Curiosity Killed the Cath

Oh Christ! What had I done?

I staggered to the drinks cabinet and poured a glass full of something, anything, and gulped it. Almost automatically I dialled Dave's cell and then my son's. Both went straight to message bank. I then rang my daughter, praying Dave had been generous there at least. The conversation was short. Very short.

"Hi, Donna, it's Mum."

"Did you go to New Zealand with a lover, Mum?"

"....................."

"I take it that means yes. Goodbye, Mum. I'm too angry to talk right now."

Even the dial tone sounded angry, like a swarm of hornets.

All I had left was the envelope on the table, but the potential contents would take at least another glass full of, what was this shit? Oh, vodka.

I managed to delay opening the envelope for another quarter hour. Potentially, the envelope could contain horrible photographs, damning evidence of betrayal, and confirmation of the death of my marriage. But, after some semi-rational thought, it may also contain hope, outlines of a severe but temporary punishment, or, at the very least, some answers to burning questions that tortured me. How had Dave discovered the truth about me and Pete? How long had he known? Did he still have to imagine my adultery or had he seen it for himself in full, glorious colour?

Three vodkas turned out to be the magic number before curiosity won and I carefully put Dave's ring on the shelf reserved for our special things, awaiting the time he would return to claim it, and gingerly opened the A4 envelope.

Which turned out to contain some stuff for Dave's work. It was totally devoid of anything Dave. I realised he'd merely used it so the gold of his ring wasn't visually lost against the background of the Mountain Ash dining table. I searched the house for something, anything Dave might have left with a clue. Nothing. Internally, I screamed with frustration. The not knowing was killing me. I dealt with it the only way I could think of; by finishing the vodka and starting on the tequila.

The next day was as physically painful as you'd expect. Oh, my head.

Just to confirm what I expected, I rang Dave, Donna, and my Mike several times. They all rang out every time, telling me they were either ignoring me or I was blocked. Dave had obviously filled our son in on what I'd done so I saw him as a potential window of information into my undoing. I still had no idea what to say to Dave when we finally did meet. With that in mind, I drove around to see my son at a time I knew he'd be back from work. My daughter lived several states away with her husband. The door was opened by Delia, my son's fiancé. We'd always got along just fine, close almost. Unlike previous visits, she didn't invite me in, just coldly told me she disapproved of what I'd done and fully supported my son's decision to cut all ties with me. Mike had obviously confided in her so I pressed her on what she knew of what I'd done.

"Cath, you know what you've done."

And then the door was closed in my face.

Talk about frustrating. I still had no clue what Dave knew, how long he'd known, what evidence he had. It was killing me.

Not knowing where the hell Dave was staying, I felt I had no choice but to revert to plan A - be sparing of admissions of my acts and probe what Dave knew. Therefore, when I felt human again, I doled myself up and went to his office. He'd had the same secretary-cum-receptionist for years and we'd always been amicable. Today, she was cold and condemning and told me in no uncertain terms that Dave was travelling for an indeterminate amount of time, and, no, I wasn't welcome to check back every day.

I may not know what Dave knew, but it seemed every mutual acquaintance of ours did. It was so embarrassing. Several neighbours did call over, but it was obvious they were just fishing for gossip, not driven by any concern for me. It was by far the loneliest time in my life to date.

I was drunk by 10a.m. Friday but decided to stay sober on the weekend, just in case Dave came back and I needed a clear head. Drunk or sober, it made no difference. Not knowing what Dave knew and was telling my kids, his staff, possibly our friends and neighbours, even every second barman within an hour of our house, was just eating me up inside.

Going back to work on Monday was both a relief and terrifying. I tried to read the expression on my boss's face for any clue he was going to fire Pete and I that day, but he simply enquired about my holiday week off.

I cornered Pete as soon as I could, and he reported that things at his home were normal. He was clearly very worried, though, thinking the axe could fall at any moment. From that I concluded that either Dave had hit the bottle like me and was not thinking rationally yet, or that he was deliberately making Pete sweat. His wanting to make the guy who'd damaged his marriage suffer was understandable. Well, one of the people who'd damaged his marriage. I was honest enough to accept my share of responsibility as well. I wished for the second reason. The first implied that he'd seen footage of my tryst in New Zealand and was trying to chemically erase the images.

