The Wife – Part Three Page 2

  The first time I met Liam Kennedy, a year or so before I met Michael, I wasn’t in a good place. My father had tainted the way I saw men, making me wary of contemplating anything other than friendship. That was probably why I was drawn to Liam. He wasn’t looking for anything serious either, he just wanted someone to hang out with. Someone to sleep with, without the complications of a full-on relationship. That suited me just fine. Sex without the mess, without the threat of any heartache.

  We’d met at the local pub, at a party to celebrate the pub football team’s win in some tournament or other, I don’t remember what, exactly. I don’t even remember how I’d ended up at that party, but I remember the first time I saw Liam. He’d been standing by the side of the bar, close to the doors that led from the pub to the beer garden out back. He’d had a pint in one hand, the other gesticulating wildly around his head as he regaled some story to his group of friends. And it must’ve been a funny story because I also remember the laughter, so loud it had almost drowned out the music.

  I remember the night I met Liam. My first night with Liam.

  The night it all started.

  The night that meant he was now linked to us, our lives; everything that would happen, he was going to be a part of it, because of that night.

  I quickly pull myself back from that memory; back to the here and now. It’s the present I need to concentrate on, not the past.

  ‘I should be going.’ I sit up, hugging my knees to my chest as he comes out of the bathroom. ‘Michael’s probably home by now.’

  But he won’t wonder where I’ve been. He won’t ask what I’ve been doing. That would mean starting a conversation, something my husband is apparently terrified to do these days.

  ‘Will he care? If you’re not there?’

  Liam sits down, runs his fingertips lightly up and down my calf, sending shivers racing up my spine. Liam gives me everything Michael won’t. Everything my husband refuses to share with me, it feels like Liam allows me to have it all. I can close my eyes and lose myself in him, let the sex engulf me. I need the release, because the darkness always returns.

  I take his hand, watch as his fingers curl around mine. He wants me to stay. ‘I’m not sure what Michael cares about anymore.’

  ‘So, stay a little longer.’.

  I let go of his hand, climb off the bed and reach for my clothes. I get dressed, keeping my back to him, and it’s only when I look outside, when I realize that dark and unwelcome world I now inhabit is drawing me back towards it, that I know I’m not ready to face it just yet.

  I turn around, lean back against the window sill, and look down at my hand. The cuts from the broken wine glass are still clearly visible, but they’re healing now.

  ‘I wish things had been different, Ellie.’

  I look up, frowning slightly. I’m not sure what he means by that. ‘Different …?’

  ‘Back then.’

  ‘Back then it was nothing more than meaningless sex, Liam.’

  ‘And now? What is it now?’

  I don’t know. Yes. I do. I know. ‘It’s still meaningless sex.’

  He gets up, walks over to me. Tall, toned and muscular in ways Michael isn’t, Liam has stronger arms, a harder body. He does things to me Michael would never do, and I’d never given that a second thought before. But now I crave the sometimes twisted sex we have. That passion. That red-hot need to feel another body invade mine. I don’t want to be loved, I just want to be touched. Taken. Made to feel like a woman again instead of an empty shell.

  He stops in front of me, naked and beautiful and I don’t know why he’s still alone. He’s handsome, intelligent, funny and kind. Why did Keeley leave him? What made them drift so far apart? There seemed to be no reason for their marriage to end in the way that it did. Maybe they just fell out of love, it happens.

  He slides a hand onto my neck, pushes my head backwards, his lips brushing the base of my throat and I groan quietly. He’s making me want to stay, and I need to go. I can’t stay here, in this bubble, forever.

  ‘When can I see you again?’ he murmurs, his mouth touching mine. I close my eyes, let his words vibrate against my lips, feel his breath fall into me.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I whisper. But I need it to be soon. I can’t wait too long, I don’t like giving the darkness time to take over completely. As long as I can take a step back every now and again, I can cope. Maybe I’m becoming too dependent on this man, I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that when he’s inside me I forget all the pain. I feel part of something again, part of someone.

