ANOTHER LOVE: FINAL JUSTICE

By Vandemonium1

In July and August 2016, Richardgerald published a trilogy called “ANOTHER LOVE”. Readers scored Part 1 well as it describes a good, strong man finding out his wife cheated on him over a number of years. Part 2 was, in my opinion, excessively lambasted, as it gave his wife’s side of the story of an unjustifiable second love and also implicated one of their children in a cover-up. Part 3 saw the author crucified. In many people’s eyes readers were robbed of justice when our hero turned from a strong character to weak.

Undoubtedly a talented writer, I think RG overestimated the sophistication of the readership who didn’t see Karen’s regret at having hurt her husband as adequate punishment even with Rob being recompensed with an MFF threesome. In RG’s own words to me, “No one got the story”.

I was one of those that was left screaming for justice to be done, so I contemplated a sequel. However, I like a large element of originality in my stories and I couldn’t think of anything original to punish those that deserved it, and there were no shortage of those. Karen, the wife, unrepentant to the end. She deceived her husband for over twenty years and even used his children to perpetuate the deception, which, in turn, damaged their relationship with their father. Avril, the lover’s wife, and her extended family, who condoned the affair. Of course, the main perpetrator was the lover, but he died before the start of the story.

Then I read some of the comments on Chapter 3. One anonymous commenter couldn’t see how the lover could be punished as he was dead and wrote the line, “You can’t fight a ghost.”

Those words stuck with me. I agreed with the commenter. And then it hit me; maybe you can’t fight a ghost, but you can destroy one.

From that premise, I started writing. As you would expect from me, everyone that deserves it is subject to appropriate, and, I hope, original justice. Until recently RG denied me permission to publish this sequel and I respected that. Recently, he changed his mind for which I thank him. Initially, he wanted me to be gentle on Karen but, for me, she’s just too evil for that. As I said to him, you created the monster, now it has to be destroyed. Having said that, this sequel treats Karen as a relatively minor character, as RG intended.

The sequel starts after the end of Chapter 2. For full effect, I suggest reading the original Chapters 1 and 2 first, so you can get as offended as I was. I hope the unusual choice of main characters in this story works.

A hearty thanks to all those that reviewed this story and, as usual, it is far better because I have the best editor on the site in CreativityTakesCourage. Maybe you could thank her and do yourself a favour by reading her excellent works.

***********

Kevin McDonald stood impatiently at the arrivals concourse at Chicago’s O’Hare airport waiting for his little brother to arrive from LA. During a scan of the faces of the incoming passengers he caught sight of his reflection in a pane of glass and realised that he looked as haggard as he felt. He’d only managed about four hours sleep in the two nights since the email had arrived from his father. The email that proved the estrangement he’d felt for years toward, not only his father, but his little brother, was based on a lie. The feelings of guilt, remorse, and a terrible sadness for the lost years that could never be retrieved, was eating him alive.

An hour after reading the email, he was still staring at the screen, contemplating ringing Oscar, when the former rang him for the first time in over two years. When the younger brother heard how devastated the elder was, he’d rung off, organised leave and an airline ticket as quickly as he could. Now, here he was, thirty-six hours later striding out of the gate lounge area.

The brothers hugged awkwardly, then went to Kevin’s car. They were quiet on the drive back to Kevin’s place. Both men were hoping like hell their estrangement would end, but neither knew exactly how to start the conversation. Subliminally, they both feared their emotional divide was too entrenched and would never be breached. Neither gave thought to how their difficulty in discussing their emotions mirrored that of their father.

It wasn’t until Oscar was settled in the spare bedroom that they quit stalling and got down to business.

“What happened with Mom in LA, Oscar?”

“Well, her visit was going normally until she got this phone call from some woman called Avril.”

“Wow. Avril. There’s a name from the past.”

“The past?”

“Yeah. Don’t you remember her?”

“No. Who is she?”

“Are you sure you don’t remember? Small, Eurasian woman.” At Oscar’s shake of the head, Kevin continued, filling in the information. “Up until you were about eight or nine, I suppose, we used to occasionally go and see a guy called Phillipe, Mom’s boyfriend, and sometimes there was a woman there called Avril. Sometimes she would look after us while Mom went into a bedroom with Phillipe.”

“I remember Phillipe, of course, but not the woman.”

“Well, Avril was Phillipe’s wife.”

“Actually, now you come to remind me, I vaguely remember her. Hang on, weren’t Mom and Phillipe in the bedroom having sex?”

“Yes, they were. Phillipe and Avril had an open marriage.”

Both men paused to contemplate their own thoughts on such an arrangement. They both started to feel uncomfortable as those thoughts led toward the reason for their estrangement from each other.

Memories mixed with new information and in a moment of clarity Kevin now knew why the children’s visits to Phillipe’s had stopped after one such trip. Oscar had asked some innocent but difficult questions as they drove home. Their mother had given some vague replies and then stressed the importance of not mentioning the visit to their father. Her words echoed in his head, “Your father is a proud man, he doesn’t like to be reminded, so you must remember to never mention Phillipe and Avril’s names.”

Anger at the memory of his mother’s selfish lies festered in his gut. To distract himself, Kevin asked a question.

“What happened when Avril rang Mom in LA?”

“Well, Mom got real upset, then tried to ring Dad. After that, she talked to you and I tried to ring Dad but he didn’t answer. You tried too. Right?”

