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 …
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
