by ML Roberts
I go back into the kitchen, and I start to pour myself a glass of wine.
‘You’re driving. You’ve had enough.’
Michael takes the bottle from me before I can fill my glass, and I close my eyes, just for a second. I need to breathe. He’s right. I can’t drink any more; I have had enough. Unfortunately.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Here.’
He hands me a glass of lime and soda and I take it from him. ‘Thanks.’ We can’t have anyone thinking our marriage is in trouble. We can’t have people knowing how broken we are. We’ve never rowed in front of our friends; in front of anyone. We’ve never even shared so much as a niggle, a random barbed comment. It isn’t what we do. Not in our friends’ eyes. We’re Ellie and Michael. The perfect couple. That couple who faced tragedy and still remain closer than ever. Yes. That’s who we need to be again.
‘You need to make more of an effort, Ellie, or people will start to think something’s wrong.’
I look at him, my expression one of disbelief. I’m not even trying to hide it. ‘Because everything is just perfect, right?’
He bows his head, quickly runs his hand along the back of his neck, and then he reaches out, takes my hand in his and pulls me towards him, kissing me gently, an action so unexpected I didn’t even have time to take another breath before his mouth was on mine. Is this real? Or just a façade?
‘We don’t have to stay much longer, all right?’ he whispers, cupping my cheek, his thumb lightly stroking my skin, and I feel a million confused, messed up emotions flood my brain.
I nod, and he smiles – just a small, brief smile – before he pulls away and re-joins Harry, Ed and Liam. And as I look over towards our group of friends, Liam’s eyes meet mine and he throws me a friendly smile – one I return.
‘I really admire you, Ellie.’
Claire joins me at the back of the kitchen, helping herself to the wine I so badly need and can’t have. Not until I get home, and then I can drink until I forget everything.
‘Admire me? Why?’
She takes a sip of her wine and looks at me, narrowing her eyes slightly, her expression telling me I should know exactly why she admires me. I don’t.
‘The way you and Michael have stayed so strong, after everything that happened. It would’ve tested most couples to their limit.’
‘It wasn’t easy, Claire.’
‘Oh, no, Ellie, I know that. I’m not saying it was easy, God … I didn’t mean it that way, I just…’
‘No, Claire, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m just a little tired. It’s been a busy week at the spa, problems at the Newcastle salon … It all just piles up sometimes, you know?’
Claire smiles, and I breathe an inner sigh of relief. These people are the last people I should be taking anything out on.
‘I just think the way you and Michael came back from what happened – that would’ve pulled most couples apart. I’m not sure Ed and I would’ve coped as well as you two did.’
We really seem to have done a good job of lying to our friends. And part of me feels guilty for that, for letting them think that we dealt with everything so much better than we really did. Why couldn’t we have told them the truth? What would’ve been so bad about letting them know that we aren’t so fucking perfect after all?
The sound of Rachel and Harry’s eight week old daughter crying from the nursery upstairs bellows from the baby monitor on the countertop, and I watch as Rachel says something to Harry before running out of the room. It’s Liam who glances over at me again, not Michael. Not my husband. He can’t even look at me, and that rips me apart inside. The fact it’s Liam who senses that only makes it worse. But it’s Claire’s hand on my arm that pulls me back from a dark place I don’t want to go to right now. I’ve been there enough times over the past few months.
‘It must still be hard, Ellie. For you and Michael.’
I turn my head to look at her, plastering a smile on my face because that’s what I need to do. I need to smile and pretend I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m over it, all of it. ‘It was, in the beginning, but things are much better now. And I have Michael. We have each other.’
Do we?
She squeezes my hand, her smile reassuring, not full of pity like it used to be. ‘I envy what you guys have. You’re so strong.’
She envies us. She thinks we’re strong. How would they feel if they knew the truth? If they knew how weak Michael and I really were?
‘Life goes on. Besides, my work keeps me busy. And speaking of which, aren’t you booked in for a pamper day at the spa next Friday?’
‘I am, and I can’t wait! Thank you so much for the vouchers; I’m going to use them all.’
I smile at her, thankful that we’ve finally changed the subject. But I’m still counting down the minutes until it’s an appropriate time for Michael and me to make our excuses and leave. These evenings are tough, which is why we don’t do them so often any more, but every now and again we feel obliged to come out, show our faces. We have to keep up those appearances.
Claire turns to top up her wine and I stare out ahead of me, watching closely as Rachel reappears, whispers something to Harry. It’s his turn to go and see to their daughter while she re-joins the conversation, and I watch as Michael leans in to her, says something to her that makes her throw her head back and laugh. I watch as he rests a hand on her hip, and I narrow my eyes slightly even though I know he and Rachel would never do anything like that; not to me, not to Harry. This distraction Michael’s found – she isn’t a friend of ours, she’s a stranger, at least to me. A student to him. Michael would never stray so close to home, he’s just a very tactile, very charming, flirtatious man. He always has been; it’s what makes him so attractive.
I keep watching him, the way he can still charm women he’s known for almost a decade, and I can completely understand why his female students fawn over him so much. But reciprocating those feelings – after what happened, after what she did, for him to take that risk – is he really that insensitive? That naïve?
