Happenstance Ch. 02

"So don't go threatening him or me, or he might change his mind. You're dead to him at the moment. It might be best if you stay that way." With that, she slammed the phone down into its cradle. Her eyes were filled with tears of anger, and her body was shaking.

"Wow! What brought that on?" I asked as I reached over, pulling her into a comforting hug.

"The lowlife bastard threatened to have someone call on us to convince us of the need for silence. I took that to mean someone from his former life. I think it was all bluster, though. I don't think he'd want to open up that can of worms. Of course, he may have been referring to those who have him under their protection. But that, too, would give the game away."

Even if she hadn't already made up her mind, that phone call would have put paid to any plans Shelley might have had about returning to Perth. That decision proved moot, however, when, two weeks later, she called to talk to her young brother and sister. The Olivers - or those protecting them - must have seen Shelley's decision to stay on the east coast - and her calling her biological father's bluff - as a threat to their security. The 'not in service' tone on their phoneline told us they had done another runner.

Understandably, Shelley was upset about her mother's unannounced abandonment of her, and it took her a while to get over it. Me? Not so much. While I could empathise with her and could console her in her grief, I thought it would give her an insight into how I had felt six years earlier.

Apparently, that was exactly how she saw it. Unable to contact her mother by phone, she wrote to her expressing her disappointment at being cut off from her family in such a sudden and callous way, mentioning how much her mother's treatment of her mirrored that when, without leaving so much as a note to explain her actions, she had abandoned me. She printed off two copies of her letter, sending one to her former residential address and the other to the post box they'd used as a clearing house.

The letter she sent to their home address was returned within a couple of weeks with the notation, 'Not Known At This Address'. The letter sent to the post box didn't come back, however, which gave her hope that it had been forwarded to her mother. Sadly, she never received a response.

"I just can't understand why Mum would abandon me so completely," she said as we sat discussing what had happened. "And to leave me with no way to talk to Tommy and Gerrie is unforgivable. I really love those two.

"I love Mum, too. But I'll really miss my little brother and sister. So, why would they do that? Of course, I can live without Dad. He's done nothing but destroy our lives. And it looks like he's continuing to do it. He must be dead scared of the people he testified against. It would be interesting to know who they were."

That was when I told her that my file was still open on her and her mother's disappearance and that I, too, was interested in learning who it was he had grassed on.

"I could probably find that out," I explained, "if I knew your biological father's real name. That would give me an anchor point from which to work. If I knew who he was, I could start digging into his background. Once I had that information, I could then start digging around in the archives at work to find a connection to a case.

"The trouble is that I don't know his former name. There are only two people who could tell me - three if you count him - and none of them is likely to share that knowledge with me. Your mother certainly wouldn't, and I doubt your grandmother would either. She seems to think the sun, moon and stars shine out of his arsehole and that their relationship is a match made in heaven.

"But let's not worry about it now. We've got other, more important, things to concern ourselves with. We'll work on finding out your biological father's real name later."

Among the many subjects we discussed during our regular talks while sitting together on the lounge at night was that Shelley should consider a mid-year enrolment at the university she'd chosen rather than taking a full gap year. She agreed that since she no longer had to decide whether or not she would be returning to Perth, it was a good idea. So, after researching the options available to her and deciding on the most appropriate course, she contacted the west coast university to which she had submitted her original application and had them transfer her documentation to the Queensland University of Technology.

One of the things we had to work on while waiting for that to happen, however, was to get her registered for unemployment benefits so she could survive financially while she waited for her university enrolment documentation to be sent from Perth. I'd told her I was happy to support her while waiting for that to happen, but she insisted that she needed to be self-sufficient. She also felt that now she was legally an adult, she should contribute to the running of our home.

Registering for benefits turned out to be more frustrating than either of us had anticipated, though. Not only did she have to provide them with her birth certificate, but she also had to provide the adoption papers that linked her birth name, Horseman, with the name Oliver on her driver's licence. That process took almost two months of toing and froing between state and federal government departments before her payments were finally approved.

Every cloud has a silver lining, however, and our struggle to prove Shelley's identity provided us with the piece of information we had been looking for. Shelley's mother had listed her father as one, James Reginald French, on her daughter's birth certificate.

That little piece of the jigsaw puzzle would end up leading us down a path that would, three and a half years later, lead to Shelley being awarded an Australian News Media Association prize and a career in television news broadcasting. It would also provide me with the basis for a novel I wrote quite a few years later.

In neither case was James Reginald French/Davis/Oliver/??? the subject of our stories. But by the time we had completed our research, we both understood why he was so afraid of being identified. Those with whom he had been involved would have thought nothing of cutting him and his family up into little pieces if they ever got their hands on them.

---oooBJSooo---

"What would you say if I told you I was thinking of changing my name?" Shelley asked during a commercial break while we were watching the world news one night in March of 1999.

"I'd say, "What is it about the name Michelle that you don't like?"" I answered without taking my eyes off the screen. I had a hard time hiding my grin. I knew that if I turned to look at her, I'd burst out laughing.