By the end of the workday, I'd convinced myself that Dave was just punishing me and making me realise what I'd put in jeopardy by my actions. I would be more convinced if I knew exactly what my husband knew. Aaargghhhhhhhhh! Talk about frustrating.

The process server was waiting for me when I arrived home. Stunned, I grasped the big thick envelope I'd been given. How thick was a divorce application? Surely not the tome that seemed to be in the envelope I was clutching. Visions of a bunch of still shots from a video, included to put me on the back foot and let me know that fighting a charge of adultery was futile, seared across my brain.

I have no memory of how I came to be sitting at the dining table, but there I was staring at the envelope. For Dave to file without a word or giving me a chance to defend myself must mean what evidence he had was both damning and crippling. Enough that all attempts at forgiveness were non-starters.

Finally, my curiosity as to the extent of Dave's evidence the envelope contained outweighed my cowardice and that was saying something as I'd rather have pulled out a Tiger Snake suffering from PMT than documents that spelled the end of my marriage. Throwing aside the cover letter and confirming the actual application was only seven pages long, I steeled myself to look at the photographs, of which there were a grand total of... none.

The bulk of the rest of the material was generic information on how to respond to the service of the application and what my rights were. Confusion battled with relief. Relief, if for no other reason, that I wouldn't have evidence of my adultery rubbed in my face.

That relief was short lived though, as I read the cover letter. 'Please find enclosed blah, blah, blah', 'irrevocable breakdown of blah, blah, blah', 'as a civil proceeding, the applicant intends to enforce the prenuptial agreement, signed and witnessed on the blah, blah, blah'.

Oh no! I'd forgotten all about the prenup. They'd kindly put in a copy after all the generic rubbish. With shaking hands, I read the simple agreement. Yes, I'd remembered right, in the case of adultery, the offending party walked away with practically nothing.

All of a sudden, the lack of photographs made sense. Why show all their cards at the outset?

With his actions, Dave was sending a message. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in my rationalisations and motives or, more importantly, forgiving me. He had the facts, nothing else was relevant. That was so Dave. And yet I couldn't accept there was no hope. Surely there had to be more for me than just a wish for the opportunity to apologise to him and the chance of reconciling with my children someday.

And, dear Lord, please provide an answer to the burning question that was eating my curiosity. How had he found out? It must have been well before last week to have arranged to gather the evidence he possessed. I'd been so incredibly careful. Still, I'd destroyed a good man and that was eating me as well.

At work the next day, I confirmed Peter still had a happy marriage and, after quizzing the receptionist, no one had called to ask if I was at a conference. I also discovered that there was a minimal amount of money left in all our joint accounts. With that discovery I made an appointment with a lawyer for the next day.

I didn't retain the lawyer, just sought some advice. Expecting to be evicted from the family home at any moment, the possibility I might be fired for cause, and knowing that pennies would be short for the foreseeable future, I would need to hoard what I earned.

The lawyer confirmed that if my husband presented the evidence he possessed then the prenup, as old as it was, was very much enforceable.

There are drawbacks to tequila. One major one is that ideas that occur after three glasses, late at night, may not make sense in the morning. This particular idea was that I could find the answers to all my questions by asking Dave, and I could force that by using signing the papers as a bargaining chip. So, at 11.08p.m. I emailed the law firm Dave was using and asked them to pass a message to him. If Dave would sit and talk to me, I would sign the damned application. If not, I would drag my heels all along the process. Only to be firmly told, by return email the next day, that in Australia it didn't matter a smeg if I signed or not, the process was set.

The lawyer had been so firm it came as a surprise when he rang back the next day and told me that Dave had indeed agreed to meet me. He was insisting on the conference occurring at the lawyer's office, with witnesses, and was insisting on absolute honesty. One hint of a lie and he would walk out and I'd never see him again. I insisted that part of the conversation include Dave telling me how he'd found out about my taking a sabbatical from my marriage. There it was again; my insatiable curiosity. I had to know. He rang back an hour later with Dave's agreement to my terms and a meeting was set for Thursday after lunch.

