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

‘Yeah. Later.’

I close the door before his car’s left our driveway, flicking the locks and double-checking them before I hang up Michael’s jacket. And I’m about to go back into the kitchen. I should check on that casserole, but I don’t. I stop and I glance quickly up the stairs. I can hear Michael moving around up there. I can hear his voice. He’s talking to someone.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to look at the jacket Liam’s just returned. It really has come to this.

I slide a hand into one of the pockets and feel around inside but there’s nothing in there. So I try another pocket. Still nothing. But I’m sure this jacket has an inside pocket and I reach around to find it. And the second I put my hand in there I feel it. A slip of paper. A receipt, maybe? I pull it out and look at it. It is a receipt, for lunch at a Spanish restaurant in the city. The same restaurant we used to love going to, but we haven’t been there for a long time now. We haven’t been there, but he obviously has, and I check the date – it was a few days ago, his lunchtime visit. Just a few days ago. I scan the receipt more closely. Definitely a meal for two. He wasn’t alone.

Shoving the receipt back into his pocket I glance up the stairs again. His voice is a little more muffled now. It’s barely audible. He must’ve gone into his office. It isn’t Liam he’s talking to … so who is it?

Climbing the stairs, carefully, quietly, I try to avoid those steps that I know have creaking floorboards. He’s still just that little bit too far away for me to make out what he’s saying.

I make my way along the first-floor landing, again moving slowly so as not to make a sound, but I stop when I reach the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the top floor. His voice is a little louder now, but he’s definitely inside his office and the door is closed, so whatever he’s saying – whoever he’s talking to, I still can’t make anything out. And then it goes quiet, and I hear him moving about again, so I turn to go, but he’s already coming down the stairs. I dart into our bedroom, pretend to look for something I don’t need.

‘Ellie?’

I turn around and he’s standing there, in the doorway.

‘I needed a change of shirt. I splashed something on this one.’

He comes over to me, takes the shirt I don’t need from my hand and tosses it onto the bed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to change my …’

‘Why were you really at the university today?’

I laugh quietly, fold my arms across my chest and step back from him, shaking my head. ‘You think I had some ulterior motive for dropping by to leave you lunch?’

‘I don’t know what to think, Ellie. I don’t. I mean, there are times when you’re fine, you’re good; times when everything is normal …’

‘You think everything is normal, Michael?’

He takes a step towards me, reaches out to take my hand and I let him, his fingers curling around mine. It’s a feeling I’m so unfamiliar with now, him touching me, so when it happens, even under these kind of circumstances, I take it. Because I just want to feel him touch me again.

I drop my gaze and look at his hand holding mine.

‘Please, Ellie, don’t do this.’

‘Who were you talking to? Just now?’

He lets go of me and narrows his eyes, pushing a hand back through his hair. ‘Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? You turn up at the university, out of the blue, you demand to know who I’m talking to … whatever the hell you think is going on it’s all in your head, okay?’ He jabs the side of his temple hard as he says that, his eyes darkening as he stares at me. Yeah, he’s angry. So am I. I’ve been angry for a long time. I have every right to be. ‘And that call was to Neil Haywood, a colleague of mine from Edinburgh. He’s visiting the university next week for a guest lecture. I just wanted to make sure he has all the details he needs before he gets here.’ He pulls his phone from his back pocket and holds it out to me. ‘Go on. Check my call history if you don’t believe me.’

I lean back against the wall and fold my arms tighter against myself. I don’t know what to feel now. I don’t. ‘I’m not going to do that.’

‘Look at me.’

I slowly raise my gaze, my eyes meeting his. The darkness has lifted slightly. He’s trying to understand what’s going on in my head.

‘Nothing is going on. Okay? Nothing’s happening, everything is fine. And you can’t – you can’t keep doing this, it’s not healthy.’

I pick up the shirt he threw down on the bed and slide it back onto the hanger.

‘Ellie? Are you listening to me?’

‘I’m not one of your students, Michael. Don’t talk to me like I am.’ I swing back around to face him. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer it if I was one of your students.’