  I place a hand on his chest, my fingers splaying out over his skin. I feel his heart beating against my palm and I look up at him. I touch his jaw line, his neat, dark-blonde beard, his mouth. I run my thumb over his lower lip, tilt my head to one side as he grabs my wrist. He pulls my hand away from his face, and I fall backwards against the window sill as he kisses me, sliding his hand between my legs. He’s keeping me from going anywhere.

  I pretend to resist, but he knows that’s a game. I don’t want him to stop, I want him to continue to take away the pain until I don’t need him anymore. But we can’t keep doing this forever, he knows that; I made it clear from the start. And we both know the rules.

  ‘I have to go.’

  I pull his hand from between my legs and head for the door. I do have to go. I need to check where Michael’s been today. What he’s been doing. Who he’s been talking to. I’ve spent enough time here, I’ve had my fix, I’m okay now.

  ‘Ellie?’

  I stop in the doorway, turn back around to look at him. His eyes lock on mine, but neither of us says anything. We don’t need to.

  If I want my husband back, we can’t do this, forever …

  Chapter 2

  I sit back and listen as Michael’s voice floats out from the tiny speaker I’ve attached to my laptop. It increases the sound quality of his recorded phone calls only slightly, but it’s enough. None of his calls have been to her, which makes me even more sure that he has a separate phone he uses to talk to her. But that doesn’t stop me from listening to all of his calls. Even if they’re not to her, I have to listen to them, I might miss something if I don’t. One small, miniscule detail could pass me by if I skip over stuff, so I listen to everything. No matter who he’s talking to.

  He ends this particular call to Laurel. A conversation about a staff meeting and a lecture he’s giving at a university in Cardiff next week. See? I didn’t know he was going to Cardiff. Maybe he did tell me, I can’t remember, but I’m almost sure he didn’t. And I’d have missed that, if I’d skipped over that call. Is he taking her to Cardiff? Ava? Is that why he didn’t tell me about the trip? An overnight stay. Time away from me.

  The front door opening downstairs signals Michael’s arrival back home, and I quickly log out and close the laptop down. He’s late, as usual, although there’s no such thing as a regular time for him to come home nowadays. But it’s later than it ever used to be, when everything was normal and happy. When we had a future.

  He’s in the kitchen when I get downstairs, fixing himself a drink. He accuses me of drinking too much, but he’s no saint.

  ‘Good day?’ I ask, in a vain attempt to elicit a response.

  ‘It was okay. Same old, same old.’

  I think you’re lying, Michael. I think you do so many things you never used to do before, so I’m not buying the ‘same old’ line.

  I wait for him to ask me how my day went, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns away and goes into the orangery. He sits down and takes out his reading glasses. Then he opens his newspaper and hides behind it, because that’s what he does now. He hides behind anything he can to avoid talking to me.

  I start making dinner. A stir-fry. Something quick. Easy. Something we’ll push around our plates while we pretend that everything’s okay. That this is normal. But I’m not willing to accept this existence. I’ll expose my husband’s affair and I’ll end it. I’ll make sure his distractio
n is gone for good because I can’t go through this all again. History is not going to repeat itself. But at least this one – Ava – is going to be easier to deal with.

  As I prepare dinner, the only noise in the room is the sound of the TV playing away quietly in the background. I can’t live with the silences, they’re becoming more and more painful to deal with. So I fill them with music or the news, or I switch over to some banal reality TV show in the hope that he’ll react, because he hates them. As do I.

  I serve dinner, and he joins me at the table. He folds his newspaper, lays it down beside his plate, picks up his glass and takes a sip of wine. I gulp mine. I need the alcohol hit, more and more as each day passes. Liam and alcohol, my two necessary crutches.

