Happenstance Ch. 04

"I mean that you're a reporter," I answered. "Surely you're not going to let an opportunity like this go by without getting a story out of it. I would have thought you and your fu... compadres would have got your heads together before this to come up with a way to milk everything you could out of your quarantine experience.

"I'm disappointed in you, Shelley. I thought I'd taught you better than to let a chance like that get away from you.

"I'd have thought that, quarantine or not, you and your crew would somehow manage to get together for regular strategic planning meetings. When you next meet up, tell your lazy producer and his equally-lazy side-kick to get off their arses and start earning their keep.

"I know you probably wore them out while you were holidaying in the tropical island paradise you had to visit...," I couldn't help myself. I had to dig the needle a little deeper. "...but surely they've had enough recovery time. All three of you need to get your act together and do what you're paid to do. You probably can't talk to the other inmates... sorry, hotel guests, but what about the support team members? Surely, you can enveigle one of the security people into your next planning soiree and get some satisfactory input out of him - or her."

"We weren't holidaying in Fiji," Shelley responded angrily... perhaps, defensively, might be a better word. "We worked our butts off while we were over there." I didn't laugh at her unintended pun.

"That's my girl," I said. "But don't just get angry. Show me what you can do."

Our call ended with what had become her usual endearment-free goodbye and a, "Thank you, Matthew, I needed that," from Shelley.

I let out a sigh of relief as I disconnected the call. I now had another couple of weeks before starting my post-Covid chronic fatigue performance.

Those weeks gave me time to review the film footage of all Shelley's on-camera appearances I'd collected while she'd been with the ABN. It wasn't until I got to an interview she'd done with a prominent Queensland-based federal politician in 2017 that something jumped out at me, prompting me to return to the beginning of her time with the network. She hadn't been wearing her wedding and engagement rings during that interview, but instead, she was wearing a wide-banded dress ring I'd never seen.

The ring I saw in that footage wasn't much different to her engagement ring - which is probably why I hadn't noticed it earlier - but what gave it away was that, rather than sporting a blue sapphire as its centrepiece, it had a red stone; a ruby or garnet, perhaps. The gold band was wide enough to hide the pale depression that would have encircled her finger had she simply removed her wedding and engagement bands. I wondered if the red colour of the stone had any significance; whether subconsciously - or even consciously - she was using it to publicly announce her betrayal and to subliminally tell me of my cuckolding.

By closely examining the footage available to me, I was able to pinpoint, if not the actual day of her betrayal, then the short window of time in which it happened. That window occurred between August sixth and tenth, 2015. And it wasn't the dress ring that gave it away. Rather, it was the absence of anything resembling a ring on her left hand while interviewing the winner of the All Round Cowboy buckle at that year's Mount Isa Rodeo.

Earlier footage showed she had been wearing her wedding and engagement rings during her previous away-from-home assignment. And the footage recorded during her next trip showed her wearing the new red ring. But in the footage shot during her 2015 Mount Isa trip - the first assignment she'd undertaken with her mother in tow - her left hand was naked.

The strange smile on her face - which I hadn't noticed when I'd first viewed the report - told me that, as I'd jokingly imagined when I'd first seen the footage a few years earlier, he was the one she'd used to betray me. She even identified him as Jason Burke.

The big question was whether he was the first. Everything - the 'we-have-a-secret' smiles on both their faces, the absence of rings and the overall secrecy surrounding that trip - pointed to that being the case. Although the memory of the conversation we'd had before she left on that assignment - the one in which she joked about leaving me for a big-dicked rodeo clown named Clarence - had me wondering.

The link to the 2015 rodeo made me think back to the conversation we'd had after her network's Christmas function that year when I'd wondered what I had said to trigger the sustained bout of sobbing that had erupted when I'd talked about secrets, lies and cheating, and my inability to forgive her mother for betraying me as she had done. Now I knew. And I also now knew that it was during that rodeo trip that Shelley had betrayed me for the first time.

