

### Rat-Bait and the Alfa Romeo

Maxine Millar

Copyright © 2020 Maxine Millar

All rights reserved.

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Please note

This is a work of fiction except for a few exceptions...

Jeremy Clarkson is real. I hope I got his quote correct.

Jacinda Ardern is real. She is the New Zealand Prime Minister.

And Covid 19 is real. And so are the facts relating to it as far as we know as of mid 2020.

The rest is fiction.

Dedicated to Dewey. The real one. He is sleeping in my garden.

His garden.

Our garden.

Contents

Author's Note

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six,

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Other Books by This Author

About the Author

# Chapter One

June 12th 2018

Seething, I sat down with my coffee at the table, trying to calm down. How could he do such a thing to his own kid? Jenny had gone off to school crying and saying, "But he promised!"

Duncan had indeed promised to take her out for the day on Saturday and treat her for her birthday. Again, he had let her down. Worse, he hadn't even wished her happy birthday, had sent no present as usual and had yelled at her when she cried. She was ten. What did he expect?

My little girl had now not seen her father for over a year. He had seen her only once since he met his latest dolly-bird and walked out on us.

I looked around at the kitchen. Dishes were everywhere, the floor needed washing, the windows were filthy and that was just the kitchen. Add to that it was winter, cold, raining and windy as usual given this was Wellington and this house could sure do with some insulation in the walls. The ceiling and underfloor had been insulated, luckily before I bought it. New Zealand had passed this law that all rentals had to have underfloor and ceiling insulation as a minimum. And they had to have heating and this had been a rental before I bought it according to the neighbours. Either the previous occupants or the ones before; they weren't sure. So the insulation had been done.

Before all this disaster in my life, I had been an organized, neat and tidy housekeeper. I had also been cheerful and happy, thinking I had a good life. What a fool I was. To make things worse, the washing machine had broken down last week so the porch looked worse than usual because the laundry was in the porch. The porch that was the entrance to the house for most people. Dirty clothes were also still in all the bedrooms since it would just make the mess worse if I collected them up and put them in the laundry. So I hadn't. There was a laundromat not too far away but you needed money for that and I didn't have any. Not even four dollars for a wash. Sam and Jenny were usually non-starters for housework anyway but they were going to have to get a lot better, starting with learning how to handwash their clothes in the bath.

Almost no money arrived from Duncan. He had convinced me to avoid the welfare system by a private arrangement. He generously left me the house; which I owned half of anyway and which my parents had paid the deposit for. But unfortunately, my parents' contribution was not seen as 'mine' but as 'ours' and the deal was 'you get the house and leave my business alone.' And he offered me child maintenance in return for giving him the house contents. But because he had kept drawing back on the mortgage for the business and the luxuries he just had to have, that only left me with less than a quarter equity in the house where if there had been no drawbacks, we would have owned just under half of it after twelve years of paying a twenty year mortgage.

Consequently, that had left me minus the furniture and with a hefty mortgage which on my wages, I couldn't manage. So I sold that beautiful house and bought this one which left me with a smaller mortgage but it had meant leaving Wadestown and moving to Tawa. To a house of less than half the value and smaller. Not exactly going up in the world. The property values in Tawa might be less than half but the important fact was that the mortgage was now affordable; just. The only advantage was the much bigger section. But I was always broke, as in very little left over for the other bills and no money to even buy a coffee for lunch.

Duncan's favourite sport, apart from women and cars and fast living, was scheming how to avoid and evade tax and pay as little as possible. Third on his favourite list, was excuses for not giving me the paltry sum of money he had agreed to pay for the children. I showed him the statistics which say that children cost $16,000 a year each to raise. He was supposed to pay $100 a week each in partial exchange for my half of a house and garden full of expensive goodies. Stupidly, I agreed to that deal.

His cry of poverty was a little hard to swallow given he maintained a lavish life style, had bought a new house and loaded it with all the good quality furniture we had previously owned and paid for together. Well mostly I had paid for them. Sadly, I had now bargained away my half of our lovely new furniture and any claim on the business I had helped build up. All because of that promise to give me a hundred dollars for each child, a week, until they were eighteen. I believed him. Silly me.

I finished my coffee. Well the housework would all have to wait. I was due at work in twenty-five minutes. On the way, walking to the bus in the wind and rain, I reflected that this busing was due to the poverty he left me in. The bus was cheaper than running my own Corolla and paying parking fees and I had a multi-ride card which I topped up every payday. I pondered my options on the trip into Wellington city. I had been cheated. I guess you've figured that out by now. A lot faster than I did. This was going to continue because I now knew quite a few things about my ex that I would not have believed before he walked out. Painfully, it had taken me a lot longer to fall out of love with him than it had taken me to fall into love with him. Like nearly a year to finally face the truth and see reality clearly. And then the depression had hit hard. Had it not been for the children, I might have contemplated suicide. I had lost the love of my life and my first love.

I now brought up our children just on my wage by working long hours as a Legal Executive. I brought work home, so I could get home by five, and I had two housework-making but not housework-doing children. And two latchkey children at that. At least there was plenty of overtime at work and I was paid extra to do it.

Strangely, my seething anger today at Duncan helped. It felt to me like I had finally accepted that he wasn't coming back and he was a bastard. I concluded that I was a slow learner but I got there eventually. The humiliating point to all this was that divorce was part of my job. I saw it a lot, like daily. I helped people through the legal and emotional quagmire of divorce and Duncan was just so typical of so many men who, once they start a new relationship, discard the old one like an old coat they no longer want. And that included our two children.

The state of the house wasn't all the kid's fault. Depression lowers your energy levels, your motivation too and in this case my housekeeping standards. But the mess did worry me. I was these days focused on my kids and my job. I had had this job for six years. I had started the training soon after Sam was born and had qualified in five years but it had been a part-time job; about twenty hours a week job with the occasional extra hours when the firm got busy which happened periodically. The firm had been delighted to put me up to full-time, which they had been encouraging me to do anyway as the work kept increasing. We did very little Criminal Court work; it was all Conveyancing (real estate transfers), Trusts, Contracts, Family Law, Civil Claims and Disputes, Debt Collection, and the delightful Work Driver's Licenses or negotiating how to get a temporary license back, for the sole purpose of driving to work, for those who had lost their licence, almost always due to alcohol or drug offenses. The new devices, which put a Breathalyzer into the ignition system, made this a lot easier. They had to do a Breathalyzer test and had to pass it before the car would start. But the system wasn't fool-proof or perhaps I should qualify that. There were some ways that I won't tell you about, whereby idiots could fool the system and drive drunk.

But the excellent part of my job was that when I had applied for the job, they had agreed to put me on outwork during all the school holidays. This practice had continued when I moved up to fulltime work. And I got all the Christmas School holidays on annual leave. That didn't bother the firm. Like most of Wellington, we shut down on Christmas Eve and didn't reopen until the beginning of February. Most of Wellington pretty much shut down until Parliament, schools, Technical Institutes and the University reopened for the year.

Duncan had had several jobs and was good at earning money but he was much better at spending it. He finally found his niche. He had started five years ago as a car salesman but now sold caravans and motorhomes as well. He had an agreement with a hire firm and bought their smaller motorhomes off them and sold the larger ones on-behalf. It made his yard look prosperous now the yard was bigger and with the expensive vehicles at the back. Better still, his yard had been extended into the one that had been beside his.

Much of this success had been my doing. I had done the business side for him. I did all the hateful GST (Goods and Services Tax). I had always been good at maths but it annoyed the heck out of me that that that made me an unpaid tax collector for the government. But I did it for us. The us that wasn't us anymore and when I had tried to claim he owed me for my contribution to his business, he minimised and belittled all I had done. His accountant backed him up and I couldn't prove it. So he ignored my contribution. All that work I had done, unpaid, didn't count. At times, I had worked for him full time. Unpaid. For our future.

The addition of the motorhomes had been my idea. Worst still, it had been lucrative. I had been helping a motorhome hire firm to avoid bankruptcy. I put them onto Duncan who sold their vehicles for them on behalf. They lost the business but avoided bankruptcy and yes, before you yell at me, I did disclose a possible conflict of interests. But Duncan was Internet savvy, as am I, and I helped him sell them putting all the sales in his name of course. I quite often helped him with his work, especially the Internet sales and I helped him with the books so I knew some of what he was doing was suspect. But I ensured I signed nothing of course. I wasn't implicated in his dodgy accounting and I discouraged it but he didn't listen to things like that. I suppose you are thinking, given all this, that I was an idiot not to see what he was like. They say love is blind but it's also devoid of judgment. I just never thought he would throw me out. I thought he loved me, because he so often told me he did. I knew how useful I was to all aspects of his life! Except the illegal stuff I suspected. I didn't help with that.

He did all sorts of dodgy tax deals like claiming a caravan as his office. But the caravan he originally claimed to use as an office was not the flash one we bought for holidays. The caravan that strangely, only he seemed to use. For tax purposes, he claimed the old original caravan that could no longer move and was now a shed because we have a smart new office. And the expensive caravan? That disappeared. I didn't find out about that tax dodge for years. His accountant did the final books and I hadn't seen choice bits like that until the settlement before the final divorce. I also didn't find out until later that he entertained _her_ in _our_ bed in the caravan.

Her, or this latest her, was Sally. She was only about six years older than Sam when he first met her, slim, pretty, naïve, with baby blue eyes and long blond hair. The classic trophy-wife. She was a receptionist at a rival car sales firm when Duncan first spotted her. Flattered and innocent, despite those looks, she had been a pushover. Duncan had cried in her arms, she had informed me, telling her how ours was a loveless, shotgun marriage that I had trapped her darling Duncan into. And how did I find this out? Do you have to know? Like a pride-lacking moron, I confronted her. There; now you know how much of a fool I was and how much I was in love with him.

Sadly, my parents had seen right through him and begged me not to marry him. But I was sixteen and knew it all. And pregnant. Since I was sixteen, my parents had to give me their permission, in writing, to marry him and my Grandparents had helped them cave in. For Grandma, being an unmarried mother would be shameful. And we had been happy at first or at least I was; confident in my illusion of the perfect marriage to the perfect man.

So Sally was convinced Duncan had only stayed in his loveless marriage 'for the kids.' Those same kids he had no time for now...Sally was sucked in. Duncan was convincing and a charmer sucking both men and women in while scoffing at how gullible people were. He had the measure of women, many of whom were clueless about cars and men who knew a lot less than they pretended to. Or thought they knew. He would say things like,

"I can see I can't fool you..." before fooling them and overcharging them. But he was smart in one way. He honoured his warranties unlike so many others. He declared horror that their vehicles had betrayed him and their new owners and he put things right, lending them another car until he got theirs fixed. So my con artist ex-husband convinced people he was on the level and got repeat customers. Sometimes he even fixed things out of warranty and guess what that did to his reputation? And can you guess who convinced him to do that? And all the time I thought he was basically honest despite the visible proof to the contrary.

Shotgun and forced into marriage indeed! And whose fault had that been? I had been sixteen and still at school and he had been twenty-one. The fact that my parents had money wouldn't have had anything to do with it would it? Where do you think we got the deposit for the house? Not from my spendthrift husband. And my wages paid the mortgage once I started working for the law firm. That hadn't been the agreement when my parents had paid my tuition fees for the education so I could train for the job. Guess whose idea it was that I paid the mortgage?

Duncan was a user and a bit of a dominator too and such a charmer. But by the time he was desperate to get his clinging, pathetic wife off of him, the charmer was gone. He finally told me about some of the other women. Sadly, some brave people had told me what he was up to and even given me some of the same names, but I had not believed them. Not the love of my life. Not my Duncan. My anger was growing. I was now just turned twenty-nine and on an honest day, I thought I looked forty and I felt fifty.

# Chapter Two

Same day

Sally looked up as Duncan slammed the phone down, "What's wrong darling?"

"Oh, Jenny's crying because I can't take her out on Saturday. I've got too many appointments and they're important ones! I have a business to run. And that whiny bitch says it's my fault. I told Jenny another time." Duncan looked around into the adoring eyes of his Sally. Everyone envied him when he went out with her! Sally was a knock-out on his arm and getting better and better in bed. She also did his books; beauty and brains. He sure could pick them. He bounced down the stairs to the garage and picked up the car starter from the bowl. He opened the garage door and looked at his car; his third Alfa Romeo. It was the same colour as his previous one; red. That was so the whiny bitch wouldn't know he'd bought a new one.

She never understood. To be successful in business, he had to look and act the part. Buying a new car every year or two told others he was prosperous. Ditto the sharp clothes, the new phone and the other toys. It didn't cost him money it made him money and the whiny bitch had never understood that.

Sally understood. Sally knew he needed to look successful to be successful. The whiny bitch kept at him for child support and to take the kids out. This was much more important. This was not only his job; it was who he was and what he was and he was good at it! And it was so him. He had always loved cars. He knew all the new models, all the specs and could rattle off all the best bits of the reviews. He subscribed to six different car magazines. He read, breathed and lived cars. He knew what he was talking about and others noticed how knowledgeable he was. He could quote prices for a car that was that year, that model at that mileage in that condition. He didn't need the calculator on the website; it was all in his memory and he reckoned his memory adjusted and updated faster than a website.

When he quoted a price, he was looking at a real car, in real condition, adjusting the price in terms of what needed to be done, what it would cost, how much local demand there was, whether or not he had a buyer and how much profit he would make. And then there was the car they were buying and he could do some adjusting there. He would offer them a discount on the new one and the idiots never realised he loaded that discount off the price of the old car. But so many men were like him. When he wanted a car, he was prepared to pay top dollar and discard the old one. He knew he undervalued his old car and he knew many men were like him and did the same. If he no longer wanted it, it was worth little.

Women now; they were the opposite. In general, that was. Some were sensible but most wanted top dollar for the old car so he dealt with them differently; full price for the new car and a good price for the old one. You just had to know how to play people and he sussed them up very fast. People were so easy to manipulate. Men wanted to be told how fast it accelerated and women wanted to know how reliable it was and how long it would last. And if they came as a couple, he would offer the woman some long-term perk knowing damn well the husband would sell the car before he had to keep his promise.

But his best deal was the extended mechanical warranty. He had a sweet deal going. He had nicked a few pads from the dealership he had bought out and he sold people a warranty. And never posted the carbon or sent the money. Most near new cars never needed the warranty and if something went wrong, he acted shocked, accepted the claim from them and paid up himself. Not that they knew that. They thought he was being helpful and pulling favours to get them a good fast job. He gauged the insurance industry must make a fortune out of mechanical warranties because he did. The majority of the near new cars he sold never put a tyre wrong and were out of the warranty they had never had when the year was up. Even the two-year warranties were seldom needed and often the car was sold before the two years were up. The non-existent warranties were non-transferable. Or if the mark had paid top dollar for a three-year warranty, there was an even better chance that the car would be sold before the three years was up. Neither Sally nor the whiny bitch knew about that deal and he intended to keep it that way. There were several little deals neither of them knew about and he intended to keep them ignorant of all of the above.

He opened the door of his pride and joy and got in. He pressed the starter and the car roared into life as he hit the accelerator and flipped the garage door opener. The door lifted up as he reversed out and waited for Sally. As she closed the door, he roared up the driveway and braked hard at the footpath as the next-door neighbours' kids leapt out of his way laughing. Why couldn't his kids be like that? The next-door neighbours' kids thought he was choice. He accelerated down the road getting up to sixty-five before he had to brake at the lights.

"Duncan..."

"Yes darling," he said and snapped on his seat belt. As he gently accelerated off the lights, he sedately travelled exactly on the speed limit of 50kph. Oh, the joys of cruise control which he generally ignored. Duncan liked to be in control.

# Chapter Three

Still June 12th

Getting into work, I quickly worked through typing up some settlement agreements for division of family property (yes divorce work). I had always been a fast typist and accurate too. At this type of work, I was nearly twice as fast as my predecessor. And all the templates were on the computer. I had always been able to focus and concentrate, even when depressed which is rare, I'm told. Work got done and done well. It was life I was struggling with. Working helped me. I could concentrate on it and know I was doing well and for a time I could forget my shattered and broken life. And the work helped to me to pull myself out of all the mess Duncan had left me in.

Over lunch, I met my friend Abby who worked as an office manager. She organized appointments, did the payroll, organized her boss and some of the other senior staff as well. She was the one who ensured deadlines were met and things were done on time. She worked for a firm of accountants, being a whizz on maths. I was too. We did Sudoku in pencil and rubbed out and swapped. Abby sensed the difference in me and I told her what had happened today and how it made me feel. I was still angry. Usually, she told me to, "Go out with someone else," or "dob him into the IRD." She was silent today.

"No advice?" I asked.

"I was thinking," she said dreamily. "The Alfa would look great with pink paint splattered all over it."

The Alfa Romeo was Duncan's pride and joy. Before our split, he used to update it every two years. Then he would swap the accessories over or add new ones. Air horns, fancy paint jobs like swirls, advertising, (magnetic, of course so he could remove it for clandestine activities). And of course he had personalized plates and guess which idiot bought those for him? I think it might have been Jeremy Clarkson who said, "There is a perception that you can't call yourself a petrol head unless you've owned at least one Alfa Romeo." So, it had to be an Alfa Romeo since he couldn't afford an Aston Martin and by that quote Jeremy Clarkson gave him an out.

I drove an eight-year-old, high mileage Corolla that my parents had loaned me $4,000 for and my mother had helped me buy it. Well she pretty much bought it for me. It was not even half paid off. My parents said they didn't want the money but I refused to make them pay further for my mistakes. It was my fault. I picked a bad husband and ignored their advice, observations, opinions and experience.

I wasn't doing well. My furniture was second hand, garage sale, Salvation Army or picked up at the side of the road. The trouble was, it looked like it. Nothing matched and it was all shabby. But I had furnished the house for $5,000 and I had had the strength to insist the children got the contents of their bedrooms. When Duncan tried to take their furniture, I appealed to his parents and I don't know what they said to him but he wasn't civil to me for a month. Serve him right I thought now but at the time, I nearly gave in. Only the horror of the children at having their father include 'their furniture' in 'the furniture' stopped me. I never thought he would assume the children's furniture was counted in the deal we made and he never assumed, he told me, that it wasn't. And a slight emotional advantage for me was that some of the furniture he kept was still being paid off. He had forgotten that. For some strange reason he thought I would continue to pay it off. Not even I was that stupid. As soon as Duncan, or I, had paid something off he would look around for the next thing he just had to have. He was never happy with what he had. I never thought the children and I would be added to the discard pile.

Another problem with divorce is the number of friends you lose. Duncan was the fun person, the party animal and the charmer while I was usually quietly by his side or in the kitchen, if the party was at our place. So they drifted to him. And he kept holding the parties. He just changed the housekeeper and the house but he stayed in the area. Well, he could afford to.

That was another factor that helped me make the decision to move out of Wadestown. So many of our so-called friends wouldn't even talk to me. He had got in first with this version. I don't know what he said to them but they looked at me like I was dirt.

The only friends I had now were my old school friends and my work mates. Apart from Abby, Nadia and Warren were my other chief supports. They had seen right through Duncan and Duncan had made a move on Nadia while we were still married. Big mistake. Nadia was a smart lawyer and Warren was in charge of security at a bank. That was largely cyber security these days; the modern bank robbers and he was a computer genius. Nadia agreed with Abby that Duncan was Rat-Bait.

Abby interrupted my musings with," Has Rat-bait brought that bike he promised Sam?

"No and he said he can't take Jenny out on Saturday either and she hasn't seen him for over a year."

"That bastard! So he sees Sam occasionally because they do blokey stuff and ignores her? She adores him. Bastard!"

I looked up as Nadia came over. I had introduced them and surprisingly, they got on. Abby was from a poor family and Nadia came from money but they hit it off right away. Nadia was also the reason my finances were as good as they were as she had insisted on doing my divorce settlement, seeing earlier on that I was so devastated I couldn't fight. Not effectively anyway. She threatened Duncan with exposure to the IRD (Tax Department) if he didn't sign. It was thanks to Nadia's tactics and threats that I had got much at all and she had kept reminding me my parents had paid the deposit for the house. And in the end, she contacted my parents and they left me in no doubt as to what they felt about who should get the house. They were indignant he wouldn't just let me have it plus the share of the business that I morally was owed for all my contribution. But he needed the deposit for the next home he wanted to buy with Sally.

And my share of the business? Nothing. That car yard where I had helped him to sell cars? Which I sold in his alias online and in the yard. Where I got business for him and had done a lot of his paperwork and all his GST returns for the whole five years he had had the business. And kept and searched for and found and organised all his receipts for his messy disorganised self. And I did the preparatory books for his accountant to check and finalise. Because he was lousy at paperwork. And what about the times I worked full time at his yard doing his office work? I got nothing. I'm guessing you got that.

He claimed he owed me nothing because he was running close to a loss and we had lived off his earnings so I had had my share. The 'office' caravan had disappeared with no trace. It was a $45,000 dollar asset. Uncounted and hidden, the licence plate long swapped over I suspected. His car and what used to be my car, of course, belonged to the business. The difference in the equity in the business at the time of our marriage and now had been mysteriously reduced recently. Nadia suspected the increased loan had gone on the mortgage of his new house but there was so much nastiness and threats that I had begged her to let it go. He had guilt tripped me with what would happen to his kids if he was in prison for tax fraud. But I had finally come out of it with all of the equity left in the house which enabled me to get the house I have now and the mortgage at a level I could afford. So although I was struggling, I had cleared all debts except the mortgage and the fridge and the Corolla.

But my life needed rebuilding. I had based it mainly around Duncan and the children. I still had the children but because I was such a mess, I had done little to help them adjust to the loss of their father especially Jenny. Sam at least, did occasionally ring his father as they shared a love of cars and racing and stockcars and he and Duncan would go out together sometimes. Poor little Jenny, who would have gone anywhere to be with her father, was not given the option.

Abby and Nadia looked at Jo as she left.

"I could shred that bastard. Jo has aged so much in the last year."

Nadia sighed, "I could never see what she saw in him. I thought he was false the first time I clapped eyes on him. But I'm surprised she was his type when you see Sally."

"Jo was pretty. Her hair was lustrous and long, her skin was clear, she was healthy, naïve and soft and innocent. And her family are rich. That was a major attraction! I didn't know her then but I've seen photos of her and talked to her parents. Her mother says over the last few years she's aged because she just had to work so hard and went short on sleep and they're limited as to how much they can help because they work such long hours themselves. And Jo is too proud to accept much help. Things got much worse after Jenny was born. Duncan doesn't do housework or child care. She did it all. And she was slim then. Her mother says the chronic tiredness leads to overeating for so many people and Duncan hated her being overweight without any thought as to why she was. Also, she can't afford proper food now. Carbohydrate is cheaper. Her mother frequently buys her fruit and veges. And brings stuff from the garden. Her mother is a keen gardener."

Nadia sat there sadly, thinking. Jo did not look healthy now. Her brown hair was short and limp and her unusual green eyes often looked haunted or unfocused. And no woman Jo's age should have dark circles under her eyes without having had a raging night the night before for a valid reason. For Jo, the tired look was permanent. She only perked up at work.

Returning to work, I found, as usual, that my pay had gone through. Wednesday's were wonderful. Well every second one anyway. I went on line and paid all the bills. As usual, there was very little left over and I had had enough of that. There was not even enough to fix the washing machine and barely enough to pay the laundromat. But I had an idea.

That evening, I got out my jewellery box. I opened it and took out my wedding ring and his wedding ring (which he had left behind) and my engagement ring which was huge and garish and showy and not my style at all. It was a large diamond Duncan proudly told everyone. I also took out his grandmother's wedding ring which he had somehow inherited and some other jewellery which had been hers or which he had given me. And the Eternity ring he had given me. Eternity, yeah, right. Nadia, who knows about these things, told me after we had split that he had lied to me about my engagement ring and it was a cubic zirconium. I had never liked it. Not that I ever told him that.

• • •

The next day at lunchtime, I scooted off to the jeweller and sold the four rings and the other stuff for just under five hundred dollars. That gave me enough money (hopefully) to fix the washing machine and pay a little more off the car. And put some money on the kid's phones before their plans cut off and fish and chips for tea. In the meantime, I could take the large pieces of laundry like the towels and sheets to the laundromat. I booked the washing machine repairer for tomorrow. I could leave the laundry unlocked because I could lock the internal door into the house.

That evening, with two cheerful kids who loved takeaways, I left the kids alone and went down to the laundromat and got just the essentials and the larger items like sheets and towels washed and dried. Surprisingly, I didn't feel guilty over selling the rings and I guess it was a reflection of the fact that I now knew my marriage was over. Even though the divorce hadn't come through yet. I felt it was a very good use especially of three pieces of jewellery in particular, that were better out of the house and out of my life. To have got some benefit from them as well was a plus.

# Chapter Four

Next day

Mike wiped his greasy hands and filled out the job sheet. Done. He yawned and looked at the clock which showed well after five so he decided to leave. The Toyota was fixed, the Mazda had its Warrant of Fitness and the two should be picked up soon. One by one, he drove them outside, parked them and locked them, ready for the owners. The Ford was going to take another day and he was still waiting for parts for the Nissan. All the other mechanics had gone for the day. He fed the cats and checked their water, locked up the workshop and got into his Mitsubishi Ute. Now his only decision was what to pick up for tea. He kept telling himself to join a cooking class and learn to cook. He didn't listen to himself. Driving down the streets of Johnsonville, he stopped at a Chinese Takeaways, lined up at their Smorgasbord counter and filled up a $12 container. Smelt good. He drove home to his empty flat, fed the cat, turned the heat pump on and plonked onto his 'work chair.' A few minutes later the heat pump roared into life and started to dial up the air in his flat which was six degrees and raise it to his set preference of eighteen degrees Celsius. He demolished the container of food. Very good. He switched the kettle on then went into the frigid bathroom and showered, coming out with skin changed from black-streaked to light brown without the streaks and his short hair stayed black but without the added greasy bits. His eyes remained blue.

He put on the tracksuit he wore around the flat and his disreputable slippers and went out into the lounge which doubled as the kitchen and dining room as well. It was now about ten degrees warmer. Heat pumps were certainly effective, he thought, and the small size of the flat helped. He made himself a cup of tea, opened up his bedroom door to distribute the warmth and sat down in the clean chair that matched the sofa. Unlike the blue one he had been in before that had various black grease stains on it. He had been warned never to sit on the brown suite when dirty. On pain of a severe lecture from his mother who bought the clean brown suite for him. He was a bit embarrassed remembering the reason for her generosity. She had come to see him one day and there hadn't been a clean comfortable place for her to sit. She had perched on a kitchen chair after cleaning it. He and the dog between them had ruined the old suite. Which he had picked up for free from the side of the road anyway but he didn't dare tell his mother that. Misty the dog was recently gone and he still keenly missed her despite the cost to his furniture. She had seemed to mostly consist of black Labrador heritage and she liked to exercise her teeth on the wood of the furniture. She had found him one day and begged for help. She had been young, scrawny, very hungry, wet, dirty and hopeful. He had taken her home.

Coal, the cat, had been less than pleased but it took them about three seconds to sort out who was boss and the cat reigned supreme. Coal was much faster, had more weapons and knew how to use them. He also had superior tactics and much more battle experience. Misty was militarily inexperienced and outgunned and didn't have a chance. After the first few days of avoidance, came tolerance and eventually friendship. They often slept together especially in the winter. A cat will put up with a lot to get body warmth. Not surprisingly, Coal missed Misty too.

After Misty departed to the afterlife for good dogs, his mother bought him the sofa and recliner chair that matched and the blue chair that he was ordered to sit in when he was dirty. She had removed the old suite and taken it away in a trailer. To be burned, probably. He had to admit it was in pretty bad order by that time. Not even the Salvation Army would have wanted it when he first picked it up and definitely no one would have wanted it when she took it away.

Being constantly dirty was one of the problems with being a mechanic. The only female mechanic, the auto-electrician, showered at work and left clean. He thought she probably had it right but he was always too hungry to wait. Consequently, his car seat and his furniture had suffered until his mother intervened after Misty died. Twice, he had forgotten and sat in the wrong chair but each time he had gotten away with it undetected. Coal, was self-cleaning and could sit anywhere, leaving only fur. Which he had a lot of being half Persian. Since it was black, it showed. His mother didn't seem to mind so, unlike him, the cat was allowed to sit anywhere. The cat had assumed this right anyway so it made no difference to him. A pity, because he would have loved watching his mother try to teach Coal where he could and couldn't sit. He knew that cats don't do obedience training for a very good reason; according to cats, it's the humans who need to learn obedience. This is in order to be better servants for their cats. He got reminders from Coal but few real complaints so he guessed the cat thought him sufficiently well trained.

Mike turned the TV on and sat back to watch the news. Tomorrow, he needed to pick up Martin and take him to soccer practice. He wouldn't be expected to take him back until tea time and he never had to worry about planning. Martin did that. Mike knew he got manipulated a bit but it saved him so much time trying to find things to do and places to go that a thirteen-year-old wanted to go to. That was his winter access visit set in concrete. Summers were more flexible. With a bit of luck, Rosie would invite him to tea.

His daughter Marie was in Australia now with her mother Gwen and her new stepfather and he missed her so much. Thank God for skype. She was in Perth, so not the easiest place for him to get to. He had objected to her going but she had begged him to allow it so he did. He and Gwen had come to an agreement and his maintenance payments had stopped but at least twice a year he paid for Marie to return to Wellington to stay with him for the school holidays. She was fifteen and he had been warned by friends in similar positions to make things easy, because so many kids dropped off the scene around age sixteen and their non-custodial parents saw little if anything of them for years.

He tipped the empty food container into the bin. On cue, Coal nosed around in the rubbish bin to check out the remains of Mike's tea. Coal preferred people food to cat food and had wide tastes. He had not been keen on dog food. He had made his opinions on that matter very clear, taking a sniff and going into reverse gear and then glaring at Mike who was laughing at him.

# Chapter Five

June 14th to 16th

When I got home after work on Thursday, I found to my huge relief that the washing machine repair had been simple and I had enough money to pay for the bill and even some left over. I sent Sam out for pizza and got stuck into the washing. At least the weather was fine tomorrow and I could fill up the clotheslines. Another thing I lacked was a dryer. Some of the previous occupants of this house must have both worked because an outside light shone on the clothesline. All the washing would be able to be put out tonight to give it the maximum drying time as the winter weather made it hard to get clothes dry.

• • •

Two days later, Abby and I met up again after I had dropped the kids off at their Saturday winter sports. We sat in my untidy kitchen. At least it had improved on yesterday. I had attacked the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed and got the worst done.

"So," summed up Abby, "The broken promises continue, the upset kids, especially Jenny, maintenance promised is not being paid, he's been no practical help, he won't take the kids for even a night to give you a break and he lies to the kids, the Tax Department, his parents, you and probably even Sally. Did I miss anything?"

"Probably not."

"And you are sitting here, broke, while Rat-bait celebrates another new car."

"What?!"

Didn't you know?" Abby asked. "It looks the same but I checked the registration the other day and it's new. Oh. He probably thought you wouldn't notice."

I wouldn't have and I wouldn't have even thought to have checked the registration and all that just made it worse. I went ballistic as Abby covered her ears and Dewey vamoosed. When I had finally calmed down, which took a while, Abby said,

"If you ever decide to get your own back on him, let me know. Think about it."

I did think about it. I was so angry I was spitting mad but I did control myself and apologise to Dewey and gave him a cuddle and a cat treat. Which he accepted with injured dignity. Just to make me feel better you understand. Not because he wanted it. Dewey was a pet shop impulse buy in the days when we had money. He had large golden eyes and was fluffy with his coat being a variegated ginger and his long fluffy tail was tipped with white. He was beautiful, smart, a polished con artist and adorable. And he knew it. Luckily, he had been 'all done' when we bought him. Injected for cat flu, wormed, castrated and microchipped. Because I would be struggling to afford any of that now.

I was furious and remained so all day struggling to be civil to the kids and hear about their rugby (Sam) and soccer (Jenny), as they each tried to give me a blow by blow description at the same time.

I had done the grocery shopping on the way to pick them both up and tonight, the kids got pies and frozen veg instead of the proper meal I would normally have cooked on a Saturday. I ordered myself to do better tomorrow but I had at least got all the washing done and it was on the washing lines. The excess was on the clothes line Warren had installed under the car port for me. The short stuff that wouldn't touch the car. Yes, before you ask there were still some clothes inside the house but not many. And none were dirty. Having two big washing lines was very good. Being able to use both at the same time was bliss.

# Chapter Six

June 17th to 20th

On Sunday I got the crock pot out and cooked the kids a proper meal of beef satay which they both loved. So did I. And there were leftovers for tomorrow night. This was how I cooked when I was organised; two nights at the same time. The kids were easy to feed, it had been Duncan who was demanding. He seemed to think he had married a chef that had gone off duty and needed to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the kitchen. I had studied cooking and gone to classes to please him, but the kids were just as happy with something simple. They loved my stews and casseroles and mince stews and cottage pies especially.

But these last few days I had done a lot of thinking. I sent some Emails off and we met on Wednesday night. Nadia and Warren insisted on bringing tea and they knew kids. They brought fish and chips and we all tucked in.

After tea, we set the kids up in the lounge with a DVD, closed the connecting French doors and set to work. The Rat bait Committee had convened its first meeting. I first distributed the decoys around the table as Abby set up her heavily secure laptop to take notes.

Abby explained her plan, "It has to be mostly in the grey area of legal and no one must get hurt or end up in prison. Physically hurt is frowned on. Hurt pride, humiliation and a badly injured wallet are all ok. We should attack his pride and joy, the Alfa. I have drawn up a preliminary strategy. So, the target is the Alfa. The method is sabotage and the means are anything we can find. First, how can we get hold of the starter? Jo?"

"At work, he hangs it on the first hook inside the door. On that big board thing with all the hooks. Always in the same place and always away from the other keys and starters. He has a new home now so I don't know where it is at home." I thought for a minute. "He probably has the same bowl and chucks it in there." I hadn't been inside his new house. Sam told me it looked pretty much the same as the old one.

"Does he have a spare key on the vehicle perchance?"

"No."

"What about the garage key?"

