The Wife, Part 2 Page 6

  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.

  I take a sip of coffee, pick up the photograph and slide it back into my purse before I stand up, grab my bag and leave the café.

  He wasn’t here alone.

  *

  ‘Ellie?’

  I swing around, the sound of my heels click-clacking on the floor suddenly silenced as I stand still. Liam looks at me, frowning slightly. It doesn’t suit him. Frowning. It clouds his features, makes him look angry.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see Michael.’

  His frown deepens, and he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks towards me.

  ‘Do you know where he is? Is he in his office?’

  ‘What do you need to see him for?’

  I narrow my eyes as he comes closer. ‘That’s not really your business. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Don’t you? I mean…’ He shrugs and takes another step towards me, ‘you’re the one tracking him. Aren’t you?’

  I lean back against the wall. He joins me, keeping his hands in his pockets as he stares straight ahead.

  ‘I know he’s here. In the university, in this building. I don’t know which room he’s in.’

  He takes a hand out of his pocket and rakes it back through his dark blonde hair. Liam doesn’t seem to be greying as quickly as Michael, but maybe that’s just because of his hair colour. Michael’s darker, the grey shows up more.

  ‘You need to be careful.’

  ‘You’ve already told me that.’

  He turns his head to look at me. ‘And you’re, what? Ignoring my advice?’

  ‘I’m not taking your advice, Liam.’

  ‘I don’t know where he is. Try his office.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I pull myself away from the wall and start to walk down the corridor towards Michael’s office.

  ‘Ellie, hang on. Wait a second.’

  I turn back around. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re not being careful, are you?’

  ‘Was he with you?’ I ask, ignoring his comment. No, I’m probably not being as careful as I should be, but I’m losing patience now. I don’t have time to be careful.

  Liam frowns. ‘When?’

  ‘This morning. Was he with you? Did you meet him for breakfast, in a café on the corner of Elvet Bridge?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t with him. I haven’t even seen him today.’

  I drop my gaze, fold my arms. ‘Then I’m guessing he was with her.’

  ‘Maybe he was.’

  My head shoots up, my eyes meeting his. ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘I don’t know anything. And neither do you.’

  ‘I saw him with her. I told you that. I saw him, they were together.’

  He holds my gaze for a second or two before jerking his head in the direction of a room to his left. I follow him into the empty room, closing the door behind me.

  ‘If you really think he’s sleeping with someone else, Ellie, why don’t you do this properly? Hire a private detective, if you have to. A professional. Someone who can find out whatever it is you need to know without you having to do what you’re doing right now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to settle.’

  I lean back against the door, absentmindedly fiddling with the bandage still wrapped around my injured hand. I can’t stop. It’s oddly comforting.

  ‘This is a situation you can’t control. You might think you can, but you can’t.’

  I look at him, tilting my head to one side. ‘I think you’re wrong.’

  He comes over to me and takes hold of my right hand, which stops me from fiddling with the bandage. ‘Why don’t you let me keep an eye on him?’

  I frown, pulling my hand away from his as I slowly shake my head. ‘No. Why the hell would I let you do that?’

  ‘Because you’re making yourself ill, Ellie.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I don’t think you are.’

  ‘I don’t need your help, Liam. I’m perfectly capable of keeping an eye on my own husband.’

  ‘And if he finds out what you’re doing? That you’re tracking him?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong in wanting to know what my husband is doing behind my back.’

  ‘Let me do something, Ellie. Please.’

  He’s almost pleading with me now, but there’s something there behind his eyes that worries me slightly. I just don’t know what. I don’t know why.

  ‘If you want to keep an eye on him, keep an eye on him. I can’t really stop you, can I?’

  ‘So, does that mean you’ll stop tracking him the way you’re doing? You’ll stop listening to his phone calls? Will you stop, and let me see if I can find anything out?’

  ‘And how are you going to do that? Are you going to start following him?’

  ‘I don’t need to. We’re like brothers, remember? We’re close. He talks to me.’

  ‘You think he’s just going to tell you what’s going on?’