At Kevin’s nod, Oscar continued. “I didn’t get to talk to her before she left. She spent the night crying in the bedroom. After she left, I thought it was strange that she was acting like Dad didn’t know about Phillipe. I mean, that’s the one thing I do remember. She always said Dad knew.”

Silence descended again. They both knew this was the moment they became brothers again or remained strangers. Oscar broke the silence in a soft voice.

“Why did you lie to me, Kevin?”

There it was. The crux of the matter. The main reason sleep had eluded Kevin for days. Once again he replayed their conversation of four years ago in his mind.

It took place just before Oscar left for LA, when he’d had what he’d described as a crisis of respect. The disturbing memories of his mother’s trips to see her boyfriend didn’t sit at all well with his respect for his father, a clearly intelligent and capable man. One who’d always acted honourably as far as Oscar could tell. Confused about his conflicted feelings, he’d gone to the one person who he thought would understand; his brother. He’d asked Kevin what the story was.

Kevin had told him why he shouldn’t confront his father. His father knew about their Mom and Phillipe but had insisted it was never talked about. It was a matter of pride. Oscar was old enough to see that point, but still wanted to confront his father. Kevin empathised with his little brother fully. They both had the same dilemma. How could their father expect his sons to respect him when he let his wife sleep with other men? That was the reason Rob and his eldest son were already estranged. Afterwards, Kevin made Oscar promise not to raise the issue with their dad, it was the start of the serious estrangement between Rob and his second son. For both, what began as a wedge became what seemed an insurmountable chasm.

“Please believe me, Bro, I didn’t lie to you intentionally. Mom told me all along that Dad knew about Phillipe but insisted no one must ever mention it. She lied to me, Oscar. I am guilty of repeating her lie. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t until his email arrived two days ago that I realised that it was all bull.”

Kevin averted his eyes, so Oscar wouldn’t see his tears. Oscar reached down to his carry bag and got out his laptop, mainly so he had an excuse to look away. He fired it up and pulled the email to the screen. He knew it by heart already but read aloud anyway.

My Dear Sons,

Please forgive me for writing the following in an email rather than speaking to you directly, but I am too emotional to control my thoughts and words.

I recently discovered your mother had an affair with another man for years. Apparently, it started over a year before I went to Kuwait and lasted for years after I returned. It only stopped with his recent death.

She confessed that her lover lived with you the whole time I was away. She told me that she even took you both to see him after I returned.

Before you panic and think I bear you any ill will, hear me out. She explained that she always told you not to mention anything about it and I can understand why you kept her confidence. She put you in the position of keeping her secret or destroying our family. If for no other reason, that is why I am divorcing the evil bitch. I know it is unlike me to use language like that but knowing what I now know I can’t see her actions as anything short of evil. Monstrous, even.

I bear neither of you any ill will for choosing our family unity. I now realise that the reason you drifted away from me was the conflict you must have felt over this dilemma. I was proud of you the days you were born and still maintain that pride now you are men.

Back to your mother’s confession. I got so wild listening to her. It was obvious she felt no regret or remorse for her affair. She even seemed proud of the power and strength of the love she felt for this French Canadian prick. She tried to rationalise the start of the affair as needing someone to look after her and you two when I went off to war. I shot that particular delusion down when I pointed out that the affair started a year before Saddam Husucks even invaded Kuwait. That was the only thing I confronted her about that night, though, as I was too wild to talk most of the time.

We spoke again the following day, when I’d calmed down a little. I tried to make her feel some guilt for what she’d done but failed in all cases except one. I pointed out that other military wives didn’t cope with the danger their husbands were in by having an affair, even soldiers closer to the action than I was.

I pointed out how devastated I would have been to find out when I was over there and the added danger that would have put me in. Or, if I’d found out upon my return from the Gulf when I was suffering from PTSD. That knowledge would have finished me off, for sure. It pains me to have to tell you both that she just looked at me blankly.

I pointed out that all of the rationales Phil-Du-Sleazy-Asshole used to get her into bed were just part of a clever seduction. I don’t know why I wasted my breath. I sincerely hope you never find out, first-hand, how humiliating it feels to know that while you’re away from home, some other guy is in your bed. It’s devastating. For the record, it feels like he has taken all your power away from you and stripped you of your manhood. It’s far worse than a bullet or being blown up. Its galling to know he must have been laughing his socks off at me the entire time.

I was getting wild again because she refused to show any remorse except that I’d found out. I made a hasty, but correct decision and told her that the main reason I was divorcing her was that she’d driven you away from me. It is not my intention to burden you boys or make you feel guilty but I must put to paper the truth. The distance between us has always been a source of pain and sadness for me, as well as a frustration. No matter what I did or said it was always there. I will never forgive her for being the cause of that.

When I told her that, I could see she’d never seen it in that light and I thought I’d finally gotten through to her. She rallied though. You won’t believe it, but she actually said that her love for Phillipe Du Cuckoo actually justified how she’d deceived you. There was a look in her eye, though, that told me she was having conscience problems.

I left again. I couldn’t look at her. That was last night. I’m guessing your mother has been too embarrassed to contact either of you.

I have to go now as I have an appointment to keep. Whatever your role in this, I will always love you. Please forgive me for being so naïve about your mother, which put you in an impossible position. My only excuse is love does that to you. You trust and believe and think the best until something happens to make that impossible.

Please don’t try to contact me for a few days. I have things to sort out. After I’ve finished, I would love to hug you both.

Your loving father.

