Getting Rid of Matthew

by Jane Fallon

  "Giovanni?"

  "You know Giovanni. From that restaurant. Anyway, it turns out he's only been over here for a couple of weeks—he lives in Siena now, even though his mum and dad are in Clacton—and he was temping as a waiter to pay for his trip. He had no idea who I am. I mean it, no idea. He'd never heard of me, never seen my picture in the paper, well, till the day after that do, you know. But he still looked after me and took me home and didn't try and sleep with me. And now that he does know who I am, he doesn't care. And I'm so happy."

  "Listen, I'm really, really pleased for you. I think it's great. A fairy tale."

  "Thanks…sorry, who is this again?"

  Helen smiled. Sandra might be giving up celebrity, but it didn't seem like she was going to be any less self-obsessed. "It's Helen."

  "Oh, Helen, sorry. You've always been really nice to me, thanks."

  "Good luck," Helen said, as she ended the call. God knew Giovanni could turn out to be a wife-beater or a drunk or a cross-dresser, Sandra barely knew him, but she sounded so happy and, Helen thought, she deserved a bit of happiness.

  * * *

  Sitting at a corner table in the Lamb in Lamb's Conduit Street, Helen tried not to think about the fact that she would never see Sophie again. She had thought about telling her tonight that she was moving away, but she couldn't face the good-byes and had decided to go for the coward's way out—be unavailable for the next couple of weeks, take longer and longer to return calls and then, once Sophie had begun to tire of her flakiness, announce she was going away. She wanted tonight to be fun and she wanted to hear all the details of Sophie's and Matthew's reconciliation. Had she seen him since he had moved out? Had he told her that Helen had wanted the break-up as much as he had? Had she slept with him yet?

  Helen sat in the quieter back room of the pub, near an open fire, jealously guarding the empty chair opposite her. Christ knew how long it would be before she got to go out for a drink in a pub again, that wasn't something she could—or would want to—do on her own. Pubs required friends, and currently she had none. Or boyfriends—ditto. Maybe her and Laura could be friends once they started working together, stop off for the odd drink to talk about work and find they had things in common to chat about. It was a definite possibility—three months ago she'd hated the woman, now she was genuinely fond of her. At this rate she'd be in love with her by Easter. Or Helen-from-Accounts? No, that didn't bear thinking about. She took another long sip of her vodka and cranberry.

  Sophie was late, as always. Helen had adjusted her mental clock so that an arrangement to meet Sophie at six thirty actually meant twenty to seven. She looked at her watch—six forty-two—Sophie was two minutes late. Right on cue, Helen saw her friend pushing through the crowd, looking flustered, as if she'd been rushing, as usual, but also unmistakably flushed with something other than the stress of the rush-hour crowds. Helen had never seen anyone glowing before, but Sophie was doing a pretty good impression of it. She stood up and hugged her. Sophie shook her wet umbrella, put it on the floor underneath the table, and sat down.

  "You look…amazing." Helen gave her an exaggerated look up and down.

  "I feel great. I've made the right decision, I know I have."

  "So, has he done it? He's broken it off?"

  "He has. He's staying in a hotel around the corner from us. Do you know what's insane? That I felt sorry for Helen. He told me that she begged him to stay, used all kinds of emotional blackmail, but that he knew he was doing the right thing."

  Helen bit her tongue. She'd just about gotten over caring for her own sake that Matthew always felt the need to paint her as the weak, desperate one, but the fact that he was still doing this now, while at the same time promising Sophie that he had changed, was so infuriating.

  "Really, I thought you'd got the impression that she was losing interest anyway. Didn't he say…"

  "Well, apparently not. Anyway, I'm not going to lose any sleep feeling bad about her. She obviously didn't feel bad about me those whole six months…"

  "Obviously."

  "Anyway, it's over. He's promised never to have any contact with her again."

  Helen could feel her anger rising on her friend's behalf. Fucking hell, that man was incapable of telling the truth.

