my tone is that harsh.

  ‘He was coming out of a pub, the one just off the market square. She was with him. I saw them walking away together.’

  Liam doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask what my reaction was to seeing my husband with another woman. A much younger woman. He remains silent, and I look down into my glass and realise I’ve downed that wine in a stupidly quick amount of time. It’s gone straight to my head. I feel a little woozy now. A little dizzy.

  ‘Put the glass down, Ellie.’

  I can just make out Liam’s words, although he sounds as though he’s speaking from far away now, like he isn’t in the room with me, he’s somewhere else.

  I reach behind me and place the glass down on the countertop, the sound of it toppling over onto its side, crashing onto the work surface, it makes me flinch, but the glass doesn’t break. It just rolls from side to side, until Liam comes over and uprights it. Uprights me, because I feel like I’m falling, my knees are so weak now.

  I feel his hand on my lower back, guiding me away from the counter, tiredness sweeping over me like a blanket of darkness until I have no choice but to close my eyes. My head feels heavy, my entire body sagging against his, but his arms catch me. I hold onto him, my fingers gripping his shirt as he sits me down on the armchair by the pantry door.

  ‘You need to be careful, Ellie. Are you listening to me? You need to be careful.’

  I blink rapidly, try to re-focus. Everything feels blurred. Surreal. I try to wake myself up, but I’m still so tired. It must be the wine and the painkillers and the fact Michael chose to walk out on me. Again. As always, we try to start a conversation, it comes back to the one thing he can’t cope with, and he walks out. It’s an exhausting cycle that neither of us can seem to break free from, but at least I feel like I’m trying. I’m not sure he even wants to.

  ‘Ellie? Look at me, Ellie. Did you hear me?’

  Liam’s face slowly comes into focus, his eyes fixing on mine. He’s so serious sometimes, Dr Liam Kennedy. ‘You – you said I had to be – had to be careful.’

  He crouches down in front of me, takes my uninjured hand in his, squeezing it gently. ‘I care about you, Ellie. I care about Michael. But you – you’re the one I’m worried about. What you’re doing … You just need to be careful, okay?’

  I nod, pull my hand away from his. I’m still a little confused. But the wine and the painkillers have exacerbated my light-headedness. I might not even be hearing him right.

  ‘Okay.’

  He stands up, strides back into the kitchen, opening cupboards and taking out coffee, mugs, milk. ‘I’ll stay with you until Michael comes home.’

  If he comes home. He’s never stayed out all night before, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. We just haven’t reached that stage, not yet. But we probably will at some point. I seem to be pushing him more than usual, making him less inclined to stick around when we’re alone. When we’re with others, he lights up, becomes the Michael I fell in love with. I quite obviously can’t become the Ellie I once was, the Ellie he loved. I’ve changed too much. And that scares me. So much scares me these days; the things I’m willing to do now; the things I’ve already done…

  ‘I need to sleep,’ I say quietly, staring down at my bandaged hand. The blood seems to have stopped seeping through, just the odd tiny speckle of red showing up on the cream coloured bandage. And the pain seems to have dissipated for now. But it’ll be back. It always returns. It never leaves.

  I look up as Liam crouches back down in front of me, his expression warmer. Kinder. No, I don’t think I’m pushing him away. He’ll always be here, he promised me that. He promised he’d always be the friend I needed. Always. The only friend I can talk to.

  ‘Okay, let’s get you to bed.’

  He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him pull me up from the chair, and I keep hold of his hand as we make our way upstairs. I just want to sleep now. I want to close my eyes and forget this day happened. Forget every day since that night happened. I want to close my eyes and wake up in a world where I can turn back time, live that life I was living before, with my handsome husband and our beautiful baby and that little dog I’d always wanted. Our perfect family. Our perfect life.

  But we were never perfect.

  Nobody is.

  We really weren’t…

  Chapter 20

  ‘You should have called me. Last night.’

  I don’t even turn my head to look at him as he joins me in the living room. I’m sitting on the couch, legs curled up underneath me, a mug of tea cradled in my hands. The hot liquid irritates my injured hand slightly, but I get a strange kind of comfort cradling a hot drink like this.

  ‘Would you have come home?’

  I don’t move my eyes away from the TV. I’m watching breakfast television, but I have no idea what the presenters are talking about. I think they’re interviewing someone about their latest TV show. I’m not really listening. Everything is just white noise. And I’m aware of Michael still in the room, of him sitting down on the arm of the chair to my left, but I don’t look at him; I keep my eyes on the TV screen.

  ‘You were hurt, Ellie. Of course I would have come home. Why didn’t you call me? Why call Liam?’

  ‘Liam wasn’t busy.’

  ‘Neither was I.’

