Getting Rid of Matthew (28 page)

32

S
OPHIE WAS DRINKING
Diet Coke, and though she'd offered Matthew a glass of wine, he'd opted for coffee. Neither of them was taking any chances this time. They had sat opposite each other, on either side of the kitchen table, as if they needed to put a physical barrier between them, something solid to stop them doing anything foolish. At one point, Sophie's ankle grazed the table leg and she jumped, thinking she had touched Matthew, then laughed when she realized how foolish she must have looked. Matthew tried to hold her gaze, but she flicked her eyes down to the table. An awkward silence hung heavy in the air. Then:

"I want to come back."

Sophie had guessed—hoped and dreaded by turns—that this was coming. She'd rehearsed what she might say in reply, planned whether to make him work for it or to throw herself on him and accept gracefully or to turn him down flat. What she hadn't managed to do was to decide which of those options she would pick when the time came. Now that he'd said it, she sat staring at her glass on the table in front of her, her mind racing. She longed to be part of a whole family again, and for all his many faults, she missed Matthew's company and their shared history. No one else would ever be able to understand and equal her love for her daughters. No one else could (or would want to) reminisce with her about the minute details of their childhood. But was that enough to base a relationship on? History? Basically, did it come down to a fear of being alone? No, she decided, she'd gotten over that fear, she knew she could cope on her own now. There was no way she was going to put herself and the girls through the trauma of being let down again. If she was going to take him back things had to be different—
he
had to be different—this time. She forced herself to look up and meet his gaze.

"How do I know things would be better this time?"

"I've changed. I'll prove it to you."

"But you tried to get me into bed while you were still with Helen. How's that you changing?"

Matthew took her hand across the table.

"I was drunk. I was desperate. I want you back so much. But I do want to do it the right way, this time. And I'm going to tell her…that it's all over."

Sophie knew she should be firmer with him, insist that he finish with Helen regardless of whether or not she would agree to take him back. Make him do that first, before she would even discuss it with him, to prove that he was serious, but she was scared of losing the moment, scared that he would change his mind if she made things difficult for him.

"Matthew, I can't go through what we just went through again. Not ever. Don't do this to me if you don't think you truly mean it."

"I do. God, Sophie, I really do." Matthew was near to tears. "I'd never expect you to take me back after what I did, but if you do…God, I'd never do anything wrong, ever again. I promise you that."

"And you have to be honest with me. Really, really honest."

"I will."

"And no more working late or squash or whatever, because it's going to take me a while to trust you again."

She had used the present tense—it's going to take me a while—not "it would take me a while," as though it was still speculative and it might not happen at all, but "it's," as though she had made up her mind. It hung in the air between them.

"Anything."

"I feel uncomfortable, them all knowing at Global and…her still working there with you."

"She's left. Helen. She's gone with Laura."

Ah, Sophie thought, so that's why Laura could barely look me in the eye at the restaurant opening.

"But I've thought about it anyway, I can set up on my own, scale things down, work less hours. Maybe work from home a couple of days a week."

Sophie placed her other hand on top of his.

"You deceived me for six months, Matthew.
Six months.
That's a long time. I have to know that that deception is over and that it'll never happen again."

"I promise," he said, and a tear rolled off his face and onto her hand.

* * *

They sat in the big kitchen, talking and drinking tea and Diet Coke, until past midnight. The girls had come in to say good-night, dragging themselves away from the Xbox half an hour after their prescribed bedtime because Sophie and Matthew had forgotten all about them.

"What are you doing?" Claudia had said, pulling a face. "You're holding Mum's hand."

Sophie was grateful that she had just said to Matthew that they shouldn't get the girls' hopes up until everything was finalized, because she knew that he was dying to jump up and hug them and make a big statement about the fact that he was coming home to live with them again, and that they were all going to live happily ever after.

"Of course we're holding hands, we like each other," Matthew said.

"And you look like you've been crying. Gross."

