Getting Rid of Matthew

by Jane Fallon

  "Maybe he'll see what he's missing and start wishing he'd never left."

  "Well, tough," Sophie said. "Want another drink?"

  * * *

  Later, when Sophie had had a couple more glasses of wine, she said, "Leo really likes you, you know. Do you think maybe you'll call him once you get rid of old what's-his-name? What is his name?"

  "Erm…Carlo," Helen said, thinking, Here we go again. "I don't know, I don't want to think about it, to be honest. Not yet."

  "Well, I hope you do. Really. By the way," Sophie continued, "I persuaded him to let Matthew's firm do his PR. I don't know what is up with me that I feel the need to make sure that things turn out OK for Matthew—why do I care if him and Leo patch up their relationship or not?"

  "You probably still care about him."

  "I do not!"

  "You must do, you can't just turn it off like that."

  "Prick," said Sophie, vehemently.

  * * *

  Two more glasses down the line, Sophie got into a maudlin phase.

  "You're right, I do have feelings for him. I miss him," she said, her eyes getting teary. "Not him so much, not now, but I miss being a family and having someone to share stuff with. And I miss thinking I have a perfect life and that I'm happy. That's what I really hate, the fact that I was deluded all those years. I thought we were happy but we weren't."

  "I'm sorry," Helen slurred slightly, sailing dangerously close to the edge, stricken with guilt seeing her friend like this, all because of her—well, and Matthew, too; in fact, he was the one who owed Sophie loyalty and respect, but she, Helen, was the third party. Undeniably, she was the one who had breezed in and ruined their marriage, although God knew, Matthew was capable of that on his own. Helen was under no illusions that if she had turned him down he would have gone off with the next available attractive woman who came along. In fact, she knew that she hadn't been the first woman to threaten Matthew and Sophie's marriage.

  He had told her that before they had gotten together, when Sophie had first told him she was pregnant with Suzanne, he'd had a brief fling with a woman he'd met at his gym. It was the thought of Sophie's body blowing up to unrecognizable proportions, he'd told Helen—like that was an acceptable explanation—that had made him turn to the super-toned personal trainer that he'd booked for a few one-on-one sessions. It had only lasted a couple of weeks, and then the trainer—Helen couldn't remember her name—had found out that his wife was pregnant and knocked him back. Matthew had seemed bemused by this, Helen remembered. She remembered too, uncomfortably, that at the time she'd laughed at his story because she hated the idea of his wife and it thrilled her to think that he treated her with such utter disrespect. Now it felt to her that she owed it to Sophie to come clean about everything. The alcohol convinced her that it was the right thing to do, and that once Sophie got over the initial shock, Helen could express her remorse, Sophie would forgive her, and all would be well.

  "I'm really, really sorry…" she started again. Luckily, Sophie was too self-absorbed to even pause for breath in her monologue.

  "I thought he loved me, but he didn't," she was saying, finding that now that she had started to open up, it was difficult to close the floodgates. "I used to look at our friends and think, I know your marriage isn't as good as ours, I know you resent him or you're cheating or you're thinking of leaving. I was smug…"

  "Really, though…," Helen was still trying.

  "I want it all to be like it was," Sophie said, sniffing. "I want to go back to the four of us being a family. I can't start again at my age, with two kids. This is it, I'm on my own for the rest of my life."

  "No. No, that won't happen…" Helen took a deep breath. "Sophie…"

  Sophie interrupted her.

  "That fucking whore. That fucking stupid cow. Honestly, if I ever meet her, I'll kill her. Really, though. I can't wait. She's fucking pond life. The fucking scum of the fucking earth."

  Sophie paused for breath and noticed that Helen had gone a bit quiet.

  "Oh, God, I'm drunk, I've come over all Old Kent Road, haven't I? I'll shut up. Really. Sorry."

  * * *

  Later still, when they were both slurring and had drunk the best part of a bottle and a half each, Sophie said, "There's another reason I wanted Leo to use Global so much, you know, I wasn't just trying to be nice."