Both men now had tears streaming unashamedly down their cheeks. It was minutes before Kevin could speak in a voice that didn’t quaver.

“We have to tell him as soon as possible. After all these years he deserves the truth. He has to know that the reason we pulled away from him wasn’t because we were keeping a secret but that we couldn’t handle him allowing Mom to have a lover. We have to tell him it was because she lied to us.”

“I agree. There’s something else we can do as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, the poor guy’s confidence must be shot to hell. Finding out your wife screwed another guy for years must have hit him where it hurts most. I had a girlfriend cheat on me last year and it was real bad.”

“But… but…”

“What?”

“But Mom said you were gay.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Yeah, she said you had a live-in boyfriend called Mark.”

“The fucking bitch. She thinks I’m gay because of Mark? Because I have a male housemate? Christ, it’s LA. Doesn’t she know how high the rents are? And, so what if I have some gay friends? That doesn’t make me gay. It makes me non-fucking-judgemental or inclusive or whatever the fuck they call it when you don’t give a fucking shit about someone’s sexuality. This is all because I never introduced any of my girlfriends to her whenever she fucking visited.”

A stunned silence descended. Finally, Kevin, who had never heard Oscar use the work ‘fuck’ so much in one conversation before, found his voice again.

“It didn’t sound like you, when Mom told me. You were always after some girl in high school but Mom sounded so certain. And, you know, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.” At Oscar’s opening his mouth to possibly rant some more, Kevin quickly continued. “Now, what can we do about Dad’s confidence?”

“I was thinking. Dad has no confidence because Phillipe stole it. He used the term ‘stripped of his manhood.’ We just have to figure out a way of destroying Phillipe. It will be our gift to Dad. Our apology, if you like, for how we treated him.”

“But Phillipe is dead.”

“Not a problem. We just have to destroy his ghost.”

“How the hell do you destroy a ghost?”

“That, brother, is what we have to figure out.”

They withdrew into their own heads again. Kevin finally broke the silence.

“There’s something else we have to decide, as well.”

“What’s that?”

“We have to decide if we forgive Mom.”

“Are you serious? The bitch lied to us, disrespected Dad, and drove a wedge between us and him, as well as you and me. Now she’s going around telling people I’m gay. I can’t speak for you, but I’m not feeling all that forgiving right now.”

“Some people might say that love forgives all sins. She told me all along that she loved both Dad and Phillipe.”

“Fuck that, Bro. There’s a name for married women that sleep with other men. That word is always ‘slut’.”

Knowing their brotherly love was secure, Oscar and Kevin composed a joint email to their father setting the record straight and begging his forgiveness, even though it had already been given. Kevin then dragged out a case of beer and they drank the lot.

As the night dragged on, the plans got progressively more evil. The final one, they thought, would destroy many memories, reputations, and one life. They were wrong. It would destroy at least two, but they couldn’t foresee that. In their drunken stupor, they thought it was the perfect gift for the great man that was their father. At 3a.m., Kevin went online to book seats on a plane home the next afternoon.

In the cold light of the next day, they realised the plan was a little extreme and toned it down as the plane flew at 30,000 feet.

——————————

At the same time his sons were resting their throbbing heads on plane cushions, Rob was sitting waiting in a hotel in Mount Royal, Montreal. Absolutely frustrated at not being able to get his wife to see she’d done anything wrong; he was looking here for answers.

“No,” he thought. “I don’t want answers. I just want to spread my pain around. I’m the only one that’s done nothing wrong. So why am I the only one hurting?”

Time to redress that balance. He had a plan.

On arrival yesterday, he’d gone to see Avril at her home. During a very uncomfortable conversation, he’d gathered that although she regretted that her friend Karen had seen fit to hide her affair with Phillipe from him, she saw nothing she’d personally done as being wrong.

Rob didn’t buy it. Karen and Avril had been friends for twenty years. Was she really saying that not once in all that time was his reaction to Karen’s relationship with Phillipe discussed? That was either a lie or absolute negligence on Avril’s part.

They’d parted with Avril feeling guilty enough that she’d agreed to ask some of her family members over so Rob could meet them. He asked for as many of them as Avril could muster, especially the ones who’d been there that Christmas in 1990. He was now waiting for word that the conspirators were gathered.

The phone call came at a little after one in the afternoon; the clan was gathered. Avril’s mother and two daughters were there, as was Phillipe Du Monte’s aging mother and various relatives; fifteen in all.

Rob pulled out his map and rehearsed again the shortest route to the border. He then drove to the house he’d come to call “Cuckoo Manor.” Composing himself in his car, he reviewed his goals. Okay; goal, singular. His one and only aim was to make as many people as possible realise exactly how he felt. He was determined to be heard. His reconnaissance of yesterday had shown him exactly how to do that. He grinned and opened the car door.

Avril let him in the front door and took him into the parlour, the same room they’d spoken in the previous day. Rob strode in and made a beeline for the huge mantelpiece above the open fire, the one holding the brass urn that contained the ashes of his nemesis.

Avril introduced the gathered relatives. Two mothers, two daughters, and various aunts, uncles, and cousins. After Rob refused to shake the first hand that was offered, the others got the hint. They all knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Rob was glad to see there were no minors present. A hushed atmosphere fell. Rob, leaning against the mantelpiece, squeezed his thighs together uncomfortably.

“Recently, I discovered that the woman I loved had an affair for over twenty years with Phillipe Du Monte. An affair that I knew nothing about but all in this room enabled and condoned. I am currently divorcing my wife.”

