The Wife – Part Three: In Sickness and In Health. ML Roberts

sits down, runs his fingertips lightly up and down my calf, sending shivers racing up my spine. Liam gives me everything Michael won’t. Everything my husband refuses to share with me, it feels like Liam allows me to have it all. I can close my eyes and lose myself in him, let the sex engulf me. I need the release, because the darkness always returns.

      I take his hand, watch as his fingers curl around mine. He wants me to stay. ‘I’m not sure what Michael cares about anymore.’

      ‘So, stay a little longer.’.

      I let go of his hand, climb off the bed and reach for my clothes. I get dressed, keeping my back to him, and it’s only when I look outside, when I realize that dark and unwelcome world I now inhabit is drawing me back towards it, that I know I’m not ready to face it just yet.

      I turn around, lean back against the window sill, and look down at my hand. The cuts from the broken wine glass are still clearly visible, but they’re healing now.

      ‘I wish things had been different, Ellie.’

      I look up, frowning slightly. I’m not sure what he means by that. ‘Different …?’

      ‘Back then.’

      ‘Back then it was nothing more than meaningless sex, Liam.’

      ‘And now? What is it now?’

      I don’t know. Yes. I do. I know. ‘It’s still meaningless sex.’

      He gets up, walks over to me. Tall, toned and muscular in ways Michael isn’t, Liam has stronger arms, a harder body. He does things to me Michael would never do, and I’d never given that a second thought before. But now I crave the sometimes twisted sex we have. That passion. That red-hot need to feel another body invade mine. I don’t want to be loved, I just want to be touched. Taken. Made to feel like a woman again instead of an empty shell.

      He stops in front of me, naked and beautiful and I don’t know why he’s still alone. He’s handsome, intelligent, funny and kind. Why did Keeley leave him? What made them drift so far apart? There seemed to be no reason for their marriage to end in the way that it did. Maybe they just fell out of love, it happens.

      He slides a hand onto my neck, pushes my head backwards, his lips brushing the base of my throat and I groan quietly. He’s making me want to stay, and I need to go. I can’t stay here, in this bubble, forever.

      ‘When can I see you again?’ he murmurs, his mouth touching mine. I close my eyes, let his words vibrate against my lips, feel his breath fall into me.

      ‘I don’t know,’ I whisper. But I need it to be soon. I can’t wait too long, I don’t like giving the darkness time to take over completely. As long as I can take a step back every now and again, I can cope. Maybe I’m becoming too dependent on this man, I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that when he’s inside me I forget all the pain. I feel part of something again, part of someone.

      I place a hand on his chest, my fingers splaying out over his skin. I feel his heart beating against my palm and I look up at him. I touch his jaw line, his neat, dark-blonde beard, his mouth. I run my thumb over his lower lip, tilt my head to one side as he grabs my wrist. He pulls my hand away from his face, and I fall backwards against the window sill as he kisses me, sliding his hand between my legs. He’s keeping me from going anywhere.

      I pretend to resist, but he knows that’s a game. I don’t want him to stop, I want him to continue to take away the pain until I don’t need him anymore. But we can’t keep doing this forever, he knows that; I made it clear from the start. And we both know the rules.

      ‘I have to go.’

      I pull his hand from between my legs and head for the door. I do have to go. I need to check where Michael’s been today. What he’s been doing. Who he’s been talking to. I’ve spent enough time here, I’ve had my fix, I’m okay now.

      ‘Ellie?’

      I stop in the doorway, turn back around to look at him. His eyes lock on mine, but neither of us says anything. We don’t need to.

      If I want my husband back, we can’t do this, forever …

       Chapter 2

      I sit back and listen as Michael’s voice floats out from the tiny speaker I’ve attached to my laptop. It increases the sound quality of his recorded phone calls only slightly, but it’s enough. None of his calls have been to her, which makes me even more sure that he has a separate phone he uses to talk to her. But that doesn’t stop me from listening to all of his calls. Even if they’re not to her, I have to listen to them, I might miss something if I don’t. One small, miniscule detail could pass me by if I skip over stuff, so I listen to everything. No matter who he’s talking to.

      He ends this particular call to Laurel. A conversation about a staff meeting and a lecture he’s giving at a university in Cardiff next week. See? I didn’t know he was going to Cardiff. Maybe he did tell me, I can’t remember, but I’m almost sure he didn’t. And I’d have missed that, if I’d skipped over that call. Is he taking her to Cardiff? Ava? Is that why he didn’t tell me about the trip? An overnight stay. Time away from me.

      The front door opening downstairs signals Michael’s arrival back home, and I quickly log out and close the laptop down. He’s late, as usual, although there’s no such thing as a regular time for him to come home nowadays. But it’s later than it ever used to be, when everything was normal and happy. When we had a future.

      He’s in the kitchen when I get downstairs, fixing himself a drink. He accuses me of drinking too much, but he’s no saint.

      ‘Good day?’ I ask, in a vain attempt to elicit a response.

      ‘It was okay. Same old, same old.’

       I think you’re lying, Michael. I think you do so many things you never used to do before, so I’m not buying the ‘same old’ line.

      I wait for him to ask me how my day went, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns away and goes into the orangery. He sits down and takes out his reading glasses. Then he opens his newspaper and hides behind it, because that’s what he does now. He hides behind anything he can to avoid talking to me.

      I start making dinner. A stir-fry. Something quick. Easy. Something we’ll push around our plates while we pretend that everything’s okay. That this is normal. But I’m not willing to accept this existence. I’ll expose my husband’s affair and I’ll end it. I’ll make sure his distraction is gone for good because I can’t go through this all again. History is not going to repeat itself. But at least this one – Ava – is going to be easier to deal with.

      As I prepare dinner, the only noise in the room is the sound of the TV playing away quietly in the background. I can’t live with the silences, they’re becoming more and more painful to deal with. So I fill them with music or the news, or I switch over to some banal reality TV show in the hope that he’ll react, because he hates them. As do I.

      I serve dinner, and he joins me at the table. He folds his newspaper, lays it down beside his plate, picks up his glass and takes a sip of wine. I gulp mine. I need the alcohol hit, more and more as each day passes. Liam and alcohol, my two necessary crutches.

      ‘How’s the mentoring going?’ I ask, knowing that that will, at least, cause him to raise his head. Which it does.

      ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘I’m interested in your work, Michael. I always have been.’ I pick up my napkin, scrunching it up in my fist. ‘Look, I know you have this student/professor confidentiality thing, but don’t you think that’s a bit, you know? A bit of an overreaction? I mean, it’s not like you’re discussing their medical records or bank details. Why the need for such secrecy?’

      I don’t care now. I don’t. I need to ask questions,