by ML Roberts
‘You left without breakfast again this morning.’
I turn around, lean back against the glass and wait for him to respond. But he doesn’t; not at first.
‘I grabbed something at work.’
‘You didn’t even stop for a coffee somewhere first? You left quite early today. You had time to stop for a coffee.’
He gets up out of his chair, moves a little closer to me, and I hold his gaze. I need to see his eyes when he tells me whatever it is he’s going to tell me next.
‘I went straight to work, Ellie.’
Our eyes stay locked, and the silence surrounding us now is stifling, the air thick with his lies. I know he’s lying. He knows he’s lying. The first time he’s lied to me outright. And maybe that’s what I needed, to hear him lie to me like this.
After a couple of loaded beats, he backs away, sits back down, opens up his newspaper like that exchange never happened. I stay backed up against the window. I keep watching him, my lying husband. My cheating, lying husband. And then I turn away again, look back out of the window, the heavy beating of my heart filling my ears, a new sound to help break the silence.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
His voice startles me slightly, and I flinch, taking a deep breath before I turn around to face him, shaking my head. ‘No. I’m fine.’
He closes his paper, flinging it down on the table beside him. ‘Is this the way it’s going to be forever now, Ellie? The silences, the questions…’
‘This is my fault?’
‘Well, it isn’t mine.’
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m so fucking tired now. ‘What do you want me to do, Michael?’
He sits forward, clasps his hands together. The look he’s giving me is verging on pitying. I don’t want his fucking pity, I want his love. His support. I want my husband back.
‘It hurt me, too, Ellie. Losing the baby, coming to terms with what happened to you…’ He drops his head, and I see his shoulders visibly hunch up then relax as he takes a deep breath. I still don’t understand why he finds it so difficult to talk about this. It’s confusing. When I was in hospital – when they told me we’d lost the baby, told me I may never be able to conceive again – he was there for me. He cried with me, held me; for those first few days, he was the husband I needed. And then it all changed. One day he changed. He started shutting me down, refusing to talk about it any more. Does he really still think that a couple of days was all I needed to get over everything?
‘What happened? To make you this distant; to keep you this distant? I thought we were supposed to be getting through this together. That’s what you told me, that we’d get through this together.’
‘Nothing happened.’ He raises his gaze, his eyes meeting mine, and the look he gives me now breaks my heart. We’re getting nowhere. We’re not moving forward, we’re stagnating. No, we’re not even doing that; we’re drifting further apart. ‘I just think – a lot of time has passed now…’
‘And time heals everything, right? She kicked our baby to death, Michael. I was supposed to be keeping our unborn child safe, and I couldn’t do that. She killed our baby. She took our baby from us, took our chance to be parents away. And I have been dealing with that, dealing with everything, all on my own, because you refuse to talk to me. You refuse to let me talk to my friends…’
You lie to me.
He slams his fist down on the table beside him, causing the vase that was standing on it to vibrate, and I jump, falling back against the window. His eyes are dark now, his expression cold. He finds it so hard to be patient with me these days.
‘I love you, Ellie, I really do, but you are making it so difficult for me right now to be close to you.’
He stands up, and I watch as he rakes a hand through his hair, throws his head back and lets out another heavy, frustrated sigh.
‘I did everything I could to make this better. I tried, I really did…’
‘You tried?’
Past tense. He tried. And all I feel now is that numbness creeping back, sweeping over me, engulfing me.
‘When did you try, Michael?’
All of a sudden the numbness recedes, the darkness pushes back and I move towards him. There’s a strength inside me now that I wasn’t aware of before.
‘What did you do, huh? To make this better? What did you do?’
‘I talked to the counsellor. I went because you wanted me to, because I thought it would help, and I sat there and I held your hand and we tried to talk this out. I talked to someone, we talked to someone…’
‘But we didn’t talk about everything, did we? We couldn’t…’
‘We talked as much as we could, Ellie. You were there; we talked enough to be able to move on, to some extent. It’s you who’s so bloody insistent that we continue to drag it all up. That isn’t helping anyone. All it’s going to do is hurt more people in the long run. Hurt us. We can’t grieve for the past forever. We can’t change what happened. It’s time to leave it alone now. It’s time to start living again.’