  "Eh?" said Helen incoherently.

  "He'll get to meet that Helen bitch and he can tell me what she's really like. I've asked him to get a good look at her. Bitch."

  "Fucking bitch," Helen agreed, too drunk to be worried.

  "I want him to come home," Sophie sobbed as they said good-night. "I really do. I want him to come home."

  At three o'clock in the morning, Helen woke with a fuzzy head and the full impact of what Sophie had said hit her. "I want him to come home." That was it—the perfect plan. She knew that her friend would never admit what she had just said when sober, but she also knew that, deep down, she must have meant it. If Matthew and Sophie got back together, she would get her life back. Matthew wouldn't have the humiliation of being dumped by the woman he'd given everything up for—indeed, he'd be the one feeling bad that he'd let Helen down—and Sophie would have her family back together.

  Excellent, thought Helen, I'm a fucking genius.

  She just had to work out a way to make it happen without Sophie or Matthew working out what she was trying to do.

  23

  HELEN PEERED OUT from under the covers at nine o'clock, half an hour after the alarm had gone off. Matthew was standing at the end of the bed with a cup of tea in his hand. Norman was yowling for his breakfast.

  "I've brought you some tea," Matthew was saying.

  "Thank you," she tried to say, but it came out as "ang yer." Her head hurt and she knew without looking that she'd gone to bed with all her makeup on. She realized with alarm that she couldn't remember arriving home last night—she knew she'd gotten into a taxi after saying good-bye to Sophie, but after that everything was a blank—God knows what she might have said to Matthew. He seemed happy enough, though, smiling at her indulgently as he waited for her to get out of bed. He was still overflowing with gratitude for her about-turn the other night.

  "Sick," she managed to say.

  "I'll get you a Resolve."

  Matthew thankfully left the room and Helen managed to feel her way across to the door like a blind woman, and out into the bathroom. Once there, she flinched when she saw her mascara-streaked face in the mirror and stepped straight into the shower, letting the water fall directly onto the top of her head. She didn't even have the strength to add shampoo. All she wanted was to get back into her bed and sleep through the day, but she knew that today was one day she couldn't phone in sick—today was the day of Leo's meeting, and Laura would never believe she'd stayed away for any other reason. What was she thinking of? She had to keep her wits about her when she was with Sophie. What if she had just confessed the whole stupid plan? She liked her, that was the problem. She wanted her to be happy. In fact, she hated the thought that the friendship was destined to end abruptly in a few weeks' time. She loved Rachel, but she was enjoying having someone else, someone a bit older, with different preoccupations and worries, to spend time with. Her isolation at work and Rachel's increasing reliance on Neil had left her feeling lonely. She had no one to talk to, she thought self-pityingly. She needed another friend, and Sophie was definitely a friend she would choose if she could. She felt her stomach heave and she threw up into the toilet bowl. Matthew was knocking on the door.

  "Are you all right in there? Do you want to call Laura and tell her you won't be in?"

  Helen slid back the bolt on the door.

  "I'm OK," she managed to say.

  She didn't know when she had started to lock herself in when she used the bathroom, but now it was habit. She didn't want Matthew walking in on her most private moments. She had never been one of those women who had been happy to use the toilet in front of her partn
er, talking about what was for dinner while she hoicked down her knickers. But the step from closing the door to bolting it was a recent one, and one of not insignificant symbolism. She was putting the barriers up.

  * * *

  She spent the morning counting down the hours till lunchtime, drinking glass after glass of water and making two more visits to the ladies' to throw up. She'd received a text from Sophie which said, "Not again. What are you trying to do to me?" which had made her laugh and lessened her spiritual hangover somewhat—it was always a major relief to discover you hadn't been the only one who'd made a fool of yourself. At ten past twelve, she'd stuck her head around the glass wall of Laura's office to tell her she was on her way out for her long lunch.

