The Wife: A gripping emotional thriller with a twist that will take your breath away

‘I’m sorry, Ellie.’

I know he is. I’m sorry too.

I turn around and pull him to me by his shirt collar, quickly kissing his slightly open mouth.

‘Go see Liam. Go on. Go plan your squash strategy or whatever it is you do before one of your games. I’m going to finish getting ready. I need to stop by the spa later, make sure everything’s going to plan.’ I smile and I cup his cheek and kiss him again, stroking his skin with my fingertips. ‘Go. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

I let go of him and I watch as he leaves the room, waiting until I hear both his and Liam’s voices echo up from the kitchen downstairs before I head into the en suite.

I’ve got a busy day ahead. And maybe that’s just as well.

Chapter 3

Long hours are something Michael and I are used to. Sometimes we can be nothing more than passing ships in the night. Days can blend into weeks before we realise we haven’t spent any real time together. We both love our work. We both need our work, now more than ever. But over the past few months the hours we work are increasing, the days are becoming longer. Our life, it’s changed. It had to. We changed. What happened, it was always going to change us. It would have changed anybody, but for us – Ellie and Michael Travers, the perfect couple, because that’s how people saw us, how people still want to see us – for us, those changes are something I’m still trying to cope with.

I switch on the kettle and start laying out the breakfast things just as Michael comes into the kitchen, his head down as he sorts through the post.

‘Anything for me?’ I ask, leaning back against the counter, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the briefest of seconds before his gaze drops back down to the letters in his hand. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes down, and I drop my own gaze, catching a glimpse of my bare feet, the shocking-pink nail polish I’m wearing – courtesy of some last-minute product testing yesterday at the spa – a sharp contrast against the dark tiled floor. And as I raise my head and check the time I realise I’m running late. I need to be at the spa in an hour and I’m not dressed yet.

I pour myself a mug of tea and make to leave, but I stop as I reach the door. I turn back around to face Michael but his head is still down. He’s checking over some papers he’s just taken from his briefcase. This is what it’s like now. Sometimes. The silences, the heavy atmosphere. Painful memories engulf us, both of us, constantly, but we’re finding different ways of dealing with them. I still need to talk about what happened, but Michael thinks we’ve talked enough. He’s wrong.

‘Will you be home for dinner tonight?’

He slowly raises his head, his eyes once more meeting mine, and he holds my gaze a little longer this time, but not long enough to make me feel as though anything’s changing. We haven’t really moved forward, we haven’t yet got past what happened. We’re not the same people we used to be, not behind closed doors anyway. We used to be happy, we used to be close, we had everything. Now I don’t know what we have any more.

‘I’m not sure. I have a department meeting at five, and then evening tutorials. I’ll probably just grab something in the pub. I said I’d meet Liam for a quick drink after work, so …’

He trails off and looks down again. That’s it. He’s severed that communication, and I watch him slide those papers back into his briefcase, slip on his jacket, grab his keys from the dresser. As he heads towards the doorway I’m still standing in. I feel my stomach jolt as he comes closer, and he stops, turning his head to look at me.

‘I’ll try not to be too late.’

I nod, and I take the small smile he gives me, close my eyes as he leans in to kiss my cheek. And I watch as he strides down the hall, without looking back.

It wasn’t always this way. Not so long ago we could barely make it out of the house on time because morning sex and breakfast together was an all-important part of our day. We had it all, we were that couple. Ellie and Michael Travers. Happy. Successful. So fucking perfect that our friends used to tease us incessantly, claim that nobody could ever live up to what we were. Or so we thought.

I glance at the clock again. I’m pushing it, timewise. I really need to get ready, so I head upstairs, but I’m only halfway up when I stop, turn around and come back down. I need to check that Michael locked the door behind him. Our home, it’s quite isolated. A converted barn set in its own grounds, our nearest neighbours are within sight but not walking distance. It’s all very private.

So, I just need to check that Michael locked that door. But of course he’s locked it. He’s as paranoid as I am. Now.