He turns to go.
‘I’m not having this conversation…’
‘That’s right, walk away like you always do. Where are you going this time, Michael? What distraction are you looking for now?’
He strides towards me, his face a mask of anger and frustration; the pity’s gone now. But he doesn’t scare me. He’d never hurt me, not physically. No matter how hard I push him, he’d never hurt me that way.
‘Do you know how crazy you sound, Ellie?’
He almost hisses the words out, his fingers jabbing at the sides of his temple as his eyes bore into mine. I don’t think I sound crazy at all. I think I’m justified in wanting to know why, fourteen months on, my husband still can’t talk to me about what happened. I think it’s quite fair of me to want to know if he’s seeking solace in the arms of another woman, leaving me to deal with the pain and the memories all on my own. When he should be helping me. And he isn’t. He hasn’t.
‘Tomorrow I’m going to buy paint for that room…’
‘That room … you can’t even say it, can you? You can’t even call it the nursery…’
‘Because it isn’t a fucking nursery, Ellie. It never was.’
The flat of my palm connects with his cheek before I even realise what I’m doing, the slap so hard it sends tingles vibrating all the way up my arm; but I’m not sorry. He deserved that.
His eyes continue to stare right into me as he raises a hand to his cheek; but he doesn’t react, doesn’t respond. Instead he just turns and walks away. It doesn’t matter what I do, how far I push him. He always, eventually, walks away.
I sit back down on the couch, clasping my hands together, wincing slightly because my injured hand is still sore.
The front door slamming shut makes me jump, even though I know it’s just Michael. Leaving. And I look up, out into the quiet, empty kitchen. I’m alone, again. Just me and my paranoia. My fear.
I get up. I need to check he’s locked the door behind him. And as I walk through the kitchen I flick on the TV, something to drown out the silence. I need some background noise. I need my own distraction. Is that what he’s doing? Is that where he’s gone? Has he gone to her? To Ava?
Pulling at the door, I check that it’s locked. I slip on the chain and slide the bolts across, top and bottom. He’ll have to ring the doorbell if he wants to get back in. If he comes home. I need to feel safe while I’m here on my own.
Feeling around in my back pocket for my phone, I pull it out, sitting down on the bottom of the stairs as I log onto the spyware app. I sit back against the wall, draw my knees to my chest and watch as the tiny green dot moves slowly across the screen, tilting my head to one side as I squint slightly, trying to make out exactly where it’s heading. And it feels like an eternity passes before it stops, but as I look up at the clock in the hall I see it’s only been a little over ten minutes. He can’t have gone that far.
Sitting forward, I bring the ph
one closer to me, staring down at the screen. Where is my husband tonight? Where has he run to this time? It takes just a second or two for the address to pop up in front of me, a street name I don’t recognise. Which means he hasn’t gone to any of our friends. He hasn’t gone to any of his work colleagues – unless one of them has moved house, but he hasn’t mentioned anything. Why would he? We don’t indulge in small talk any more; I have to keep reminding myself of that. We don’t talk about work, our colleagues … we don’t share so much these days.
The address is in Durham – Chester-le-Street – so it isn’t that far from here. No one we know lives in Chester-le-Street. No one I know lives in Chester-le-Street.
A sudden knock at the door makes me jump, my phone slipping from my grasp, and I quickly glance over at the security monitor by the door. It’s Liam. I’m not in the mood for him tonight. I need to be alone.
I get up, retrieve my phone from the floor and move slowly across the hallway. I remove the chain and pull back the bolts; I open the door, but I don’t stand aside to let him in. I stay firmly rooted in the doorway. I don’t want to let him in. I want him to go away. I want to find out what Michael’s doing at this unfamiliar address, although I’m already certain I know who he’s with. It has to be Ava; it has to be her.
