Getting Rid of Matthew

by Jane Fallon

Annie had a particularly malevolent smirk on her face as Helen passed through Reception on her way to the ladies' before she returned to her desk.

  "You missed all the fun," she called over, but Helen couldn't be bothered to ask her what she was on about. Once in the toilets, she stopped to give herself a quick once-over in the mirror.

  Sniff. A muffled noise came from behind a closed cubicle door. Helen undid her ponytail and pulled her hair back neatly to fix it up again.

  Sniff. There it was again, only this time it was followed by a distinct sob.

  Helen looked around. She thought about making a quick getaway, but just as she was turning toward the door, there was another sob, and then another, and her conscience took over.

  "Are you OK in there?"

  Sniff sob, sob sob sniff. It was like Morse code. Helen had never been any good in situations like this; she never knew what to say and was always tempted to go with "For Christ's sake, pull yourself together." Never ideal. She edged toward the cubicle.

  "Do you want me to get anyone or anything? Or shall I just leave you alone?" (Please say yes.)

  A mangled sentence of snot and gurgles and not many words followed. Helen thought she made out the word Annie, but not much more.

  "Erm…I didn't quite get that."

  Silence.

  "This is Helen. Laura's P.A. Tell me what you want me to do."

  She heard the bolt being drawn back and the door opened to reveal a very soggy Helen-from-Accounts, new mascara running down her cheeks, plum lipstick smeared across her face, pixie haircut standing up on end. She let out a howl like a sick wolf and threw her arms around Helen, who stood stiffly with her arms by her sides, not knowing what to do.

  "Theyallthinkimhavinganaffairwithmatthew." Sob, sniff, howl, sniff, sob. It was like being trapped in the bathroom with the entire percussion section of the Royal Philharmonic.

  "I can't understand you," Helen said, peeling the other woman off her. "Slow down and tell me what's going on." But truthfully, she knew what was coming and her heart sank.

  "The girls. Annie and Jenny. And Jamie. They all think I'm having an affair with Matthew."

  Helen took a deep breath. "I know they do."

  "That's why they've been being nice to me. I thought they were my friends, but they just wanted to find out the gossip. What do you mean, you know they do?"

  "They said…something."

  Helen-from-Accounts looked at her accusingly. "You didn't believe them, did you?"

  "No," said Helen, "I didn't believe them."

  "They cut his photo out of the company handbook and stuck it on my computer, and when I asked them why, they all started laughing and pretending to nudge me and I knew, I just knew what they meant. And I tried to tell them it just wasn't true, but they wouldn't believe me. They said that Matthew's wife told Amelia from Human Resources that it was me he'd gone off with. But she can't have done, because it's just not true."

  "I know, I know," said Helen, in what she thought was a soothing way, but her mind was racing. Those vicious, self-righteous bitches.

  "I mean, as if I would." The other Helen was getting into her stride. "Look at him. I've got my Geoff, why would I look at Matthew Shallcross? He's a nice enough man, but…well, you just wouldn't, would you?"

  "No," said Helen weakly. "You just wouldn't."

  "You've got to help me convince them it's not true. Please, Helen. I'd just kill myself if anyone thought I was the type to go after a married man."

  "I don't really know what I can do." Helen's head was starting to pound and she longed to go home and forget this conversation had ever happened. But she couldn't.

  "I mean it. If Geoff finds out what they're saying or…oh, God, what if I lose my job, I'm sure they can sack you for inappropriate behavior. Honestly, Helen, I will kill myself, you have to help me."

  And she started sobbing helplessly again, leaning on Helen for support and dropping big, wet tears onto her chest.

  "OK," Helen said quietly. "I'll try."

  * * *

  Which was why Helen was now standing in front of Laura, telling her she was giving in her notice.

  "But, why?" Laura was saying. "Is it something specific? Money? Have you got another job?"

