Marie writes…
Dear Bel,
My oldest friend (39 now) has been married for 12 years to a guy I really like a lot, and they have two children under ten.
I say I like this guy but it’s a bit more than that: he’s a real mate – good fun, kind and smart, and we’ve all had a lot of fun together and with other friends. Now I feel very sorry for him.
Because my friend, his wife – let’s call her Ellie – is having a passionate affair with a married man. Her husband hasn’t a clue.
Worse – the guy Ellie is having the affair with is married to another dear friend of ours, also part of the group we hang out with. This other couple have three kids. Needless to say his wife hasn’t a clue either, but goes shopping and for coffee and lunch with Ellie, not knowing that she’s being deceived.
In fact, I know she thinks of Ellie as a really close mate. I like her a lot and feel awful when we meet, knowing what’s going on. I’m forced to be a liar. It’s all Ellie’s fault. She’s always been a restless type and I know she made a play for the other guy.
Of course, it takes two to tango, but she’s told me how she got the hots for him, made it clear and finally seduced him. They have an incredibly hot relationship, meeting in country lanes and having sex in the car in every which way you can think of.
I wish she wouldn’t tell me all this. I’m not with anybody right now and sometimes it feels like she’s boasting. But we go way back and have always been there for each other. She confides in me – even when I don’t want to know.
I’ve tried to tell her I feel bad that she’s doing this to two really nice people, but she just brushes it off, shoves a glass of prosecco in my hand and giggles – so we get a bit drunk as usual and the moment passes. Then the next day I see her husband and feel like a s***.
Do you think I should tell him? Or stay loyal to her?
An important matter to factor in when dealing with conflicting loyalties is actually your own sense of wellbeing, BEL MOONEY writes
Bel Mooney responds:
The question of conflicting loyalties has cropped up in this column before, in various forms, and it’s always difficult.
I once had a letter from somebody who knew that her good friend and colleague was being gravely dishonest in work; should she tell? The word ‘snitch’ is unpleasant for good reason, but what if snitching is the morally correct thing to do?
Words like betrayer, blabber, rat, squealer, canary, fink, sneak, sneaker and dobber leave a bad taste, don’t they?
But when criminal communities fail to tell the police when they know quite well which villain pulled that trigger and killed a child…then we feel disgust at their collaborative silence.
The issue hinges on the weighing of priorities and deciding where duty lies.
Friends do have a duty of loyalty. Some years ago, a distinguished single journalist I was very fond of was having an affair with a married woman. I’d met her a couple of times, that’s all, and had never met her husband.
I heard how she regularly told the deceived spouse she was having lunch or dinner with me, when she was frolicking in my friend’s lovely flat. I can’t honestly say it bothered me. It wasn’t my business. Was I in the wrong?
In your case, the first thing I’d say is that women do tend to have each other’s backs: it’s a powerful form of sisterhood I understand. So if Ellie was having an affair with a stranger to your friendship group, someone whose wife you’d never met, then you’d probably feel as I did.
However, the reality here is very different. In having a torrid affair with the husband of one of her own friends Ellie is trampling all over the notion of sisterhood – and I think it’s pretty rotten. She goes shopping with her friend, then has sex with that friend’s husband in his car later that day. Yuk.
In your longer letter you explain that she often tells you intimate things her friend has confided, and seems to crow over knowing such private matters. That – to put it mildly – is not nice.
If this affair continues and the wronged partners find out, then the lives of five young children stand a very real danger of being catastrophically disturbed or even ruined.
People might accuse me of overstating the case, saying that children are very resilient. But they fail to take into account just how powerfully the selfish behaviour of parents and resultant family stress can impinge on children’s’ lives – to the point of lifelong trauma.
Another important matter to factor in is actually your own sense of wellbeing. Ellie’s behaviour is making you profoundly uncomfortable.
Every time you see her husband, her lover and her lover’s wife you feel horribly guilty – because, of course, a lie by omission is still wrong. Why should you be made miserable? Why should this amoral woman tell you all about her sexy trysts whether or not you want to hear? It’s vain, exploitative behaviour. She’s making all of you her victims.
On the other hand, bear in mind the phrase ‘shoot the messenger’. It means that revealing the truth could impinge very badly on you. You even could lose the whole friendship group. You could witness the implosion of two marriages, with all the consequences.
