‘You never forget the pain of uncovering an affair’
Emma Thompson has revealed she drew on her own heartbreak for that ‘Love Actually’ scene. Rose Walker knows how she feels
Everyone remembers that devastating scene in Love Actually when Karen, played by Emma Thompson, discovers that the expensive necklace in her husband’s coat pocket was not intended for her but for a colleague. Now, it transpires that the much-loved actress was able to give such a compelling performance partly, at least, because she too had her heart “very badly broken” in a similar way.
“It’s something everyone’s been through,” she said this week at a theatre fundraising event. “I’ve had so much bloody practice at crying in a bedroom, then having to go out and be cheerful, gathering up the pieces of my heart and putting them in a drawer,” she added, referring to her discovery of her then-husband Kenneth Branagh’s affair with Helena Bonham Carter, which allegedly started in 1994, five years into their marriage. A year later, Thompson and Branagh divorced. “I knew what it was like to find the necklace that wasn’t meant for me,” she recalled this week. “Well, it wasn’t exactly that, but we’ve all been through it.”
Perhaps not quite all – but her words certainly struck a chord with me. I thought I was happily married to Peter, a tax consultant with whom I was raising our two sons in Faversham, until one day three years ago when I discovered a credit card bill that changed everything.
Up to that point, we had enjoyed a solid relationship for 16 years, based on shared interests, mutual respect, humour… all the things you hope for. We met at a mutual friend’s dinner party and, 18 months later, we were married.
Yet the first sign that something was wrong was to come one Easter – he had been a bit worried about an issue at work, but normally he was strict about keeping business issues away from home. We were staying with my sister’s family and he was unusually snappy, and constantly staring at his phone. I thought he was reading work texts, and assumed the office was hassling him.
But as the weeks went by, Peter, then 50, grew more distant. He started staying in the spare room because he was finding it harder to sleep; he’d never been depressed, but I began to wonder if he was having some kind of midlife crisis. The strange thing was, he seemed fine with the children, then eight and 10 – it was just me he was gradually pulling away from. One weekend when they were staying with my parents, I suggested we go away for the night, imagining a romantic B&B and a chance to catch up properly. He just said, “I’m not really in the mood,” and spent the forthcoming days hunched over his ipad. I felt totally rejected, and demanded to know what was wrong. He looked at me as if I was mad, and said, “It’s not like you to be so needy.” I was very hurt, and later confided in my best friend, Sophie. She said: “Are you sure he’s not having an affair?” But even then, I genuinely couldn’t imagine it. He just wasn’t the “affair” type – he was a good, solid bloke who loved his family. I said I thought he might be depressed, and Sophie suggested he should see our GP. But when I mentioned it that night, he said: “You’re being paranoid – you’re the one who needs a doctor.” At that point, I’d never heard of “gaslighting” – deliberately throwing doubt on a partner’s mental health, usually to hide one’s own behaviour – but in retrospect, it was a classic case.
Peter was staying late at work more often, and had attended a couple of weekend conferences, when normally he’d do anything to get out of them. He went to Birmingham in May, and said he was staying in a Travelodge. I felt sorry for him, missing a family weekend and swimming with the children, which normally he really enjoyed. The problems were taking a toll on my happiness, too, and sex had long vanished, leaving me feeling old and dismissed. I was desperate to find out what was wrong so we could tackle it together, but whenever I asked, he insisted I was “overreacting”.
In retrospect, the signs were all there, I just couldn’t see them. Then just before the summer holidays, things came to a head. He’d gone to work before the post came and I saw his credit card bill had arrived: ordinarily, I’m not one for snooping, but the worry was driving me insane. Before I could talk myself out of it, I peeled open the envelope, my heart racing, imagining I might discover he was in debt.
There were plenty of payments I didn’t recognise, but one stood out. The weekend I had thought he was in a Travelodge, missing his family, he’d spent over £400 on a very nice country house hotel in the Midlands.
That was when I knew. It was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over me – I started to shake. The worst was not knowing why, or who. But I did know Peter wasn’t the type for a onenight stand. If he was cheating, it was probably serious.
I immediately rang him at work and demanded an explanation. He said it must be a mistake and told me to ring the credit card company if I didn’t believe him. That evening, he walked in the door and I demanded the truth. I said if he had any respect for his family, it was time to come clean. He sat down, staring at his hands. Then he said, “OK. I met someone.” I thought I was going to be sick. I told him I needed to know everything.
He’d met someone at work and they’d “only flirted”, he said, until just before Easter, when they worked late and “ended up kissing”. I couldn’t imagine how he’d gone from loving family man to kissing a colleague he hardly knew. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I think I’m in love with her.”
I cried inconsolably, for hours. He felt so guilty and tried to comfort me, but how could he? It wasn’t just about me, it was the children, losing their safe, happy family.
I gave him an ultimatum to avoid dragging out the pain. We told the children he had a big work conference and he went to an Airbnb to think things through. When I hadn’t heard from him after three days, I knew he was leaving. I made him go for a counselling session with me, but it was no use: we were over, and the aftermath felt horrendous, like having PTSD.
Peter is now living with his colleague and sees the children every weekend. We’re divorced, and he was very generous – I kept the house, and I know he still feels terrible. But I don’t have much sympathy – the children are only just recovering, and I’m still single.
I don’t wish I’d never opened that letter, though, despite everything. At least finding the incriminating evidence – whether it’s a glittering green necklace, or something more mundane, like a credit card bill – gave me the agonising truth I needed.
Names have been changed. As told to Flic Everett