  "Don't they have things to sort out, I mean, he moved out pretty quickly…all his stuff?"

  "In storage."

  "Right. Well…good for him." She couldn't get involved, couldn't worry about this, it wasn't her problem anymore. Sophie had gotten him back, which was what she wanted. It was up to her whether or not to fall for his bullshit again. But Helen could see why she had. He was so plausible, so vulnerable, so fucking manipulative. How did he keep getting away with this? Because women—like Helen herself—allowed him to. They enabled him. She thought about coming clean with Sophie, saying, "I'm her, I'm Helen," and then exposing all his lies, but the whole idea was too terrifying, she wouldn't know where to start. Sophie would probably think she was playing some kind of sick joke, or she'd just attack her—hadn't she said once that she wanted to kill her rival? She would just have a couple of drinks, say good-night, and leave them to it. She'd done her bit, she'd done what she had set out to do, she'd put the world to rights, now it was up to them. If Sophie was gullible enough to allow him to walk all over her again, then that was her problem.

  "I'll get us a drink." Helen stood up. "What do you want?"

  And then Sophie said something which made Helen's knees buckle and the room start to swim in front of her eyes.

  "Oh, wait for Matthew to get here. He'll be here any minute."

  She thought she must have misheard.

  "Mmm?"

  "Matthew, he's just parking the car and then he's going to pop in and say hello. He gave me a lift down and I wanted him to meet my friend. He'll only stay for one, because he's got to pick up the girls from their friends'…"

  Helen didn't hear the rest of what Sophie said, because all the blood from her head had rushed down to her feet and she was having to concentrate on not falling over. She sank back down onto her stool again.

  "Oh. Great," she said weakly.

  She tried to think straight. She had to get out before he arrived. She could feign illness, but that might take too long, with Sophie fussing over her before she could make her escape. Fuck it. She was never going to see Sophie again anyway, so she would just pretend she was going to use the toilet and then simply walk out. It would be a mystery, but at least they would never know the truth, or if they did work it out, then she would never have to be confronted by it.

  She stood up again, legs shaking, and picked up her bag. Her coat she would have to leave behind.

  "I'm just going to the ladies'," she said, and turned around to find herself looking straight at Matthew. His expression was a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear.

  "Helen?"

  She was trapped. She thought about making a run for it, but she would have had to push Matthew out of the way. Sophie was looking at them, bemused.

  "Matthew, this is Eleanor, my friend I was telling you about." She looked from one to the other. "Do you two know each other?"

  Helen stood there dumbstruck, looking at the ground. There was nothing she could do to save herself here.

  "Eleanor?" Matthew was saying. "This is Helen."

  Helen couldn't look at Sophie's face.

  "I don't understand," Sophie said quietly. "Eleanor, what's going on?"

  "What the fuck have you been doing?" Matthew growled.

  The truth was starting to dawn on Sophie. "You're not…?"

  "I can explain," Helen muttered.

  Matthew practically pushed her down into a chair in the corner. She was trapped, with one of them on either side and the table in front of her. A few other drinkers were looking in her direction, fascinated by the drama. Her eyes filled with tears.

  "Go ahead," he said tersely.

  Helen looked up at Sophie for the first time and her expression floored her. All
of the glow had left her—she looked confused and vulnerable, not wanting to take in what she was being told.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm waiting." Matthew ignored her apology. Helen took a deep breath and looked at Sophie.

  "You were never meant to know."

  "What is this, some kind of fucking game?" Matthew interrupted.

  "I felt bad about what I'd done. I realized I didn't want Matthew anymore, and I felt awful that he'd given up his family." She looked up and saw Sophie staring fixedly at her. "I thought I could try and help you get back together. Put things right."

  "You made up this whole thing? You…engineered our friendship to try and fuck with my life even more? I confided in you. I told you…things. Christ, you fucking bitch."

  Sophie had raised her voice and the people at the other two tables were riveted.

