I’ve never understood why the majority of hotel bars are so soulless. Occasionally, you’ll find one that’s inviting – Sydney’s Zeta Bar would be a great example. But they’re invariably devoid of any atmosphere, sparsely furnished and what furniture there is went out of fashion last century. Unfortunately, the bar at The Manor Hotel in Melbourne’s Inner East, where I was staying for a couple of days, was about as inviting as a funeral parlour but it was late and I needed a drink after a long day. Angus, my Melbourne based colleague, had suggested drinks and dinner in the City but as I’d been awake since three thirty that morning I wanted a quick drink, room service and an early night.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender promptly. And given I was the only customer it was hardly surprising I was being served straight away.
“I think I’ll have a gin and tonic. Bombay Sapphire if you have and a couple of wedges of lime?” I replied.
“Coming right up” she said and less than a minute later I was taking my first sip.
I sighed as I put the glass down. It must have been louder than I thought as the bartender asked me if I’d had a tough day.
“Tough and long. I was on a six am flight from Sydney and then pretty much been in meetings all day. I really need this’, indicating the G and T.
“Well, you just let me know when you’re ready for another one. There’s plenty more where that came from’ she said as she continued to quarter some limes.
Taking out my iPad, I switched it on, plugged in my earphones and clicked on the Skype icon. Time to phone the kids. They’d all been fast asleep this morning when I left and I expect they’d be watching TV rather than doing their homework. Lucy was nearly 16 and Max and Liam were 14. I’d fallen pregnant with Lucy the summer after Pete and I left university. She was far from planned but we’d never had any regrets and the twins followed less than 2 years after. Three children had always been the plan – though the plan had been to spread them over three pregnancies rather than two. We’d both been 22 when Lucy came along so we are still relatively young to have kids in their mid-teens. Most of our friends had kids half that age and Emma, my best friend from University, had just had her third. And here we were dealing with raging hormones and seemingly running a full time, unpaid taxi service.
‘”Hi Darling,” I said when Lucy answered. She still had her school uniform on which was a good sign that she hadn’t even been upstairs and it was therefore highly unlikely she’d finished her homework let alone started it. “How was school?” I enquired. “Ah, you know. Usual rubbish. Mr Taylor sprung a test on us this morning and there’s no way I passed. He’s such a jerk”
Normally I’d tell her not to be so rude about a teacher but Mr. Taylor, who was a maths teacher at her school, was indeed a jerk. Arrogant and condescending, he lived a few doors along from us and is always writing to everyone in the street about some trivial misdemeanour undertaken by either one, a few or all of us. Minor infractions fuel his rage – not bringing in the bins promptly seems to be a huge concern and, heaven forbid if you’re entertaining guests outside after 9pm.
Changing the subject, I asked what the plans were for dinner. I’d taken a frozen lasagne out of the freezer that morning but knew there was every chance that Pete would more than likely eschew that in favour of sushi; a fact Lucy confirmed. I spoke to her for a couple more minutes and asked if I could speak to the boys. “Hang on. Max! Liam! It’s Mum – she wants to talk to you” she said, standing up and walking towards the kitchen door.
I could vaguely hear some sort of response coming from either one or both of them and a minute or so Max appeared at the screen, sandwich in hand. “Liam’s in the shower”, he said. “You’ll spoil your dinner” I said, indicating his sandwich. “Mum” he said, practically rolling his eyes into the back of his head, “since when have I EVER not been hungry at dinner time?” I laughed as he did have a point. It’s true what they say about teenage boys eating you out of house and home. Boxes of cereal seem to last two or three days and we could easily go through a loaf of bread a day. Both boys were sporty with Max gaining a reputation as being a very good swimmer and Liam, leaning more towards team sports, features regularly in the under 16’s rugby union team.
“How was your day?” I continued.
“Yeah not bad” he answered. “Was less than a second off my PB at training today. Think I need to practice my turns a bit more – I’m still pretty shit” he said.