  "Are you not even interested to get a look at him?" Laura had asked.

  "No," Helen said firmly. "I'll be back at two."

  She walked down to Oxford Circus and killed half an hour mooching around Topshop. She couldn't spend any money because she was about to be unemployed, so the fun of having time to shop was limited. She started to make her way back down toward the office, unsure what to do with herself, and then before she really knew what she was doing, she found herself in Charlotte Street, seconds away from Verano. I could just walk past it, she thought. She checked her watch: five to one, Leo would definitely be in his meeting now, so it couldn't hurt to have a look, see how it was progressing. She walked down Percy Street on the opposite side of the road, trying to look casual, and threw a glance over at the restaurant as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The outside was finished with a tiny patio area with a foot-high wall around it, just big enough for two tables of two. Fairy lights hung from the upstairs window to the tree that grew by the side of the road, and laurel bushes in aged-down terracotta pots already stood by the front door. The front windows were folded back and a space heater mounted above them was blasting heat out into the cold afternoon, presumably to keep the lone workman she could see inside from freezing. Even though the inside was a mess, it looked like somewhere she'd like to sit out on a warm night.

  At five past one, she arrived at the café where she had arranged to meet Rachel for a sandwich, feet aching from walking around and around to kill time. They hadn't seen each other for weeks, hadn't had a night out since…well, she couldn't remember. Rachel was already sitting at a table in the window, half a coffee down.

  "Jesus, you look awful," she said as Helen took her coat off. "Are you OK?"

  "Hangover," Helen explained. "I was out with Sophie."

  "OK, I want all the details. First, though, I've got some news…"

  She left a dramatic pause.

  "Me and Neil are getting married…"

  "Oh, my God, Rach…oh, God…that's brilliant, I'm so happy for you…"

  "Not for ages, next year, probably. Look…"

  She waved her left hand around and a small, tasteful stone glittered on her third finger.

  "It's beautiful," Helen said, and then she was crying. Again. Rachel was looking at her, dumbstruck.

  "Sorry…God…I shouldn't have told you…"

  "No! I'm really pleased for you, honestly."

  "Oh, God. I'm so stupid."

  "No, Rachel. I mean it, I'm thrilled. I just, I don't know what's wrong with me…It's just, my life's so…shit. I've messed everything up. Oh, fuck, I'm turning into one of those crying women." She managed a laugh. "Those women we hate. And now I've ruined your big announcement."

  "I should've thought, I should've known my news would upset you, what with all that's going on," Rachel was saying.

  "No!"

  Neil was a nice man. He'd make Rachel happy. OK, so a few months ago she might have been eaten up with jealousy that Rachel clearly now had everything. But now she was so wrapped up in how her own life was going wrong that she couldn't be bothered to compare herself with anyone else. Part of her was worried that Rachel would suddenly come over all maternal and next thing you knew she'd be having babies and then that truly would be Helen's last real friend gone down the Swanee, but that really wasn't why she was crying. She was crying because her own life had now gone so far awry that she couldn't imagine what she might have to do to set it back on the right path. And because she was miserable and she wanted to indulge herself, and Rachel was the only person she could talk to about it. And thinking that made her cry even more, because soon she might not even have Rachel.

  Helen filled her in on everything that had happened since they'd last spoken, and her newly hatched plan for putting it all right, still feeling guilty that she'd ruined her friend's big moment. When she got to the part about Leo being Matthew's son, Rachel laughed out loud.

  "So, what?" Rachel said incredulously a few minutes later when Helen had finished telling her about last night. "You're really friends with Sophie now?"

  Helen nodded. "Kind of."

  "But you know you can't be? You're not who she thinks you are. You ruined her life," she added, spelling it out.

  "I know, I know. Oh, fuck, this is all so fucked up. But it helps in a way, don't you see? Because I genuinely want her to be able to have her old life back. Or, at least, what she thought her old life was."