  "There's no reason." Helen could hardly look Laura in the face. "I just want to move on, that's all. And I'd like to go as soon as possible…I know I have to give a month's notice, so that's what I'm doing…giving it now."

  "And there's nothing I can say to persuade you to stay?"

  "No."

  "I'm really sorry, Helen, honestly I am. I've come to rely on you."

  Helen managed to mutter a "Thanks" and then got out of Laura's office as quickly as she could. When she got back to her desk, Annie was hanging around the general office as usual, laughing with Jenny about the day's hilarious events. Helen felt sick and light-headed, as if she were about to plunge over a cliff, which, in a way, she was. She cleared her throat.

  "You've gone too far, you know, with Helen-from-Accounts."

  "Oh, come off it," Jenny was saying. "She deserves all she gets, shagging a married man."

  Annie joined in. "Silly cow. Anyway, since when do you care? You don't like her any more than the rest of us."

  Helen could hear her heart beating somewhere up around her ears.

  "It's just…it's not true, about her and Matthew, that's all."

  "How do you know that?" Annie's radar was up and working.

  "Because…I just do."

  "You'll have to do better than that. Just because she's managed to make you feel sorry for her, doesn't mean she's telling the truth. Let's face it, she must be a good liar for us not to have known what was going on."

  This was it. Armageddon. D-day. The Apocalypse. Just walk up to the edge and jump.

  "I know she's telling the truth because…" Helen faltered. "…because it's me that Matthew's been seeing. I'm the one he's left his wife for. So, you see, you owe Helen-from-Accounts an apology."

  If this hadn't been the worst moment of Helen's life ever, then she would have found it hilarious. Annie and Jenny stood openmouthed, like two poodles with their heads out a car window, for what seemed like a full minute. Helen shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited for it to sink in. Annie's expression turned to stone.

  "Jesus," she said, turning to walk out. "I always thought you were a bit of a bitch and it turns out I'm right."

  "You are kidding, right?" Jenny was saying, incredulous. "This is a joke."

  "Hardly," Helen managed to mutter.

  "But you let us think it was Helen-from-Accounts. In fact, you said yourself you thought it was her," Jenny added.

  "Well, I'm telling you different now." Helen was barely audible.

  "You and Matthew?" Jenny still couldn't take it in. "Oh, my God, what about Carlo? Have you been two-timing him all this time?"

  "I'm going home." Helen was putting on her coat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  When she walked through Reception, she heard Annie telling Amelia the news. Neither woman said good-night to Helen as she passed by.

  15

  ON MONDAY, HELEN THOUGHT about phoning in sick. There was no way she was going to be able to face the stares and the laughing behind her back, and the in-her-face bitchy comments she knew she'd get from Annie and Jenny. Matthew seemed to think the whole thing was fine; in fact, he was irritatingly pleased it was all out in the open, whistling away to himself in the kitchen while he made coffee, but then Matthew had no idea about the viciousness of women. More to the point, Matthew wasn't the one they were going to be laughing at. Matthew had managed to bag himself an attractive (if I say so myself, she thought) younger woman, whereas what Helen had done was waste her life on someone old enough to be her father. Who had a wife. And two children.

  "All the other directors are jealous of me," he'd said to her proudly the night before, after the girls had left (new words from Claudia, three: Don't, be, and stupid—in response to being asked
whether she liked the boy band McFly).

  "What, even Laura?" She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He was trying to make her feel good, but where was the positive in being talked about like some kind of trophy fuck by a bunch of unattractive old men?

  "You know what I mean."

  "I hate them all knowing, Matthew. I'm sorry, but I do. It just makes me feel…cheap. I feel like they're all looking at me like they think I might give them a blow job if they're nice to me. And what does that say about them? I mean, they've all got wives. Sad old fucks."

  "OK, OK, I was just trying to cheer you up."

  "Well, sorry, you'll have to try something else 'cause that's never going to work."