  "No. No…making friends with you, that was never meant to happen. I just wanted to see what you were like, because I was feeling so guilty about what had happened, and then I fell over and then…well…then I got to like you. You were my friend. And I wanted to try and put things right."

  "Whatever it is you're trying to do, it won't work. I want Sophie back and there's nothing you can do to get in the way of that." Matthew was practically spitting.

  "That's what I'm trying to say. I want you and Sophie to get back together." She turned to look at him. "When you turned up on my doorstep, I thought we could try and make a go of it. But we couldn't. And I couldn't just throw you out. So I thought…well, I know now it was a stupid idea…"

  "You begged me. Begged me to leave Sophie. And now, just because I don't want you anymore, you're trying to ruin things for us. I should never have got involved with you. Sophie's right, you're a bitch." He put his hand over Sophie's territorially.

  Helen met Sophie's hostile gaze.

  "It's true. I did beg him to leave you. Over and over again. For how long was it, Matthew?"

  Matthew flushed a furious red.

  "Six months," Sophie said coolly.

  "And let's not forget the other three and a half years," Helen added quietly, turning to stare Matthew down.

  "Don't listen to her."

  "Four years, Sophie. That's how long we were together. And I'm not proud of that. Believe me, it sickens me. And I'm not telling you that because I want to hurt you, I'm telling you that because you need to know he's still lying to you. He's never going to change."

  "She's the one who's lying," Matthew insisted, but Sophie was looking at Helen intently. Neither woman looked at him.

  "Remember that time you thought Claudia had meningitis and you couldn't get hold of him because his phone was turned off? She must have been, what, eight at the time? That's because he was with me. Or the time you were meant to go on holiday to France and Matthew canceled at the last minute? My fault I'm afraid. I'd just had an abortion and I threatened to tell you if he didn't stay and look after me. Trust me, I'm really not proud of that."

  "Fuck you." Sophie nearly spat in her face.

  "You're too good for him, Sophie. Don't do it."

  "Fuck off. Just fuck off."

  "I'm going." She stood up, and Matthew moved his legs to let her pass.

  "Oh, and his stuff." Helen turned back to Sophie. "It's not in storage, it's at my house."

  "That's not true." Matthew glared at her.

  Helen was still looking at Sophie. "Sophie, I'm really, really sorry. For everything. I was a bitch for the last four years, but I've been trying to make up for it. I know you won't believe me, but it's true. I've really valued our friendship, and I'm really going to miss you." She felt a tear escape down her cheek. "I know you're never going to believe that but it is true."

  "Please go. I don't want to listen to you anymore."

  "I know. Just…I know it's none of my business…but I care about you, I really do. Just think hard before you take him back. He's still lying to you, Sophie. He's incapable of behaving any other way."

  "Matthew and I are getting back together and there's nothing you can do about it," Sophie half called after her as she left.

  * * *

  "You came on to my son? You came on to my fucking son?" Helen banged the phone down. She didn't know why she'd answered it, she'd known it would be him, no one else ever called on the home number. She wiped her eyes, poured herself another glass of wine, and lay back down on the sofa feeling—temporarily—all cried out. She didn't know why this hurt so much, she never had to see either Sophie or Matthew again, so what difference did it make if they knew what she'd been doing? What difference did it make if they hated her?

  It was the fact that she had been so close—she was home and dry, everyone had gotten what they wanted. Now she felt dirty, like a criminal who had insidiously oiled her way into other people's lives for her own ends. Of course, they didn't understand that she had been acting with their own interests at heart, why would they, it was insane—even she didn't understand it.

  In desperation, she called Rachel, knowing it was pointless.

  "Bali or Mauritius?" Rachel sounded chirpy.

  "I don't know. Rachel, it's all fucked up," she sobbed loudly.

  "Jesus, Helen, what's up?"

  Helen couldn't get the words out; when she tried, a sort of gurgle drowned out what she was trying to say.

  "Stay where you are. I'm coming over."

  "Will you?" Helen felt pathetically grateful.