That gave me a day to prepare my game plan. The stipulation about honesty came as no surprise. I knew Dave's stance on scrupulous honesty. I determined to give him absolutely everything, leaving no excuse to terminate the meeting. Hold back nothing and not even slightly flex the truth. As difficult as it would be for me personally to lay my deceit bare for all to witness, showing my honesty and remorse I figured would maximise my chances of reconciliation. Subsequent meetings and conversations could be used to convince him that despite my actions, I still loved him unconditionally.

I arrived at Dave's lawyer's office and was ushered straight into a conference room. Present were his lawyer and some sort of secretary. I blushed as I realised these two knew of my sordid behaviour, but that paled at the panic I felt when I saw Dave wasn't there. Thankfully, he arrived soon after me, seating himself opposite. His face was scarily blank and he remained silent while his lawyer repeated what he'd said on the phone, that I really should have my own representation there and offered to postpone if I wanted that. I refused. He then reiterated why we were all present, repeated Dave's threat to leave immediately if I wasn't 100% honest, then offered me the opportunity to say my prepared piece. Despite all my preparations, I couldn't remember where to start. The lawyer prompted me.

"Why don't you begin with when you and your lover embarked on your affair?"

"I met Peter at my work, of course..."

The lawyer interrupted. "For completeness, that would be Peter...?"

"Wilson. Peter Wilson."

I paused and looked at Dave, trying to beg with my eyes to be allowed to do this privately. He remained deadpan.

"We flirted for months then... for reasons I can't justify now, we began a sexual relationship. Just a few quickies in the office, you understand, I never had any emotional relationship with him."

If I was expecting any overt relief from Dave at this news I would have been disappointed. He showed nothing.

"After a few months, Peter began to nag me to go to a motel or pretend an overnight trip so we'd have more time. I gradually gave way and came up with the idea of the fake trip to Brisbane. I did that because I didn't want to be caught and expose you to public humiliation, darling."

I'd prepared that excuse which I was sure would score me a brownie point. It failed if Dave's unchanging expression was anything to go by.

"It was always going to be a one-off thing and I would have broken it off with him when we came back, honestly."

This was not true and a gamble. With communication only face-to-face at the office, Dave would have had to have had bugs there to prove me wrong. Again, nothing registered on his rugged face, but at least he hadn't stormed out. That threw me to silence again, prompting the lawyer to prod me again.

"So, you arrived in Auckland, booked into a room at a hotel, then what? Had sex with this Peter Wilson?"

"No, it was late so we found a nice restaurant nearby and ate."

"Then you went back to the hotel and had sex, yes?"

That made me drop my eyes and in a small voice reply, "Yes."

"This is all after you rang my client and perpetuated the charade that you were in Brisbane, at a conference?"

"Yes," again said while looking at my hands on the table.

"And I suppose you woke in the middle of the night and had sex again, slept late then had adulterous sex all the next day?"

This confused me. Why was Dave's lawyer trying to get me to lie? He must have seen the same video that Dave had.

"NO! We made lo..., had sex again in the morning before looking around the city the next day. That was it. That was the extent of my cheating. When I spoke to Dave on the phone the next night and he hung up on me, I was too worried to have sex with Peter again. I focussed on getting home as soon as I could."

The lawyer looked at Dave, who nodded slightly, his cold eyes still boring into me.

"Thank you for your frankness, Mrs. Brown. Now, you had some questions?"

This was it. This was when my burning questions were answered. I'd thought of little else for days. My voice shook.

"Wh... when did you find out about Peter, Dave?"

Finally, Dave spoke. "If your question is actually, when did I find out you weren't in Brisbane, at a conference, then the answer is last Tuesday night."

The stress I was under stopped me realising the full significance of what those words meant at that point.

"Er, how?"

"I received a phone call from the credit card company on Monday night, asking if we were travelling overseas as they'd detected a transaction. They'd tried to ring you, as the primary card holder, but couldn't get you, so they rang me on the secondary number."