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing …’ I start to walk away, out of the room. I’m done here.

‘No, you don’t get to walk away like that. Jesus … Ellie!’

I stop in the doorway, but I don’t turn around.

‘Ellie?’

I stay still, I don’t move. I just lean against the doorpost and sigh.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly, and I ache for him to touch me, to make all this shit go away. I want it all to go away. I want my husband back. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m just tired.’

Excuses. That’s all they are. He makes them regularly. He’s too tired to talk, too exhausted to go over it all again. Didn’t the counsellor help us? She helped him. Nothing helped me. But even she never got the full story, did she? And he’s still okay with that. I’m not.

‘How about we eat dinner, then have an early night, hmm?’

I slowly turn around. I look at him, but his eyes – he doesn’t look at me the way he used to look at me. There’s always a hint of something else there now. Is it pity? I want my fucking husband back.

‘When I tell you I love you, Ellie, I mean it.’

‘I know.’ Liar.

‘That’s what we need to concentrate on, okay? Us. Everything else – all of that, it’s in the past. It’s over. It’s over. I promise.’

Michael – he needs a distraction, something to stop him from going over and over it all in his head; something to take away his guilt. I think he needs that. And I think he’s found her, his distraction. My husband’s lying to me and that’s not right. None of this is right.

‘It’s over,’ I whisper. I’m just telling him what he wants to hear, and whether he believes that or not – no. He’ll believe it. He’ll tell himself that he’s managed to pacify me. That’s exactly what he’ll do. Because he’s done it before, so many times.

He smiles and he takes a step forward. Yet, when he touches me, as his thumb gently strokes my jawline, his mouth lowering down onto mine, I actually let myself believe that everything’s fine. It’s all going to be all right. But that only lasts a second because, okay, he’s kissing me, and the kiss is soft and warm but there’s no passion there. That rarely makes an appearance now. We barely touch each other in that way any more, and when we do have sex it’s as though we just go through with it every so often to tell ourselves something, and I don’t even know what that something is. It feels as if we’re clinging onto what remnants of a relationship we have left, and that breaks my heart a million times over. I want it to be so different. I want him to want me the way he used to want me, fuck me the way he used to fuck me.

‘Michael …’

He slides his thumb over my mouth, silencing me, shaking his head as his eyes stare deep into mine. ‘No, Ellie.’ He steps back from me, slips his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower, then we’ll eat. Okay?’

Nothing is okay.

I know he’s lying.

I know he’s hiding something.

I know that he wants me to move on and forget, but I can’t do that.

I won’t, do that …

Chapter 10

I throw my bag down on the floor and lock the front door behind me, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards me, just to make sure it’s secure.

I know Michael’s home, his car’s in the driveway, he’s early. It’s just gone four-thirty and I’ve only popped back myself to pick up some papers I need from my office for a meeting at the spa in an hour.

I glance through into the living room as I walk past, but it’s all quiet in there. He isn’t in the kitchen either, so he must be upstairs.

I go to my office, find the papers I need and head back out into the hall, sliding the files into my bag before I make my way upstairs. And I’m about to call out Michael’s name, but I stop myself. I can smell paint. Fresh paint. We aren’t decorating, we haven’t talked about making any changes, haven’t talked about repainting anything.

I climb the stairs slowly, and when I reach the landing, when I see where Michael is, what room he’s in, it feels as though someone’s reached into my chest and yanked out my heart.

‘What are you doing?’

He spins around, almost dropping the paintbrush in his hand. ‘Ellie! I didn’t expect you home just yet. I wanted to surprise you.’

I look around me. Three of the walls are still sunflower yellow, but the wall he’s standing in front of is now half-painted a deep purple colour.

‘Don’t,’ I whisper.

He frowns. He doesn’t understand, but he should.

‘Put the brush down.’

‘Ellie …’

‘Put the fucking brush down, Michael.’

He narrows his eyes, watches me as I move towards him. And then it hits me, like a volcano erupting inside of me. The anger. The pain. It spills out of me, so fast I can’t control it.