‘Is Michael in?’ Liam asks, taking a step forward; he thinks he’s coming inside. He isn’t.
I narrow my eyes, the look I give him full of suspicion. ‘Why didn’t you call him first? You never just turn up like this.’
‘I do, actually. I quite often just turn up like this. And I was on my way back from a late meeting at the university, so that’s why I’ve just dropped by, on the off chance. So quit with the paranoia Ellie, okay? There’s nothing weird going on. I just wondered if he wanted a quick drink, that’s all. And I could do with having a word with him about Saturday’s squash game. You going to let me in?’
I fold my arms, still clutching my phone in my hand, although I’m trying to discreetly slide it up the sleeve of my jumper. I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want him to think I’m doing anything I shouldn’t.
‘Michael isn’t here; he’s gone out. And I’m really tired, so…’
‘You had another fight?’
‘You say that like it’s all we do.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Like I said, Liam, I’m really tired. And Michael isn’t here.’
‘Do you know where he’s gone?’
He’s trying to catch me out, I know he is, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of winning this one. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’
‘Ellie…?’
I shut the door in his face. I don’t want his company tonight. I don’t want anyone’s company. I want to know where my husband is.
Sitting back down on the stairs, I watch the monitor, waiting until Liam finally gives up and drives away. But I stay where I am. I do nothing for a few minutes. I just sit there, staring at the screen.
I check my phone again. Michael’s still at that unfamiliar address.
I get up and grab my jacket, slide my phone back into my pocket as I quickly set the alarm, pull the front door shut behind me and lock it, checking it twice, three times before I head over to my car. My husband is with her, I know he is.
Tonight’s the night I get the proof I need.
Tonight, I’m putting a stop to this shit. I’m ending it.
I’m ending it all.
Chapter 23
The roads are quiet as I follow the instructions barked at me by my sat nav, the cold, disembodied voice intermittently interrupting the music I’ve got playing quietly in the background.
It’s been almost forty minutes since Michael arrived at that address. And he’s still there. Forty minutes, and he hasn’t moved, hasn’t left, and I feel my stomach twist up, pushing the breath out of me. I don’t know whether I’m angry or scared. I just feel sick.
I turn a corner into a brand new housing estate as my sat nav informs me I’ve reached my destination. I crane my neck as I slow my speed down. I need to find Michael’s car. And then I spot it, parked outside a neat little detached house with hanging baskets and a perfectly manicured front lawn. It can’t be hers, surely; she’s too young to own her own home, isn’t she? And I still don’t know if this is her house yet. I’m just assuming. But who else does Michael know around here? Is he shagging every woman on this street? I close my eyes and grip the steering wheel tight. My thoughts are becoming dangerously irrational now.
So you see, Michael, I’m not crazy! How can I be crazy if I know I’m thinking irrationally?
Taking a succession of deep breaths, I open my eyes and throw back my head, trying to compose myself. Because if he is with her, I’m going to confront them. I’m going to put an end to it. That’s what I said I was going to do, and I’m doing it. I just need to see them, together, in that house…
Getting out of the car I’m thankful it’s quiet. It’s late, almost dark; curtains are being drawn; everyone’s behind closed doors, getting on with their lives. I’m out here, because my life is on hold. I’m just waiting to see if my husband really is cheating on me.
I lean back against the car, which is parked across the street from Michael’s, and I look over at the house, the one I’m assuming he’s inside. The only one on this street with the curtains still left open. I can see a TV on in the corner of the dimly lit living room, but I can’t see anyone inside, despite the fact it’s quite obviously occupied. Someone’s definitely home.
I keep my eyes focused on that house, glancing around me every now and again to make sure I’m not being watched. Maybe I’d look less suspicious if I took a walk up the street. I can do that. As long as I don’t take my eyes off that house.
