need to go, Liam.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you alone, not now.’
I raise my head slowly to look at him. ‘Why? What are you scared of? Do you think I’m going to do something stupid? Is that it?’
‘No…’
‘Then you can go, can’t you?’
‘Come home with me, Ellie. Please.’
I shake my head. I want to be on my own. For the first time in a long time I actually want to be alone, in this house.
He comes over to me, takes hold of my wrists and unfolds my arms. He takes my hands in his, his grip tight around my fingers.
‘I don’t think you should stay here. This house, it isn’t good for you.’
‘It’s my home.’
‘Pack a few things and come back to mine. Please, Ellie.’
I tug my hands free of his and walk over to the counter. I pour myself a large measure of whisky, but before I can drink it he’s taken the glass from me. Poured the whisky down the sink.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Pack a bag and come home with me.’
‘Just go, Liam. Please.’
‘She’s pregnant, Ellie. You saw that, right? You saw Michael, with her…’
I swing around and stare at him. I’m tired of him now, I don’t want him here. I need to think. ‘We don’t know the baby is his.’
‘Jesus, Ellie, come on…!’
He rakes a hand through his hair, throws his head back and sighs heavily.
‘You want it to be true, don’t you? You want to believe that my husband is sleeping with her, that he got her pregnant, you want that to be true. Why, Liam? Because you think that’ll make me stop loving him? Make me run to you…?’
‘You’ve already run to me, Ellie.’ He moves a little closer, reaches out to touch my cheek. ‘And you didn’t do that for the hell of it. You did it for a reason, you’re just too scared to admit it.’
‘You need to go. Please.’
He pulls his hand back, steps away from me, but his eyes remain fixed on mine. ‘I love you, have you got that yet? I love you so much, and I won’t let him do this to you. I won’t let him hurt you like this.’
I say nothing. I just keep staring at him, hoping he’ll get the message. That he’ll leave, I really do need to be alone now.
‘This is killing you, he is killing you, and I can’t stand by and watch him do that.’
Still, I remain silent. I want him to go, I can’t think with him here, he’s too much of a distraction.
‘Ellie?’
I shake my head. He needs to go. And he does, eventually. But I wait until I hear his car leave the driveway before I move, before I head into the hall, pull the bolts across the door. Make myself safe. And as soon as that’s done I lean back against the wall, close my eyes, and take a second to breathe. A second to let what I saw today sink in.
Her.
Ava.
Pregnant.
My husband, holding her in his arms, her fingers clinging onto his jacket. She’d looked upset. Scared. She should be.
My eyes spring open and I stare at the door. I glance at the security monitor. I look down at my left hand, at the wedding band there on my third finger. A symbol of those vows Michael and I made to each other.
To have and to hold.
For better, for worse.
In sickness and in health.
Till death do us part…
They mean something, those vows. We said them, and we meant them. All of them.
Didn’t we, Michael…?
I can’t get those images out of my head. His concerned expression. His finger tucked under her chin as she looked up into his eyes. I couldn’t sleep, I spent the night lying awake staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything I’m losing. My husband. My life. My mind…
I need to see him. Michael. I need to see him. I need to confront him once and for all; I need to do that, even though Karl – the private investigator – told me to do nothing until he’s got more information. It’s what I’m paying him for after all, isn’t it? To gather more information. To watch my husband, track his movements, because I can’t do that anymore. He told me to wait, until he has more proof. Do I need more proof? Weren’t those pictures enough?
I push open the revolving doors of the hotel I know Michael’s staying in and stride into the lobby. Why did he never go to that friend he claimed he was going to stay with? Was there ever a friend? Or was that just another lie? After all, it’s easier to bring her here, isn’t it? Easier to carry out that deception and betrayal in a place full of people who don’t know you. Who won’t judge you. How many times has he lied to my face?
How many times have I lied to his?
Despite the fact it’s only just gone 8 a.m., the reception area is busy. There seems to be a large group of people trying to check out so I hang back a little, sit down in the foyer, my gaze shifting between the front desk and the door. I have no idea if they’ll tell me Michael’s room number, but I’m his wife. I’ll make up some kind of emergency, I can lie just as well as he can. Probably even better.
My phone vibrating momentarily distracts me, and I pull it from my pocket. It’s Liam.
I glance quickly outside, and then I realize Karl is probably parked up somewhere, watching the hotel. Has he noticed me come in here? He should have done, if he’s doing his job properly. And he won’t be happy that I’ve done this, that I’ve come here, but rather than confront me himself, has he called Liam? Is he too scared to tackle the woman he can see I’ve become? Would he rather Liam come and handle this? Handle me? Is that who I am now? Something to be ‘handled’?
I ignore the call and slide the phone back into my pocket, but within seconds it vibrates again, so this time I turn it off and throw it into my bag. I don’t need the distraction. And then I hear it – his voice. Michael’s voice. Deep. Bold. Perfect diction. It carries well, my husband’s voice.
He’s at the front desk, talking to the receptionist, smiling at her the way he smiles at every woman he comes into contact with. And she’s just like all the others, sucked in by his handsome face and easy charm. And I’m tired of it, the way he flirts with them, attracting these women like some modern-day pied piper.
I get up, make my way over to him, and as he turns his head his smile evaporates.
‘What are you doing here, Ellie?’
He speaks to me like I mean nothing to him. It stings, further ripping that hole in my heart that he’s already put there.
‘I need to talk to you.’
He turns away, signs something the receptionist slides over to him, and he looks at her as he hands it back. He throws her that smile, again, but this time she doesn’t return it. She quickly glances in my direction. I’m making her uncomfortable.
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, slipping his newspaper into his bag before sliding it up onto his shoulder. ‘I think you should go.’
‘I’m