Despite their own husbands watching on, Claire and Rachel continue to play up to my husband’s harmless flirting, but they’ve known Michael a long time. They know this is just the way he is, and then I wonder if these people – people I still call my friends – I wonder if any of them would lie for him. Cover for him. Keep his secrets, and me out of the loop. It’s something that makes the knot in my stomach tighten a little more, pulling so hard I find it difficult to breathe for a second or two. Could I be the only one who knows nothing? The last to find out about my husband’s infidelity? Alleged infidelity; I still have no proof. Not yet.
‘Come on, Ellie. Come and join us.’
Claire’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I shake that new paranoia away, although I think it’s already found a home amongst the rest of my jumbled theories. It won’t go away now, I’ll be watching them, all of them, a lot more closely.
‘Ellie?’
‘Oh, sorry, yes. Yes, of course. I’m coming.’
I head over to them, and as I approach the group Michael holds out his hand, and I hesitate, just for a beat or two, before I take it. Before I let his fingers curl around mine, squeeze my hand tight in his; before I allow this charade to carry on a little while longer. But I refuse to accept that it will be this way forever. I will change it. I’ve already started.
Chapter 17
It’s raining; the kind of rain you usually only see in movies or on TV. The kind that can’t possibly be real because it’s coming down so heavy. Too heavy. But it’s raining like that now, here, as I sit in my car, watching a cascade of huge raindrops pelt down onto my windscreen, the noise they’re making so loud it’s quite unnerving.
I’m parked up in the back yard behind the Durham hair studio waiting for this shower to pass. Even the short dash from my car to the back entrance of the salon will see me soaked through if I attempt to leave just yet, so I sit tight, watch the rain continue to fall, s
training my neck to look up at the sky to see if there’s a break in those dark, threatening clouds overhead. There’s a small sliver of light in the distance. I just have to wait. It’ll be over soon.
It’s been a day or two now since I installed the spyware app on Michael’s phone, and so far he has no idea it’s there. I need it to stay that way. Over the past few days there’s been nothing strange that’s caused me any concern, given me any reason to think something’s going on, not yet; but that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. That doesn’t mean he isn’t seeing someone, isn’t mentoring this student just a little too closely. So it’s staying there. Because I’m not letting this go. Not until I know what’s going on.
There’ve been phone calls to fellow staff members, texts to a couple of his other students to arrange tutorials, but nothing suspicious, and no contact with this girl called Ava. No texts, no calls. Nothing. He hasn’t visited anywhere that’s made me think anything untoward is happening – he’s been to a different university building, which isn’t unusual; he went to football last night and the pub afterwards, and then he came home. Went straight to bed, left me downstairs watching some box set or other. We barely spoke this morning. I was up before him, ate breakfast alone, watched a bit of TV, caught up on the news, and by the time he came downstairs I was ready to leave for work. Now I’m checking that’s where he went, too. Did he go straight to work?
I stare down at my phone at the very second an alert flashes up on the screen. He’s making a call. I feel my heart start to beat out another hard, heavy rhythm, because this app … it records any calls Michael makes from his phone. I can play them back, listen to them, all of them. But so far he hasn’t called her. Is he calling her now? Is he arranging another lunch? An innocent tutorial? An afternoon in a cheap hotel? I hate myself for the way my brain works now, for the shit it kicks up and makes me believe, but I do believe it. I believe he’s doing something, my husband. I believe he’s living another life outside of ours because ours is falling apart, and he can’t deal with that. Instead he’s just chosen to ignore it; to avoid the issue.
It’s quickly become an obsession now, this desperate need I have to know my husband’s whereabouts. To see whom he talks to, whom he contacts. Every time my phone flags up an alert, every time I know he’s calling someone, I find myself burning up, my stomach contracting with nerves and apprehension. I feel sick. Anxious. Desperate to know his secret. This is what it’s come to, what I’ve become – the kind of woman who spies on her husband. But I think I have good reason. Just the thought that he could be speaking to her, right now, it turns my stomach. It makes me feel – angry? I don’t know if it’s anger I’m feeling. I think it’s more sadness. I’m sad that this is what our lives have become.
Sitting back, I close my eyes and take a few long deep breaths as that knot in my stomach tightens once more, my fingers grasping my phone. I’m on edge, because I need to hear that conversation he’s just had. The tracker has him at work, but that means nothing. That doesn’t mean he’s making a work-related call.
I look down at my phone, log onto the app, hold the phone to my ear as the recorded call plays out. He was calling Laurel. Something about a conference in London.
I stop listening. Log out of the app. My shoulders sag, my breathing slows down, I have a few more minutes of respite, some short-lived relief before the paranoia and the anxiety kicks in again. Because it will kick in. It never goes away now, not really; it just lies dormant, waiting to unleash itself at any given moment.
I glance out of the car window. The rain’s eased off, I can make a break for it; so I tuck my phone back into my bag, grab my laptop from the passenger seat and make a run for the salon’s back door.
