“Mum, if Vicky asks, tell her I’m with you.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Nothings happened. Ive just got… things to sort out.”
Helen nearly dropped the tea towel in her hands. The request unsettled her before shed even grasped its meaning, some dark whisper of intuition tugging at her. Tom had never used her as cover before. Not since school, when hed tried skipping lessonsand even then, it never worked.
“What sort of *things* cant Vicky know about?” She folded her arms. “Youre asking me to lie without telling me why. Thats not right.”
Tom huffed irritably. He hated being lectured.
“Dont start, Mum. Ill handle it myself. Cheers.”
“Hold on.” Helens voice sharpened. “You havent got yourself tangled up with another woman, have you?”
“Mum! Im a grown man. Stay out of my bed.”
Her chest tightened. He hadnt denied it, hadnt laughed it off, hadnt offered another explanation.
“Tom,” she pressed, her tone steely. “If you say *a*, youd best say *b*.”
“For Gods sakefine, maybe theres someone else. So what? Happy now? I told you, Ill sort it. Just stay out of it, alright?”
Helen clutched at her collarbone. The room swayed.
“If you wanted to sort it yourself, you shouldnt have dragged me into it,” she snapped. “Now youve made me an accomplice!”
“An *accomplice*? We dont even have kids. No one owes anyone anything. I just need to figure out how I feel.”
“What do you mean, *no one owes anything*? What about the vows you made when you married her?” Helens voice crackedin her day, that meant something.
“Oh, next youll bring up the church bells. Its tradition, everyone does it. Doesnt mean anything.”
“Then why drag that girl down the aisle if it *doesnt mean anything* and youre still figuring it out?”
“Because its what people do! Wanted to make her happy. Christ, dont have a meltdown. Ill call you later.”
The line went dead.
Helen lowered the phone, staring at the wall. It felt like *shed* been betrayed. Or worse. The boy whod once spent hours drawing cards for “Mummy” now shattered hearts without a second thoughttwo hearts, if you counted hers.
Vickys face flashed in her mind. Bubbly, kind, always turning up with a freshly baked pie or offering to help with her phone. Shed spent an entire afternoon once, shielding Helen from scammers.
Helen liked her. Vicky wasnt the type for tearful confessions, but she believed in family above all else. And after the wedding, Tom had called morejust to chat, to ask about her day. That was Vickys doing. She brought people together.
And now Tom wanted her to lie to the woman whod tried so hard to build a family with him.
A memory surfaced: her friend Margaret, years ago, weeping into her shoulder. *”I told her, Gail. Couldnt let her live a lie. But she turned on mesaid I was clinging to my son, trying to wreck their marriage. Even when she saw the truth, she never apologised. And now he wont speak to me.”*
Margaret had ended up alone, her honesty repaid with silence.
Helen stayed quiet. For three months, the secret sat in her chest like a stone. Tom kept his distance at first, only creeping back weeks later, avoiding the subject.
She tried to talk sense into him. Hoped hed ended it. But
“Mum, *stay out of it*,” was all hed say.
No remorse.
Meanwhile, Vicky carried on as alwaysdriving her to appointments, dropping off groceries. Every kindness felt like a splinter working deeper into Helens heart.
Then one afternoon, over tea, Vicky stirred her cup and said lightly, *”Helen, dyou think Tom and I ought to try for a baby? Youd help, wouldnt you?”*
Helens cup clattered against the saucer. The thought of Vickyof a *child*left behind made her grip the table to steady herself.
“Vicky, love, theres something I have to tell you.” Her voice wavered. “Youre like a daughter to me, and I cant pretend anymore.”
Vickys fingers tightened around her cup. The smile faded.
“Dont have a baby,” Helen whispered. “Toms got someone else. Has for months. Ive known. Im so sorry.”
Vicky exhaled slowly. *”Thank you. I hope youre wrong. But if youre not… better now than later.”*
She left that evening, half a slice of cake untouched. Helen prayed shed only walked out of the house, not her life.
Five years passed.
Tom spoke to her now in clipped, formal calls. No wife, no childrennot that she knew of.
But Helen didnt regret it. On her nightstand stood two photos: one of Vicky in a wedding dress, her new husband, and Helen as an honoured guest. *”If not for you,”* Vicky had told her once, *”Id still be miserable. You led me to Ian.”*
The other photo showed Helen cradling a chubby-cheeked baby at a christening. *”Alex has three grandmas,”* Vicky would say when they all gathered. And she meant it.
Sometimes, when the boy ran to her with outstretched arms, Helens chest ached. Shed never have grandchildren of her own. But shed done the right thing.
She wouldnt have wanted to live a lie. And she couldnt let another woman live one either.