  "Of course." There was a pause and then Rachel spoke again. "Oh, shit. I can't, I've got someone coming round about flowers at eight."

  "Never mind," Helen managed to say.

  "No, fuck it. I'll cancel the flower woman."

  "Really?"

  "Really. To be honest, I'm going to go insane if I have to have another conversation about lilies versus roses. In fact, you're the only person I can say this to, but this whole fucking wedding is driving me mad."

  "You can tell me all about it," Helen said.

  "No chance," said Rachel, laughing. "It's way too boring. Open the wine, I'll be over in half an hour."

  * * *

  In a way, it was like old times; they got drunk and they bitched and Rachel listened to Helen while she poured her heart out about Matthew and Sophie and Leo. But Helen knew that however hard she was trying, she didn't really understand. Nothing, for Rachel, was ever really that serious. It felt great to have her friend back, of course it did. It would do her good to have someone to have a laugh with, to go shopping or to the cinema with. She would even throw herself into helping to plan the dreaded wedding. But it wasn't enough.

  34

  THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASSED in a kind of haze. Helen felt numb, like she was observing things through a thick fog. She couldn't decide what she was most depressed about, the fact that Sophie had now thrown away her life on a man who would—inevitably—fuck her over again in the future, or the fact that she, Helen, had orchestrated the whole thing.

  Matthew's belongings were now stacked up in the hall. Helen was beginning to think that he was never going to come and get them, but she couldn't bring herself to throw them away, nor was she about to call him and ask him what he wanted her to do with them. She had endured two days of angry phone calls from him before she had decided to unplug the phone and leave it unplugged. She only answered her mobile to Laura, Rachel, and her mum. Well, she would make a decision about his belongings when she moved—she had given in her notice at the flat and was halfheartedly looking for new places, although there was something about being told again—at nearly forty—that you weren't allowed to keep a pet or that you mustn't hammer a nail into the wall to hang a picture, that she was finding utterly soul-destroying.

  There was no getting away from it—she missed Sophie. She had known she would, of course, and she thought she had prepared herself for it, comforting herself that she was doing the right thing by her friend. It was bizarre that someone she had known for such a relatively short time should leave such a big gap in her life. Despite the fact that
Rachel was back to her old self, Helen now knew that she couldn't count on her regardless. There was only one person she wanted to call right now to share her troubles with—and she was never going to be able to speak to that person again.

  The first couple of weeks of her new job were lonely, setting up the office on Marshall Street on her own, sitting by a phone that rarely rang. She knew she should be out hustling for new clients, but at the moment it took all her energy to drag herself home on the tube for Emmerdale, pasta, wine, and then bed. When Laura joined her on week four and their assistant, Rhona, shortly after, she started to feel like she was waking up and work became a friendly alternative to being home alone. It was still a few weeks before Helen-from-Accounts would arrive with her hilarious postcards of anthropomorphized kittens and coffee mugs adorned with witty sayings. Helen knew she would be wanting to put up posters in the kitchen about washing up after yourself before too long, and she had already decided to have a quiet word asking her not to bother.

  Occasionally, Laura and Helen went to the pub after work, which broke up the week, although they were still at the stage where they mostly talked about business and, though they got on, hadn't yet found much common ground elsewhere.

  As a favor to Sandra, Helen placed a "Sandra turns her back on celebrity" piece, because although Sandra had chosen to bow out quietly, she hadn't chosen to bow out that quietly, and that led to several follow-up stories about how Sandra had really been a good girl at heart, looking for love all along. Before she saw it coming, Sandra was signing a contract for a reality TV show following her first steps in her new life in Italy, and Helen had agreed to take on all her PR. Helen was walking with a demurely dressed Sandra through Soho after leaving a meeting with the TV company when she stopped dead as she saw a familiar figure. Up ahead of them was Matthew, striding along with that overconfident walk he had when things were going his way, and walking next to him, holding his hand while she struggled to keep up, was a woman. A woman who wasn't Sophie.