I thought hard, "He has a garage door opener on his sun visor. He always puts it there. He has another one in the parcel tray because he has a bad habit of hitting the visor one so hard it flies off. He just grabs the other one from the parcel tray and picks the original up later."

"This just gets better and better," Abby said. "Does he hide a key to the house or garage outside?"

"Oh yes I forgot that. Yes, both, inside a gnome. And a spare car key, I think."

"You know which gnome?"

"Of course."

"I think this is my cue," Nadia said. "We are talking about illegal entry here. You told me to keep you legal."

We all looked at Nadia.

"Can't cook an omelette without breaking a few eggs," Abby said cheerfully. "So we can get into the house. Does he lock his car within the garage?"

"That model locks itself once the starter gets out of range," Warren cautioned and we all looked at Warren, thinking.

"So how would we get inside the car?" I asked. "Oh, he stores the starter just outside the garage. Probably in the same little bowl. Another one is generally in his pocket. He misplaces those two keys quite regularly and goes back into the house swearing because he has no key. Starter, I mean." I noticed everyone was smiling.

"So we can get into the garage and into the car," Abby said softly. "What does Rat-Bait know about cars mechanically?"

"Surprisingly little," I said. "He sounds knowledgeable but although he can sometimes _say_ what to do, he can't or won't _do_ it."

"So if anything went wrong with his car?" Abby asked.

He calls the AA. "I answered. He's hopeless at do-it-yourself. He gets things fixed by experts or he throws them out.

"So sabotaging his car will be simple," Warren said with a delighted smile. "I didn't know he was clueless."

"He talks the talk but won't walk the walk," I answered, "And it used to drive me nuts. He couldn't even put up a picture. I used to do it. But one thing I insist on. That I do the deed. I want no one else to get into trouble or even risk it and we must ensure no one gets hurt. Not even Rat Bait." I looked around sternly. Nadia and Warren nodded. Abby looked disappointed. Tough.

"My plan now is as follows," Abby said.

1 We find an Alfa for Jo to practice on.

2 We'll get hold of the starter.

3 We need a babysitter for 'N' night.

We all laughed as Nadia held up her hand and then we all looked at the door as a few seconds later Jenny came in, curious. Casually, Abby, placed opposite the door, closed her laptop.

"What are you doing?"

I pointed to the tactically placed decoys.

Jenny looked at the bookkeeping books, the book on tax tables and other red herrings of a mathematical nature spread strategically around the table. She immediately lost interest and left the room.

I watched in amusement and said softly, "She never thought to enquire as to why four people, with four different jobs, would be looking at the same task. She doesn't like maths. Neither does Sam. Sadly, neither of them takes after me in that regard."

"Right," said Abby, "Everyone needs to think of means, method, equipment needed, exit strategies, accomplices, times to attack, dates to attack and anything else that might assist this planning committee in the execution of their allotted task."

"But," said Warren, "I understand revenge, I even approve. But is that the only motive? I'm sensing it isn't."

"You're right," Abby said and explained.

"You have to be kidding me!"

Warren looked at all of us in bewilderment as Abby said,

"No. I think it will work. And even if it doesn't, Jo still gets revenge."

I rose, smiling and put the kettle on as Sam came out for a look. I thought it would work too. Nadia had, of course, brought some biscuits and Sam eyed them hopefully. Nadia, always eager to spoil a child because she had none, opened the large packet and passed it over.

# Chapter Seven

Next Saturday

I turned up at Abby's place while the kids were at sports, to find Abby highly organised. Sitting at her kitchen table and demolishing some bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast and baked beans was her brother Mike, a mechanic.

"You two have met before, haven't you? As you can see, he's easily manipulated; he can't cook."

Mike grinned and looked up. Jo, he had heard much about but it had taken a bit for him to agree to this. He was sorry for the woman but it had been Abby's details of Duncan's treatment of his children that had condemned him in Mike's eyes. He had heard Abby talk of Jo but this time he looked at her, considering. She did look down trodden. And like his sister, he valued hard workers and appreciated a woman who worked full time and brought up two kids. With no help.

I looked at Mike, "You'll help me?"

"I'll show you some things. What you do with that knowledge is up to you." Mike reassessed Jo. When he had seen her originally, she looked worn out. He knew he was a rescuer and tried not to get sucked in too often. Misty and Coal, both picked up off the street, showed how successful he was at that. Not to mention the two workshop cats who had drifted in together one Christmas holidays saying they were homeless and hungry; very hungry. Jo looked to have picked herself up and he noticed the wedding ring was gone. Her once short brown hair now was shoulder length and looked shinier and her hurt-innocent-little-girl look was almost gone. Mike loved long hair on a woman and he had always been intrigued by her startling green eyes.

"Well," Abby said, "Rat-Bait is clueless about cars so what can we do?"

"I presume you want this to look accidental?"

"Yes, she doesn't fancy going to prison."

"Take off the battery lead."

"Of course! The car won't start! What else?"

"I suggest you just do one thing at a time but if you want a list, I can make one up of things that just look like bad luck. That's if you don't want him to get wise to what's going on. I could also borrow an Alfa or something similar enough and show you a few things. You could always let a tyre down or bang a screw into it. Letting a tyre down won't cost him anything but time, but if you damage the wall of the tyre, you'll wreck the tyre and he'll be up for a new one."

I accepted the coffee and a bought biscuit (Abby didn't bake) and sat, thinking.

Mike noticed how thoughtful Jo was and remembered Abby saying she was bright. A Legal Executive, Abby said and he wondered what that was. Did she do research for lawyers or help prepare their court cases?

Abby saw Mike was looking and thought there might be some other possibilities here. One never knew. With a sudden brainwave she said, "I've just had a brilliant idea!"

"Duck," Mike advised Jo.

"No seriously. Jo's Corolla needs some work and she hasn't any money but she's a brilliant cook. You can't cook," she stared brightly at her brother and added, "Jo, why don't you cook him a meal, with leftovers, he can use a microwave and he can fix your car." She looked at two embarrassed people, her brother slightly annoyed and added to Mike, "She really can cook and the main thing she needs is a warrant. It just takes labour. You two can simply do a labour swap. Jo, take him some of your home cooking." Abby knew how good Jo's cooking was.

# Chapter Eight

July 1st

The next Saturday, I dropped the kids off at sports and then made my way to Mike's garage for my Warrant of Fitness and my first lesson in Alfa Romeo sabotage. A short lesson because we only had an hour and a half before our three kids needed to be picked up from sport's practice.

I watched as Mike did the WOF check. "You need two new tyres," he said. "I'll pass them for now but I need to get you some others ASAP."

"Mike I can't afford them. I now only use the car to take the kids to sport's practice." I stood there in despair. I'd suspected I needed one tyre but two? I fought back the tears.

"It's no trouble, people discard ones that are still legal. I'll get some for you for free."

I was shocked, "I don't understand that. Why would you replace something that doesn't need to be replaced?"

"Think of it like replacing a dress because it's out of fashion. For men it's the same thing. A new model comes out or they want all four to look the same."

I didn't tell him I don't wear dresses. Not now that _I'm_ in charge of what I wear and all my clothes will have to be second hand from now on. Luckily, Abby could help with that. She told me she only bought new underwear and shoes and then only in sales. All the rest of her clothes were second hand and she knew where to go for what. I zoned back in as Mike finished the paperwork for the Warrant of Fitness. I watched with huge relief as he put it on my windscreen. Now I could use the Corolla legally instead if illegally as I had been doing for the last two months; unable to pay for the warrant let alone the two new tyres I now knew I needed. And no one else would have given me a WOF with those tyres. I had also seen the two bulbs he had put in for me. I hoped he liked my cooking. I had made him five big meals of beef satay with rice. I knew the recipe so well I could make it while three-quarters asleep and often did. I had labelled and dated them and marked them with two for the fridge and three for the freezer. I handed them over and he asked,

"Why have you marked them fridge and freezer?"

"Because rice dehydrates in the freezer. I add extra water to the rice for the ones that go in the freezer."

"Oh. Is that why frozen fried rice doesn't reheat well?"

"Probably."

"Now I've got this car ready for you. It isn't an Alfa Romeo but it's similar, mechanically." He lifted the bonnet, "Do you know how to remove the battery lead?"

He watched as I demonstrated that I knew the ingredients; battery and lead. I tugged it off.

"That's a pass. Now lesson number two is just as easy."

He showed me where the fuse box was, how to remove a fuse and said, "I've been saving up some dud ones for you. I thought it would be amusing if you did that same trick several times. A mechanic might suspect some type of bad fuse batch. It's happened, although not usually in the more expensive cars."

"What about cutting the brake line?"

"Bad idea. It might cause an accident, someone else might get hurt and it would be difficult to do. Come and I'll show you why."

He drove the car over the hoist, guided me under it, got one of those light tube things and showed me where the brake line was. "You need two people, he said. It's not a rubber hose, it's this braided metal line here," he pointed, "And you need one person holding a container here and one person pumping the brake pedal to get the fluid, out otherwise the brake will still work for a while. Sabotaging the brakes of modern cars is not easy for the amateur and it needs two to do a proper job. And he would know. He has to put his foot on the brake to start the car. His foot would go to the floor and he would know. So scratch that one off your list. Let a tyre down."

He guided me to a tyre. I knew what they were. I watched as he removed the cap. "Stick a big nail in here and just keep pushing until it's flat. Zero damage but maximum inconvenience. Tyres are so good these days they rarely go flat, not like in my Granddad's time. Tyres were narrow and poor quality and forever getting punctures or going flat."

As we both washed our hands he said,

"I've got a better idea. Keep letting the air out of the same tyre. Always the same one. He'll think and the mechanic will think, that something is wrong with the tyre. If you keep flattening the same tyre, it won't look deliberate. It will look like a faulty valve."

We both smiled; a conspiracy of two.

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you very much. For the warrant and the naughty help."

As I left, we were both smiling. I hoped he liked my cooking. I was annoyed about the brake but I now had several other methods to try.

• • •

At tea time that night, Mike heated up the beef satay. He ate it with great delight, contemplating a repeat session tomorrow after work. Those five meals had saved him over fifty dollars already. He thought about that. He now no longer felt taken for granted. Abby was right. She could cook! This labour swap might work out well. Now he urgently had to find two tyres for her as he was responsible for her car until he made it legal. That should be worth another few meals. Abby had told him her stews and casseroles were good but he loved mince stew and had since he was a child. It was the only way his mother could get him to eat his greens. She added them to it and he pretended he was eating them under sufferance when he couldn't even taste them because they were so finely cut up and disguised by the meat. He would even eat cabbage if it was heavily disguised.

Coal contentedly licked out the container put down on the floor for him as usual. He liked beef satay too. But then Mike guiltily realised he would need to give her back the containers. He soaked them in hot water and decided not to tell her that the two of them had enjoyed her food. Coal was clean and he could be relied on not to tell.

# Chapter Nine

July 4th

On Monday morning, Duncan waved goodbye to Sally as he set off with one of his more lucrative customers. He didn't like Ray but he never let him suspect that. They pulled up outside one of the local drug dealers, recognisable by the numbers of cars parked outside. The users got their cars back when they paid their bill. This user, he figured, had run out of credit. Duncan had seldom used drugs and had virtually given it up when a classmate had gone off his rocker following a weekend party they had both been at. Whatever his friend had taken, Duncan had somehow missed out on. He was also well aware that marijuana could be, and often was, laced with other drugs like meth to get a slow user going and therefore well hooked and more profitable on the hard drugs.

Duncan looked over the Mercedes he had come to buy. It was six years old, high mileage, and looked rough. The Registration and Warrant of Fitness had both expired. As he ran the engine, he reconsidered. She sounded good and a good clean inside and out would do wonders.

"It's not worth much," he said. "About two thousand retail as she is. Perhaps even less. Depends if she passes the warrant. How much is owed on her?"

"Two thousand."

Duncan thought he had a buyer for this one, "I'll give you fifteen cash for her and that will leave me with no profit."

"Deal." Ray hadn't mentioned he had the guy's laptop and a few other things as well. Ray always ensured he made a good profit on these deals and Duncan was a cash buyer who knew to keep his trap shut and made up his mind fast. Ray thought the car, as is where is, was worth about that.

Duncan paid over the cash, took the already signed change of ownership papers and drove the car back to a garage to see if it would pass a warrant. He left it there and the mechanic said he'd get onto it when he could. Duncan walked the block to his yard and picked up his own car. He would be right on time. He drove off and swung around the back of Justine's place, hiding his car, his pulse racing and his pants getting tight in anticipation. He knocked and she answered the door wearing a smile and a dressing gown. As he shut the door the dressing gown hit the floor and a few minutes later so did they. He lost himself in ecstasy. Who wanted drugs when you could have this? Half the fun was the waiting and the anticipation. Justine was curvaceous with long brown hair, mischievous brown eyes and her long legs went from the floor to Heaven. And he was in Heaven.

Her husband was a rich professor at Victoria University teaching something Duncan had never heard of. Duncan chuckled thinking of what he was teaching the guy's wife and vice versa. Duncan didn't know what the guy earned but he and Justine purchased a new car each, every two years or so. They were good reliable customers. The kids were at school and Justine got bored. She also hated housework and using the floor today meant they didn't have to remake the bed. But they were collecting. They'd so far done it in every room in the house and in every bed in the house including the daughters and that had really got him going. They'd had to change the sheets and the mattress protector that time.

"Every time I get mad with any of them, I just think of what we've done in their bed," she mused.

"Don't forget the rug," Duncan said sleepily and then added, "We've never done it in his car."

"That would serve him right!"

"What's he done this time?"

"Oh nothing. Just the usual."

Duncan smirked; her guy was an idiot but he was the beneficiary of that idiot. Justine and her husband had met in university and he had persuaded her to stay at home and play housekeeper. So instead of studying marine ecology, Justine studied the possible combinations of their anatomy. She was inventive and liked exploring new options and she had acquired some rather interesting literature on the matter. She passed over a book and Duncan leafed through it. It was his turn to choose.

"Do you think we could do this?" He pointed.

Justine studied it, chuckled and turned the book upside down as he started to move his fingers in interesting places. She studied the positioning.

"I think I'm athletic enough," she said and added, "You're distracting me."

"I should hope so."

But after trying and failing, probably because they had laughed so much, they'd given up on that page and ended up in the bathroom. They both loved to be washed, thoroughly, especially the recently well-used bits.

Duncan left, declining the drink, driving back to the garage and finding the mechanic who said,

"The Mercedes has passed, with a few adjustments and bits replaced; cheap bits."

"What's the bill?"

"$124.50."

Duncan paid in cash and drove the Mercedes back to his yard then walked back for his own car. He drove to the Post Office, bought the registration up to date plus one month and the Mercedes was legal. He reflected on the morning's work and it was just lunchtime. He sent a text to Jessie and went to a nearby bakery on his way back to work.

"Lunch," he said passing over sandwiches to Sally back at his yard.

"What have you been up to?"

"I went with a bloke and picked up that Mercedes," he pointed. "Idiot owner. Wanting to sell her urgently and she had no Warrant and no Rego. I took a bit of a risk but I took her for a drive and she handled well," he lied. "So then I waited around while I got the warrant. She needed a bit of work but mostly labour. Jessie is coming to clean her and I think I know a buyer. This one is a cash job," he added.

Sally smiled as she picked out an egg sandwich. Duncan must be pleased. He'd got a good selection and cakes as well. She watched him as he ate the cheese and pickle one. He was such a good businessman. If she knew her Duncan, he'd have it sold by tomorrow.

"What did you pay for it?"

"A thousand cash," he lied. "It cost $124 to get a warrant. Cleaning will be about fifty and I'll sell it for three or four thousand cash. A tidy little tax-free profit of about two grand."

He looked up as Jessie arrived and he showed her the car. Jessie pushed out the cleaning trolley, collected the hose and started.

Jessie took nearly two hours to meticulously clean the car inside and out, doing it the way Duncan had taught her; a full valet but moving very fast. Duncan wanted everything done yesterday. She then picked up the paint touch-up tray, matched a crayon to the paint colour and repaired every scratch in the paintwork taking another hour. She stretched her sore back and stood back and looked it over carefully, as Duncan came up behind her and slid his hand up the inside of her trousers. She pulled away but tried not to make it too obvious. She needed the money and he knew it. He handed her twenty dollars and she left thinking what a cheapskate he was. But she was on a benefit and needed the cash desperately for food. She calculated what she could buy as she walked to the supermarket. The minimum wage was eighteen dollars an hour and she had just worked hard for more than three hours and gotten twenty dollars total. But it meant her kids could have a decent meal tonight and the luxury of toilet paper.

Duncan made a quick phone call and arranged a meeting.

Sally walked over, inspected the Mercedes and said, "She does a good job. It looks twice as expensive as it did before. How much do you pay her?"

"I gave her fifty," he lied and got into the car. He drove up the hill to Wainuiomata and parked outside a house as an old man came eagerly out and looked over the car.

"She's high mileage because she was a taxi," Duncan lied, "But I know the previous owner and she's been well maintained as taxis are. And the previous owner loved her, a real car person. He was nit picky about doing all the maintenance early. He has to sell her and buy a new one because the taxi company insist on cars in their fleet being six years old at maximum. Want to take her for a spin?" He dangled the keys.

Duncan watched as the old man drove the car around, lovingly handling her and he knew she was sold. The only question was how much for? How much would he part with? He continued his fictitious history of the car and its' owner and finally said, "Because it's you, four thousand and she's yours." He knew the old man wouldn't know the Mercedes wasn't worth any more than three thousand. Her value was almost all gone. The parts and servicing were expensive and she would be costly to run from now on.

The Mercedes looked better than she was thanks to Jessie. That woman had been a find, he thought. He had bought her car when her old man had up and left her. He had seen the state the car was in; immaculate and had discovered she was a bit Obsessive-Compulsive in the cleaning department. She now cleaned his office at night, for cash and did these extras for him at short notice. She couldn't hold down a proper job because she had a problem with anxiety plus school age kids. She was a bit uncooperative as well but he thought she'd be unable to resist him for much longer. And he could always suggest he employ a more cooperative cleaner. She was a bit old and dowdy for him but he hated to see one get away.

Duncan watched as the old man came out of the hallway with an ice cream carton and counted out the cash. They signed the papers, pre-signed by the seller and Duncan got him to drive him back into town, hoping nothing would go wrong with the car on the trip. It didn't and he blessed German workmanship as he was dropped at his yard. He wondered how long it had been since the car was serviced given its owner must have been pretty broke.

As he strolled back into the office, cash in hand, Duncan lied, "I sold her for five thousand. That's over three thousand tax free profit," and he put the cash back in his pocket. "How about we go out for tea?"

Four hours later Sally leaned back, full and said, "No more wine, I've had enough." She looked at the table, still loaded with desert. They had demolished nearly a thousand dollars. Her Duncan was wonderful, she thought and all of this was spare cash. "I think I've got a buyer for the Lexus," she said. "He's sorting out a loan tonight."

"We could do that."

"No, he said it's going on the mortgage."

Damn, thought Duncan, missing the kick back he would have gotten for arranging finance. But selling the Lexus would net a good profit albeit all through the books and therefore taxable.

# Chapter Ten

August 4th

One month later, almost to the day from our first committee meeting, I jogged, wearing a pink track suit and a false blond wig, along the streets at six thirty in the morning when it was still dark. There was enough moonlight to see comfortably but I trusted the dark to hide the fact that Sally was somewhat slimmer than me having a gym membership and having had no children! I turned the corner and jogged down my ex beloved's new street and into his driveway. Due to Abby's reconnaissance, we now had a month's worth of data on the comings and goings and general routine of Sally and Rat-Bait. She had a tracksuit similar to this one and she sometimes jogged although not ever at this time. I hoped the neighbourhood hadn't done _their_ homework.

As I had anticipated, the gnome with the hollow in his insides was in a shadow. Well not even Rat-Bait was stupid enough to put a spare key holder out where everyone could see him emptying it. I looked opposite, seeing what Abby had described. Sally and Rat-Bait had spent hour after hour making a gnome village out of a previously ugly clay bank at the end of the turning bay. They had done a beautiful job of it, she had said and I had a quick look. There were streets and house fronts. A pub, a church, a school and a playground all with varying sized and dressed gnomes. It covered several feet of the almost vertical bank and made an eyesore, well, much less of an eyesore. I would have used plants but Rat-Bait was no gardener and this would need minimal maintenance once it was built and that would suit him just fine.

I also saw a new four-wheel drive in the back yard and then I spotted even more outdoor furniture. I looked around the vehicle and spotted a new outdoor kitchen. A seriously flash one. I swore, ensuring it wasn't out loud. He could buy this and he couldn't afford the child support. With an effort I pulled myself back on task.

I put my latex gloves on and picked up the gnome turning him over. I opened the little door under the gnome's bum and dropped the contents into my hand. Hiding in the shadows, I turned on a tiny torch with a dim light and inspected my find. I had several keys. One was clearly the car starter! Idiot! The others seemed to be door keys and one was the garage door opener but it would make a noise and their bedroom was over the top of the garage. I stealthily looked around. There was a door next to the garage. I tried all the keys and of course it was the last one that opened the door. I slowly walked into the laundry. Which had a new washing machine (mine wasn't good enough for them?!), a dryer and a deep freeze. And it had a connecting door to the garage. I was in! For the first time in my life I had broken the law. Well apart from driving without a warrant.

I stood looking around in the dim light from the window at the top of the two garage doors. It was a large triple garage with an over standard height ceiling. It held two cars, his and hers and his precious motorboat. It also held a lot of other goods; a kayak, a jet ski, fitness equipment, packed away I noted, kitchen stuff or the empty boxes of, sports equipment, a large newish barbecue. It looked like both of them were spending up large. If I had ever thought of chickening out, this stopped it. I was angry again. All this stuff. And then I spotted my old washing machine languishing in the garage. Replaced with a new one. So he had two that worked and mine wasn't pretty enough or new enough so it was surplus to requirements. I had paid that off! And then I spotted the dryer! My old dryer had been replaced too?! I didn't even have one and he had two! I seethed! And my present washing machine was second hand and smaller than both of his while I had two kids to wash for. And no dryer! It's a wonder Rat-Bait didn't hear my blood boil. I was no longer frightened. I was after some revenge. He had bought another house and he had enough left over to have a serious spend-up. And all this since we had split up.

I moved to the car door and stealthily opened it, reached inside and popped the hood. As I had been shown, I eased the battery lead off, Simple. And he would never check. Done. I eased carefully out of the laundry and went to go through the door. Suddenly the neighbour's security light came on. I froze, half in and half out of the door. I heard someone moving about and calling,

"Possum, here Possum."

I heard a meow followed by sounds of someone moving away and the light went off. As it went out a light went on in my head. I recalled something Abby had said about another method of sabotage, which Mike had tried to show me wouldn't work and I had been looking directly at the gnome village, illuminated by the neighbour's light. The village was more extensive than I had first noticed. He'd never done anything constructive like that with me! The garden had been my job as were the kids and the housework! I turned and looked at the garage. Rat-Bait was hasty and impulsive and always in a hurry. Sally had carefully driven to the end of the turning circle and backed her Audi into the garage as I would have done. Now she would just have to drive out forward and swing out and drive straight up the driveway. Rat-Bait, had driven straight in. He would have to back out and down into the turning bay and then drive up the steep driveway. And what was at the end of the turning bay?

I sneaked back inside before I had time to think this out rationally, removed the boards from the top of the pit in the floor and scooted under the car. I turned on my little torch and put it in my mouth and inspected the underside of the car. There it was. I eased out and had to look around for several minutes before I found something I could use but finding the next tool was a mission. Rat-Bait had very few tools. And then I hit the jackpot; rasps, heaps of them and all sizes. Of course, his grandfather had been a blacksmith and these were farrier's tools. There were tools to pull out nails, flick out stones and tools to cut pieces of hoof away. Most of the handles were detachable and could be swapped onto another tool. They were heavy and looked very old.

I went back under the Alfa again with an empty couple of orange juice containers, a whole pile of cardboard boxes, some tinsnips and the biggest rasp. With the torch in my mouth, I cut and sawed at the brake line with my tinsnips and then roughed it up with the rasp. When Mike had shown me the brake line I had been startled. I had expected a rubber hose but this was a braided steel hose exactly like the one he had shown me. I had to make it look as if it had caught on something. Mind you, the mess I was making of it, struggling in the confined space with the tinsnips and the rasp, it would be a mess by the time I was finished with it! As it parted, I held the juice container against my body to catch the fluid. Orange juice! We couldn't afford expensive pure orange juice! Some brake fluid slopped on me but that was a small price to pay.

Finally, the flow of brake fluid reduced. Propping the bottle between some boxes and on top of some other boxes I had previously put in place, I climbed into the Alfa and pumped the brake pedal until it went flat to the floor. Damn, he might notice that. I looked around the garage and found, inside a box, some hard foam and wedged that under the brake pedal until it seemed to be in the position it should be in. Only then did I remember the bottle under the car. I was relieved to find none had spilled (except on me) and the bottle had been big enough. I had never thought to ask Mike how much brake fluid there would be. I eased the bottle out, careful not to spill any more and give the game away. I used the rasp and roughed up the edges again trying to make it look as if something had caught on it. I inspected it carefully. It did not look cut. It looked ripped.

I put the boards, the boxes and everything else back where I had found it them. I doubted he would miss the empty drink bottle. I looked around but nothing looked out of place. For a few seconds I contemplated what I had done but all the recent luxury just carelessly stored in the garage and not even needed, had made me seething. As had finding my washing machine and dryer unnecessarily replaced. I tried to reassess. I didn't want anyone hurt. I knew how he drove. He would reverse out like a bat-out-of-Hell, brake, drive up the steep driveway, break hard at the top and then drive out. Two lots of hard braking. That should do it. That was his two speeds; flat out and stop. I tucked the bottle under my arm, replaced the rasp and tinsnips exactly where I had found them, locked the laundry door and replaced all the keys in the gnome's bum. I walked briskly up the driveway and down the street walking around the corner carrying one partly-full juice container.

As I got into Abby's car she immediately drove off. There was silence and then as we drove around another corner she said,

"How come you took so long!?"

I explained.

"But they'll know it was cut!"

"No they won't. I found a rasp and made it look like he just drove over something rough and damaged it. It doesn't look cut. I milked out the fluid. It should fail on the first or second braking. It might fail immediately (well the foam wouldn't help it...), I'm right aren't I?"

"I think so."

"I wish you'd planted a camera."

"I did. It's taped to a tree opposite. How do you think I got all that Intel? You're not the only one that can jog. I couldn't exactly sit outside and stare. I set up three cameras on three different occasions early in the morning. If anyone noticed, I made it look like I'd been caught short and was tugging up my britches. Did you see that big hedge opposite? I snuck around behind it and planted three cameras with three separate views inside the hedge. They're all on different timers. You gave me his work times and I figure hers would be the same since she works for him now. It makes no sense that they'd go in two cars except for today. She doesn't work Saturdays. Now we have to get you back to my place and cleaned up. What did you tell Nadia?"

"To tell the kids it was a work emergency and I had to go in to get something urgent done and I'll be back in time to get them to sports. And got her to babysit. She's probably cooking them pancakes for breakfast." She spoilt them. And they lapped it up.

As we finally got to Abby's flat, I reached over to the backseat and picked up my bag. Half an hour later, I was showered and changed and on my way to work. They would be delighted to see me turning up early for extra work. We always seemed to be busy and it all had to be done now. Most of the staff put in extra time but none as much as me. I smiled, Abby had been equipped to the point of providing me with some type of grease remover and my hands were clean. She was going to deal with the pink tracksuit so my kids didn't see it. To my astonishment, I wasn't scared. I was exhilarated.

# Chapter Eleven

Same day

Duncan bounced down the stairs and grabbed his car starter. Saturday was one of his best sales days but he never opened until nine am and usually the public were decent enough to let him eat his breakfast first. MacDonald's today, he thought. He went to open the car door but the door remained locked. He was stunned. He stood there not knowing what to do; his brain refusing to work. Finally, he remembered what the dealer had told him;

"If all else fails, get the key."

He went upstairs and searched for several minutes, finally finding the key and returning with it. He opened the door the old-fashioned way with the key and sat down in the car. He pushed the starter button and nothing happened. He repeatedly pushed the button for over a minute, shocked that it wasn't working. What had happened to his beloved car?! He got out of the car, bewildered. He got back in and the same problem occurred. Duncan sat, trying to think. Almost afraid, he again tried the button. It depressed but nothing happened. Zip, zero, nada, nyet, nay, nein. He didn't know any other way to say it and realised he was a little hysterical. By this stage Sally was hovering in the background and watching him. Duncan was relieved she had more sense than to ask him what was wrong.

"Should you call the AA?"

Duncan opened his mouth to yell at her and then paused. She was right. He pulled out his phone and called the Automobile Association and asked them to attend.

He paced up and down the driveway, in almost full panic mode, impatiently waiting. Several minutes passed before the bright yellow AA car turned up. Duncan almost ran up the driveway explaining. He watched as the AA man walked down to the car, took a few seconds to duplicate Duncan's moves and then still without asking any questions. He popped the hood. Duncan went to walk around and the AA man said,

"Try it now."

Duncan went to bluster. How could the idiot have fixed it that fast? He got into the Alfa to prove it wouldn't work and the car started. He was dumbfounded. "What happened?"

"The battery lead was off."

He got out and walked around to look as the AA man pointed.

"I never thought to look for something so simple," Duncan said absolutely truthfully. He stared, "How could that come off?"

"It happens," the AA man said with a shrug and Duncan was infuriated to see he was fighting to stop the laughter. The AA man started to walk up the driveway and Duncan got back into the car. He sat there, his anger growing, as he became vaguely aware that Sally had disappeared. She had a lot more sense than the whiny bitch. Now incensed with his beloved car's betrayal, he revved the car to a scream, shoved it into reverse, ignored a small voice in the background noticing something wrong with the brake pedal and reversed out. He shot out into the turning bay and braked. Or tried to. At the same instant, he realised the brake pedal had gone down to the floor and the car was still accelerating as he hit the wall. Hard. He sat in his traitorous car, stunned. He was vaguely aware of the AA man running down towards him and as he reached him, Sally ran into the garage and stood there in shock.

Duncan shakily got out of the car and stumbled to his feet as Sally ran to him. Her face was white. He turned and looked at his car. The back was crumbled. "The brakes didn't work!"

Duncan watched as if in a dream as the AA man got into the car and checked the pedal. He got out, turned, spotted the pit and started to push the car back into the garage, with Sally helping and finally Duncan found himself helping as well since it was slightly uphill. They positioned the car over the pit, the AA man put the handbrake on and Duncan was vaguely aware that the handbrake was working. Thinking through a fog, he reasoned he should have remembered that the handbrake worked on a different system. So it was still working and he should have tried it before he thought that no, he would not have had the time. His head hurt, his neck hurt and he felt like he was spinning.

He watched as the AA man pulled out the boards and dropped into the pit. He continued to watch as Sally surveyed the Alfa and then the gnomes. He filled up his lungs to yell at her but she was silent. He breathed out. His ears were ringing as well. Maybe yelling would hurt. He said slowly to Sally, "Would you get me some Panadol please." She disappeared.

The AA man popped his head up, "Have you got a sore head or neck?"

"Yes."

"Are your ears ringing?"

"Yes."

"Were you wearing your seat belt?"

"No. What are you doing?"

"Calling the ambulance. You have a concussion."

"I don't want the ambulance," Duncan declared, thinking he was embarrassed enough and didn't want anyone else knowing what had happened. "What happened to my brakes?"

"The brake line is broken. It looks torn. There's no obvious line of fluid. It must have been just working and no more as you drove in. Did you notice anything wrong with the brake pedal?"

"No. Yes, it seemed stuck or something. I just thought I'd stamp on it hard." He took the Panadol from Sally who had just come in with it. He saw she was shaking but she didn't make any silly comments. She was still in her dressing gown.

"Was your car working alright yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Is it locked in the garage?"

"Yes. It was locked. The garage was locked."

"Is anything out of place?"

Sally and Duncan looked carefully around, "No," said Duncan, "Everything looks normal."

"Is that your car madam?"

"Yes."

"Would you check it please?"

Sally went upstairs and Duncan watched as the AA man did a thorough and very fast check of his ruined car.

Sally returned and Duncan noticed she'd dressed into one of her trim tracksuits. She waited a minute, watching the AA man and then opened up her Audi, started it up and started to check everything herself. The AA man went over and Duncan vaguely heard the two of them checking various systems, checking the fuel, popping the hood and checking thoroughly. The AA man looked around, thoughtfully.

"I was wondering if this could have been deliberate but anyone who broke in would have thought it was Christmas," he said indicating the stuff in the garage, "so that doesn't make sense. And the Audi looks untouched. Is your car overdue to be serviced?"

"No." Of course it wasn't, he thought. The first few services were free.

"When was it last serviced?"

"Monday. It was my day off."

"Have you been off roading?" Duncan noticed Sally go perfectly still.

"Ah, a bit, well sort of. Not very rough," he said sounding guilty even to his own ears. He saw the AA man relax a bit.

"Well that might explain it. These cars are built for roads only. The car is too low for anything else." He kept looking around the garage, on the floor, everywhere. "There's no sign of brake fluid. Were your brakes sloppy last night? Did you have to jump on them?"

"No," said Duncan thinking was there any other way to apply brakes?! He looked up as two St John women walked into the garage, glanced around and headed straight for him. He backed away into the driveway wondering why they'd picked him, "I'm alright," he said.

"He's got concussion. He wasn't wearing his seatbelt. The brakes failed," announced the AA man.

The junior St John Ambulance woman glanced at the other who nodded. The junior also had immediately noticed the pallor, slightly unfocused eyes, slightly uncoordinated movement and stiffness, all clear signs of shock and pain.

