Elaine stared into her tea as Claire slapped the palm of her hand onto the cafe table, rattling the cups. “Honestly, Elaine, have you completely taken leave of your senses?” Claire demanded, her voice tight. “He treats you like a doormat! Come today, disappear tomorrow, back when it suits him!”
“You just don’t understand, Claire,” Elaine sighed, stirring the brew. “Simon is incredibly busy. He runs a business, constant meetings. We see each other when he’s free.”
“Blast his business!” Claire flushed crimson with indignation. “Elaine, you’re thirty-six. How much longer will you be his backup plan?”
Elaine winced. Claire always went straight for the jugular. And she wasn’t wrong – that was the painful truth Elaine tried to ignore. “What choice do I have? London’s teeming with beauties, and I’m… ordinary. But convenient. No drama, no demands, no fuss.”
“For heaven’s sake, listen to yourself!” Claire grasped her arm tightly. “‘Convenient’! Are you a dishcloth? You’ve a degree, a good job, your own flat. You’re clever, kind, loyal…”
“Just not pretty,” Elaine interrupted bitterly. “Men pick with their eyes first, you know that.”
Claire sank back into her chair, shaking her head in dismay. Twenty years of friendship, and her clever friend still couldn’t see her own worth. She remembered Elaine from university days – perpetually overshadowed by the flashy girls, ever ready to accommodate, please, make herself small.
“Remember Oliver? From uni?” Elaine asked unexpectedly.
“Yes,” Claire frowned warily. “Why?”
“I fancied him desperately. Three years I trailed after him, lending notes, helping in seminars. He barely noticed me. Then Scarlett Morris appeared…” Elaine’s smile was sad. “He orbited her instantly.”
“That was a hundred years ago!” Claire exclaimed.
“Feels like yesterday,” Elaine murmured. “I learnt the hard rule then: beauties get everything instantly; the rest must be useful. Convenient.”
“Elaine, but Oliver… he ended up a complete mess! An alcoholic failure! And your beauty Scarlett? Married three times and divorced three times! Where are they now compared to you?”
“They live,” Elaine whispered. “I adapt.”
Elaine’s mobile buzzed. She glanced at the screen and instantly brightened. “Simon?” she said warmly into the phone. “Yes, I’m free. Of course I’ll come. In an hour? Right, I’ll be ready.” Relief washed over her face.
“Elaine, don’t,” Claire pleaded softly. “Tell him you’re busy.”
“I can’t,” Elaine replied, already gathering her things. “He’s got two hours free between meetings. We haven’t seen each other in ages.”
“You saw him five days ago!”
“Ages,” Elaine insisted stubbornly, rising. Claire watched her leave through the cafe window. When had her talented friend become an accessory to someone else’s life?
It hadn’t always been like this. Uni Elaine wasn’t glamorous, but she’d been the group’s heart – organising trips, cracking jokes, helping everyone academically. The lads loved her – not as a girlfriend, but as their best mate, the reliable “El-bro.” She’d worn that nickname proudly back then.
After graduation, she landed a solid job as an economist, climbed quickly. Bought a flat, a car. Her parents were thrilled – successful daughter, properly settled. Only her love life stayed stubbornly barren.
Her first serious relationship came at twenty-eight. Andrew, a quiet, dependable colleague. Elaine was blissful; finally, a man who valued her for her character, her soul, not looks. Two years passed. Elaine tentatively raised marriage, picturing white dresses. Then Andrew met Chloe, a stunning, freshly graduated newcomer.
“Look, Elaine,” he’d said painfully, avoiding her gaze, “you’re wonderful. But with Chloe… I feel a spark, a surge…”
“With me it’s peaceful?” Elaine asked. “Convenient?”
“Well… yes,” he confessed honestly. “Too convenient.”
That’s when Elaine truly grasped it: beauty ignited passion; convenience bred only habit. And habits grow stale.
After Andrew, a few more romances followed the same pattern: men sought her out when life hit hard – divorce, redundancy, illness. Elaine healed, nurtured, supported. Once back on their feet, a beauty inevitably swept them away.
“Liz, darling, you know,” the last transient explained, “you’re lovely, but there’s no… spark.”
She knew. Oh, she knew.
Then came Simon. Successful businessman, divorced, with a teen daughter, Sophie. They met randomly when Elaine helped him untangle his tax affairs – he was clueless. “Cheers for saving me,” he’d said warmly. “You’re a true professional. And a decent sort.”
*Decent sort*. Elaine echoed it mentally. Again. Not beautiful, not sexy – decent. Useful. Convenient.
But when Simon suggested meeting socially, Elaine’s heart leapt. Perhaps *this* time? Their first date was lovely. Simon was engaging, attentive. He talked business, plans, even Sophie: “She favours her mum,” he admitted gloomily. “Thinks I wrecked things. I just… grew weary of the rows, the constant nitpicking. Ex-wife was a stunner, a former model. But temperament… God, she was hard work!”
Elaine listened, hopeful: *He sees beauty isn’t everything. Maybe he’ll value other qualities now?* Initially, it seemed he might. Daily calls, theatre trips, nice restaurants. Flowers, compliments. Yet his praise felt off-kilter:
“You’re so easygoing, Elaine. Comfortable to be around.”
“You get me, never demand the impossible.”
“What joy to find a woman who doesn’t rage over trifles.”
Elaine cherished these words, missing that they spoke of convenience, not passion or love. Gradually, the relationship settled. Simon called when he had gaps between meetings. Came over when Sophie was at her mother’s. Quiet evenings: home-cooked meals, films, shop talk.
“Simon,” Elaine ventured once, “shall I meet your friends?”
“Why rush?” he deflected smoothly. “Everything’s grand as is. Why complicate things?”
*Complicate* – his word for her joining his social world. Elaine didn’t grasp its meaning then. She understood later, spotting Simon arm-in-arm with a stunning brunette at Selfridges. He looked animated, captivated, tender – a man she’d never witnessed. She hid behind a clothing rack, watching him help her choose perfume at the fragrance counter.
That evening, he rang predictably: “Elaine? How’s things? Mind if I pop by? Knackered, need some peace.”
Peace. After passion, peace. After fireworks, Tuesday. After the beauty, convenient Elaine.
“Of course, come over,” she said automatically. He came, moaned about a rough day, welcomed her sympathy dinner. Routine. Only now Elaine knew the vivid, thrilling side of his life existed elsewhere. Hers was merely respite.
“Simon,” she finally dared, “where are we going with this? What are we building?”
He checked his watch. “Elaine, why fret now? It’s working brilliantly. Why meddle?”
“Working for whom?” she pressed.
“For both of us,” he replied quickly. “You don’t complain.”
Convenient women don’t complain, demand, or create scenes. They accept scraps gratefully. “What if I *did* complain?” Elaine
Sarah smiled for the first time in years, deciding to live her own life fully, not just the convenient bits others left behind.