"No, Daddy, you stupid man," she responded, giving me a hard punch to the shoulder. I could hear her own laughter in her voice. "No. I'm serious. And I'm talking about my surname.

"With Mum and Jim having done another disappearing act - and no doubt changing their identity in the process - I no longer have any connection to the Oliver name; which I had no say in, anyway. I'm thinking I should change it back to Horseman.

"It would probably be easier to get it done while I have all my documentation together. That way, I'll start university as Michelle Horseman instead of starting it under some fictitious name that I'll probably want to change later."

I agreed with her reasoning, not mentioning that there had been a time when I would have liked her to have the surname, King. I had to admit to being a little disappointed that she wasn't considering adopting my surname, but I kept my mouth shut. It was her decision, after all.

The name change did not turn out to be as difficult as I had imagined it would be, although it confused the hell out of the people at the Social Security office. The university admissions office didn't seem to have the same problem, however, and when she graduated four years later, her certificate was issued to Michelle Irene Horseman.

---oooBJSooo---

With the ties to her mother and biological father broken and those between Shelley and her grandmother seemingly damaged beyond repair, she and I settled into our new life together. From her first day at university, she took to her studies like a duck to water.

Despite us not sharing a single strand of DNA, she was so much like me in so many ways it was uncanny. Once she got her teeth into something, there was nothing that could tear her away from it. She focused on each of her subjects as if her life depended on it, and I often had to remind her to make time to catch her breath.

Of course, I was much the same. I knew the secret to writing a good story was in the research and preparatory work that went into it. I wouldn't even think about sitting down to start writing until I had picked at every thread and extracted every piece of information I could find about whatever I was working on. By the time I punched the first sentence into my word processor - it had been a typewriter in my early days - I would already have the story outlined in my head.

Being so focused can take life's pleasures away from one, however. And I'd learned the hard way that stepping off the treadmill to take a breather from time to time was a necessity rather than a luxury. My ignorance of that fact resulted in my having to take stress leave after putting together one particularly gruelling and gruesome exposé. Sure, I won an award for it, but nobody gave a tinker's damn about the physical and mental toll its writing inflicted on me.

"Physical fitness is your friend," I kept reminding her. "Journalism is a mentally challenging but sedentary career. If you don't keep yourself fit, you'll either be burned out or dead by the time you're fifty."

That was a message I repeatedly hammered into Shelley during her university years and even more so when she started work.

She had started accompanying me on my morning runs not long after she came to live with me and would often join me when I went to either my gym for a workout or attended my martial arts training. During her early trips to both facilities, she learned that I could handle myself fairly well, which, I guess, had prompted her to tell Davis/Oliver that I would have 'torn him apart' had I discovered Charlie's cheating before they disappeared.

Following my example, she enrolled in a martial arts program; not only for its fitness benefits but so she would have the ability to defend herself should the need ever arise. Despite her desire to join me in my involvement in boxing, I managed to dissuade her, explaining that, while a broken nose might add character to a man's face, it didn't suit a woman. The truth, however, was that I didn't want to see her involved because of the physical harm she might sustain, either in the ring or later in life. I did get her working on the heavy and speed bags, though, which I thought would help strengthen her wrists and improve her hand-eye coordination.

I was pleased to see that my message appeared to have buried itself deep in her subconscious. She not only kept up her fitness program through her university years but continued to stick with it when she entered the workforce. She also learned to take time away from her studies and work to recharge her batteries.

While at university, she participated in team sports like netball and solo activities such as cross-country running. She also developed friendships with her fellow students; something she had missed while living in Perth with her mother and Jim Davis/Oliver under witness protection. As had been the case with the friendships I had made while undertaking my own tertiary studies, some of the those Shelley made would end up being of the lifelong kind.

---oooBJSooo---

To help her to gain an understanding of the industry she hoped to become part of at the end of her four-year university course, I managed to get Shelley a part-time job with the newspaper for which I worked during the months leading up to the commencement of her studies. That work experience introduced her to the good, bad and ugly aspects of the journalist's life.

Before she started working in my office, we talked about our familial connection and agreed that - to avoid any suggestion of nepotism - we would treat each other as co-workers whenever we interacted at the office. From then on, 'Sweetheart' and 'Daddy' would be reserved for home. Whenever we met in public or at work, we would refer to each other as Matt and Michelle. Our different surnames helped us to maintain that façade of separation.

We'd become so used to using each other's given names by the time she started at university that it continued whenever we were together at sporting events or academic functions. It also carried through to our social interactions, and we assumed the guise of friends enjoying an evening out together.

It didn't matter whether we were simply sharing a meal or attending a show, it gave me a thrill to see the looks on men's faces when a rough-hewn, mid-thirties bloke like me walked into a theatre or restaurant with such an attractive, much younger woman on his arm.

