Leaving Sophie Dean Read online

  “Oh, come on, the boys are in school now. You can go to classes while they’re at school and study while they’re asleep. It’s perfectly feasible—countless women do it.”

  But she shook her head calmly. “I don’t want this transitional phase to last any longer than you do, believe me. I want to be settled. I’ll see if there’s a fast track. I’ll take classes every morning if I can, but there will still be weekend seminars, retreats, evening courses. It’s not compatible with child care. No, I won’t be able to have them, Adam. It’s out of the question.”

  “What are you suggesting, then? That I take them with me?”

  “Not at all. I agree with everything you’ve said about putting the children first. You’re absolutely right about their routine and how we mustn’t upset it. We both agree they should stay here, in their home, but I can’t afford the payments on this house. You can. So that means you stay here with them.”

  Adam forced a little laugh. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m not asking your permission. These are the consequences of your actions—you have to assume them.” The profound rightness of those words produced a surge of self-confidence in her.

  “Sophie, be reasonable! I’ll keep up the house payments for you. I’ll put it in your name! I’ll hire a nanny for when you’re away… on these seminars or what have you.”

  “A nanny? But that would be terribly upsetting! A strange face, new habits—it’s exactly what you’ve been saying you don’t want for them! And I won’t live in a house paid for by you. You’ll contribute to the children’s upkeep, but not mine. Try to understand, Adam—and I know it’s hard, believe me—that you’ve just separated your life from mine. You can’t support me—it would be nonsensical. What I’ll do for now is rent a small apartment I can afford. And later on I’ll find a place big enough for me and the children. In the meantime, they’ll live here with you.”

  “I can’t believe this! I cannot believe you would abandon your own children!”

  She threw back her head and laughed at the irony of that. “They’ll see a lot more of me, Adam, than they would have seen you. I’ll pick them up from school every day that I can, and they’ll spend all afternoon with me. I’ll get Milagros to drop them off with you at suppertime. I’ll speak to her—​​I know she’ll do extra hours to help you. On weekends the children can take turns between us. And once I’m truly settled, they can come to live with me. It’s the only possible arrangement—for now.”

  “Young children need their mother!”

  “They’ll have their mother! Every day! That’s the beauty of it—it’s the absent parent who has to be the conscientious one. The one they live with, they see as a matter of course. Anyway, Adam, the boys love you as much as they love me. They’ll be happy here with you. I know you’ll manage.”

  “Sophie, this is anger. This is anger speaking. Understandable, justifiable, but—”

  “It goes without saying,” she interrupted, repeating his words of the day before, “that I’ll leave you the house and everything in it. I’ll take only my personal belongings and half of our savings.”

  “We need more time to talk this over, Sophie. Please.”

  “Oh, now we need more time, do we? You would have left an hour ago! No, Adam, it’s what you said so truly yesterday—how did that go?—oh, yes: ‘We must put our own disappointment to one side and concentrate all our energy on our children and their well-being.’ Well, as you can see, I’m acting on that. Let’s see if you can do as much. The good of the children is foremost in your mind? Good—then you can begin by going upstairs and telling them you don’t want to live with their mother anymore, and why. Don’t forget to tell them why! It’s not something I could do, seeing as I don’t know. You never bothered to explain it to me, but I’m sure you’ll do a beautiful job of it with them.”

  She went into the dining room and reappeared carrying her coat and handbag. “I’ll be back for my things tomorrow while you’re at work. Good-bye.”

  “Sophie, this is ridiculous. Wait! Goddamn it, what am I going to tell the children? This is serious—we’ve got to work it out together!”

  “It’s your problem, Adam. You broke up the home, you pick up the pieces.”

  And she was gone.

  * * *

  Valerie had cleared away the dinner things long ago. It was more than she could bear to see her lovely table set before two empty chairs, the poor spurned mistress’s attempt at a celebration. She had finished one bottle of wine and part of another, one pack of cigarettes and part of another, and she was sitting in the dark on the floor. She’d even called Agatha for consolation but hung up when she remembered that Agatha had gone out on a date. (Agatha on a date? Would pigs be flying next?) Not that she didn’t want to intrude on Agatha’s date—she didn’t give a shit about that—but what she didn’t want was an extra witness to her humiliation, some idiot Agatha had met online listening in on half their conversation and Agatha discussing it with him afterward: poor Valerie. Her mascara had run, so when she brushed her tears back, it smeared, giving her sixties-style cat’s eyes. Adam was so late by now that it could only mean disaster. If it were anything less, he would have called. She had thought of lots of scathing things to tell him, but by the time he did call, she was only grateful to hear his voice.

  “Darling, I’m so sorry about tonight. I can’t make it. She’s left. Sophie’s gone. It’s too late for a sitter, so I have to stay with the boys. I’m stuck here tonight, I’m afraid. Had you gone to much trouble?”

  “Then you… haven’t made up with her?”

  “What? Good Lord no, nothing like that. I told you, she’s gone. She’s left me! Here with the children!”

  “So… what’s going to happen?” Valerie was confused, but so relieved by the major news that the rest hardly seemed to matter.