Rob looked around the room. One or two averted their eyes. The rest just looked slightly confused. An elderly man, perhaps a cousin or uncle, spoke for the opposition.

“Monsieur, Madame Du Monte has explained your situation to us. You must understand that to us of French descent, a woman taking a lover is quite normal. While it is regrettable that she left you uninformed, we fail to see what it has to do with us.”

Rob fought to keep the rage from his voice. He substantially failed.

“In what culture in the world is it acceptable for anyone to help a woman destroy her husband? That is what my wife did, and you, yes, each and every one of you, abetted her.”

Rob looked for but failed to see any remorse on any of the faces in the room, except Avril’s. She remembered the look on Rob’s face when she’d first let the cat out of the bag.

Time to inflict the pain.

“My only regret is that Mr. Phillipe Du Monte is not still alive, because now I will never get to tell him to his face what a lowlife piece of pond scum he was.”

Bedlam erupted. Fifteen people started talking at once. Rob let it all roll over him. It finally settled down and the same spokesman addressed Rob.

“My cousin Phillipe was a great man. A fine artist and restorer. We honour his memory.”

Rob knew that it was time to end this charade.

“This is what I think of the great Phillipe Du Monte.”

Straightening to his full height, Rob then turned to face the mantelpiece. He grabbed the urn containing the earthly remains of the man he’d never met but hated with a passion. He knew the next piece of his plan contained a potential flaw but had several contingencies. Luckily, the lid of the urn unscrewed easily. He put it on the shelf. Still facing the fireplace, He unzipped his fly onehanded and with great relief started urinating into the urn. He looked over his shoulder at the shocked faces all around the room. They were too stunned, too disbelieving to move.

About two-thirds of the way through this performance, Avril was the first to react. She threw herself at Rob and grabbed the urn with both her tiny hands, trying to wrench it out of Rob’s firm grip. Their tussle caused Rob to lose control over the direction of his stream. It left the urn but continued with no less force, hitting Avril on the torso. She looked down, horrified, and took her hands off the urn and backed away, her face a picture of revulsion. Her whimper of pain and disgust was music to Rob’s ears.

Rob clenched, and returned his penis to his pants. With a clear run to the door leading back out to the hall, he took the rehearsed route to the bathroom just down the corridor. Hearing footsteps behind him, he accelerated. Reaching the bathroom door, he burst in, entered and locked the door behind him.

With about half the ashes poured out into the bowl, he flushed. By now, the beating on the door was getting violent. The yelling wasn’t any friendlier. With one arm bracing the door, he waited for the tank to refill, while pouring the rest of the ashes into the bowl.

Using the time the cistern took to refill, Rob rinsed the remainder of the ashes off the internal sides of the urn at the small sink and sloshed them into the toilet bowl too. It was awkward trying to defend his position and complete his task, but his determination gave him the dexterity he needed. As soon as he heard the cistern refilling noise slow, he flushed again. After dumping the now empty urn in the bowl, he moved his bracing arm and stood back.

He smiled in grim satisfaction. Part One of his plan was achieved. Now for Part Two; his escape.

Within seconds, the door burst open. Rob put his shoulder down and barged through the five or so men in his path. Amazingly, they didn’t block his path as he returned to the parlour. Perhaps they were too much in shock—everyone had heard the toilet flushing and knew exactly what had happened. Avril was sobbing uncontrollably on a chair.

“Phillipe Du Monte is where he deserves to be.” Rob paused for effect. “With the other turds.”

Stopping only long enough to glare at each of the remaining occupants of the room, Rob spat on the portrait of Phillipe Du Monte.

His goal achieved, the grinning husband of Karen McDonald left. He had no idea whether you could be charged with assault on a dead man, but he didn’t want to find out. He drove across the border an hour and fifteen minutes later.

——————————-

By the time Rob’s two sons arrived in their hometown, it was too late to visit their old house. Both were secretly dreading it. They checked into a motel, rang some old school friends, and went out on the town. Watching his little brother’s attempts to get laid, Kevin wondered how his mother could ever have suspected he was gay.

Consequently, they were hungover again the next day. It was just after lunch when they felt well enough to drive their hire car to their old home. There had been no answer to their email to their father and he still wasn’t answering his phone. They were both somewhat relieved about that. If he’d found out their plan, they were both almost certain Rob would have forbidden it. That would have put them in the difficult position of abandoning something they felt they really needed to do or defying him. Neither would do that. Not now.

There was a strange car in the driveway. They walked in the unlocked front door. Karen was surprised and delighted to see her sons. She was totally oblivious that their return greetings were stilted. She hustled them into the lounge and introduced them to a man sitting on the couch with a notebook. John was a reporter for a national art magazine.

Oscar followed the direction of Kevin’s gaze to the painting of their mother propped on the mantelpiece. The nude, highly sexualised painting of their mother. Like Kevin, he cringed and quickly averted his gaze. It was not the image of her he wanted in his head.

John noted their reactions as he shook hands with both.

“Your mother was just telling me about this magnificent painting and her affair with Phillipe Du Monte. I’m writing an article on the painting and how it’s going to be the centrepiece of the upcoming Du Monte exhibition.”

As one, Kevin and Oscar turned to stare at their mother in shock. She returned their gaze unflinchingly.

“What’s wrong? Now that your father knows, I can finally tell the truth openly. I loved Phillipe and now I can honour that love and the painting that celebrates it.”

