inside. I’ve got a few minutes to spare before my first student gets here.’
I follow him into his office and close the door behind me. He puts down the pile of folders and books he was carrying and leans back against his desk, folding his arms, his eyes boring into mine.
I don’t think he wants me here, and I know why. But I’m not going anywhere, yet.
I go over to him, take hold of his shirt collar, my lips brushing the side of his neck as I lean in to him. ‘You said you had a few minutes,’ I murmur, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, my fingers playing with his hair, stroking his skin.
He lets out a low groan as I press myself against him, drops his hand to my bottom as I kiss him. It doesn’t take much, Michael, does it?
‘Do you remember those days when you’d come visit me at work, at the salon?’ I whisper, as his fingers dig into my thigh, push me harder against him. ‘You’d meet me for lunch but we’d always end up never leaving my office. Remember?’ I push his head back slightly so I can look at him, look right into those beautiful blue eyes. ‘Those days when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I miss those days. Don’t you?’
His hand slides up under my dress and I gasp quietly as he touches me, as his lips brush the base of my throat, his thumb stroking my inner thigh.
He takes hold of my hips and swings me around, pushes me back against his desk. I wind my fingers in his hair and pull him down. I kiss him. I breathe him in because I love him. My husband. My husband.
I wrap my legs around him, feel his hand on my lower back push me against him, and then, almost as if a switch has been flicked, he steps back from me, drops his gaze for a second or two. And when he raises it I can see how on edge he is now.
‘What’s all this about, Ellie?’
‘What’s all this about?’ I frown, but his expression doesn’t waver. ‘When did stopping by your office become something you’re suspicious of?’
‘It isn’t, I just …’ He sighs quietly and pushes a hand back through his hair. ‘It just isn’t what you do. Bringing me lunch, dropping by to say hello. That isn’t what you do. You’ve never done that, so why now?’
‘Now I have a business not fifteen minutes away from your office, Michael.’
I watch as his expression turns from one of suspicion to one of guilt, almost. But he still wants me to leave. He isn’t making a secret of that. It’s written all over his face. He wants me to go. But that only makes me more determined to go through with this, because I need to know now. I need to fucking know.
‘Look, Ellie, I know things have been a bit strained lately …’
He leaves that sentence hanging and I almost laugh at his simplified summing up of the past few months. He thinks things have been strained lately? Things have been strained for a long time now; he just chooses to ignore that fact. But I don’t want him to be suspicious of anything, not now. I can’t risk that. If he thinks I’m being irrational or that my behaviour is changing – if he is hiding something, that would only alert him to that fact, give him a chance to cover his tracks. And I need to know if something’s going on. I need to know if there’s something – someone – standing in the way of me getting through to my husband. Something that threatens us. I need to know that. I need to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself, because he sure as hell isn’t doing that. I have a mission now, something to focus on, something that’s giving me back a little bit of that control I felt I was losing.
‘Anyway, I really need to prepare for this tutorial …’ He slides his hands into his pockets and walks behind his desk, firing up his laptop, ‘and I’m sure there are things you need to be getting on with.’
I watch him for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to the laptop screen, and then he checks his watch and I’m sensing a slight hint of irritation coming from him now. He really does want me to go, right now. Is there a reason for that? Is it guilt? More guilt? He doesn’t want me to come face to face with this student who’s about to turn up here, at his office, for their lunchtime tutorial, is that it? Is that why he wants me gone? Because his body language, Jesus, it’s screaming at me to leave.
‘Yes. You’re right, there are lots of things I need to be getting on with.’
I look back over my shoulder, outside into the outer office, but there’s no one out there except Sue and April. It’s quiet, even though it’s lunchtime.
‘I should be home for dinner.’
His voice causes my head to shoot back around.
‘Providing nothing comes up, of course. You know how it is sometimes.’
Yes. I know how it is. I know how it’s become. I know ‘sometimes’ is turning into ‘most of the time’, and I feel my stomach twist itself up into a tight knot as I catch him checking his watch again.
‘Okay, well, I’ll see you tonight.’ I reach into my bag and take out a small plastic box, placing it down on Michael’s desk. ‘Your lunch.’
He looks down at the box, but he just leaves it there. He doesn’t touch it.
‘Are you going to be working late?’ he asks, raising his gaze, and I look at him. His expression is verging on hopeful. Is that what it’s really come to now? How desperate he’s become to make sure we spend as little time alone together as possible?
‘No. I don’t intend to be. I’m learning to delegate more, Michael. I’m trying not to drown in my work quite so much, not when there are other things I need to concentrate on.’
I don’t know whether he can read between the lines of that sentence, whether he realises that that was a dig, a hint. I don’t know if he’d even acknowledge it if he had. But even though I leave his office, leave the outer office, I don’t leave the building. I didn’t come here to waste this chance, to not see what I need to see, I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to bring Michael lunch. That was nothing more than my excuse.
I remain outside in the corridor, stepping back against the wall alongside a large display cabinet and I pull out my phone. I check the time. If she’s the punctual type she should be here any second. I’m feeling strangely invigorated. The rush of adrenaline is both breathtaking and frightening and I don’t know who I’ve become, how I got to this point. I just know I can’t leave it alone now.
The sound of chatter coming from the entrance invites my attention and I turn my head slightly, putting my phone to my ear as I embark on a fake conversation. A group of three young women stop outside the open door to the outer office I’ve just left. They chat for a few seconds before saying their goodbyes and I watch as two of them head off in separate directions, leaving one still there outside the office. I’m guessing that’s Ava. She’s dressed in an unflattering long sweater and boyfriend jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, but she seems pretty enough. And as she glances back over her shoulder, casting a wave in the direction of someone I can’t see from where I’m standing, she smiles and her whole face lights up. She’s really pretty, actually. The knot in my stomach returns, pulling tighter as I see Michael come to the door, watch as she turns around to face him, and her expression changes again, her smile growing wider. As does Michael’s. They start talking, but I obviously can’t hear what they’re saying and I shrink back into the shadows, just in case Michael’s gaze wanders, but he seems too focused on her.
I keep the phone to my ear, although I’ve stopped pretending to talk into it, I’m too busy watching my husband. I watch Michael lay a hand gently on the small of her back, guiding her inside. I’m almost sick in my mouth.
I slide my phone into my pocket as I calmly walk outside, but the second air hits me I have to stop and lean back against the wall. My heart’s still beating wildly and that knot in my stomach is so tight now it hurts, but I know what I saw – the way he smiled at her, touched her; the look on her face