“Less of the swearing please” I replied which was a bit of a cheek. It’s hardly surprising the kids have picked up the odd swear word here and there. Pete owns his own construction company and the language on site is colourful to say the least and that colourful language often makes its presence known at home.
He rolls his eyes into his head and we continue to talk for a few more minutes. I remind him that they all need to do their homework before dinner, tell him to give my love to Liam and hang up. I know with a reasonable amount of certainty that the homework won’t get looked at until tomorrow morning if at all. But it’s only one night and Pete’s hardly been around recently so it’ll be nice for them to spend some time with their Dad. Over the last couple of years his business has really taken off. He won a bid to build seven boutique hotels in various locations across the country and that’s meant he’s been away weeks at a time. He’d sometimes just come home for a night but he’d be so exhausted he could just about make it through dinner and would often head to bed before the children. Then he’d be up early the next morning and heading to the airport to catch a flight to Melbourne, Cairns or Brisbane.
I close my laptop and stare into space thinking about the four of them going about their business a few hundred miles away. Pete will be home soon and, after a quick shower, they’ll all jump in the car and drive the short journey to our local sushi place. We’ve been going there since we moved to Fairlight when the boys were two. And we always order the same thing. Sushi and sashimi, teriyaki chicken, tempura, gyoza, edamame and seaweed salad. We don’t even get menus anymore – we just take a seat and the kitchen gets to work. I’d love to be there with him as it seems ages since we all sat down together as a family. But instead, I’m sitting in a rather depressing bar in Melbourne and pondering an evening of room service and catching up on my emails.
I was interrupted by the girl behind the bar asking if I’d like another drink. I nodded and again she returned quickly along with a menu “just in case you’re hungry”. I glanced at my watch and saw it was nearly six-thirty and realised I was starving. I’d skipped breakfast and lunch had been a salad from the deli around the corner from work. Opening the menu, I saw it was standard hotel fayre so opted for a Greek salad to start followed by a medium rare eye fillet and green beans.
My food arrived twenty minutes later and the steak was perfectly cooked. It was actually really nice eating a meal quietly and reading the paper without the usual noise and discussion that goes with our typical evening meal.
“Looks like you enjoyed that?’ the bar tender asked, observing my clean plates. I nodded and agreed that it was nice to not only have someone cook for me but also to have someone else do the clearing up. I was still the only person in the bar, a fact I shared with the bar tender.
“Yes, it’s always quiet this early in the week. I’m Jo by the way’, she said.
“Well, pleased to meet you Jo. I’m Nat and, I have to say, you make a very good gin and tonic” I replied, taking another sip.
“Glad you like it. I could never get into gin. I’m more of a beer girl – hangover from student days, I guess,” she replied.
“So you’re not studying anymore?’ I asked.
She shook her head and told me she’d finished the year before but was struggling to find work. She’d studied Interior Design and had planned to move to Sydney but her dad got sick so she’d decided to stay in Melbourne. He was on the mend and once he was given the all clear (he was going through chemotherapy for thyroid cancer) her plan was to move to Sydney to be with her boyfriend.
“Serious, is it?” I asked.
She nodded and went on to explain that he worked in Sydney but was in Melbourne every week or so so they didn’t see each other that often. Because she was still looking after her Dad she couldn’t really get up there to see him. I sympathised with her, knowing how hard it can be and told her that my husband travelled a lot for work. Though I did laughingly admit that it meant I did get time to do my own thing and at least the house was tidy when he wasn’t there.
“Do you have kids?” she asked.
I nodded and spun my laptop round to show her my screen saver, which was a picture of the five of us taken in Port Douglas the previous year. “Yes ” I said, “We have three – all a handful but we wouldn’t be without them”
I looked up at her and she looked like she’d seen a ghost and I asked her if she was OK.
“Yeah’, she stammered. “I’ve just remembered I need to check on something in the storeroom.” And with that, she turned on her heels and rushed out of the bar.