  I finally turn my head to face him. My husband. Handsome and rugged with his grey-flecked hair and sexy stubble, those ice blue eyes of his so beautiful and bright. Does Ava look into those eyes and love him like I do? The thought of her looking at him in any way makes me feel sick, and I turn my head away again, stare back at the TV. They’re doing the weather now. It looks like it’s going to be another sunny day here in Durham.

  ‘I wasn’t busy, Ellie. I just needed some air, a breather. I needed some time out.’

  ‘Time away from me?’

  He doesn’t even attempt to hide his sigh. It echoes around the room, heavy and laden with frustration. And I feel my insides twist up, pull tight until I’m breathless. Until the pain becomes real, until I feel tears start to prick at my eyes; but I refuse to let them fall. I can’t cry. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to let him know how much this is tearing me apart.

  ‘I want you to talk to me. That’s all. Is that really too much to ask? Becau
se – because I can’t understand why you find that so hard to do.’ I turn to face him again, but he’s looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. We let this happen. Us. We were to blame. We let that night pull us apart, let its consequences crush us, destroy us. We let that happen. It’s no one else’s fault. ‘I just – I just want you to understand how empty I am, inside.’

  He doesn’t say anything, he just keeps looking down at his hands.

  ‘Why can’t you talk to me, Michael? Why can’t you bring yourself to listen to me? Don’t you care what I’m feeling…?’

  ‘You should be over this by now, Ellie.’

  His words slice through me, unexpected and brutal, his tone harsh. And I want to retaliate, I want to fight back, but the words won’t come out; they’re stuck in my throat, choking me.

  ‘I’ve done everything I can, to make this go away…’

  ‘Make this go away?’

  ‘I’ve done everything I can, Ellie, to try and make this better. I’ve done everything I can. What happened – I didn’t encourage her, do you understand that? I was her lecturer, that’s all I was, whatever else she read into that, that wasn’t my fault. She gave me no signs, no signals, nothing to make me think she would do what she did, and I’m so sorry that she put you through all of that. It kills me every day to think what you went through. What she did to you. But it has to be over. It needs to stay in the past. Things need to change. You need to change. It’s time you started making an effort now, for everyone’s sake.’ He stands up, heads towards the door. But he stops when he reaches it, turns back around, and he looks at me. ‘I love you, Ellie. That will never change…’

  He leaves that sentence hanging, almost as if he’s about to say not yet. But he doesn’t. He just turns and leaves the room.

  I put my mug down on the table beside me and pull my knees to my chest, hugging them tight, once more staring back at the TV. He still loves me. There’s still hope. Does he love her, too? Does he love Ava? No. She’s just his distraction, remember? That’s all she is. All she’ll ever be. I’ll make sure of that.

  *

  I head across the gravel car park, which isn’t easy in heels, and make my way up the stone front steps of the spa, throwing Carmen a brief smile before I retreat into my office. I don’t even stop for coffee. I need to log on and find out where my husband is. Where he’s been. He left for work early, much earlier than usual, and I need to find out if he went straight to the university, or if he went somewhere else first.

  During the short drive here, my stomach was clenched so tight with nerves it hurt. And yes, I could have checked his whereabouts before I left for work; but if I’d done that, if I’d found something I didn’t want to see, I don’t think I would have made it out of the house today. Sometimes the need to watch him, track him, listen in to his phone calls, read his texts – sometimes the need to do all of that, it’s becoming obsessive. So, I need to be out of the house. I need to grasp onto some level of normality, no matter how fragile that grasp may be. Besides, once I get the proof I need I’ll stop this. I’ll stop tracking him, stop having lunch in our restaurant, day after day. I’ll stop it all. I promise. And I think I’m getting close to finding that proof. To finding out what my husband is really up to. I just need to see him touch her in a certain way, see him kiss her, anything that tells me there is something more between them. Or something that tells me there isn’t, because so far I have nothing concrete. But I know. I know something isn’t right. Trust your gut – isn’t that what they say? Well, my gut is telling me he’s lying.

  I fire up the computer, wait for the screen to light up, to kick into action, and as soon as it does I log onto my account, scanning the screen for the information I’m looking for.

  I frantically check where he went after he left the house this morning, because I’m sure he didn’t go straight to the university, and I’m right. He drove into Durham, yes, but he wasn’t anywhere near his building, not first thing. And from his movements it looks like he parked his car on the bank that leads up towards Gilesgate and then walked into the city. That’s what I’m assuming. I look closer at the screen, at the route he took, where he ended up; and when I check the location I see it’s a small café near Elvet Bridge. He used to have breakfast at home. We used to have breakfast together. We used to love those mornings when we’d drink tea, watch the news, talk about work and the things we had planned. Holidays. Days out. Children. A future.