  She picked up the phone to call Rachel. The Rabbits, as Matthew had christened them, were going at it hammer and tongs upstairs, bang, bang, bang on the headboard, Oh baby, Yes baby, thump, thump, thump. Helen had worked out that their bed must be positioned right over the crack in her ceiling, and it now felt like she was taking her life into her hands by sitting on her own bed while they bounced around on theirs. While she watched as the lightning fork fracture seemed to widen before her eyes, she tried to imagine the headline in the Camden New Journal:

  WOMAN CRUSHED BY AMOROUS PAIR

  MISERABLE HUSBAND-STEALER SQUASHED BY OVERACTING LOVERS

  SAD, NEAR-MIDDLE-AGED BITCH FLATTENED BY DULL UNATTRACTIVE COUPLE HAVING BETTER SEX THAN SHE WAS

  She waited for the familiar scene to play itself out—yes, yes, baby, baby, Call me Daddy (that was a new one, top marks for invention, she thought, although slightly queasy-making), thump, bang, squeal, crescendo, silence—before she dialed.

  Rachel answered, sleepy, clearly not out of bed herself yet. Helen had spent a large part of her weekend on the phone, trawling over Friday's events with her friend, so Rachel pretty much knew what was coming.

  "I can't go in, I can't face them all." Helen came straight to the point.

  "Don't be stupid, if you don't go in today then it's going to be much harder to drag yourself in there tomorrow. What are you going to do, take the whole of the next four weeks off sick?"

  "Now, there's an idea."

  "What's the worst that can happen? They laugh in your face. And behind your back. They call you a home-wrecking bitch. And a father-stealing ho. They tell you they always suspected it was you and not Helen-from-Accounts because she's too good for him and she'd never need to stoop that low…"

  Helen was laughing, despite herself. "OK, OK, you can stop now."

  "Seriously, though," Rachel was saying, "you hate those girls, anyway, so what do you care? What do you think of Jenny? Three words."

  "Stupid vindictive cow."

  "And Annie?"

  "Fucking stupid vicious vindictive sad no-life cow bitch. Fucker."

  "That's my girl. Go get 'em."

  "Did I mention that Annie was a fucking bitch?"

  "You did. And Helen, if all else fails, punch her in the mouth. What are they going to do, fire you?"

  * * *

  They traveled to work together for the first time in Matthew's made-for-driving-through-the jungle-in-a-rainstorm car which, Helen had to admit, was better than getting the tube. Matthew turned the stereo up and they rolled the windows down even though it was February and freezing. OK, so Magic FM in an SUV doing thirty-five down Hampstead Road wasn't exactly gangster rap in a customized Chevy bouncing along Crenshaw Boulevard, but it was fun and, for a moment, Helen felt a thrill of excitement from being out with her boyfriend, in public, like a regular couple. Then it passed and, before she knew what had happened to her, she'd started to cry. Matthew, halfway through a loud and tuneless chorus of "Angels," did a noticeable double take and stopped singing midword.

  "What…?" he stammered. "Are you OK?"

  "Yes," sniffed Helen, obviously not.

  "Do you want to talk about it? Is it me?"

  "No. Yes. Are you happy, Matthew?"

  "Of course I am," he said nervously.

  "How can you be? We hardly talk to each other anymore, we hardly ever have sex, the flat's way too small for the two of us, you never see your kids, your sister hates me…"

  "We can have more sex," he said, missing the point entirely. "I just thought you didn't want to."

  "It's not about the sex. It's everything."

  She waited for him to be comforting, to say he understood, maybe even to say, "You know, you're right, let's call it a day," but instead he looked at her and his eyes flashed with irritation.

  "For God's sake, Helen, grow up. This is real life. We're not playing at it anymore, this is what a real relationship is like. What we had before, that was an unreal situation, all highs and lows. Living together is all about the day-to-day stuff, the mundane details. I've made the ultimate sacrifice by leaving my children, so if I can be happy with the way things are, then surely to God you can be."

  "So you keep telling me."