Sally watched in annoyance as her Duncan refused to cooperate and she wanted to warn the women, but she knew better. Duncan was just like her father and she had spent a life time learning how to handle him. They were wasting their time. She again looked around but nothing was out of place in the garage. No one looked to have been here. She moved carefully, casually and looked into Duncan's car but nothing was out of place or rather, it was as messy as usual. She seemed to spend her life picking up after him. She noticed a piece of foam on the floor among the food wrappers, bits of paperwork, coffee cups, plastic bags, receipts and other rubbish. Nothing different. Without consciously realising what she was doing, she grabbed a bag from the dispenser she had put in the garage and started to tidy up the interior of his car. She packed all the cups neatly into themselves, ditto the food wrappers, found the foam was that hard stuff and within three minutes it was tidy, all the receipts in her hand to check for ones that she should have for the books. She went to dump the bag into the bin in the garage. As she lifted the lid the AA man followed her and looked into the bin. They both looked in the bin and then at each other and shook their heads.

Duncan was aware that they were working together and coping much better than he was. They were investigating, that was the word. The St John women had given up by this stage and left him. He knew they needed his permission to treat him but he also suspected they hoped he didn't know that. They were young but quite pushy and evidently expected to get their own way. Aghast, he then saw that they had returned and one had a collar! No way was he wearing that! They saw the look on his face but one still came toward him and handed him a leaflet. He glanced at it and saw Concussion in the title. They gave up and left despite the annoyance of the AA man.

"I have to get to work," Duncan said.

"I'll drive you," said Sally.

Something in her tone cued him that arguing would be a bad idea. Sally could yell too and his head hurt too much for that. The AA man moved out of the garage saying, "Would you like me to arrange a tow truck?"

"I'll sort that when I come back," Sally said.

The AA man left, still not quite sure what had gone on but he thought any intruders would have looted and maybe siphoned. That garage had been like Christmas Day and the tanks of both cars were nearly full. These two were serious spenders, he thought as he had looked around the garage. He had seen two surf boards, scuba gear, a kayak, a nice powerboat, a jet ski, fitness equipment galore, and other toys adding up to well over a $100,000. Not counting the cars. On second thoughts the motor boat alone probably cost that. It was all set up for fishing with the racks for the fishing rods. He'd noticed a five litre Ute in the back yard, which probably pulled the boat. That boat which looked new. How did these two afford all these toys, he wondered? There were new looking things everywhere all around the walls and slung from the over standard height ceiling. It was a big triple garage. He had looked longingly at the boat which only just fitted in the garage. He fished from a dingy.

He also thought Duncan was an idiot and an untidy sod. He didn't deserve a car like that and probably had no idea how to look after it properly. He was a blithering idiot to have taken a beautiful piece of machinery like that off the road. And he didn't deserve that smart and beautiful woman either. What was she doing with a moron like him?

As he got into his car and filled out his paperwork, he saw them driving away. She could drive. He couldn't. He knew what he wanted to write in his report. He tried to stop himself and couldn't. He wrote SHAC. Everyone in his organisation knew what that meant. It meant 'shouldn't have a car.' Everyone who mattered would know exactly what he thought of Duncan and his relationship with what had been a beautiful object d'art. One that could seriously move. He dreamed about owning a car like that. That man had the girl, the car, the motor boat and the house and he deserved none of it. He checked his phone for his next job and drove off.

• • •

Nearly two hours later, Duncan looked after the buyer as he drove his new car off the lot. The fool had bought a Skoda. What an idiot. There was nothing wrong with the car, the idiot just hadn't thought it through. Skoda's are from Czechoslovakia. Not exactly next door. The parts had a long way to come, since New Zealand is so far away and the parts came by snail mail. Or at least that's how it felt. And New Zealand is a small market which also didn't help. Duncan had told the man who sold him the Skoda that he knew that and he discovered, as he had anticipated, that the car was being sold precisely for that reason. It was only two years old. Once he bought it, Duncan had had to wait nearly six weeks for the parts to come and be fitted before he could get the Skoda going and put it on the lot.

Duncan smirked, the buyer thought he was getting a bargain and it would be a bargain; if he lived in Europe. Or where many Skoda's were sold. Worse, he had traded in a Toyota Utility. Duncan thought back to the episode he had laughed through, several times, of Top Gear where Jeremy Clarkson and friends had tried to kill an earlier model of that Ute. Which determinedly refused to die. The program was hilarious but also rather illuminating. Toyotas have a reputation for being reliable. Japan is close by; just fly Northwest. Toyota parts are plentiful and well stocked and if they have to be ordered from Japan, they got here often within days. Not weeks. So this idiot had exchanged an older, reliable and easily maintained vehicle for a newer, fancier, difficult and expensive to maintain one. Sucker. Duncan chuckled as he went off to do the paperwork. Over seven thousand profit and all because he knew the market. So had the seller of the Skoda. The buyer, had just seen a nice car, near new, at a bargain price, and not smelt a rat. Mug.

He looked up as his main customer of the day strode arrogantly in. Duncan dropped the paperwork and eagerly said,

"She's all ready for you. I've just had her professionally cleaned." He followed his customer as the man again looked over the immaculate one-year-old Subaru and nodded. A few minutes later the deal was done and Duncan was holding a MacDonald's bag with thirty-one thousand dollars in cash in it. And the customer had a receipt for $9,990.00. Which Duncan didn't have to declare as a cash sale because it was under $10,000.

Duncan sat back down in his office. Now he had two cars sold and he had to do the paperwork for the second one quickly and file it even faster. These deals had to be kept secret. Which was why he worked alone on Saturdays and only did these types of deals when no one else was here. No one else knew of these particular cash sales except his accountant. Who had advised him against it. Duncan suspected his customer was a drug dealer although this one, he hadn't met before. He had just made a cool fifteen thousand dollars on that second sale because it had had to be in cash. He briefly wondered what crime the guy was into but it didn't matter. He made a delightful twenty per cent at least on cash amounts over $10,000. Money laundering, it was called and he grinned as he thought of the profit he had just made. No trade-in hassles, no haggling and a total profit for him of nearly six thousand just for the laundering and another seven thousand-odd for the car. Thirteen thousand dollars profit in a few minutes. Cripes, he was good at this game! The seller said he was going overseas had had to sell it in a hurry. More likely, he couldn't make the payments. Whatever, he though, none of my business.

He finished the paperwork, hid the cash in the locked cupboard in the toilet, locked up the office and headed off for lunch. His head and neck still hurt and he dry swallowed the Panadol he had grabbed out of Sally's desk drawer as he went past it. Subway was closest and liable to be quieter than MacDonald's on a Saturday and he could do with the quiet.

# Chapter Twelve

August 9th

It was several days before Abby retrieved the camera footage and we all got a copy as she sent it late one night; after she told us she had spent a hilarious night editing it. It wouldn't win a Bafta for editing but the subject matter was a winner. I watched as Rat-Bait was seen storming up and down the drive, looking at his watch, his every gesture showing anger and frustration and the type of energy I'd love. Finally, the Automobile Association man came to see what was wrong with the car. I could see the two of them walking down the steep drive. At this point, Abby had inserted a clip of an old-fashioned analogue clock and we watched the sped-up time. Three minutes after entering the garage, the face of the Automobile Association man was clearly enlarged showing a huge grin on his face as he was seen walking up the driveway. Car fixed.

I knew exactly what Rat-Bait would now be doing. He would be revving the engine. And the more angry or impatient or frustrated he was, the more violently he did it. Don't ask me why. I can imagine he once saw an actor in a film do it, probably someone like Steve McQueen and he cultivated the image. The AA man hadn't gotten up to the road before the clear camera view down the driveway, showed Rat-Bait reversing at high speed out of the garage, turning to aim into the turning bay and reversing straight into the gnome village.

At the sound of the revving, that I couldn't hear but I knew what was happening, the AA man was accelerating on foot to get out of Rat-Bait's way before he blasted up the driveway. So he didn't see what happened but I did. It was a classic. Not very nice for the car, nor the gnome village. The car was seen silently impacting the wall. By the reaction of the AA man, silent was nowhere in it. He literally jumped.

I watched in delight as the AA man ran back down the driveway and checked first on Rat-Bait who exited shakily. I was almost sorry for him. For half a second. Well maybe not that long. Over the next few minutes Sally was seen running out of the garage to check on her beloved, some of the neighbours came out to gawk, the local children had a good look and finally the AA man and Sally followed by Rat-Bait, pushed the car into the garage. Nothing happened on the clock for several minutes and then an ambulance car turned up and I knew the AA man would have called him. At that point I did feel a touch of guilt because I had forgotten something else. Rat-Bait was always half way down the street before he put his seat belt on, if then. He had had at least five fines for not wearing a seat belt. Rat-Bait liked to move around. He talked with his hands and I had learnt not to talk to him while he was driving, because he would turn to look at me to answer and take his eyes off the road and sometimes his hands off the wheel. He was a rotten driver who drove on his emotions.

The scene sped up as the ambulance women clearly wanted to check Rat-Bait out and he was just as clearly declining and all this was happening right out in the driveway. Then the AA man must have refused to work on the car until the check was done and I saw the women trying to check him, presumably for whiplash. One brought out a collar but my ex categorically was refusing so she gave up. He was far too angry to be thinking and I had seen him so often before like that. And they call women emotional.

There had clearly been a passage of time before the next shot which showed the car being winched onto a truck deck and taken away to be fixed. And that brought up another interesting thought. Rat-Bait had had so many accidents that the Insurance Companies didn't like him. It had been a sore point between us; the cost of insuring his extravagant new cars and the insurance loading for him being a poor risk. And most of his accidents were just like this one and due to impatience and poor driving. I wondered if he was still insured. Now that would be interesting. And since this car was new, less than six weeks old according to Abby (trust her to spot that), was it possible he hadn't gotten around to insuring it? That was another point of friction between us. He drove uninsured vehicles while I never did. The cars I owned would be insured before I first drove them away from where I bought them. Rat-Bait would drive it while getting quotes, ignoring the issue, railing about fees while he had a history of so many little, expensive, low speed accidents like this one. Was it too much to ask that the Alfa would still be uninsured? And if it was would Sally's adoration waver somewhat at his stupidity? One could hope. And no I'm not being mean. Well only a bit. The sooner she was rid of him the better for her. Sam had thought they might be engaged. Had this accident just stuffed that up? But what was I thinking? Rat-Bait never saved for anything. Our wedding had been paid for by my parents. And the honeymoon too because he had no savings, little equity but heaps and heaps of _things_ like all the probably unused fitness and sports equipment in the garage. Shopping was one of his favourite occupations as was eating out, at any time of the day.

Rat-Bait was a born consumer and retail therapy was his favourite sport, relaxation, activity and pastime. All paid for with cash or credit cards and he only ever paid the minimum amount off his credit card and sometimes even forgot to pay that. I paid my whole card off on the due date. The banks charged him 20% interest while the inflation rate was 1%. I had tried and tried to teach him some economic basics but he wasn't interested. Not even when I showed him one year how much interest he had paid on his credit cards. He simply wasn't interested. It was irrelevant to him. He was the classic impulse spender. The main profit of the banks, I suspected.

# Chapter Thirteen

August 13th

The next meeting of the Rat-Bait committee didn't quite go to plan. Nadia arrived without Warren and without tea. Abby and I got a furious dressing down.

"What were you thinking Jo? You could have badly hurt him, he could have been hospitalised, the Insurance company are liable and could sue you and I despair. This was not the mission. What about your idea to tip some stale milk or a fish behind his seat? And I thought you were just going to do something simple to the car. Something reversable. What part of this bright idea was reversable? I didn't agree to any of this. I came here to give you a piece of my mind. For free."

I was stunned. She was furious. Genuinely furious. I had thought her Email answer was exaggerated. All this was coming out in that cultured, well-educated voice in a barely audible whisper. I looked at Abby who was as stunned as I was, but had a tinge of rebelliousness in her expression.

"I thought it was funny," Abby said, "and he wasn't hurt. And I did some more research and the Alfa hadn't been insured yet. He's up for all the repairs."

"And that means he'll buy another car," I said. "This one, he will have lost faith in. He'll blame the car." They all looked at me as if I was mad but after thirteen years of marriage with him, I knew what was coming next. He would buy a new car and put it on the car yard books.

"What were you thinking Jo?" Nadia demanded, "That wasn't the plan! Worst case, if he had caused an accident, your kids might have ended up without a parent or without two if you had ended up in jail. Someone else might have been hurt!"

"No one was hurt. I fixed them so they failed immediately and he always goes to work alone on a Saturday. He's got all this stuff, new stuff in his garage and I'm so broke and they replaced my washing machine and dryer with fancier new ones and my old ones are just sitting in his garage and the one I have now was second hand and needed repairs and it wasn't going and I was just so mad," I said in a rush. "I didn't deserve to be treated the way he treated me. He just chucked me out like I was last year's model and I spent thirteen bloody years doing everything he wanted me to do." I was nearly in tears but I was angry too. I glared at Nadia and she glared back.

"No more breaking the law. No more tactics that would result in criminal convictions if you were caught. Breaking into your ex's home is pretty much ignored if you don't do much. It's pretty standard and the police treat it more as a civil matter than criminal. There's always disputes as to who owns what and whether you have a right to retrieve belongings. You could have gotten away with removing your old washing machine and dryer but not this! And if you do something like that now; remove something, you'll tip him off. But causing damage to that car to that extent is not acceptable and I will not be involved!"

She stormed out and slammed the door. Warren had obviously known what to expect and she had come alone. Abby and I were still stunned and she slunk out the door and left me. The kids had seen Nadia's thunderous expression and had instantly retreated to their bedrooms. I couldn't see any sign of Dewey. How come he always remembered to tuck in his tail when he was hiding but never when he was eating? And now I had to cook tea. I had no money for takeaways. It would have to be cheese on toast. It was Monday night. Payday was two days away. The larder wasn't empty but it was skimpily stocked. The kids were forbidden to eat the cheese so there should be some.

"What was Aunty Nadia so mad about?"

I turned around as Jenny came in holding Dewey. Four eyes were wide open and alarmed, two blue ones and two gold ones.

"Something happened at work. She was furious. You wouldn't understand. Adult stuff."

"I thought she was bringing tea."

"She forgot. Not a good night for her. Uncle Warren is obviously lying low."

"I've never seen her so angry."

"Neither have I," I said as another, larger appetite joined us in the kitchen. And Dewey, also in the kitchen since it was tea time, would demand his share of the cheese too. The cheese was going to get a thrashing." On the other hand... "Cheese on toast or noodles?"

"Cheese on toast," came the chorus and Dewey could be considered to have added his voice. He would once he smelt it being cut up and cooking. I got out the cheese and the bread and the tomato sauce. I preferred relish but there wasn't any left. I got out the grater. Grated cheese went further and the kids didn't know they'd been short-changed. Dewey did. He would. If that cat was human, he would be a Quantity Surveyor. I suspect he had a miniature set of scales hidden in his copious fur.

# Chapter Fourteen

September 4th

It took Nadia nearly three weeks to calm down. Without consultation, we cancelled the next Rat-Bait Committee meeting. I later suspected part of her fury was her fear of the consequences for me. But we were lucky. And Rat-Bait was not. The Alfa was uninsured. He paid for it (or his credit card did) and there was no investigation. And our sleuth who found all this out was Mike. Garage guys tend to know one another and this type of thing gets talked about and laughed about. And the mechanics who checked the Alfa out thought he was an idiot not to have noticed that the brake pedal was on the floor and what that signified. And that meant no one had noticed the piece of foam rubber or they hadn't figured out its role. Rat-Bait's lack of car knowledge was well known in the trade and further laughed at. The mechanics were contemptuous that his job was cars and he knew nothing about how they worked. Mike said they simply didn't believe Rat-Bait when he said there was nothing wrong with the brake pedal. He probably did notice, I thought later, but was too angry to care. I'd seen him drive like that before.

So we got away with it. I got away with it. We deleted the wonderful film but it got watched a few hundred times first. I played it again and again late at night until finally I thought of the consequences of someone finding it, like a child of mine. So I reluctantly deleted it. But it was etched on my brain forever. With it gone, there was no evidence linking me to the crime. My memory played it late at night before I went to sleep. I should have felt guilty but I didn't. He deserved it.

Abby was the one who set the main objective in motion. She loaded the gun with one of her earnest and gormless acquaintances and aimed her at the target. We never knew what, if anything, the target said. We just hoped it was one seed she planted to grow in his brain. But Nadia had insisted it could not be one of us who said it. She was still ensuring we kept well clear of the crime.

• • •

Life went on as usual. Rat-Bait said he couldn't pay this month's maintenance because he had had a problem with his car. For some strange reason, I wasn't expecting any money from him. Sam told me his father had had an accident because his brakes had failed. It was typical that he would see child maintenance as the first bill he 'couldn't pay.' I wondered if Sally knew. I wondered if she knew he paid one payment every three months if I was lucky. I wondered if she knew this so-called adoring father hadn't seen his little girl in now well over a year.

Other things were looking up. Mike had done the warrant on my Corolla and then done a service on it too. And then he had replaced two of my tyres with second hand ones that he said someone had had replaced because they wanted a set all the same. I just want one tyre for each wheel. The thought of matching them is foreign to me. A bit like matching furniture. I'm not completely hopeless. I wouldn't like you to think that. My shoes match. They also go together as in one is for the right foot and one is for the left. Usually, they even look the same.

Mike liked my cooking. I put the food in takeaway containers for him and he microwaved them. So this labour swap thing was working well. One day, he bought me a leg of lamb wrapped in a paper bag and said a farmer had paid him in meat and he didn't know how to cook it. He said he knew how to cook fish but not a leg of lamb. He got some takeaway containers of that too but me and the kids had a meal too which was total luxury. Lamb was not in the budget. Not ever. Dewey liked it too.

And in all this time, three months now since the gnome village smash, I had done nothing. Now that was going to change. Despite my prediction, Rat-Bait hadn't bought another car. I don't know why. Maybe Sally had more control over him than I had. Maybe he had a cash flow crisis. But whatever, it was time to restart. Abby and I decided to do this one under the radar and we had a two-person Rat-Bait committee over lunch and using pen and paper. We made sure there could be no successful surveillance.

We decided to be very low tech and to go for nuisance value only this time. Again I chose a weekend, this time on a Sunday morning and again I donned my jogging suit and jogged there in the dark. Abby babysat and I parked my Corolla a mile away and snuck into his garage the same way I done before. I stuck a nail into the left-hand rear tyre valve and let it down. Simple. And Nadia and Warren didn't need to know. Abby and I had decided to let others know every second time we committed sabotage and to try to restrict ourselves to not more than once a month. I did say 'try' didn't I? I had an idea as I jogged there. And smiled all the way back.

# Chapter Fifteen

Later the same day

Duncan stared at the tyre, the left rear. It was flat. How could this be happening again? He had a car to show someone and he was late. He stood there and started to swear; at the car, the rain, life in general and mostly at the car. He was just getting warmed up when Sally was there beside him.

"I'll drive you," she said.

As he turned to swear at her she had gone. He screamed his rage at the Alfa and kicked the tyre. He raged around the garage.

Sally dressed at full speed, grabbed her purse and keys and slid into her car, pressing the garage door opener and yelling at Duncan to get in at the same time. She drove him to work watching with relief as he got out of the car. She drove back home, thinking, relaxing while the coiled spring that was her man went and agitated someone else. No, he would now be in 'sale' mode. How he switched moods so quickly never failed to astound her. No, not astound; it often left her reeling.

She left her Audi in the turning bay and checked out the flat tyre. She thoroughly searched the garage, ending up fuming. All rubbish and so little that was useful! No decent toolbox, no tyre pump, the man might be a genius in some departments but in others he was clueless. She got back into her car and drove down to Super Cheap Autos, emerging with a tyre pump.

Arriving back home, she arranged the little red foot pump on the garage floor and pumped up the tyre, then hid the pump behind another lot of brand-new fitness equipment Duncan had bought, still sealed in its box. She then went and had a very belated breakfast which was nearly lunch. She got on with the housework. Twice, she checked the tyre which remained pumped up tight and when Duncan called for a ride, she picked him up.

"I had the tyre fixed," she said. "I paid cash. Have you got fifty dollars?"

"It was that much?"

"Not quite," she replied, "But I fixed the problem and I need another lipstick."

With a smirk, Duncan handed over a fifty, walked upstairs and into the kitchen sniffing. "What's for tea?"

"Chilli con carne with half the spice."

Duncan smiled; he didn't like stuff over spiced. He grabbed a beer, switched on the telly and sat down on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. The place was all vacuumed and she had washed the floors by the smell. He glanced over hearing a sizzling and saw she was loading the crockpot. Ah, tomorrow night's tea. He had needed to do very little hinting to get her to go to cooking classes and she had been sold on the slow cooker as a means of getting good meals, fast, ready after work. He came home hungry. She knew he was grouchy when he was hungry. He had her well trained.

He checked his watch as he heard the microwave ping and within his ten-minute deadline, she brought his tray over with his tea. Chilli con carne, rice, broccoli and cauliflower. Very good. He started in, switching the sports channels around until he found some motor racing.

Sally saw he was absorbed in her good cooking, reached up into the cupboard and brought down the rice risotto packet. Duncan never cooked; he'd never check. Casually, she slipped the fifty dollar note in beside the others. Her mother had trained her well. "Always have a little running away money," she had often said. A girl needed to listen to her mother. Sally's mother had taken her own advice when Sally was six, following another drunken beating and Sally had seen her father only in school holidays since, sometimes once a year and sometimes less. If Duncan ever hit her, she was gone. The swearing and yelling, she was used to. No problem and she could give as well as she got but she picked her battles carefully. Her mother had taught her that as well.

She would have to check but she was betting he had made no cash sales today. She would check on Monday. It would confirm the pattern she had noticed. She had been watching him. Tonight, he came straight upstairs with her. She was more and more convinced it had to be in the house and she had to find it. What she would do then, she didn't know. She felt torn. She loved him but this controlling behaviour was wearying and it made her a little rebellious. Well perhaps more than a little. Maybe a lot. She was good at being sneaky. She had had a lifetime of practice. That comes with the territory if there is no other way of getting your needs met, she mused. She loaded up her own tray and sat down.

"What's for pudding?"

"Fresh fruit salad and ice cream with whatever topping you want. How many cars did you sell?"

"Only two."

"Lovely. That's my man," Sally said thinking to herself that she'd drop into the office tomorrow before he woke up to check her suspicions and pay some bills before he got any ideas about spending that money. And she'd have to go through all the receipts she found in the Alfa this morning. Most would probably be for food. She had tried making him lunch but he was so totally disorganised, it was a waste of her time so she gave up. In coffees and food, he spent nearly a hundred dollars a day. She had counted up the receipts she found in his Alfa and in his trouser pockets. And that didn't count the evening meal. She got up and fetched him another beer. She had discovered that six beers a night and a full stomach and he would fall asleep. By nine pm at the latest, she could get the remote. Usually before.

Finishing her tea, she gathered up the dishes and stacked the dishwasher, then checked the ingredient list for her pork in apple sauce for tomorrow night. She added the apple and a touch of vinegar and grated up the ginger, stirring it well and turning off the crock pot. She lifted out the inner bowl and left it on the stainless steel bench to cool. When it cooled, she would put it in the fridge; the whole inner container. All ready to be dropped into the crockpot tomorrow morning. Finished, she sat down with a milo and picked up her study. She was determined to graduate from high school. At sixteen, she had had to leave school to get a job. She did not intend to remain uneducated. She looked over at Duncan. He had left school at fifteen with some encouragement from the school. Given all that, they were doing pretty well she thought.

She looked around herself, blessing the circumstances that had led to this. This was the only house she had ever lived in that wasn't a rental. It was also by far and away the best house and the best furniture she had ever had and she enjoyed all the mod cons. Her mother had never had a dryer or a dishwasher. Better still, the house was large and fully insulated. She now, never woke up to wet windows on the inside, mould and a house colder on the inside than the outside. All she needed, to complete her happiness, was a little stash of cash to balance his scrooge-like nature where she was concerned and she would be totally happy. And she wanted an answer to the mystery, of course.

# Chapter Sixteen

Early morning, October

I jogged back to my Corolla and drove home. I changed clothes, back into my pyjamas, handing the jogging suit to Abby who immediately locked it in her boot. Now if the children got up they would see nothing different. Abby and Mummy having a coffee. But they slept on. The cat was happy, he got fed much earlier than usual to shut him up. Dewey was ever an opportunist and he seemed to know when to play up. He also knew how to con a meal out of several people one after the other. Jenny was supposed to be the only one feeding him but as you can see, that didn't always work. Food shut him up and he somehow always remembered not to ask the same person for the same meal twice. And they say cats have only a fleeting short-term memory. Rubbish. Dewey schemed, plotted and planned. A bit like his Mummy. At least Rat-Bait had not been beastly about him. He was Jenny's cat, bought with money my mother had given me for Jenny and we took him with us when we left.

And that was another huge change in my life. I now had control of money. Duncan never paid me even for the times I had worked full time for him in his yard. I was never on the payroll. He didn't give me money except in front of others. I suspected that was so he looked monumentally more generous than he was. He bought me things; lots of things when times were good. But he held the cash and the credit cards. Except for the business credit cards and cheque book and then I had to account for every cent. He was quite happy for me to pay the bills. The only cash money I had, was money my parents gave me. I came to hate never having any money of my own. I came to dislike it when Rat-Bait bought my clothes for me which included underwear; lots of underwear. Scratchy, uncomfortable, lacy underwear. Horribly expensive and I would have spent that money elsewhere. They were his choices not mine. I only got my choices when my mother and I went shopping. And he detested that. Every now and then, something I bought like that, my own choice, went missing.

When Abby and Nadia found all this out, when I exploded one day, they blasted right back. Didn't I recognise I was married to a control freak? Why hadn't I stopped this when it first started? But I had had no experience of men or relationships and I didn't know this was abnormal. The car yard was a family business, he said. My parents both had separate jobs, he said. Well true; my mother was an architect which was how he and my mother met. Being female, she had trouble getting jobs so took the jobs others didn't want. The tricky ones. The low-profile ones. The ones where someone had to convert a hair salon into a restaurant and comply with all regulations but had very little money. Or vice versa. Those ones. My father had started out as a hammer hand and was now a building contractor. He specialised in alterations to business premises too.

The glamour was in the high-profile new stuff but neither of my parents had an ego problem. And both my parents said those jobs could build a reputation but they could also sink one due to conflicts, unreal expectations and changing fashions. My mother said people didn't like paying her to think and draw out designs. They seemed to think it was child's play. It wasn't. There were so many things to take into account like how doors opened and where was the prevailing wind and the sun and the view? Where were the drains, what was the rainfall and how fast did it come? She said you had to walk over the site. It would be bliss if I could one day get my mother to design out my dream home. I had it in rough draft. Mine. And now, one day, it was a possibility. Way in the future, maybe.

So I had married a control freak. I should have known, they told me. I guess I did but you know what the answer is; I loved him and I trusted him. Before I learnt not to trust him and then finally learnt that the man I loved, was a product of my imagination. By which time we had been separated for over a year. A bit late. When we were married, he wanted me to have to rely on him. And I finally realised that he was buying things for me to show off, for _his_ retail therapy, to control me and what I wore, to mould me, to reflect what his tastes were. In other words, he bought those things not for me but for himself. He wanted to dress me up like a doll. It was never about what I wanted. It was all about him.

# Chapter Seventeen

Still October

I was able to restrain myself for only three weeks before Abby and I attacked again. This was a repeat performance. Same babysitter, same tactic, same tyre, same jogging suit and I had had to go earlier. It was spring and the sun was getting up earlier even if I wasn't. But this time I had had to get up earlier too. Getting up at four am was not my idea of bliss but I had done it. But as I got out of bed at four am on a Wednesday morning, I told myself I needed a change of tactics. Take up jogging in the evening? Mmm. The children would find out. Mummy was determined to get fit? Well jogging was the only exercise I could afford. I knew where there was an awful lot of fitness equipment. Would he miss it? But the children would talk. From what Sam said, I knew he sometimes got interrogated as to what I was up to. When I first became aware of this, last year, I realised I had been doing the same and I promptly stopped. It wasn't fair on Sam and Abby had kept telling me it wasn't healthy to ask Sam to spy for me. She was ok with me moaning to her because she said she knew I had no one else to moan to. And as you've no doubt noticed; she was a far more effective spy than Sam.

As I jogged back to my car after having done the deed, I knew I couldn't do that again. I knew my ex. The chances were that he would now replace the tyre and it would be suspicious if I did it again to the same tyre. Now we would re-start the Rat-Bait committee and miss these last two incidences out of the notes Abby was taking. The heavily disguised notes. One day, she had promised to tell us what she was writing. It was probably the minutes of the book club.

I drove quietly up the driveway, sneaked inside and got back into my pyjamas. I handed the pink tracksuit to Abby who silently left. The kids would be suspicious if they found Abby here at this time of the morning. I went back to bed playing this morning's plot and the gnome village smash over and over in my mind and the next thing I knew was the alarm going off.

# Chapter Eighteen

Later that morning

Duncan ran down the stairs, late as usual and exploded in profanity as he discovered the flat tyre. The same tyre. Sally appeared behind him, ran back up the stairs and in less than five minutes she was back, dressed, keys in hand.

"I'll get it fixed. Get in."

Duncan seethed and continued swearing the whole trip into work. Twenty minutes too long due to too many red lights and Sally was unspeakably relieved to see the last of him. She drove back home, got out her foot pump and pumped up the tyre, re-hiding the pump. She then went for a leisurely shower, washed her hair, carefully applied makeup, took a stroll through her walk-in wardrobe and luxuriated in a slow series of decisions to put an outfit together. Dressed, she indulged in a coffee and a good book, her feet on the coffee table and at the same time partially watched a documentary; well most of one. She checked the tire again; firm.

When the documentary finished, she drove to work via the supermarket as per usual. She arrived at work with fresh bread, ham, beef, lettuce and tomatoes and immediately proceeded to make herself a sandwich and sat down with it and another coffee. As Duncan approached, paperwork in hand she said,

"Do it yourself! It's time I sat down. I've been flat out. New valve and you owe me eighty but it's guaranteed." She put down her coffee and held out her hand.

Duncan watched as his two fifty-dollar notes disappeared into her handbag and he noticed the lack of change he got. But worse, she now had a coffee back in one hand and a sandwich in the other and he still had the papers. Duncan sadly took the paperwork over to his desk and sighed over it trying to make her feel guilty enough to do it for him. It didn't work. He watched as she ignored him and got up to make another sandwich. It was not his day but at least the car was fixed according to the tyre guy. He wondered which one she had got but decided he really didn't want to know. Organising all the stuff for the business was one thing but for himself, he fell to pieces. What a wonderful woman he had, to do it all for him.

# Chapter Nineteen

Still the same day

A few hours later, I got up, again, cheerful and got the kids up. Dewey got a second breakfast from Jenny but I knew he wouldn't tell. It was our secret. When the kids weren't home one day, I told him what I had been up to. It felt good to tell someone else and know he could keep quiet. Just not when he was hungry.

I went off to work that day and was part way through some typing when one of the partners, Sean, came and sat down across the desk from me,

"Alright," he said, "I demand to know who he is."

I looked down at my notes, "Which who?"

"The he who is putting that spring in your step and the smile on your face. And you've been humming!"

"You make it sound as if humming is against the law."

"You didn't answer the question."

I paused to consider it. I had been humming. I did feel better. Revenge was sweet. Whoever it was that said 'revenge was a dish best served cold,' was right. Served secretly was even better but it had to stay secret. Especially if my real objective was to be achieved. But I had been surprised at how good revenge made me feel. And I couldn't tell my boss any of the above.

"I feel better. I guess I'm getting over being unmarried. It took a while. There's no new man."

"Well I'm pleased you feel better. Divorce is a terrible thing. You know, we don't love the people we love, we love our idealised version of who we _think_ they are."

"And then we live with the reality. I know." I'd heard his homilies on this before. Sean was a sweetie, most unlike his driven and business-oriented brother Ryan. But Sean was the people-person, the front's-man, the one who sat quietly while people poured out their problems and cried, and cursed and tried to find a way out of the mess they were in. Sean used to say people knew what to do but their emotions paralysed them. They used to thank him for helping them decide what to do and he always said he didn't. He simply listened to what they were saying and then paraphrased it back. They knew what they needed to do, or most of them did.

In contrast, Ryan was hopeless with emotions and so pleased to leave those ones to Sean. Sean was also the peace-maker in his family of six squabbling siblings. I smiled up at him. If Sean was only unmarried and forty years younger! Sean's hair was pure white now but he and Ryan had both been blue-eyed red heads. But only Ryan had the matching temper.

"You're like Ryan you know? Whatever mood you're in, you still work hard and you do your hardest work when you're really upset and miserable. But its better you're happy than that we get more out of you than we pay you for!"

I watched as he left. He was right! Sometimes I dropped the kids off at sport and went back to work. I might be too miserable to face the loneliness or the housework, but I could always work. And working helped the budget and made me feel that I could at least get something right! One weekend, when I was in a real mess financially and emotionally, my parents had taken the kids for the weekend and I had spent the whole time at work or at home with outwork, quietly alternating between work and housework. By the end of the weekend, the house was tidy except for the bedrooms and I had earned enough extra to pay the bills. My normal was to bring work home and do an extra hour or two, at least three nights a week. And do outwork in the weekends. Now you see why the housework didn't get done. I had nothing left. No energy with which to do it.

# Chapter Twenty

November 15th

The next meeting of the Rat-Bait Committee, the official one, was held five months after the first one. Nadia had calmed completely down and agreed to restart, so long as Abby and I agreed to abide by her rules. We promised, so we were ready to start again. We all had had pizza and the kids were watching a DVD Nadia had brought for them and were munching on popcorn that Nadia had brought for all of us. Caramel corn, yum. We were munching too. Laid out on the table were the tax tables, the book-keeping books and other strategic diversions of a mathematical nature.

As before, we were in the kitchen-diner with the connecting glass French doors shut. The kids in the lounge, could see us if they turned around. For that reason, we adults thought they would never guess we were having a secret meeting. This time it was Sam who came out 'to get a drink.' Again the 'evidence' provoked a quick departure into the lounge. I closed the door. Sam had trouble closing doors. I had taught him repeatedly but he seemed to forget how to do it. Dewey always forgot to close doors too although he was quite good at opening them. He would leap up and hang onto the handle. I kept threatening him that I'd change the door handles to the circular knob ones, but he knew I had no money for that.

I was sitting back onto the door the same as last time. The slight feeling of guilt I had, meant I didn't want to see the kids while I plotted against their father.