As I watched her walk away my phone rang and, looking down, I could see it was my sister Rachael, and, as we hadn’t spoken for a while and, for once, I actually had some time on my hands, I answered the call. She was clearly surprised I answered as what usually happens is we leave each other messages over a two or three week period and then finally arrange to catch up for a dinner at Tapa Vino near Circular Quay. Dinner is usually more liquid that solid and invariably ends in me getting the last ferry back to Manly and feeling slightly green around the gills for the entire journey.
“Well this makes a change’ she announced. “Let me guess… you’ve either left Pete and run away with your golf coach or you’re away on business and I’m interrupting the first night you’ve had on your own for months”
“Well as my golf coach is gay, as you well know, then yep, you’re right, it’s the latter’ I confirmed.
‘”And which exotic far flung location is it today? Fiji? Maldives? Seychelles?”, she enquired sarcastically.
“I wish”, I responded. “Am in Melbourne actually. Living the dream! Though that said I’ve just had a great steak, am about to have another G and T and don’t have to do the washing up. Was also really nice to actually eat quietly and not have whining teenagers in the background”
She laughed and agreed that yes, that did sound blissful. Rachael’s life was even more hectic than mine. She’s eight years older than me and has three children too – all of whom are still at home. Two of them (Kara and Alana) are at University and Rich is in his last year of high school. Her husband, Max, left when Rich was just two. He just walked out one day leaving a note saying he was sorry, he couldn’t go on, he loved them but needed some time to himself. We were all convinced he’d be back in a month or so as were the police. It was six months though before anyone heard from him and that came in the form of a letter from Italy. Max’s parents were Italian and he spoke the language fluently and, as he explained, he was now happily living in Rome teaching English as a second language. He promised to provide financially – to the extent that his salary would allow – but that didn’t last long. Soon the monthly payments became quarterly, then six monthly and then they disappeared altogether. Along with Max who dropped off the face of the earth. We all pitched in and supported her where we could. The four of them moved in with Mum and Dad for a bit and then they house sat for various people but that was just far too unsettling for the kids as they were forever getting uprooted from school. Then one day, on the way home from work, she dropped into the newsagent to buy one of the kids a comic and, at the same time bought herself a lotto ticket. Three days later that lotto ticket netted her twelve million dollars and the four of them have never looked back. It did, also, flush out Max who magically materialised within a few days – only to be dispatched back to where he came from very quickly after he arrived – albeit with a cheque for $100,000 and his copy of a set of divorce papers. Since then she’s had a few relationships but has, in the main, remained single. The twelve million dollar nest egg set her and the kids up really well. Despite the fact she’s offered to set the girls up in apartments of their own, neither of them want to leave as, despite everything, Rachael has created the most loving and fun home environment. She runs her own architectural business from an office above the garage and her’s is a home where the door is always welcome and all of the kids know they can bring their friends round whenever. She pretends to not enjoy the hustle and bustle but she wouldn’t and couldn’t live any other way.
“So how long are you in Melbourne for?” she asked.
“Just tonight and then back tomorrow. We’re tag teaming just now as Pete’s off on another in a couple of days – Brisbane and Canberra I think he said” I responded.
“Ah Cool. The reason I was calling was to see if you wanted to grab dinner one day this week but I guess if he’s away you can’t?’ she said.
“Nah – I can’t but you’re more than welcome to come across to ours for dinner if you like?” I suggested.
“Ok deal. Thursday work for you?” she replied.
“Perfect! I’m working from home so come round whenever” I said. We chatted about kids and work and a couple of minutes later I could here her door bell in the background and she told me she had to go as dinner had arrived courtesy of her local Thai restaurant. Rachael was many things but being a good cook was not one of them.
“Ciao Bella” I said, using the same sign off we always used with each other and, smiling, I put my phone back down on the bar.
As I did so Jo, the bar tender, reappeared behind the bar. “I think I’ll have another one and then I’m done” I said.