  ‘How’s the mentoring going?’ I ask, knowing that that will, at least, cause him to raise his head. Which it does.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m interested in your work, Michael. I always have been.’ I pick up my napkin, scrunching it up in my fist. ‘Look, I know you have this student/professor confidentiality thing, but don’t you think that’s a bit, you know? A bit of an overreaction? I mean, it’s not like you’re discussing their medical records or bank details. Why the need for such secrecy?’

  I don’t care now. I don’t. I need to ask questions, it’s the only way I can get to the truth. I need to push him, until he tells me what I need to hear. I can track his whereabouts, listen in to his calls, read his texts, but I want to hear him tell me. Something. And he will. I’ll make him, if I have to.

  ‘There is no secrecy, Ellie. It’s just not something I think we need to talk about.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He looks at me through narrowed eyes. He doesn’t like it when I talk like this. I’m being confrontational, I know, but I’m starting to lose patience. How many times has he lied to me? How many times has he done that?

  ‘I have work to do in the office.’

  He throws his napkin down, pushes back his chair and leaves the table. But as he passes me he stops, rests a hand lightly on my shoulder and gently kisses the top of my head.

  ‘Get some rest, Ellie. You work too hard.’

  I let him go. I listen as he climbs the stairs. One flight. Two. He’s gone straight up to his office.

  I look down at the napkin bunched up in my fist and I squeeze it tighter, so tight my knuckles turn white. When I loosen my grip, it falls onto my plate, into my half-eaten food. I watch as it slowly becomes soaked in soy sauce, and as I watch I’m aware of a sharp pain coming from my hand. I look down. I’ve been picking at the scabs on my palm, scratching away until I drew fresh blood. I hadn’t even been aware I’d been doing it, but now the soy sauce-soaked napkin is peppered with droplets of blood, the red and the brown slowly merging together in a dark, mud-coloured mess.

  I inhale deeply before I finally get up from the table. I fetch the small first-aid kit from the cupboard and I wash the reopened cuts, carefully placing plasters over them; there’s not enough blood to warrant a bandage. And then, like a robot programmed to carry out these everyday tasks, I clear the table. Stack the dishwasher. Fill up the coffee machine and switch it on. I pour myself a glass of whisky and down it quickly, closing my eyes as the warm liquid settles in my stomach. That one was for medicinal purposes. But then, aren’t they all?

  Raising my eyes to the ceiling I wonder if Michael really has got work to do. I doubt he does. It’s his go-to excuse when he doesn’t want to talk – he has work to do.

  Sighing quietly, I head out into the hallway, stopping at the foot of the stairs. I turn around, look at his jacket hanging on the hook by the door, and without hesitation, without any hint of guilt, I rifle through the pockets, finding nothing more than a receipt for his newspaper and his glasses case. But that means nothing. It’s easy to cover your tracks when you’re doing something you don’t want anyone to find out about. I should know. Which is why I don’t trust him. I know the signs, I’ve been playing this game for a while now, and I’m good at it. Is he?

  I go into our room, check my reflection in the mirror. I look okay. Not too tired. You could even describe my complexion as slightly glowing, and that’s all down to Liam. Sex and time away from this charade fills me with a renewed energy, something that keeps me going until I need to keep running on empty. And I briefly wonder if this was how I looked before everything happened. Did my complexion ever glow back then?

  A sudden noise from outside on the landing jolts me from that thought; makes me spin around. Even when I’m not alone in this house my nerves are on edge. It’ll be nothing more than a beam creaking, but for the briefest of moments I’m wracked with memories I won’t ever forget. The fear. The noise. The blood …

  My phone vibrating in my pocket drags me back from those memories and I quickly take it out. There’s an alert flashing up on the screen; Michael’s making a call, to a number I recognize as Bill Franklin’s, a member of his faculty. Another work call, but I’ll still listen to it, later. When he’s asleep.