"I take it all evidence has been destroyed?" Nadia demanded.

"Yes." Abby and I said in chorus. Abby didn't add she had just complied, anticipating this question.

"That's very good," she said, "so we can move on to the next item of sabotage. Any ideas?"

"Could we make a spark plug dirty?" Asked Abby.

"No," countered Warren. "They are difficult to get at. You would need to take the engine cover off, it would take time and you would need to know what to do. I wouldn't," he said implying if he couldn't, we couldn't.

Ok, so there was some truth in that but who had done the brake job? And that had taken tuition from Mike. And I had never told Mike about the results of his tuition. We had practiced on another, similar car and he had showed to convince me I couldn't do it by myself and it was difficult. I had day dreamed doing it and worked out how to do it all by myself. And then I had done it on impulse. Well we all knew where that had got me and my accuser was four feet away. I thought it wiser not to remind anyone of that since it had gotten me into so much trouble.

"What about taking a bulb out?" Abby asked.

"You're thinking about an earlier era of cars," Warren said. "The Alfa has LED's."

Abby and I looked at each other. She had only had cars made last century. And me? Well not much later. I knew little about what was under the hood. Warren and Nadia bought new cars. I wondered what it would be like to walk into a car dealership and buy a brand-new car, choosing the model you liked and the colour you liked and adding the 'free' accessories you liked. I could dream. It would never be a reality for me. But one day, I would own my own home outright. That was my dream. No rent and no mortgage. I was half way there.

"What about removing a fuse?" I asked. "Do they still have fuses?" I nearly wailed. Next he'd be telling me to join this century.

"Yes they have fuses and yes that's a good idea," said Nadia with a pleased expression on her face.

I suddenly remembered that Mike had told me about fuses and even given me some duds. The trouble was, I had to remember all this. I dare not write it down. What would happen if either of two children found the list? Guess which two? What would happen if they put the list and the car troubles together?

Dewey came in the cat door and immediately investigated the rubbish bin. He emerged with a piece of cheesy crust in his mouth and obediently carried it over to his cat station (water dish, food dish, place mat). All in the space under the kitchen cupboard where a dishwasher should be. And wasn't. Because I couldn't afford one.

"Tick one out of three," I said looking at him.

"Go on," said Warren.

"I'm trying to train him not to scavenge in the rubbish bin, to use his area to eat in and to tuck his tail in so we don't step on it."

We all laughed. He failed the 'don't scavenge.' He was in the right place but on the floor was a large, fluffy, ginger-striped tail with a white tip, coming out over a foot from the cupboard recess. Right into the path of on-coming feet. And where was the main thoroughfare of the house? Right past the tail. Over the tail. Through the tail. You get it. If you land on it you _really_ get it.

I returned to the task at hand. "I have some dud fuses," I said, "And I know how to swap them over with live ones. I could find out what fuse does what or just do one or two at random. Which ones?"

"How many fuse boxes has an Alfa got?" Asked Nadia.

"About three," answered Warren.

"Ok," I said, "I'll sort that." I looked up into four suspicious eyes; all brown. "What?!" I asked.

"Who is the accomplice we haven't met?" Nadia demanded.

"One of my brothers just might be a mechanic," said Abby casually.

The four accusatory brown eyes swung around and aimed at Abby. Whose own brown eyes were the picture of innocence. Which fooled no one.

"How many brothers do you have?" Nadia demanded.

"One."

"And why weren't we told about this?" Nadia drawled.

"It was on a need-to-know basis," explained Abby.

"Well we need to know," Nadia declared in a sweet tone that I knew so well. It meant tell me the truth, or else.

"We need to know if he, or our lovely Jolene here, is going to exceed instructions," she added.

"No. Absolutely not," I declared. Like I would dare. She had been right and I was well aware I had dodged a bullet. Now, I was going to restart with fuses. And I was going to check the Vin number so I would know if he replaced the car. The plates wouldn't help; his plates were personalised.

• • •

I snuck out and did the deed, having to get up horrendously early to operate safely in the dark. I replaced a perfectly good fuse with a dud. Thanks Mike. I'd had to get up at 4am but it was worth it. As I jogged back, I appreciated poor Abby who was my co-conspirator and also had had to get up in the dark. All this subterfuge just in case someone had an attack of insomnia and was looking out their windows. A pity I would never know the result. In my haste, I didn't even figure out which fuse I'd replaced. Next time I'd plan it better. I wondered what I would tell a police officer but so far, the law hadn't spotted me.

I slowed to a walk, thinking. The school holidays were coming up next month and I would love to have taken the children on holiday but that wasn't possible. I would be even shorter of money than usual because from December 24th, there would be no overtime for at least five weeks but at least I would now have some time for some urgent maintenance. The roof was leaking.

Dad had gotten up on the roof for a look before I bought the house and warned me it needed painting. The winter just gone, it had begun to leak. But my Dad knew how to patch a roof and how to find the leaks. Of course he wanted to replace the roof but I wasn't borrowing any more money until I'd paid Mum back for the car. So my four weeks holiday was going to be spent watching as my Dad found and patched the leaks and then I would be water-blasting and then painting. That's me doing the painting. Huge fun. Not.

# Chapter Twenty-One

January 30th 2019

Sally leapt out of bed as she heard the swearing. Not again! So much for her Saturday morning sleep-in! Last month his passenger window wouldn't work and the fuse had proved to be the problem. Now what was it?

She dressed at full speed, grabbed her car keys and purse and ran down stairs. A few seconds later they were on their way. "What was wrong? I thought I heard her start."

"The engine died. I'm getting another one. She's a dud."

"It's not even six months old."

"It's my money and my car and nothing to do with the likes of you!!"

Tsk, tsk, tsk, thought Sally. Silly me, I just came between a man and his car and tried to insert some common sense. What a waste of effort. She drove the rest of the way in silence with the coiled spring beside her swearing and threatening mayhem on the Alfa Romeo dealership. Sally knew it was a sore point with Duncan that he wasn't in the big league and couldn't sell new cars. She dropped him off with huge relief and drove back home.

She picked up the spare car starter and tried the starter button which would turn the engine over but it would not start properly. It coughed and spluttered. She turned it off. She Googled the problem and scanned the list of things she didn't understand and couldn't check that could be wrong. She almost rang the dealership but then saw there were a few things she could check. There was fuel; it showed over half full so tick that off. She looked at timing but she knew the Alfa had been serviced recently which logically ruled out that and quite a few other things on the list. She got out the manual which looked pristine and looked at the Troubleshooting page. She thought she would start with the simplest problem first and saw the word 'fuse.' It couldn't be that simple could it? It did sound like it was running out of petrol. She remembered hearing about all the things a computer now controlled and she was sure the supply of petrol was now computer controlled. So would that mean a fuse? She checked. There was a fuse for fuel injection! She looked for the location of the fuse box which contained the fuse for the fuel injection. She opened it, located the correct fuse, pulled it out, replaced it with one of the spares on the side. She leaned over and pressed the starter and the engine started, spluttered a bit and then roared into life. As the Alfa roared into life; so did her suspicions. Easy to fix, easy to unfix.

Sally went upstairs for a coffee and drank it slowly and thoughtfully. She smelt a large rat but which rat and how might a rat gain access? And how could she explain that the Alfa was fixed? She text Duncan 'car fixed, dud fuse, no charge, many apologies, all fuses replaced, could have been a dud batch,' and then crossed her fingers that that would work. The 'no charge' would lower his suspicions and he would be busy with sales today. Fleecing some poor hard-working person out of their money by overcharging for a car always cheered him up. She got on with the housework.

As she went down to the laundry, she paused, thinking. She put the washing down and checked the outside of the laundry door but there were no scratches on the lock and no signs of forced entry. The house was built in the early 2000's and had good quality locks. She walked outside and glanced at the shattered gnome village which she hadn't had the heart to redo. She glanced down and saw part of a shoe print in the shadow near where the hollow gnome was and where the sun hadn't yet reached. She froze. Had she come out an hour or so later, the print would have been in full sun and dried. It would have been gone. She saw it was a small foot. A woman or a child. That narrowed the field. She could think of several nearby children who might have seen Duncan pick up the gnome. Several people knew about the gnome. The children next door were possible candidates and there were two in roughly the right foot size range. But although they might have stuffed around with the fuses, the brake line was malicious.

Thoughtfully, she checked through all Duncan's numerous pockets, removing various items which should not be washed including a car starter and several tissues and receipts. She put the washing on. She stood there, thinking. Her car wasn't touched so it was Duncan that was the target. Well she could think of a few hundred candidates. She ran back upstairs, put the pork in a casserole dish and added the sweet and sour sauce ingredients. She pulled apart the cauliflower and put it in one pot and whizzed the carrots, onions and capsicums through the food processor. She added just the onions to the casserole at this stage. She turned the oven on and sat down with a cup of onion soup, some crackers and cheese and a banana.

She carefully thought it through. Except for the brake line, the sabotage, if it was sabotage, was petty. And the AA man had thought of sabotage but he had suspected adults. Kids now, that would make more sense. And the kids next door had known the kids who used to live in this house so they knew the house. Could the placement of the footprint by the gnome be a coincidence? Could they have a key? Well there was something she could do about that; she could lock the door from the laundry into the garage. That would answer a few questions. If it was sabotage, the incidences were a minimum of three weeks apart except for the, what was it, four of five months following the brake failure? Could that have been remorse?

She sat and continued to reason it through. The brake failure could have been from that champagne picnic. Duncan had used a picnic as an excuse to fill her up with champagne and have a quickie in the woods. She had not been keen. It made her feel cheap. And the Alfa had bottomed out several times on the track. Duncan had a one-track mind; he couldn't think about sex and drive properly at the same time. And that had been a day or so before? Something like that. The brake line could have been damaged and parted later. Could the sabotage just be a coincidence? If it was sabotage.

Would he notice if she locked the laundry door? At this stage, she didn't want to say something. If she did, he would pick someone to accuse, with or without proof, and go after that person like a bull at a gate. How often did Duncan go into the laundry? With a bit of luck, he wouldn't notice. He never did the laundry. She wondered if he even knew how to use the machine. And then she had another, dreadful thought. What if she did nothing? His car was the target, not her or him. If she was right. She was damned if she said something and damned if she didn't. With Duncan, it was safer to say nothing. She could be wrong. And if she was, he would never let her forget it and he would broadcast her error high and low. Everyone would be laughing at her. She would feel a fool. After a bit more thinking, she decided to say nothing. She couldn't risk being wrong. She might be wrong. But she didn't think so.

And she would have to watch him carefully today concerning that other little mystery. She could see a pattern emerging and she had her suspicions. She was being very thorough and meticulous in looking. He had been very clever but she was not used to being outwitted. She would find out.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Same day

I stood back and looked, very pleased with myself. It was the end of January, the roof was all fixed and I'd painted it with undercoat and two top coats. Dad helped, but I did most of it and it looked good. Dad had replaced or banged back in many of the nails holding the corrugated iron roof on. He had also replaced two of the purlins underneath the roof that he said needed replacing on the South side. But every other sheet of iron he pulled up proved to have intact timber underneath. He only pulled up the rusty sheets and he replaced only four sheets of iron. I watched, learning. To patch holes, he used some type of heavy tape. Once I'd painted it, you couldn't see where the patches were. He said that would last for years and be water-proof. He had also advised me I needed, ideally, to replace the roof but it would hold for another few years...

I was very pleased with myself. The whole job had cost me less than two thousand dollars. I'm not counting labour. The roof was now green, dark green. It had been blue and the house was white. Like so many of the houses in the street. Boring. So I was going to eventually paint the house golden. No other house in the street was that colour and it would be warm. But that was the second job on my list. The leaking had been on the South side, in the bathroom and laundry. I could fix the damage and redecorate them next Christmas holidays. At that rate, I'd finish the house when it was due to be redone again. Oh dear.

We delayed the Rat-Bait Committee meetings until the end of the summer holidays. And, the kids back at school, we decided to restart. Of course, I wasn't telling Nadia about the last two fuse jobs I'd done. She didn't need to know. Only Abby, Dewey and I knew. The next meeting of the Rat-Bait Committee started as per normal but we decided on a change.

"I have been thinking," Warren said, "And I think we need to change the venue of where these deeds are done. We need to attack the Alfa when it is somewhere else, like where vandals could get to it."

I perked up. That would take suspicion off someone breaking in and doing what I was doing. Like me. I could also have better work hours at my part-time unpaid job of saboteur. I liked it. "Where?" I asked.

"Any suggestions?" Warren asked.

Abby held up her hand, "Please sir?"

We laughed and the kids looked around. Oops. But they didn't come in so I relaxed.

"You know how Jo found out about Sally?"

"No," said Warren.

"Well I just might have followed him once or twice," Abby confessed.

Suddenly a light flashed on in my head, "Stop," I said and continued thinking. "He has a Navman. I can check on the addresses where he goes. I can sneak in and check just that and then Google the addresses. While he was married to me, he told me about two mistresses and another two affairs and if he did that to me, he probably is doing it to Sally. Is there some blackmail potential there? I shut up if he pays the child support?" I looked around. Abby clearly loved it, Warren looked a bit scandalised and Nadia was looking speculative.

"There is always a risk with blackmail," she said. "Blackmailing could be fatal."

I hadn't thought of that. I considered the possibility and said softly, "Are you serious? You know him. Is that likely?"

"You never know what people are capable of until they are pushed. A year ago, did you think you could do what you are doing now?"

"No. But that would leave him with the kids and he doesn't want that."

"He's a power freak. He has you pegged as a pushover. I wonder to what extent he would go to reinforce the status quo? Murder? Not impossible. Jo, you told me has some very unsavoury friends. He could always organise a hit," Nadia said softly. "You also told me he has an explosive temper and that he has hit you."

"You told me he flung you across the room," Abby said softly.

I sat there in shock. I had forgotten that. I had genuinely blocked it out it hurt so much. Not physically; emotionally. I had cried for the rest of the evening and my darling Duncan had told me to shut up. It was when I had asked him to help me with Jenny. I had been so tired and Jenny was teething and irritable and he wanted to watch some stupid match on TV. After flinging me on the floor, he had continued to sit there until the match he was watching was over and then he had come over to me and apologised. Sort of. He had told me it was primarily my fault. I had wanted Jenny and he had wanted to wait. That was a lie. He was the one who had wanted me to stop the pill for a while because he thought it was making me fat. He had that type of metabolism where he could eat anything and he never put weight on. Not me, so I had to go off the pill. And he hated condoms. Which left a problem. Which resulted in Jenny. And this was my fault?

Well at least I wasn't on the pill now. I went off it as soon as he left. And he left the house, not me, because blubbering me wouldn't go and the kids were scandalised that they were asked by their father to pack up and leave. God bless them, they backed me. Sam even told his father off. He refused to leave, Jenny agreed with him and I called my parents who promptly came around. So Duncan left and the children and I maintained a roof over our heads. I sat and thought. Honestly. It was possible he could decide to murder me. Damn! I had thought that was such a good idea.

"That's a no then?" Warren asked.

I was reluctant to let a good idea go. "He," I paused and decided to tell them, "He does some dodgy deals. I know of several. He under-declares income by buying and selling in cash deals which don't go through the books. He does a lot of them. He also had me do deals on the TradeMe website and buy or sell five cars a year in an alibi name he had, or in my own name. Five or less and you don't qualify as a dealer. He had at least two fake ID's trading in different names. I saw him one day doing this and he said he used someone else's ID. I don't know how he did that. He had at least five accounts that I knew of. That meant he could do twenty-five deals a year not putting them through the books and I don't think anyone ever queried them." I looked up, "He is such a good candidate for blackmail!"

Three faces looked back at me. One was keen, one was reluctant and one was giving me her best 'not a chance' look. I sighed and gave up. It was stupid to engage a lawyer and then ignore her advice. And I knew which personality in the room was the dominant one on this issue and so did everyone else. I lose.

"Alright I give up. Next suggestion? I have a list," I passed copies around, watching as in turn they read it and laughed, winced, smiled and sometimes all three within a short period.

"I forbid any of these ones which would damage the car. I like this suggestion of pour cooking oil on the windscreen," Nadia said.

"Paint would be better," corrected Abby.

"Superglue in the lock. Would that work with a car starter?" Warren wondered. "Probably. But how about remove one of the licence plates? The back one. He'll have some explaining to do when the cops pull him over."

"Yes, and with a little bit of luck he won't have his seat belt on. I vote for that one. It's a kid's trick. He was supposed to take Sam to the Stockcars in Palmerston North next weekend. Sam said he's still going but he's going with a pile of other men. I like that. It will serve him right for cancelling on Sam. And Jenny asked if she could go too and the heartless bastard said no."

"I'll do this one," said Abby, "I have a friend in Palmerston North I can visit. And that gives Jo an alibi."

"I've just had an idea," said Warren. "What if you, Jo, put a burner phone in his car, plugged into the USB port in the back. It will allow us to track his car. You'll just have to get in once rather than every night to check where he's been."

I beamed. I liked that idea. I would have to get Mike to show me? Maybe I could figure it out for myself.

"How do we track him?" Abby asked. "Oh," she said remembering Warren's security job, "Sorry, silly question."

Nadia looked at her husband in approval, "Good thinking. I'd be very curious to see where he goes in a week. It should give us all a lot of entertainment and ammunition. We could do another one of these ideas," she pointed to the list, "If we find him with another woman."

I was very cheered up. "Sabotage when doing things he shouldn't. I like it."

The next move was up to me after I collected a spare phone from Warren tomorrow.

• • •

Later that night, after my co-conspirators had left and the kids had gone to bed, I looked over my blackmail plans. I had decided to charge Rat-Bait $500 a month until he caught up with the overdue child support. My account on this matter was grim and getting grimmer. At this stage, 17 months post our agreement, he was twelve months behind in child support. He was supposed to pay 100 a week for each child. He had paid the correct amount of $200 a week four times. He had paid $100 twice, saying that's all he could afford. As of this month, he owed me $2,400 in child support. That was nothing to him and a fortune for me. I looked over my list that I'd made up one night in a fit of temper and self-pity.

At the time he was with me he admitted to four mistresses; Sally, Justine, Liz and Sandra and I was told there had been a Michelle. I wondered if Sally knew about those other three. I wondered if he still had them, or others, or new ones. I did not understand how he could go with any of them while he said he loved me. And I now knew Liz had been around for at least a year or two before we had split up. She was married and had children; five of them. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? I had never wanted another man. Was I abnormal, or were they? I didn't know.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

February 9th

Ten days later, the phone having now been in Duncan's car for a week, we all went over to Nadia and Warrens while the kids were at a school play. I didn't have to go to the play because I'd been at the practice and the dress rehearsal and I'd arranged for another mother to bring them home. To the home I wasn't at because I was up to no good again. I loved it. I could make a job out of this cloak and dagger stuff, with all the experience I was getting, I thought.

Warren had written down and googled all the addresses and I recognised several, innocuous ones and we eliminated others like the yard and the bank and restaurants. That left eighteen unaccounted for. Eighteen in one week. Some were sure to be illegal and immoral but others might be depraved. Rat-Bait was a busy boy.

"We don't have enough data yet," Warren said. "But now, tomorrow, Abby can find this car fairly easily and remove the licence plate."

I looked at Abby. Her eyes shone with mischief. She was definitely up for it. I looked at my watch. "I need to get home."

• • •

The next evening, as I was doing the dishes, my cell phone pinged. I glanced down. Abby. "Mission Accomplished." A pulse of pure joy went through me. Now I would have to wait until she got back. She had promised to ring me but it would be late. It was now 19.30 hrs. Seven thirty pm for the unmilitary. She had about a two-hour drive back to Wellington, counting getting some tea. At least she was going against the traffic. Cars poured out of Wellington in the weekend until the flow reversed around Sunday afternoon. And now I had to somehow appear normal for the kids until finally, at just before ten pm, she rang me.

"I did it," she said exaltedly, "I threw it into the Manawatu River off the Foxton bridge. I wanted to paint his car also but I decided he would be in more trouble if I left him with just the cops to deal with. He has a mouth on him and he hates cops. I thought if I did anything else, the cops might be sympathetic and no way did I want that."

We talked, safely, for a few more minutes, Abby never actually articulating exactly what it was that she had done. And I didn't either. There were little ears in my house, four of them and I knew how I snooped when I was a child and thought my parents were talking about me. It was such a pity that Warren had refused to bug his car. Abby had asked. Nadia had said no. That would have been an audio clip I could have replayed and replayed in my mind every night. I decided to make one up. I could vary it every night. At least once a week I would imagine him in police cells. For verbal abuse, for threatening language, for throwing punches. I could dream.

It was so wrong that he luxuriated in such a better house, with a better car with all the furniture I had paid for and so much money that he could splash it on things he didn't even need. Even more galling was how much of that that I had provided, with the $50,000 deposit for the house my parents had paid and all the free labour he had gotten from me. And all my wages once I started work at a job where I actually got paid. I know I go on and on about this but it was a constant hassle for me. I suspected he delighted in continuing to make my life as difficult as he possibly could. How could I move on when he kept doing this? I suspected that was his intention. It was working.

And here I was living pay to pay and I had enough for the basics of life but not what I was used to. And I brought his kids up with almost no help from him. It just wasn't fair.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

February 24th 2019

Our sleuth Abby, discovered that Rat-Bait, approximately two weeks after the licence plate incident, had bought yet another brand-new car. Same model, same colour. I was left wondering when he had ordered it because I knew you didn't always have a choice of all the colour and model range. And surely they took time to get to New Zealand? Like months? Maybe it had been sent down from Auckland. I think they had a dealership there too. Never mind. Since we had started this sabotage, he had paid not a cent in child support. I had had no money but I had had a lot of fun. On balance, I decided it was worth it.

We had another meeting for the Rat-Bait Committee planned for next week. We were working on the addresses and had found three that had looked really dodgy. Nadia said that one was a drug house. Oh the advantage of having a lawyer in our committee who knew the naughty people in town and their addresses.

We had divided the addresses up and everyone was going to check out some. I had done all mine. Finding one was the address of yet another crime boss, according to Nadia, I found fascinating.

• • •

Sally stretched as she took the fax off the machine and immediately tucked it away with the others. The last one. She had now found or had replaced all the receipts to do the GST return and they were now in her briefcase. Duncan's books were at home and he never wanted them here in the office. He wanted only her and his accountant to know all of the income details of the business and only she did the GST returns. It was a sore point with Duncan. The Goods and Services Tax Returns had to be done every two months, a summary handed in to the Tax Department plus a large cheque. Tax. And a copy of the return and the receipts had to be handed onto his accountant to do the final end-of-year Tax Return.

That sounded straightforward but there was a problem. Duncan was forever losing receipts that she knew should be there and she was forever having to beg businesses to send a duplicate receipt. Like she had just done. She kept a sharp eye on all costs. She had a very good idea as to what should be there. She had them all finally with that last one just faxed through and she would do the return tonight as she always liked it handed in ahead of time. Tomorrow was Friday. It was due in on Monday.

She smiled, thinking. Duncan always went on and on about how he was just a Tax Collector. An unpaid one. He resented every cent he had to pay. He tried to maintain he wasn't making a profit but she knew better. And anyway, he wasn't doing all the work, she was. He just had to pay the resulting tax bill. And doing the return was the fast bit. The time was taken in finding all the paperwork, especially the bits he lost or misfiled or threw away. But she knew most of the places to look. His Alfa was the best possibility. If they hadn't blown out the door.

She sighed indulgently. Duncan was hopeless at bookkeeping. He was lucky he had her, she thought. But now she needed to go home. It was the wrong time of the month and she had cramps and her tampons were at home. She had run out of Panadol as well. Duncan was God knew where and she had no cash on her. And she only got the credit card when she was ordered by him to go and get something. That was the one time when he was good at bookkeeping! He would scrutinise the receipt. Funny how he could lose receipts and make so much work for her and others but she had to produce every receipt or else.

She drove home, parking outside and let herself in the front door which was seldom used. The second she entered she heard voices. Her Duncan's and a woman's. Something about the sounds stopped her calling out. She left the door ajar, quietly slipped off her shoes and crept toward the source of the voices; her fear increasing. As she passed the kitchen, she realised they were in the bedroom. One glance was all it took. They were in her bed, or rather on it and naked. She withdrew before they saw her; they were rather preoccupied she thought and recognised she was a little hysterical. Well she wasn't walking past them to get the tampons. She snuck into the kitchen, fetched some cash from the rice risotto packet and quietly left the house. She drove to the supermarket, bought the tampons, some Panadol and some chocolate and returned to work.

She went into the toilet and sat down. She wondered what to do. One thing was sure; she wasn't standing for that. This relationship was over but how could she get out of it? She had only had $360 in cash and that was before her shopping today. She couldn't get far on that. She had nowhere to go, no car (the Audi was his too), no paying job although she worked fulltime and no savings. Her mother was living in a studio apartment in an appalling high rise. She wasn't going there. She couldn't, he knew where it was.

She was in an awful position. Duncan would be forced to pay her something if she had been with him for three years but it was only just over two years and she never wanted to see him again. The thought of being in the same house as him was repugnant. Sharing a bed with him, particularly that bed, was going to be almost intolerable. And it was Thursday. She would have to wait till Saturday before she could search again. Before he was out of the house and she had an excuse to be there alone. She had to find it!

She fought the tears back. She could not be seen crying or someone would tell Duncan. How could he do this to her? She loved him and she'd thought he loved her. But she had a lot more pride than the whiny bitch. She was not going to beg. This relationship was over. Had she had the time, she could have switched the Audi over into her name. She could have ensured she appropriated the change of ownership notification that would then be sent to him, before he saw it. It would then be up to him to prove he hadn't given the Audi to her and no court would expect her to leave a relationship of two years with nothing. But nothing was what she had now and there wasn't enough time for that. If she left in the Audi, he would report it as stolen, she knew he would.

She returned to work but she didn't know where to go or what to do even at work. She wanted to sabotage something but a little voice in her head told her not to and she listened. Where could she go? Women's Refuge was a possibility but she would rather be independent. Oh this just wasn't fair. After all she had done for him. She'd thought they were going to be together for life.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

March 2nd

I was doing the housework around ten on a Saturday morning when the phone rang. "Yes."

"Please don't hang up it's really important. I need to see you. Here at Duncan's place. He's at work. Something's happened. I need your help. I'm in awful trouble. You are the only one I can trust."

I was stunned. The caller ID came up RB for 'Rat-Bait.' RB in case the children picked up my phone. I'd recognise that voice anywhere. Sally. Did she know? Was that it? But what had happened? He had a new Alfa and I hadn't touched it yet.

"Can you get a babysitter for the children? Please help me, please! I can't ask anyone else."

"What's wrong? Has he hit you? Are you hurt?"

"No it's worse than that. Please help me. If what I think is true, I can help you too. Please."

It was worse than that!? Had she had a miscarriage or something? And how could she help me? I was over my initial panic and thinking. She sounded desperate. And unhappy. Near to tears. I had to admit to being very curious. And very hopeful that through her, I could add to Rat-Bait's trouble. And that decided me. I paused for some fast thinking. Tea was in the crockpot. The kids were still in bed. I could ring Abby.

"Alright. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Oh thank you. Please be quick." I could hear the relief in her voice and I also heard fear, I thought.

I dialled, "Abby? Can you babysit now? Right now? I've had an emergency call from Sally begging me to help her. I suspect he's bashed her."

"From Sally?! And you want to help her?"

"I think he bashed her up. Or threatened to. Something in what she said. It would serve him right if she left him. I'll just go and see what's going on if you can cover for me. Tea is in the crock pot and you're invited for tea. And the kids are still in bed." She liked my cooking and cooking was a chore for her. That should work.

Abby looked at her half-drunk coffee and tipped it out. She was burning with curiosity. "Be there in a minute."

"Thank you."

A few minutes later I was on my way, even before Abby arrived. That was strategic. Abby was overflowing with curiosity and questions and it was just as well I wasn't there to be interrogated and further delayed. I had made good time and should be there by just past eleven.

The door opened as I arrived at Rat-Bait's. Sally looked a mess. She had clearly been crying but if she was damaged, it wasn't visible.

"What's wrong?"

"Duncan's been cheating on me."

"You thought he wouldn't? You two cheated on me." This was the emergency? I was unsympathetic. She deserved that. "Why am I here?"

"Come in."

Somewhat dubious but very curious, I entered. I had never been in this part of the house. I looked around feeling a spurt of anger as I recognised the furniture I had paid for. Swapped mostly non-existent child support for. It was a very nice house, much better than mine but Duncan's mess was clearly visible and it needed a clean. I watched Sally as she obviously didn't know what to say? Or whether to say it? Then she blurted out,

"I'm leaving him. Now. We were supposed to be married in a few months!" She wailed.

News to me. Both bits of news. "Why am I here?" I repeated.

"He never paid me. I have no money. The Audi is in his name and I have nothing!"

"Yes, that's how he operates. So he has all the control." She glared at me, I noticed. So, nearly as naïve as me then? Or just lovestruck?

"Where does he hide it?"

"Hide what?"

"All his cash."

"What cash? In the bank?"

"No he can't. He's money laundering. He has to have cash somewhere in the house and I can't find it. He owes me bigtime! I've worked for him for two years and he paid me nothing!"

I was working on this and suddenly it was like a computer page opened in my mind. Yes, he did cash deals that didn't go through the books. Mostly not big ones. I knew that. And I knew about one really dodgy deal he made a few years ago with a guy I knew was in a motor-bike gang. The label on his leather jacket kind of gave that away. And he had had cash. Lots of cash. The low-life had bought a Ute. I wasn't supposed to know about it. The Ute had been a beautiful one and worth about twenty-five thousand. I had just come in at the wrong time, when he thought I was asleep and I caught him counting the money. He was rather drunk and told me he had made thirty per cent on the money over ten thousand.

"Didn't you know about it?"

"I knew about one. There were others?"

"Lots. He did them on Saturdays and Sundays when all the regular staff weren't at work. Sometimes people would look during the week but then wait until the weekend to buy. The cash deals would be done only in the weekend. Or after hours."

"Why am I here?" I repeated yet again.

"I can't find the money and I've searched all the house and the garage and it has to be here. And now I'm so upset I can't think and I have to go now; today. I can't stand to be with him. I don't want him touching me. I've narrowed it down to two rooms I think; the laundry and the garage. You see he wants me to get tea on the table within ten minutes of him coming into the house. And sometimes, when I think he might have cash, he takes an extra minute in the garage. But I've searched it thoroughly and I can't find it. If we can find it you can have half. We'll split it."

_Now_ she had my attention! So we were treasure hunting! And he wouldn't be able to say anything because it was dirty money. The more I thought about it, the more I thought she could be right. He always had cash but it was never left in his pockets when I cleaned them out prior to washing his clothes. He left everything else in his pockets but never money. My mind exploded with the possibilities. I could get what he owed me. I could pay my Corolla off. I could maybe buy a dishwasher and a dryer. Oh I would so love a dishwasher and a dryer. How much time that would save me! Just a few thousand dollars would make a huge difference to my life. Even a few hundred.

"Deal." I said as I walked through and started down to the garage. "What about the garden?"

"No. I've watched him carefully. He sends me ahead, in a hurry and pauses in the garage. And his hands aren't dirty."

We both reached the garage and I looked around.

"I've looked through every box and everywhere here."

I could hear the frustration and the despair and the urgency.

"Searched the pit?"

"Yes."

I looked around. He was sneaky but not usually organised. But he had, the next morning after I'd caught him counting money, been alarmed that I knew his dirty secret, I now thought. He had told me he wouldn't do it again. He had needed the cash for the bills. I believed him. Silly me. So where could any cash cache be? And it had to be fast access from what Sally was saying. Access in a minute. And he was lousy with a screwdriver. I turned my brain up to high gear. She said she had searched through all the boxes. The garage was unlined so that ruled out in the walls. And the walls were concrete block. "Laundry?"

"Searched it."

"Inside the walls?"

She looked at me and both of us headed for the laundry but as she entered, I stopped dead behind her. "Not here," I said. "There are big windows and no curtains and even the door has large windows in it and it's overlooked." It was too. No privacy here. No way would anyone flash cash around in here and she had searched the lower hidey holes. Two houses overlooked the laundry which left... I moved fast and Sally followed as I sprinted into the staircase. It was private. No one could see in. There were no windows and the door into the house was solid. The only natural light came in from the windows in the door into the garage and that wasn't much. The stairs went up six treads to a landing and turned a corner, then went up to the right and there was another door at the top into the house. I looked down and Sally and I scooted up and down the stairs trying to find a way into the treads. The stairs were carpeted and solid. There could be cavities under them. We pushed and pulled and checked for joins in the carpet. She started at the bottom and me at the top and we systematically searched every tread for a way in. I was sure if there was a cache, it was here. So was Sally, I suspected. She was frantic and copying me but going much faster.

Time passed. Having checked all the treads, I looked up. In the walls? Again I pushed, prodded, inspected and looked for anything that indicated Rat-Bait's pudgy hands had been where hands didn't normally go. I spotted some faint marks above the door into the house. I started pushing and prodding the ceiling and then remembered something. Rat-bait was nearly six feet tall. He used to tell everyone he was six foot. He wasn't. More like five-foot ten. Sally and I were both around five foot six. Would that make a difference? I stood and was looking around, looking for any other fingerprints on the ceiling or walls when I realised that Sally was crying. I wanted to make a caustic comment but I couldn't. If she was half as upset as I had been, she would be devastated. The betrayal had hurt me so much. And the end of where I thought my future was going. And she had wasted two years on him and his business.

I looked at her. Sally was still searching though and still with what looked like an air of desperation. To my shock, I felt sorry for her. I looked at my watch. It was nearly one pm. Rat-Bait could be home at any time. I paused and re-engaged brain. It had to be fast access. I decided to start at the bottom at the garage ceiling and then realised that the other side of that wall was in the garage and unlined. And concrete block. Nowhere to hide anything and a sold wall. No access. I walked up to the top tread and started pushing and prodding at the ceiling. There had to be a reason for those faint marks. Then I pushed at the area just above the door and felt a click. I felt along the other side, pushed in several places and felt another click. An area about two feet wide moved slightly towards me. The bit at the top of the door, between the door and the ceiling. I was on tip-toes reaching it but it would be much easier for him to access, being taller.