“Ah yeah sure” she said. She picked up a glass, half filled it with ice and as she was pouring the gin into the jigger I could see her hand was shaking and, glancing at her face, I could see her eyes were red and she looked like she’d been crying.
“Hey are you OK? You look like something’s upset you?’ I enquired.
Placing the G&T in front of me she looked up and I could see her starting to well up and soon tears were pouring down her face.
“Hang on” I said while searching in my bag for some tissues. Passing them to her I asked her what was wrong. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose and exhaled slowly.
“I don’t even know where to begin” she said as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. I watched her for a couple of seconds as her fingers danced across the small screen.
“Here” she said, handing me her phone. “Just flick through them” she continued.
Looking down I found myself staring at a photo of Jo laughing into the camera and standing next to her with his arm around her, also laughing, was Pete. Confused, I looked up her to see a pained expression on her face. “Go on”, she said, “Flick through them – there’s more”.
And there was. Hundreds of them. Selfies of them on a beach, on a boat, in restaurants, in bars, sitting next to each other on a plane. There was even a series of them in what was obviously a hotel room bed. I tortured myself by looking at every single one of them – an activity I did in absolute silence.
I was numb. Completely numb. This just couldn’t be happening. There had to be an explanation for this. It couldn’t be Pete. It was his long lost twin? A doppelganger? Something! Anything! But not this. Please not this!
I looked up at Jo who was now also nursing what looked like a double shot of bourbon.
“I don’t know what to say”, I began while shaking my head. “I just can’t…” I had no words. Nothing.
“I know. I had no idea he was married – he told me he had been but had been divorced for years. He told me he was single. He never wore a ring and there wasn’t even a tan line where one would have been” she said.
“Yeah, he’s never worn one. The one we used on our wedding day was a tenner from Prouds” I said.
“So,” I continued. “How did you meet him? How long has it been going on for? What do you know about him?” I stopped abruptly. I didn’t really want to know the answer to any of these questions but knew I needed to know everything.
I listened quietly while she told me that she’d met him in Brisbane 2 years before. She’d been visiting friends and she’d slipped on the pavement and fallen right in front of him. He’d helped her up and had sat her down on a bench while he went to a nearby cafe, shortly returning with some napkins, a bottle of water and a couple of band-aids. He sat next to her while she cleaned the graze on her knee and applied one of the band-aids. Later that night they’d again run into each other at a local pub, had exchanged numbers and things had progressed from there. She knew his name was Pete and that he had his own construction company, that he had kids from a previous relationship but they lived with his ex wife but he saw them regularly. She’d never visited him in Sydney – they usually met in Melbourne or sometimes they’d meet in other cities when he was there for work. They saw each other two or three times a month but spoke every day.
I was stunned. Pete had painted a frighteningly accurate picture of his life with one glaring omission – and that omission was me. How could he do this? Had the last twenty years or so meant nothing?
While she had been talking, a couple of people had come into the bar and Jo was, by now serving them. I watched her as she placed 2 glasses of wine on the bar in front of them. It was just impossible to imagine that my partner of the past twenty or so years had been having an affair with her. And I’d not suspected a thing. Yes he did travel a lot but, racking my brains, there had been absolutely no hint as to his double life.
What on earth was I going to do? My initial instinct had been to phone him and have it out with him but now I didn’t feel ready to do that. The shock of what I had learned was beginning to set in and I needed time to gather my thoughts.
Jo had finished with the other customers and was now standing in front of me. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” she asked.
I shook my head. I really had no idea. “Me neither” she admitted. “I can’t believe he’s done this. It’s all just been a lie” she continued. “I really thought we had something special but he’s just been stringing me on. I just want to kill him” she exclaimed.
“He’s not worth going to jail for, Jo. He’s a shit of the highest order and he deserves everything that’s coming to him” I said, a plan beginning to formulate in my mind. “How do you fancy playing a little game with me to catch him out? Are you in?” I asked.