  Matthew nearly swerved into the bus lane as he turned to look at her again.

  "Meaning?"

  They'd arrived at the NCP car park across the road from the office. Now isn't the time, thought Helen. In five minutes, all eyes are going to be on us and the last thing I want is for them to think I'm unhappy, it'd be like showing a shoal of piranhas the paper cut on your finger. She looked in the mirror on the back of the sunshade and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, trying not disturb her waterproof mascara, which had so far remained miraculously intact.

  "Nothing. I'm just nervous about today, that's all."

  Matthew pulled on the hand brake and entwined his fingers around hers.

  "It'll be OK."

  As he moved in to kiss her on the cheek, she jumped as the jarring, vaguely recognizable theme tune to Emmerdale, which was now her mobile ring-tone, started up. She dug it out of her bag. Sophie. Shit. She pressed the red button to turn it off, as Matthew looked at her curiously.

  "It's just Mum. I can't face her now. I'll call her later."

  "Have you told her about us yet?" Matthew must have asked her this question twenty times in the past month.

  "No, you know what she's like. Well, you don't because, of course, you've never met her, but you can imagine. She reads Catherine Cookson, for God's sake. She makes tea cakes. I mean, have you even seen a tea cake since 1974? She collects china shepherdesses. If I told her I'd slept with anyone, I think she'd have a heart attack. If you want me to tell her I've shacked up with a married father of two, then call an ambulance first, I'm just warning you."

  Matthew laughed. "OK, OK, but she'll have to know sometime."

  * * *

  "Oooh, Matthew and Helen arriving together, now there's a surprise," Annie smirked as they went their separate ways at Reception. "You both look like you haven't had much sleep, I wonder why."

  "That's enough, Annie," Matthew called jovially over his shoulder because, being one of the bosses, he could get away with it. Helen smiled an insincere smile at her.

  "Go fuck yourself."

  She moved on through to her desk, ignoring Jenny's hostile looks, and tried to keep her head down, scrolling through her e-mails, but she could feel her blush rising to the tips of her ears. She played her conversation with Rachel over in her head: "You hate them anyway, so who cares what they think of you?", but it didn't help her feel any braver. It didn't matter whether she despised these women, which for the most part she did. They were man-obsessed, unfunny, horoscope-believing, sport-hating, gossip-magazine-reading airheads. But she could no longer look down on them because now they knew what a fuck-up she was. It was only a matter of time before they found out how long her relationship with Matthew had been going on and they realized that, for pretty much the whole time they'd known her, she'd been lying to them. All the stories about Carlo. Oh, God, Carlo. Never mind that they had taken it way too far, she'd been the one to point the finger in the first place.

  I can't worry about this, she forced herself to think now. She saw Laura watching her from behind her offi
ce partition and smiled weakly. Laura stuck her head around the door.

  "Helen, have you got a minute?"

  Helen dragged herself from her chair and shut the door of Laura's tiny office behind her. She sat down.

  "So," Laura kicked off, "obviously, I've heard. You know what this place is like."

  Helen grunted a noncommittal reply. She slumped in her chair and stared at the gray, prickly tiles on the floor like a teenager in to see the headmistress.

  "I just wanted to say," Laura continued, "that if this is the reason you've handed in your notice, then I'd like you to reconsider. I know it must be awful now, but it'll all blow over. They've got the attention span of children, that lot; something else'll happen and it'll be on to the next. You could take a holiday now and just ride it out."

  "Thank you." Helen looked up at her, genuinely grateful for the speech. Why don't I like her, again? she thought to herself. Oh, yes, because she's a woman and she's a director and I'm only a secretary and I think I should have her job. Not because I'd do it any better than her, but because I'm jealous and I've made terrible decisions and I've completely fucked up my own life.

  She managed a smile. "Thank you, really. I appreciate it. But…it's time I left here, anyway. I'm forty in a couple of months and I don't want to be a forty-year-old secretary."