The Wife Page 9

  ‘Okay.’

  I throw him a small smile and step out of his arms. I need to retrieve that chicken from the oven now. I don’t even know why I’ve cooked it, considering I’m home alone tonight, but I’ve developed one hell of an appetite since I got pregnant. And I don’t mind cooking for one.

  ‘Are you going to be all right on your own tonight?’

  I switch off the oven and turn around to face him. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I can get Liam to come over. He’s not doing anything, and he’s all on his own too, so, if you want some company …’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Michael. What’s wrong with you? It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been home alone, is it?’

  ‘It’s the first time since we found out you were pregnant. I just want to look after you. Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘Well, that’s very sweet of you, but you’ve never felt the need to go all protector on me before.’

  ‘Because I know what’s good for me.’

  I laugh quietly, because he’s right. I’m no princess. I’ve never really wanted to be looked after. I was brought up to be tough, to look after myself. I didn’t really have a choice. And Michael got that. From the second we met, he got that.

  ‘I’m going to make myself some dinner, watch some TV – all the stuff you hate – then I’m going to have a bath and an early night. That’s my evening sorted. So, try not to wake me up when you come home, okay?’

  He smiles slightly, raising an eyebrow as he slips on his jacket. ‘It’s dinner with Laurel and Frank, Ellie. It’s hardly a night out clubbing. I’ll probably be home before you’re in bed.’

  I go over to him, pulling him to me by his jacket collar. ‘That would be nice, if you could do that. We could have that early night together.’

  I kiss him, and he laughs low and deep, his mouth still resting against mine and I feel that shiver surge up my spine again.

  ‘Maybe I’ll skip dessert then, huh?’

  ‘You do that.’ I give him one more kiss before pushing him away. ‘Now get out of here. I need to eat.’

  He picks up his wallet from the dresser and stops in the doorway, his expression a little more serious now. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’

  ‘Go, Michael.’

  He smiles, and I return it and I watch him leave again, wait until I hear his car drive away before I turn to check on the chicken. And I realise I’m not really all that hungry any more, but despite that I still pick at the crispy chicken skin, pulling a tiny bit off and eating it. Usually I’d rip the lot off and devour it in a heartbeat. I love everything that’s bad for me – chicken skin, chocolate, copious amounts of coffee, but right now … right now I don’t want any of it. And I don’t know why, I’m just putting all these weird, unexplained feelings down to being pregnant.

  I grab some foil and cover the chicken. I might feel like something later, after I’ve had that bath. Michael’s right. I need to relax; I need to take it easy, for the baby’s sake.

  I head upstairs to our bedroom, pull my hair from its ponytail and go into the en suite to remove my make-up. I’ve had three meetings and a visit to the doctor’s today, and when I look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink I can see the toll a busy day has taken on me. I look exhausted. I look even more tired once that mask of make-up’s been removed, but I feel a little better after a quick shower. I scrapped the bath idea; a quick shower is a much better option. A long bath would only have seen me lie there, going over and over all of today’s meetings, and that isn’t relaxing. I need to switch off for a little while, although that’s never been something I’ve found easy to do.

  Pulling on a pair of comfortable lounge pants and a t-shirt I blow-dry my hair and pile it up on top of my head, and I smile as I look at my reflection now. By day I’m all business suits and heels, but once I’m home I like nothing better than my sweatpants and oversized shirts.

  Going out onto the landing I make my way to the top of the stairs, but I don’t go down. Instead I turn around and go into the room next door to ours – the room that’s slowly being turned into a nursery. I just want another quick look in there, to remind myself that we’ve finally done it. We’re having our baby. And even though we’re six months away from meeting our son or daughter, I’m slightly impatient. I wanted to get things moving immediately, even though we’ve only known about the baby for a few weeks. And we haven’t told anyone our news; we haven’t made it public yet. Well, we’ve told Liam, but he’s almost like family. And he’s the only other person who knows, but we trust him not to breathe a word to anyone, not until we’ve had the scan next week. Then we’ll tell the world, I’ll shout it from the rooftops, and I smile to myself as I look around the freshly painted room. Liam and Michael finished it over the weekend, although I could have done it myself a lot quicker. For a couple of academics they’re way too easily distracted, and I smile again as I remember the way I’d had to nag them into making sure it was finished by Sunday afternoon, the promise of a full-on roast dinner going a long way to helping them achieve that deadline.

  We’ve gone for yellow on the walls. It’s going to be a little while before we find out the baby’s sex, but I’m not really someone who goes in for that pink for a girl, blue for a boy thing. I’m sticking with neutral and I like yellow. It’s a happy colour.

  My phone suddenly rings out from the bedroom, causing me to jump, and I silently scold myself for being so on edge. I’d just been a little too lost in my thoughts there.

  I almost run back into the bedroom, grabbing my phone from the dressing table, and I’m slightly out of breath by the time I answer it.

  ‘Ellie? Are you okay?’

  ‘Michael … Yes, I’m fine. I just left my phone in the bedroom – had to run back in here to answer it.’

  ‘Will you just take it easy? Please? Look, I’ve spoken to Liam again, and he isn’t busy, so, if you want to him to come over just give him a call. All right?

  ‘Jesus, Michael, I told you, I don’t need babysitting.’

  ‘Can you just humour me, Ellie? Please?’