Though Ellie is treating you with total disrespect I can see you shrink from being a whistleblower. So I’d do everything to stop the affair. I’d show tough–minded disgust, tell her to shove her cheap fizz and cheaper talk, and threaten to whisper the truth to all the others in the wider group.
I’d say she has to choose between your old friendship and these thrills, and warn you won’t lie any more if the wronged partners ask why you and she aren’t speaking. Tell her she makes you feel dirty and you won’t have it any more.
Then cut contact until she sees sense.
I’m tempted to contact my old flame
Felicity writes…
Dear Bel,
Fifty years ago I met a man through work called Adrian. We went about for over a year – to the cinema, gigs, the theatre, etc. I really liked him, but held back because our company had international offices and so required staff to be ready to travel – and I was.
When a promotion required me to go, he asked if I’d consider staying in this country. I said no, so he soon began seeing someone else.
Before leaving, I asked someone to tell him goodbye from me. Ade rang me from that friend’s office and asked me again not to go abroad. I said I knew he had a girlfriend and couldn’t compete with her as she looked lovely.
He replied that I needn’t compete with anyone because it was me he really liked!
I have been thinking about this for a long time. Before I leave this world I would very much like to have a reunion with the friends I made back then.
I found Ade’s profile on social media, but he may be happily married – as I am.
Do you think it a good idea to try getting back in touch? It feels like unfinished business.
![Felicity writes that she is keen to message a man who begged her not leave the country 50 years ago - despite being happily married today [stock image]](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2025/09/06/10/101896493-15071943-image-a-18_1757151794286.jpg)
Felicity writes that she is keen to message a man who begged her not leave the country 50 years ago – despite being happily married today [stock image]
Bel Mooney responds:
Sorting through a cupboard, I found a desk diary from 1976. Flicking through it, I thought, ‘Who on earth was that?’ as I read ‘Dinner with John H’ or ‘Mary’s party 8’. We move on in life and can’t expect to keep in touch with everyone, even with those who once meant a lot.
You had a career you enjoyed so it was natural to put that exciting job before a youthful relationship. As your longer letter explains, you thrived, married, had children, came back to England and continued to flourish. So why have you started to think about Adrian now?
Is it because you’re feeling your age, now that you’ve stopped work? Isn’t youth itself the ‘unfinished business’ which fills us with nostalgia in the sleepless hours when memories dance mockingly around our bed? Reunions can be dangerous and/or disappointing events. I’ve been to two (one with colleagues from the 1970s and one with girls from school) which made me wonder what on earth I was doing in that room with those people, when all we had in common was finished time.
You should ask yourself the point of trying to organise such a thing.
As for Adrian and that last compliment he paid you, be honest – have you truly been ‘thinking about this for a long time’? I sincerely hope not! He said it because he did still like you and wished you weren’t leaving. Nothing complicated about that, and I’m sure the sensible career woman who was you knows that.
I’d ditch this pointless wish to see him again. He could have changed utterly, or might resent you getting in touch. Live in the present, make plans with your current friends and find new things to occupy your time.
And finally… Thank you for all of your thanks
I’m full of that ‘start–of–a new–term’ feeling, as if I had a new pencil case in my satchel and fresh ink in my fountain pen, all ready to write my name on those lovely, empty exercise books. And (hand in the air) please, please, Miss – choose me for stationery monitor!
Those were the days . . . but it’s in that mood of new beginnings that I’m getting back to my book (laid aside for the summer) and a renewed work and exercise regime. I began by cleaning my office top to bottom. And it’s also time to warm my own heart – in anticipation of autumnal and winter chills – by expressing gratitude.
Yes, this first And Finally of autumn has to be a shout–out to you. It’s so touching to receive such beautiful cards with their sweet messages of encouragement and thanks. I often stand them on my desk for a while to bask in the warmth.
People like Douglas, Robert, Johnny, Jean, Muriel and Hilda (no surnames, you know who you are!) are some who have touched me with their appreciation of the quotations I choose as well as solace received. ‘Your advice to others has taught me so much,’ wrote Mary M.
I love to hear from women grateful for help from the marvellous charity Sands (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society) which I helped found in the 1970s. Corinne Forde sent me a beautiful book, Still My Son – a collection of writings following a stillbirth, – which made me cry as it uplifted me.
You see, we can all help each other – it’s known as fellowship. And I was blown away when I read that Mrs Mullan from Co. Tyrone actually had a Mass said for me and my work.
What can I do but say thank you to everybody.