“Am I ever!” she said as she extended her arm. We shook hands smiling conspiratorially at each other. “So, here’s what I’m thinking…” I began.
Surprisingly I slept well that night and checked out of the hotel early the next morning. I had a full day of meetings ahead and was keen to get back to Sydney and begin to put our plan in place. Jo and I had exchanged phone numbers before I’d left the bar the previous night and had promised to stay in touch. We both knew it was going to be difficult to behave normally around Pete. Jo was due to see him the following week and, for once, I was glad he was heading off the day after I got back.
As the taxi pulled up outside my house later that night, I was nervous as I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel when I saw him. Dumping my carry on in the hall I walked into the lounge room and saw that Pete had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Staring down at him I had an overwhelming sensational of wanting to beat him senseless but, instead, gently shook him awake and told him to go to bed. He muttered good night and, as he shuffled off, I sank into the comfy sofa and, with a smile on my face, thought about the downfall that awaited him.
An essential part of the plan was to ensure that the kids weren’t involved in any part of it. As much as I despised Pete and what he had done to me and Jo – as she was a victim in this sorry mess as well – he was still the father of my children and I couldn’t and wouldn’t eradicate him from their lives. So with this in mind and with school holidays just around the corner I needed Rachael on side to help. She was coming round to dinner on Thursday and, once I told her what had been going on, she agreed to help and do whatever I needed. Rachael owns a holiday home up in Port Douglas and she agreed to take the kids up there for a week to give me the time I needed to exact my revenge. When I’d first told her, Rachael had been apoplectic with rage but had pronounced our plan ‘delicious and fitting’ and couldn’t wait to see him get his comeuppance. The children, too, were delighted to be spending a week in the sun, although they knew nothing about what has happened, and I knew Pete wouldn’t have an opinion either way.
Schools holidays were though still two weeks away but I kept myself busy by throwing myself into work and fine tuning the plan. Luckily, for me anyway, Pete was in Melbourne for most of the following week. Jo though had managed to only see him once and had lied to him saying she was really busy at work and also wasn’t feeling well so couldn’t see him more than that.
Pete arrived back from his Melbourne trip not in the best of moods which I interpreted to be because he hadn’t seen Jo as much as he’d wanted to. I mixed him a drink (Sailor Jerry’s and Dry) and at exactly 7.30 with me sitting next to him the next part of the plan swung into action. Pete’s phone rang and looking down at it he frowned and hit cancel. “Who was that?” I said. “Just a client. I’ll call them back tomorrow. I’m knackered” he replied. I wanted to scream “LIAR!” at the top of my voice but instead took a long draw on my G&T. Less than 30 seconds later the phone rang again and again Pete hit decline. And 30 seconds after that the same thing happened. “Are you sure you shouldn’t take that?” I suggested “Sounds like it’s important?”
“I s’pose” he agreed. “I’ll go into the other room though so as not to disturb you” he said.
“It’s fine”, I said “Just do it from here. I don’t mind” I added. I was loving this bit. As if he was going to take a call from his girlfriend when he’s sitting next to his wife! He did look very uncomfortable but got up and said he’d call from his study as he would probably need to refer to some files.
I didn’t bother following him as I knew that Jo was taping the conversation at her end but when he came back around 10 minutes or so later, he looked ashen. Which was hardly surprising as Jo would have just told him that she was pregnant. She wasn’t, of course, but he wasn’t to know that.
“Everything ok?” I asked. “You look a bit shaken” I added.
“No, it’s fine. Just a small problem with a client. It’ll be fine” he said. He sat down next to me but not before he poured himself another Sailor Jerry’s but this one was clearly stronger than the one I had made him earlier. I made some small talk for a bit – including telling him the kids were heading off to Port Douglas with Rachael. I’m fairly sure he didn’t take in a word I said. I probably could have told him that I was going to jack in my job and become a stripper and it wouldn’t have registered.