"Got something. Give me a hand," I said and lifted up a board with carpet nailed to it. Crudely. Inside I saw a gun box, sitting between the floor joists. I started to pull it out with Sally helping. I was reading the description on the side as it came out. A semi-automatic with spare magazine, telescopic sight, bayonet. Bayonet? But this was illegal now since the 2019 law change I was thinking as it's over four-foot length came out and it dropped down onto the stairs. Sally flipped the lid open and the box was full of money. Jackpot.

I stood there, stunned, looking at more cash than I had ever seen in my life before.

"There has to be several hundred thousand here," Sally whispered.

I snapped into action. It was nearly one thirty pm. "Get some bags! Now!"

Sally ran up the stairs past me as I dragged the box into the lounge and opened it up properly. There were loose notes at the easily accessible end and neatly stacked bundles at the other. Mostly bundles. We had no time to count it. Sally came back and slid down onto the floor with two holdalls and we started scooping. As we threw the money into the sports bags, filling them I said, "Stop. We need to..." I looked around and grabbed some magazines, flinging them into the box from where the bundles had gone from. "Leave the loose stuff at the front where he had it." I could see that Sally had caught on. In what seemed like seconds we were organised and heaving the box back into place. It needed both of us. As I pushed it in, I saw that Rat-Bait had cut a hole like a mailbox slot in the front where the loose stuff was so he could just lift up the flap and shove the cash in. With Sally safely on the other side of the door and scrambling to put dinner on for the heartless bastard. The catches were probably magnetic. In seconds we were done.

"Are you all packed?"

"Yes."

"Let's get to Hell out of here before he returns!"

"I can't take the Audi. He'll report it stolen. Can you give me a lift?"

"Meet me in the garage." I shot out the door and backed my Corolla down the driveway where there was a little more privacy. I had seen all the bags. Seeing the garage door opening, I backed in and she shut the door. Very familiar, this garage. Over the next few frantic minutes Sally flung bag after bag at me, mostly big black rubbish bags, as I packed my boot up and then the back seat. I was near to panic. If he came now and caught us, we wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on. Sally threw in the last bag, hit the garage door switch and I seemed to die in frustration as it ever so slowly lifted up. She hit it again and then shot into the front seat with her purse and both gym bags in her arms as I arrowed out of that familiar garage and up the driveway. The door slowly closed behind us. I drove the opposite way to the way Rat-Bait should be coming home, driving for several miles as I started to remember how to breathe again. When I saw some shops, I pulled off the road into the parking area out of sight of the road and stopped.

"What are you stopping for?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"I was hoping you'd sell me your car."

I looked down as she dropped the heavy gym bags onto the floor between her legs and pulled a Change of Ownership out of her handbag. The guilty/sheepish look on her face confirmed my suspicions. That had been her plan. If we found the money. I opened my mouth to spout indignation and closed it again. I had a fortune so long as we both kept our traps shut. And getting her safely away would help with that. I paused, thinking, and then pulled out my phone dialling rapidly.

"Abby, the problem I had at work has a loose end I need to tie up. Can you take the kids somewhere? The swimming pool? MacDonald's? Have they had lunch? I've got cash. I can pay you back." Oh, did I have cash.

"They got fed as soon as they surfaced but... Hey you kids, want to go to Oriental Parade? For some gelato?" Abby yelled. She chuckled, "Oh that was a yes. I'll text you when we leave?"

"Please."

I started off for home. We were half way there when she text to say they had left. I was thinking; plotting, planning and scheming. There was a car auction tomorrow and I had cash. And then some. I would tell the kids another driver had written off the car. Not badly damaged but not worth fixing. I'd tell them I got them out of the way so they wouldn't be upset to see it being towed away after I'd limped it home. Not my fault. The lady who hit me had paid me some cash and the deal was, if she paid the rest tomorrow, I wouldn't report it. I had twenty-four hours to report it. No, longer. No, I didn't have to report it. No injuries. I would get the kids somewhere out of the way tomorrow and Abby and I could buy another car. Sorted. If that didn't work, I could do without a car for a while. Sally needed it more. I didn't want to lie to the kids but I had to. For their safety and Sally's and mine.

For the first time, I looked at the possible consequences of what we had just done. He would want to kill her and possibly me. But she was going to be the one in his gunsights. She was going to be the Prime Suspect once he found out the money was gone. For all our sakes I had to get her safely away.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll drive to Auckland and buy another car. Then I don't know. Go to Australia maybe."

"It's illegal to take more than $10,000 cash out of New Zealand and they have sniffer dogs and X-rays. You won't make it."

"Maybe I'll just bury it and get a job."

"That's a better idea. Money is waterproof."

"I always wanted to go to University."

"Qualify and then go overseas. And colour your hair. And change your name. Enrol using your middle name. What's your surname?"

"Johnson."

"That's not bad. Smith would have been better but that's not bad. Where's your hometown?"

"Here. Wellington."

"So no one should know you in Auckland."

"I could go to University the year after next if I go back to school this year."

"That's a great idea! He'll never look for you in school or University. So, why did you suspect he'd hidden the cash in the garage or around there? And why weren't you more surprised at the amount?"

"I've been watching him carefully over these last few months. The buying and selling off the record is done by Duncan getting the seller to fill out their part of the paperwork which he then takes to the buyer to sign while concealing the name, I assume. Duncan then puts the change of ownership through himself or gets me to do it, presumably so the buyer never knows the seller and his own name will then appear nowhere. At least that's how I think he's doing it."

Sally sat back. "And there's another thing; he's doing huge cash deals. Like twenty thousand plus cash deals. I searched the whole house. But then I noticed something that would narrow down the search area but for the life of me I couldn't find it. I was stumped. That's why I thought you might help. You are the only one I can trust under these circumstances."

She looked around nervously but he was nowhere in sight. I was still looking too. The furtherer we got away, the safer we were.

"When I suspected he was up to something, I would sneak downstairs every night and photograph the location history off his Navman which showed me every address he had been to. I then copied out the list by hand and deleted the photo. Then I Googled the addresses. I was curious and I love a mystery. When I knew he was off somewhere I would go to do something like pay bills or collect parts and go and check the addresses. Some looked really dodgy especially when I found he was visiting the same address once a week. But I thought it was just dodgy deals. I'm such an idiot. I never thought he'd cheat on me."

I knew that feeling but she was spying on his Navigator too. Oh man I thought. Navman should be applauded for that feature. Perfect for wives who suspect husbands of cheating.

"Didn't you check his phone?"

"Yes, but I found nothing obviously suspicious. I suspect he did a lot of deleting. I noticed he deleted a lot of messages as soon as he got them and others he never bothered with until he had to clear some memory. I also noticed he never saved some of the nicer messages I sent him," she said sadly, "He never saved any from me."

I winced at the hurt in her voice. "Did you ever find another cell phone?"

"No and I looked very hard. In the house, garage, office, nothing."

I realised that Sally had done quite a bit of sleuthing here. "What else have you noticed?"

"He sells cars to the local drug dealers for cash thus effectively money laundering for them. He sells them near new cars for $9,990 which is just under the level at which he has to declare a cash sale. The cars are worth much more than that and he takes the balance, in more cash, under the table. I found all this out one day. That was what led to all the sleuthing. He doesn't know I know. He doesn't know I overheard him and his accountant friend talking. His accountant came to our house. He knows some of what he's up to. I hid behind the door. I left the food processor going and I guess he assumed I was standing over it. It was a very illuminating conversation. Duncan just doesn't understand what he doesn't want to understand."

"Yes," I drawled, "I found that out. He thinks everyone else is stupid."

"His accountant tried very hard to caution him but Duncan doesn't think that he has to explain why he would consistently sell cars at a considerable loss on paper of $10-20, 000. When I found out he was cheating on me, I was tempted to threaten to expose him to the Tax Department and the Serious Fraud Office. But I thought he might beat me up instead of pay up. He has a vicious temper. It was all so one-sided. He always had cash and I had none until recently. And we seemed to be living beyond our means yet showing very little paper trail of expenditure. Duncan never realised that the problem of excess cash with no legal paper trail accounting for it, had just been moved from the crime bosses to himself."

"I can't understand why he had all this cash but would give none to me or the kids."

"Because it was his; not mine, yours, your kids, or even ours. It gets worse. Remember I worked for him full time for over two years and he tried to pay me nothing. I wasn't even on the payroll. He was like a hoarder. He would be ok spending money on himself. He was ok spending money on me but he wouldn't give me the money to buy anything. He'd buy things for me and he would choose them. That meant I had to agree to what he wanted and I got nothing of my own taste. Getting cash out of him was like getting blood out of a stone. He kept buying me expensive bright red lipstick while I like pinks and a more bronzed red. I feel like a hooker in bright red. And it doesn't suit me.

A few months ago, I decided this had to stop. I lay awake trying to think of how to manipulate him into giving me something and finally planned it. I waited until I needed cash for tampons and then burst into tears in front of him. I told him all my life I'd never had enough money even for the basics and I felt so vulnerable with no cash in my purse. And I appreciated all he did for me and gave me but I had no cash to give him anything and no cash to give to the Cancer Society collectors at the supermarket and no cash for so many other little things I wanted like tampons when he wasn't around or he had the credit card. Just a little cash. How about fifty dollars a week?" She sighed.

"It took a while but I finally got him to give me fifty dollars a fortnight. This was in lieu of wages of fifteen hundred dollars a fortnight which he should have been paying me for the jobs and the hours I did. But I wondered where he kept all that cash and I started to hunt for it. He treated me like a slave and it made me angry. At first, I was just curious. I was just going to look. Well maybe take a tiny bit that he wouldn't notice. I suspected he was a hoarder but I doubted that he would have an accurate balance. It's not his way and it would take time he wasn't taking when he added to it. So I reckoned I'd be safe to take a little. If I could find it. Seeing his patterns, it had to be close by. And then I noticed that sometimes he would be a minute or two behind me while I rushed into the kitchen to get his meal in front of him in ten minutes. The meals I had prepared I mean. Not the elaborate ones he often demanded. I began to wonder if he was deliberately getting me out of the way as well as being a control freak. When I started to hunt for the cash in earnest and couldn't find it, I remembered that. He certainly wasn't using the time to clean his car out! So what was he doing? Well now we know.

• • •

We finally got to my place and I parked outside. I signed the change of ownership, grabbed my money bag and purse and quickly searched the Corolla chucking some stuff out on the footpath. I emptied the various nooks and crannies' and told her to go. She did. I watched my car drive off down the road and then went inside, dumped the gym bag and then returned for all the rest. Mainly the kid's junk. Belatedly I remembered the first aid kit under the passenger seat and the disc in the stereo. Well, I could replace them. I dumped the rubbish on the hall floor and took the gym bag into the bedroom. I pulled the curtains, tipped the money onto the bed and started counting. I was so nervous I twice lost count and Dewey kept getting in the way so I fed him. I went back to counting. There was $406,000. We had taken only the 100- and 50-dollar notes and left the rest plus all the unbundled notes. But most of it was in 100-dollar notes. I looked at the money. I was assuming it wasn't counterfeit but I didn't even own a 50 dollar note to check it against. Not this far from payday. I had only change in my purse. Coins I mean. But this cash all felt real. It looked real. It smelt real. If she had the same amount, we had taken back wages of over $800,000 between us and he had had about a million in cash while he denied me child support. Bastard! If he hadn't treated us both so badly and made both of us so angry, none of this would have happened to him.

Sally had been smarter than me. I should have put it all together like she had. I had been with him so much longer. Why had I never realised he was money-laundering and why had I not suspected he had cash hidden? Because I assumed he banked most of it and I never checked? She must have checked and found so much wasn't being banked. Why hadn't I? But she had and had assumed he'd hidden it and been unable to find it and gotten desperate and had involved me. So now I had money. And I had a few good ideas as to how to launder this. I would be patient and careful and would tell no one. Not even Abby. But I would have to explain some extra cash. Sally robbed his wallet? Had her own stash and found his billfold! I drove her to the airport and that's where the accident happened and that's why no one could know. Sally had gone to Australia. She had left Rat-Bait because he was cheating on her and had needed help to leave. Yes. The accident to my car was just a coincidence.

I would tell mostly the truth but swear Abby to silence over me helping Sally. And with a bit of luck Sally would survive. She was smarter and more streetwise than me. I thought he wouldn't catch her. He was only smart in little ways like knowing cars and the market. It was like all the brains he had were just used for some limited areas while her brain was used for lots of things. He could get the gangs to find her though? No, I thought. He would have to admit she'd robbed him and out-smarted him and he wouldn't do that. And we had left him some money. Probably about twenty thousand at least. Maybe more. Possibly much more if there were more bundles of hundreds under the loose change. On balance, he would fume but not be able to do much. Well fume was perhaps a tad of an understatement. I smiled. Oh to be a fly on the wall. This was delicious. He would arrive home to find no Sally and no tea ready and no housework done. She hadn't even tidied all his mess up. Well we had had more important work to do. That was a bonus; he would hopefully think she had left this morning just after he did. Which meant he was unlikely to try to catch her.

I was thirsty and made a coffee. As I drank my coffee, I imagined the scene in delight. She hadn't even taken the Audi so he would have no warning until he reached the lounge. And he would never suspect my involvement. I thought I should be alright but I'd have to hide this cash securely. But Rat-Bait had just taught me well, hadn't he? Did he have the same method in our last home? For now, I'd just slip it up into the attic. I went and fetched the kitchen stool, moved the man-hole cover with the broom, pulled myself up into the attic and hid the bag behind the vent from the bathroom. Then I had a better idea and lifted up the insulation and spread all the money under it. I kept out just one bundle of $10,000. I could explain that. Then I grabbed two notes off another bundle. Spending money. It was so long since I'd had any to spare. And I was getting some ideas as to how to deal with some more. I looked around. I was standing up and I could walk around up here. There was enough ceiling height for more rooms. Never mind, not now. I tossed the bag down, let myself down onto the stool, closed the cover and put the broom and stool back and then washed up.

I continued to think hard. When the kids were away, I'd tidy up a bit more and dispose of the stinky bag. Sally had kept hers and given me Rat-Bait's gym bag. The stinky one with his smell on it. Yuk! And then I looked at it. Adidas and a perfectly good bag with several compartments. And of course, it would be an expensive brand one. But there were millions of them. I went into the laundry, filled up the tub, added detergent and put it in. I'd get rid of the stink and give it to Sam. He needed one. He wouldn't question it. Abby was teaching me to buy second hand and the kids were getting dribs and drabs of all sorts of things they needed. The dribs and drabs would continue but if I couldn't find what they wanted in the second hand shops, I'd find it new and cut the tag off.

I sent a text to Abby to say all was clear and sat down with another coffee and some Weetbix. I was rather overdue for lunch and I hadn't had breakfast yet. Dewey sat on the chair next to me and purred as I quietly told him all about the day's adventure. Tea was in the crockpot; I'd got that ready before Sally had rung. I just have to add rice and Mum's cauliflower. It was apricot chicken and the kids loved it. And all the while, I was revising both cover stories; the one I'd tell everyone except Abby and the one I'd tell Abby.

I finished my Weetbix and got yet another coffee. Well I said I was thirsty. Dewey was still on the chair beside me and purring up a storm. He was no doubt anticipating another tea and better quality cat food from now on. It was a pity I'd told Abby that it was Sally who had called. Never mind, it couldn't be helped. I went into my bedroom and got out my old diary and quickly wrote out both stories. I relocked the diary. I hadn't written in it for a while. I used to write in it every night and pour out my anger and hurt and frustrations. I would re-read these latest stories a few times to get them word perfect and then burn the diary. I had put some things in it that were very unsuitable for children to read. Two children lived here and both had been known to snoop. The only person I could trust in this house was Dewey. He couldn't read.

• • •

The kids burst in with Abby and told me they both had had triple flavours. I passed some cash over to Abby and shook my head when she went for change. I had given her a twenty. The kids were raiding the biscuit tins and getting a drink of water each. Wellington water and it wasn't metred, not like some of the country. They could drink as much as they liked. And it was free.

"I've got something to tell you kids," I said. "When I was out grocery shopping, a girl hit my car. She backed into me and smashed the front of the car and the airbags went off. The car would have cost more to fix than it was worth. All the lights were smashed in the front and the front was buckled. I got Abby to take you kids away because I didn't want you to get upset at seeing it like that. But things got complicated. The thing was, the girl didn't want to report the accident. Her parents came down. They were furious and she was crying. It was a mess. Her parents did a deal with me. I won't report the accident and won't claim on the Insurance and they agreed to pay me $5,000. I already have nearly $3,000 cash of it and they are promising to get the rest for me tomorrow morning. You can only take $1,000 a day out of the money machine and it's the weekend. I guess they had a money card each. So now I have to get another car but I've got cash."

"Are you hurt?" Abby asked.

"No, just a bit shaken but those air bags hurt and they went off with a Hell of noise. That's never happened to me before." Oh the advantage of watching 'The Science of Stupid' and being able to convincingly describe things that had happened to others. As if they had just happened to me.

"Why didn't they want to claim on their Insurance?" Sam asked.

"I never asked," I said. "But I have a few ideas."

"Like what?" Jenny asked.

"Well alcohol and drugs are the usual suspects but she looked sober. So I'm thinking she borrowed a car without permission or had no licence or lost it. Or they had no Insurance. I didn't ask. I was just so pleased to get the cash. I paid $4,000 for the Corolla and by the time the Insurance company took off depreciation and my excess, I would have got less than $3,000 and now I've got that already."

"Where were you thinking of getting a car?" Abby asked.

"There's the Turner's Auction on tomorrow at Porirua and I can look on the TradeMe website."

"Mike would love to help," Abby said and before I could stop her, she was on the phone to him.

"Who's Mike?" Jenny asked.

"Abby's brother. He's a mechanic."

"He loves buying cars. He loves everything about cars and it's Sunday tomorrow and... Hi Mike. Jo's car is written off and she urgently needs another one and there's a car auction on tomorrow and I smell something delicious in the crockpot."

I laughed as we all heard the enthusiastic response. I got up and put the kettle on as I heard Abby tell him it was dessert for six or eight as far as appetites went. And she would go him halves on the bill.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

A few minutes later

Duncan drove into his driveway hitting the garage door opener, sliding in the second the door was open enough. He tucked in next to the Audi and braked heavily. He bounced out of the car. He was starving but he'd had a brilliant day. He leapt up the stairs and turned the corner. Door closed. He flipped open the hidey-hole cover and pushed some cash in through the slot, closed it carefully and went through the door calling out for Sally and stopped dead. What the Hell had happened?

Sally didn't answer and the house was silent and messy. The lounge was untidy, ditto the adjoining dining room and he could see she wasn't in the kitchen. Where she should be. No housework had been done and he couldn't smell tea cooking. And why hadn't she answered her phone? He'd finally had to text her that he was nearly home and ready for tea. He went into the bedroom and stopped in shock. She wasn't there either and the bed was unmade. That was against the rules too. He vaguely thought he'd hit the little bitch unless she had a bloody good excuse. Then he finally saw what his brain had been trying to tell him. The wardrobe door was open and some of her clothes were gone. He looked through her drawers seeing some of her stuff was gone from there too but not some of the sexiest lacy stuff he'd bought her. He checked the wardrobe carefully finding the same; some of her stuff gone.

He looked around the bedroom. He suddenly noticed that her laptop was gone and her bookcase was nearly empty. He checked again; her jewellery case was gone, no. It was on the floor and empty. That fancy case he'd bought her with all the little drawers and compartments.

He looked around and belatedly noticed all his suitcases were gone and even his gym bag and his stuff that had been in it was scattered on the floor. On the floor! How dare she! He stalked around, trying to take all this in as the anger rose. How dare she, he thought again, the ungrateful little bitch! After all I've done for her! He suddenly remembered the books. The GST Tax Returns had to be in on Monday. He went to the desk in the office and found all the receipts sorted and tidy as usual and clipped together. This room was tidy. He opened the pad. The little bitch hadn't done them. Filthy bitch! Now he would have to pay his accountant to do them and that had been her job. He looked around but there wasn't a note. He picked up his phone and rang her. His call was cut off or her phone was off. He rang her mother. Same response. Who else could he call? He didn't have the phone numbers for her friends, she did. And he had encouraged her to be with his friends instead. Who were her friends? He couldn't remember any of their names.

And then he remembered that he paid for her phone. He slammed his backside into a chair and rang through to Vodafone to cut her phone off. But of course his call wasn't answered. Only the sickly, lying voice saying, "Your call is important to us" (when it clearly wasn't) and telling him to go on line and do it himself. Clearly their customer service was working as efficiently as usual; the customer is expected to do all their work for them. Well the CEO couldn't employ more staff, as Sally always said, because it would reduce his multi-million dollar a year salary which was much more important than customer service.

He flicked the phone off impatiently. He couldn't cut it off online. Sally had the passwords. Sally always did the jobs like that. It was nearly six o'clock and his tea should be about ready. Now what could he do? He was hungry and he wanted to tell Sally about the sales he'd done today. This was crazy. She loved him. They were planning to get married. He had just paid to put his divorce through. At least the whiny bitch hadn't objected to that and it would be through in another month. Then they could marry. She wouldn't leave him. She couldn't, she had no money, well almost no money. He made sure of that. Something must have happened. He rang her phone again. No answer. He sat, wondering what to do. Was she in hospital? But her jewellery shouldn't be missing. Nor should her laptop. Had they been robbed at same time she'd been sick. But the TV was still here and so was the rest of his stuff and the keys for the Audi were hanging up. It was just her stuff that was missing.

Finally, he got up. He needed some tea. He walked into the hall, reached up and opened the flap and moved the box out a bit. He lifted part of the lid, reached inside and grabbed a fistful of money, closing the box and shoving it back. Man it was heavy and he needed to bundle up some more of that loose cash. It was about time he counted it again. There was just under a million there. Who would ever have thought that he would be worth that much? He should pay some more off the mortgage now that Sally wasn't here to see. He could pay 10,000 in cash off it. He could do that regularly now. He wouldn't miss it and he nearly had his million. And he needed to do that Prenuptial thing his accountant and lawyer had been on about. Oh. Did he?

He took a step down the stairs and realised he was tired. He didn't want to go out again. And he had to go to work tomorrow. He'd have to pick up Takeaways tomorrow night if she wasn't home and he could have dial-a-pizza tonight he suddenly realised. Brilliant idea. Who needed her? He rang and ordered a pizza and also the menu thinking he might need pizza again. He got a cold beer and sat down again thinking that he needed to find out who else delivered meals. Twenty minutes to wait.

He put the TV on and scrolled through the sports channels. Getting up in the ads, he looked inside the fridge and took another beer out. He opened a few containers and found some fruit salad. Leftovers. Well he could eat it with ice cream and Passionfruit topping. Sally was always trying to get fruit and vegetables into him.

As the evening wore on, his pizza arrived and he had to eat it alone. He kept trying to phone her but there was no answer. The call kept disconnecting. It could be off. He had ten beers over the evening but it didn't help. Finally, he went to bed. Alone.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Earlier the same night.

We all had tea with my attention split between cooking and dishing up and Mike, who was firing questions at me. He wanted to know what makes I liked, what models, what colours?

"Function Mike, not looks. It has to be reliable and last. It needs lots of mileage left in it. Colour is irrelevant. So is make and model. Focus on function and reliability. And cost."

Mike grinned and relooked at the auction list for the morning's sales. "We could go and look tonight."

The kids added their enthusiastic agreement to that. Sam's eyes were shining and even Jenny looked enthusiastic. I wondered when Dewey would insist that he came too. We finished a noisy tea, the kids delighted with the cheesecakes and ice cream that Mike had brought. We all piled into Abby's car because Mike's Ute was a two-seater. We had my list and we headed for the Auction House.

Arriving there, Mike took minutes to locate the five vehicles at the top of my list. Four of the five were recent imports from Japan. All five were low mileage, supposed to sell at under $10,000. They all looked good. All were over two years old and around seven years old which dropped their value in Japan. Fine with me. I got Mike to drive them and see how he liked them then pick out the best ones for me to try. They all passed his scrutiny but he'd had to use some fancy kind of gadget to start the Honda. They had all had a warranty and mechanical check according to the window blurb. I had decided to try a larger vehicle and was looking at vehicles that were at least seven seaters. With all the kids sporting stuff and them often wanting to take friends, we were often squashed. And I had been thinking again. We hadn't had a holiday in years. When we were together, Rat-Bait was far too self-centred to take the kids and I wouldn't leave them behind. Besides which, who would take them? His parents wouldn't and mine worked and after we broke up, I never had any money. Rat-Bait had had holidays though. He called them business and buying trips. He went to Japan several times and bought imports just like this auction house did. But he took extra time to have 'a little look around,' when he was there.

Finally, Mike had his recommendations.

All estimated to go for under $10,000

\- Honda Odyssey 2013, 69,000km

\- Subaru Legacy 2012, 97,000km

\- Mazda 3 SP25 2011 and there were two of that model and year

\- Honda Civic 2013 Hatch

I liked the Honda Odyssey and thought since it didn't have a high roof, maybe it would be more economical to run than a van. It had plenty of room, the seats folded down to make a big area at the back and it was low mileage. Which meant it had plenty of miles left in it. I drove some vans but the Honda remained my favourite. I drove the cars he had listed too. After nearly two hours of looking, we decided to return tomorrow. I liked both the Mazda 3's as well. The Honda Civic was maybe a bit small but it should be cheaper and would be economical to run. It was tidy. The Subaru would probably go for over my $10,000 limit. It was popular and Mike told me they retained a good value second hand. A pity, that was the kid's clear favourite. It would be; it was going to be the most expensive.

• • •

I had had several texts from Abby until at last, both kids were asleep and I phoned her.

"What happened?"

"Rat-Bait cheated on Sally. She was devastated. She went home from work on Thursday and caught them. In her bed. But they didn't see her. She went out quietly. She spent the next two days in agony and decided to leave him today while he was out at work so she could pack up her stuff. He treated her the same way as he treated me and she worked for him for two years and got nothing. No pay. And nothing that was worth anything to sell as she put it. Which included her car which was in his name. So she swiped his billfold and gave me half. Which I accepted. I helped her pack, distributed her stuff around her friends and then I drove her out to the airport. She's off to Australia. The accident happened near the airport and I couldn't tell the kids that because that puts me at the scene of the crime. And I'm off on Monday to get some extra groceries and a deposit on a dishwasher with the money she gave me! Mike says he knows a plumber who will plumb it in for me for some of my cooking and he will help him for the same."

"I don't understand. Why you?"

"Her Mum doesn't have a car, she couldn't risk a taxi and she needed a helper to assist in packing. She couldn't find her friends that had cars and time and would be game. And he might have gone after them. She knew I couldn't say anything and neither would I. And Rat-Bait would never think it was me that helped! She was right. And it took us a while to pack it up. Books and stuff. And everything is properly labelled and delivered. She couldn't start doing anything until he left and she didn't know when he would come home. We got it all done in record time and got her away. She knew I would enjoy getting one over on Rat-Bait. She was right. You can't tell anyone. Rat-Bait would go ballistic and he's quite capable of belting me up." I knew that would ensure that Abby would say nothing. Not even to Mike.

"And I was sorry for her. I knew how she felt. She told me that he told her they'd get married when the divorce came through and then this. She said it came out of clear blue sky and she suspected nothing. She never thought he'd do that to her. And she was scared he would belt her up if he knew she was going to leave him. She knew once we started packing, we had to get it done and get out. That was why she didn't really want to involve her friends but she thought I'd do it for revenge. On him. I'll sleep well tonight. She's safe, I'm safe and he's on his own. Ha ha."

"A little naïve if she thought he wouldn't cheat. They both did on you."

"Yep, naïve just like me. And I'll bet that's the last time she'll cheat on another woman."

"What's she going to do in Australia?"

"She's got friends there. And I think she said relatives. She'll get a job, no problem."

"So what do we do about the Rat-Bait committee?"

"I've got his girl away and with her stuff. And just quietly there was quite a lot of cash in his billfold. Don't tell anyone that. That's what he owed me in maintenance and that bastard had it in cash just sitting around. But she took half. Running away money she called it. That cash has made me happy. And the consequences to him of his cheating. He's lost a free full-time worker, his housekeeper, his bookkeeper and a bed companion. I vote we call it all paid up. I don't think I should go anywhere near his place or his new car. He will start to get suspicious. It'll be too risky and he will be in a rather bad temper. I just wish I could see his face."

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next morning, the kids were up by an incredible 8.30. On a Sunday morning no less. I was sitting there with a coffee and Weetbix and $5,500 cash in front of me. The kids were aghast.

"They dropped it off before 8am. And an extra $500 with it. They _really_ don't want me talking. This is hush money. I'm hushed," and I mimed both hands over my mouth.

"But you were looking at a $10,000 car," Sam said, puzzled.

" _Under_ $10,000. I can put up to $4,000 on my credit card. That's $9,500. I'd be happier paying $5,500 or less. We might not buy today kids. This might be just an instructional visit to suss out the market." The kids didn't know that I would never put a car on my credit card. Normally. Today, I could because my credit card was always paid on time and I just happened to know where I could get some cash so I could pay the bill when it was due. Funny, that.

"But whatever. You kids get to go to a car auction. Get yourselves some food." I watched them indulgently. I had taught them to get their own. Fair enough. They were now 10 and nearly 13. They could cook toast, cereal, eggs, frozen veg, cheese on toast of course, pancakes, noodles and anything from a can or a packet. Usually, most Sundays the kids took turns cooking lunch but I always cooked tea. Sometimes they experimented and sometimes lunch was just one of the above. And I taught them to cook potatoes and chips. They got really good at chips. I didn't mind so long as they cleaned up. And Sam was shooting up in height. He had grown five inches in ten months and everyone was trying to ignore the fact that his voice was jumping up and down the octaves these last couple of days.

By 9.00am, just as the kids were nearly bursting with impatience, Abby and Mike turned up in Abby's car. We all piled in, five cheerful enthusiastic, happy people on their way to fun and games. With money. We arrived, got the auction list and lot numbers of the cars on sale today and the kids looked on excitedly. I was annoyed that they were selling two lots at once. I checked my list, but none of my picks should clash. We sat waiting for the first of my chosen vehicles to go up for auction. As the sales went on, I was very pleased that they had the sales going up in figures as half the time I had trouble hearing. There was so much noise and talking. The sales were going at a dizzying speed. When it got to the first Mazda, I said to Mike,

"Can you bid for me please?" By his expression, you'd have thought I'd asked him to bid on the crown jewels and given him the cash. I handed him my number and wrote $5,000 beside the lot number.

"You won't get it for that."

"I want that one," I pointed to the description of the Honda, "But if anything else goes for a good price, I'll take it instead." I wasn't as silly as he thought but I had to keep in character; broke but with an unexpected bonus. And the old me would have bought cheap. The old me had had no choice.

I watched as the car ahead of the first Mazda 3, the nice looking Subaru Legacy, reached its' reserve, the light flashing the words 'selling' and I was intrigued that the 'Sold' sticker was attached while bidding continued. The price had indeed gone way over my limit. I had two disappointed kids but I was intrigued at the 'sold' sticker before the sale ended. The car was sold. The only remaining question was to whom and for how much? As I had overheard Mike explaining to Sam. See, I listen. And Sam only asked what I didn't know either. It meant the car had reached the reserve price and was now for sale. If a car didn't reach the reserve it didn't sell. I assumed it just went back on sale the next week but I wasn't sure. The Subaru went for $11,480.

As the Mazda was driven up in front, the Auctioneer started the bidding at $9,000. But I knew their tactics by now. One kid had frozen and one couldn't keep still. I mirrored the former. When the bidding had dropped to asking for $4,500, Mike bid that. Obviously, the other punters were waiting for someone to start the bidding and the bids accelerated and quickly went over my limit. Mike looked at me but I shook my head. I thought the kids were going to burst. Abby looked like she thought the real entertainment was the four people sitting beside her; us in other words. We watched as most other cars sold, with very few being 'passed in.' I learnt that was what unsold cars were called.

The kids were looking everywhere and started a competition on guessing the prices cars would go for, as the next few cars sold at dizzying speeds. Then the second Mazda was next and it was my second choice so I wrote $8,050 beside it. The bidding started the same way; coming down until someone bid. "Why don't they start the bid low?" I asked Mike.

"They're trying to save time."

"It's not working."

"I know. Sometimes it doesn't even work when dealers are buying."

"Are there some 'just dealer' markets?"

"Yes."

News to me. But then I had left all the buying of cars to Rat-Bait and I had just sold them. Just never in my name of course except for the Internet auction ones. I had never bought a car. My mother bought the Corolla for me and the Mitsubishi I drove up to when Rat-Bait left was, of course, in his name. He insisted it belonged to the business and was his. Of course it was. The purchase of my Corolla had been an eye opener for me. I was with my mother when she bought it but she showed me how to buy it and then insure it. We bought it at a cheap car yard, my mother waved cash around and got the price down from $5,995 to $4,000 cash. I had thought about that later. I knew cash was an advantage and having no trade-in was an advantage but getting the price down nearly thirty per cent by bargaining was a revelation to me. I had never really thought about the mark-up that Rat-Bait made.

I watched as the price for the second Mazda went over $10,000 but I had to keep in character. Broke. Beside me, the kids were getting impatient.

"We might have to come back next week," I cautioned them, "and I might have to look at cheaper cars." Not a chance.

There was a gap until the next car I was interested in which was the Honda. I had written $9,500 beside it. As the auction driver went to start the Honda it didn't cooperate. So there was a delay while they got it going. Mike stood up. I couldn't see what was happening. He sat down and leaned over, whispering, "It's probably just a flat battery. Easy fix."