Chapter 4

If somebody had told my thirteen-year-old self that one day I’d be a successful businesswoman running three beauty salons and a day spa; that I’d be married to a gorgeous, brilliant professor, I’d have laughed in their faces. My thirteen-year-old self had no ambition. No prospects.

I was brought up by my grandparents in a small mining village in County Durham. The kind of place where everyone knows everybody and nobody’s business is private. Mine certainly wasn’t.

I’d just turned thirteen when I went to live with them, an angry, disillusioned teenager who fought against everything. I had my reasons.

People didn’t think I’d amount to much, not even my own family. They assumed I was too damaged, and maybe I was. I certainly spent the first few months I was with them proving everyone right. I didn’t try hard at school. I didn’t think there was any point. My grandparents had done okay, they didn’t have much but they had enough. They’d spent their life ‘getting by’. Managing. And for them that was fine. For a while I thought that was fine, too, and nobody encouraged me to try otherwise.

By the time I’d turned fifteen I’d realised I wanted more than that. ‘Getting by’ wasn’t enough. I wanted to buck the family trend and be someone. Do something with my life. I wanted to show the small, insular community I was growing up in that the damaged kid I once was could be something more than just another casualty of a fucked-up family.

I stared working harder, grew a thicker, tougher skin, learnt how to look after myself. I channeled all my anger and frustration into proving everyone wrong. Nobody thought I could do it. But I did, do it. I became someone. I did something. And I did it all on my own. When nobody else believed in me, I had to. Michael believed in me. Michael was the icing on the cake, so to speak. To have a man like him – a handsome, clever, successful man, from a background the complete polar opposite of mine; to have a man like him fall in love with me, that’s when my world became complete. But now – now my world is becoming increasingly less certain. My world is changing. My world has changed …

‘It looks like you’re all set for the opening on Friday, then.’

I swing around at the sound of his voice, my heart beating hard against my ribs. I’d been so deep in thought there, he gave me a shock. ‘Jesus, Liam, don’t creep up on me like that! What are you doing here anyway?’

‘I’m on my way to a meeting in Newcastle, so, I thought I’d pop in, see how it was all going.’

I walk back behind the front reception desk and switch on the computer. I need to check all our booking systems are up and running before we open the spa in just a couple of days’ time.

‘It’s all going fine.’ I raise my gaze and smile slightly, but I’m too busy for his company this morning. I can do without any more distractions. I already have enough.

‘Good.’ He rests his forearms on the counter and leans forward, clasping his hands together. ‘So, are you going to show me around?’

‘I’m really busy, Liam. There’s so much to do before Friday, and I’m swamped here, so …’

He steps back and holds up his hands, an apologetic smile on his face. ‘It’s okay, I get it. Michael said you were snowed under.’

‘You’ve seen Michael?’

He slides his hands into his pockets and I grab a pile of folders from the desk and walk back out front, quickly glancing down at my scribbled, handwritten schedule for the day. I haven’t had time to print out a neater, more detailed, version.

‘Just for a few minutes. I needed to stop by the university to sort out a few things. I’m giving a lecture there tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘He’s fine. Any reason why he shouldn’t be?’

I look at him, and I frown, because he’s been through enough himself to know that seeming okay and actually being it are two completely different things.

‘Are you okay, Ellie?’

‘I’m fine … shit!’ A handful of papers slip from the folders I’d bundled into my arms, landing on the floor in a scattered heap and I crouch down to retrieve them.

‘Here. Let me get those for you.’

Liam crouches down too, but I hurriedly grab the papers myself, shoving them back inside the folders. ‘It’s okay, I can manage. Thank you.’

His hand briefly but gently brushes against mine, and he pulls it away, sliding it back into his pocket as he stands up.

‘You should take things a little easier, Ellie. You’re working yourself into the ground.’

‘I don’t want to take things easy, Liam. This is what I do. I work hard.’

‘At the expense of everything else?’

I narrow my eyes as I look at him, leaving a couple of beats before I respond to his comment. ‘Not everything.’

He drops his head and laughs quietly, smiling slightly. ‘No …’ He raises his gaze, his expression slowly changing, and then I suddenly realise something, and a wave of guilt washes over me.