The next morning, he was up and out early and I called Jo as soon as I saw his ute pull out of the driveway. “Well how was it?” I demanded. We’d agreed that we’d keep our interactions to the bare minimum but since last night I’d been dying to know in detail how the conversation had gone. “Oh Nat. It was perfect. Went exactly to plan. You should hear him. The word’ shocked’ doesn’t even come close” she laughed. I updated her on how he had been after their call had finished. Things were working out well but there were still a few other things that needed to happen before we were well and truly finished with Pete McLean!
Over the next week or so Jo, as agreed, made at least two calls to Pete every day. Sometimes I was with him and sometimes I wasn’t – we’d decided it would look too odd for her to call only at night so she spaced the calls out randomly. But she recorded every single one. Essentially she was saying to Pete that she wanted to keep the baby, she’d move to Sydney and they’d live together. He, unsurprisingly, wasn’t a fan of this and was pressuring her into having an abortion.
Living with Pete was, during the time, very difficult. He was clearly preoccupied and very distracted – no wonder given the supposed circumstances – and was grumpy and short with all of us.
Soon, though, it was school holidays and I was dropping the kids off at the airport for their week of fun in the sun with their Aunt Rachael. The drive to the airport was, as usual, slow and as I pulled up outside the terminal I could see Rachael waiting. She had on a wide brimmed hat and was clearly dressed for Port Douglas weather rather than Sydney. The kids scrambled out of the car and with a quick wave, and a conspiratorial wink from my sister, I was back on the road again for the return trip.
I returned home to a very distressed Pete who announced that his client had called while I was out and he urgently needed to go down to Melbourne on Monday morning (it was now Saturday) to attend an emergency meeting and he’d already booked himself on the 7am flight. I knew though that no such client existed. I knew that the reason for his trip to Melbourne was to take Jo to the abortion clinic as she had finally ‘agreed’ that was the best option. Our plan was falling into place perfectly. I just had to get through the next couple of days first. We spent the rest of the weekend in apparent harmony to all intents and purposes a happily married couple though Pete was a little more subdued than normal. What a surprise!
But Monday morning soon dawned and Pete left for the airport a little after 5am. I pretended to be asleep but the minute I heard his taxi pull away I was up and ready for the day ahead. I quickly shower, make myself a cup of tea and look at the list I’ve been compiling. There’s a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. After stacking my mug in the dishwasher I head to the garage and retrieve the flat pack moving boxes I’d bought the previous week. I grab some packing tape from the cupboard under the stairs and head to our bedroom. Opening up Pete’s side of the wardrobe I begin to methodically empty it of all of his clothes, his cufflinks and shoes and pack them neatly into the boxes which I’ve also labelled. I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as I fold and pack his belongings and can’t help but reminisce about happier times. His favourite sweatshirt that still smelled of his aftershave. His light blue linen jacket which still if you look very closely, see a faint red wine stain from the time he spilled a glass of Shiraz all over himself when exuberantly celebrating a Wallabies win. I shake myself out of my day dreaming and check my watch. Right on schedule!
I stack the boxes in the hall and then move on to his study repeating the same process. Next it’s the garage and I load his tools, surf board, sporting gear including his golf clubs and fishing roads into the back of his ute.
I check my watch again and see that it’s nearly 8.30 and decide to take a well earned break as I’d been at it for nearly three hours. Twenty minutes later after a coffee and some vege toast I’m back at it. But this time I’m packing his books, CDs, DVDS and other trinkets into boxes, again labelling them as I go.
By 10am Pete’s 38 years on Planet Earth has been reduced to 40 or so packing boxes and walking through the house there’s no trace of him anywhere. The gravity of what’s happened and what I’m about to do suddenly hits me and I fall to the floor sobbing. Salty tears flow down my cheeks and drip onto my shirt. My heart feels like it’s being gripped in a vice and I allow the pain to envelop me. After a few minutes, the sobs subside and I realise that this is the first time I’ve cried since finding out about his deceit. I sit on the floor with my back against the wall, take a few minutes to compose myself and get up. Strangely I feel better; it’s like a weight’s been taken off my shoulder. I go to the bathroom and fix my make up. I’ve just finished applying my mascara when the door bell rings. The next part of the plan is about to happen – and we’re bang on schedule.