The Honda was driven up to the Auctioneer and the bidding started. She was a lovely bright blue colour with the paintwork in good order and not a scratch on her that I could see. Unlike my old Corolla. Mike wasn't worried about the Honda not starting. I was a bit apprehensive but decided to trust him. She had been idling when I lined up outside to drive her. Would people bid less for it now? I could hope. I did hope. The bidding reached $3,000 before Mike opened the bid and it went up more slowly. I held my breath. Both kids froze this time. The bidding reached $6,000 and stalled. Then it started to rise again and Mike continued to bid steadily, looking relaxed. I was not relaxed. My nerves were in a total dither. I wanted that car! I looked down at the next lot, trying not to let the other bidders see how nervous I was. The kids were hardly breathing. The bid slowly reached $8,500 and I glanced up. I could see the auctioneer getting impatient. Finally, he stated the car hadn't reached the reserve. The other bidder bid $8,750 and Mike immediately countered with $9,000. Then suddenly the auctioneer was saying, "I have $9,000 bid, selling now. Going, going..."

And I saw the sign was now flashing for 'selling' and someone was putting 'Sold' on the windscreen and we were the leading bid!

"Gone!" Yelled the Auctioneer as his gavel hit the podium.

The Honda was mine! And for under my limit! The kids cheered, Mike was grinning all over his face and even Abby was bouncing like a kid. We all set off and found the Honda, parked, engine still running. As Mike reached it one of the staff said to him,

"The battery is stuffed. We charged it overnight and she barely started this morning."

"No problem," said Mike and turned indicating me, "It's her car."

I noticed the man looking at me as if I wouldn't understand because I had XX chromosomes instead of XY. "Got it," I said. "Replace the battery on the way home. I just hope it isn't the alternator instead," I threw that in to confuse him and it worked. Mike grinned at me in delight. The kids were scrambling into the Honda and looking all around it.

"We're not supposed to leave vehicles going inside," the man said looking uncertain of what to do.

"Can you drive her outside and I'll go and pay and Insure her and get all the paperwork done," I said to Mike and noticed the speed at which everyone piled in as Mike drove my lovely new car outside. My kids were well trained. I mention the word 'paperwork' and they vamoose. Other words to get rid of kids worked well too like 'housework' and 'chores' and 'dishes.' They had all gone with him. That meant I could pay cash. No witnesses. See why I said 'paperwork?'

I went to the office, produced my number, surreptitiously peeled $1,000 off the top of the bundle hiding in my handbag and handed over $9,000 of Rat-Bait's money. It was more than he owed me (at least in child support) and it felt like I was getting a car for free. I wasn't counting the Corolla. In my mind I had given that to Sally in thanks. I had to take a while filling out the paperwork and insuring the Honda and I had to use my credit card to insure her over the phone but never mind. And instead of paying monthly, I paid a year in advance. Something I previously could not do. I had to drip-feed all the yearly bills monthly. Now, I could start to alter that. Most bills paid year in advance were cheaper and some were significantly so.

Finished, I walked out back to the car and a few minutes later I was driving the Honda, Abby was following driving her car and the kids, of course, were with me as Mike guided me to a place that sold cheaper batteries. Naturally, he would know that. He picked out the correct battery, fitted it for me and shoved the old one in the boot as I paid cash inside. Where no one saw. Because the kids were watching Mike replace the battery of course. Again, no witnesses to see the cash. That was important. I came out, hopped in and the car started enthusiastically. Abby was standing beside the car as I said happily, "Burgers? My shout?" It was lunchtime. No one seemed to think that was a bad idea...

I sat happily over lunch which Rat-Bait had paid for. The kids were still excited and everyone had had a great morning. Particularly me. Now what? I sat and thought as we demolished large, good quality hamburgers from the local fish and chip shop and the kids vacuumed up the chips wrapped in paper. This was a treat and tasty. The burgers and the chips were twice the size of the franchise ones like MacDonald's and Wendy's and the meat tasted better. It wasn't over ground.

"We've got enough food leftover for tea if I add more veg," I said. Who wants to go for a drive in our new car? We could go to Grandmas and show it off."

I smiled at the cheer and Abby liked my Mum too. Mike needed little persuasion (food provided) and we set off after lunch after a phone call to see if they were home. That should get Dad onto some baking. Dad was a great baker. He cooked for fun. I cooked because it was cheaper than buying ready-made. Well alright, mostly it was tastier too, at least the food that I could afford. Past tense. I had a whole new world to get used to.

We drove off and all three of us adults shared the driving to try her out. We drove down to the beach and the kids got out for a run in the sand while we adults strolled. Mike told me he thought she was a good buy and would fetch up to $12,000 in the car yards. The kids clearly remained ecstatic. The Corolla had been reliable and economical but not a good sight. She had had a fair few knocks and some poor-quality repairs. She was a faded red and she looked rough. She was rough and I had not been able to afford to fix any of the above. In contrast, the Honda was neat and tidy and bigger and roomier and prettier and looked much flasher. She would also go much faster I surmised. I didn't care about the economy. Bigger motor equals more petrol required. I knew that. It just didn't matter anymore.

I had briefly considered the all-electric 2014 Nissan Leaf that was there. But Mike told me the technology still needed work and they had a range of only one to two hours driving time between charges, depending on the weight they were carrying. That meant the number of occupants. Three adult size in my case which would reduce the range we could travel without a fast charge, with luggage, on holiday. And he said it would go for at least $11,000 which it did. A bit more I thought. There were three Prius cars but they were well above my price range. So much for affordable environmentally friendly options. Oh dear; sorry planet Earth.

We eventually reached Grandma and Grandad's place and showed off my new car and introduced Mike. In that order. They knew Abby. While Grandad and everyone else was well occupied, I glanced at Mum and jerked my head and she followed me inside. Out of sight, I handed her a bundle of $2,000 dollars and said,

"I sold the Corolla for $5,500," and gave her a brief rundown on the story I had told the kids.

"I've also been doing a heck of a lot of overtime after work and in the weekends and have saved some money. The kids don't know. I couldn't spend money on anything non-essential." Well that was true. "I've got enough money saved for a deposit on a dishwasher and the fridge is paid off next month, so the automatic payment can just be transferred to that." My mother looked unconvinced. She knew I wasn't telling the entire truth about something. Damn.

"Alright, I have been secreting cash into my Bonus Bonds and I can cash them in to pay the credit card and pay off some of the car," I lied. I didn't like lying to my Mum and I was lousy at it. I decided to tell some truth, "You know how the bank were such bastards over the mortgage?" I said, "And how I wasn't allowed any quarter and the penalties for missed payments were draconian? Well I secreted little bits of money into Bonus Bonds until I had enough to cover for any disaster that might lead to a missed payment." (That was true). "I don't want the kids to know I can do that." (That was also true).

"Has Duncan paid you anything?"

"Not a cent." Well that was true too. He paid me dollars not cents. Unintentionally. I wondered if he knew that yet. My mother didn't look entirely convinced and she didn't like accepting the money but she could clearly see I had some money from somewhere. And she knew I wouldn't have bought the Honda unless I could afford to pay it off. After the car had been prodded and inspected and looked at, we all trooped inside for afternoon tea. Dad had made Louise cake and sultana scones with cinnamon sugar dusted onto the top and all was totally delicious. My parents had a lovely house in Khandallah, a posh suburb of Wellington and I relaxed in pleasure with a full tummy for the second time today.

Karen looked at her daughter knowing she hadn't been told the whole truth and was puzzled. Where had all this extra money come from? Which was why she had asked about Duncan. She knew he mostly wasn't paying his child support. She had disliked and distrusted Duncan right from the start. But at least it had gotten them their first grandchildren. And this talk about getting hush money for a car crash that wasn't her fault; that was decidedly suspicious although she had to concede it was possible. Also, as she watched her unusually happy daughter, she noticed how this Mike was watching her too. Was that where the money had come from? That would make a change! Up until now, her daughter's taste in men had been appalling as in Duncan, but this one might be better. And a mechanic now.

Karen decided something was going well and hoped it would continue. At first sight, she liked Mike and her Stuart had his own business too. She appreciated hard workers and wasn't fussy about what they did. She knew her man was happier with manual work than the bookkeeping which she often helped him with and usually did for him.

Stuart was also sussing out the undercurrents here. He could clearly see there were some secrets going on and he would interrogate his wife as soon as they had gone. It was so nice to see them all happy. Even little Jenny was beaming. He hated the way Duncan ignored her. She had been Daddy's girl when she was little but as he could see the marriage souring, he watched Duncan pay less and less attention to all of them. He had suspected Duncan of cheating; he was the type. He wasn't surprised when the marriage ended but he had been surprised that Jolene hadn't known about the cheating. It was something they had never talked about. He watched in amusement as his baking disappeared. He also noticed the steady increase in Sam's height. He seemed to grow as he looked at him. How was Jolene managing to keep him fed? He turned to Mike,

"You're a mechanic, Abby says. Where do you work?"

"I've got my own garage in Johnsonville."

"Cars, trucks, bikes?"

"All of the above. My father and grandfather were mechanics too and I started learning when I was six. I knew all the tools and could fetch the right ones. Dad worked on a fishing boat but he worked on cars too apparently. I don't remember him. He died when I was three so mostly my grandfather trained me. I don't usually do the really big stuff because my garage is too small and there's not enough off-road parking. And there are others that do that."

"Do you have much trouble with break-ins and pilfering?"

"Break-ins, yes I used to. Pilfering, not so much. For several years when I first bought my own garage, I lived on the premises." He decided not to tell them that when his last relationship ended, he couldn't afford anything else if he wanted to keep the business. "I made a tiny flat by the staff room in what used to be some storerooms and used the staff room too for the lounge and kitchen. But it was cold and miserable in the winters and I got sick of having my home mucked up all the time. So many nights, I had to clean anything before I used it. Like the kitchen and the bathroom. And the floors were always dirty. I did a ritual cleaning every Friday night. Staying on the premises cut down on the break-ins though. And there's usually one of my staff living there free most of the time in return for cleaning. Pilfering; I've learnt to ignore the sob stories and I never lend tools now."

"Did you lose much before you learnt?"

"A lot," said Abby, listening in. "He picks up waifs and strays too. Especially the four-legged variety. He has two attack cats in his garage and one cat at home. All strays. He had a dog but she recently went to dog Heaven."

Stuart wondered if his daughter had been added to the strays list. "So did you check the Honda out for Jolene?"

"Yes, but it had already had a mechanical check. They're not fool proof but it has all the signs of being in good condition and genuine low mileage. The battery had had it. Cars not being used for several months while they sit in car yards and then get shipped across from Japan, often finishes an older battery off. Winter makes it worse. They should have replaced the battery this morning. It sold for $1,000 or more below its value because the bidders saw it wouldn't start. But I saw why."

"Well I'm grateful Mike," I said. "Saving me $1,000 has to be worth a few meals. That's a lot of money for me," I said before I realised that that was then. This was now.

"I'd accept that offer if I were you," Stuart said. "I helped to teach her to cook after she got married. You know we were the only father and daughter combination to go to Thai cooking classes. She can cook."

"Yes I know. I love her beef satay."

"Done," I said, "But it's leftovers tonight."

Finally, when all Dad's baking was gone, we left as I mused that maybe there would be enough tea. Everyone was full and it was after 4pm. I decided dessert would be on me tonight and we picked up two lemon meringue pies on the way home and some other stuff, but because the kids were with me, I had to pay by credit card or they would have noticed. Tea was another lively event and two very full kids were in bed by 10.30.

"Coffee?" I asked Abby and Mike.

"Yes please."

I gathered everything, my pulse speeding up as I delivered the coffee, milk and sugar. I noticed he took it like I did; milk, no sugar. "I gather from Abby that you have two children," I said to Mike.

"Yes. A boy and a girl like you. Martin lives in Wellington and is nearly fourteen as he tells everyone. Marie is sixteen, nearly seventeen and lives in Perth, Australia. She comes here for the school holidays. It used to be twice a year but she has reduced it to once recently and I'm dreading the day she refuses to come. At least Martin is local.

"Abby told me you were very fond of both of them and kept in frequent contact."

"Yes, I skype Marie and Martin manipulates me something shocking. I never can figure out what to do with him so he plans our access days out. That includes when he decides to stay with me. Of course, he often brings a friend. That was part of the reason why I finally started renting a flat. I could hardly entertain him in the staff room of a garage although I tried. I was pretty broke when I split up with Rosie, his mother. I couldn't afford two rents."

I wondered how to put this politely but I couldn't think how. "Ah, I gather from Abby that they have different mothers?" I saw Abby discreetly staying uncharacteristically quiet.

"Yes. I finally booted Gwen out for not growing up after Marie was born and she got such a shock she finally did. But some other bloke reaped the benefit of that. Then I did a classic rebound to Rosie and after two years we decided we really had nothing in common. Except Martin. We actually get on better apart than we did when we were together and I often get invited over to dinner when I take him back. We help each other out with him. I babysit a lot. I even took Martin to let her and Boris go on holiday. They were very grateful and Martin was disgusted. He wanted to go with them. I had to explain what a honeymoon was and why he shouldn't go. I saw his point though. It was their third honeymoon, I think. Boris and I get on well but I'm not so keen on Gwen's husband Kayden. He's stuffy and superior and thinks I'm well beneath him. Luckily Rosie disagrees. I think she keeps in contact with me partly to piss him off."

I laughed, "What does Kayden do?"

"Investment banker."

"Oh, a stuffy, misogynistic, greedy, power-seeking, sneering..."

"Let me speculate. You had a bad experience with getting a mortgage?"

"How did you guess? It was a humiliating experience! I was the good one with finance and my ex was the idiot. My mortgage is wrapped in barbed wire with big penalties if I miss a payment, which I haven't. And the guy who finally granted it refused me any extras like being able to pay more in lump sums if I could and being able to have a holiday on the mortgage if I get sick. Although I can make an extra payment on the yearly anniversary of the mortgage."

Mike nodded, "I have a mortgage on the garage but my income is steady so no problems."

"What about bad payers?"

"I don't have any now. I'm a slow learner but I learn. They have to pay to get the vehicle back and they get told that up front. Sometimes I have to threaten to impound a vehicle and I have had to do so. I learnt all that the hard way."

"Yeah, my ex had this attitude towards bills that they were to be paid as late as possible and hopefully never. I can't understand that attitude."

"Me neither but a surprising amount of people have that attitude," he said thinking this wasn't what he wanted to be talking about. But Abby was in the way. He finished his coffee. "Ah, I had a really nice time today. I'm often at a loose end on a Sunday," he hinted. "Maybe we could repeat the weekend with me taking a turn to pay. I haven't eaten so well in ages."

I scooted up, "I had a great time too and thank you so much for your help with the Honda. I've never bid at an auction before. Abby lectured me on what to do but I chickened out." That was an understatement. I had been too terrified to bid. I walked them to the door.

"I'll text you a booking for your Honda. I'll do a full service on it. I'll let you know how many meals you owe me. Maybe a picnic next weekend? With Martin? We'll all fit in your new car. We could invite Auntie Abby if we have to."

"You wanna walk home little brother?"

"I'll let you know," I said as they left. I was thinking the kids might be keen but I needed to ask them. And me? I wasn't sure if I wanted the complication yet. And I was distracted now. I had bills to pay and things to buy and the money with which to act. And I was thinking I needed to move that money. A fire could be costly... Burying it would be safer.

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

March 4th

I turned up early for work leaving the kids to get themselves to school. They were used to that. Their bus tickets were attached to the inside of their school backpacks and I left them cash for school lunches. I couldn't be bothered making them lunches and I had forgotten to get sandwich bread yesterday.

At work, I quickly checked for what documents we needed today, got the templates up on the computer and I starting filling the documents out as far as I could, leaving spaces for details. I set the completed ones out in the boardroom in the client's names and in piles for the partners to fill in the rest. I picked up the typing pile and started in on the usual backlog. I left the filing, hoping someone else would do it. We all hated filing. I was early to work today because I was going to take a two-hour lunchbreak instead of eating at my desk and not taking a break as I usually did.

At 11am I slid my name onto 'lunchtime' on the board and marked 1pm as my return time. I went first to the Australia and New Zealand Bank and added $1,000 cash into my Bonus Bonds. Then I went to the Westpac Bank and deposited $1,000 onto my credit card. Next, I went to a hardware shop that was having a sale and ordered a dishwasher. I paid in cash for everything of course. I'd tell the kids the dishwasher was second hand. And on time payment. It was to be delivered tomorrow at lunchtime and I'd have time to hide all the wrapping. At the same store, I paid the balance owing on the fridge. I now owed money only on the mortgage instead of on the mortgage, the car and the fridge. That would give me more cash every payday. Quite apart from what was in my ceiling.

My plan was to pay a steady but varied amount into my Bonus Bonds every payday from now on and then I could draw that out every year and pay it off the mortgage on the anniversary of the mortgage. If I could show where the money came from for the savings, my pay, no one should suspect anything. I would pay as much as possible for everything else in cash and try to shop when the kids weren't with me. I tried to do that anyway. They were impulse shoppers, my kids. Especially in the confectionary and ice cream aisles.

I detoured back to work via the food court and returned to the office with sushi, a bought coffee and two cakes. All of which I could not normally afford because that lot didn't leave me much change out of $20. Cash, of course. I munched as I worked, very happy with the day's gain in my finances. On the way home, I picked up the usual milk, two loaves of sandwich bread, two family meat pies and frozen veg. The kids would be quite happy with this. Sam would demolish one pie by himself. And about six slices of bread and butter. He was an appetite on feet. At least now, I would be able to afford to feed him.

I hadn't even dished up tea when there was a phone call. Jenny handed the phone to me with a resigned expression,

"It's Daddy."

"Yes?" The accelerator went down hard on my heart rate. Did he know? Oh God what was coming?

"Umm, could you come over and give me a hand tonight?"

"With what?"

"My GST returns."

My mind racing, I said, "Why can't Sally do them?"

"I kicked her out."

Yeah right! So that was the story. "I see. Why can't your accountant do them?"

"He's too busy."

And they were now overdue. And he couldn't get anyone in his office to do them because they would see that sales had been missed out. "It'll cost you $200,00." The recent Jo would have said that. The very old Jo would have done them for nothing and run there at full speed. The new me would have told him to take a running jump. I had to stay in character. I had to remember which me I was. No, which me I had to project. The normal me. The short of money one.

"I haven't got $200."

Liar! And then inspiration struck. "I need the money for a clothes dryer. I don't have one. Winter will be here in another two months and the kids both have winter sports." Would he remember he had two dryers?

"I'll swap you the GST returns for a dryer."

Yes! "I want the dryer in the car before I start the returns."

"It won't fit."

"It will. I have a new car."

"Alright."

"I'll be over after we've had tea."

• • •

We drove over after we'd had tea and, on the way, I remembered I wasn't supposed to know where my dryer was. I had to remember what I should know and what I shouldn't know. This duplicity was not the normal me. "Ring your Dad up and ask him where the dryer is," and I handed my phone to Jenny after starting the call.

"He says it's downstairs in the garage."

Reaching Rat-Bait's house, I reversed down the steep driveway and saw the garage door opening. Very familiar, all this. I got out and lifted down the second back seat of the Honda making plenty of room and ensured my lovely dryer was in the back of the Honda before we went upstairs. I trusted him as far as I could kick him with a broken leg. We went into the house via a staircase I was very familiar with. I looked around the open-plan lounge dining room and kitchen, seeing the state of the housework further deteriorating. And Sally had only been gone two days.

Rat-Bait showed me into the office. All neat and tidy. Obviously, he hadn't been in here which was why it had remained tidy. Sally had said about the book work that she had 'just left them.' The others in the office had told me she was thorough with book work. I kicked Rat-Bait out, closed the door and started.

Checking, I saw the return was all organised into 'ins' and 'outs.' All so familiar. All so well prepared. All so fast to do because I assumed she had spent ages chasing after his lost receipts and I saw two that had been faxed. Typical. I was intrigued that she now had a template and had printed out the 'outs' page with the names of the usual suppliers there ready. Very efficient and a good jog to the memory of what missing receipts to look for. Since it was so well organised and she obviously had already started it, I didn't need to hurry. I was still finished within two hours and went out into the lounge.

How unusual; the boys were watching sport and Jenny was just sitting there. He hadn't even offered them a drink. I spotted a Takeaway container on the coffee table cuddled up to a second one and a pizza box. Used. From excellent home cooking to this. How the fortunate was falling. I doubted he had looked into his money box yet. I wondered if I would find out when he did.

"Finished," I said. I watched sadly as the kids were promptly on their feet and showed no reluctance to leave. So much for their father's company. And it had been nearly two years since Jenny had seen him.

We were fairly quiet on the way home. On reaching home, I insisted the kids help me install the dryer after I cleared a space for it. There was a vent there already. In great satisfaction, I inspected my lovely modern dryer that I had paid for a couple of years ago. The model that sensed how dry the clothes were and did it all unsupervised. Set it and walk away. And I had a perfect excuse for now having a dryer and witnesses to that excuse. Another goal achieved. I yawned; it was bedtime for everyone. Dewey was inspecting the dryer as I turned off the light. He was creeping up to it like it was a monster. Wait till he saw another big machine was going to pinch his eating station tomorrow. Wait till the kid's saw it! I was tired and couldn't be bothered making the sandwiches; my nightly weekday ritual. Four for Jenny and me and six for Sam and a muesli bar each from the locked cupboard. I didn't make any for me tonight either. I had other plans. Once I'd made sandwiches, the kids were allowed to finish the loaf. They often made toasted sandwiches after school.

As I lay sleepily in bed that night, I reflected that even if that money wasn't up in the ceiling I was still ahead. For the first time, I wondered if we really should have taken that much. But it would be too risky to return any. And I had been so focused on loading it and getting Sally away, that I hadn't even estimated the amount we had taken and the total was a shock. I wondered if Sally had added it up as she loaded it or did she, like me, get a shock at the total? How much did she get I wondered? I still couldn't really take it in. It was an unreal amount after being so broke for so long and so deprived of cash when I was with Rat-Bait. I was getting nudges from my conscience. I was also thinking about the consequences for Rat-Bait but I couldn't really see any. So the dragon's hoard was reduced. A fire would wipe it out anyway. He was an idiot. Why hadn't he paid the house off? Oh, silly me. That would have meant I got more. His selfish, manipulative behaviour had now cost him dearly. That so helped with my conscience.

On a whim, I got out of bed, got my calculator out and started adding up, making notes as I went. Half an hour later, I thought it was worked out fairly. On balance and working out my contribution, I figured even given the $406,000 I had scored, I had earned it all and more. Truly. I had done so much of his office work, sold cars, given all the credit for that to him, earned my own money which paid all the bills he didn't want to pay. Like the mortgage on the house! And then I had also done all the child minding and all the housework. That's my half and his half. Plus there was the $50,000 house deposit. Morally, I had earned it so conscience; ease off! Sally though, was ahead. But it was thanks to her that we had found it. Oh and I hadn't charged him for cheating and ending the marriage and being a power freak and not letting me have any cash while it fell through his hands like water. I got back into bed. Big smile on face.

My mind was racing. I was so much better off. I had longed for the convenience of a dishwasher and a dryer since I had lost my old ones. Had I never had them I would not have missed them but especially I missed the dishwasher. I hated washing and drying dishes. So did the kids. It took so much time! And with two kids, the kitchen was always untidy and the dishes were continual and the kitchen always looked a mess. And there was an incessant fight over whose turn it was to do the dishes. Now, I just had to re-train them in how to use a dishwasher. And I would book the installer? Plumber? For tomorrow. I had had a look. The connections were all there. Now let's hope it fitted but it should. Better still, I had prepaid the installer in the cash deal.

Lying there I realised something else. Whenever I did the dishes or had trouble with the laundry, it was like a continual reminder of how Rat-Bait had cheated me out of the house contents for child maintenance. Which mostly didn't get paid. And it continually bugged me. I'm sure you've noticed that by now. I still had a lot of work to do on healing. I bet you've noticed that too. I hoped this money would help plus the labour-saving devices the money would buy. Which meant I could do more work and earn more visible money. And I loved my job even though it was quite an emotional drain at times. People got into so much trouble but the ones we dealt with were 50:50. Half of them were in trouble because of their own faults like bad behaviour or bad choices especially financial stupidity and half were in trouble because others cheated them or manipulated them or stole off them or got them into legal trouble. A lot of marriage stuff and a lot of dodgy business deals. And sometimes businesses failed due to unforeseen problems.

Then I had another bright idea to hide some money and an idea for another tactic started that night. We had a petty cash drawer at work. It was one of the office jobs to bank the excess cash. I had, some time ago, unofficially taken over that job. It gave me an excuse to go out for a walk and hide from other staff the problem that I frequently had no lunch. If we were short of bread, guess who went without? Few people paid in cash or cheques these days but some still did, especially the elderly. I had had an idea. I would swap excess small notes and coins from the cash box and substitute larger notes. And at the end of every day, I would tip all the coins from my purse into one of my shoe boxes. After small ears were sound asleep of course. Not Dewey's, he didn't have a wallet. Every few months, I could deposit 'money box cash' for the kids. At different banks of course. In little bits, it would be quite believable. And Mummy and Grandma, adding a bit, wouldn't be suspicious. I had to ensure Rat-Bait never suspected me.

For the first time, I remembered neighbours would have seen my car, the Corolla. I thought hard, but I couldn't remember having gone anywhere near his house before in the Corolla. Oh, once to drop Sam off. And my car was now gone. The new one was quite different; in make, model, colour, year and value. There should be no trail to me.

# Chapter Thirty

The next day was a fair copy of the previous day's organisation as the kids again got lunch money. I was busy last night earning my dryer back, remember? Perfect excuse. And I again went in to work early. I managed to book the installer for 11.30am and he met me at home. He brought my new dishwasher with him. Together, we removed all the evidence that it was new and I shoved said evidence into the old unused chook house at the bottom of the garden. Which gave me another idea.

An hour later my new dishwasher was installed and I was ecstatic. Dewey wasn't. Well he didn't do the dishes. He didn't even do his own. But he was right and I needed to sort something out for him. I made a quick stop on the way back to work and bought a mat for him.

By the time I got home, the kids had discovered the dishwasher and worked out what it was. Not dumb then. But would they remember what to do with it? I had bought fish and chips for tonight and some meat to get a proper meal on for tomorrow night. Well, I had been distracted lately hadn't I? Still, the kids didn't mind. And too bad if they had minded. It was food. We had our tea while Dewey complained loudly. I put some fish in a saucer and put it on the floor for him but he complained that it was too hot. At least I think that's what he said. He went into reverse gear.

After we had had tea, I took pity on him and made up a cat food station on the top of the dryer. I put everything on the slip-proof mat I had bought for him as Jenny watched and I added some fish which was now cool, and then added one cat. Who promptly demolished the fish. Dewey could cope with any temperature except hot.

"Perfect," I said watching the fish disappear. "He should be able to jump up and not immediately slide off again. Which would be embarrassing for him. And his tail will be safe." Very important, keeping that tail safe. For our nerves and ears. Dewey's blood curdling shrieks when anyone accidentally stepped on his tail would wake the dead. It left us shaking for minutes. And every time he ate, it stuck right out behind him like a horizontal flagpole.

As I turned away, I looked into two suspicious blue eyes.

"What?" I asked Sam.

"Where did the money come from?"

Don't panic, I was ready, "For the dishwasher? The fridge is paid off. So now the automatic payment can be diverted to pay the dishwasher off. I bought both at the same store. Sales of new stuff in the front and second hand sales of the trade ins at the rear. I was tossing up as to whether to get a dryer or a dishwasher when the fridge was paid off and now I've got both," I said happily. I watched as his suspicion dissipated. He hadn't thought to ask how I got the deposit. Did he know about deposits? And it wasn't pay day until tomorrow.

I sat down with a coffee. I'd get the casserole together after I'd had the coffee and then do the nightly sandwiches. My pay, well I'll transfer some to my credit card because the monthly bill was due before next pay. And I needed to put more cash into it to pay the Honda off. And I'd pay some bills online with my pay because it might look suspicious if I didn't. And online was the only way I could pay some bills like the top-up on the cell phones and the bus passes. I had to be careful and make it appear like nothing had changed. If anyone looked. And I'll put some more in Bonus Bonds, I thought. I could transfer that direct from my account as well as put in cash occasionally. And now I needed to stop spending apart from paying bills with all the cash I could. But most of the bills got paid electronically. Well, groceries and petrol could be paid in cash. And I'd had a warning. Sam had got suspicious. I'd have to ensure he saw nothing else unusual. He mustn't say anything to his father. I had to step back into my poverty-stricken role and I had had more ideas about that. That meant I'd have to return to the nightly ritual of making sandwiches and for me too. Every night! Damn. It was so nice to buy my lunch. Such a treat too.

My coffee finished, I got up and made the casserole deciding on flavouring it with some pasta sauce I had also bought because I couldn't be bothered following a recipe. I cut up the gravy beef, added onions and dealt with a frantic Dewey who wanted his share of the meat. Yes of course he got some. And yes I know he had just had fish for tea. He saw us get second helpings and he understood things like extras. I added a can of tomatoes and put the whole crock pot inner in the fridge. I'd cook rice and some greens when I got home. Job done. I made the sandwiches, egg and mayonnaise, and put some washing on. It was starting to rain and it didn't matter. I had a dryer! Instead of waiting for fine weather, I could do a wash every night. What a difference to my life this was going to make. I could do a bit every night while I worked, or rested or read or watched TV, rather than waste my weekends washing clothes, putting them on the clotheslines, unable to put them out some days, sometimes several days in a row and dodging the rain and getting them dry. The alternative, on a wet weekend, was to climb over the bikes and stuff in the enclosed back porch and sling them over the broken washing line there.

What with overtime and laundry, I never got time off just for me. And I could let a wash go through overnight and toss it in the dryer on my way to work. The dryer was safe to leave on unsupervised. Not like the old one Mum had when I was a kid. This was going to make a huge difference to my housework workload. I might even get time to sit down and watch TV. In between laundry jobs. Yay. And before you comment about global warming and the waste of power, this is New Zealand. The power generation is hydro-electric or wind or geo-thermal which means steam. And solar. Not fossil fuels. Renewable, see? All of it. And I could now pay the power bill. Oh there was Huntly, a coal-fired power station, but it was only used in emergencies now. To cover for maintenance on other power stations or to cover higher winter demand.

# Chapter Thirty-One

I thought life would go on as normal but it didn't. The next day, Wednesday, payday Wednesday at that, I met Abby and Nadia as usual for lunch. We all picked up something in the food court and met by the tables, going to one by the window as we usually tried to meet there.

"What?" I said looking at their expressions. I watched as they both looked very pointedly at my food. Indian Madras curry, baklava and coffee. I'd given my lunch away to a beggar. "What's the problem?"

"We've been adding up your spending. You scored more than what you implied," Abby declared. "And I've never seen you spend that much for lunch. You got a haul, didn't you?"

Just as well they hadn't seen other things like my deposits and cash bill paying and most of my work lunches recently. "Yes," I confessed. They would get more suspicious if I denied it. "A bit. I had some fun spending it. He owed me heaps. I worked for him for nothing for years. That would have continued but for Mum paying my fees for studying to be a Legal Executive. She later said it was because he wasn't paying me anything for working for him. But I never told her how little difference it made. All my salary went on the mortgage and bills while he spent his earnings mostly on himself. I reckon he planned it that way. That if we ever split up, I'd get very little." I didn't tell them I'd just worked that out a few days ago. And it was easing my conscience about stealing all that money.

"We're not disputing that," Nadia said. "But what happened when he found out?"

"I don't know. I saw him on Monday night and he seemed fine. It probably wasn't enough money to panic him and he will think Sally got it. I'm obviously in the clear."

"What makes you think that?"

"I was around there on Monday night with the kids and I did his GST return. He couldn't get anyone else to do it. He can't let the office staff see it. They'll twig that he doesn't add the cash sales in."

"You did his GST return? Why?" Nadia was shocked.

"I needed a dryer. He paid me with my old clothes dryer. He'd bought a new one. So now I have a dryer for the winter. It cost me $700 originally. Good pay for two hours work. Sally had the return all organised, partly done and ready to finish, but I guess she decided he could get stuffed."

"Have you heard from her?"

"No. I hope she's alright. I ended up feeling sorry for her."

"So she's in Australia?"

"Probably. She had no time to get a visa. Australia is the only place she could go without one except for the Pacific Islands. She could have gone there and then have moved on from there. I doubt it though. You can only take $10,000 out of the country. That wouldn't keep her for long. She had to go somewhere she could get a job. But I left her in the queue. She could have gone to Auckland or Dunedin. I had to scram. A nice lady was babysitting for me."

"You do realise," Nadia drawled, "That you've just told us it was over $10,000 each.

I grinned, "Not telling. Let's just say the spending spree has come to a sudden stop." I didn't tell them it had had to because Sam had noticed. He was lousy at maths but it looked like he could cope with simple arithmetic.

"So," Nadia continued doggedly, "The Rat-Bait committees are stopped?"

"Yes. I got away with the sabotage but that's enough. I'm happy. I don't need to do any more. All that and cash plus getting Sally away from him and then scoring my dryer was enough. I vote we cease while we're ahead and before anyone gets into trouble. Like me." I smiled disarmingly at them. From their expressions, I'd passed. I couldn't tell them the truth. It would put all of us at risk. I'd just get the mortgage paid off and tell no one. And I could start putting a lot more into my Kiwi Saver Superannuation after I'd paid the house off. That would hide it nicely. I could retire early. Just as well, because the way things were going, retirement age would be 67 or more by the time I got there. My mother said the rich business crowd had wanted it set at 72 decades ago. By that time, over half of those that should be turning 72 would be dead. I should be able to retire early and have fun. Like travel. I'd never been out of New Zealand since my parents took me to Australia when I was ten. Rat-Bait had had several 'business trips' overseas though.

The interrogation stopped and we talked of other things. On my way back to work, I stopped off at a shop and bought a container. For beer-making. It was large, with a screw top. Yes, of course I paid cash for it.

• • •

We got to Friday night and I knew Mike had suggested doing something this weekend but it had started raining and it was supposed to continue through the weekend. So I was a little surprised when he phoned.

"Yes?"

"Hi Jo, it's Mike."

"How are you this lovely sunny night?"

"Yeah right. That rules out a picnic. But Martin suggested the Southward Car Museum. Have you seen it?"

"No I haven't. More to the point, Sam hasn't. How much is it?" I asked, keeping in character.

"I've got some free tickets. Two adults and two children. Advantages of my job."

