The Seven Deadly Sins – Envy

by Vandemonium1

I have gone back to my roots a little with this one. There is no sex and the husband is once again faced with a situation in which he appears to have very limited options. 

My heartfelt thanks to Creativitytakescourage. Not only for the lightning fast edit but for reminding me that good things happen to good people.

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Until 5:30p.m., today was a typical day. Let me see now, how did it start? Up at 7:00a.m., showered, got the kids out of bed, then made their breakfast and school lunches. After that, I woke Tracey to make sure she got eleven-year-old James and eight-year-old Maddy on the school bus. She was tired from her late night tennis tournament. After kissing the kids goodbye, I left at eight for my job as foreman of the local authority’s civil works gang. After a typical day, I headed home a little after five.

Today was pay day and I stopped at an ATM to get some cash for the weekend. The bloody machine swallowed my card. No message or warning; just refused to give me cash or my card back. In hindsight, it was maybe a little silly to put in my credit card to try to get a cash advance. It was Maddy’s birthday on Sunday and I intended spending Saturday buying her something special. The bloody machine swallowed that one as well. The bank was closed so I just headed home.

At home, I noticed Tracey’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I rushed to the front door, hoping she hadn’t made the kids come home to an empty house again. She knew I hated that. After the last time, I’d told her to ring me if she had something important on after school, so I could come home early.

As I was putting the key in the lock, I heard a voice behind me say, “Mr. David Brown?”

I automatically said, “Yes,” as I turned round. A middle aged man held an A4, yellow envelope out to me with the name, ‘Slugden and Pyke’ in one corner.

He handed it to me. “You have been served, sir,” and walked away.

Confused just doesn’t come close to how I was feeling. I continued into the house. As soon as I got in, I felt it was unusually empty. Two minutes later, I’d discovered that, not only was it bereft of the three other members of my family, but all their clothes and possessions had disappeared as well. There was no note or message on the phone. Nothing at all. All I had to answer the swarming confusion I felt, was the damned yellow envelope.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I ripped it open. The first document, I soon discovered, was a divorce application. I’d never seen one before, but the title left no doubt. There were those little sticky labels saying, ‘Sign Here’, sticking out the side. I didn’t bother reading it, just skipped to the next document. This one was a little harder to understand. Eventually, I figured it said I had two months to vacate my own house, so it could be sold. What the f…?

The third document was even harder to interpret. Eventually, the penny dropped—some guy called Michael Smith wanted to adopt my kids. At the risk of repeating myself, what the f…?

The last document had a title that brokered no confusion. The restraining order said I was forbidden from approaching within two hundred metres of my wife, my children, or Mr. Michael Smith and his residence of 12 Riverview Drive blah, blah, blah.

I felt completely bushwacked. The sheer enormity of the change to my life, threatened to completely collapse my soul. I think it may have, but for one thing which I didn’t realise at the time. The problem was so enormous I couldn’t grasp it in my mind in one bite. My automatic emotional defence mechanisms had cut in to save my sanity. My mind was blank to start with, then little certainties started to drip into my consciousness. My wife had left me to set up with some guy I’d never heard of. She’d taken the kids and wanted me to release them so he could adopt them. She’d closed all our joint bank accounts and wanted to sell our house to get that cash as well. Her partner in crime was called Michael Smith and he lived at 12 Riverview Drive.

What was making things worse, was my embarrassment about my naivety. If Tracey had taken this step, then whatever was happening had been building for a long time. I hadn’t seen a single clue. I knew Tracey wasn’t that smart, so the only conclusion possible was I’d been really dumb. I searched my memory for retrospective clues.

Sure, Tracey had become a little distant about six months ago, but when I pointed this out, she’d snapped out of whatever funk she was in. Our sex life, that had shrunk to a shadow of its’ former glory, came back with a vengeance. In fact, it had come back bigger and much better than ever. Out was the sexually repressed wife I knew. In was an adventurous sex maniac I didn’t recognise. I smiled as a recollected some of the things that had happened in our bedroom recently.

Could they be things she’d been road testing with Mr. Smith first? No. That just wasn’t Tracey. The solution to that one filled my veins with ice. I now think she’d always wanted to do those things but her repressive upbringing wouldn’t allow her to do them with someone she respected. The logical conclusion to this was both sad and amusing. She’d lost respect for me six months ago; that was the sad bit. The funny bit was I was getting kinky-sex-Tracey, while Mr. Smith was almost certainly getting repressed, missionary-only-Tracey.

Hold that thought, Dave. You’ll need every opportunity to laugh to get through what’s to come.

I was still numb with shock as I decided on my first course of action. It may have been a surprising move to anyone who hadn’t read my last psychological appraisal. My boss had come up with the trendy idea of getting all his senior staff profiled. I was proud of the line in their report, ‘Mr. Brown is not particularly rule bound.’ A subtle way of saying I was a bit of a cowboy who was results focused and got the job done using accepted guidelines as a reference only. This report was followed by my receiving the highest professional compliment ever at that years’ performance review. My boss, who was as straight-laced as they come, had sat me down and said, “Dave, every time I have a difficult job that needs doing; I give it to you. On that day, I write in my diary how I think you will do it and how long it will take you. I’m happy to say I’ve never once been right.” He then gave me the highest score possible and we had a good laugh. Unfortunately, that meant nothing, as I was already at the top of the tree my qualifications allowed. The pressure of supporting a wife and children had precluded me completing my Engineering qualifications to allow me to jump to the next tree.

Half an hour later, I was parked just down the road from 12 Riverview Drive. Let’s just say it wasn’t two hundred metres. Tracey’s car was there, but there were no signs of life. This was the poshest neighbourhood in our town and what I presumed was Smith’s house was as big as the rest in the street. It suddenly struck me the name was vaguely familiar. Could Michael Smith be that annoying guy on the TV adverts? The one that insisted on appearing in his own ads that changed every week with monotonous regularity. He was the owner of one of the town’s few superstores. If memory served me right, he had taken it over in a hostile takeover about two years before. If I was right, then I was in trouble. This guy was loaded.

My reverie was interrupted when the front door opened and a guy walked out to his car and drove away. I recognised him as the same middle aged man that had served me a little over an hour ago. This prompted me to open the yellow envelope I’d brought with me and read the divorce petition. Talk about a declaration of war. Tracey was asking for absolutely everything—house, cars, money, alimony, child support; the works. I was also to be denied access to my children completely. I knew Tracey was competitive. She not only had to win everything but insisted on crushing her opposition while doing it. The petition was archetypal Tracey. I was still pondering this, when a half hour later, the door opened again. An early forties, well-dressed lady was propelled onto the top step. She stood there as a large suitcase was brought out and set down next to her by a 50ish man who retreated back inside and shut the door. The lady stood there for several minutes clutching a familiar looking yellow envelope. Finally, she rolled the suitcase to the gate and started walking down the street towards me. The look on her face was exactly what the inside of my head felt like. Totally confused.

As she neared my car I stepped out in front of her. She stopped two paces away and looked at me with glazed eyes, red from crying. She had her envelope in one hand and her suitcase drag handle in the other. I just held up my envelope and said, “Snap.”

She looked at mine, then at hers and burst out crying. She made no move, as I lifted her suitcase into my trunk then held the door open for her. Knowing there was a fair chance we were being observed and even now the police were being called, I drove down the road, took a few turns and parked. Strangely, knowing she was in the same predicament, triggered my protective instinct and cleared my head a little. Even with her tear ravaged eyes, she was a striking woman. With no sign she was about to take the initiative, I opened.

“I’m Dave and I’m guessing my wife knows your husband.”

She turned her grief stricken eyes to me and gave me a weak smile. I saw the sorrow retreat a little as I watched.

“I’m Wendy. Is your wife’s name Tracey?”

I nodded.

“I caught them in bed together last month. We were working it out I thought. Then tonight…”

She broke out crying again. I gave her time to settle. Somehow, the news that Tracey’s betrayal of me was now total and complete didn’t shock me as I would have imagined.