  ‘Just trust me. Please. If Michael’s doing anything he shouldn’t, I’ll find out, I promise.’

  ‘How do I know you’ll tell me the truth? How do I know you’re not already covering for him? Michael trusts you, Liam. If he told you anything…’ I look up at him, my eyes locking on his. ‘How good a friend are you to him, huh?’

  ‘I’m not covering for him, Jesus, Ellie, come on! If he’s having an affair I will tell you. I will get you some proof, and I will tell you. Okay?’

  I drop my gaze, but I keep my hand in my pocket despite the overwhelming urge to start pulling at that bandage again. It’s like I need to be doing something constantly, otherwise it feels like my brain will explode.

  ‘I can’t trust anyone. Not even you. This is something I need to do for myself. I need to see it for myself.’

  He reaches out, tucks a finger under my chin and tilts up my head, a small half-smile on his face. He’s a handsome man. Tall – slightly taller than Michael – with deep, steel-grey eyes, dark blonde hair that he keeps constantly pushed back off his face, and a neat beard, which isn’t something he’s always had. He used to be clean-shaven, never even letting a few days’ worth of stubble grow, but the beard suits him. I think he should keep it.

  ‘Let me help you, Ellie.’

  I look at him, up into his eyes, and I think he really would tell me if Michael was having an affair. I really think he would. I think…

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him? When you found out what I was doing, why didn’t you tell him? He’s your best friend, and like you said just now, you’re as close as brothers. So, why didn’t you tell him?’

  He doesn’t answer that. He pulls his hand away from my face and takes another step back, sliding his hands back into his pockets, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.

  ‘Did you want to? Tell him?’

  He briefly drops his gaze, lifting it after a couple of beats. ‘I don’t know. I guess there was a part of me that felt like I needed to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So we could finally put an end to this.’

  I look at him, and I don’t need to ask what he means by that because I know what he means. I know.

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘No. I didn’t.’

  ‘I need to go…’

  I take hold of the door handle, but before I can turn it his hand covers mine, stopping me from doing anything. ‘When I said be careful, I meant it. What you’re doing is dangerous. You really should let me help you. If Michael is having an affair, he’s a very clever man. He isn’t stupid.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘He’ll know how to cover his tracks.’

  ‘So, I’ll uncover them.’

  ‘Let me help, Ellie. Please.’

  He isn’t pleading
now, he’s almost demanding. Issuing an order. ‘Okay. Help, if that’s what you want.’

  I just want an easier life – I want my old life back, I don’t want this any more.

  He pulls his hand away from mine, lets me open the door. ‘Does that mean you’ll take a step back?’

  I look at him again, and I nod. But I have no intention of taking any steps back, I’m just telling him what he wants to hear. It’s easier that way.

  ‘All right.’ He can’t hide the relief in his voice, and that’s fine. He can think I’m stepping back, think I’m leaving this alone, but I’m not. I’m not leaving anything alone.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t go and find Michael in the end. I didn’t confront him. I left after that conversation with Liam. I went back to work, had lunch at the Spanish restaurant as usual and took a walk around Durham. I kept to my now obsessive routine. It’s what keeps me going. It’s why I wake up in the morning; my reason for carrying on.

  I curl my legs further up underneath me as Michael comes into the orangery, a newspaper tucked under his arm, his reading glasses pushed up onto his head.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asks as he sits down on the chair opposite mine and opens his newspaper. He’s asking me a question, but I don’t think he’s interested in my reply.

  ‘It’s not unusual for me to sit in here.’ I keep my gaze focused on the garden, on a flock of birds – I don’t know what kind, but they’re small, I’m guessing sparrows – huddled together on the bird table, picking away at the food I left out for them.

  I can hear Michael flicking the pages of his paper. This silence between us is something I still can’t get used to. I don’t want to get used to it. I hate it. It’s sad and frustrating, and it shouldn’t be this way.

  I stand up and walk over to the window, staring outside again, at the birds still huddled around the feeder. I keep my back to Michael, sliding my hands into my pockets. The only sound breaking the silence are the birds outside and the rustling of his newspaper as he turns the pages.