I turned, "Hey kids. Do you want to go to the Southward Car Museum with Mike and his son Martin on Sunday? He has free tickets." I turned back, "That was a yes multiplied by three," I said.

For the rest of the evening I had two more cheerful kids as they, very unusually, had a weekend with something exciting planned on Sunday. Usually it was just church and Sunday school and then grouchy mother spending the rest of Sunday doing the housework because she'd done overtime on Saturday. Mostly laundry on Sunday. I liked this new life. I hoped I could keep it. I heard a thud as Dewey landed on the floor. He clearly liked his new feeding station. He kept inspecting it. I wondered if he understood how much safer his tail and our eardrums were. The kids drifted off to bed in their own time.

I loved weekends. I didn't have to yell at them to get their homework done or get to bed or be the device police and I was doing the laundry by watching TV and getting up in the ads to move stuff from the washing machine to the dryer. I could get to like this new way to do the laundry. It was much more fun. And with the kids in bed, I had the sofa to use to fold everything up. Of course I would end up yelling at the kids tomorrow when they couldn't possibly devote four minutes of their 'nothing-to-do' time to put their washing away.

I kept doing the laundry as an excuse while I waited until 1am when all was quiet and it was raining steadily. Both kids were sound asleep. Of course I checked! I went out to the car, returning with the beer-making barrel which I had hidden inside my two biggest supermarket bags. Psychology, see? I knew the kids would ignore supermarket bags as if they were invisible. They might be asked to take them inside. I might even have the gall to ask them to help put the contents away. Honestly, the cheek of mothers expecting kids to help with anything as mundane as putting away groceries they would later demolish.

I put the barrel in my bedroom. Then I got up into the ceiling and brought down all the money I could reach. I counted out $300,000,00 and stacked it into the barrel. The rest went under my bed into my shoe boxes, under the shoes and disguised by the paper used to separate and protect the shoes. I screwed the barrel lid on tightly. I ensured all the lights in the house were off and then looked carefully out the windows moving around until I had looked at all the neighbouring houses. Nothing was showing except the street lights.

I waited until my eyes had adapted. Then I went outside and down to the chook run with the barrel. Yes, of course I was wearing black. I moved some rubbish aside and started digging with the spade I had left there earlier.

I dug steadily, sure that no one would be looking out in the pouring rain and there was just enough light to see by. I buried the barrel and the money inside it, three feet down. I smoothed over the soil, putting the excess as I went, on a large plastic garden bag I'd also stowed there and I distributed the soil into the compost heap and over the garden I hadn't ever had the heart to tend to. Or the energy. It took several trips because the soil was heavy and I wanted to leave minimal drag marks. So I took multiple little loads instead of less big loads. My wheel barrow was kept by Rat-Bait just to annoy me, I assumed. Hence the dragging. I could count on the rain to both obscure the evidence and keep the kids out of the back yard.

Finally, the level in the chook house looked right albeit a little higher. I left the spade and the bag there and went back into the porch stripping off my soaking outer clothes and went inside for a shower. My clothes then went into the washing machine and I stacked some more washing on top. What, you thought I'd get all the washing done in one evening? Not a chance! I went back into my bedroom and shut the door. Then I started counting the money that was left. I had just under $90,000 left. That meant I'd spent around $16,000 if I had counted right. Originally and now. I hid $10,000 in my wardrobe in a box of summer clothes and sneaked up and quietly put $80,000 back in the attic. I did contemplate leaving it in the shoe boxes but it was too bulky and the ceiling was safer. Two kids in the house, remember? I got down from the ceiling and found I was grubby again so I changed my pyjamas. Finally, I went to bed. It was just after 3am.

A few minutes later, he got out of bed, curious, wondering what she had been up to. Almost silently, he went out to the laundry and saw the tiny spots of evidence of soil and rain. Puzzled, he went out into the rain and followed an obvious trail of footprints to the old, unused shed. Now what was she doing there? Relieved to get out of the rain, he did a fair amount of snooping, finding evidence that something had been buried. Hearing the increase in rain outside, he decided to return to the house and bed. This could wait. He ran back, through his door and shook his fur vigorously to get as much rain off as he could. He spent a few minutes grooming himself and then returned to bed via the always open door to Jenny's room. He jumped up onto the bed and snuggled into Jenny's warm back, purring happily. He hated rain but curiosity had won. He had an abundant supply of that particular trait.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

May 9th

The weeks went on and often we combined in the weekends for outings with Mike and Martin. Not every weekend. His daughter came over for the school holiday and Mike took all three of them down to Queenstown. We stayed home but I took the kids out for day trips around the area some days. I wanted a holiday but the South wall of the house needed painting and at last I could afford the paint and some replacement weatherboards. Mike and I water blasted it one Saturday and then I painted it for my holiday entertainment. I managed to get the undercoat on and one coat of white. I wanted to change the colour of the house but I couldn't bear for the house to be two colours so I'd wait until the next summer holidays for that. Weather proofing was urgent. The other walls could do with a paint as well but the South wall was needing more serious maintenance, now. But I didn't have time to paint the windows. Four weeks was only just enough time to complete the South wall.

My divorce application had come through in the mail and I glanced at it since I didn't intend to contest it. I had read it. He was paying for it. How unusual. Guess whose parents paid for the wedding and the honeymoon? I would be divorced in a month unless I contested it. I was no longer that big a fool. I contemplated what to do about it. Abby had suggested a divorce party. Well at least I could afford it. It had been nearly three months since I had had a little windfall and I had still heard nothing about the money. Did that mean he still didn't know? After the kids went to bed that night I sat and thought. It was my birthday next month and the initial stages of an idea were forming. It was my thirtieth birthday. A combined birthday/divorce party? It would be fun but I would have to hide it from the kids? Would I? Would they think it was funny or would they be offended for his sake? Well I'd just have to explain that I was divorced but they weren't. Except that that wasn't entirely true. As soon as the marriage was over, he put all of us in the discard pile. Before, probably.

But my feelings had changed a lot towards Rat-Bait since the sabotage and the money. I thought it was control. I felt he no longer controlled me and hampered me and ruled my life and interfered in and reduced my finances. Now I had had revenge, changed the control and _I_ was influencing _his_ finances. For the first time ever. Even if he didn't know that yet. I now suspected that the 'house contents for the kid's maintenance' deal had been another aspect of him controlling my finances even when we were divorced. But if so, that was over. It was a little galling that I saw no sign that he knew about the cash. Were there two stashes of cash? Had we got the little one? Just how much did he make under the table and in money laundering? But I could hardly look up the going rates for money-laundering online. Would he know? I remembered seeing a movie that said it could go as high as fifty per cent. That was on stolen goods.

I often wondered how safe I was. I had a connection with him and I could be investigated when this all collapsed. If he went to the police; but no, I doubted he could. But I still dared not look it up. Since we had found the money, I had thought about the cash sales and the hidden internet sales and other dodgy cash deals and the money laundering. I thought it couldn't last. One day, he would be arrested and charged. He wouldn't get away with it forever. He couldn't; he was too stupid and arrogant and flashy and obvious and impulsive. He oozed excess cash. He was a good lesson to me to do the opposite. Every time I wanted to splash some cash, I thought of how he made a point of throwing his money in everyone's faces. And shut my wallet. One day, he would be investigated and I must be squeaky clean. I must ensure no one suspected I was ever involved in any way. Rat-Bait had signed all the GST returns not me. Never me. I always knew they were wrong but they were wrong both ways. Deductions were missed off too. I hoped Sally had done the same and got him to sign them; for her sake.

But I wondered a lot about the money. Maybe he didn't count it. Maybe he didn't know how much was there. But we had filled the back three-quarters of the gun box with magazines to equal the weight. He'd sure notice that! But he would know money was missing only if he pulled the whole box out and looked. But he must count it sometimes. He must have sat and packed it all in those bundles secured with rubber bands. I headed off to bed still thinking but I liked Abby's suggestion. It would be fun. More than fun, it would be therapeutic. Our marriage had been over for more than two years and it was time I moved on. Tomorrow, I would make and Email out some party invitations. I smiled as I thought about our original aim re all the sabotage. What we wanted him to get out of it. I had succeeded in the _cause_ beyond my wildest dreams. The _effect_ would no longer be what I intended. It would be way more.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

June 10th

The night of the party was here. My birthday had been on Wednesday, which coincidentally was payday. And I had shopped ahead. Abby had found me an extra fridge/freezer a couple of weeks ago which went into the garage and was designated a party fridge. She had picked it up on the side of the road with a 'Free' notice on it. It worked! Alright it had bumps and lots of rust marks and stickers on it, a broken shelf and it leaked water, but but all that mattered was that it worked. Today, I had done some cooking but I had also made a fast trip to the local Farmer's market and bought a lot of biscuits, cakes and savouries which the children would find on return from sports. Arranged on my own plates as if I had made them. I couldn't be bothered to cook all day and I could afford to buy good quality. Deception by misdirection. Mike was dropping the kids home after sports.

I was cooking my favourite fruit cake when he arrived with them and I promptly invited him and Martin to stay for lunch.

"But you're busy," Mike said as I opened the stove, removed the Farmer's Market large meat pies pretending to be home-made ones and put the fruit cake in. Which I _had_ made. I set the alarm on my cell phone for an hour and twenty-five minutes and placed the pies on the table.

"I've almost finished and I cheated a bit," I said. "I didn't make the pavlova and I bought the savouries." I neglected to mention a few other things I'd bought. "And it's time I sat down." I uncovered the plate of three different kinds of biscuits I hadn't made and told the kids, "Here's the deal. You can eat some of this party stuff for lunch but you leave the rest alone, you keep the house tidy and you stay out of the fridges, kitchen and dining room for the rest of the day. Deal?"

I had deliberately bought two of the kid's favourite biscuits; Afghans for Jenny and Belgian biscuits for Sam. Unsurprisingly, being well bribed, they both agreed. I would hold them to it. I would shut the French doors thus confining them in the lounge and that part of the house.

I dished up the meat pies and uncovered the buttered bread. The four family meat pies fed everybody. Five of us. The family they were each intended for must have been tiny. The kids came home very hungry from sports as I well knew. Summer sports, which they sometimes went to, made them hungry. Winter sports made them ravenous. Sam and Martin ate a pie each and copious quantities of buttered bread.

"Where's Dewey?" Jenny asked looking around.

"On your bed. I stuffed him until he couldn't eat any more and he's sleeping it off. By the time he wakes up, all the cooking will be done," I said, very satisfied. He hadn't had a chance. Cheese was his greatest weakness. I knew how to get rid of Dewey and the cost was no longer a problem. The kitchen was cat free. Why? Clearly you haven't owned a cat. Been owned by a cat. They twine around your feet and under your feet and insist that that food you're cooking must at least in part be theirs. And anything you are cooking must be edible by a cat. I can't count the amount of times Dewey has got under my feet and yowled abuse at me for neglecting him. I've showed him the onion I'm cutting up, he's reversed gear and gone all indignant and then returned a few minutes later looking for the meat. His logic? You're in the kitchen. The kitchen produces food. Where is his?

• • •

The day passed as I finished food dishes and packed the completed dishes into the party fridge. The fruit cake came out of the oven and cooled down and Mike and Martin went home promising to return. I gathered Martin had an extension of his usual custody hours.

My parents turned up just after lunch with copious quantities of baking (Dad), and a casserole (Mum) in its crockpot which she plugged in on a lounge power socket to free up kitchen space. Mum also bought her rice cooker. Both these appliances, as Mum had discovered, made burning food very difficult. Abby was bringing another casserole and Mike promised to bring frozen veg. I had made a mince stew and made half into a potato topped pie and half into a casserole with tomato and veg added. Nadia and Warren were allocated appetisers.

Dad and I kicked everyone else out and started on the cake. We commandeered the kitchen. I had set Jenny up with the pavlova in the dining room. I had got a mix of unsweetened cooked rhubarb and whipped cream and I left her to it. I had two candles, one with '3' and one with '0' on them. She thought that was the main cake and was very proud of her efforts as she finished it. It wasn't the main cake.

Dad made a savoury cream cheese filling, cut my fruit cake in half horizontally and put half the filling in the middle. Then he coloured the rest of the mix yellow and spread it over the top. He made up some icing, coloured it red and we waited for Jenny to finish. Once she had gone and the pavlova was safely in the party fridge, I pulled down the blind on the French door. Poking my head through, I told the kids not to enter. They were otherwise occupied. Nadia and Warren had turned up with French bread and dips and cheeses. Like I said; otherwise occupied. I noticed Mike and Martin had arrived too.

Dad and I giggled and chortled as we decorated the cake. Dad had bought and made some accessories as had I and we had much fun completing it. Dad, who was much taller than me, tucked the completed masterpiece up into a high kitchen cupboard and we made a coffee and then opened the French doors and headed into the lounge.

It was just after 3pm and I was ready for a rest. Everything was done except for the frozen veg which I would just microwave and a few things needed to be heated. Mum was in charge of the rice. Job done. I picked up some of the French bread and smeared hummus onto one piece and cream cheese onto another and sat back. Dad had supplied his home-made macaroons and I added two of those to my plate and relaxed back.

The lounge was large and now incorporated what used to be a sunporch on the North side. The house was built in the 1950's when the lounge faced the street not the sun. So the lounge faced West. That meant it was lovely in summer thanks to the wall to wall windows on the North side. The chairs and sofa were Op shop buys and over the last year I had replaced my awful chairs that went with the awful scratched and battered wooden dining table. But I hadn't thrown the original chairs out. Abby pinched them one day and returned them two weeks later unrecognisable. They were fixed, their joints reinforced, sanded, polyurethane applied and re-upholstered. That was my last Christmas present from her. She boasted all they had cost was labour and thirty dollars for the polyurethane. Everything else had been free. So I now had seating for thirteen. Ample.

• • •

The dinner went well as the dining room and table in the kitchen were loaded with food. Everyone wished me happy birthday and we cut up the pavlova. A strategically small one. When everyone was finished with desert, we loaded up the dishwasher and the sink and Dad and I set to the dishes until Mum shoved me out of the way and told me to go into the lounge.

The mess cleaned up, Mum put all the coffee and tea making stuff plus the soft drinks into the dining room and told everyone to get a drink and then pick up a cake plate and fork. I smiled as I saw curiosity everywhere. There was a pause as Dad watched until everyone was equipped. He then walked into the dining room and placed a cake in the middle of the table. He paused while everyone had a good look.

There in the centre of the table was my cake. The main celebration. A bride doll was facing away from the cake and the groom was shoved head first into the centre with only his legs showing. Around the cake were toy cars broken and pushed out into the plate and replaced with flowers and butterflies. Lots of butterflies to symbolise new life; all made by my father. Written on the cake was 'Celebrating' across the top and 'Divorce,' on the lower half. Underneath the 'divorce' was a thick rope torn in two made out of chocolate covered liquorice. Around the edge of the cake were marzipan flowers painstakingly made by my father. It was beautiful.

Dad had made and decorated my wedding cake but I thought my Divorce cake was better. I felt good about this. It had been therapeutic to plan it and help my father decorate it. We had laughed a lot in the process. I would put a photo on the noticeboard at work. My Auntie May and Uncle Bernard would get a photo. They would approve. They had never liked Rat-Bait. There were a few of my elderly relatives that still got Christmas cards from me and I would send them photos of this. I wondered how they would all react.

The cake looked beautiful and I had already taken photos. So had my parents. Abby chortled as she pulled out her cell phone and Nadia and Warren obviously approved as they too snapped photos. The kids; all three of them, looked shocked and were obviously trying to work this out as the adults laughed, including Mike I noticed.

Mum and Dad insisted on cleaning up after Dad dished the cake up and we all had some. I ran into the lounge as I heard a shriek, in time to see Dewey run for it. There was cheese in the lounge. Unsupervised. Big mistake. I shook my head at Jenny and she understood perfectly; don't tell. As people poked their heads around to enquire, she said," I tripped and dropped my cake."

She had too. She just hadn't divulged the reason. I cut her another slice then covered the cake (cream cheese; Dewey) and left it in the lounge well supervised as a household of very full people mingled and mixed. Mike took Martin home and returned for another coffee and more divorce cake. He helped me with dating and labelling as I put all the other leftovers away which included the remains of three casseroles. One left over for tomorrow night. That would save some cooking.

Dad emptied the dishwasher for me, gave me a cuddle and he and Mum left. Slowly, other people drifted away. Dewey got taken to bed in disgrace with Jenny and Sam disappeared. Abby gave me a cuddle and left and then I realised Mike was still here. He was tidying up for me and straightening the lounge.

"Right," he said, "Nice and tidy to get up to tomorrow morning. That was a good party and therapeutic for you, I think. I loved the divorce cake."

"Dad did most of the decorating work but I made the cake and designed it."

"I loved it."

I watched as he picked up his coat and headed for the door. I didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. I walked with him to the door and as he went to leave, he bent down and kissed me on the cheek. I smiled.

"Oh, I got away with that," he said.

I tensed as he gently curled a finger under my chin and lifted my head up. He slowly leaned down and kissed me. It had been a long time since I had been kissed like that and I moved towards him before I realised what I was doing. He had given me plenty of warning and plenty of time to indicate if I wasn't ready. Two seconds is ample. Rat-Bait hadn't given me any warning. He had made all the decisions for me. Why was I thinking of _him_ now?! Slowly, Mike slipped his arms around me and I leaned in further for a cuddle and then slowly and gently pushed back. He smiled at me and turned and walked down the path.

I closed the front door and leaned against it. It had been a momentous day. I wasn't sure what to do about Mike. Abby was my best friend now. My other friends had slowly drifted away and I believed Rat-Bait contributed to that. He wanted me to just be with him. If Mike and I fell out, would it affect my friendship with Abby? I had never considered the possibility of my relationship with Rat-Bait ending and what the fallout would be but now that was my first thought where Mike was concerned. I had assumed my marriage would last until death. I had never allowed for anything else. I had never considered the possibility. Now, it was on my mind. Now, I was thinking of endings before anything had begun. Before there was a Plan A, I needed a Plan B.

Let's look at Plan A. So now what? He was interested? He wanted a roll in the hay? What did he want? He wasn't getting the roll in the hay. That had been a disaster last time. Well maybe not so much. It had resulted in Sam and for all that he drove me nuts at times, I loved him.

And Mike? He wasn't handsome, he wasn't flash, he wasn't a snappy dresser, he wasn't really a charmer and he wasn't rich. My standards were improving. I was learning. What was that description in The Lord of the Rings? Aragorn looked foul and felt fair. Like Mike. Rat-Bait looked fair and felt foul. He had turned out to be a rotten husband and a rotten father. So would Mike be a good one? He looked like a good father so he was half way there.

I told myself not to be an idiot. One kiss. Big deal. Don't make a book out of it. I didn't listen. It was years since Rat-Bait had made me feel inside like that kiss had. All warm and a few other reactions that are none of your business. I wondered what he had felt. I felt so warm and cosy.

Dreaming like a love-struck teenager, I got ready for bed. My single bed. Mike would have a laugh if he saw that. It would demonstrate so much about my expectations of another relationship. The only one who shared it was Dewey. And I wasn't his first choice of bed partner.

I wandered around the house checking all the doors and windows as I usually did and checked on each kid. All the kids were asleep except the furry one who awoke as I walked in. I leaned down and stroked him as he purred. He was cuddled into Jenny's back. I checked the kitchen and put the remnants of my divorce cake into a cake tin and sealed it. There wasn't much left. I was an idiot. The night had a dreamlike quality because someone had kissed me. He had a nice smile. Best of all; he hadn't promptly tried to get into my pants. That would have been a turn off.

I got into bed. A few minutes later my phoned pinged and I reached for it. It was from Mike

<I had a fun day. XXX>

<Me too. XXX> I smiled, dreaming while awake. Impossible, perfect dreams.

# Chapter Thirty-Four

Back at work on Monday, life went on and I continued to transfer varied amounts of money from my unspent pay into Bonus Bonds. My car was paid for because the credit card balance had been paid. In several lots of different amounts of cash. That same month that I bought it, of course. I also had opened up an account in Bonus Bonds for each of my children. I had emptied the shoe box that I had been busily filling up with leftover coins and small notes. I walked in to the bank at lunchtime with two large zip lock bags filled with cash, both notes and coins and explained,

"I would like to open a bond account for my children using their piggybanks. I've counted it all and separated it out. Now they can't withdraw this can they?" I asked the teller.

"Not until they're eighteen," she answered.

"Excellent. I'll ensure they don't know about these accounts. That'll be in time for expensive education," I said hoping that would be the truth. Neither kid looked very academic yet but I hadn't lost hope. "Their grandparents and I have added a bit," I explained.

We deposited the money giving Sam $2,840 and Jenny $2,360. I set both accounts to reinvest any winnings. I set notifications to come to my Email account only. Nothing to be sent by mail. I aimed to give the kids these accounts on their 18th birthdays. I would ensure no one found out about them until Sam's 18th birthday. Which was in less than five years. Every year at Christmas and on their birthdays, I would add to both of their accounts. I walked out happily. There was no need to declare tax on interest because any wins were classified as prizes not interest and therefore untaxable. No one had to be notified about these accounts. More hidden money. Money from their father and hidden for them. And he would be furious if he knew his children had his money. Did he know the money was gone yet?

It was now well over three months since I had helped Sally escape. I wondered how and where she was. I wondered if she was having as much fun with Rat-Bait's money as I was. I wondered if she had been kissed lately. I was still day dreaming like a teenager. I picked up some Sushi and a coffee and returned to work. Mike had text me to say how about a picnic on Sunday with all the kids. I text him back to say that sounded great.

I had plans for the weekend. Sort of a date? I liked that it included the kids. All three of them. If this was going to go anywhere, it was starting out the right way. Everyone included.

• • •

Later that day, Duncan picked up takeaways and morosely headed for an empty house. It hadn't worked out with either Roxy or Ashley and Ashley had left just last night in tears, picked up by her brother. She refused to work for no pay and he couldn't have that. She wasn't going to share all his stuff and be paid as well. What did the woman think? The cheek of her! And she hadn't been much of a cook or housekeeper. He'd have to get Jessie back here again on Friday. Jessie had been teaching Ashley how to keep house and had just booked her into a beginner cooking class.

When Ashley had said she wasn't a very good cook he had thought she was being modest. She wasn't. Jessie had been doing most of the cooking. The deceitful bitch had confessed to paying Jessie to cook meals for them and passing it off as more her own effort than Jessie's. Jessie had denied she was complicit in that. She said she didn't know Ashley was lying to him about who cooked them. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not but he decided he would have to. He'd be in trouble if he fell out with Jessie. She cleaned his cars, his office and sometimes his house. It would be too much trouble to find a replacement for all those jobs and Jessie had proved to be scrupulously honest as far as money went. And she worked for low pay and was available when he needed her.

He went upstairs and looked around. Ashley was untidy. The place was a mess. He searched for clean utensils for his tea and a clean plate and ended up eating the Chinese takeaways out of the plastic container. And he had had to wash a spoon to eat with. He was disgusted. He switched on the TV and channel surfed until he found a baseball match he hadn't seen.

Finishing tea, he went into his ensuite bathroom. Annoyed, he noticed how dirty it was and it smelt. The woman was a pig. He went to the other bathroom which was a bit better. He used it and went back to his bedroom. Ashley hadn't even made the bed before she left and last night he had had to sleep in sheets they had messed up. She had been good in bed. She excelled there. Not so good at making it though. Better at making out in it.

Duncan finished his tea and had a brilliant idea. He picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"How would you like to earn some money?"

"How?" I was wary.

"I need the GST returns done and I need some housework done."

I paused, holding back the 'not bloody likely.' "I'll do the GST return for my old washing machine."

"Done."

"The kids might like to earn some pocket money for doing the housework at the same time." I turned around and looked at the kids, "Do you two want to earn some money doing housework for your father?" I turned back to the phone, "That's two not terribly enthusiastic yesses for the housework. Wave some cash in front of them and they might improve their attitudes. We'll be over in about an hour." I dialled back my memory. That GST return was late. It should have been done a month ago; more than a month I thought. They had to be done every two months. He had forgotten. He had been sent a reminder. No one was organising his paperwork for him. Now he would face a bill and a penalty. And I could drag this out because I knew what I would find when I went into his office. I smiled, silly Rat-Bait. Consequences were continuing.

An hour and ten minutes later we were loading up my beautiful Maytag into the back of the Honda. I made Rat-Bait help. It was heavy! I loved that machine. There wasn't a computer in it to break down; just old-fashioned knobs. Being simple, there was less to go wrong which was just what I wanted. It took a huge 11kg load, which meant it washed blankets and duvets as well as nearly twice the load of the present incumbent. My current dodgy washing machine took only a 6kg load and was one of the reasons it took so long to do the washing. The only good thing about it was that it was free. The previous owners/tenants had left it behind. After a few washes, I saw why. It was dodgy. It sometimes didn't complete the cycle. But it was all I could afford. Free. I had to leave the back of the Honda up to fit the Maytag in and I only just made it. I had several plans tonight.

We reached the lounge to find an awful mess; worse than after a kid's party. The mess was mostly the kitchen but dishes had spilled everywhere. "We need one to do the bedroom and one to do the kitchen," I announced.

"I'll do the bedroom," Sam announced enthusiastically and walked that way.

I followed thinking that if my bedroom had looked like that, I'd have been so ashamed the door would be kept shut. I looked around at the clothes and clutter everywhere, "That should take him two hours for the basics and be worth twenty dollars," I announced. "Start with the laundry. Read the labels," I reminded Sam. I watched as he picked up the sheets instead and I followed him down to the laundry, quickly instructing him on how to use his father's fancy computer-driven washing machine. It wouldn't last a fraction as long as my new Maytag. I watched as he loaded the machine and set it going. "Don't forget the ensuite," I prompted.

I went up the stairs and into the kitchen, looking around. "This job is worth thirty dollars," I declared looking at my overwhelmed-looking daughter. This task would daunt me. It was awful and it smelt. For the 200,001th time, I deliberated as to why he never did anything himself. And it was almost like he didn't consider any of this mess was caused by him even when he lived here alone. That wasn't a joke. I'm serious.

"But she's only a kid."

I listened, unsurprised, as Jenny's devoted father protested my judgement of her worth. "Jenny will do a better job than Sam and she'll be quicker. This would take me about two hours to do and I'm fast. If she can get just the dishes cleaned up in less than two hours, I'll be shocked." I opened the dishwasher. A mix of dirty and clean dishes. Optimum laziness. I looked at Jenny who looked back at me. I saw she was up for the challenge. The prospect of earning more than her big brother, I was betting. Competitive, my little Jenny. Unlike her big brother. But if she earned more than him, his competitiveness would switch on and he would up his game. If he hadn't overheard the wage differential, Jenny would be sure to tell him.

I watched as she correctly sorted out the incorrectly stacked items, added more and set the dishwasher going on heavy wash. Smart girl. She had correctly gauged the amount of cleaning these dishes needed. Some of them might have been there for days. When had his last slave died? Left? Been kicked out?

As Jenny started to fill the tub to handwash the rest, having first had to empty it, I went into the office and started work there. It only took me a few minutes to confirm my expectations. I sorted and then looked for what was missing, making a list. Sally's template was valuable both as a prompt and as an update. It was unlikely to have changed much in two months. Three months, I remembered. This was late. I did as much of the return as I could do and just under two hours later, I walked out to my now divorced (from me) husband and said,

"I can't finish the GST return because the following receipts are needed." I handed him the list of the ones I knew were missing. "And according to this you only sold eighteen cars in the last three months."

"I sold forty-eight."

"Where is the paperwork to prove that?"

"I don't know."

"Well you'd better find it. Putting in an incomplete return is worse than putting in a late one. The Tax Department will assume attempted fraud." I cleared enough clothes and newspapers away from the chair opposite Rat-Bait to sit down.

"What are you sitting down for?"

"I'm being paid to do your GST returns not your housework. I'll come back and finish the return when you have the paperwork for all the cars you sold." I didn't bother to remind him yet again about the problem of lost receipts. These were the deductible costs he incurred in the carrying out of his business that were then legally deducted from the profit. Costs he could legally claim back in other words. Which meant he would owe less tax. Rat-Bait was annoyed by these petty details. And the legal aspect. He was much more focused on incomings (money earned) than outgoings; costs incurred during the process of earning that income that could reduce the tax due on the income earned. But I suspected this was boring. So he couldn't be bothered. Imbecile.

And I knew that he could never be bothered to look for them. He would hound his poor office staff that were now reduced to one I surmised. I hadn't been near his car yard for a while and didn't know how many sales people he had either. But he now had one less office staff I'd bet.

# Chapter Thirty-Five

June 12th

Duncan waited impatiently for the old office lady, Alison, to turn up. He spotted her getting out of her car. She was wearing that frumpy blue suit again he could see. Why didn't she tart herself up? She might be well over the hill but she didn't have to look it.

Promptly at 09.55, Alison walked in and saw that Duncan was already at her desk and impatiently waiting for her. She looked at the paper he immediately handed her detailing the on-going saga of missing paperwork.

"I can't find all the last two month's sales. And these receipts are missing. I need them urgently for the GST return. Now."

Alison was not impressed. He had probably been here an hour and it was evident he hadn't demeaned his lazy self to look for any of these himself. He hadn't even bothered to reconcile the Car Sales Register which would have told him which contracts were missing. And now it was her fault? Plus this return was late. Because Sally wasn't here to organise the idiot. Clearly, she would have to look as if she was doing this, before she could relax with a tea and organise herself for the week. And she had all the weekend sales and enquiries to check and she should be now checking the answerphone and answering queries. Plus she could see notes on her blotter. She should be doing that, not cleaning up after his faults and sloppiness.

She looked after him in annoyance as he spotted a potential buyer and went to ingratiate himself. Mondays were busy enough without all this. Oh dear. She mused that the office had fallen apart when Sally had abruptly left. She was supposed to only work from 10am to 2pm Monday to Friday now. Her work hours had expanded since Sally left but she had noticed no difference in her pay...

Her official job was receptionist, which the others had to do before she arrived. They left messages and notes for her to sort while they just did the sales. But crucially, she did much of the account work as well now that Sally had gone. So messes like this were now her job. She also now had to do the organising and collecting up, checking and prompting to finish correctly, the Sales Contracts done over the last three days. Which was also urgent and she should be onto that now but she had to do this instead. She busily searched through where these contracts _should_ have been filed and then would look for all the places idiots like Duncan might have dumped them.

Within minutes, she had started to find them. It would be like a treasure hunt if it wasn't holding her up on the jobs she should be doing, instead of this. She looked back at the list of receipts that were also 'lost' and suddenly noticed the handwriting. It was Jolene's. What was Jolene doing helping Duncan?! The last few times she had seen her, she looked as if she was no longer still infatuated with Duncan and had moved on. She had liked Jolene too and she had been good in the office. But Sally had been better and more assertive with Duncan.

It had been Sally's idea to provide lunches for the staff. Bread and sandwich fillings. That meant they all stayed on the job and were available at peak inquiries and looking time, rather than off buying lunch and eating it away from the yard where they were unavailable. Everyone who thought about it realised they were being bribed to work through their lunchtime, but who objected to free lunch? It had worked a charm and was excellent value for money. That had all stopped once Sally left because she had bought and organised it. Alison had offered to continue the practice but there was a small problem. Duncan asked her to do it occasionally but gave her no money. She had quickly learned when he first started here that getting money out of him was a mission. So she told him to pay cash up front. He didn't. So they all did their own thing and the inefficiencies mounted.

And her present inept boss seemed not to care that now, there was a disorganised mess of staff who left and returned when they decided to and seldom notified anyone. She found another Contract. Shoved under some magazines. Idiot! She suspected he not only didn't care, he didn't notice about all the inefficiency. With Sally gone, they only had three salespeople now counting Duncan and all three could be gone at the same time. Ashley had not done sales; she was mostly useless at everything, being poorly educated and unmotivated to work. Alison suspected she was used to getting others to do things for her. She had that helpless aura. And she was very pretty.

When Sally had been here, inefficiencies had never happened. She policed it and organised set lunch times if they wanted to go out. Duncan ignored the problem. Like he ignored most problems. Like this overdue GST return. But problems didn't go away; they got worse. Especially when there was no one else to do them for you. Alison sighed, continuing to search in the office that had become so much untidier since Sally had left. Sally had been allowed to go near Duncan's area and tidy for him. It hadn't really been done since she left. And Sally had bugged the men to keep the café area clean and tidy. And got away with it. Alison found it didn't work for her. The men didn't listen to her except for Harry. It got increasingly messy until Jessie did it at night.

The salespeople would mostly all be at work all day apart from Duncan. Who shouldn't be here today. And she so looked forward to Duncan-free days. Duncan was the most disorganised and messy one of them all. The problem was compounded because the salesmen worked different hours, days and times anyway. Duncan usually didn't work Monday or Tuesday. A pity he was here today she muttered to herself.

She was relieved that Ashley had gone. She had been pretty and likeable but a fluff head. Her attention span was appalling. She had been very difficult to try to train because her attention seemed to always be on where it shouldn't be and seldom on where it should be. To say she had the attention-span of a gnat was probably an insult to the gnat. Alison had despaired of her ever really being an asset.

She missed Sally so much. Loyalty to Jolene had made her reluctant to like Sally at first but the jobs had to be done and Sally was keen to learn and had a head start on experience in car sales and office work. She suspected Sally had known there would be some justifiable resistance and had patiently allowed for it. Sally had been sharp, organised, seldom missed a thing, good company, cheerful, funny with a wicked sense of humour, a good saleswoman and excellent at the office work. Like Russell, her previous boss, she had learned every job and could do them all. And did. Such a well put together personality in such a young girl. If Ashley's phone manner had been a two out of ten, Sally's was a ten. Alison spotted another receipt misfiled and added it to the 'outgoing' pile.

That highlighted another problem. Duncan couldn't seem to understand the difference between income and expenditure. Nor did he seem to understand the significance. He didn't care either. Having checked her desk, the waiting area and the staffroom thoroughly she went to Duncan's desk.