I cursed myself at this point. I'd forgotten to enable international roaming on my damn phone and international transactions on my credit card prior to departure.

"I said we weren't overseas so they put a stop on all overseas transactions then changed the password on our account. I meant to ring you and tell you about it but was busy and forgot."

That explained why the transaction was declined on the Tuesday.

"I thought nothing more about it until you rang me on the Tuesday night and said your card was declined in a restaurant. If the restaurant was in Brisbane then the card would have worked. It suddenly struck me that you were lying to me. Once I was off the phone, I checked that you'd told me you were going to Brisbane. I found the piece of paper you'd written your hotel name and room number on. Then, not believing you could be that deceptive, I checked the safe only to find your passport was missing. I still didn't want to believe the evidence piling up against you so I rang Mike the next day and he logged onto the bank's portal and looked at recent transactions. There was large cash withdrawal from a bank in Auckland. I didn't know what you were doing there but had proof you'd lied about the Brisbane trip."

I was as confused as all hell. He'd cut me off just because he'd caught me in a lie? Initially, that shocked me but later, when I thought about it, I recognised that was just like Dave. He was a very black and white person.

"So, when did you find out about Peter?"

"Well, the reasons you'd deceived me were few and the most compelling of them was that you were having an affair. When did I learn Peter's name? That was about ten minutes ago, when you told me."

What the f...? On the basis of one lie, he'd cut me out of his life, moved out, and petitioned for divorce?

Or had the whole serving me with divorce papers and demanding my honesty been a ploy to discover the truth of what I'd been up to?

"So, you didn't have a private investigator following me in Auckland? You don't have photos and videos of me and Peter?"

"Nope."

This was good. With nothing visually concrete burnt into his soul, surely my chances of forgiveness and a continuing marriage were good. My musing was interrupted by his lawyer.

"So, Mrs. Brown, I think you will agree that my client has met your conditions. He's listened to your story and told you how he discovered your breach of the marital contract, if you would just sign the divorce application, we don't have to waste any more of everyone's time. The conditions of the settlement are in accordance with your prenuptial contract."

He pushed the pile of paper across at me. This meeting had gone so differently to what I'd expected, I was punch drunk. I looked at the papers. Dave hadn't known Peter's name until I blabbed it during this meeting. He didn't know anything except that I'd lied. He didn't have proof before this meeting, and he still didn't. Not concrete proof. Stress caused my survival instinct to cut in. One glance at Dave told me we were finished as a couple. It was time to look after my future as a single woman.

I pushed the papers back across the table. "I don't think so."

"Don't think what?"

"I'm not signing those. You have no proof of infidelity and therefore the prenup doesn't apply. I accept that the marriage is over and will die still apologising to Dave for lying to him. It was stupid and selfish of me. Change the agreement to a fairer split of our assets and I'll sign it this afternoon."

With that I leaned back and prepared to be stubborn. Again, the lawyer looked at Dave who nodded.

"But we do have proof of infidelity, Mrs. Brown, or will have in about thirty minutes time."

"What, how?"

"When your husband, myself, and Julie here, who is also an officer of the court, that carries a lot of weight, you know, sign our statements where we attest to attending a meeting here today at which you admitted you'd conducted a sordid, disgusting affair with-", at this point he consulted the notes he'd been writing during the meeting, "One Peter Wilson. Are you sure you won't sign?"

Maybe I should have invested in a lawyer.

I sat there stunned. When had Dave gone from being a generous, honest, strait-laced, loving person into this cold, ruthless schemer? I knew he'd been merciless in the past with couples we'd been friends with where one had strayed. The wrongdoer had always been axed from our lives. But not with me. Not with his children. To us, he'd always been kind and understanding.

Then I remembered whispered tales from acquaintances over the years that in his business life, Dave was pretty tough. It looks like he'd changed my status from being his loving wife to a business deal gone sour, a speedbump in the road to be eliminated.

No, that wasn't right.

It was me. I'd changed my status, not him.

EPILOGUE

Despite my promise to sign, I didn't, of course. I heard Dave say as I stormed out, "Are you seeing the same pattern of broken promises that I am?"