“Better to be convenient than beautiful?”
“Elen, have you lost your marbles?” Margaret smacked her palm on the table, making the teacups rattle. “He treats you like a doormat! Today he fancies you, tomorrow he doesn’t, the next day he needs you back!”
“Margaret, you simply don’t understand,” Elen sighed, stirring sugar into her tea. “Alexander is a busy man, he has businesses, perpetual meetings. We meet when he finds a moment.”
“I couldn’t care less about his business!” Margaret flushed crimson with indignation. “You’re thirty-six, Elen! How long can you be his spare tyre?”
Elen winced. Margaret always went straight for the jugular, no tact. And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong. The truth was just so prickly, better unheard.
“What choice do I have?” Elen asked quietly, gazing out the café window. “Stunners are a dime a dozen, but me… I’m ordinary. At least I’m convenient. I don’t make a scene, I don’t make demands, no silly fussing.”
“Good heavens, listen to yourself!” Margaret grabbed her hand. “‘Convenient’! Are you a floor cloth? You’ve got a university degree, a good job, a flat of your own. You’re clever, kind, loyal…”
“Just not beautiful,” Elen interrupted with a bitter smile. “And men pick with their eyes first, you know that.”
Margaret sank back into her chair, shaking her head in disbelief. Twenty years of friendship, and her dear friend still couldn’t see her own worth. Since university days – always overshadowed by the flashy girls, always ready to bend, please, not get in the way.
“Remember Oliver from uni?” Elen asked suddenly.
“The one who read Economics? What about him?”
“I fancied him rotten. For three years I trailed after him, shared my notes, helped with seminars. He barely noticed me. Then… that girl appeared… Stephanie Frost. He started buzzing round her instantly.”
“But that was donkey’s years ago!” Margaret exclaimed.
“Feels like yesterday to me,” Elen smiled sadly. “I learned life’s golden rule then: the beautiful get everything handed to them. The rest have to be useful. Convenient.”
“Elen, but Oliver… What became of him? A washed-up drunk! And your beautiful Stephanie married three times and divorced three times. Where are they now, compared to you?”
“They lived,” Elen whispered. “While I just adapted.”
Just then, her phone rang. Elen glanced at the screen and instantly brightened.
“Hello, Alex? Yes, I’m free. Of course I’ll come. In an hour? Lovely, I’ll wait.”
Margaret watched in horror as her friend’s face transformed – a childish eagerness appearing, a readiness to dash off at the first summons.
“Elen, don’t,” Margaret whispered. “Say you’re busy.”
“I can’t,” Elen was already gathering her bag. “He’s free for two hours between meetings. It feels like ages since we met.”
“It was five days ago!”
“Ages,” Elen repeated stubbornly, rising from the table.
Margaret stayed seated, watching her friend’s figure disappear through the rain. What happened to her? When did this intelligent, capable woman become an appendage to someone else’s life?
It hadn’t always been this way. At uni, Elen might not have shone outwardly, but she was the life and soul. She cracked jokes, organised hiking trips, helped everyone with their studies. Lads adored her – not romantically, but as a best mate, a pal. ‘Elen-old-bean’ they called her. She used to be proud of that nickname.
After uni, she landed a job as an accountant in a solid firm, swiftly moved up. Bought a flat, a car. Her parents were thrilled – their daughter had carved out a life. Only her love life never quite came together.
Her first serious relationship happened at twenty-eight. A colleague, Andrew. Quiet, steady, reliable. Elen was blissful – finally, a man who valued her, loved her for her character, her heart… not her looks.
They dated for two years. Elen began hinting at marriage, eyeing white dresses. Then Andrew met the new hire – a pretty, young graduate.
“See, Elen,” he’d agonised, picking his words, “you’re lovely, but with Katie… I feel something different. Such passion, such a buzz…”
“Whereas with me it’s calm, is it?” Elen had asked. “Convenient?”
“Well… yes,” he’d admitted honestly. “Too calm, perhaps.”
That’s when Elen understood completely: beauty brings passion, convenience just breeds habit. And habits can wear thin.
After Andrew, there were others. All the same story: a man entered her life when he was low – after divorce, redundancy, illness. Elen nursed him, supported him, stood by him. When he bounced back, inevitably a stunner appeared and whisked him away forever.
“El, you understand,” the last of these temporary men explained, “it’s nice with you, but there’s no… you know… spark.”
She understood. Far too well.
Then came Alexander. Successful businessman, divorced, with a teenage daughter. They met by chance – Elen helped him untangle his tax returns; he was hopeless at figures.
“Thanks for bailing me out,” he’d said. “You’re a true professional. And a decent sort.”
‘A decent sort,’ Elen echoed silently. There it was again. Not a woman, not a beauty – a ‘sort’. Good. Useful. Convenient.
But when Alex suggested meeting again, just for coffee, Elen’s heart skipped. Maybe *this* one would see the woman?
The first date seemed magical. Alex proved an engaging talker, a considerate gent. He spoke of his business, his plans, even his daughter Vicky, where things were… complicated.
“She favours her mum,” he confessed sadly. “Thinks I wrecked the marriage. I just… got tired of the shouting, the constant digs. My ex is a looker, a model once upon a time. But the temperament… Lord, what a piece of work!”
Elen listened, thinking, ‘Right, he’s learned looks aren’t everything. Maybe now he’ll value other qualities?’
At first, it seemed he did. Alex rang daily, they met for theatre, cafés. He brought flowers, paid compliments. Strange ones, though:
“You’re so restful, Elen. Easy company.”
“You understand me, don’t ask for the earth.”
“It’s bliss finding a woman who doesn’t throw a wobbly over every little thing.”
Elen relished those words, missing that they held nothing of love, passion, or desire. They were all about convenience.
Gradually, things settled. Alex phoned when free between meetings. He visited when V
Helen poured her morning tea the next day, deliberately leaving her mobile face-down on the counter as she gazed out at the grey London drizzle, embracing the quiet certainty that her own well-being was no longer negotiable currency.
Born for Comfort, Not Just Looks