“Can I drop you off anywhere? Family or friends?”

“I have no family around here and Michael managed to alienate me from all my friends.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

She shook her head. I checked my wallet. Less than $50. I drove to a cheap restaurant I knew and escorted Wendy inside. To cut a long story short, we exchanged life stories.

I was thirty-two, had married in my second year at university and quit the following year when we’d become victims of the fallibility of condoms. Tracey opposed an abortion and I’d willingly quit to provide for a family. Tracey didn’t work and I thought we’d had a good marriage. I was slightly resentful of my wife’s laziness but accepted it in our increasingly selfish world. One thing that annoyed the shit out of me was that Tracey appeared a committed mother when around other people, but in private, was a little uncaring and self-centred. I’d given up raising that thorny issue. I was different. In public or private, I doted on my offspring. With my parents gone, and being an only child, my family was all I had.

Wendy was actually forty-one, and the daughter of a mother who had abandoned her. Her father had done his best, but the stress had sent him to an early grave. Her marriage to the much older Michael Smith had appeared normal, but childless. Michael blamed her, refusing to take any sort of fertility test, pointing to his multi successful siblings. Her inheritance had been consumed expanding Michael’s business.

At my suggestion, Wendy went to the ATM across from the restaurant to confirm none of her cards worked anymore. The conspirator’s assault had been thorough and well planned. Given time we could mount a successful counterattack, but for now we were bewildered, confused, and lost. In hindsight, having someone else’s problems to think about was the best therapy I could have had at this time.

Wendy was still in no shape to plan the future, so I invited her to share my big, but suddenly empty, house until she had a plan. I assured her I was only offering out of decency. I had no ulterior motives. We drove home and I helped her settle into the guest room. Then we shared a bottle of wine.

She reached over and put her hand on mine when I told her I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to see my kids anywhere near as much as I wanted to, if at all. In fact, she even shed the tears at my obvious pain that my upbringing prevented me from doing myself. Our mutual problem sharing could be held up as a classic counselling session. By the end of the first bottle, we’d reached some insightful conclusions. Their tactics were obviously designed to keep us on the back foot and too broke to retain lawyers of our own. Whatever Tracey’s motives were, she was obviously playing her best game to win. As usual. The idea of sharing the kids and the assets evenly after our marriage dissolved just wasn’t in her nature, so ending the marriage nicely wasn’t in the equation.

Wendy seemed like a thoroughly decent person and would make a helpful emotional ally. We went to our separate bedrooms knowing we weren’t totally alone in the world. The next day was all about distracting each other so our new circumstances didn’t overwhelm us. When she started falling into a funk, I would cheer her up with stories and jokes. When I felt the darkness approaching, she made me laugh somehow. It was a really bizarre day but we dragged each other through it. She was a bit of an enigma. For a gorgeous woman, she was strangely shy. With no other source of funds, we pooled our cash. With what I had in the cupboards and with shopping on a budget, we wouldn’t starve for a couple of weeks. We had fun shopping like the poor people we now were. It was an obvious culture shock for Wendy who had been in clover since she married Mr. Smith.

We ventured into a conversation about planning for the future but stopped when it became too painful. We watched a companionable movie together Saturday night.

Sunday morning, Wendy was still in bed when I had surprise visitors. Tracey’s father, John and kid sister, Beth. I invited them in for a coffee. We had always gotten on well, in fact, I suspected Beth had always had a crush on me. She’d been single for a couple of years since her former husband had run off with his secretary. As the coffee was brewing, Wendy appeared at the kitchen door in her dressing gown. She left apologising, obviously embarrassed to be seen dressed like that. John raised an eyebrow and looked coldly at me.

“Before you embarrass yourself, Dad, that is the wife of the man your daughter is shacked up with. He threw her out of the house Friday, the day I met her. I offered to let her stay as she had nowhere else to go. You see, I’m not the only one your offspring is trying to crush.”

“I’m sorry, Dave. Tracey’s mum was going to come as well but she’s too embarrassed. We know what Tracey’s done to you and I just wanted to let you know I’m extremely pissed off at her. I stopped short of telling her to get the hell out of our lives, but you know how it is, grandkids and all?”

“I understand, Dad, and thank you for your thoughts. The one thing that confuses me more than anything is why she’s doing this. I understand her tactics. Taking all the money, leaving me without a cent and wanting the house, is just her playing to win. But why?”

From the look on his face, I could tell the news about the money and house was previously unknown to him. His eyes opened wide.

“You mean she took everything?”

“Yes, Dad. All our accounts seem to have been closed, I don’t have a bean. She’s had me served with a notice to move out of the house and a restraining order against me seeing the kids.”

John’s eyes were as wide as saucers now, as the full horror of what his daughter was capable of sank in. He couldn’t make eye contact with me.

“I’m sorry, Dave. What a bitch. I can answer your question though. She explained why to her mum and I yesterday. In a nutshell: money. She said you’d gone as high as you would ever go and she wanted more. She thinks shacking up with a rich guy will give her what she wants. He’s over fifty, and I can tell by the way she talks about him, she doesn’t even like him that much. If I were him, I’d watch out. I reckon after she marries him, she’ll ditch him and take him for everything she can get. How I raised such a mercenary bitch is beyond me.”

“That’s bloody rich, Dad. It was her decision not to terminate her first pregnancy that made me give up university. If I’d kept going, I would be part way up a tall tree rather than at the top of a little one.”

John just shrugged.

“So why take the kids, Dad? We both know, deep down, she isn’t really the motherly type. Why not just take the money and leave me with my kids?”

“I…I don’t know, son.”

At this point, I noticed Beth looking rather incredulously at her father, but she said nothing. Obviously embarrassed beyond words, John made his final apologies and they left, after he shook my hand. I made him promise to give a birthday hug to my daughter from me. Beth gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “Back in an hour.” It was all rather intriguing.

Wendy and I were sharing breakfast when two mutual friends of Tracey and I showed up. They’d seen Tracey and an older guy out at a restaurant the previous night and wondered what was going on. I explained things from my point of view and Wendy told her story. They were both offended by Tracey’s actions. They were both bemused why she’d taken off with the kids. Apparently, they’d seen through Tracey’s good-mummy-when-people-were-around, act. We’d just finished telling them the story when one of Tracey’ friends turned up. We all told the story this time. She was as horrified as everyone else. We still hadn’t finished when Beth arrived back. She pulled me aside and handed me an envelope.

“There’s $1,000 in there, Dave. Let’s call it an ‘atoning for bitch sister’ loan, shall we? No, I insist, take it.”

As a proud man, I had real trouble accepting the envelope, but I was desperate. I took it, thanking her profusely.

“I also wanted to tell you Dad wasn’t being totally honest with you. Tracey came around yesterday and dumped the kids off. She told us almost everything. I wangled the rest out of her later. I have to tell you, she’s playing a very complicated game, Dave. Asking for the money and the house was the Shithead’s idea. They intend using the cash as a bargaining tool which they will “reluctantly” give in on if you cooperate and allow the divorce and let him adopt your kids. He is childless and really wants someone to leave his empire to. After your divorce, she has convinced him she intends to have a kid with him. After that, he will have his legacy and she will have her lifestyle. If you can wait that long, Dave, I’m sure she will lose interest in Jimmy and Maddy and hand them back to you.”

I stared at Beth incredulously. However, it all made sense in a cold, sociopathic way. He had a trophy wife already, so that answered my question of why he would be attracted to Tracey when she wasn’t that much of a catch. The lure of an overtly fertile wife would be a powerful magnet. However, I couldn’t accept Beth’s last thoughts. Tracey had suffered severe preeclampsia during both pregnancies. During her second caesarean, she’d opted to have a hysterectomy concurrently. She obviously hadn’t told either her family or her new beau. That, as much as her other actions, told me what a conniving bitch my wife had turned into.