  “Well… I don’t know. She’ll come to her senses, I imagine. It’s the shock, that’s all. Until then we’ll just have to adapt our plans a little. Nothing to worry about. I can’t talk now, Valerie, the boys are asleep beside me. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow. Good night, my love.”

  Adam hung up the phone and settled back on the chesterfield between his sleeping sons—all alone in his spacious suburban house.

  * * *

  “Now, hang on a minute. Let me get this straight. Do you mean to tell me that, not content to lose just your husband, you’ve decided to throw your house and your children into the bargain?”

  To avoid a late-night lecture, Sophie had waited until morning to tell Marion what she had done and why. After explaining as succinctly as possible, she had sat back with her coffee and borne Marion’s voluble protest patiently, her eyes straying now and then to the morning paper’s classified ads, which she was searching for apartments to rent. Surreptitiously, she circled another ad: “Seeking reliable tenant, preferably with green thumb…” Then she continued. “I don’t want the house, and I’m not losing my children. It’s a question of logistics, not a melodrama. Breaking up our home wasn’t my idea, you know. I’m coping the best I can.”

  “What did you tell the kids?”

  “I didn’t. I told him to.”

  “Sophie!”

  “He told them I was visiting my mother. To buy some time. He sent me a text message last night.”

  “But you have to speak to them yourself! You can’t—”

  “I know, I know! It was very wrong of me. But it was a question of momentum. I had to get out of that house. I just… I’ll speak to them.”

  “Put yourself in their place. They won’t understand the complexities of why you’re going or how it was really Daddy who ‘made’ you go by having an affair! The only thing they’re going to remember, all the rest of their lives, is that Mommy left them. Why should they feel rejected by you when it’s Adam who’s to blame?”

  Sophie nodded eagerly. “But don’t you see? That’s another reason I should be the one to go! I
can make sure they don’t feel rejected. I’ll see to it that they stay right at the center of my new life. I’m not sure Adam would have taken the trouble to include them in his—or even known how to. With him it would have just been, ‘Daddy’s gone.’ With me it’ll be, ‘You have two houses now!’ and I can make that… fun.” She smiled, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, fun! One of the things I’ve thought of, to help them feel at home in my new place, is to get them some kind of pet to keep there. So something of theirs is always with me. A little… hamster, maybe? I thought that might—”

  Marion interrupted. “Sophie, you’re hurt and confused, and no wonder. But moving out is a disastrous mistake. As your best friend, I can’t let you throw your life away like this. So finish that coffee and go back before it’s too late. You’ll thank me one day.”

  “It’s Adam who threw my life away.”

  “Oh, Sophie.”

  “And as my best friend, you should be helping me to make a new one.” She felt a little uncomfortable calling Marion her best friend, although that was presumably what she had become in the three or four years they had known each other. Certainly no one else fit the description.

  Marion sighed and folded her arms. “All right. It’s a big mistake, but all right. Maybe this will give Adam the kick in the behind that he needs. With you gone, the foolishness of what he’s done will hit him between the eyes. It may actually be the fastest way of getting him back.”

  But Sophie was lost in thought, barely listening. Irritated, Marion allowed a little laugh to escape her, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  After a moment Sophie asked obligingly, “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, nothing…” When it became clear that Sophie was not going to press her, Marion continued, “I was just thinking how silly all of this will seem, once you’re safely back home.”

  Sophie folded her hands on the tabletop and looked at them.

  * * *

  “Oh, that bitch!” Agatha screeched, gulping foie gras meant for Adam the night before. “That scheming bitch! Can’t he see what she’s up to? My God, this is delicious!”

  Valerie had summoned Agatha to her apartment after work for an emergency meeting to discuss the latest development. It was also a chance to get rid of the canapés she had so laboriously prepared the previous evening; those calories would sit better around Agatha’s middle than her own. “What kind of woman would abandon her children?” she prompted.

  “A ruthless, cold-blooded bitch, that’s who,” Agatha said with relish, licking her fingers. “A Machiavelli of the suburbs! I mean, what could be more perfectly calculated to screw up Adam’s escape plans? It’s brutal—but brilliant!”

  “Admire her, do you?”

  “Of course I do! Don’t you? I mean, come on, if she weren’t the enemy, you’d love this. Pass that brie, will you? Mmm, good and runny. Don’t forget, Val, in these wife-and-mistress things, who’s right is never a moral question, it’s just a question of which one is your girlfriend. I can’t get over how she just up and went like that! Imagine Adam’s face! She says, ‘So! You been cheatin’ on me? Well, fuck you, mister, I’m outta here!’ Ha, ha! I wish I’d been there!”

  “Agatha?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just zooming out for the broader picture, Valerie. That’s important in assessing the situation.”

  “The situation is obvious. She’s run away, leaving her poor children behind. It’s vindictive—and worse, it’s cruel.” Valerie paused, but Agatha was busy with the canapés, so she continued. “She doesn’t give a damn how much they suffer, just so long as she can use them as a wedge to drive between Adam and me. It’s typical of married women to use the kids as leverage, but I never heard of one going this far before.”

  Agatha swallowed, nodding, then said, “What I don’t get is him. Why doesn’t he fight back? He’s such a wimp to put up with this.”