By the time Matthew left for home, they had decided that he would break the bad news to Helen the following day and that once that was done, he would stay in a hotel for a week, for what Sophie described as a "cooling-off period" before he returned home. Matthew had pushed to be allowed to move back in straightaway, but Sophie was adamant.

"I want to know one relationship is completely over before the other begins. Just for once."

He had agreed reluctantly, knowing that he had to play things her way for a while. When he left to go back to Camden, they had hugged each other but agreed not to kiss.

"It's not fair on Helen," Sophie had said, wondering when she had become so reasonable.

* * *

Helen had spent the evening home alone, bored out of her mind with her own company. There was no one—literally no one—she could call up for a drink. Apart from Sophie, that is, and obviously that was out of the question this evening. Rachel had been taken by the domestic-bliss body snatchers, and even though Helen thought about calling her to see what she was up to, she quickly realized there was no point. And soon there would be no Sophie, either, because she was confident that Matthew was on his way back to his family and that, as soon as that happened, she would have to break off all contact. Tell Sophie she was moving away or something and then never return her calls. Leave them to repair their broken marriage and herself to her new single life. She had a new job—well, a career, now—and she would soon have her freedom back. She'd just have to do without friends for a while. Her liberty would come at a price, but it was a price she had decided was worth paying, although when she thought about the endless evenings with nothing to do and the lack of anyone to share her thoughts with, she felt like crying. Fuck this, she was never meant to get to
like
Sophie. Befriending her was an accident, a mistake, a ridiculous, French-farce turn of events.

She tried to wait up for Matthew, but the hours dragged, and when the clock moved past midnight, she decided to throw in the towel and go to bed, secure in the knowledge that it must be going well or he wouldn't be out this late. When he finally got home, just before one, she was sound asleep, and he crept around the room so as not to wake her. He felt elated. He was being given a second chance with a woman who loved him. His family would forgive him, his friends would drift back one by one, he could go back to a normal, comfortable life and he would try—really try—to make it work this time. But when he looked at Helen sleeping peacefully, her head thrown back on the pillow and one arm flung across the whole width of the big double bed, he felt overcome with guilt again. He had no idea how his life had become so complicated. He would just have to tell her straight in the morning, put her out of her misery quickly. He tried to rehearse ways to break it to her gently:

I've made a mistake.

It's not you it's me.

I've fallen back in love with my ex-wife (maybe not).

It's for your own sake—when you're my age, I'll be eighty, what sort of a life was that to look forward to? (Yes, he thought, drifting off to sleep. That was a good one.)

"OK."

"OK?"

"OK."

"I tell you I want to break up, and you just say, OK?"

"Well, what do you want me to say? Good? Me, too?"

Matthew was stunned. He had woken at seven and spent two and a half hours gearing himself up to this moment, which he'd attempted to soften by bringing Helen tea in bed.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"Let me see, Danny Petersen's performance in
Grease
was so moving you've decided you're gay."

"Don't be so facetious."

Helen stretched. "How was Danny's performance, by the way?"

"Good. Fine. Can we get back to the point? The thing is, Helen, I've been thinking, I'm twenty years older than you…"

He stopped when Helen laid her hand on his arm. "Listen, we both know it hasn't been going well. I've tried to end it myself before, but you wouldn't have it. I don't need a big explanation from you about why you've changed your mind, it's fine, we both agree finally. It's the right decision, Matthew. Don't feel bad."

He knew he should be relieved that she'd taken it so well, but it riled him that she didn't seem to care at all.

"Matthew, don't look so irritated. What, you'd rather I was heartbroken? You'd rather I sat here saying you'd ruined my life?"

Upstairs, the Rabbits were getting into their stride.
Oh, baby. Yes, baby. Yes. Yes. Yes.
The headboard thundered against the wall.

"I just can't believe that what we've been through means nothing to you. That you can be so flip about us breaking up, that's all."