“How did Tracey look when she was talking to you, Beth?”

“If you’re asking how she feels about what she’s done to you, Dave, then the answer is guilty. She tried to hide it but I could see it was breaking her up. She knows she is destroying a good man, but you know her, that won’t stop her.”

“What about you, Beth? Why are you supporting me?”

“It’s just the right thing to do, Dave. My sister always bullied me when we were growing up. What she’s doing to you is just plain wrong. It has offended my sensibilities. Remember, I have been where you are. I know how it feels to be abandoned. You were there for me when my mistake took off on me; not Tracey. I’m happy I now have a chance to return the favour. I’m on your side, Dave. I’ve always had a thing for you and I just can’t stand to see you abused like this.”

“Well, Beth, I just don’t know what to say. I can’t promise…”

“No, silly, I don’t want us to hook up. That would be just too weird. Besides, I’ve been seeing a guy for about a month now and we’re getting serious.”

“I’m happy for you, Beth, you’ve always been my favourite in-law. I hope this guy really works out for you.”

“Thanks, Dave. Just believe me that I’ll help any way I can. Think of me as your personal spy.”

With that we hugged and she left. I returned to Wendy and our friends. By the evening, we’d had to explain the developments to three more friends over the phone. All the gestures of support and empathy were cathartic. So much so, that after a jointly cooked meal, we discussed the future. Before we did, though, I took two lots of $200 from Beth’s stash and gave Wendy one. I showed her where I was putting the rest in the cookie jar. With Beth’s gift, I figured we could make it through to my next pay day. I told Wendy what Beth had related today. She didn’t seem surprised. Her childlessness had been an increasing issue in her marriage. Wendy mentioned I always seemed to get agitated at this time of night. I thought about it.

“It’s 8:30p.m. For as long as I can remember, I’ve read the kids stories at this time and put them to bed.”

I could see a tear in her eye as she said, “What are we going to do?”

“Well, my number one priority is the wellbeing of my kids and that obviously doesn’t include leaving them in the hands of those scheming pricks. Then, I need to have the means to look after them so that means going after the money. I haven’t decided about revenge yet but I find the thought of leaving them unpunished really offensive. What about you, Wendy?”

Her beautiful face hardened suddenly.

“If he’d just asked me for a divorce and offered me a fair share of our assets, I would have been fine. Now, I feel humiliated. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Dave, but now I just want to see him burn.”

She said this with such an intensity I vowed never to get on her bad side. I smiled to let her know I understood.

“Well, now we know what. Let’s discuss how.”

We stayed up for another three hours throwing ideas around. We discussed and discounted all conceivable ways of raising funds to buy some lawyers. There was no joy there. Being basically law abiding citizens, we limited our discussions to mainly legal and ethical methods of winning. We got nowhere. With no apparent way forwards, I asked Wendy to describe Shithead’s wealth. They had moved to town two years ago and he had cleaned them out buying the house and the store. Later, using the store, his house and his boat as leverage, he’d borrowed $2.5M to expand it. That was the only weak point I could see. We discussed using that vulnerability to attack him. If we could threaten his business, that may give us the leverage to get better terms on my seeing the kids. I didn’t give a shit about the money, but my kids were everything to me. Wendy was all in favour of a scorched earth policy on his business, but I was uncomfortable attacking a guy’s means of putting food on his table. Even a lowlife like him.

We went to bed way too late for a Sunday. At work on Monday, I told my boss what was going on. He offered what support he could, short notice leave and an advance on my annual leave. I tried to do my normal job but it was hard. Every second of the day, I missed my kids.

I gave up in the afternoon and just spent time with the authority’s financial controller and legal counsel. I should probably stop and tell you about the people I work with. People look down on those of us that work for local government. Everyone knows it’s a very safe organisation to work with, but pays poorly. So, almost like social outcasts, we band together to look after each other. If I was overseeing some roadworks and we had a little bitumen left over, well, let’s just say neither the financial controller nor the legal guy had gravel driveways. By the end of the afternoon, I knew a lot more about how business finances worked, and the limits of legality, than I did in the morning.

At home again, Wendy and I discussed our days. She had cooked dinner, after spending the day looking for a job. She’d been a PA before quitting to become a wife. We were relaxing after cleaning up, when a phone call and a visitor changed my life.

At 7:30p.m. the phone rang and I picked it up.

“Daddy, where are you, Daddy?”

It was Maddy. A lump threatened to block my throat.

“I’m here, darling. At our house.”

“I don’t like it here, Daddy. Please…”

At that point, I heard Tracey’s voice in the background, “Madeline, who are you speaking to,” then the phone went dead.

Wendy saw the expression of thunder on my face and asked who it was. I said, “Maddy,” and headed towards the door. Wendy chased after me and tried to restrain me. 5’ 2” against 6’ 1”, yeah, that was going to work.

“Don’t, Dave! That’s what they want. They want you in jail for breaching the restraining order. Don’t do it.”

That pulled me up. Instead of walking out the door I headed up the stairs to my bedroom to be emotional for a while in private. I’m not sure how long I lay there, but suddenly there was a soft tap on the door and Wendy came in carrying three of the kid’s books.

“Will you read me a story?”

I stared at her, then the books. Silently, I shuffled over and made room for her to lie beside me. I chose Maddy’s favourite and began reading. By the end, I was calm again. I leaned over and kissed Wendy’s forehead just as I had Maddy’s for eight years. She smiled. Up until now, I’d pushed most thoughts of my kids into the background. The thought of losing them or having them living in broken homes, was just too much for me to handle emotionally just then.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. I was stunned to see Sophia—never—Sophie standing there. She was Tracey’s best friend and I’d always got on well with her. I invited her in and introduced her to Wendy. Sophia had trouble making eye contact with either of us.

After some small talk, “I just wanted to apologise to you, Dave. Tracey put me in the position of knowing in advance some of what she was going to do. That’s why I haven’t seen you much for the last five months. She made me promise not to tell you about her affair. Sorry. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know what she’s like when she has her mind set on something. I knew she was going to divorce you and fight you over the kids.”

I remained silent when she went quiet. Here was a girl with an extremely troubled conscience. My first reflex was; here’s the enemy and if she’s expecting sympathy she’s going to leave disappointed. Then it struck me. Maybe here was another source of inside information. For a decent person, guilt can be a serious motivator. I just had to add to it a little.

“It’s okay, Sophia. I can see what a horrible position that would have put you in.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

“You do know she closed our accounts and left me without a cent don’t you?”

“Yes, she was bragging about it when I saw her tonight. I say bragging, but I think it was just bravado. I think she’s suffering extreme guilt, inwardly, over what she’s done to you.”

Until now, Sophia had struggled to make eye contact but now she looked firmly into mine.

“For the record, Dave. I didn’t believe for a second what she said about you hitting the kids. I’ve seen how you and she are around James and Maddy and I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“WHAT?”

“Didn’t you know? She told child services you physically abused the kids. She said they couldn’t prosecute because there was no evidence, but the allegations alone were enough to get the restraining order…”

The shock of this news caused me to slump in my chair. The fucking slut. I was ten times the parent she was. Both my house guests just stared at the kaleidoscope of emotions that must have played out across my face. I was oblivious to all except the last one. Pure, implacable hatred. As my whirling mind settled, I knew with dead certainty what I had to do. If one party in a contest fights clean, and the other dirty, then the result is inevitable. I knew I had to fight as dirty as I could imagine. Then I had to get a better imagination. I have no idea how long it was before I was capable of speech.

“Will that woman stop at nothing to win? I’ve never laid a hand on my kids.”

“Yes, I can see that in your face, Dave. Like I said, it didn’t sound right when she told me. I know lots of fathers and they’re always going out with the boys to bars or fishing. I know you spend every free moment with your kids. I’ve seen you with them, and know you would take a bullet for them without hesitation.”