She stopped confused, when she finally registered the animosity in the stunned looks on both their faces.

“Look, I’m very sorry your father found out about my affair with Phillipe but it wasn’t my fault. Your Auntie Avril let the cat out of the bag. Your Dad has left for a while until he can come to terms with it.”

Kevin was literally spluttering when he finally answered.

“What about Dad? You… you’re not content to cheat on him quietly for twenty years. Now you want to humiliate him in front of the whole world? You want to trumpet his cuckoldry to all and sundry with not only a fucking magazine article but also a public display of that painting?”

Karen was a little taken back by Kevin’s vehemence.

“I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m proud of my relationship with Phillipe and, besides, the publicity will be good for the exhibition. It’s quite flattering, really, to have my picture as the first thing people will see when they walk in the door. Your father just has to accept that. I’m sure he eventually will as he’s always been very understanding of my needs.”

Both sons were stunned. Now they understood their father’s anger at Karen’s complete lack of remorse. No remorse and zero regard for their father’s feelings.

A very uncomfortable silence descended. John, the most sensitive one in the room, felt obliged to raise the conversational temperature, as it were.

“Your mother tells me that you knew about her affair and that Phillipe actually helped to raise you when your father abandoned the family.”

Oscar acted on pure reflex against the man that was attacking his father. His actions were partly fuelled by guilt. With three quick strides, he reached the smaller man had risen to his feet in defence. This allowed Oscar to lift him off the floor by his lapels. Saliva hit John’s face as Oscar literally foamed at the mouth.

“My father did not abandon us. Not ever. He was called to serve in the navy during the first gulf war. Since when do we say that men serving their country have abandoned their families? If you fucking dare say Dad deserted us in your article I will sue your ass off. Yours and your fucking magazine’s. While my father was over there being shot at, that paragon of motherhood and wifehood over there, saw fit to shack up with the slimeball you’re writing an article about. A man that wasn’t worthy of licking my father’s boots.”

Oscar kept eye contact with John throughout this tirade, so he didn’t see the expression on his mother’s face. Kevin did. Karen went as white as a sheet.

“Did she also tell you she was screwing him for a year before my father was called away and for years after he came back? Did she tell you that she used to take us to see him and leave us outside while she went into the bedroom with Phillipe fucking Du Monte?” John shook his head. Not content with John’s response, Oscar spat out, “So if you want to talk about abandonment, talk about that one.”

His rage subsiding, Oscar released him. John fell back onto the couch.

“Did she also tell you that she ordered us not to say anything to Dad? That it would break up the family if we did? That she lied to us when she told us that Dad knew about her affair but didn’t want anyone to publicly acknowledge it? That the conflict that caused in us, drove a wedge between both of us and Dad? That it caused me to lose respect for my father and spurred me to leave home as soon as I could and hardly talk to him for the last four years? Did she?”

John’s gaze left Oscar’s angry face and shifted to his brother’s. Kevin nodded his agreement with his brother. John’s expression automatically took on a look of disgust as he turned his gaze to Karen.

She saw the look and years of self-deception began to crumble. Until four months ago, she had it all. A husband who worshipped her, sons that loved her, and an exotic, sophisticated French lover. A lover that was justified as long as Rob never found out. Sure, she’d had to do some iffy things to keep the secret, but never anything unjustifiable. Before the boys came home, she’d seen in the reporter’s eyes that he understood that the pure and unsullied love she had for Phillipe justified the deception.

Now, her lover was dead and she knew she faced many months of recrimination from her husband and sons until things returned to normal. Far worse than that though, were her inner demons. She’d survived Rob telling her that the affair was wrong. By their actions, her sons had just told her the same thing. That, too, was damaging, but survivable. They were just children, really. Naïve and untested by life, unversed in the ways of the world. No, the look of condemnation on a neutral party’s face, a face that until five minutes ago showed nothing but approval for her actions of twenty years, finally got through her defences. He was a man long au fait with the art world and he, too, disapproved of her actions.

She’d been wrong. She knew that, because that look on John’s face opened a floodgate, releasing years of suppressed guilt.

With so much hate and condemnation surrounding her from three sources that should never have been threats, Karen’s mind retreated to the one beautiful thing remaining in her life. Her memories of Phillipe Du Monte. Inwardly, she remembered. Outwardly, she smiled. The smile was misinterpreted by all three witnesses present, and unleashed hell.

Two of the witnesses, Kevin and Oscar, interpreted that smile as evidence that so far they had completely failed to get their mother to acknowledge any wrongdoing on her part. That made them wild.

John, the third witness, thought the smile was triggered by the pride this woman felt at her successful covering tactics over the years. That was just wrong, in his opinion. The silence was very uncomfortable. The smile on Karen’s face faded as her mind returned to reality. She knew she had much damage control to do. With a glance at the painting for courage, she composed her thoughts and prepared to speak. The ultrasensitive John was trying to change the subject and beat her to it.

“Oscar, after what your Mom told me, I’m very surprised at your show of aggression.”

“Why? What did she tell you?”

“She said you were gay.”

Oscar reeled backward. Was there no limit to his mother’s crimes? Typical of many young men who weren’t ultra-masculine, Oscar had always subconsciously worried that some may consider he was gay. It was one thing for his mother to think it, but to tell total strangers without having spoken to him first was beyond loathsome. Why hadn’t she asked him about it? Her belief, her arrogance, that she knew best for everyone infuriated him. At that point the instinct to hurt morphed into the desire to kill. The agreed Plan B, a limited assault on their mother, was discarded in favour of the drunken, 2a.m., Plan A.