‘Oh, Jesus, Liam, I’m sorry. The divorce …’

‘Finalised this morning. It’s all official now.’

I go over to him, and I reach out to touch his arm, squeezing it gently. ‘So it should be me asking you if you’re okay.’

‘It’s not like we didn’t know it was coming, Ellie. Keeley left me a long time ago. This is just the paperwork. Our marriage, that was dead before she even walked out.’

‘Yes, I know, but …’

‘It’s a divorce, that’s all.’

He fixes me with a look, he’s shutting me down, ending that conversation, and I understand. He doesn’t like to talk about it, says it doesn’t matter any more. But everything matters, in some small way, even if you try to convince yourself that it doesn’t. It all matters.

‘I’m still sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ He smiles, and I pull my hand away and clutch those files closer to my chest, returning his smile. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Like I said, I just wanted to see how things were going here.’

‘Are you sure…?’

He holds up a hand and I stop talking. ‘Ellie, I’m fine. I’m fine.’

‘Okay.’

‘And you need to remember what I said, all right? Take things a bit easier. Make some time for yourself.’

I throw him a small smile. ‘Is that an order?’

‘Maybe …’ He smiles too and turns to leave, walks away, but I wait a few seconds; wait until I hear his car drive off before I go outside. I need some air. I’ve been cooped up inside ever since I got here a few hours ago, and the smell of fresh paint and cleaning fluid is giving me a bit of a headache now.

‘Is there anything you need me to do, Ellie?’

I turn my head to see Carmen, the spa’s manager, join me outside. ‘Actually, yes. Could you give the linen suppliers a call? We need to make sure those towels Libby put through on a last-minute order yesterday are going to arrive before Friday.’

People told me I should never have taken on this spa, that I should have stuck with the salons, concentrated on those. The timing wasn’t right to start something like this. They were so wrong. The timing was perfect. This hasn’t just been a new business venture for me, it’s been the distraction I needed to get me through the past few months. Distractions. They’ve become such a big part of our life, and they never used to be. We didn’t do distractions, before. We hadn’t needed them. Michael and I, our work has always been important to us, we’ve always been busy people, but now – now I think he’s using work as an excuse to prevent himself from being alone with me for too long, that’s his distraction. One of them, anyway, because I fear he has others. It’s a creeping fear that’s been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now, but I don’t think it’s unfounded. And he has no idea how much that hurts me.

‘I’ll get straight on to that.’

Carmen’s voice drags me back from my thoughts and I smile at her. The last thing I want is for anyone to think that Michael and I aren’t okay. We’re fine. It’s just that we used to be so much more than fine.

‘Thanks, Carmen. That’ll be a big help. Anyway, if you could also keep an eye on what’s happening out here for a little while I’d be really grateful. I’ve got a few things I need to be getting on with, so I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’

I head back inside, back to my office just behind the reception area.

Closing the door behind me I open a window, just wide enough to let in some air, and I sit down at my desk, leaning forward to pick up the photograph I’ve got standing on it. It’s a photograph of Michael and I, taken about three years ago on holiday in southern Spain. We love Spain. It’s been our go-to destination for years now, ever since our honeymoon in Valencia. We’ve travelled throughout most of the country, stayed in some of the most beautiful and unusual hotels, met the most incredible people; made plans to buy a holiday home out there, one day. Maybe. But that was before. We haven’t spoken about those plans or even mentioned the prospect of another holiday over there, not for a long time.

I reach out and run my fingers lightly over the photograph as I remember how happy we’d been, back then. I know he feels guilty for what happened. I know that’s partly the reason why he distances himself from me in the way that he does now. It’s because he still feels that guilt. But he shouldn’t. I don’t want him to.

I put the photograph down and spin my chair around so I can look out of the window. It’s a beautiful spring day, warm for the time of year, the kind of day when everything should feel pretty much perfect. I used to think we were pretty much perfect, it certainly felt that way, at times. And then I drop my gaze, my eyes focused on my hands clasped together over my stomach and I know that we were never perfect. Even before everything changed, before the guilt and the doubt, before all that happened, we still weren’t perfect.

There’s a niggle in my mind. My gut is trying to tell me something.