Once inside, I have a brief meeting with Tanya, the salon’s manager, before I make some coffee and head into my office. I spend a lot more time holed up in my offices at the salons now, way more than I used to. I used to be out on the salon floor at any opportunity. I had my own client list, people who would come only to me because they trusted me, not just with their hair but with their secrets, too. They could talk to me, about anything – family members they despised, friends they didn’t really care about and ones they cared too much for. I used to hear some eye-watering stuff; it’s surprising what people will tell their hair stylist, the trust they put in someone they only see once every few weeks. And I loved it, being out there amongst everyone, joining in with the gossip and the chatter. But now – now I prefer the solitude of my office. I like –I need – the privacy. I still go out there sometimes, as I have one or two regulars who refuse to let anyone else touch their hair, and I’d like to keep them. They’ve been good to me over the years, and their loyalty hasn’t gone unnoticed. When I couldn’t face coming into work after the miscarriage, they stuck by me. They waited. So I owe it to them to make the effort when they need me. But anything else, I leave that to my amazing team of stylists.
I’ve just logged onto my spyware account on the laptop when a knock at the door interrupts me, and I quickly shut the lid as Tanya pokes her head inside.
‘Liam’s here, Ellie. You busy? I can tell him to come back later.’
I shake my head, keeping the laptop lid closed. ‘No, it’s okay. Tell him he can come in.’
I get up and come round to the front of my desk, leaning against it as Tanya goes back outside to fetch Liam.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, folding my arms as he closes the door behind him, a mug of coffee in one hand. ‘And will you stop getting my staff to make you coffee?’
‘I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.’ He smirks, but I’m not really in the mood for his humour today.
‘What are you doing here?’ I repeat, hoping to get an answer this time.
‘I’m lecturing at the university. I told you, remember? At Rachel and Harry’s dinner party. I’ve got a series of guest lectures this week.’
‘I’ve had other things on my mind. It might surprise you to find out you’re not always at the forefront.’
He takes a sip of coffee, ignoring my probably slightly unnecessary barbed comment, and I know his eyes are on me as I go over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the office. I can feel them boring into the back of my neck. ‘Anyway, I haven’t seen you since the dinner party.’
‘I know. I’ve been busy. You’ve seen Michael.’
‘Yes. I have.’
I turn around, clutching the file I was looking for to my chest. ‘I assume you’ve just stopped by here to kill some time?’
He puts down his mug and smiles slightly. ‘Guilty. Although, since I’m here, you couldn’t fit me in for a trim, could you?’
I place the file down on my desk and walk over to him, running my fingers through his hair. ‘Hmm … this could do with some tidying up…’ I tug lightly at the hair at the back of his neck. ‘It’s grown a little out of shape. I’ll get Ola to sort you out. She hasn’t got anyone in until eleven thirty.’
‘Can’t you do it?’
‘I’m busy.’ I step away from him and sit back down.
‘Doing what?’ He folds his arms and leans back against the desk.
‘I’m just busy, Liam, okay?’
He says nothing for a couple of beats, and then he leans right back, reaches out and flips open the laptop lid. And I’m not quick enough to close it before he sees what pops up on the screen, although I don’t think he quite realises what it is, not at first. But it’s piqued his interest enough for him to come back behind my desk for a closer look, which I try to discourage by attempting to minimize the image. But his hand covers mine before I get that chance, stopping me from doing anything.
‘What is that, Ellie?’
I fling his hand off mine and try to shut the lid again, but again he stops me, grabbing my wrist this time, his fingers gripping me tight as he leans forward and looks at the screen.
‘Jesus Christ … you’re spying on him?’
I manage to wrench my arm free of his grip, stand up and g
o over to the small window at the back of the office, folding my arms against myself as I look outside. The weather’s still dull and miserable, and those huge raindrops are back now, falling heavily from a leaden sky, hitting the roof of my car with such force I’m afraid they might dent the bodywork.
‘He’s having an affair, Liam. I know he is.’
Liam doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t respond, and when I turn back around he’s still staring at the laptop screen.
‘You’re recording his phone calls?’
I nod, even though Liam isn’t looking at me. He’s still staring at the screen.
‘You’re tracking him?’
‘You’re stating the obvious now. You can see what I’m doing.’
He turns around to face me. ‘You really think he’s having an affair?’
‘Yes. The signs are there, I just need some proof.’
‘And then what?’
I drop my gaze, and close my eyes again. ‘I just need some proof, Liam.’
‘You know that shit’s illegal, don’t you? What you’re doing, the way you’re doing it … you’re not concerned about that?’
‘Are you?’
He frowns, leans back against the desk, sliding his hands into his pockets. ‘This isn’t about me, Ellie.’
I look up, I’m slightly angry now. He’s seriously going to stand there and lecture me? ‘I just need some proof.’
‘Why don’t you just follow him like normal suspicious wives do?’
He doesn’t even hide the sarcasm, and I feel my hackles rise slightly as I push him away and slam down the laptop lid.
‘Come on. Let’s get you outside, let Ola sort your hair out.’
‘And what are you going to do, huh? Come back in here and listen to your husband’s phone calls?’