“Too bloody right I would. They’re my future. What a lying, devious bitch. You know what her full game plan is, don’t you, Sophia? We’ve found out from… another source, she intends leveraging our money and this house against getting full custody of the kids. Then she wants Wendy’s husband to adopt the kids, while all the while telling him she will have one with him. He’s desperate for an heir, apparently. I’m sure she will delay attempting to have a child with him until they’re married, saying she doesn’t want their child to be born out of wedlock.”

“But she can’t have another child, Dave.”

“I know that and you know that, but Mike Sucker Smith doesn’t. By the time he finds out, she will have traded half of our modest house and bank accounts for half his fortune. The collateral damage to me, the kids, and you, is purely don’t-give-a-fuck-territory to Tracey.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What type of best friend lies to you about her husband abusing his kids?”

I stopped and watched the ultimate truth sink in to Sophia. Her best friend was a sociopathic bitch. Clearly embarrassed, she made her excuses and left. I tried to retreat upstairs and be emotional again, but Wendy grabbed me and hugged me. Neither of us said anything. We just enjoyed the companionship in silence. Two humans in pain, seeking solace. Eventually, I thanked her and we retired for the night.

 I don’t know how much sleep Wendy got, but I certainly didn’t get much. The offence I took at Tracey’s tactics battled with the pain I felt from Maddy’s phone call. I guess I must have succumbed about 4:00a.m., when the outline of a plan was to the point I was reasonably comfortable with. The next thing I knew, Wendy waking me up by throwing the curtains open.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Breakfast is ready.”

After a shower, I headed downstairs. Even though it was early, I rang my boss and asked for time off. He readily agreed. Wendy just looked at me across the kitchen table.

“Wendy. How dirty do you want to get?”

“Why, David, I didn’t know you cared.”

She fluffed her hair up at the back, in a coquettish way and grinned as she said this. I grinned in return.

“Cheeky bitch. I meant, how dirty are you comfortable with this fight getting?”

“Try me. What are you thinking?”

“Oh, not much. I’m just thinking of destroying your husband’s business, annihilating my wife’s support base, and destroying her plans completely. Leaving them both quivering, broken wrecks, that all.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a good start. I have some thoughts along those lines as well.”

We compared notes. After breakfast, while Wendy hit the internet and researched libel and slander laws, I rang Tracey’s mother. I was right; she had no idea Tracey had gotten children’s services involved and was shocked at her daughter’s tactics. Next, I rang Beth and repeated my story. She was going to disown her sister on the spot, but I convinced her to hide her contempt and become our Trojan horse. By the time I’d finished my calls, Wendy had done her research and we compared notes. We then spent a companionable hour in the workshop making two signs.

Half an hour later saw Wendy and I, in deckchairs, sitting on either side of the main entrance to Michael Brown’s place of business. From research, I knew the building was on land leased from the local authority. We weren’t trespassing. Our chairs were prominently placed but in no way impeded the flow of customers. I held a large sign that read; ‘Talk to me about how the owner of this store stole my wife and children’. Wendy held one that said, ‘Talk to me about the morals of my husband’. It soon became obvious Wendy was getting more trade than me. To be expected, I suppose. She was much easier on the eye than me.

A pattern soon emerged. People were reluctant to stop and talk when I was on my own but as soon as one did, others were comfortable enough to let curiosity overcome their reticence. Once they did stop, I simply told them the facts of the story. Wendy’s research had confirmed what we both suspected—in our country it’s perfectly legal to tell the truth. As long as we stuck to the facts, we were free from charges of defamation. Satisfyingly, almost everyone we talked to decided to shop elsewhere that day. People seemed genuinely offended by Tracey and Shithead’s actions. The men, by my story; the women, by Wendy’s. While the effect on business was negligible, our plan was progressing.

In between Joe Publics, we had some illustrious visitors. Just before lunch, the store manager came out and threatened us with calling the police. Wendy taped me as I offered to give him the police non-emergency number. The police did show, just after lunch and after some discussion with their controllers, asked us to move our chairs back slightly to less impede the flow of traffic. Our faith in the plan’s success was bolstered around 4:00p.m., when a reporter from the local radio station asked to talk to us. We had quite a little crowd gathered as Wendy and I went through our stories. They seemed to take most interest in my relating the allegations of abusing my children. Child abuse is such a sensitive subject, an alleged perpetrator raising the subject was rare. They disappeared after promising to stick to the facts of what we’d told them. We stayed to wish the manager goodnight as he locked the doors that night, promising to see him in the morning. We were both ecstatic at the coverage we got on the local news that night.

Sure enough, the next morning we bid him good day. Shortly thereafter, two uniformed security guards turned up and successfully got between us and potential conversationalists. This time I called the police. They arrived and had a word to the manager, presumably along the lines of his role in stifling our right to free expression. I bought them each a coffee from the van that had set up to cater to the gathering crowd. We appeared to be the hottest entertainment in town that day. Wendy had helped our cause by dressing in perfect jilted wife clothes. Damn, that woman could be an actress. She certainly had the looks for it.

We missed the two guys in suits approaching. We were too busy watching the state television news van setting up across the street. By the time I was presented with a Cease and Desist order threatening to sue for loss of trade, currently estimated at $30,000 a day, the whole scene was on digital tape. The suits beat a hasty retreat, leaving us to talk to the journo about our little human interest story. Again, we stuck to the facts and begged them not to embellish it in any way. I held up the writ, prominently bearing the letterhead, ‘Slugden and Pyke’, at the top.

After another satisfying day, we went home when the store doors were locked. Enough people had stuck around for the promise of further entertainment it was obvious people had second thoughts about running the gauntlet. We sprinted home to watch the nightly news. I jokingly suggested Wendy get an agent. However, it hurt when our article was aired. A crew had set up outside cheaters mansion. When I saw my bewildered children being rushed out of sight, after returning from school, it was like a knife to my soul. Yep. I read Wendy another story that night. We were also receiving an average of ten phone calls a day from friends and acquaintances expressing dismay at Tracey’s actions. I thanked them and suggested they vote on her friendship with their feet. Tracey must be becoming the loneliest woman in town.

At 9:30p.m., Sophia knocked on the door. She didn’t answer my greeting. She just came in for a very tight hug. After she broke off, she just pressed a memory stick into my hand, turned, and fled with tears were streaming down her face. Intrigued, I took it inside and Wendy and I plugged it into the computer. Talk about dynamite. It was a recording of Sophia confronting Tracey about her lies to herself and children’s services. It recorded Tracey’s confession as she desperately tried to justify her actions. It didn’t stop until Sophia had stormed out of her former friend’s life for the last time. Our excitement diminished slightly, as we realised, illegally recorded as it was, the tape was of limited value. We did discuss sending it anonymously to our new friends in the media, but that would get Sophia in trouble. Our newfound determination to be nasty did have some bounds.

Unfortunately, there were no newsmen around the next day when we were served by none other than Reginald Pyke LLB himself. He tried to do us both together but we wouldn’t cooperate. After all, one of us had to film the events. We were each being sued for vast amounts. What a waste of time. They, of all people, knew we were broke. After that excitement, we went back to our lonely vigil. Yes, I said lonely. There were precious few to the store that day. Maybe, it was the sudden plethora of advertising from other stores, who sold the same stuff as Mr. Smith. It was easy to imagine the competition, sensing his vulnerability, moving to increase their market share. Shark, meet feeding frenzy.

We filled the time filming ourselves and our fan club. Whenever a delivery truck arrived, we filmed that as well. Taking especially clear images of the supplier’s company logo on the side. Maybe they could be guilted into becoming ex-suppliers.

At 2:00p.m., two worried employees came out of the store. They said that at a staff meeting they’d been warned to expect to be stood down. That hurt. Wendy interviewed me urging other good businesses to consider taking on any redundant staff. That file went into the collection.