I run towards him, snatch the brush from his hand and I slap him. Once. Twice. Again, harder. I want to lash out, hurt him, the way he’s hurt me, by doing this. But he grabs my wrist, he grips it tight, because I’m fighting this. I’m fighting him.

‘You had no right to do this.’ I hiss, my eyes burning into his. ‘You don’t touch this room, you don’t do that.’

‘Ellie, we talked about this …’

I wrench my wrist free of his grip. ‘No, Michael, you talked about this. And I told you I didn’t want it. Not yet. It’s too soon.’

‘You weren’t thinking straight back then.’

I look at him. I shake my head. What happened to us? ‘Fuck you.’

‘Jesus Christ, Ellie, come on!’

‘Put it back how it was and don’t touch it again.’

‘This isn’t rational behaviour.’

‘And you’re not being fair.’

‘Ellie …’

‘Leave this room alone. Do you hear me? Leave this room alone.’

*

‘I don’t think he meant to hurt you, Ellie.’

Liam hands me a bottle of beer and sits down opposite me at a table out in the pub’s riverside beer garden. I needed to talk to someone. I needed a friend.

‘Did you know what he was going to do?’

‘No, I didn’t, but, you know, maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time to do something about …’

The look I shoot him shuts him up, but his frustrated sigh tells me he’s on Michael’s side over this one.

‘I’m sorry, I just think …’

‘I don’t care what you think.’

His eyes meet mine. ‘You should care what I think. You should try listening to people every now and again because, contrary to what you might think, they’re only trying to help you.’

I hold his gaze. ‘And is that what you’re doing? Are you only trying to help me?’

He doesn’t answer that. He just continues to stare right into me, until I finally break the stare, looking down at my beer.

‘I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.’

‘You don’t need to fight all the time. You don’t always need to be so defensive. People care about you. Let them do that. People worry about you. I worry about you.’

‘He shouldn’t have done it. Not without talking to me first. He was wrong to do what he did. He was wrong.’

I glance out over the river. It’s a beautiful evening, warm and sunny, and the banks of the river are busy with people out for a walk, enjoying a drink, making the most of the good weather we’ve been having lately. I’ve always liked it here.

‘Hey.’

Liam’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts and I turn to face him. He smiles at me and that, somehow, makes me feel a little better. That smile.

‘I’d like to think that’s what I’m trying to do, Ellie. I’d like to think I’m trying to help you.’

I leave a beat or two before I say anything and I smile back. ‘You are.’

He is.

Helping me …

Chapter 11

It’s Saturday and I’m busy going over the books from the Durham salon. I’m popping in there later, after I’ve dropped by the spa. My new business is really taking off and I’m so lucky to have an amazing team of people looking after the place because I can’t be there all the time. I have four businesses to oversee, so I need a good strong team of people behind me, to help me. I have that.

I look up as Michael walks into the kitchen, throwing his kit-bag onto the floor before he goes to get himself a cup of coffee. I’m still angry at him for what he did yesterday, but I’m not letting him see just how much it affected me. He didn’t do it out of malice, I get that now, but he still should have understood why I reacted the way I did. But, like everything else, we haven’t spoken about it any more. It’s become something else we’ve just swept under the carpet.

‘You’re going out?’

He looks at me, leaning back against the counter as he takes a sip of his coffee. ‘It’s Saturday. I always go to the squash club on a Saturday.’

Not always. He never used to go every Saturday, but lately – yeah, lately it’s been that way.

‘What’s the problem? You’re going to work, so …’

‘There’s no problem.’

He takes another sip of coffee, puts down his mug before he heads back towards the door, and as he passes me he gently squeezes my shoulder, drops a quick kiss on my forehead. ‘Have a good day, darling. I’ll see you later.’

He goes back over to his bag, picking it up and throwing it over his shoulder. I drop my gaze, go back to checking over those books. ‘What time are you going to be home?’

‘I’ll probably grab some lunch with the guys, and then I need to stop by the university later to pick up some papers, so, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

I look up to see his retreating figure head out into the hall, watch as he stops by the line of coats hanging up by the door, his eyes falling on that jacket Liam returned.