The confirmation that her adultery had been going on for so long cut me to the core, and I had to take a break before packing the recordings away. I'd found what I'd been looking for and didn't need to see more. I was gutted. A cloud of hopelessness descended on me, and I lowered my head into my hands and cried my eyes out.

'How could I have been so blind for so long?' I silently asked myself. Of course, I knew the answer as soon as I asked it: love. I had loved her with every element of my being. I had given her everything. My heart. My soul. My trust. Everything. I had loved her so much that I had ignored the signs of her duplicity, not even seeing her pleas to claim her when she returned from her fuckfests as anything other than an unconscious indication that she had missed me; as she'd explained on the one occasion I had asked her about it.

Those two words - 'Claim me' - should have been enough to have had my warning bells ringing. But they didn't ring. Nor did they ring, alerting me to the other signs I should have seen. Her pleading exhaustion for the first couple of nights after returning from assignments. Her aversion to indulging in anal sex for at least a week after those trips. Her desire to have a dildo stuck up her arse during vaginal sex. The permanent change to the timing of her phone-home calls from after dinner to before dinner. They were all signs of a cheating wife. But I ignored them.

'Why?' I asked myself. 'You pride yourself on your investigative skills, so why would you let yourself be hoodwinked like this?' The only answer I could come up with was: 'Because my love for her and my trust in her was absolute'.

My hopelessness turned to anger. But that anger was directed at me because I knew that had I not seen her with her fuckbuddy producer, I would have welcomed her into my arms and into my bed as soon as she walked in the door. And she would have behaved as if I was the centre of her world... and I would have lapped it up, believing she loved me as much as I loved her.

---oooBJSooo---

It took Shelley a while to adjust to the absence of sexual interaction when she eventually arrived home after the month and a half she'd been away. It must have been frustrating for her, with me trying but failing to meet her needs; even more so when I refused to go down on her, explaining in the kindest possible way that, as a side effect of Covid, I found her taste and smell repugnant.

We slept in the same bed, but after repeated disappointments, that's all we did. With the help of David's medication, I didn't even get a morning erection. That meant I could feign affection by snuggling up to her without giving myself away.

After one failed attempt at satisfying her - two or three weeks after she'd been released from quarantine - I decided to stir the possum.

I was lying on my back, apologising profusely for my inability to give her what she needed, and she was resting her head on my chest, mouthing words of comfort while trying to hide her disappointment. I had managed to get her off with my fingers but knew she had been hoping for more than second-hand masturbation.

"I'm sorry I can't be more of a man for you, Sweetheart," I said as we lay there, a hint of anger evident in my tone. "I would love nothing more than seeing Clarence buried to the hilt in your sopping wet cunt or your tight, inviting arse. But...."

"Where did that come from?" Shelley asked, lifting her head from my chest so she could look at me. She was obviously shocked at my use of such words. "I've never heard you use that sort of language before. What's got into you?"

"It's what's not got into you that brought them on," I answered. "My words weren't aimed at you, though. They were directed at me. I'm so frustrated and angry at myself for not being able to satisfy you as I used to. I wouldn't blame you if you went looking for a man with a real cock to meet your needs. I wouldn't...."

"Oh, my darling man," she said, interrupting me. "I would never do that to you." Her lying words rolled so glibly off her tongue.

"Besides, didn't David tell you that it's only temporary?"

"Hopefully," I responded, sounding depressed. "He said he hoped it would only be temporary. But I'm starting to have my doubts."

"You've got to stop thinking like that," she responded, replacing her head on my chest and hugging me. "After all, it's only been a few weeks. We'll get through this. We always do."

"I hope so," I replied despondently. "I certainly hope so. It's a pity this year's rodeo had to be cancelled. That would have been an ideal opportunity for you to get your rocks off with your rodeo clown." That seemed to hit home. I felt her body tense as the words left my mouth.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked after a slight pause, her voice muffled by my chest hairs.

