this stage, something Helen felt grateful for—how would she ever have explained to her colleagues that she had been shagging the boss for the past God knows how many years, but just somehow failed to mention it? They'd traveled in to work separately, Matthew in his large impractical car and Helen on the overcrowded underground, and had only passed in the corridor once, so far, with a friendly-but-businesslike hello.
"I feel guilty about his family."
Rachel snorted. "Since when? You hate Sophie."
Sophie had been on the Women We Hate list for some years now, even though Rachel had protested that she had no feelings about her either way. Helen had countered that she herself had no problem with women who'd had therapy, either, but that she had allowed Rachel to keep them on the list for all this time.
"I don't know Sophie," she replied now.
"Never stopped you hating her."
"Which is why I feel guilty. Stop trying to make me feel worse."
"Well, send him back to her, then."
So Helen explained how she'd tried to broach the subject of him going back, and how clingy Matthew had become, and how he'd burned all his bridges because of her, so she had to try to make it work.
Rachel wasn't convinced. "How flattering to have a man want to spend the rest of his life with you because he doesn't think his wife'll take him back if you throw him out."
"It's not like that." Helen knew it pretty much was.
"Well, it sounds like it."
They sat in grumpy silence for a minute or so, then Helen softened.
"I think he really loves me. And, like you said, it's what I've always wanted. I just need to get used to the idea, that's all."
What Helen loved most about Rachel was that she never once said, "I told you it'd all end in tears."
* * *
In forty-eight hours, Sophie had gone through crying, anger, disbelief, and hatred, and ended up back at crying again. She'd dealt with endless calls from Matthew's family, all phoning to say how dreadfully he'd behaved, but all, without exception, leaving her feeling as if it must have been somehow her fault. Suzanne had more or less said this outright to her. Claudia, slightly more touchingly, had taken her mother's side—not that Sophie was encouraging either of them to choose—and had declared she'd never speak to her father again.
What the girls knew was that Daddy had moved out, that he had a new friend, and that he was living with her now. Sophie was trying to spare them the gorier details, while examining them herself to try to make some sense of what'd gone on.
If the truth be told, Sophie shouldn't have been surprised by what had happened to her, having, as she had, stolen Matthew herself from the first Mrs. Shallcross all those years ago under very similar circumstances. Because, oh, yes, Sophie had been a mistress, too, once, before a wedding and children and a bit of history had blurred this fact from people's memories—even her own, sometimes. Sophie had been thirty, Matthew forty-five, as was his wife. It hadn't passed Sophie by that Mrs. Shallcross the first was exactly the same age that she herself was now when Matthew had moved on.
Matthew had told her that his marriage to Hannah was dead and had been for a long time. He'd stayed with her, he'd said, at first until his son Leo left home, in an effort to do the right thing, and since then from habit. Hannah knew, he'd added, that their relationship was over and in fact she wanted it that way just as much as he did. There hadn't been anyone else in all that time, but then he hadn't met anyone like Sophie. He couldn't pass up this chance for happiness just because—on paper—he had a wife. Hannah would be the first to say as much. He'd made it sound so plausible.
Sophie had often wondered, since then, what it was that made her give in to him. There was something about the fact that he was married that made the relationship less real, less scary. She had known from the off that she couldn't have the whole of him, and so it wasn't an
"I feel guilty about his family."
Rachel snorted. "Since when? You hate Sophie."
Sophie had been on the Women We Hate list for some years now, even though Rachel had protested that she had no feelings about her either way. Helen had countered that she herself had no problem with women who'd had therapy, either, but that she had allowed Rachel to keep them on the list for all this time.
"I don't know Sophie," she replied now.
"Never stopped you hating her."
"Which is why I feel guilty. Stop trying to make me feel worse."
"Well, send him back to her, then."
So Helen explained how she'd tried to broach the subject of him going back, and how clingy Matthew had become, and how he'd burned all his bridges because of her, so she had to try to make it work.
Rachel wasn't convinced. "How flattering to have a man want to spend the rest of his life with you because he doesn't think his wife'll take him back if you throw him out."
"It's not like that." Helen knew it pretty much was.
"Well, it sounds like it."
They sat in grumpy silence for a minute or so, then Helen softened.
"I think he really loves me. And, like you said, it's what I've always wanted. I just need to get used to the idea, that's all."
What Helen loved most about Rachel was that she never once said, "I told you it'd all end in tears."
* * *
In forty-eight hours, Sophie had gone through crying, anger, disbelief, and hatred, and ended up back at crying again. She'd dealt with endless calls from Matthew's family, all phoning to say how dreadfully he'd behaved, but all, without exception, leaving her feeling as if it must have been somehow her fault. Suzanne had more or less said this outright to her. Claudia, slightly more touchingly, had taken her mother's side—not that Sophie was encouraging either of them to choose—and had declared she'd never speak to her father again.
What the girls knew was that Daddy had moved out, that he had a new friend, and that he was living with her now. Sophie was trying to spare them the gorier details, while examining them herself to try to make some sense of what'd gone on.
If the truth be told, Sophie shouldn't have been surprised by what had happened to her, having, as she had, stolen Matthew herself from the first Mrs. Shallcross all those years ago under very similar circumstances. Because, oh, yes, Sophie had been a mistress, too, once, before a wedding and children and a bit of history had blurred this fact from people's memories—even her own, sometimes. Sophie had been thirty, Matthew forty-five, as was his wife. It hadn't passed Sophie by that Mrs. Shallcross the first was exactly the same age that she herself was now when Matthew had moved on.
Matthew had told her that his marriage to Hannah was dead and had been for a long time. He'd stayed with her, he'd said, at first until his son Leo left home, in an effort to do the right thing, and since then from habit. Hannah knew, he'd added, that their relationship was over and in fact she wanted it that way just as much as he did. There hadn't been anyone else in all that time, but then he hadn't met anyone like Sophie. He couldn't pass up this chance for happiness just because—on paper—he had a wife. Hannah would be the first to say as much. He'd made it sound so plausible.
Sophie had often wondered, since then, what it was that made her give in to him. There was something about the fact that he was married that made the relationship less real, less scary. She had known from the off that she couldn't have the whole of him, and so it wasn't an
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