  I rest my elbows on the desk and clasp my hands together, dropping my head, closing my eyes. My heart’s beating so hard, banging against my ribs with a breathtaking force, and I squeeze my eyes tight shut, breathe in deeply, try to ease my hammering heart. And then my eyes spring open. I slam the laptop lid shut, stand up, kick my chair back under the desk. I walk over to the window, dragging a hand back through my hair. I’m trying to slow my breathing down as I stare outside. It’s another beautiful day, but I don’t see that beauty so much now. I should be at home, with my baby, enjoying the sunshine out in our garden with the puppy running around my feet. I should be a mother now. And I’m not. I never will be. My life has changed beyond anything I’d ever imagined, and I’m scared and sad; but I won’t let Michael do this anymore. I won’t let him ignore me.

  I flip open the laptop again, log out and switch it off before I leave the office. There’s somewhere I need to be; something I need to do…

  Chapter 21

  Slipping my sunglasses up onto my head, I push the café door open, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and just-baked pastries hitting me immediately. I haven’t had any coffee this morning, so I order an Americano and wait while the young woman behind the counter makes my drink.

  The café is busy, full of students and shoppers, possibly tourists too. This is a city that attracts a lot of tourists, especially when the weather’s good like it is today. And this café, I haven’t been in here before; it isn’t one of my regular haunts. Is that why Michael chose it? Is that why he came here? Because it’s somewhere new and different, somewhere he can take Ava without the threat of me walking in?

  I look down at the counter and realise I’ve been drumming my fingertips on the glass. Another nervous tic. I pull my hand away, reaching into my bag for my purse, and when I open it I see the picture of Michael and me I carry around with me constantly. My handsome husband, so happy, so alive. When he looks at me now, he’s so dead behind the eyes it breaks my heart.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  The woman’s voice yanks me back from those thoughts and I look up, blinking a couple of times as I try to regain my focus. ‘No, I … No. Thank you.’ I take my coffee, scanning the room for a free table, but then I stop. I turn around, go back over to the counter, reaching into my purse for that photograph.

  ‘Excuse me…’

  The young woman comes over to me, and she smiles. A genuinely friendly smile. ‘Something I can help you with?’

  ‘Yes, actually…’ I twist the photograph between my fingers, a sudden moment of clarity hitting me as I realise what it is I’m about to do here. But the image of him touching her – Ava – yesterday, in broad daylight … he shouldn’t be touching her. He shouldn’t be doing that.

  I turn the photograph around, showing it to the woman behind the counter. ‘This man, was he … was he in here, earlier today?’

  Her expression changes slightly, her eyebrows furrowing together in concentration as she looks at the photograph. And then she looks up at me, and I can tell she’s wondering why I want to know, why I’m asking. But she knows that’s not really her business.

  ‘I think I saw him this morning, around eight thirty.’

  ‘Was he alone?’

  Her expression becomes a little more wary now, like she’s nervous of answering any more questions for fear of where this is going. But I need to know. She’s going to tell me.

  She shrugs, and that irritates me, I feel my skin prickle. She must’ve noticed if he was alone. Or if he had company.
She must have. Is she lying, to save herself from becoming involved in something she doesn’t understand? I don’t blame her. Sometimes I wonder if I come across as slightly unhinged. I don’t think I do. I’m only asking a simple question.

  ‘Just tell me, yes or no. Please. Was he alone?’

  I’m almost begging now, so desperate am I to gather more information on my lying, cheating husband. Desperate. It’s a word I’m becoming all too familiar with.

  ‘No.’ She whispers the word, her gaze dropping, but I didn’t miss the pitiful expression on her face.

  She turns away to serve another customer, and I can practically feel the relief flooding out of her. She didn’t want that conversation to go any further. Neither did I. And then I silently berate myself for not asking who he was with – was it another man? An older woman? Her? I should’ve asked, because he could’ve been with anyone. Laurel. Frank. Maybe even Liam. No. He wasn’t with any of them, I’m sure of that. But then, how can I be sure of anything any more?

  Sitting down at a just-vacated table near the window, I keep hold of my coffee until the waiter’s wiped the tabletop clean, and then I place the mug down and sit back in my seat. I stare outside at the already busy street, despite it still being relatively early, the photograph of Michael and me still in my other hand. I look at it, my thumb flicking the bottom corner back and forth in a slightly manic fashion. I can’t help it. Can’t stop it. That small, frantic action is calming me. But then I stop, toss the picture onto the table next to my mug of coffee and stare down at it. When was that photograph taken? I briefly close my eyes, trying to grasp the image, and it takes a second, but then I remember all too clearly. It was taken at a barbecue at Ed and Claire’s, just a couple of months before that night. Before everything changed. And I feel my heart ache, a pain that takes my breath away. I have to close my eyes again, just for a second, until the pain eases.