ML Roberts - The Wife – Part One

‘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.

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