‘Liam dropped it off a couple of nights ago. Said you must’ve left it in his car.’

I continue to watch as he rummages around in the pockets. Oh Michael, I know what you’re looking for. I can’t quite see from where I’m sitting, but the fact that he puts his hand straight into his jeans pocket makes me think he’s slipped that receipt in there.

He says nothing more to me as he lets himself out and closes the door behind him.

I get up and go out into the hall. Glancing down at the security monitor I watch as Michael’s car pulls out of the driveway and I turn around and take his jacket off the hook by the door, immediately feeling around for the inside pocket. It’s empty. He did take that receipt out of there, but I check the other pockets anyway. I might have missed something. No. They’re all empty.

I hang the jacket back up and sit down on the stairs, dragging my hands back through my hair. Our Saturdays, they used to be good. They used to be something we enjoyed. If I had to work then, yes, he’d play squash, maybe organise something with Liam. But if I wasn’t working we’d always do something, even if it was just going into Durham to look around the shops, take a walk along the river, have lunch outside if the weather was good. We’d always do something, together. Now it seems he can’t wait to be apart from me.

I stay there, at the bottom of the stairs, for a good few minutes, just staring at that small black and white security monitor, even though nothing is happening. It’s all quiet outside, but I keep staring at our empty driveway, at the shrubs and pots of flowers that dot the gravel and block-paved space. It’s all quiet.

Suddenly I don’t want to be here, in this house, alone. I get up, grab my coat, and I let myself out. I’m not going in to work, not yet. There’s nothing urgent waiting for me. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I need to get away from here, for a while. I need to be somewhere else. So I get in my car and I drive. I turn up the radio and I try to drown out that silence I’m so tired of now. I just drive, until I find myself passing a supermarket. I pull into the car park, stop the car and turn the music up a little louder, and for a few minutes I sit there, listening to a song I don’t know as I look out around me, at people going about their lives with no idea how much mine has changed. So much, I don’t recognise it any more. And then that numbness hits me again, washing over me with a breathtaking speed, and I breathe in deeply, try to compose myself because I can’t sit here all day. I have to do something.

Reaching over onto the passenger seat I grab my bag. I can’t remember if I put my purse in there before I left the house. Yes, it’s there, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll go and do the food shop. I’ll do something mundane and ordinary and try to forget all the crap that’s complicating my once beautiful, perfect life. But as I walk across the car park it’s as if all eyes are on me, as though every person here can see my pain so clearly, a loneliness that’s so glaringly obvious to everyone I can almost feel their pitying looks boring into my back as I pass them. So I keep my head down, grab a shopping trolley from outside the store and go inside. But I still feel exposed, and yet, at the same time, it’s as if I’m the only one here. I’m in a busy supermarket, surrounded by noise and chatter, and yet, I feel alone.

I raise my head slightly, just to see where I am, which aisle I’ve just walked into and I stop by the milk, my eyes scanning the shelves, but I’m looking at everything and seeing nothing. So I just reach out and grab something, anything. I don’t care. Just putting something into the trolley fills me with a sense of relief, as if I’m less exposed now I’ve actually started to do what I came in here to do. What did I come in here to do? I did a big food shop two days ago, there’s nothing else we really need.

I continue my slow walk up the aisle, glancing at the shelves as I pass, watching as everyone around me picks up items, talks to the person they’re with. Almost everyone is with someone. But even those who are alone don’t seem to have that weight on their shoulders that I feel I carry constantly now. They’re walking around with a sense of purpose, while I don’t even know what I’m doing in here. I have one carton of milk in the trolley and no idea what else I’m looking for. So I just start to grab things, anything – a can of soup, a packet of pasta, bread, cereal, teabags, even though I know we don’t need any of it. I want to get out of here now. It’s time to go to work. I need to take my mind off all of this. I need to grab onto reality.

‘Ellie?’

A voice behind me makes me jump, causing me to drop the jar of marmalade I was holding, and I watch as it clatters against the metal of the shopping trolley, landing on its side next to a loaf of bread.

‘You not at work this morning?’