As soon as I knew Shelley was staying and that she would be enrolling at QUT, I dug my old Pitman Shorthand book out of my home office library and spent an hour or so each evening helping her to learn how to use this valuable journalist's tool. She proved to be a quick study and, by the time she attended her first lectures, was taking notes in shorthand. It was a skill she continued to use throughout her career.

By the end of her first semester, she had hit her straps and had settled into university life. Not only was she achieving high pass levels for her subjects - distinctions and credits, which made me proud - but she had also started socialising with her classmates. We'd had the talk about responsible drinking, and I had warned her about leaving her drinks unattended, but when I'd broached the subject of sex, she shut me down.

"Mum didn't want me ending up in the same situation that had put the brakes on her life," Shelley said, "so she got me started on the pill just after I turned sixteen. But just in case you're wondering, I haven't yet availed myself of the joys of sex I've read so much about; not in the one way that matters most, anyway.

"That's not to say I haven't been tempted," she continued. "I have. The opportunities have presented themselves, and I have experimented - I've even walked right up to the edge of the abyss - but I've never taken that one final step. I've never allowed anyone to go all the way, so to speak. I suppose it will happen one day. But when it does, it will be with someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"Okay," I responded, somewhat shocked at her candour. "But even though you're protected, make sure the young man you chose uses a condom. It's not only pregnancy you have to be worried about. You also have to be aware of STDs. Don't ever forget that it's not only your partner you're sharing the 'joys of sex' with. It's also his previous partners. The chances are that it won't be his first rodeo, regardless of what he might say.

"Contrary to what you might think, I wasn't always the shy, mild-mannered man I am today. Back when I was your age, I used every trick in the book to get into a young lady's panties; including lying through my teeth. If I was to be believed - which I most often was - I lost my virginity so many times I could have made up a football team."

"I'm shattered!" Shelley squealed as she burst into laughter. "You've destroyed my faith in human nature. Here I was, looking at you as an example of all that is good in the world. But now...." The rest of her comment was smothered as she buried herself into my chest to muffle her mirth.

'I wish she wouldn't do that,' I said to myself as she crushed her body into mine, 'particularly when she's wearing one of my tee shirts.'

That was another thing we discussed during the period between her arrival and her first day at uni. Although she tended to dress modestly when out in public and while at work, that modesty flew out the window when she arrived home. She would then shed her cloak of innocence and reappear wearing nothing but one of my tee or business shirts, neither of which hid the fact that she was braless underneath. Naturally, that led me to wonder whether the absence of a bra meant she might also be pantyless. The lack of panty lines tended to support my hypothesis.

Unfortunately, my insistence that she wear something a little more modest around the house fell on deaf ears. If fact, her appearance tended to become even less modest following those occasions when - after being driven to distraction - I was forced to spend a night or two with one of the ladies with whom I'd had a 'friends with benefits' arrangement before Shelley had come back into my life.

It was one of those ladies who pointed out to me that Shelley might have developed a crush on me while we'd been apart and that, now we were once again together, she was trying to draw me into her sexual fantasies by dressing provocatively when the two of us were alone. According to my lady friend, I could expect things to become much hotter before they cooled down. That's if cooling down was even in the cards, which she didn't think would happen unless Shelley found another target for her affection.

I thought that transfer of affection might happen while she was working at my newspaper office. After all, she was surrounded by young men around her own age who considered themselves God's gift to women. But no. She rejected all their advances, not accepting a single invitation to go out with any of them.

It looked like things would be the same during her first study semester until I received a call from her one night telling me she'd gone over her drink quota and that she would stay the night with one of her fellow students. I understood that to mean she'd found someone she wanted to spend the night with, but I was wrong. She actually had had one or two drinks too many and had slept on one of her girlfriend's couches.

The kick in the guts for me, however, was that as soon as I thought about her spending the night in another man's bed, I was overcome with jealousy.

That same scenario repeated itself several times throughout that first semester. I'm sure she knew what she was doing to me because her teasing went through the roof after each of her supposed sexual encounters. But she soon realised that her strategy was backfiring on her. She might have been the one stirring up my juices, but she wasn't the one benefiting from my increased passion. Instead, she was driving me into the arms of another woman.

My one and two-night absences must finally have triggered an understanding that they were occurring as a result of her own actions. I think she finally realised that if she didn't push the envelope, she could have me all to herself. That didn't mean she stopped wearing my tee shirts, but it did mean she would usually - not always, but usually - wear something over them to shield me from having an eye poked out by one of her overly-long nipples.

---oooBJSooo---

"You know I love you with all my heart," I said to Shelley as we sipped our Irish coffees after dinner at one of our favourite restaurants one night. She looked beautiful sitting opposite me, wearing a modest but inexpensive blue cocktail dress and sporting the single solitaire diamond necklace I had given her on her nineteenth birthday. I thought I'd give her a special treat to boost her confidence with her first-semester final exams just around the corner.

I also needed to talk to her about her infatuation with me. If either of us was to have any chance for happiness with a lifelong partner, I had to nip her fantasies in the bud. I couldn't let them continue. In fact, I feared that I'd already allowed them to go too far.