"Nothing, really. I was just thinking of the talk we'd had before you went up to Mount Isa a few years ago when you'd joked about running off with Clarence before giving me the even worse news that the wicked slut from the west was back in town."

I noticed she didn't defend her mother's virtue as she had done that night.

"But while we're talking about people getting their rocks off," I said, changing the subject in the hope it would throw her. "Did Geoff and Harry manage to dip their wicks while you were over in Fiji?" It had the desired effect. Her body tensed once again. I imagined her brain racing to come up with an answer that wouldn't have her even hinting that she and her crew members had been up to something while they were in that island nation.

She did what any half-decent cheating slut wife would do in such a situation. She answered my question with one of her own.

"What in God's name would make you ask a question like that?" she responded, lifting herself again so she could see my face. There was a hint of anger in her voice and, although the light was low, I could see her face was flushed.

"And what would make you think I would even know if they got lucky?"

"Oh, I don't know," I answered. "The three of you are pretty close, and many men - and women, I would imagine - tend to let their hair down when they're away from home. I'm not talking about you, of course, because I know you would never cheat on me. And it wouldn't matter with Geoff because he's single. But isn't Harry married? I'd hate to see his marriage destroyed because he brought an unwanted gift home to his wife after one of his trips."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shelley asked heatedly. "What makes you think that Geoff or Harry would tell me about any dalliances they might have had while we're away?"

"Oh, come on," I said, my annoyance at her prevarication evident in my tone. "We media types are fairly broad-minded, and many men brag about their conquests, particularly among their friends and colleagues. And you've said, yourself, that you and your crew members are pretty tight. I can't imagine they'd hide their nighttime achievements from one of their own.

"After all, you knew about Dan and your mother's tryst and Harry's sleeping with the cameraperson in Mount Isa all those years ago, back when you first...." I cut my comment short.

"Back when I first what?" she asked angrily. I was obviously getting to her.

"Back when you first...." I paused for effect. "Back when you first learned that some people see trips away from home - assignments, conferences, rodeos and the like - as opportunities to share themselves about; opportunities to sample a bit of strange, I think is the current terminology.

"But that's neither here nor there. I wasn't asking for a mouth, tit, cunt and arsehole accounting of their exploits. But I was asking because of what I read in an article in a magazine while sitting in David's waiting room when I went to talk to him about my problem the other day. I don't remember whether it was a travel magazine or a medical journal, but the article drew my interest because it was about the Pacific Islands region.

"One of the interesting facts I learned from it was that Fiji - along with quite a few other Pacific nations - has a very high incidence of sexually transmitted infections. The biggies are the treatable diseases such as syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia, but they also have high rates of the incurables like Hep-C and herpes. And the cases of HIV are apparently hitting record levels.

"I just thought I'd tell you so you could pass the information on to them. If they did manage to get their ends away, they should probably have themselves checked out. Of course, they'd know by now if they had contracted gonorrhea, but syphilis and chlamydia can apparently be stealthy little buggers. The others? Well, it will take time for the symptoms of those to become evident.

"I just figured that if anyone knew what they got up to while you were away, it would be you. And I'd never forgive myself if I failed to mention something I'd learned that might save them from the consequences of their actions. I'm not saying they did play up while you were over there, but if they did, they should get themselves checked out.

"But I'm probably... what's the expression? I'm probably telling my grandmother how to suck eggs. If they did manage to get lucky, I'm sure they were smart enough to use protection."

My words must have had the desired effect on Shelley because, without responding, she lowered herself down under the covers, rolled over so she had her back to me, and pretended she was drifting off to sleep.

'It seems my work here is done,' I silently told myself as I looked at the back of the woman I had once loved. She couldn't see the satisfied smile on my face.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart," I said quietly before leaning over to kiss her on the shoulder. I then slid down into the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

She was up, dressed and had gone off to work by the time I surfaced the following morning. She had left earlier than usual, but I guess she had a few things to discuss with her producer and cameraman before the day started.