And I’m just about to pull myself away from the car when I notice something, someone, coming into the living room, and I narrow my eyes, my heart beating so hard I can barely hear anything else. The sound fills my ears, echoing around my head. It’s her. I can see her clearly now as she draws the curtains. It’s Ava. I know it is, despite the fact I’ve only ever seen her a couple of times before, both times from a distance. But I know it’s her.
Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders; she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts. Are they that comfortable with each other now? Have they reached that stage already?
She starts laughing and turns her head slightly, looking behind her, and my fingers grasp the car door handle as I try to make out who she’s talking to. Is it Michael? Is it my husband? It’s his car outside; is she talking to him? Is he the one making her laugh? He used to make me laugh like that…
She draws the other curtain, shutting off my view, and I feel ready to explode. It’s like I have a volcano of emotions bubbling away inside of me, just waiting to erupt. I can’t hold them down any longer. I need to end this.
I step out into the road. This is it; I’m going to get my proof. I didn’t see Michael, but his car is there. What the hell am I waiting for? Of course he’s inside. He’s in there. He’s been in there for almost an hour, with her. Alone. Together. Has he fucked her yet? Is that what they’ve been doing while I’ve been alone? Laughing. Fucking. Talking. Everything we don’t do any more.
I’m almost on the other side of the street, almost there, outside that house, and I’m filled with a strange mix of emotions now. My heart’s thud-thud-thudding wildly, pumping the blood through my veins at a breakneck speed that sees me stop, just for a second, to catch my breath. I need to breathe, need to compose myself before I confront my lying, cheating husband. Before I confront her. Ava. His whore.
Pushing both hands through my hair, I throw back my head and take a long, deep breath, exhaling slowly. I’m ready for this. I’m ready for it, all of it. But then a hand suddenly grabs my arm and I swing around, ready to scream, but he shakes his head, putting a finger to his mouth to silence me as he drags me back across the road.
He slams me back against the car. Am I scared? No. I’m
fucking angry.
‘Did you follow me?’ I ask, trying desperately to get my breath back. My throat’s so tight now I can barely breathe.
‘What did I tell you, Ellie? I told you to leave this to me.’
I laugh. He’s kidding me, right? ‘You didn’t answer my question, Liam. Did you follow me?’
‘Of course I fucking followed you. You were about to do some crazy shit. I could tell, because you’re so transparent…’
‘And you can read me so well, huh?’
‘Like a fucking book. I’ve known you too long, Ellie. I know the way you work, way better than Michael ever could. And I’m not going to let you go in there, all guns blazing, when you don’t know what the situation is. You don’t even know if he’s in there.’
‘That’s his car, Liam. Look. Over there, parked right outside her house. I saw her inside…’
‘Did you see him?’
‘That’s his car.’
He looks at me, just looks at me, he doesn’t say anything. And I feel that anger steadily rise. He had no right to do this, to stop me. He had no right.
‘I could’ve put an end to this, Liam. I could’ve stopped this, right now, tonight.’
‘By what? Confronting them? You don’t even know what the fuck’s going on!’
‘He’s having an affair.’
His eyes burn into mine, even here, in the darkness, I can see the fire behind them. ‘He’s having an affair…’ He trails off, turns his head away from mine, and he laughs. A small, sharp laugh, and then he looks back at me.
‘Liam, I’m…’
He shakes his head. Opens the car door. ‘Get inside. I’m not doing this out here. We’re going home.’
*
He kicks the front door shut and strides across the hallway into the kitchen, making straight for the bottle of Scotch Michael keeps on the counter. I don’t follow him, not straightaway; I need to make sure the door is secure first. I slide the chain on, pull the lock across; it’s a habit now. As with checking my phone, it’s become an addiction. Even now, as I finally head into the kitchen, I’m pulling it out of my pocket, checking where Michael is. He’s left her house now. He’s on the move. Is he coming back home? Back to me? Or is he still with her? Has she gone with him? Are they heading somewhere together? My head’s so full of questions that it’s spinning, making me dizzy.