Getting Rid of Matthew

by Jane Fallon

  Women who wear suspenders. Or corsets. Or anything else they've read in one of their boyfriend's lads' mags is supposed to be sexy.

  Women who try too hard (see above)

  Women who wear flowers in their hair/pashminas/black bras with white tops/court shoes

  Mothers who work part-time and expect the whole world to revolve around their commitments ("Oh, I'll have to change my day next week, Sam's nursery's closed for redecoration.")

  Women who breast-feed in public

  Women who are still breast-feeding when their children are old enough to ask for it

  OK, so Helen might be guilty of a major crime on the list, but Rachel was now culpable on two counts and probably would soon be ticking off a few more.

  Helen cut the call short, promising to spend some time over the next few weekends visiting potential wedding venues. She thought about asking if Rachel was up for a drink later in the week, but she knew she wouldn't be—or if she was, it would be on the proviso that Neil came, too—not that that was a bad thing in itself, Neil was good company, but it wasn't the same. Helen didn't feel she could talk about the Matthew problem with Neil chipping in every so often that he thought Matthew was a "nice guy" and when were they all going to go out again? She knew that Sophie, under different circumstances, would indulge her, but of course Sophie thought she was a successful publicist already, so she couldn't share her news with her. Still, she wanted to hear the details of yesterday afternoon, so she called her anyway, reminding herself not to let anything slip about her own situation.

  "Honestly," Sophie said when Helen pressed her, "it was great. The girls loved it, we got on, no arguments. You were right, you know, I felt in control, well, once I got over the painting thing, anyway, and I think that however happy he thinks he is, he must've gone back thinking he was missing out on his family. I hope so, anyway."

  "Well, you have to keep it up," Helen said in reply, trying to ignore the irrational twinge of jealousy that she was feeling. She should be pleased—and she was—but it wasn't the world's greatest ego boost to know that he could slip back into his old life so easily. "Make him suffer."

  "I will. Thanks, by the way," Sophie was saying, "for all your advice and stuff. I really appreciate it."

  * * *

  Helen decided to leave work early, leaving Jamie reading aloud the latest installment from Alan's e-mails—which detailed an evening at a hotel which had taken place recently—to the general office. She headed home to find that Matthew had beaten her to it and was in the middle of dressing the front room so it looked like, Helen thought, a brothel at Christmas: colored scarves draped over the table lamps—she was sure she could smell burning—and candles teetering precariously on the bookshelves. The table was laid for dinner for two and a bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket in the middle. Helen looked at her watch; it was only half past five. She could hear Matthew humming away to himself in the shower and she knew she'd ruined some kind of big surprise or other. She didn't even take her coat off but, loath as she was to leave the death trap her flat seemed to have become, with the lethal combinations of not only scarves and naked lightbulbs but candles and an inquisitive cat, turned around and walked out the front door. Then she unlocked the door again, went straight back in, picked Norman up and, despite his protests, shut him in the kitchen.

  At half past six, she started to trudge back toward the flat, rehearsing her shocked and delighted reaction in her head. Matthew was hovering in the hall when she let herself in, like a nervous party hostess, looking so eager and excited about his big secret that she didn't find it too hard to indulge him a bit.

  "What?" she said. "What's going on?"

  Matthew indicated the living room with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

  "Ta-da!"

  Helen went on through. The candles were burned down to stumps and she could see that one of the colored scarves had been discarded and was lying on the chair with a suspicious-looking black ring in the middle. The burning smell, which had gotten worse, had been joined by a delicious curry aroma.

  "Wow, Matthew, what is this?"

  "Celebration dinner," he said proudly. "In honor of your new job."

  "You've cooked?"

  "Well, I ordered takeout."

  "It looks amazing in here. Thank you so much."

  It was sweet that he'd gone to all this trouble for her. Three or four months ago, she would have been blown away, would have bored Rachel to death with every detail. Today, she was just about managing to look grateful.

  "Have a glass of champagne."

  Matthew lifted up the bottle, which was by now sitting in a pool of water, and poured her a glass. She drank it back in two swigs and held her glass out for another.

  "Oh," she heard Matthew saying, "I heard from Leo."

  Helen's stomach lurched into her mouth.

  "He's looking forward to meeting you on Friday."

  "He's…what?" She wasn't sure she'd heard right.

  "At the launch. I told him I'd like to bring you, and he said he's looking forward to it. I think Sophie's going to be there, but that's OK, isn't it? I mean, I feel like everyone's behaving like an adult now, so I'm sure she'll be fine about seeing you."

  Helen was in a blind panic.

  "No."

  "No what?"

  "It's too soon. To meet them all. I can't."

  "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you can."

  "No, Matthew, I can't." She felt like she was near to tears.

  "Tell you what. I'll find out what time Sophie's going to be there, and we'll go later. I don't know what you're worried about, though, she won't behave badly, she's not that sort of woman."

  "No, I can't go at all. I can't meet Leo. Not yet." Uncontrollable tears were now falling down Helen's cheeks. This was hell.