I open the door and it’s Jo. While Pete was on his way to supposedly see her, she was actually on a plane to Sydney. And instead of waiting to meet him at a cafe near where she worked she was now standing on my front step. We hug and she asks me how my morning has been. I ask her to follow me and show her round the house pointing out the boxes that now contain all of Pete’s possessions. “Jeez” she said, “You’ve been busy. There’s more than I thought” she added.
“Yeah – I’m glad I got way too many boxes. Would have been a nightmare if I’d run out. Plus I didn’t over pack them as I didn’t want them to be too heavy – we’re the ones that are going to have to carry them!” I said. “And, speaking of which, we need to get the van loaded”. The van I was referring to was a rental truck Jo had hired from the airport which was now parked outside my house.
I bent down to pick up one of the boxes, as did Jo, and soon they were all packed away in the rental truck.
“Now what” she said.
“Now we wait” I replied. “Fancy a cuppa?” I asked as I walked to the kitchen.
We didn’t have to wait very long. Twenty minutes later Jo’s mobile rang. “It’s him” she confirmed, having seen his name flash up on the screen. But instead of her answering it, I reached across the table, picked up her phone and hit the answer button.
“Hi darling,” I said sarcastically.
“Jo”, he said. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting in this cafe for half an hour. What’s going on?” he continued.
“Actually, Pete. It’s not Jo. It’s Nat. Remember me?” I said very calmly.
“What? What’s going on? Is this a joke?” he demanded.
“Hardly” I said. “The thing is, Pete, Jo’s actually sitting here in our kitchen. We found out purely by accident a few weeks ago what’s been going on and this is a a take down. The barista in the cafe you’re in is a friend of Jo’s and he has an envelope and in that envelope is some divorce papers. You’ve been served as they say. I’ve also emptied out half of all of our bank accounts and set new ones up in my name. I’ve proposed a generous deal on the house which is all in the divorce papers – have a read – it’ll give you something to do on the flight back. Same goes with custody of the kids – I’d never stop you seeing them but you are going to tell them what a total and utter shit you’ve been. Oh and on top of that by the time you get back from Melbourne tonight all of your things will be in a rental truck and your ute at your office – I’ll drive it over there this afternoon. Yep, I think that’s everything” I concluded. And with that I hit cancel and put the phone back on the table.
My heart was racing. I felt so energised. I caught Jo’s eye and we both burst out laughing. What a relief! We’d pulled it off.
“I think we deserve something stronger than coffee, don’t you? How about we drive the van and the ute to his office then go and have a well deserved champagne lunch?”
And that was exactly what we did.
There is more to this story though. Pete did, as I expected he would, come back to the house after he landed back from Melbourne. Jo was, by this time, in Bondi staying with a friend. I’d had the locks changed so he couldn’t get in and despite his pleading to let him back in I resolutely refused and after an hour or so he left, presumably to go to this office and retrieve his belongings. I have no idea where he slept that night and have only seen him a handful of times since this all happened which was over three years ago. The kids got back from Port Douglas a few days later and we both told them that we were separating. Pete couldn’t bring it upon himself to tell them of the lies and the deceit and to this day I’ve kept that from them. It’s not my news to tell but speaks volumes about his character.
And me? Well three years on I’ve well and truly moved on and am now living with Angus, my ex colleague who you met at the beginning of the story. He moved to Sydney a couple of years ago and now we very often have drinks and dinner together albeit in another city! And as for Jo… well she’s finally working as an interior designer thanks to Rachael who introduced her to one of her clients.
And all this from a chance meeting in a sterile hotel bar…
Stories by Mrs Mac 