tutorial is at twelve-thirty this afternoon. Scribbling the time down on a piece of paper I shove it into my pocket as I close the timetable down. I go to switch off the computer when my eyes fall on the email icon staring back at me from the screen, my hand hovering just slightly above the mouse. Do I dare? Is this who I’ve become? Yes. I think, maybe, it is.
My hand falls back onto the mouse and I move it slowly towards that email icon, stopping only briefly as a flicker of rationality creeps in, but it’s soon pushed aside and I click down on the mouse. But whatever it was I was about to do, it’s halted. He’s password-protected his email account. So he does have something to hide.
Shutting the computer down, I get up and go over to the window once more, resting my forehead against the glass as I stare outside at the view, at the surrounding houses in neighbouring fields, all of them set in miles of countryside, green fields dotted with more houses here and there. I can see for miles from up here in the roof space. It’s peaceful and beautiful and this house – I loved this house. When we first moved in here we had so many plans, it was our little corner of the world, our hideaway, a place where no one could get to us. After that night – what happened – my initial reaction was to run, to leave it all behind, everything we’d created here, all those plans. Michael thought that staying here – he thought it was for the best. He thought that facing up to it all might help fix what was broken, but maybe it can’t be fixed?
Finding the slip of paper I’d pushed into my pocket just a few seconds ago, I start to play with it, twisting it between my fingers. I can almost feel the lies, they’re so real to me now. I know they’re there, I know he’s telling them. I’m …
Something crashes downstairs.
Jesus!
It’s just the post – that noise that nearly stopped my heart beating, it was just the post being pushed through the door. I know that. The postman is walking down our driveway. I got such a shock I’ve hit my head slightly on the glass. A dull ache spreads across my forehead. I need to stop this. I need to pull myself together.
I get up and walk out onto the small landing here on the top floor. There are only three rooms at the top of the house – Michael’s office, a tiny bathroom and a box room that Michael uses to store his overflow of books, files and papers. I very rarely come up here. It’s Michael’s floor, really. His space.
Back down on the first floor I slip into our bedroom, tidy myself up. I tie my hair back, apply a little more make-up. I’m painting on that mask again, putting up that shield. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Ellie Travers stares back. Confident businesswoman. Loving wife. Loving wife who’s snooping around her husband’s things. What are you not telling me, Michael?
As I turn to head back downstairs, something catches my attention. I can hear something, a noise; it’s vague, a low, heavy rumbling … where’s it coming from? It’s getting louder and there are raised voices now, they’re outside. Shouting. I quickly move into the empty bedroom to my right to get a better look out the window, my heart beating so fast I think it might explode. There’s someone outside. Is it her?
Get a hold of yourself, Ellie. It can’t be.
As the refuse lorry rumbles down the lane my eyes close with relief. All I heard was the bins being emptied. That’s all. My paranoia, that unwelcome rush of anxiety, it’s ramping up when it should be waning now. I should be able to deal with it all, after fourteen months. But I can’t. Or I won’t. I don’t know.
It’s then I realise which room I’m standing in. It’s empty. There isn’t even a bed in here. The walls are painted a bight lemon yellow and the carpet’s a soft, plush cream pile, but that’s all there is – painted walls and cream carpet. Maybe we’ll get around to making this more of a room and less of an empty space one day, but not yet. There’s no hurry. It’s not as if we need another guest room right now.
The view is pretty from this room. It gets a lot of sun in the afternoon, on the days when the sun dares to make an appearance. That’s why I painted the walls yellow, to make the most of the sunshine. I wanted this to be a bright and happy room.
The sound of my phone ringing out from the kitchen startles me. It’s becoming exhausting now, this almost constant fear that something is going to happen. I need to get my shit together.
Closing the door, I run downstairs towards the ringing phone. It’s Carmen, at the spa. It’s time to focus. But as I listen to Carmen’s update, my fingers curl around the scrap of paper in my pocket. This is far from over.
I love my husband.
My husband loves me.
Nothing, and nobody, is getting in the way of that.
*
‘Ellie! How lovely to see you!’
Sue’s smile beams out as I walk into the outer space that houses Michael’s office, and the offices of two of his fellow English professors. It’s a bustling, busy area comprising three desks for the secretaries, countless filing cabinets, a large table with two desktop computers on it at the back of the room, next to a huge wall of windows that look out over university grounds, an old battered leather sofa positioned beside a large, ornate fireplace, which Sue always makes sure is decorated beautifully at Christmas, and a small kitchen area with a kettle, microwave and a Belfast sink. It’s actually all rather homely, given that it’s a workspace.
‘Are you here to see Michael?’
‘I was just on my way to the spa, and seeing as I was passing I thought I might pop in, say hello. Bring him some lunch. Is he in his office?’
‘I think he’s just finishing a lecture, but he’s due back any minute now. He’s got tutorials this lunchtime. Can I get you a coffee? A cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I’ll just wait, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course it is … Oh, speak of the devil. Here he is.’
I turn to see Michael stride through the door, his expression a mixture of surprise tinged with something else – is that anger? But then his expression quickly changes and he smiles at me, that easy-going smile I’m all-too familiar with. He wasn’t quick enough. I can tell he’s using that smile to mask something; whatever it is he’s hiding from me.
I know what you’re doing, Michael. I’m your wife. Remember?
‘Darling? What are you doing here?’ He takes a step towards me, leans in and gently plants a kiss on my cheek, that smile still there on his handsome face.
‘I was on my way to the spa and I just thought I’d pop in and bring you some lunch, seeing as you missed breakfast this morning.’
His eyes meet mine. It feels as if he’s searching my soul. ‘Sue, can you stick the kettle on, please?’
‘Of course. Are you sure you don’t want anything, Ellie?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
Michael nudges his office door open with his shoulder. ‘I’ve got tutorials in a few minutes. Did you want to see me about anything in particular?’
‘I was just passing. I thought it might be nice to drop by and say hello, that’s all. Does there have to be a reason for your wife to pop in and see you?’
He glances over at Sue, but she’s in the kitchen area chatting to April, one of the other secretaries. They can’t hear us.
‘It’s just not something you make a habit of. It never has been.’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
I can’t stop the slightly irritated edge to my tone and he narrows his eyes as he looks at me.
‘No, Ellie, I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t have a lot of time. Like I said, I have tutorials.’
Sue comes back over and hands Michael