---oooBJSooo---

In addition to the limits placed on Shelley's range of travel, those intra-national and international restrictions affected my own movements. The Covid-driven border closures were interfering with my plans to follow in her mother's footsteps and do a disappearing act.

But I'm nothing if not resourceful. I could still tick off everything on my checklist and find somewhere to hole up while waiting for the borders to open. The important thing was that for my disappearing act to have the desired impact, I had to be present - and be seen as the loving, caring and attentive husband - one day, and gone the next. To that end, I already had the ball rolling.

One of the first things I'd done after having made the decision to leave Shelley was to put the house I'd owned since she and her mother had moved in with me on the market. As I had promised the family who had been renting the place since we'd moved into our new, larger home, I'd given them the first right of refusal. Unfortunately, even with the assistance the government was offering to keep the nation's economy from bottoming out during the pandemic, they couldn't come anywhere near the property's current value.

That was not surprising as the market for housing in Queensland was climbing through the roof, driven mainly by Sydneysiders and Melburnians who were tiring of the repeated extensive lockdowns occurring in their cities. My house sold, sight unseen, and within hours of being listed, to a Melbourne-based buyer for well over what I thought was more than double its true value.

The money from the house sale was deposited into my lawyer's trust account before being transferred to a trust account controlled by my accountant. After deducting any capital gains tax the sale might have attracted, it would then be forwarded to my Cayman Islands account.

While those transfers were taking place, I used money already held in my offshore bank to purchase a two-hundred-acre property on a lake out in the southwestern part of the state. It made an ideal hideout. The previous owners had transported a reclaimed three-bedroom post-war bungalow onto the block, which - after a few repairs and a bit of tidy-up - would do me until our national borders opened and I could start my search for an overseas country in which to live.

So far as everyone was concerned, the property would be leased from its overseas owners by my Australian-based publishing company. My name didn't appear on anything relating to the property, and any bills for services and council rates would be sent to my company at my accountant's business address. While it wouldn't be impossible for anyone to track me down, I wasn't making it easy for them.

I hoped that by the time Shelley managed to put all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle I was creating together - and I had no doubt she was capable of doing so if she put her mind to it - the Covid-dictated travel restrictions would, hopefully, have been lifted, and I would be long gone.

But I would be more camouflaged than completely invisible. Whether in Australia or somewhere overseas, my parents and my children would always know where I was. Of course, my accountant and lawyer would also know, but like my family members, they would be sworn to secrecy. Shelley was the only person I would be hiding from.

Wherever I ended up, though, I would never completely disappear. I had no intention of changing my name or obtaining false identity documents. Unlike Shelley's mother and biological father, I wasn't attempting to hide my identity. Why would I? I was proud of my family name. Besides, except for being foolish enough to fall victim to her duplicitous lies, I'd done nothing wrong.

---oooBJSooo---

While waiting for the date of my disappearance to roll around, I made all the other arrangements necessary for my departure.

After excluding Shelley from any benefits from my superannuation fund and life insurance policy, I visited my long-term friend and lawyer, George Ferguson, and changed my will. From that point on, the only beneficiaries of my estate would be my son and daughter.

In addition to rewriting my will, I gave my lawyer three other tasks to accomplish. The first was to draw up a document transferring my interest in the family home to Shelley. That would leave it up to her to decide what to do with it when she realised I wasn't coming back. He was to have that delivered to her within a few days of my disappearance. From then on, she would be responsible for the mortgage, insurance, utility and maintenance expenses. All she would have to do to activate that transfer would be to add her signature to the pre-signed documents I had lodged with the bank. A letter accompanying the papers would advise her to do so as quickly as possible, as I would not be contributing any further funds towards the house or its upkeep. Her income, I knew, was sufficient to cover those additional expenses.