Kevin watched the interplay of emotions on his brother’s face. With a sibling’s psychic connection, he knew what was coming. With a dispassion that his brother lacked, he shouted,

“Bro, Plan B, PLAN B!”

That shouted plea fell on deaf, enraged, ears. Oscar turned from the reporter, took four paces and glared down at his mother. He fought to keep his voice under 120 decibels. He succeeded but couldn’t keep the venom from his tone.

“Why don’t you tell him, Mother? Tell him that Phillipe Du Monte never loved you. That he used you to get to us. That when he lived with us, when our father, our protector, was away; after he’d had his way with you in Dad’s bed; he used to visit us in ours. How you invited a predator into our home and did nothing while he abused your children.”

The feelings and emotions in the room at that precise moment were almost too shocking and disparate to describe.

Oscar waited for the meaning of his words to register on his mother, anxious to return some of the pain she’d heaped on him, his brother, and his father.

Kevin was a little shocked that they’d lost control of the situation so quickly. Their Plan B, to limit this misinformation to their mother and maybe Avril Du Monte, had been scrapped in favour of Plan A, the original nuclear option. That wouldn’t stop him backing his little brother up, though.

John was shocked, then excited. He knew how big a story this was. It was 17.2 seconds before the word ‘Pulitzer’ optimistically entered his consciousness.

Karen, already reeling from self-doubt and guilt, couldn’t comprehend what Oscar had said. The disparity between the image of Phillipe she held dear, and the creature her son was describing, was just too big. Her conscious mind was battling to stop her subconscious mind running away. The latter was in full denial. The former wanted to hug and protect her children. She tore her gaze away from Oscar and looked at Kevin who nodded confirmation.

With the natural objectivity common to journalists, John was the first to openly react to this bombshell. He turned to Karen.

“Please tell me you didn’t know that was going on. Your infatuation with Phillipe couldn’t have led you to condone this, surely.”

Inside Karen’s head, the battle raged. Love, beautiful memories, remembered pleasures, drew the wagons in a circle to face the onslaught of doubt and the implications of this horrible revelation. It may have been an even contest, except there was a fifth column. An enemy in the camp. While her new knowledge was hammering at the gates, her own buried guilt was lifting the latch from the inside. A hundred arguments were battling to be heard. One of them was, it was all a lie. Rob was right; she was lied to by an expert and completely used. The outward manifestation of all this conflict was her slumping back in the chair, eyes open and staring straight ahead, mouth mumbling incoherent words. John beat a hasty retreat. He had a story to file. He would return later for details. Perhaps when the atmosphere wasn’t so poisonous.

The two junior McDonalds quietly conferred and waited to talk to their mother when she snapped out of it. They decided to play it by ear. If she finally showed remorse, then they’d tell her the truth. If she didn’t, then they would lay it on thicker. That logic was flawed. Things couldn’t get worse.

To justify her past behaviours to her own conscience over the years, Karen had compartmentalised part of her soul. Safe behind a wall, the bad elements had corroded, atrophied, putrefied. That rot began attacking the walls that confined it. Now they were collapsing.

———————————

On the drive back from Mount Royal, Rob reviewed the outcomes of his actions. While satisfying, he knew they would never become public. How do you hurt a dead person? Outing Phillipe as a wife stealer would make page 37 of any newspaper, right after the “Lemmings-for-sale” section. Frustrated, he reverted to a technique of thinking that had worked for him in the past. Stop thinking about it. Sometimes the solution came out of the blue.

He stopped at a roadside restaurant for a very late lunch. Logging in to the facility’s WIFI, he read the email from his sons, returned to his car and was emotional for a while. Back on the road, he rang Kevin. He was pleasantly surprised both boys were already in town. They agreed to meet at a hotel ASAP.

The meeting was ecstatic, to say the least. Years of guilt and frustration gave way to an overwhelming love, long missed on all parts. When he sensed his sons shared his desire to hurt the memory of Phillipe and his co-conspirators, Rob shared the day’s activities with them. Kevin and Oscar roared with laughter when Rob related his second visit to the Mount Royal house.

Thus, it was about three hours into the reunion, that the sons of Rob recounted their own tale of retribution. They started by explaining their motivation, to destroy their mother’s pleasant memories and cause some post-mortem damage to Phillipe, as a gift and olive branch to their father.

Rob listened to the story with mounting horror. After they quickly added that the accusations against their mother’s lover were wholly fictitious, he was conflicted. As a more mature man and a father, he knew accusing someone of child molestation was about as bad as it got. Deep down, he was proud of their tactic but appalled at the same time. When they described the effect on their mother, alarm bells rang.

“Was she okay by the time you boys left?”

“Um, I think so. She mumbled something about wanting to be alone.” Oscar’s hesitant reply didn’t reassure Rob. He turned to Kevin whose expression didn’t alleviate Rob’s fears. He might loathe what Karen had done and want to divorce her, but he didn’t want to destroy her.

By silent agreement they all jumped in Rob’s car and headed home.

————————-

After crying for a long time, Avril drove the four hours to see Karen, needing to tell someone who truly knew and loved Phillipe about the unforgivable things Rob had done. To see the earthly remains of her late, great husband defiled like that was just… appalling. As a woman, Avril knew exactly how to offload some pain, share it with someone who loved Phillipe as much as she did.