At 3:30p.m., the state news vanappeared again, unexpectedly. Right on cue, three more guys in suits, but no ties this time, appeared. In full view of the cameras, they announced they also were lawyers. They’d been moved by our story and the injustice of it all. They offered us their services, in defence of our divorces, free of charge. Is that what ‘pro bono’ means? After the cameras stopped rolling, their chief, Brian Coulson, explained he was an ex-partner of Pyke and Slugden who had been stitched up by the other two. Hell hath no fury like a lawyer scorned. We invited them to join Wendy in her office; okay, the coffee shop across the road. They were still there when my ‘work’ day ended and I joined them. For the price of fifteen cups of coffee we left with the paperwork signed for them to represent us in our divorces and my child custody battle. Old Coulson’s eyes lit up when we told him about Sophia’s recording but we refused to hand over a copy. If he was a typical lawyer, his response to any talk of ethics would be to reach for the atlas to pinpoint it on the map.

By this stage, our story was relegated to the public interest segment at the end of the news every second night or so. Our new friend Brian, looked real good that night on the news, the open neck shirt look came across well. Thinking about it, we had a classic Remora/shark relationship. Remoras are the little fish that follow the shark and gets protection and titbits. In return, the shark gets to live parasite free. If Mr. Coulson wanted to think he was the shark, that was fine by me.

That week and the first half of the next, passed with the only development being my increasingly missing my offspring and Wendy and my increasingly numb Gluteus Maximi. Mr. Coulson ensured there was media coverage of the filing of our claims for an interim order for the return of half our liquid assets, the overturning of my quit premises order, and an order for Tracey to deliver my children for some sort of visitation. The interest in our newly acquired celebrity ensured good coverage as well. Australians have always supported the underdog.  I think the state news reporter fancied Wendy as well, which didn’t hurt our cause. Maybe, it was the high profile nature of the case that got us hearings the Monday of the following week. I was to go first and Wendy was to follow immediately after.

In our preparations, during the second half of the week, I decided Mr. Coulson was a bit of a dirty fighter as well. That was only one of the things I admired about him. We stayed away from Shithead’s business premises on Thursday, but after hearing that customers were sneaking back, we resumed our vigil Friday. I’m bloody glad we did. At 9:00a.m., Friday Shithead himself drove into the carpark. He was followed by the highway patrol with lights flashing. Having a flash Merc. with personalised plates wasn’t such a good idea maybe. It took the boys in blue a good six minutes to find something wrong, but they managed it. I got a cheery wave as they exited the carpark after delivering his citation.

Wendy videoed me and I her, as Shithead walked into his business by the front door. We wanted to prove that any interaction was started by him and he had initiated the breaking of our restraining orders. An hour later, Wendy pointed to the carpark where two more suited gentlemen were exiting a car bearing the logo of a local bank. They headed into the store. Wendy wandered over.

“It’s the 24^th today, isn’t it?”

“All day.”

“Guess who’s loan repayment was due yesterday?”

I just grinned. We knocked off early. My holiday pay had just been deposited in my new bank account. That was cause for a modest celebration. We also took in a movie instead of our habitual TV night.

That weekend I found sleep difficult. With the first court hearing to decide the fate of my family on Monday, I was extremely nervous. Some unexpected visitors on Saturday distracted us; pleasantly though. An old friend of Wendy’s had seen the publicity and looked up her old pal. Then, in the late afternoon, Tracey’s mother, father, and sister showed up. I made a trip to the shop and we had an impromptu BBQ. Wendy kept them all entertained while I was gone. She was one of nature’s hostesses. While out, I pondered the motivation of our visitors. I suspected that now they knew all the facts, Tracey’s parents knew I had righteousness on my side and suspected I would win eventually. They wanted to ensure continued access to their grandkids.

A pleasant time was had by all. Beth managed to get me alone at one stage.

“Is your back feeling alright, Dave?”

“Fine, Beth.”

“No sharp pains where a metaphorical knife is being rammed home perhaps?”

“What, your sister not happy?”

“No, you’re not playing by her rules, Dave. You were supposed to be begging and pleading by now. Your little picket at the store caught them completely off guard. To say they’re a little unhappy is like saying the Pope is a little Catholic. Tracey is ropable. She’s blaming it all on you, though, of course. Butter wouldn’t melt in my sister’s mouth. Mum and Dad aren’t speaking to her and Sophia was only the first of her friends to jump ship. According to my darling sister, she and lover boy are too afraid to go out to restaurants even. Things have been said by others, even at the country club. Keep it up, bro, you’re winning.”

“Oh dear, how sad, never mind. How are the kids?”

“Not bad, Dave. They’re a little sad and confused, as you’d expect. I go over there every two days or so and play with them. Here; I’ve got some photos.”

She pulled out her camera and I scrolled through them. That brought a tear to my eye. In only one of them was my little Maddy smiling and even that looked forced. I thanked Beth profusely for all she was doing and we joined the rest of the guests again. Just as she left the room, she pulled a bunch of keys from her pocket and with an exaggerated gesture, dropped them on the floor.

“Gosh, I appear to have dropped a Mercedes key, your wife’s car keys, and a spare house key on the floor. How careless of me.”

We both grinned again and re-joined the straight world.

I was just rousing on Sunday morning, when I heard, “Hey, sluggard, it’s your turn to make breakfast,” shouted across the corridor between my bedroom and the guest bedroom. I made breakfast and then wrapped a white towel around my waist and hung a tea towel over my arm in my best room service impersonation and made the delivery.

At 10:00a.m., on the third Monday of my holiday, Wendy escorted me to the Family Court sitting. That’s when I first had a good look at Mick the Shit. I figured it was him when Wendy hissed and tensed as he walked in. At fifty, he was fat and balding. I learned later he looked quite trim when he seduced her fifteen years before. Not being Family Court specialists themselves, Slugden and Pyke had sent along an associate. He was an old friend of our Mr. Coulson but that didn’t stop him doing his best for his client. Coulson presented my side of the financial stuff first and the opposition responded. Their tactic was that Tracey would need our assets to support our kids.

After Coulson had presented my petition for shared care, he tried to get an order for the children to be interviewed by children’s services so their views could be heard. Through some legalese, the opposition quashed that. Then her bloke conferred with Tracey, who had been glaring daggers at me all morning, and requested a short adjournment. He and Coulson whispered together for a few minutes. Mr. Coulson then approached me.

“Your darling wife wants you to know that unless you back off, she will air all her allegations of your abuse against her and the kids. She is willing to give up all claims to the house and money if you sign over the kids.”

I looked over at Tracey who wore a smug smile. I then looked over at Wendy for strength. She had been alternating smiling and frowning at me all morning depending on whether we won or lost a point.

Coulson continued, “You know what you have to give me, don’t you?”

I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved the small voice recorder and handed it over. Sophia had authorised me to do it as a last resort.

Coulson returned to his opponent and I watched the bad guy’s face drop as he was played some edited highlights. Their voices rose to the point I could hear some words. “Not admissible,” “Fuck that…media,” were among them. After a few minutes, Coulson’s opponent left the room. Ten minutes later he returned and sat next to Tracey without saying anything. The judge was called back in from his snooze. The bad guy stood up and became a good guy.

“Your Honour. On behalf of my instructing solicitors, I have to inform you. that due to new evidence coming to light, we can no longer represent the defendant in this case.”

Tracey looked stunned and confused. The judge acknowledged the lawyer’s excusal and we all watched him pack up and leave.

I leaned in to Coulson and he whispered in my ear. “Rumour has it that Messrs. Slugden and Pyke have lost a shitload of business over this one and had a few more threaten to walk. I think our little tape caused them to run away from some bad juju. Don’t worry; the judge will know what today’s little performance was all about. He plays golf with my boss.”

Before I could ask where that left me, the judge made it plain. He adjourned the case, giving Tracey two weeks to find other representation. He stated he was unwilling to rule on the financial issues until the custody arrangements were sorted and, of course, we hadn’t got to that bit yet. He was unwilling to overturn the restraining order as there were allegations of abuse that had yet to be defended in open court. Shit, two more weeks of separation from my kids. He adjourned Wendy’s case as well.