  “What do you mean? He’s furious!”

  “But he’s letting her get away with it, isn’t he? When did she leave?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Ha! She must be holed up at some girlfriend’s house, laughing her head off, eating Danish and waiting for him to beg her to come home.”

  “Danish?”

  “That’s what housewives have, coffee and Danish, with artificial sweetener in the coffee to make up for the Danish—don’t you know anything?”

  “He has no idea where she is. And he hasn’t tried to find out either.”

  “He will. And soon. And then it’ll be, ‘Honey, come home, I can’t hack it alone, the kids are driving me nuts, you were The One all along—I see that now!’ Well, you have to hand it to her. Chalk one up for the wife.” She frowned intently at the hors d’oeuvres, fingers fluttering over them, not sure whether to try the smoked salmon or the shrimp next.

  Valerie seized the tray and set it out of Agatha’s reach. “I’m not giving Adam up. I don’t care what kind of shit she pulls—he’s mine now. I’m just going to have to make him see this cheap stunt for what it is.”

  “Fat chance. If he had any guts, she would never have gotten out the door in the first place. Forget it, Vee, she’s won.” An interesting fact popped into Agatha’s mind. “Hey, do you know what the Danish expression for ‘being henpecked’ is? They say ‘under the slippers.’ Isn’t that bizarre?” Eyes wide, she tilted her head from side to side and fluted in a fake Danish accent, “Adam, he is under the slippers, ja?”

  Valerie looked at her with loathing.

  “Ah, me,” Agatha sighed, “it all brings back visions of Howard. Speaking of which, don’t forget about that vernissage next week. He might be there—the painter’s a friend of his wife’s—and I’ll need your support to survive the ordeal.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, you promised ages ago! And it’ll be fun. I’ve heard it’s the most priceless bullshit.”

  “I’m not as keen on bullshit as you are.”

  “Well, naturally not—it’s how I make my living. First I look at other people’s bullshit, then I come home and spin my own. Bullshit is my life. But you’re my friend, so you’re coming with me. Look, I don’t want to face Howard and his wife alone, two against one. I mean, I don’t really care anymore, and yet I do. You know. Come on, I need you there.”

  Valerie assented vaguely but, as always when Howard’s name arose, her thoughts had drifted to other matters.

  * * *

  The atmosphere at Adam’s firm was growing tenser by the day, with rumors that the new “up or out” campaign was in action. True or not, it had the effect of honing the competition among the employees, and by six o’clock everyone had had enough backbiting for one day. Before leaving the building, James popped into Adam’s empty office to use the john there. No sooner had he gotten things under way than he heard a furious woman’s voice hissing, “… classic bitchy, manipulative power play!” He hunched instinctively over his open fly and at the same time turned his head awkwardly to see what was going on out there: Valerie and Adam, and she had him pinned against the wall. As quickly as he could, James shook, tucked in, and zipped.

  “And you don’t have the wits—or the balls—to call her bluff!”

  But he wasn’t quick enough. Once a hidden man has heard a woman tell another man he has no balls, it’s too late to step out and say hi.

  “Don’t be vulgar,” Adam said. “It’s unworthy of you. And very unattractive, believe me.”

  “All you have to do is refuse to play along with her.”

  “She’s gone, Valerie; it’s a fait accompli. I had thought she might change her mind, but no. It’s done. It won’t be forever, though—that’s the main thing. Just until she’s on her feet. And you know she’s only thinking of the children’s well-​being.”

  “Oh, how can you be so naïve? Can’t you see what she’s up to? She’s dumping the kids on you in order to keep us apart.”

  “It’s not a question of �
��dumping’ them on me. I’m leaving my wife, Valerie, not my children. My children will always be welcome wherever I live.”

  “Spare me the sanctimony, please. Those kids bore you, and we both know it.”

  Because it contained a shameful kernel of truth, her remark angered Adam like nothing she had said so far. He grew pale and spoke in a clipped, quiet tone of fury. “Valerie, let’s forget this whole thing. It’s been a terrible mistake. I can see that now.” As he turned to leave, she cried, “Adam, no!” and threw her arms around him, but he untwined them, saying, “I know I’ve complained to you about my children on occasion. Sometimes they annoy me, and yes, at times they even bore me. But I also love them, and I always shall. It’s not something I could expect you to understand.” At that she began to cry.

  “Adam, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t go!” She clung to him until he felt the familiar pity and tenderness for her mingling with sexual desire and, relenting, put his arms around her. “I don’t mean to be so horrible,” she whispered, her wet cheek pressed to his. “I’m just so afraid of losing you, and I’m jealous… jealous of your children. I’m afraid they’ll take you away from me.”

  He stroked her hair, murmuring, “Come now. It’s all right. Shh.”

  “Adam, will you take me to England next summer? I want to know everything about you. I want to visit your boarding school, and see where you played, and meet your mother, and sit in your old bedroom. I want to…” She wanted to immerse herself in his past and shed her own. “I want to sit with you in a country pub and eat your favorite dish and drink your favorite drink.…” And acquire his tastes and accent, and breathe his air and be far away and safely his.