Already, the beautiful thing Karen and her Phillipe had shared, was turning gangrenous. Away from Phillipe’s hypnotic influence, her own airbrushed memories were beginning to show cracks, reality intruding. And reality drew with a much harsher brush. Uglier strokes.

She remembered back to when she’d first found out about her husband’s various affairs. How angry they’d made her feel. No, not angry… helpless. Rejected and inadequate. She was a nothing, a nobody, married to a famous man. If she’d objected to his activities, she risked losing him. It was beginning to dawn on her that she’d always found it humiliating but had suppressed those feelings for her own psychological survival. How else could she maintain her love?

To placate her own outrage after discovering Phillipe’s first affair, she’d insisted they open their marriage, but the one time she’d suggested enforcing her right to take a lover, Phillipe had reacted negatively. He didn’t touch her in months following her fling. Punishment by silent rejection. She’d learned her lesson well and in subsequent years satisfied herself with sharing her husband’s lovers.

When no one answered her knocking, she turned the knob of the unlocked door and walked in. She found Karen in a chair, staring at the painting on the shelf. She didn’t look well. Avril’s own problems were set aside for the moment. She kneeled before her friend.

“Cherie, what is wrong?”

The battle in Karen’s head had just ended. The victor as inevitable as waking tomorrow older than today. Memories of love, stunning happiness, and pleasure were in a smouldering heap. Standing over the smoking pile was a monster called self-loathing. The beast had coalesced around a core of twenty years of supressed guilt. Wrapped around that was memories of anger from Rob, Kevin, and Oscar. Coating that was a veneer she didn’t recognise but was the mutated remnant of memories. Every good element turned to bad.

The outer coating needed no professional eye to identify. It was the certain knowledge that she had failed in her most important role as a mother. An imperative that a million years of evolution had drilled into just about every species more evolved than a cockroach. The duty to protect her young. That was bad enough. The fact that she’d introduced the danger to the nest in the first place, was inches away from destroying her.

This was the hulk that greeted Avril. The last remnant of the conscious mind of Karen McDonald, unable to accept the blame, for there lay destruction, lashed out. Never once looking away from the painting, she spoke in a dull voice.

“I invited Phillipe Du Monte into my house and he molested my children. I allowed it. You allowed it.”

Avril rocked back on her knees as if struck. Karen’s words were delivered with such stark certainty that they bypassed all logical denial. She found herself in the same place Karen had been before. Alternatively looking at opposite ends of a vast field, with memory at one fence and new fact at the other.

“But, cherie, that can’t be true. My Phillipe would never…”

“He did. My sons were just here. They told me and they told that reporter you sent. I’m a bad mother and soon the whole world will know it. You allowed it.”

“But, Karen. That can’t be true…”

“HE ABUSED MY CHILDREN AND YOU ALLOWED IT!”

Before Avril could react, Karen swarmed out of the chair, knocking the tiny woman over. The enraged monster strode to the mantelpiece and grabbed the painting. With uncharacteristic strength, Karen firmly grabbed the frame on each side and brought it to her rising right knee. The wooden frame broke into several pieces which became about five pieces as the enraged woman continued to smash it against the hardwood mantlepiece above the fire.

Finally, the canvas was released from most of the frame apart from one side still attached by half a dozen staples. Karen bundled this up, opened the door of the fire and used the poker to stuff it all in. The hungry flames quickly consumed the oil-rich paint.

With murder in her eyes, Karen rose; turning to face Avril; with the iron poker in hand. Avril saw the look in Karen’s eyes and knew she was in grave danger. She sprang to her feet and fled toward the door. The glancing blow of the poker hitting the side of her head would have done more than make her stumble if it had hit full on. With a ringing in her ears, she raced to her car and escaped.

Fifteen minutes later, Rob and his offspring ran in the open front door. They surveyed the damage in the parlour, but a hunt of the house revealed no Karen, or her car when they belatedly looked.

An hour later, they were still talking about what to do when the police called. Karen had been arrested for criminal damage. Rushing to the police station, Rob was filled in by the duty sergeant. His wife had been arrested in the south mall where she’d successfully smashed half a dozen paintings famously restored by the legendary Phillipe Du Monte. Rob recognised the paintings. They were the ones Phillipe had been restoring when he first met Karen.

When security had first accosted Karen, she’d rendered one of the guards unconscious with an iron poker. It had taken being tasered to finally get her under control. No, he couldn’t see her. An ambulance had arrived ten minutes prior, his wife had been forcibly sedated and removed to a hospital. The sergeant gave the name of the local mental hospital.

EPILOGUE

Rob was refused access to Karen at the hospital, so returned home. He squeezed the name of the magazine from his sons. He never spoke to John but briefed his editor on the hoax. The story should have died there, except for a massive, collective error of judgement.

Avril took the news of the future devastation of her late husband’s name back to a family meeting. Her side of the family immediately took to the hills, trying to put as much distance between themselves and Phillipe Du Monte as possible. After having seen what happened to equally high-profile artists like Rolf Harris, they had no doubts about the future.

Phillipe’s side of the family called on one of their family members who worked for a marketing company. She convinced them their best strategy was to pre-empt by holding a press conference before the magazine article was published. No one thought, perhaps from collective embarrassment, to try to get the article suppressed. The French cultural acceptance of extramarital affairs had got them into this. The same cultural, republican, feelings of the freedom of the press, compounded it.