  "Anyway," she tried desperately, "I'm busy Friday."

  "Doing what?"

  "Seeing Rachel."

  "You're seeing her tomorrow." Matthew was, of course, unaware that Helen was, in fact, planning to spend her Tuesday evening with his ex-wife-to-be.

  "She's getting married, Matthew," Helen said, as if that should explain everything. When he looked blank, she carried on. "I'm helping her with the plans. I'm her best woman or whatever the fuck it's called. I've promised."

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, cancel it. This is my family, Helen. You know what my relationship with Leo is like, it's a miracle he even invited me and, what, I'm going to say sorry we can't come, we've got something better to do?"

  "Of course you've got to go. But I'm not coming with you. I'm sorry."

  "Helen, there is no way that I'm going to tell Leo that you've turned down his generous offer to meet you."

  "Stop being so fucking pompous. Leo doesn't really want me there. He's just being polite and it is very nice of him, but it's too soon for me, OK? End of story. Just tell him I had other plans."

  "You're just being ridiculous. You're coming with me and that's it."

  "Well, I'm not."

  "Helen, grow up. I've already heard from the girls in the office that you make a point of going out whenever he has to come in. I put it down to you being worried that he might pick a fight with you, but now I'm telling you he wants to meet you, that he's actively seeking to get to know you, and you're still saying you won't do it. I mean, what's going on?"

  "Nothing. I'm just not ready, I'm not coming and you can't force me to, OK? You're not my father, Matthew. You can't ground me if I won't do as you say. I'm not coming. Get over it."

  "You're acting like a teenager."

  "No, I'm acting like a thirty-nine-year-old woman who can make her own decisions, it's just that you're acting like an old man who thinks everyone should do what he tells them. And do you know why that is? Because I am a thirty-nine-year-old woman and you are an old man."

  Matthew stood up from the table. "I'm going to bed."

  "It's ten to nine."

  "I'm still going to bed."

  "Fine, I'll sleep out
here."

  "You do that." He slammed the bedroom door behind him.

  "Prick," Helen shouted, wanting to have the last word.

  Five minutes later, Matthew's head appeared around the door of the living room again. "You're putting no fucking effort into this relationship," he barked at her.

  "Go on, say it, you gave up everything for me. Well, I didn't ask you to."

  "Yes, you did." He raised his voice to a shout. "Yes, you fucking did." He retreated again.

  "Oh, fuck off," Helen called after him.

  Five seconds later, he was back.

  "One evening. Just one fucking evening to help me support my son. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry, but it is," Helen said, lying down on the sofa and pulling a throw up over her head.

  26

  HELEN SAT IN THE MUSEUM TAVERN across from the British Museum, robotically stirring a plastic stick around in a Bloody Mary. Sophie was late. Not just her usual ten minutes late, but half an hour now. Helen had tried to call her, but her mobile was going straight to answerphone, and knowing that Matthew would be at the house to babysit the girls made her nervous about trying her there. She nursed her drink and looked up to glare at a man who was looking at her curiously from another table. Helen thought about shouting, "I'm not a prostitute, I'm just waiting for my friend," but instead she colored under his scrutiny. She wished she had a magazine or a book—reading said, "I am a respectable woman and I have a legitimate reason for sitting alone in this pub." Just drinking alone, however, apparently said, "I'm anyone's for the price of a vodka." She looked at her watch; she'd give it five more minutes.

  She hadn't been able to face going home first, knowing that the detritus of the previous evening's meal would still be all over the living room. She was fucked if she knew why she should clear it up—the meal had been Matthew's idea, and as far as she was concerned he had started the argument which ended it prematurely. And anyway, though she hadn't intended them to fall out, now that they had, it suited her plan, so she was in no rush to make up with him.

  Matthew had once said to her that Sophie was passive-aggressive.

  "She wears you down, bit by bit, and somehow she always ends up getting her own way. I much prefer a big argument," he'd said, "blow everything up and clear the air." Judging by his sulky behavior today when their paths had crossed in the office, he was lying. Or maybe what he meant was "I prefer a big argument if I win it," she thought bitterly. God, he was annoying.

  Three minutes and fifty-odd seconds after she had last looked, Helen looked at her watch again and decided to call it a day. She was putting her bag across her chest when her mobile rang. Finally. She checked the caller ID just before she answered, although she pretty much knew it was Sophie, and discovered that it wasn't—it was a number she didn't recognize.

  "Hello."

  A man's voice answered. Leo. She tried, and failed, to sound nonchalant at being caught off-guard like this.

  "How have you been?" he was saying, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to call.

  "Good, yes. Busy, of course. How was your launch?" she asked, knowing full well that it hadn't happened yet.

  "That's why I'm ringing. It's on Friday. I thought you might like to come along, see how it's turned out. Not like a date or anything…When I say 'you,' I mean "you and your boyfriend." You are still with your boyfriend, aren't you?"

  He must still be interested in her—why else would he call? She felt a rush of…what? Lust, probably. She suppressed the desire to say, "No, I'm all yours, if you still want me."