Outside the court, there was no sign of any reporters. They were chasing a juicy, rare story of lawyers abandoning a client. That night, Slugden and Pyke released a statement that mentioned the words, ‘conscience’ and ‘the right thing’. Speculation was rampant. Any sense of victory from me was muted. I missed my kids. The strain was starting to show on Wendy as well. She was starting to feel guilty about surviving on my largesse. I allayed that by saying I couldn’t have got this far without her emotional support.

I wasn’t looking forward to two more weeks of sitting outside a bloody shop. It was getting harder and harder to attract the media’s attention. I could imagine myself having to sit there naked by the end of the week just to attract a camera. I decided to give Tuesday a miss and just observe how many customers they had, several times a day. Just after lunch my phone rang. It was a mysterious guy called Henry, who wanted me to meet him in a coffee shop on the other side of town. I arranged for Wendy to observe us from afar with a camera to see that nothing unsavoury happened, or, if it did, that evidence was gained.

Henry turned out to be the assistant manager from the store. The cloak and dagger was so word didn’t get back. Unbelievably, he urged me to resume my post outside his store. It seemed the bank was forcing Mr. Smith to sell the store quickly and cheaply to service their debt. They couldn’t see themselves getting any loan repayments back with him in control. Henry and many of the other staff were negotiating secretly with the bank to do an employee buyout. For those happy tidings, Wendy and I were happy to resume our seats.

More good news from the lawyers later in the week. Wendy had handed over a bunch of paperwork when we engaged them. Seems one of the items was an agreement from when she had handed over her inheritance. It had bought her a share in the business that was supposed to pay a monthly dividend. That amount had been ploughed back into the business and the compound amount was astronomical.

We actually had Saturday off ‘work’. The store had started closing on that day to save overtime payments. We invited Beth and her parents over for another BBQ, as well as Wendy’s new, old friend. Beth briefed us all on the latest mood in the Smith mansion. Things weren’t good, apparently. Fine with me. Beth thought it was paranoia that made Tracey suspect her of being a double agent and not welcoming her visits for the last week. With no news of my kids, I was a little anxious.

We’d just finished eating when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to Tracey.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Apparently, if I visit you it’s okay.”

I invited her in. She walked in but stopped when she saw her mother and father. Wendy stared at her with hatred, then went upstairs, where, I presumed, Beth had snuck as well. The looks her mother and father gave her weren’t much better. Tracey started to look really uncomfortable and urged me into the kitchen.

“Dave, for old time’s sake, can’t you back off a bit?”

“Why, dear? Isn’t trading up working out like you thought?”

“You know it isn’t. I just thought taking all the money and the house would force you to give in and let Mick adopt the kids. Then, when I was re-married we could…”

“Reveal to the poor prick you were no longer capable of having a child of his and take him for everything he was worth.”

Tracey looked at the table for a long moment.

“After I had his money, I was going to come back to you, honest, Dave. I thought in the meantime, I could enjoy being a rich man’s wife. But you ruined that. His business is going bust and we can’t even go out in public after the smear campaign you started. The last time we went out to a restaurant, an old lady actually spat on me. Don’t mention the police. They have pulled me up three times this week. I’m three points away from losing my license.”

I couldn’t believe it. My darling wife actually had a tear in her eye.

“Can’t you back off and just let me live part of my dream, honey?”

“I thought you were a history major, Tracey. Who was it that said, “Those who don’t learn the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them? I liken your surprise attack on me and our family to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour and the British colonies in Asia on December the 7^th 1941. Due to the nature of the attack, Churchill and Roosevelt had no option but to demand the total surrender of the attackers. If you had asked nicely for a divorce before doing the dirty on our marriage, and that Shithead you are shacked up with had done the same, we could have divided everything nicely and you could be living the highlife. Instead, you took the Pearl Harbour approach and now I’ll accept nothing but total surrender. I can’t believe you would think I would trade my children for money. Don’t you know me at all?”

I could see the realisation hit home that she’d been so focused on her long game, she’d glossed over some minor details. Then, awareness hit she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the emotive approach. Her face hardened into something more recognisable to me.

“Right, Mick wants to talk turkey tonight. Can you come over?”

“Yeah, and I was born yesterday. Come to your place and get arrested for breaching the restraining order?”

“Well, we could come here.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if Michael Shithead Smith comes within one hundred metres of me, I will rip off his head and spit down his neck.”

Tracey looked shocked at this. She’d never seen this side of me.

“Why? What has he ever done to you?”

“Let me see now, dear. Fucked my wife for god knows how long, and encouraged her to light off with all my money. Stole my children. What’s not to like?”

Tracey was back to looking at the table. The thought of negotiating for my children and not having to rely on the vagaries of the legal system, prompted my next comments.

“How about Skype?”

“Yes. That might work. What time?”

“Hang on. I have to clear it with my partner.”

“What partner?”

“Wendy. We make all decisions together.”

“That old bitch.”

“Who are you calling old? Have you looked at what you’re sleeping with lately?”

“How old is she?”

“You know, I don’t care. She’s been a good friend when I needed one, so what does it matter?”

I went upstairs and discussed it with Wendy. She was all for it. After all, what did we have to lose? Back downstairs, I agreed 9:00p.m., with Tracey. She left after casting a dirty look at her parents. The last thing she did was look around the house. Again, I swear she had a tear in her eye.

I returned to the party, which broke up about 8:30. I set up my laptop with two chairs on the side of the table but Wendy said she was going to sit off camera. She said if she didn’t clap eyes on Michael Smith for the rest of her life it would be too soon. At exactly 9:00p.m., I logged on to Skype and the happy couple appeared on the screen sitting side by side. Wendy had showered and was sitting in the entrance to the kitchen in her dressing gown. There were no opening pleasantries. It was obvious from their actions and body language that here were two personalities battling for dominance. But then I already knew they both had different agendas. By the end of the session, I gathered he was slightly more dominant than her. From Smith’s opening gambit it was obvious he thought he was still in a position to bargain.

“Right, Brown, let’s talk turkey…”

“Let me make one thing clear right from the start. It’s Mr. Brown or David, okay? I don’t care which.”

Shithead didn’t expect my firm voice, obviously. His eyes opened in shock and he looked at Tracey out of the corner of his eyes. He knew he’d lost the first moral point.

“Okay, David. Where is my skinny-assed, barren former wife?”

“Again, I must remind you to be polite. She’s listening, but didn’t want to look at you. Apparently she’s never liked snakes. If you can’t manage to be polite, I will pull the plug on this right now. Understand?”

Point two to me and everyone knew it. I heard Wendy titter quietly at my use of the word snake. Tracey couldn’t help herself. She looked at Mick the Shit and frowned at him.

“Here’s the deal, David. You lay off your petty little vigil at the store. Maybe, you even call a press conference to say it was all a misunderstanding, okay? I’ll sign over the house to you and return half the money. Then I’ll agree you can see the kids every second weekend. There, I can’t be much fairer than that, can I?”

“What about Wendy?”

“Why do you give a shit about her?”

At this point, Shithead nudged Tracey off centre stage.

“I’m willing to divert 10% of the profits to her once the business is back in the black.”

I looked over at Wendy. They do say a picture paints a thousand words. Wendy’s picture was a middle digit firmly raised above the rest. I smiled.

“Wendy says no to your kind offer. At least, I think that’s what this means.”

I repeated Wendy’s gesture to the camera.

“As for your offer of visitation, I have to tell you I’ve decided neither of you are fit to even see my kids, so you can stick your offer up your arse.”

“Be reasonable, Mr. Brown. Once I have a child of my own, I won’t give a shit about yours and you can have them back.”