"Jesus Christ. Listen to yourself. Look, you want to break up, so do I, as it happens, everyone's happy. Claudia and Suzanne will be delighted."

"This has nothing to do with Sophie and the girls," he said defensively.

"I didn't say it did." Helen couldn't hide her smile. "I just said they'd be pleased. Have you told them yet?"

She noticed he couldn't look her in the eye. "Of course not. This is about you and me."

The Rabbit crescendo was rising. All the old favorites were coming out, including "Call me Daddy," which had become a regular fixture. Then, just as Mrs. Rabbit was shouting another "Yes, yes," another voice, unmistakably female, joined in with an orgasmic squeal of "Oh, Daddy. Fuck me, Daddy." Helen looked at Matthew.

"I don't fucking believe it. He's got two of them up there."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Forget about them, we're having an important conversation here."

"What the fuck is it? I mean, is it pheromones or something, because it's certainly not his looks or his sparkling personality."

"Helen…"

"Doesn't that bother you? Aren't you curious at all?"

"Helen, for fuck's sake. Have you been listening to what I've been saying to you?"

"You want to split up. It's nothing to do with Sophie."

Matthew sighed and got up from the bed. "Is this some kind of joke to you?"

Helen forced herself to turn her attention back to him. "I hope you'll be happy. Whatever you decide to do." She noticed him looking at her skeptically. "I mean it."

So that was it. Four years of her life, four years of fighting for her man and passing up other opportunities and allowing friendships to slide and her self-esteem to follow. And it had all come to what? To a feeling of relief that it was finally over, and a wave of regret that she had thrown away so much time and energy on what had been, all along it had turned out, a lost cause. She felt deflated—but it was the wasted years, the time she would never get back that depressed her, not the thought of a life without Matthew.

* * *

When Helen got out of bed, Matthew was packing a suitcase in the living room.

"Where will you go?"

"A hotel for a few days till I sort myself out."

"Good for you."

Then she felt bad that he looked a bit pathetic, a grown man trying to cram all his possessions into two cases and a couple of holdalls.

"You don't have to move out straightaway, you know. You can stay here till you decide where you want to go."

He smiled at her gratefully and with genuine warmth. "No. Thank you, but I want to make a clean break. I think it's best."

Partly because it felt awkward to watch him packing up and partly because she wanted desperately to call Sophie and hear her version of the story, Helen decided to go for a walk to kill a couple of hours. She reached the top of the steps from the basement just as the Rabbits came out the front door, along with another, rather beautiful, young woman. Helen was aware that she was staring with an expression that must look very like disgust at the idea that they had somehow managed to lure this girl into their bed. She jolted herself out of it and said hello.

"Oh, this is my sister," Mrs. Rabbit said, indicating the other woman. "She's staying with us for a few days."

Jesus Christ.

Helen opened and shut her mouth, but nothing came out. Mr. Rabbit jumped in.

"Actually, we were wondering whether you'd like to come up for a drink one night. You know what London's like, you live above someone for years and you never really get to know them." He snorted a laugh that was meant to be friendly, but came out more Charles Manson than Prince Charles. "Not properly, anyway."

Oh, God.

Helen decided to ignore the invitation.

"Erm…your bed…I was wondering if you could move it, it's over a big crack in the ceiling, you see, and I'm afraid you'll all come tumbling down on top of me one night. Well, not all of you of course. Just…" she indicated the two Rabbits "…you two, obviously. Well, anyway, thanks."

She moved off down the path without waiting for a reply, waving over her shoulder as she did so. Fucking great, now she'd have to move. One of the greatest things about London was the fact that no one ever spoke to each other, because the minute they did you'd see that they were fucking insane, and you had no choice but to get as far away from them as possible. She walked around the corner to the scrubby patch of green beside the lock that passed itself off as a towpath, ignoring the group of young men, hoods up, openly selling cannabis, and called Sophie's number.