  "Erm…yes. We're trying to make a go of it, you know." God, if only he knew how far that was from the truth. She could have sworn she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  "Well, like I say, bring him. Honestly, I'd love for you to be there, then I can show off at being the big restaurateur and know you'll be looking at poor old Carlos and wishing you were single. Although now that I'm the new Gordon Ramsay, I'm not sure I'd be interested in a humble little PR woman like you anymore."

  Helen laughed. "It's Carlo, not Carlos. And I'm really sorry, but I have plans on Friday night already." She was thinking fast. "One of my clients has a play opening."

  Leo sounded doubtful. "Right."

  "Her name's…Rachel…er…" She looked around. The businessman was still checking her out, convinced she was a call girl.

  "Ho. Rachel Ho."

  "Rachel Ho?"

  "She's Chinese. Half Chinese. Her father. She's only just out of drama school and, you know, she needs all the support she can get. Honestly, I would have loved to otherwise…"

  She trailed off as the door opened and a breathless Sophie burst in.

  "We can just be friends, you know. We're adults," Leo was saying. "But if you don't want to come, that's fine…"

  "I have to go, Sophie's here. Sorry. And thanks again, for the invitation, I mean it, but we really can't come." She hung up before he could protest. Shit, now he'd think she was being curt, although truthfully, what did it matter if he did?

  "Sorry, sorry," Sophie wheezed before Helen could say anything. She had obviously been running.

  "I rushed out of the house so fast I forgot my phone, so I couldn't call and tell you I was on my way. I'm really sorry. Have you been here hours?"

  She noticed Helen's bag.

  "Oh, God, you were leaving."

  "It's fine," Helen reassured her. "Calm down and I'll get you a drink."

  "It was Matthew," Sophie said, and Helen sat down again, drink forgotten.

  "He was in a bit of a state and he wanted to talk. He and Helen have had a big fight, apparently."

  Helen gulped. "What about, did he tell you?"

  "Helen's refusing to go to Leo's opening. Can you believe it? Says she doesn't want to meet any more of his family."

  "Maybe she's afraid you'll be there."

  "Well, I will, but so what? I was quite looking forward to getting a look at her, to be honest. And it's not like I'm going to cause a scene and ruin Leo's night. That reminds me, he wants to invite you along."

  "I know, that was him on the phone just then. But I'm busy on Friday." She stood up. "White wine?"

  * * *

  "So, I think the scales are finally falling off his eyes," Sophie said, once they had their drinks.

  "Why?" Helen was aching with curiosity. "What else did he tell you?"

  "That their relationship has changed. That he feels like she's not interested in him now she's got him. Christ knows why he thinks he can come to me for sympathy."

  "Because he knows you'll give it to him. Which is good. It shows you're getting over him if you can listen to him bang on about the intimate details of his new life without getting hysterical."

  "He did tell me quite intimate things, actually. Like, they have no sex life anymore. None."

  "None?"

  "Apparently not. Serves him right. Actually, that's not fair—I found myself feeling sorry for him. I mean, how does he do that? He can behave in the most appalling way, and yet he'll always end up getting all the sympathy."

  Helen's mind was still on other things. "What, he said literally no sex?"

  Sophie nodded. "She's just not interested anymore, he said. That didn't take long."

  Helen thought of the sympathy shag she had bestowed upon Matthew only three weeks ago, or was it four? But now, if he was going to go around telling people he wasn't getting any, she just wouldn't bother again.

  Sophie was on her own train of thought.

  "Why would you do that? Split up a family and then freeze the man out. It doesn't make any sense unless it was all a game to her and she just wanted to have the satisfaction of knowing she'd won. I mean, what a bitch."

  "Maybe she did really want him, but now she's changed her mind." As usual, Helen couldn't help but try to defend herself. "Maybe she's gone off him. It happens."

  "But you can't just go off someone when they've uprooted their whole life for yo
u. I mean, you just can't."

  "I guess it's out of your control," Helen was saying. "I'm sure she didn't plan it."

  "And why wouldn't she go and meet Leo? When it means so much to Matthew. She sounds like a right cow."

  "Well, that's a given." Helen laughed.

  * * *

  "Sophie," Helen asked her a couple of minutes later, while Matthew and Helen were still the main topic of conversation. "The other night you said you thought you wanted him back. Did you mean it?"

  "I never said that," Sophie protested, but she colored up enough to give herself away. Helen laughed.

  "You did."

  "I must've had too much to drink. Of course I don't want him back." Sophie reddened even more. "Let's change the subject."

  * * *

  While Sophie was at the bar, Helen checked her messages for a penitent one from Matthew which, of course, wasn't there.

  "Helen!"

  She froze.

  "I thought it was you."

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  She half looked up. Sophie was still at the other end of the bar, redundantly flapping a ten-pound note at the barman. Helen smiled at Kristin, Alan's ex-assistant, who was standing beside her.

  "Kristin. Hi," she said weakly, thinking, "Please go away."