I open it, still not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but I quickly flick through it anyway. And there’s nothing but page after page of Michael’s ridiculously neat handwriting. What was I expecting to find, exactly? I don’t know, because I’m not thinking straight. I just know that he’s hiding something from me. Again. Something’s going on. Michael’s behaviour – it’s familiar. He’s been like this once before. It’s happening again.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs up underneath myself, the noise and the chatter from the party drifting upstairs. I look at the picture of me and Michael hanging on the wall opposite our bed. One of our wedding photos, blown up and framed in all its perfect glory. Two smiling, incredibly happy people, madly in love. We had everything. We had it all, that perfect life, that exciting future ahead of us. Until it was all snatched away, just like that. We lost it all.
There was a time when I thought nobody knew me better than my husband. When I fell in love with Michael, I fell hard. I fell so hard, because I never thought a man like him could love someone like me. He was the charismatic one, the centre of attention. I was the adoring wife. But he’s underestimated me. You see, I’m not ready to lose my husband. So whatever’s going on, whatever he thinks he can hide from me, I’m going to find out what it is. Whatever it takes.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’
Michael throws a pile of files down onto the countertop and reaches for the coffee. ‘No, I don’t have time. I’m already late for a meeting with my research students. I’ll grab something at work.’ He takes a sip of coffee, slides a hand onto the small of my back. ‘And where are you going to be spending your day today?’
I turn to face him, his hand moving around to rest on my hip. ‘The spa.’
He smiles, and for a moment everything feels like it used to. He cups my cheek, leans in to kiss me slowly, and I close my eyes and take this moment because it’ll soon be over.
‘I’d better go.’ He steps back from me, throws me one last smile and grabs those files he’d discarded not thirty seconds ago. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Hang on … Michael!’
He stops before he reaches the door, and I can tell from the way his shoulders sag that he’s frustrated. He just wants to get out of here.
‘How about I cook tonight? I’ll get a bottle of that wine you like, make you your favourite …’
‘What’s going on, Ellie?’
I’m actually quite stung by his question, by his tone of voice. It’s verging on suspicious, as though he thinks I’m doing this because I have some kind of ulterior motive. And maybe I do, but only because I’m trying to save something here. I’m trying to save us.
‘I want to cook my husband dinner. There’s nothing strange in that.’
‘You’ve just opened a new business, and when you open a new business you’re usually there more than you’re here. You don’t have time to cook dinner.’
‘I’m making time. Maybe I need to do more of that.’
He throws back his head and sighs quietly, backing off towards the door. ‘No, Ellie, you really need to stop this.’
‘Stop what, Michael?’
‘You’re fishing. I know you want to talk, but it’s over. Done. Finished. I don’t know how many times I can say that. And dragging it back up, it isn’t going to do anyone any good. So you need to stop pretending to be housewife of the year and let’s get back to normal. Okay? Let’s do that.’
I lean back against the counter. My fingers grip the edge. Tight. It makes me angry that he issues instructions and expects me to obey them. He thinks he can control how I’m feeling, but that isn’t his right. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do.
‘Ellie? Look at me.’
I do as he says. I raise my gaze and I look at him, right into his eyes. He has the most beautiful eyes. Piercing. Bright. Almost cobalt blue in colour. Eyes that looked into mine that first night we met, and I knew then that I wanted to be with him.
And his voice, it’s a little less harsh now.
‘We need to move on, Ellie. What happened …’
For a second there’s a connection. Something we very rarely have any more, but right now, I feel its brief but powerful presence.
‘It’s going to be okay. And I need you to believe that, Ellie. I can’t keep telling you, every day. So, I just need you to believe it. Believe me. Please.’
I want to believe him.
I watch as he drops his head, runs his hand along the back of his neck, and then he raises his gaze and his eyes lock on mine. ‘I understand that what happened – what I did … nobody expected you to get over it in a heartbeat, but you said you would. You wanted to. It’s been a while now. Hasn’t it? It’s been a while. Long enough.’
There’s that silence again.
‘You can’t let it take over, Ellie. You can’t, so please, let’s just try and move on. All right?’
He briefly drops his gaze again, and I hear him breathe in deeply, see his shoulders stiffen.
‘I need to go. I’m late.’
I smile and I nod, I let him think he’s won, but I know what he’s doing. I’m the one in control here, not him.
I encourage the kiss he plants on my cheek. I let him go. Watch him leave the kitchen, hear him out in the hall collecting his things together, and I wait until I hear his car drive away before I move. I need to be at the spa in a little over an hour but there’s something I have to do first.
I head upstairs, along the first-floor landing to the set of stairs that lead up to a small roof-space conversion that houses Michael’s office. I know what I need to do. As I approach his office there’s a louder voice inside my head telling me I have no choice.
My husband is distracted. More distracted than usual. He may try to cover it up with charm and smiles and kisses but he needs to be focused on me. His wife.
I push his office door open and walk inside. The room is a cluttered mess of books and files, a wall of shelves filled with more books and papers that have spilled over onto his desk, the floor, but he knows where everything is, or so he tells me. It’s an organised mess, but not the kind I could work in.
I head over to the window, peering outside, just to make sure that he’s gone. It’s all quiet out there, nothing but the sound of birds chattering and the distant noise of traffic. It’s an ordinary, everyday morning.
I sit myself down at his desk, looking at the photographs he’s got scattered about the surface, in amongst the piles of papers and books – us on our wedding day; on holiday, in Andalucía; one of us with Liam taken at a university Christmas party a few years ago. So happy. The three of us. There’ve been no photographs taken in the past year. Nothing on display, nothing anywhere to act as a reminder.
I switch on Michael’s desktop computer. He has his laptop with him, but I’m assuming everything he has stored on that will be on here, too. I feel no guilt, no nerves. This is my right. I scan the icons on his screen, looking for the one I need. One I’m sure he hasn’t password-protected, and then I see it. His tutorial timetable pops open, filling the screen, and my eyes flick over the coloured blocks he uses to distinguish his students. They each have their own personal colour. That’s just the method Michael likes to use and my eyes continue to scan the document. A name in a light-green block, and even though the colour isn’t in any way significant, the name might be. Ava. The only female student he has