Swinging my chair back around I pick up the phone and punch in the number for Sue, Michael’s secretary. She answers after a couple of rings and I lean back and swing my chair around to face the window again as I wait for her to speak, and when she finally does her tone is crisp and businesslike.

‘Good afternoon, Professor Travers’ office.’

‘Sue, hi. It’s Ellie.’

The second she hears my voice her tone switches to informal and friendly, and I smile to myself. I like Sue. She’s worked with Michael for years. I’m not sure how he’d cope without her now. And when it comes to his timetable and schedule she’s got a photographic memory.

‘Ellie! It’s lovely to hear from you, how’s everything going over at the spa?’

‘It’s all going to plan, fingers crossed. Opening on Friday.’

‘That’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you. Michael said you’d been working incredibly hard to get the place up and running as soon as possible … Anyway, I’m sure you’re still extremely busy, so, what can I do for you? Do you need to speak to Michael? Only, he’s not in his office right now, but I can take a message.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t need to speak to him. Listen, Sue, I was just wondering, does he have any tutorials this evening?’

‘I don’t think so … If you can bear with me for one second, though, I’ll just double check his schedule.’

‘Thank you.’ I hear her start typing, and while I wait I reach behind me for that photograph, and I look at it again, narrowing my eyes slightly, tilting my head to one side as I stare down at the smiling image of my husband.

‘No, Ellie, he doesn’t appear to have any tutorials in his diary for tonight.’

Sue’s voice cuts through my thoughts, although it takes a second for her words to register with me. ‘Okay.’ I distinctly remember him telling me that he had evening tutorials this morning. ‘He does have a department meeting, though, doesn’t he? I’m sure he said he did. Five o’clock, is that right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I’m just trying to plan dinner, that’s all. We haven’t spent an evening together, at home, for a while now, what with me getting the spa ready to open and his busy schedule, so – I just hoped we might be able to manage that tonight. Some time together.’

I wonder, did it seem as though I was over-compensating just a bit too much there? To the outside world we’re over what happened, we’ve moved on. And Michael has moved on. I’m still trying to.

‘You work too hard, both of you.’ Sue’s tone is mock-scolding, but she just cares about us. We tried to keep what happened as private as we could, but it was inevitable that people would find out. And some of those people, they still treat me as though I’m made of glass. I’m not. I’m tougher than some give me credit for.

‘At least we’re lucky enough to enjoy what we do.’

‘That’s very true. You take care now, you hear? And good luck for Friday.’

‘Thanks, Sue.’

I hang up and spin my chair back around, placing the photograph back down on the desk. Was Michael lying to me? Does he put all his tutorials in his diary? I don’t know. But I know that he never used to make excuses to avoid spending time with me. There once was a time we’d do anything we could to grab just a few precious hours together, yet now, it’s almost like we’re living separate lives.

Breathing in deeply, I exhale slowly, as though I’m ridding myself of those negative thoughts.

What was my husband hiding?

Chapter 5

‘How did your tutorials go this evening?’

Michael looks up from his books, takes off his glasses and slides them into the top pocket of his shirt. And his expression – I can tell he’s slightly confused. I don’t usually ask about tutorials, they’re not something we ever really talk about. He likes to keep some kind of student-professor confidentiality thing going, but in this case, there weren’t any tutorials, were they?

‘Tutorials?’

I watch his expression change, almost a little too quickly there. I think he’s just realised what he told me this morning.

‘They went fine.’

He slips his glasses back down and drops his gaze, and that’s how it is. How it’s been for months now. And it isn’t fair, it isn’t how it should be, but it’s his way of dealing with everything – it isn’t mine.

‘Did you see Liam? In the pub, I mean.’

He lets a couple of beats go by before he slowly looks back up at me, and his expression is verging on exasperated now; he doesn’t even attempt to hide that frustrated sigh.

‘I’m extremely busy, Ellie. As you can see.’

He indicates the pile of books in front of him, and I get the message. Sometimes it’s just easier to give in rather than fight.