I looked at Tracey’s reaction to this. She turned towards Shithead and frowned. But it wasn’t the frown of someone who was pissed off their chosen partner had just written off her kids. It was the frown of someone annoyed because a cat had just been let out of a bag.

“So, you want me to leave my children in the care of someone who looks on them as bargaining chips twelve days a fortnight? It’s your choice whether or not you use Vaseline when you shove your offer where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Both my opponents started talking at once. Tracey won that contest.

“Oh, come on, Dave. You’re not still pissed off that I left you for a better man, are you?”

At that point, Smith rose and stood behind Tracey. He reached around under her shoulders and grabbed a breast in each hand, tweaking her nipples between his thumb and forefingers. I looked on dispassionately. This was clearly a prearranged tactic and meant they were recording our talk, hoping to elicit a violent response to show in court somehow. I was completely unmoved by the sordid sight in front of me. I wasn’t unmoved, however, when a pair of bare arms reached over my shoulders from behind and some things very soft and warm pressed into the back of my neck.

“Be a gentleman and don’t look behind you for a minute,” was whispered in my ear.

Wendy then turned my head and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips. After a moment or two, she broke the kiss and we both looked at the screen. Tracey’s face had a look of thunder. Most people delude themselves, to some extent, when they look in the mirror. The difference between what Tracey saw in the mirror every day and what she was seeing on the screen was too great for any delusions however. She realised suddenly what ‘trading up’ really meant.

“You take your hands off my husband, you bitch.”

The warm feeling on my neck was still there as I turned and whispered in Wendy’s ear.

“Nice tactic.”

She whispered a reply. “I was expecting him to pull something like this, not her, but, oh well. Remember, don’t look behind you.”

With that, the warm feeling disappeared, much to my chagrin. I kept my promise and didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to. The little selfie in the top corner of the screen showed enough. What? I may be a gentleman but I’m human after all. Both the people on the other end of the connection were babbling, but in my reverie, I have no idea about what. Then the doorbell rang. With Wendy getting dressed, I excused myself to open the front door.

It was my kids.

As soon as the door was open they were wrapped around me, babbling incoherently. James, who came up to my chest was wrapped on one side, Maddy was clinging to my other leg. Once again, I battled tears. I was in heaven. All I could hear were intermittent words, “Hurt me,”, “Aunty Beth gave me a camera.” Wendy appeared and I asked her to keep our internet buddies occupied for a while. I then took the kids somewhere quiet. Once they had calmed, I got the story out of them, one at a time.

They both had sore feet as they’d walked through the night after sneaking off from the mansion. Maddy had a bruise on her wrist from where Uncle Mike had manhandled her. I felt my blood pressure rise when I heard that. James, bless his little soul, had put himself and Maddy on a hunger strike three days ago. They had been studying it in school but had missed the basic point, that, unless people knew you were on one, they were ineffective. Aunty Beth had given James a camera and he had used it to record his mother saying, “Get your own bloody breakfast.” Both kids were trembling with hunger and fatigue. I got them glasses of milk and told them to drink it slowly. I also told them to wait there and a nice lady called Wendy was going to come and look after them in a minute.

Returning to the kitchen, I gestured Wendy over and asked her to look after the kids. I then took a very deep breath before sitting in front of the laptop. Tracey read something in my face and kept quiet, but Shithead didn’t and started talking. I just rode over him.

“Tracey, where are the kids?”

“Upstairs in bed.”

“No they aren’t. They’ve just walked through the dark to get here.”

I paused to once again contain my rage.

“My eight-year-old daughter has bruises on her wrist she claims were put there by you, Shithead. They both tell me they haven’t eaten for three days.”

Tracey recovered from these hissed accusations first.

“We’ll be over to pick them up shortly.”

“No, you won’t. The day I leave them alone with you pair of assholes, is the day I see Satan skating to work. If I see you anywhere near here, I will take any physical steps I deem necessary to prevent you even seeing them.”

Shithead grinned in triumph. He’d got the threat he was hoping for.

“Thanks, Ass Wipe.”

The connection then terminated. I checked the conversation was recorded at my end then went to find the others. Maddy was sitting on Wendy’s knee babbling about her favourite subject; horses. James was sitting close to her, gazing into her face. I broke out some leftover pizza and again told them to eat slowly. I knew what was coming next, so I grabbed the camera off James and copied that onto the laptop. I set up a folder and put the camera files with Sophia’s voice recording and the Skype session file in it. I fast forwarded to the part of the Skype recording that had the bit I wanted and noted the time. As an afterthought, I took photos of Maddy’s wrists and added those to the folder as well.

We still had half an hour to wait until the doorbell rang. Plenty of time for me to hug both kids until they calmed and to ring Beth and ask her to come over. When I finished, Wendy was reading the kids a story. Two lady child services officers knocked on my door at about 10:30p.m. I invited them in and offered them drinks. They were defensive and hostile and just insisted they were here to return the children to their mother.

“I’m afraid that is not acceptable to me.”

They tried to insist but I sat them down, showed them the bruises on Maddy’s wrist and got her to tell them how she got them. I got James to describe his hunger strike then showed them the video of Tracey yelling at them and a short clip of Shithead saying, “Once I have a child of my own I won’t give a shit about yours and you can have them back.”

“So, are you really going to send them back to that environment after they were allowed to walk here in the dark?”

They both looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we have to enforce the current order. You have been accused of abusing them and your wife. If we left them here and they got hurt, we would get in big trouble. We have bosses to answer to.”

I deliberately kept my voice deadpan as I replied.

“I can tell you if you return them to an environment where you have evidence they’ve been abused, rather than just accusations, and they’re hurt again, you will have me to answer to.”

“Are you threatening us, sir?”

“No, just giving you a glimpse into how life will be.”

Before the senior one could call the police, I suggested an alternate plan. I told them my wife’s sister was on the way over. If everyone agreed, I was happy to hand them to her, as a neutral party, as long as both parties agreed not to remove them from her. The senior woman disappeared for a while, presumably to ring Tracey, then came back and said it was a done deal. I imagine Tracey and Shithead were happy with that. I could imagine them having a celebratory fuck, after trapping me into threatening them on a recording.

So I bid my children goodbye with a heavy heart, promising to do what I could for them. They both liked Auntie Beth so took it well. Wendy didn’t say anything as I disappeared to be emotional again.

The next day, Wendy suggested she go to Beth’s to help get the kids ready for school. I agreed. For the rest of the week she picked them up from school and took them to Beth’s. I went to work, as there didn’t seem much point continuing my vigil. A phone call to Henry confirmed the store was operating well in the red and his plans were progressing nicely.

The following Monday we were all in front of the same judge. Tracey and I had sorted out submissions about everything but custody last time so we were all focused and briefed. Wendy went first this time and both sides presented about her and Mr. Smith’s financial issues, including the unpaid dividends. Mr. Smith was obviously hoping this wouldn’t come out and almost fainted when it did. The conspirators were represented by some out of town firm and if I was any judge of things, they weren’t very good. The judge reserved his verdict on actual amounts until forensic accountants could judge the value of the unpaid dividends, but indicated the general split would be 65/35 after the dividends were paid to Wendy. He admitted he was being harsh due to the nasty way Mr. Smith had gone about things. Wendy indicated she was happy for Mr. Smith to retain the house, after paying out her share. As a status symbol, she knew it was important to him and she had no interest in living there.

For my case, their lawyers had stupidly asked that their illegal Skype recording be admissible. We readily agreed, which confused their lawyers. They, of course, only played the part where I threatened them. That and Tracey’s testimony of me abusing her and the children was designed to paint me as the villain. I sat there stoically and took it.

 Before I took the stand, Beth and Sophia were brought in and basically painted the picture that I was a far better father than Tracey was a mother. Beth’s words were so strong the judge actually asked her to confirm she was Tracey’s sister and not mine. Tracey couldn’t believe the betrayal and actually left the courtroom during these two sessions.