That is how the world discovered the story. A well-meant, but in hindsight, misguided attempt at damage control. The press pounced on the corpses. The Albany media, with the local connection, were all over it. Karen was pilloried as an accomplice, or, at the very least, a negligent mother. Her vandalism of Du Monte’s restoration works in the south mall gave credence to the story. They left Kevin and Oscar alone after they publicly denied being abused. Many victims don’t wish their suffering to be openly acknowledged.

Avril never talked to any of Rob’s family again and neither she nor her daughters ever knew what the truth was. The value of Phillipe’s artworks plummeted as everyone tried to dump them before their value reached nothing. Small plaques next to paintings that read, “Restored by Phillipe Du Monte,” quietly disappeared. Textbooks including descriptions of his techniques, were quietly edited and reprinted. His daughters, who had honoured his memory by keeping his surname, quietly adopted their husbands’.

The exhibition of his works never happened. His memory was effectively expunged from history. The field that was the memory of Phillipe Du Monte was sown with salt.

By contrast, the landfill containing the ashes of the late artist flushed down the sewers, along with thousands of tons of treated poo from his neighbours, became a verdant oasis, beloved by happy families for generations to come.

With royalty payments withering to nothing and the value of Phillipe’s paintings approaching that of firewood, Avril was forced to sell the family mansion. She died in virtual poverty, cursing Karen for utterly ruining her life and, vicariously, through her late husband, her place in the history books.

For a small amount of time, Rob wondered if he should support Karen and encourage some sort of reconciliation between her and the boys. Then he concluded, “Fuck it”, she’d forced him to live a lie for twenty years. Effectively stole all the happy memories from what should have been the best time of his life. For that he felt he owed her nothing at all. The boys were big enough and ugly enough to make up their own minds and he would support whatever they chose.

What he owed was all to himself. He owed himself a catch up on the time lost by the estrangement with his sons. He owed himself the chance to end his days with someone who actually did love him as much as he loved her.

But first things first. Rob, Kevin, and Oscar packed their old camping gear, fishing rods, and what amounted to about half a barrel of bourbon. Memories of that week were a blur, but three close knit men emerged at the end of it. They still find the time to get together for a week a year and do something bad like that. Their relationship was never challenged again.

Rob thought that he’d never trust another woman. He feared his ability to truly read their feelings. Then he met Bella. He immediately knew she wore her heart on her sleeve, and that she was incapable of guile. He vowed he would be exactly the same. The relationship being fairly new, Rob tried to defer the annual trip, two years after the first trip. Bella overheard him on the phone to Kevin, insisted on speaking to him, found the real story and told Rob she wasn’t available that week. That episode cemented a tight bond between son and stepmother and Kevin proudly stood at his father’s side two years later at their wedding.

Karen, under psychological advice, didn’t see her sons for the four months she was hospitalised. With her inner demons threatening to drown her in despair, the system wouldn’t even contemplate releasing her. By the time she was released, it was too late.

The letter of apology her counsellor encouraged her to send to Rob, to hopefully begin dispersing the guilt, was returned with ‘Not known at this address’ written on it. Rob had moved out of the house and out of her life.

When she finally had the courage to contact Oscar, he told her in no uncertain terms that with the amount of damage she’d inflicted on both he and his father, she had to be kidding to think that they could be mother and son again. He never relented and at the time of her death, Karen had only ever seen photos of his three daughters and one son.

Kevin did try to have a relationship with his mother, but it was strained. Karen continued carrying much guilt over what she’d forced on her son, and, despite his best efforts, Kevin still felt much resentment that she’d robbed him of so much of his life, of his childhood.

Toward the end, their times together were so uncomfortable that Kevin began making excuses not to make the long trip. In fact, the first time Karen met Kevin’s new wife was after the birth of their first child. Karen flew up but it was obvious Melissa held her in absolute contempt and trusted her not a jot. Karen scolded her son for telling Melissa about her relationship with Phillipe Du Monte, managing to shock him. The idea of concealing anything from his wife was an alien concept to him. Karen, of course, didn’t see the problem. A leopard is a leopard is a leopard and has spots.

The whole week was so uncomfortable that Karen vowed it would never happen again. She tried to get Kevin to bring her grandchildren to see her without his wife, but he rightly refused.

With no family, shunned by her old friends, and never having shrugged off the ‘once smeared with, never completely clear of’ stain of child abuse, Karen’s heart finally broke for the last time at the early age of fifty-eight. With no better idea of what to do with her ashes, Kevin scattered them in the backyard of the house she’d hardly left for the last few years. His father attended the funeral, but only to support his son.

That night, the neighbour’s tomcat sniffed the unusual smelling ground and once he was bored, dug a shallow hole in the soft spot and crapped in it. Then he deigned to respond to his mistress’s shouts to come home for dinner. God, he hated the name she’d given him. Who the fuck would call a cat Phillipe?

THE END

Now lighten the fuck up.

No joke today, just a story from my chequered past. I once lived in a residential college while I was attending university. Yes, folks, I’m edjumacated. That four-year degree was the best five years of my life. I discovered beer and girls, although I can’t remember in which order. In the 60’s the college was all male. In the 70s it became coeducational.

We had a lecture one day by a guy that was an ex Rector of the college but was now losing it. He stood in front of 250 students and happily proclaimed, “Great was the day this college became bisexual.” And wondered why 250 people promptly wet themselves with laughter.