  "And is that what she wants, do you think?"

  "Of course. OK, so she thinks Matthew's a bastard now, but she'd get over it."

  "Helen, don't end up messing up her life even more by accident."

  "Like how?"

  "I have no idea, but just don't get too involved with her. Just do what you need to do and get out."

  "When did you get to be so fucking wise about everything?" Helen asked, irritated.

  "I think I read that last bit in an Andy McNab novel." Rachel laughed. "Besides, I'm soon to be an old married woman, I'm meant to be wise."

  Helen smiled at her. "I am really happy for you. Honestly."

  "Well, you have to help me plan it all. I'm relying on you."

  "Of course I will." She looked at her watch. "Fuck, I'd better go. Do I look OK? I mean, do I look like I've spent most of my lunch hour crying?"

  "Well, you've got mascara halfway down your cheeks, but you could just be a Cure fan."

  Helen began to frantically wipe the skin under her eyes with her finger.

  "And your eyes are a bit pink. Like…you've got hay fever."

  "In February? Oh, fuck it, I don't care what they all think of me, anyway, it'll give them something to gossip about."

  They left the money on the table to cover their sandwiches and coffees, and turned to go out just as the front door opened. Helen froze. The man walking in was Leo. She put her head down, hoping he wouldn't recognize her, but then she heard him saying her name. Or one of them, anyway.

  "Eleanor?"

  Rachel, oblivious, carried on burbling on about whatever it was she was burbling on about. Helen kicked her on the ankle.

  "Leo. Hi."

  Thank God it was Rachel that she was with and not someone else. Matthew? It didn't even bear thinking about.

  "What are you doing here?" she managed to say.

  "I've been for a meeting up the road—at Global, you know, my father's company. Are you OK? You look…awful."

  "Thanks…Oh, this is Rachel, my friend. Rach, this is Leo…"

  "Oh…" said Rachel knowingly. "Hello."

  Rachel and Leo shook hands and then they all stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next. Rachel suddenly made a move.

  "Well, I should go…I'm sure you've got stuff…you know…to talk about. Nice to meet you," she said, as she almost made a run for the door. "I'll call you later, Hel…Eleanor…"

  "I should go, too," Helen was saying, although she didn't move.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean you looked awful. I just meant you looked upset."

  "I'm fine," Helen said. "Really. So…you went with your father, after all."

  "Kind of," Leo was saying. "I'd rather you were doing it, though."

  "Listen…I'm sorry, you know, about all that…"

  "It's OK," he
interrupted. "Sophie explained all about Carlo. It's fine, honestly. I'd still like to think that we could go out for a drink one day, you know, once it's all sorted out…"

  "Me, too," said Helen, genuinely trying not to throw herself at him. She could feel her face going red, and then remembered the mascara and began to rub at her eyes again, she hoped subtly. Fucking typical to bump into the first man she'd fancied in years when she looked like this.

  "Tell you what, once I've sorted my life out, I promise I'll ring you and explain the whole story, and then you can decide whether you still want to go for a drink with me."

  "I guarantee I will," he said, and more than anything in the world she wanted to lean over and kiss him.

  "We'll see," she said, thinking, You definitely won't, you'll hate me.

  "Listen, I'm late." She started to move past him toward the door. "I have to go."

  Leo touched her on the arm as she passed, and leaned in as if to kiss her on the cheek, then thought better of it.

  "Bye, then."

  "Yeah, bye. By the way, do I really look like shit?"

  "Yes." He laughed. "But in a good way."

  * * *

  Back in the general office, she had to listen to Jenny and Annie banging on and on about how good-looking Matthew's son was, and how he had obviously gotten all the good genes. "Matthew's first wife must have been very beautiful," Jenny was saying, looking over at Helen for a reaction. Helen had cleaned herself up in the ladies' on the way up, and now she was mascara-free but still red-eyed, so she kept her head down and pretended she couldn't hear. No such luck that she would get away with that, though…