Then it was my turn. Mr. Coulson led me through describing the original ambush, the kids walking to my place at night and the bruises. He managed to drag out of me the facts about the hunger strike, paying particular attention to the detail that the children’s mother and step father elect hadn’t even realised it was happening. He tendered attestations by the children, obtained by child services, on those and other issues. Because the opposition had introduced the Skype recording, they couldn’t object when we showed them another section of it. Namely, Tracey’s reaction when her paramour said he didn’t give a shit about my kids. Coulson tried to introduce the video James had taken. The opposition tried to quash the motion under evidence rules. The judge took umbrage at that.

“Gentlemen, this isn’t a criminal court. The same rules don’t apply. My brief is to do the best for the children of the marriage and I take that duty very seriously. Mr. Coulson, you may show the video, and while you’re at it, can I hear that other tape I heard rumours about last time.”

So, I got to see Tracey and Shithead cringe as we heard her yelling at her own children to get their own bloody breakfast. That was nothing to their reaction when the ten minute file of Tracey admitting to Sophia she had lied to children’s services about me abusing her and the kids was aired. On the tape, she was heard to say it was all Michael Smith’s idea. The judge just stared at her for the last four minutes of the recording. Her head was buried in her arms. Michael wasn’t happy either. I guess Slugden and Pyke never did tell them why they pulled out.

When asked if there was any response, the opposition lawyer just stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The judge said he had one question for me and I knew what it was.

“Mr. Brown, can you explain the overt threat you made against Mrs. Brown and Mr. Smith? I should also mention I’ve heard rumours about threatening behaviour to child support workers.”

I had prepared well for this. For a change, a man was about to use an emotive argument with another man. I’d done my research and it was carefully aimed. I stood and looked him firmly in the eye.

“Yes, Your Honour, I can. You have now heard the same evidence I did; that my children were removed from me to a negligent and abusive situation. I have always believed that as a father it is my duty, no, wrong word, my privilege to protect my children from harm. I am quite willing to die for my children, as I’m sure you are to die for yours, Your Honour. Merely risking my freedom by threatening abusers thus didn’t even cause me to raise a sweat. Yes, I threatened them and would again, in a heartbeat.”

For a moment, I thought the judge was going to embarrass himself and applaud. I could see the admiration in his eyes. He tipped me the nod before adjourning to think for a while. He was back less than an hour later.

I was awarded full custody of the children with Tracey’s supervised access to them to be totally at my discretion. I heard Coulson gasp at this. He had never seen that before. The judge made an order that all legal costs were not to come from communal funds. I was awarded the house and 65% of the liquid assets. Again, the judge admitted he was being harsh to Tracey due to the methods she used in the ambush. You could almost see the smoke coming from the journalist’s pencils. Several of them talked to me outside the court but I have no idea what I said. I was floating on cloud nine at the time.

Wendy took the kids home and I picked up all their gear from the mansion. Tracey and Shithead were shouting at each other the entire time I was there. At home, I just hugged and hugged my kids. That night, the little bloody turncoats wanted Wendy to read them their bedtime stories, not me. They said she was better at it. Fair enough. After reading each of their books about a thousand times, I was a little bored with it.

The next night, Wendy and I hosted an open invitation party with Mr. Coulson and his team as the guests of honour. Two journos attended, so I hope Mr. Coulson got the publicity he deserved. I overheard him spelling ‘pro bono’ to one of them. Tracey’s family all attended, as did most of Tracey and my mutual friends, and some of Wendy’s growing list of re-acquaintances. My boss even came, making some snide remarks about having a celebrity in his department. I toasted Beth as I promoted her to the rank of ‘favourite Aunt’.

It was fairly late when the party settled to just family. I was sitting at the table with Beth and her mum. John was dozing on one couch. Wendy was reading the kids a story on the other. Mother-in-law raised the thorny issue.

“Dave, how much are you going to let Tracey see the kids?”

This had been occupying my thoughts since the day before.

“I don’t know, Mum. It depends on what she wants, I suppose. If she wants to see them, then I won’t stand in her way. I mean, the kids need the influence of a loving woman in their life if they’re going to grow up well-balanced, don’t they?”

My former mother-in-law just sat there shaking her head.

“You know, Dave, for a smart man, you can be a real dickhead sometimes.”

“What the …?”

“Your children are sitting over there with a woman they clearly love and who just as clearly loves them and you.”

I span around so fast I nearly knocked the chair over. Wendy looked up and saw three people staring at her, one with an incredulous look on his face. She instinctively knew what it was all about and blushed deep red. I stood up and walked slowly to the couch. I know my next line will never win any awards, but it was heartfelt.

“Um, apparently the position of these children’s mother is now vacant. Would you like to apply for the job?”

My answer was a woman rising as if by magic off the couch and melting in my arms. We kissed deeply and for a long time. The kids again did their sardine impersonation as they pressed against us. It all felt so… right.

We put the kids to bed and bid our guests goodbye. I carried Wendy towards our bedroom. On the threshold, she spoke. “Did you ask me to marry you before?”

“Yes, dopey, I did.”

“I thought so. Did I say yes?”

“Not officially, I suppose. Why?”

“Well, I’m obviously way out of the league of a ‘works foreman’, but not an Engineer. How about when my money comes through, you go back to school?”

“Sounds great to me. Anyway, who is out of whose league, Grandma?”

Epilogue

Basically, Tracey never contacted me about seeing the kids. They never asked about her as Wendy kept them too busy.

The bank brokered the selling of the store to a consortium of management and employees. As a local celebrity, Henry asked me to unveil the huge, ’Under New Management’ sign to some press coverage. The store was back in the black by the end of the first week. My bank account was soon dwarfed by Wendy’s. As arranged, she took only cash while her ex took the mansion and enough seed capital to start all over again. The family grapevine reported Tracey as still being with Michael.

Things may have stayed like that if I hadn’t run into Mr. Smith one day. He made a snide remark about wiping the smile off my face when his appeal started. Apparently, his legal team really thought some of the evidence should have been excluded. I asked Mr. Coulson to keep an eye on the court register for me. It was he that discovered everything was on hold while the happy couple took a month long cruise of the West Indies.

It was pure coincidence, honestly, when the fax arrived for Mr. Smith while they were tied up in port. It was simply the aftercare instructions for one Tracey Brown on discharge after a caesarian and hysterectomy nine years ago. How was I to know the ship was parked in a country that took an extremely dim view of men hitting women?

As a basically honest man, I never asked Wendy how all those homeless people got into the mansion and trashed it to the point it was uninhabitable. After all, if I found out evidence of a crime it was my civic duty to report it wasn’t it? Who would have known that insurance companies refuse to pay out when people leave their homes unsecured when they leave for a month? Now where did I put those keys Beth gave me? Was that the burnt out hulk of a Mercedes I saw on the side of the freeway yesterday?

At the end of my first year back at university, I offered to go part time till I graduated to help look after our new baby, but Wendy said she didn’t know how long she could put up with being the wife of an unqualified man. The bloody snob.

The End

Before you get the red pens out and hammer me about the legal side of this story, know this. Australian law is much more pragmatic about things than in the US. Yes, I can sue you for breaking my pencil, but the amount I win will be limited to the value of the pencil, not a seven figure amount. In Australia, I could sue a dry-cleaners for mislaying my pants for three days but not for the $67M sought in Pearson vs Chung (Google it, it’s 15 minutes of hilarious entertainment). Similarly, in Australia, you can’t be sued for libel and slander if you stick to the provable facts. I don’t know about in the US, but in Oz, Family Courts have much more relaxed rules of evidence than normal courts. Similar to a coroner’s court, their job it to look at any information that gets them the right result.

Now lighten up. Many people have commented on my jokes. Has anyone ever noticed that I never make jokes about sex? I agree with the late Humphrey Littleton RIP on that one. Sex is not a fitting subject for humour. To me the sexual act is the most loving, tender thing that money can buy. le Colu