  Sliding my phone back into my pocket I look up at the wall facing our bed, at the picture hanging on it. Me and Michael on our wedding day. Sunshine, happiness, laughter, that’s what I remember about that day. A darkness hides the sun now. I can’t remember the last time I felt true happiness. I’m happy, for a few brief minutes, when I’m alone with Liam. It’s a kind-of happy, anyway. Something that masks the sadness, for a while.

  ‘Ellie?’

  I turn to face him. He looks tired as he stands in the doorway, his reading glasses in one hand, his other pressing down on the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his head down, eyes closed. ‘I thought you were working.’

  ‘I am. I just need something from the car. I left some papers in there.’

  I turn back to look at the picture on the wall; let a couple of beats pass before I turn to face Michael again. ‘How is work?’

  He slowly raises his head, and I fix my eyes on his. I look right at him, wait for him to tell me about Cardiff, because he just forgot, right? He forgot to tell me he was going away.

  ‘Work’s fine. I just have a lot to catch up on, that’s all.’

  ‘Your students keeping you busy, are they?’

  He narrows his eyes, that familiar, weary expression taking over his face. ‘Where is this going, Ellie?’

  I leave another beat or two before I answer him. He’s defensive. That means I’ve touched a nerve. ‘It’s just a question, Michael.’

  You won’t be able to keep her a secret for much longer, Michael. Your car was outside her house, you were in there, with her, I know you were. It’s only a matter of time now, before I find that cast-iron proof I need. It’s only a matter of time …

  ‘I need to go fetch those papers from the car.’

  He’s shutting me down, as he does so often these days. He’s ending it, before I start asking more questions. Before I start pushing him, he’s putting a stop to it. And I’m too tired to fight it tonight. But I will fight it.

  I want my life back.

  I want Michael back.

  I don’t want this …

  Chapter 3

  It’s a busy day at the spa. We have a, thankfully very well-behaved, hen party spending the day with us today; there are also a couple of clients with birthdays and an anniversary treat, amongst many others. My new business has really taken off. The spa has appeared in lots of features in the local press and a regional news programme filmed a lovely piece on us for TV that went out a few nights ago, which has brought a lot of new business in. I’m happy, at work. It’s a necessary distraction.

  I’ve been busy today making sure we have everything set up for a meeting tomorrow about expanding into the wedding venue side of things, but my staff seem to be doing an amazing job of keeping this place running. And I need that, because there are times when I can’t focus. When I’m somewhere else, not concentrating on work. When I’m wondering where my husband is.

  I still have lunch most days
in the Spanish restaurant, even though I’ve all but convinced myself Michael probably hasn’t been in there again. The tracker has never put him there, but I still go. Just to be sure. Just in case.

  My phone signals an alert and I pull it from my pocket, look down at the screen. It’s a text, from Liam. He’s coming to the university this afternoon to set up another run of guest lectures, and he wants to see me. Do I want to see him? Today?

  I stop outside the pool room – a huge glass-walled extension we had built onto the back of the building that looks out over the grounds and gardens. It houses the swimming pool, two hot-tubs and a sauna. Most of the loungers that surround the large oval pool are occupied by guests this morning, decked out in white robes drinking mocktails and prosecco while they relax after treatments, looking forward to lunch. It’s a sight that makes me happy, seeing another venture slowly become a success; a reminder that, in spite of everything that’s happened, I haven’t let any of it affect my work.

  I turn around and lean back against the glass as I call Liam back.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Can you get away?’ he asks, and for a second I just let the sound of his voice fill my head.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m busy today. Come and see me here, at the spa.’

  ‘You sound like you’re summoning me.’

  Maybe I am. He’s going to come anyway. ‘I can’t leave here, Liam. If you want to see me …’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  I end the call, slide my phone back into my pocket, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. I like having sex with him, here, in my office. I think it’s the danger, I get off on it. I like that feeling of possibly being caught, even though I know we won’t be. But Liam isn’t putting us in danger. My distraction is harmless. Michael’s isn’t.