BEL MOONEY: Should I tell my friend her husband is two-timing her again?

Dear Bel,

I have long suspected that a close friend’s husband is leading a double life with a woman he left my friend for years ago.

He left for a short time, but I believe he has continued the relationship ever since. They are now in their 70s.

The excuses my friend gives for her husband’s constant absences are like works of fiction, and I often wonder if she actually knows but doesn’t want to live her life alone.

I am now faced with the fact of knowing for certain he is in a relationship, and it is weighing heavily on me.

My friend has never told me about her husband leaving her all those years ago, but he did. Yet if ever a conversation about infidelity ever crops up she always says: ‘Well, anyone is entitled to one mistake.’

I dread seeing her husband now and I feel uncomfortable about seeing my friend. The husband is aware that I know, but we have not discussed it.

They live in my town and we have known each other for many years, so it’s difficult to avoid them.

I hate the way my friend is being treated. Her husband is often unpleasant to her and there doesn’t seem to be any love and affection from him.

I don’t know what to do. Should I tell her?

PAMELA

The Reverend Sydney Smith (1771–1845) was a reluctant cleric who knew much more about humankind than about God. His wit and wisdom remains as relevant as ever.

For example, think about the following: ‘Did you ever hear my definition of marriage? It is, that it resembles a pair of shears, so joined that they cannot be separated, often moving in opposite directions, yet always punishing anyone who comes between them.’

With that thought in mind . . . here’s a true story.

A dear friend of mine once told me about the evening he had spent with someone he’d known as a good friend for many years. The man’s wife was having an affair and was about to leave, and the poor husband was sad, bitter, despairing and asking for support.

So my friend waxed eloquently truthful as the wine flowed, admitting that neither he nor their other mates had ever liked the wife, who was an awful, tedious, domineering flirt without whom the hurting husband’s life would certainly be much better.

And what happened? The couple were reconciled and the husband never spoke to my friend again in his life.

No one can ever know the complexities and accommodations that keep a marriage going. No one can comprehend the quiet desperation which can keep a couple together against the odds. No one can understand that a couple might even have affairs yet remain devoted to one another. Couples who seem mismatched and who squabble incessantly can, nevertheless, support each other unto death. Other smiling couples can seem ‘perfect’ yet fall apart in a spectacular drama, then display appalling mutual cruelty, while their own children lie injured on their battlefield.

It’s clear that you are a good, loyal friend, trusted by both the husband and the wife.

It’s interesting that he unburdened himself to you, whereas his wife never has. That could be because she is ‘ashamed’ to be identified as a wronged wife, because he made her look foolish to herself. Whereas he either felt horribly guilty or chuffed at having pulling power.

N ow you say you know for sure that the affair has continued, but it’s not clear how the man knows you are privy to the information.

No matter. Your problem is whether to tell the truth to the wife, whom (you say) isn’t treated with consideration in other ways.

My question is: what would be gained by telling her what you know? You can’t lift that heavy burden by transferring it to her.

If she chooses not to know the full extent of his infidelity, it’s her business, not yours. If she thinks that in her 70s this is the best that’s possible . . . she may be right.

Stay silent, since informing on him could hurt you all.

Help! My needy in-laws want to move closer to us

Dear Bel,

My mother and father-in-law are very intense and can be quite overbearing. Three years ago, my husband took a new job that meant us relocating three hours away from his family. One reason was for us to get a bit of independence from them.

We are happier here and we get on much better with his parents now that we do not see them as often.

But during their last visit my father-in-law said they are house hunting and want to move to be closer to us. My husband and I are unhappy at this news, but we do not have the heart to tell them.

How do we gently put them off moving closer? We still see them regularly (usually a long weekend every other month and sometimes more), but when we lived nearby they would call unannounced and did not (and still do not) respect boundaries. Any advice?

NORA

When two people seek more independence from two other people who want to become more dependent, then the stage is set for such a clash of desires.

I’m not sure how effective the gentleness you mention can possibly be. I’m sorry if that seems like a negative start, but I must be honest. And so, in the end, must you . . . unless you choose a path of pragmatic dishonesty.

I realise how hard the situation is, but what choice do you have? Unless you are frank with your husband’s parents or pick away through the conflicting desires, the answer is surely: ‘None.’

Let’s pause for a moment and share sympathy for your in-laws. Their desires are understandable. I suspect they are thinking that as they grow old they would like to be near the son they love.

There is nothing unreasonable about that human wish, although its effects on your life might turn out to be unreasonable in the extreme. If, in fact, there is a large, extended family where they live now, then their wish to move near you becomes possibly more selfish.

You and your husband are being honest in feeling you will be driven mad by their proximity and increasing demands. So what can you do?

Obviously, not tell them the painful truth, but perhaps rely on the kind of half-truth which segues into an outright lie. I would never advise being blunt and unkind.

But if I were your husband I might invent a series of putative job prospects which may well require him to move again, and again.

You could also start complaining about where you live and say that as far as you are concerned you don’t mind moving on.

If you read my column from two weeks ago, you will know from Alexandra’s painful letter about her difficult parents that it is hard to set boundaries as people grow older. I would perhaps promise your in-laws you will increase your visits back home.

And finally… The comfort of being united in a nation’s grief

Do you ever feel sometimes that you just don’t know what to do with your sadness?

In the past week, I watched all the ceremonials throughout the British Isles and felt such compassion for the sorrow etched on the faces of our late Queen’s children. Then we went to visit a very old friend, alone in her house now her wonderful husband has ‘gone before’.

I recalled all the happy times we’ve shared since first meeting when we were both just 34, with very young children who played together. We’re grandmothers now, and in my melancholy mood I wondered which one of us would attend the other’s funeral.

Back home the phone rang . . . and a quiet, stoical wife (a newer friend) warned me that her husband — such an admirable man — is very near the end of his days.

Back watching our late Queen’s coffin, draped in the glorious Royal Standard, I found it impossible not to cry. The solemnity of the cortege. The bowed heads at four corners of the catafalque. Every sort of person, all races, all ages, needing to be there, to be ‘part of history’. The powerful sense of gratitude, loyalty and loss.

Of course, within a 15-month period I had also mourned both my parents, and we know that a significant ‘public’ death triggers memories of private sorrow.

Among those crowds gathering for the Queen’s coffin there must have been so many souls who felt strangely comforted by a collective grief and shared mourning. We are, indeed, all in this — this life — together.

Meanwhile, beyond my TV set, the autumn sun was as warm and golden as the colours in the Royal Standard. Our trees are heavy with fruit. Delicate webs gleam as the spiders get busy in mating season. But the swallows have already departed. Leaves have started to turn, the nights are chilly and the dew is as heavy as a sad heart.

So it goes on: autumn; change; slow decay; the steady, inexorable pageant of death which nothing and nobody can avoid.

Oh, but the children! Beautiful to watch the Prince of Wales accept a wee Paddington Bear. To hear young voices reading out sweet messages to the late Queen. To see babes in arms and the faces of little ones as cheeky as my own grandchildren, waiting for a Queen they’ll barely remember through the years of good King Charles.

A mother says: ‘It’ll be something to tell the grandchildren.’ And that is what it’s all about: the unstoppable cycles of the seasons and the ages of humankind. But also the powerful awareness which brings deeps consolation — that service and love are as endless as this country of ours is great.