I walk over to the fridge, take out the bottle of wine I opened last night and I pour myself a glass. I don’t ask Michael if he wants one. When we’re alone, like this, even those simple, ordinary exchanges are rare. I keep my back to him, taking a long sip of wine, closing my eyes as the cool liquid slips down my throat, settles in my belly – that familiar alcohol-hit my welcome friend once more, though Michael thinks we’re becoming increasingly closer these days.

‘Ellie … I’m sorry.’

He comes over to me, pulls me into his arms, and before I can take another breath he’s kissing me. A beautiful, slow, deep kiss, and I wind my arms around his neck as I push myself against him, his erection digging into my thigh and I gasp quietly as he slides a hand up under my skirt, pushing my underwear aside as he lifts me up onto the countertop. I can’t remember the last time we had sex outside the bedroom; spontaneous, unexpected sex. I can’t actually remember the last time we had sex, the last time we both wanted it. So this is a surprise, and even though I think this might be his way of stopping dead a conversation he doesn’t want to get into, I think we need this. I know I want it, now that it’s happening. I want him.

Placing my hands palm-down behind me I lean back as he pushes inside me, closing my eyes as I feel him move, feel his hands on my knees keeping my legs apart, and I bite down on my lip as his thrusts start to pick up pace, quicken slightly, almost as though he’s taking an element of frustration out on me, or maybe that’s just me over-thinking this; the reasons why he’s acting this way, now. But the sex is slightly rough, and that was never Michael’s style. And then, as if he’s just realised what he’s doing, he slows down, his thrusts suddenly become more gentle, measured.

I keep my eyes closed, keep my head thrown back, but then I feel his hand slide around onto the back of my neck, forcing my head up, making me look at him as he comes with a force so brutal it almost tears the breath from my body, his eyes burning into mine, and it’s only when he’s done that he breaks that stare, drops his head, but he keeps his hand on my neck. And nobody says anything. I can’t. I don’t think I could get the words out. My throat feels tight, and my heart is beating so fast and so hard it’s difficult to catch my breath.

He slowly raises his gaze, but we remain silent. I think we’re taking a moment, to remember who we used to be, what we once were. Who we’ve become. Sex, when it happens, has been almost paint-by-numbers for us since – well, for a while now. He hasn’t done this, hasn’t touched me in this way for so long, and as I stare deep into his eyes I feel as if I’m breaking into a million tiny pieces. I feel as though I’m shattering from the inside out, I’m confused. This – us, this isn’t what we do; isn’t what we’ve done for so long, and there are reasons for that. Have we suddenly got past those reasons? No. So this – this only makes everything all the more confusing.

He suddenly lets go of me, and without saying a word he heads off into the hall, to the downstairs bathroom. I stay where I am, leaning back against the counter, turning my head slightly to stare outside. It’s dark now, but our decked terrace and part of the garden are illuminated by various solar-powered lights, and for a few seconds that’s what I focus on – the lights. It’s only when I hear Michael come back into the kitchen that I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and I smile at him. Just a small smile, and I have no idea if it got as far as my eyes but it was a smile.

‘I’d better go and get cleaned up, too.’

But as I edge past him he gently takes hold of my arm and stops me, swinging me back around to face him.

‘I really am sorry, Ellie.’

He keeps saying that, all the time, he keeps saying he’s sorry, keeps apologising.

I turn around to face him. ‘What for?’ Given our circumstances, that’s a loaded question, and he knows that.

He bows his head, runs a hand along the back of his neck, and he’s about to say something when his phone rings, and I’m not sure whether I’m irritated by the interruption or relieved that it may have stopped us from embarking on another of those conversations we just can’t seem to handle.

He picks his phone up from the table and looks at the screen. ‘I need to get this.’

I nod, and the second he gets up and turns his back to me I practically run upstairs, not stopping to take a breath until I’m safely behind the privacy of our bedroom door. That’s when I take a second to breathe, to compose myself. He’s lying to me. I’m almost sure of that now. He’s lying to me. And there has to be a reason for that. He wouldn’t lie to me unless he had something to hide. Or maybe he’s just trying to protect me. Maybe that’s all he’s doing, but I don’t need protecting. All I want is for what happened … I don’t want him to lie to me.