I look up. It’s Liam. And my eyes lock on his for less than a heartbeat before I drop my gaze, glancing down at the basket in his hand. It’s filled with things he probably does need, as opposed to my randomly filled trolley. ‘I’m on my way to the Durham salon. I just needed to pick up a few things first.’

And then I realise something and I frown, and he doesn’t miss that change in my expression. ‘Is there something wrong, Ellie?’

‘I thought you’d be at the squash club this morning.’

‘I was. I’ve just come from there, but there’s nothing happening. Most of the guys are away on business this weekend, so there’s not really a lot going on.’

‘Was Michael there?’

It’s his turn to frown, and that causes my stomach to twist up into that all-too-familiar knot of fear, anxiety once more taking over. ‘No, he wasn’t.’

‘It’s just that – he said he was going there. This morning, when he left the house. He said he was going to the club.’

‘Well, I didn’t see him …’

More lies. My husband. The liar.

I start to push the trolley towards the check-outs, but Liam puts a hand on my arm to stop me, and I stare down at his fingers grasping my wrist.

‘Is something wrong, Ellie?’

He repeats that question and I just look at him. I don’t want this conversation here. In fact, I’m not sure if I want this conversation at all.

‘Okay. Let’s go for a coffee.’

‘I need to get to the salon.’

I try to push the trolley away again but his fingers tighten around my wrist. ‘We’re going to grab some lunch, all right?’ He loosens his grip on me and I drop my gaze again, eyeing those random items of food in my trolley. ‘All right?’

‘Yes. Okay.’ I look up at him and I don’t know if I feel angry or sad or frustrated. I don’t know. I just know that my husband is lying to me. ‘Let’s go.’

Liam smiles, but I don’t smile back. I’m not really in the mood for smiling. I’m not really in the mood for lunch, either, but I don’t think I have much choice as far as that’s concerned. And I know that Liam – he’s going to try and take my mind off something that can’t be ignored, but ultimately, he’s going to fail. Because I can’t ignore it. I can’t ignore any of it. Not any more …

*

‘You’re selling the house?’

I’ve become so selfish lately, so consumed with my own problems that I forget to take notice of what’s going on in our friends’ lives. But Liam’s our closest friend, and I had no idea the repercussions of his divorce had come to this.

‘Well, Keeley wants her half of the equity.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s time to move on, I guess.’

‘I’m assuming you’ll be looking to buy a new place of your own?’

‘I’ve been checking out a few properties, yes.’

‘Anywhere in particular?’

‘Somewhere between Durham and Newcastle, I thought. That would make my commute to the lab a little easier, seeing as I’m there most of the time at the minute. But I’m definitely looking for a smaller place. If it’s just going to be me.’

His eyes meet mine and I look down, reaching for the salt at the exact same time that he does, our hands clashing together, and I quickly pull mine back, laughing as he does the same.

‘Ladies first.’ He smiles and I return it. I’m glad I bumped into him now. I’m glad of the company. I don’t think I’d really wanted to be alone today. It’s just that house, the irrational feelings it can kick up inside me sometimes.

‘Ellie?’

I hadn’t realised I’d drifted off. ‘I used to have friends, Liam.’

‘You still have friends.’

I raise my gaze and my eyes once more meet his. ‘They’re all too scared to be alone with me these days. It’s fine, in a crowd, at parties, weddings … They don’t know what to say to me. I mean, they think me and Michael are fine, but they still don’t know what to say …’

I leave that sentence hanging and drop my head again, watching as I absentmindedly fiddle with the salt shaker.

‘They’re still there. All of them. They’re still there.’

I slowly look back up and I smile slightly. I have to stop this self-pity because he’s right. My friends are still there, they haven’t distanced themselves from me, it’s the other way around. I’m the one who can’t face the girls’ nights out or the weekends away. I’m still being invited, I’m just making excuses not to go.

‘You need your friends. You need me.’

‘Yes. I do.’

He breaks the stare and looks down, picking up his fork, although all he does is move his food around the plate a bit.

‘That jacket you dropped back for Michael a couple of nights ago …’