Helen sat in Museum Tavern across from the British Museum robotically stirring a plastic stick round 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 answer-phone, 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. He whispered something to his two male companions, and they all turned to stare. Helen thought about shouting, ‘I’m not a prostitute, I’m just waiting for my friend,’ but instead she coloured under their scrutiny and looked down at a bar mat which she pretended had suddenly caught her attention. 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.
In fact, Helen had been sitting in the pub on her own for just over an hour because 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 it 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 behaviour today when their paths had crossed in the office, he had been 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 last looked and having suffered several raised eyebrows and at least one wink from the men she now realized were Dutch businessmen, 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. She wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that the voice was familiar or the fact that he called her Eleanor that gave it away first. It was 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 I’m the new Gordon Ramsay I’m not sure I’d be interested in a humble little PR woman like you any more.’
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 Dutch businessmen were 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 over her shoulder.
‘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 any more. 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 always ends 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 any more, 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? She loathed having sex with him now, but every now and again she went along with it, because she felt it was unfair on him if she didn’t. She put on a good performance – there was no way he would know she was just going through the motions. But now, if he was going to go around telling people he wasn’t getting any, she just wouldn’t bother again.
Sophie was immersed in 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 and 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 you. 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 said 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 coloured up enough to give herself away. Helen laughed again.
‘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.’
‘How are you?’ Kristin made as if to sit down.
‘I’m great. Listen, someone’s sitting there.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Kristin said, getting comfortable. ‘I’ll move when she comes back. How’s Global? Alan got any new slappers?’
Helen was watching over her shoulder: Sophie was chatting to the man behind the bar as he served her.
‘I don’t really know, to be honest.’
‘I know, by the way,’ Kristin leaned in conspiratorially, ‘about you and Matthew Shallcross. Jamie told me. He seemed to think it was a really big deal, but I said good on her if that’s what she wants. Shame about his wife and kids and all that but …’
Helen could see Sophie moving back towards her with the drinks, looking puzzled to see someone sitting in her seat. She could see Kristin’s mouth still opening and shutting, but the pressure buzzing in her ears was drowning out the words. She wanted to hit her with a spade to stop her talking. She wanted to die.
‘Kristin –’ She stopped the other woman in mid sentence. ‘Sorry. It’s just, my friend, she’s had some really bad news. She’s ill, really ill. Terminal. And she needs to talk to me, before she dies, you know, about what’s going to happen to her kids and stuff so …’
Sophie was about three feet away.
‘Oh god. I’m sorry.’ Kristin got up from the table. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Ring me sometime, OK?’
Sophie put the drinks on the table.
‘Hi,’ she smiled at Kristin. ‘Don’t get up, I can find another stool. I’m Sophie, by the way.’
Kristin looked at Sophie’s outstretched hand as if it were covered in leprous sores. She took it weakly.
‘Kristin. Erm … no, I’m with my friends. I have to go. You look great, by the way.’ She looked at Sophie with something that was meant to resemble admiration. ‘Really.’
Sophie looked bemused. ‘Thank you.’
Kristin looked at Helen. ‘Bye then.’
‘I’ll ring you.’
‘Who’s she?’ Sophie asked, as soon as she was gone.
Helen was just beginning to breathe again. ‘Oh … just someone I used to work with once. Years ago. I hardly know her really.’
Helen got home before Matthew, who, she had no doubt, was filling Sophie’s head with yet more horror stories about her before he returned. She hoped so anyway. She cleared up exactly half of the dirty dishes as quickly as she could and then got into bed and turned out the lights so she could pretend to be asleep. About ten minutes later, she heard the front door open and close and then Matthew clattering about, presumably finishing off the job she had started. She lay with her eyes closed, waiting for him to come in, but as the minutes went on, she realized that he was intending to spend the night on the sofa, as she had last night. For some reason, that made her red with anger, and she considered getting up again and having it out with him. She lay back down – what was the point, after all, the end was definitely in sight, she just had to wait it out.
The following morning Matthew had left for work by the time Helen got up at seven forty-five. The kitchen was clean apart from one curry-stained bowl which he had left on the side like a challenge. She decided to ignore it.