  I lean back against the dressing table and smile. ‘I’ll think about it. But I’m fine on my own. I’m looking forward to a bit of me-time.’

  ‘Well, just call him anyway. Let him know you’re okay.’

  I throw my head back and sigh, but it’s not an irritated sigh. It’s nice that he’s worried, that they’re both worried. I just don’t need keeping an eye on.

  ‘Are you going to be like this throughout the entire pregnancy?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  I laugh quietly, a wave of love for this man washing over me, so strong it feels like a punch to my stomach.

  ‘I love you, Ellie.’

  Another wave. Another punch to the stomach.

  ‘Yeah. I love you, too.’

  He ends the call and I slide my phone into my pocket as I head back out onto the landing, closing the door behind me. But as I reach the top of the stairs I hesitate again, this time my gaze turning towards the small staircase that leads up to Michael’s office on the top floor. It’s not a room I go into all that often. It’s his space. But for some reason I’m heading in that direction now, and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because he isn’t here. Maybe it’s because I actually want to take a look at just what it is he keeps in there, or maybe I’m just bored. Curious. Whatever the reason, I’m in here now.

  I leave the door open so I can hear the phone or anyone coming to the front door, and I stop and glance around at the clutter that fills the room. It looks a mess to me but Michael swears he knows where everything is. My own office, in the summer house out in the garden, is very different. My shelves are filled with box files and small, neat piles of magazines and journals, whereas Michael’s shelves are stacked high with books and papers and I smile at his ordered chaos.

  I go over to his desk, walking behind it, smiling again as I look at the one, single photograph he has standing on it. U
s. Together. Not long after we’d met. But we were already in love. He’d reeled me in with that almost disarming charm of his, made me crazy about him with that smile. And then I look up, and my eyes go straight to the battered old sofa in the corner of the room. The one he refuses to get rid of it because he insists it’s too comfortable to throw out. And as I look a little more closely I notice a box that seems to have been shoved underneath it. Curiosity gets the better of me and I come out from behind his desk and go over to the sofa, crouching down as I try to pull the box out, but it’s wedged firmly underneath. I fall back on my haunches, landing cross-legged on the floor as I try to catch my breath. And I’m just about to have another go at retrieving that box when a noise – it sounds as if it came from outside – causes me to pause for a second. What was that? That noise? Are those pregnancy hormones making me paranoid now? I don’t move. I stay where I am as I strain to listen again, but I don’t hear anything. It’s probably just this house. It has a lot of creaks and quirks; it’s what makes it so perfect. To us.

  Hauling myself up off the floor I forget about the box and head out of the office, pulling the door closed behind me. I make my way downstairs, and as I reach the hall I can hear the sound of the TV coming from the lounge, and I pause for a second, my brow furrowing in a confused frown. I don’t remember switching it on, but it could have been Michael. Maybe he wanted to catch the news before he went out.

  I think nothing more of it and make my way into the kitchen. The chicken’s still there on the countertop, covered in foil. I’m still not all that hungry, so I leave it where it is and start to make myself a cup of tea. But as I switch on the kettle I hear another noise: not the TV, it’s definitely not the TV. It sounds as if it’s coming from outside, so I head into the orangery, take a quick look out into the garden, my eyes darting this way and that but I can’t see anything. What am I looking for, anyway? I glance outside again, at the garden swathed in darkness bar a few solar lights that edge the terrace, but there doesn’t appear to be anything untoward out there. Although, as I narrow my eyes slightly, take a longer look, I notice a terracotta pot lying on its side, rolling back and forth, as though it’s just been knocked over. That could just be a fox, or a cat from the farm in the next field. They’re always finding a way into our garden, knocking over pots, invading Michael’s vegetable patch. I’m just being unnecessarily paranoid tonight, and I’m blaming my over-protective husband for that. His need to protect me has made me almost believe that that’s what I need. To be protected. I don’t. This house – the barn it once was, it’s old. It has creaks and noises that Michael jokes are the ghosts of the cows who used to live in here trying to freak me out, which he thinks is incredibly amusing, but it does make me a little nervous, sometimes. Irrationally so, I know. Liam’s a scientist, he keeps telling me ghosts don’t exist but there are times when I beg to differ, and those are usually the times when I’m alone in the house. Is that what’s happening here? Are the ghost-cows coming out to play? I shake my head, getting rid of my own stupidity. It was a fox, that’s all, upending my plant pot.

  I go back into the kitchen, silently scolding myself for being so jumpy, and I make that cup of tea, take it into the living room. But I’ve started to convince myself that something isn’t right now. I need to go back outside and check that everything’s okay, so I put my tea down on a side table and head back into the kitchen, folding my arms against myself as I walk. I’ll go into the garden, take a quick look outside. Even though I know nothing’s wrong, I just need to put my own mind at rest now. I’m being silly and irrational, but once I’ve done this unnecessary recce I’ll go back inside and call Liam. Just for a chat.

  I reach for the door handle, and as I pull it down the smell of that freshly roasted chicken fills my nostrils. I think my appetite’s coming back now. Once I’ve done this; once I’ve called Liam, let him know I’m okay, I’ll make a nice green salad, cut up some bread I baked yesterday. I’m actually starting to worry that the prospect of becoming a mother is making me seriously domesticated now.

  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 …

  Chapter 13

  Present Day

  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 this isn’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.