Within a few minutes she found another contract used as a bookmark in a car magazine! She would like to shred Duncan into tiny pieces! All this work for her that his sloppiness caused. But that gave her an idea and she expanded her search to everywhere and rifled through all his magazines finding another receipt bookmark, a registration receipt with its' sticker that should be on the car! Moron! She had to finish his desk before he returned. She knew full well that he expected her to find all these without searching his desk. She went carefully through his desk drawers. Two contracts and three more receipts were where they shouldn't be. As she spotted Brian come in, she said,

"Please search your desk. Receipts and Sales Contracts are missing. Needed for the GST return."

"I haven't got time."

"No problem. I'll do it." She looked over in satisfaction as he glared at her and went to search. Brian was lazy and a sleaze and there would be things in his desk he wouldn't like her to find. She didn't like him much and she suspected the feeling was mutual. But he was a good salesman so she put up with him.

An hour later, Alison decided to get a cup of tea and sit down. She had most of the contracts according to her Car Sales Register; just two missing that she knew of. She sat down and looked again at what she recognised as Sally's template and Jolene's additions. Her curiosity meter was on high. So Jolene was going to do his GST return? Someone had to. She wasn't allowed to do it and she suspected Duncan didn't have a clue how. She suspected his accountant flatly refused to do the returns because of all the missing paperwork.

She pondered strategies here, seeing what was missing from Sally's brilliant template. The rent receipt was missing but she could make one up and send for a copy of the original. And she could find the power bill online and print it out. Ditto some of the Insurance bills. She could not remember how many more mechanical receipts there should be and all the registration receipts were missing except for the one the blithering idiot had used for the bookmark. They might be in his car since he bought them all. If he hadn't thrown them out. She finished her tea, picked up Duncan's car starter and went out to search his car. She soon found both Registration receipts and Warrant of Fitness receipts all amongst the chaos of food leftovers and fuel receipts and clutter. And then she found two registration receipts for cars she didn't remember them selling. Curious. Why were these here? All this paperwork here! Plus the stale food. The car stank of stale food. Why couldn't he clean it occasionally? This was probably not all of the missing receipts. But some were stuffed everywhere. Some would have fallen out. Tough. She went back inside and added them to the receipts pile. One receipt she could skip. Duncan had never kept a log book; which would have been a major source of tax deductions. He was too dense, lazy and disorganised to bother.

She sat and thought and then rang Jessie,

"Hi Jessie it's Alison. I'm trying to find all the Sales Contracts and the receipts for the GST return. I know Sally begged you to search the rubbish bins. Oh you honey! Where? Thank you so much! She what? Oh that figures! No Jessie this will be our secret and I'd never tell on you."

Alison got up, went to the cleaning cupboard and found the box Jessie had described, containing receipts and even a Sales Contract! Now just one was missing. And Sally had advised Jessie to hide the paperwork that she found in the rubbish! So Sally had suspected Duncan 'lost' some of them deliberately. And she would be right! What a bastard! And that clever Sally had sussed that out and worked with Jessie to get around him. How disappointing for him! She and Jessie would just keep this tactic going and she would find a way to reward Jessie. That woman was a treasure. Alison knew Duncan was a right sod to Jessie and yet here she was still doing a good job for him despite his incompetence. Well, probably she had done it for Sally. So Alison decided to be extra nice to Jessie. Duncan trashed many of his good workers and buddied up to Brian who was lazy, bad with paperwork and a misogynist. Brian was dishonest too. Sally had detested him. However, he was good at selling cars so everyone put up with him. Duncan and Brian competed with each other for top salesman. They had both had a bad attitude to all the times Sally had been top.

Spotting Harry, she explained the problem and he immediately checked his desk but said,

"I put all the Sales Contracts on your desk as soon as I finish them."

He did too. Much better at being organised than the others. Like the others, he was only paid when he made a sale being paid on commission and he was young and motivated to pay his bills. She handed him the Registration sticker and he promised to find the correct car and put it on. Bless him. If Duncan couldn't be bothered, that was generally another one of her jobs.

According to Jessie, Sally had promised never to tell Duncan that Jessie was searching the rubbish. Jessie was afraid he would have sacked her for that but she wasn't sure why. Alison thought she knew why. She suspected Duncan just liked to get people into trouble and have an excuse to belittle them or yell at them. Mostly in front of others. So he could blame others for what he did wrong.

Alison added up. She now had just one Sales Contract left to find but she had no idea how many receipts were still missing. His loss and she wasn't wasting any more time on it. She got onto the phone messages and then dealt with the queries. That done, she finally managed to check the so-called completed Sales Contracts from last weekend, which were needed for next month's GST return. Brian hadn't done it right again and neither had Duncan. What a surprise.

Harry, although the newest and youngest salesperson, rarely made mistakes and he completed what he started. She liked Harry. He didn't make extra work for her. Sally had trained him and he had listened to her, not Duncan. Smart boy. She was just finishing up the weekends paperwork and updating the Car Sales Register with a contract she hadn't seen before when Duncan bustled back in,

"Did you find all the paperwork?"

"No, there's one Sales Contract missing. I don't know how many receipts are missing but the contract is the vital document. Missing it out, if you are found out, could set the Tax Department on you for fraud. The missing receipts will just mean you have to pay more tax."

"What?!"

"I have explained this to you before. Missing receipts cost you money. I don't understand why you like paying more tax than you have to."

"Well you have to find it all. That's your job!"

"No it is not! It's not my responsibility when I don't get given the paperwork. I don't sell cars and I didn't pay those bills. Delegate the bill paying to me and I'll have control of the paperwork and I'll ensure it's done right. Don't blame me for things you know damn well aren't my fault!"

Duncan glared at her, disconcerted when she glared back. He controlled his flare of fury. He couldn't sack her. Someone had to do his paperwork and she knew all the stupid little details that just had to be there. He had inherited her with the business and the whiny bitch had told him not to get rid of her until he knew all she did about running the office. Otherwise it would make a lot of extra work for him. Like he was going to be bothered learning all that petty stuff! He turned away. That would have to do. There were two Sales Contracts at home. He couldn't remember which one had been the one he had told Alison about so he had better put both in. The whiny bitch had been paid. He would insist she finish the job.

Alison glared after him. Stupid fool not to know the basics of his office work. Alison thought sadly of Russell, her last boss who had finally retired aged seventy-two. He had known every job in his business and been able to replace all his staff when they were on leave. Had that idiot Duncan even considered what he was going to do when she went on holiday? Or if she got sick? And it wasn't as if he was unable to learn. Duncan could juggle two sets of figures in his head easily, as he negotiated a sale price for trade-ins and a price for the sale car. A lot of customers struggled with that; calculating the difference between what they got paid for their old car and paid for the new one. And Duncan could spot the mathematically challenged and manipulate them easily. He just couldn't be bothered to learn what he didn't want to and couldn't or wouldn't see how much extra work and money that that cost him. And everyone else! Like her! She looked at her watch. Two forty-five. Time to go. Late off again. She resented the unpaid overtime he had just cost her. Again. She plonked all the paperwork into a satchel and dumped it on Duncan's desk. He might find it in all that mess. It was on top.

# Chapter Thirty-Six

Still June 12th

I glanced down as another text pinged but my smile disappeared. Not Mike. The screen read RB. 'Rat-Bait.' The message was, 'I've got the stuff. Do it tonight.' No please, no thank you. Typical. But I had been paid, I would do it and the kids might get more pocket money. I wondered if the kids would tell him about the divorce cake but I was betting they wouldn't. I texted to both the kids to let them know, to get them in the right mood for more housework. At least they were seeing him. Hopefully they would also see the arsehole he was and stop the whiny threats of, 'I'll go and live with Dad,' every time I made a decision they didn't like.' I didn't tell them he wouldn't want them. If they couldn't work that out for themselves, I'd raised two stupid kids. Jenny, I thought, could see through him.

On the way home, I picked up fish and chips. The kids had had a leftover casserole for tea last night and they would get another left over one tomorrow. With fish and chips in between, they wouldn't notice. So by six-thirty pm we were on our way. I negotiated the thirty-dollar fee for Jenny again. She promptly started work and Sam wanted the same money. I told you he was competitive when his little sister beat him. I got in first and told him he had to up his game to earn it. First, I looked in the bedroom making quick notes as I went. What a mess! It looked nearly as bad as last night and last night Sam had done two washes and put clean sheets on the bed. Why had I put up with this? I turned to Sam,

"To earn thirty dollars, you need to make the bed, clean the ensuite, get all the laundry done and put away and tidy up the lounge. That will be worth thirty dollars." I handed him the list I had made.

"I don't need this. I know what to do," Sam said indignantly throwing the list on the ground.

"No you don't. Housework needs to be well organised when you're on a time constraint and you don't know how to do that. And when you do it incorrectly and don't finish, I'll tell you what you did wrong. And you won't earn as much money as Jenny. She's better organised." She was too. "This list tells you what to do, in the correct order, to get it all done in time." I watched as the fear his little sister would be paid more than him again, was clearly warring with the gall of me expecting him to follow instructions. From his mother. He picked up the list. The money won. I smiled as I turned away. What a good way to teach him housework. He might even learn something. Perish the thought.

I glanced in at Jenny but she was full steam ahead. In the time Sam and I had negotiated the job and then spent arguing, she had emptied most of the dishwasher. And put everything away. Rat-Bait was back to watching sports on TV. Why didn't he just do the housework? There was only one person living here. Why was he still an obstinate teenager in his attitude? Why had he never grown up? Why had I never seen that before?

I went into the office, found the satchel on the desk and got cracking. Just over two hours later I emerged. It was ready for him to sign and write the cheque for tax owed. Sally's template saved a lot of time. I looked in the kitchen. For an eleven-year-old, Jenny had done an amazing job. Well worth the money. I looked in at Sam. He had made the bed, washed, dried and folded the washing, but it was in piles on the bed.

"You need to hang the shirts and trousers up." I demonstrated and helped him. He had gotten all last night's washing dry and presumably tonight's was in the dryer. While putting away the washing, I noticed a lot of women's clothes still in the lovely big walk-in wardrobe. A lot of it was on the floor. He must walk over it. He would have to, to get to his things.

"I can't figure out where to put all this stuff and there's women's stuff in some of the drawers." Sam said, clearly embarrassed. He pointed to the underwear in neat piles on the bed, "Where do I put it?

"He just shoves it anywhere. He gets dressed by searching through the drawers until he eventually finds everything he wants." He did too. So slow. So inefficient. So annoying when I lived with him. When I went to get dressed, I would decide what to wear and go to where it was. In the right place. I had organised everything correctly for him too and he just ignored that and kept looking in the wrong drawers; even mine. I had thought he did it just to antagonise me. It worked. Not any longer. He wasn't my problem now. I watched as Sam found somewhere to stash everything. It seemed to feel wrong to him too. I had hopes for him. He might turn out more like me than his father.

I helped Sam to fold the sheets. Yes, there had been two sets of dirty sheets. I glanced at the list. He had done almost all of it. We had been here well over two hours and I decided that was enough. Again, Rat-Bait had not offered either of the kids, or me, anything to eat or drink. Clearly, we were just paid servants. I said,

"That's a good enough job to earn thirty dollars and Jenny's doing the lounge for you." I hoped he appreciated that but he probably would worry that she would ask him for the money. That was his problem. I was well satisfied.

I walked over to Rat-Bait flanked by his two children. One taller than me and one still shorter. Just. "You owe them thirty dollars each," I said. I watched, becoming incensed as I could see by his expression that he was going to argue.

"If you don't pay them what they've earned, I won't do the GST returns again for you and they won't do any more housework for you!" He glared at me and I glared back. I could just about feel the tension crackling in the room. The kids were totally silent. I couldn't even hear them breathing. Maybe they weren't.

This devoted father begrudgingly handed the correct amount of money over to his cherished children as I supervised. What an arsehole. His bed was made, again, his ensuite cleaned, his laundry done and put away and the disgusting mess in the kitchen dealt with by his little girl over last two nights. What an ungrateful... Words didn't fail me. I could think of plenty. They just shouldn't be printed. We drove home arriving just after ten thirty. Two tired kids piled into bed. Two wealthier kids and that was a thought. I'd never had enough money for pocket money for them. I had now. I needed to think this through. They didn't know how much overtime I did as outwork. I'd wanted to decrease it but the office was busier than normal and I needed to keep in character. The broke one. The kids knew how to do housework. When they had been younger, they had helped me. Until Sam concluded housework was women's work and refused to do it. Influenced by guess who? Jenny had copied Sam.

I looked up as Dewey came indignantly meowing into the lounge. I suspected he wanted to play and Jenny had thrown him off the bed. He wasn't used to this much time alone. Two night's in a row! How neglectful. It wasn't the plaintive 'I'm starving' meow he used for his first food request. The polite one. The requests changed if he was ignored. I walked over to his basket and threw his ball past him. The one with the rattle in it. He chased after it and batted it around for a few seconds and then turned back to me. He wanted the mouse? I bounced it on its' elastic rope and rather than making spectacular leap after leap as he usually did, he caught it and attacked it viciously. His eyes shone. I recognised the symptoms. He wanted a fight.

I fetched the leather glove out of his basket and rubbed him and moved my hand dangerously within range of an attack cat. Which was why I was wearing the glove. We fought for several minutes as I traced invisible lines within range and he viciously attacked. Finally, he was panting with the effort of killing me so many times. I rubbed his back and tummy and made other suicidal moves. It was still some minutes before he felt he'd made his point and eviscerated me. It was now supper time, he declared. I could come back to life and feed him. I did. If only because if I didn't, he just might pester Jenny. After all that exercise and now a feed, he would go back to sleep and not bother Jenny. Who had now had two late nights in a row.

I smiled as I got ready for bed. My kids now had a lot of pocket money. As I washed my teeth the phone rang. I ran towards it, frightened that something had gone wrong. It was after eleven pm. My parents?

"Yes?"

"It's me."

Rat-Bait. "What?!"

"I've been thinking. I still have feelings for you. Why don't we try again? I miss you and the kids. I should never..."

"No." He was nearly two years too late with that offer.

"But I miss the kids too."

"Rubbish. You hardly see Sam and you didn't see Jenny for nearly two years and you live in the same city. All you want is a free cook, housekeeper, office worker, bed mate and a wage you can live off while you plough your money into your business. You only want me for free until you find a younger model. No." I hung up. I had nearly said 'save your money.' Just in time I remembered I wasn't supposed to know that and substituted 'plough your money into your business.' What a cheek! He must be getting desperate. Maybe he should learn to do things for himself. Maybe pigs might fly. I went back to finish washing my teeth.

I hopped into bed. I tossed and turned. What a shallow... I thought of a few words I shouldn't say. Quite a few of them in fact. Definitely not the ladylike ones. I wouldn't have him back gift wrapped in gold. I knew who would get the gold. And he wasn't getting my money back. His money. Our money. Now mine and the kids' money and staying that way. I was sure he didn't know about the money being gone. I wondered why but I suspected it was because the box was so heavy. It would feel right to him if he pulled it out a bit and it would be difficult to get it all the way out on his own and even more difficult to get back in. Sally and I had dropped it on the way out and together, struggled to put it back. I congratulated myself of thinking of stuffing it with magazines to hold the loose change in place. It would make it feel the same if he pulled it out a little to get money out.

I giggled slightly hysterically. There was no way I could go back to him even if I wanted to which I most definitely did not. I was better off without him. Nearly $400,000 better off. Certainly emotionally better off. I would be unable to hide that money from him, nor the effect it was having on me. I was more confident, madder at him, much more independent and I had forgotten to say the most important thing to him. I hadn't told him I no longer loved him. The unconditional love was gone. All the love was gone and now so were the rose-tinted glasses. More and more I saw him for the pathetic, superficial, immoral, lying, cheating, parasitic, gold digger that he was. He was a user. Well now I had gotten my own back on him. And he had paid for that, even if he didn't know it yet. I was so well off now I was no longer with him, in so many ways. The kids and me were better off without him.

I lay there and thought. Mike. I wasn't sure about getting involved with him. What about the money? I shouldn't risk telling him about it under any circumstances. If that relationship turned to custard and he told on me, my life could be in danger. Quite apart from other considerations like legal trouble. But was it a crime to steal stolen money off a thief and a criminal? I wasn't sure that it was. Was I kidding me? What was my job? And yet what could be the legal consequences? Rat-Bait could hardly go to the cops.

I pondered the delicious problem. It was going to take me years, maybe decades, to launder that money my way. No luxuries, no more new stuff. I had already increased my Kiwi Saver Superannuation payments. My aims were to pay the house off with it, educate or train the kids, put a good chunk into my superannuation and live an easier life. In reverse order.

Which brought me back to the kids and pocket money and I had an idea. They could start earning pocket money by helping me with the housework. That was how my brother and I were brought up. After numerous arguments and yelling kids and trials and tears, my mother took over the organisation. Either she or Dad would sign jobs done, every night and pay would be weekly. Standard jobs and extra. Weeding the garden was extra. Jobs done incorrectly or unfinished didn't count. At all. My mother told us that teaching us to finish things was part of the training of pocket money. A job was never done until it was finished. My older brother Aaron was notorious for leaving things unfinished which cost him a lot of pocket money and other things. He was forever in trouble for not doing or not finishing his homework. He was a slow learner.

I was a fast one. I soon learned that if I finished the jobs he had started, I got the money not him. Wow! Think about it. You know what I did. I watched him and pounced when he left jobs sometimes almost done. It infuriated him. But he took years to learn and my parents were on my side. The weeks when I didn't earn my pocket money were seldom. Most weeks I earned some of his as well. I had tried to start this with the children when Rat-Bait and I were together but he wouldn't part with the cash and my money was all accounted for. Remember, all my money was used up in paying the bills which Rat-Bait virtually refused to pay.

Everything went into the business for 'us.' Yeah, right. I should have had a bad conscience but you can see why I didn't. He future-proofed himself and left me and his children out in the cold. I would never understand that. Not leaving the kids struggling in relative poverty while he lived such a luxurious life style. Another bill the kids didn't know about was that I had finally paid the school fees. The 'voluntary' donation for each kid for all the extras not covered by the government. It wasn't paid last year either. And yes, of course I had paid in cash. That had raised some eyebrows. No, not because I paid in cash. The school year was half over and they had given up asking for it. Like all the other bills, it had felt so good to pay it. To be able to pay it.

I would have to have a discussion with my children about pocket money. Tomorrow. I tossed and turned. What an evening. What a last few months. Life no longer felt like a struggle but more like a challenge. A fun challenge, a juggling act, full of possibilities, something to look forward to. Life was no longer a chore. All of a sudden, I decided to stop my anti-depressants. My doctor had been right and they had helped me keep going when life seemed insurmountable and I just wanted to die. But I didn't think I needed them anymore. Was if safe to just stop them? I remember that she had warned me never to stop them in winter or autumn because of Seasonal Affective Disorder; mood going down in winter. I had already stopped the clonazepam and seldom needed the temazepam now. Idiot! Now would be good.

I got up, picked up my pill box and went to the bathroom. I took two temazepam and then ceremoniously tipped the anti-depressants and sedatives down the sink. All the reasons for my depression were gone so it should be gone too. I decided to keep the temazepam, the sleeping tablet, for nights like this when my brain was racing with excitement and good thoughts. My doctor had warned me not to take them every night. Every second night was ok and would avoid me becoming addicted.

Dewey trotted out and wanted to know what was wrong. I picked him up and cuddled him and he purred and rubbed me around my neck. So often, I had poured out my worries out to him in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, worrying about the bills. Worrying about the kids. Worrying about the future. Worrying about getting sick, losing my job and losing the house. I was well aware I had no income or sickness insurance and I had never been able to afford it. Adding to my worries had been the physical symptoms that came with depression; the anxiety, the insomnia, the continual tiredness, the struggle to concentrate, the appetite swinging from comfort eating to struggling to eat and losing weight at the worst time of all. At the time when I didn't see any point in living. When it finally hit me that I was going to be a divorcee. Something that still had a sleezy feel to it. Which wasn't fair because it wasn't my fault.

A woman at church had given me some books on divorce. The first one she gave me made me feel a lot better. It was written for the injured party. Me. It was written for those that had been betrayed by adultery. That was me. The book said that under those circumstances, divorce was not my fault. I didn't have to forgive him and go back to him. It was ok to divorce him. It wasn't my fault. The author backed up her claims with scripture giving instances from the Bible where it said that. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't either. I was certain of that now! I hadn't been before. I'd blamed me. He blamed me. I wasn't good enough for him. I hadn't been a good wife and he had gotten tired of me. The lying, cheating, parasitic, gold digging bastard! I was a lot better off without him. Even without the money. But better with it.

I went back to bed. Again. These nights were so different from the nights when I was full of despair, always broke, bone tired, heart sick and felt like life would never get better. Could never get better. Abby had been right when she had said you can't rely on another to provide your happiness. Especially if the other is a man. She always said, 'A man is not a plan; he's an accessory.' She had told me my happiness was up to me. My responsibility. She was right. There were warning lights in neon which had told me not to marry Rat-Bait and I had ignored them. Does love always come with total lack of judgement? Maybe not now. Now my innocence was gone. Maybe that just meant I'd grown up, emotionally. I got up again and had a warm milk and ginger.

I went back to bed. I was finally feeling sleepy. The sleeping pills didn't care why you couldn't sleep; they just worked. I wondered if Abby's way was better. If that was a better way to look at it. Abby had boyfriends, not husbands. I suspected she looked at people like me and decided not to risk marriage. Abby hated double standards and said marriage worked for men and against women because of those double standards. The belief that men could play up if they wanted to and cheat while women were supposed to be virgins when they married and stay faithful.

My problem was that I wanted a marriage like my parents had. They worked like two halves of a whole. They were on their first marriage; both of them. They had stayed together. But I had picked a bad other half. The really hard thing to reconcile was trust. It had to be given to be got. Love and trust made you so terribly vulnerable to colossal hurt. Relationships were a risk and a difficult-to-calculate risk. Maybe I should avoid them and tell myself I was whole in myself. But I was so lonely and I so longed for adult company. I smiled, wryly; so why had I married Rat-Bait? I doubted he would ever grow up. He ignored reality. The trouble with that was that reality only ignored you for so long. Then it bit you. Rat-Bait was getting bitten. And so far they were just nibbles. Wait till the big bite came. I chuckled, anticipating the other half of my revenge; him finding his ill-gotten gains gone.

Our original master plan, the intended outcome of the sabotage, had been to capitalise on Rat-Bait's suspicious beliefs. Karma. Eventually, you got what you deserved to get. Your sins came back and bit you. Abby knew a spiritualist. She thought she was a harmless dupe; narrowly educated beyond her understanding in fanciful beliefs. I didn't share them either. People often never got what they deserved in this life. The scales evened up in the next. But Rat-Bait was superstitious. Which meant he kept seeing Donna. And Abby saw her too (but as a friend so she didn't have to pay her) and kept loading the gun. Unknowingly and innocently, Donna fired the bullets. Abby had discreetly checked. I said Donna was a bit dense. She seemed to believe any tip-offs were divinely inspired rather than manipulatively malicious when they came from Abby. We don't know what she told Duncan but Abby conspired to ensure that Donna believed Duncan was due a lot of bad luck, richly deserved bad luck. It was coming in spades.

I didn't know how many women owned those feminine clothes in his bedroom but I had noticed three different sizes. Which meant relationship break-ups. Sally had left a lot behind; all black or red which she had said she didn't like. Rat-Bait had bought her what he liked. Not what she liked. It was all about him. He never considered what others liked. Like me. Like Sally. But there were a lot more woman's clothes there now than Sally had left. Rat-Bait had clearly moved at least one other women in and I suspected more like two. In just a few months, since Sally. That was disgusting. Amongst that underwear had been whites and blues and purples and greens. Rat-Bait didn't like any of those colours. Which is why those were my colours now. And beige; not because I liked it but because it went under anything and didn't show.

That was another difference between Rat-Bait and me. Investment. I had been married for life. He had not. I wondered if a shallow investment in a relationship meant 'easy in, easy out.' It probably did. Had he followed the same pattern with those others as he did with me? As soon as we were engaged, he started to mould me into what he wanted. I had to dress in what he liked, go to cooking classes, learn the business, simper on his arm, ignore my friends and like his instead and he gradually took over and altered my aims and dreams and plans. That was why my mother paid for my training and got me my job. Yes, I admit it. She called in a favour and got me the job. My mother knew a lot of influential people.

All the moulding I tried to do to him was rejected; vehemently. Especially when I had the cheek to suggest he take over some of the parenting. Not a chance. Everything he didn't want to do wasn't his job and mostly it was mine. He even paid someone to do the lawns and garden after one of the times he hit me. I had had the effrontery to ask him to help me and mow the lawns. Which I had always done because he asked me to. But I saw lawns as a man's job because my father had always done it until it became one of Aaron's jobs and then mine when Aaron left home. And now I understood why he got others to do what he should be doing. He paid them cash. Cash he had to get rid of. Illegal cash. But he also didn't like getting rid of it because he hoarded it. He was a puzzling contrast. I yawned and turned over. My mind was racing tonight. Mostly happy racing. Life was full of hope.

The only downer was that I had now had two nights without doing any overtime from work. I had some catching up to do. I'd have no time off any evening for the rest of the week to keep in character but the decent washer and the dryer meant I would not have to work during the weekend. I could play and I don't mean with the kids. Doing the laundry was now so fast.

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

Tuesday, June 13th

I arrived home from work the next evening to see Rat-Bait's car outside my home! I charged in to find two uncomfortable-looking kids in the lounge and Rat-Bait smirking at me. He was sitting in my chair, looking like he owned the place. Dewey was about as far away from Rat-Bait as he could be. He never liked Rat-Bait. That cat had good judgement. Better than mine. One of the kids had even made Rat-Bait a drink! More than we got in his place! I'd bet he asked/demanded it off Jenny. "What do you want?!"

"You don't have to be like that Jo. I wanted to talk to the kids and discuss things with them. They should be involved in this too."

He wouldn't! "Involved in what?"

"I told the children I want us to be a family again. I made a mistake. See, I can admit it."

"No."

"Well it's not just your choice. The children should..."

"Like Hell it's not my choice! Stop trying to manipulate my children. You're just using them to get what you want."

"Well that's not very nice. They're my children too."

"Really? You only notice them when you want something. You're $7,200 behind in child support. You haven't taken Jenny out in over two years. You've never had the kids even overnight. You don't ring them up. You don't come to see them and this is the first time you've ever come here." And the last I hoped. "You live in the same town and ignore their existence." I hated him being here. I felt threatened and on the back foot. He was trying to dominate me in my own house. He _was_ dominating me in my own home. He had that look on his face when he looked at me that was superior to inferior.

Duncan reached into his pocket, "Here's the child support. You're hung up on money, aren't you?" He tossed it in her direction.

I caught it. And pocketed it. "Easy for you to criticise when you have so much and we have so little. And there are three of us and one of you." I stalked over to my bedroom, counted the money, five thousand dollars? I shakenly wrote out a receipt and updated my account book that I used for child support payments. That were so rare. Like in nothing for the last five months. I hid the cash then walked out and handed him the receipt. Plus I underlined that he still owed $2,200. Not my fault. Well maybe. I was an idiot to believe he would actually pay $100 a week a child. When I had traded him my half of the furniture for that promise, I reasoned I would need the ongoing cash. Of course that part was right.

He went to grab my hand and I dodged. Least I even think about being tempted, I remembered and held in my memory the sight of all the women's underwear in his wardrobe and in the drawers. But as I looked at him, the thought of sleeping with him creeped me out. The thought of him touching me creeped me out. He creeped me out. He was dominating the conversation and occasion. In my house. The TV remote was in his hand.

"We need to talk about this Jo. All of us."

"No we don't. I don't love you. I don't even like you. I'm not going back to you. If the children think it's a good idea, I've raised two stupid children." There. He wasn't the only one who could manipulate. "I don't like you being here. I want you to leave and get out of my house. You're only welcome if you're outside the house and if you're coming to pick the children up."

"Well Jo that's not nice. Something smells delicious. I was hoping to be invited to tea."

I thought unprintable thoughts. "No. I don't like you being here and you're sitting in my chair. I want you to leave. Now." I was watching his expression. I saw the charmer disappear and the pleasant and managerial smile appeared. Like a computer screen opening in my memory, I remembered the ways I had had to continually monitor his moods and adjust my statements and replies accordingly. For safety. To avoid being belittled and criticised and yelled at and hit. Oops. I had first given away my reluctance to obey his orders and now my refusal to obey. I watched his expression change again as he looked at me. It went to controlling. I took a step back.

"This is ridiculous. You and the children are coming home with me. And I want my tea first. I'm hungry."

A smile appeared on his face. A familiar one. A cautioning one. I knew it well. It meant I was on my last warning. If I didn't do what he said there were going to be consequences. And the children were here. I had to protect them. I walked out into the kitchen. I could feel the sneer behind me. I didn't need to look. He thought he'd won. I switched on the kettle and covered by the noise, I dialled 111.

"Emergency Services. Which service do you require?"

"Police."

When they answered I gave my name and address and said, "My ex-husband is here. He wasn't invited. I told him he's unwelcome and I told him to leave but he won't. My children are here. I am refusing to go back to him. When he gets that through his thick skull he's going to start punching. I need to get him out of here. I want to Trespass him."

"Is he armed?"

"I doubt it. He slaps and punches and throws things."

"What's happening now?"

"He ordered me to feed him and I'm in the kitchen phoning you."

"Good move. Carry on cooking. Stall him. Don't provoke him. A car is already despatched."

"Thank you." I hung up with relief. The New Zealand Police used to be appalling in my mother's time with domestic violence. They thought it was none of their business. Mum saw one of her friends beaten and no consequences applied to her husband. Even when he gave her black eyes and once broke her cheek bone. They thought a man had the right to beat his wife. They thought a man had the right to demand sex, otherwise called rape. The feminist movement finally got heard as the violence in society in general became more frequent and serious. Women and children started being murdered in increasing numbers. Finally, the police changed their attitude and then their behaviour. Now, they took domestic violence seriously. It was also Tuesday so hopefully they weren't busy.

"Eight minutes," called out Duncan.

Bastard! How dare he dictate to me in my own home! I controlled my mouth. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted the police. I wanted to feel safe in my own home but primarily I had to keep my children safe. I said nothing but neither did I hurry my cooking. I put the rice and silver beet on. Yes I did watch Jamie Oliver but I washed and then soaked my rice over the course of the day. Then drained it, added fresh boiled water and cooked it. That got rid of most of the arsenic or something. I forgot which. Don't panic; low levels. But accumulative.

The silver beet was already washed and I'd cut the stalks out. The children complained if they were expected to eat stalks. I switched it on to cook. I turned the crock pot on high, then microwaved the carrots I had already grated this morning (which stopped the children pushing them to the edge of the plate) and added them to the crockpot. I hoped the police hurried. It smelled lovely. A mince stew with finely chopped onions and garlic and lentils already in it. In case the police didn't come quickly, I microwaved a pasta sauce and added that too to bulk it out. To make enough for four. I made up a mix of flour and water, added some beef stock cubes and shook it. The stew was bubbling. I stirred in the flour mix until the stew thickened up. Damn him. He had no right to order me around. We were divorced. He had no right to order me around when we were married either. I tasted the stew and added salt and some Worcestershire sauce. I tasted and added more sauce.

"Your ten minutes is up."

I checked. Everything was ready. Damn. Double damn. I didn't want to waste good food on him! No way did I want to sit and eat with him. Slowly, I started to set the table. I set it for four. Jenny came over to me and I whispered,

"Go to your bedroom and take Dewey with you. Shut the door." Bless her, she immediately obeyed. Probably to protect Dewey. On more than one occasion, to force me to do what he wanted, he had threatened to hurt Dewey. And Jenny had been there on one of those occasions.

I cut up and then drained the silver beet and slowly started to dish tea up. Was that a car? The door-bell rang. I almost ran to it and opened the door. Police. I could have hugged them; the she and the he. I let them in and gestured to Rat-Bait,

"I want to trespass him."

"Well there's no need for that! If you didn't want me here you could have said so. You invited me for dinner."

"I didn't. I told you to go. You refused. You demanded I feed you. We're divorced. Get out of my house and don't come back."

The male cop fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and walked towards me. Rat-Bait moved to intercept and the female cop stepped in front of him. He moved a step forward and she stood her ground.

Duncan looked at the cop who was almost eye to eye with him. She might have been pretty with some make-up on and decent clothes. Or better still no clothes. But he didn't like her expression. She smiled at him and it wasn't a nice smile. He was disconcerted but he had to stop this nonsense. He moved his shoulder to push her out of his way and she pushed back.

"That's assault sir."

"What?"

"You just assaulted me."

"You didn't get out of my way."

"It doesn't work like that. I'm in charge here. _You_ stay out of _my_ way."

I froze, frightened for her. The male cop was helping me fill out the Trespass notice but he was also acutely aware of his partner judging by his glances. There was silence. I quickly looked around. Sam was sitting, watching everything, silent. Jenny was behind me! Duncan could erupt at any moment and these cops weren't armed.

"I want to talk to you," Duncan said to me.

"I _don't_ want to talk to you. I want you gone."

Duncan looked at the cop who was hard up against him and wouldn't move. He glared at her. He felt unnerved as she smiled her nasty smile back at him.

I signed the paper and spun towards the fax machine. I knew how this worked. I made two copies, gave the original one to the cop and put one by the fax machine for me. The other, I held out to Rat-Bait, keeping as far away from him as I could and keeping the female cop between us.

The male cop walked over, "I suggest you read this very carefully sir. Judges look unfavourably on people who break it. It's a piece of paper that can make a great deal of trouble for you. It means stay away from her. This is the first level. If she chooses, she can make it a Protection Order which means no contact at all by any means including electronic or third parties except by her permission. By what we've observed, both my partner and I would back her on a Protection Order."

Duncan stared. This was getting out of control. He knew what a Protection Order was. He also felt he would have to leave it for now. He wasn't going to get anywhere with these two. They were clearly on the whiny bitch's side. He stalked out to his car, turned to go and when he looked back at the house the police were still there. Furious, he drove away. He'd come back later. So it would have to be Takeaways again. He had wanted some good home cooking. That stew smelt good. She never appreciated all the good things he had done for her like sending her to various cooking classes. He wondered why those cops had taken her side so quickly and hadn't been even prepared to listen to him. If he'd got her alone, she'd soon have changed her mind. He decided on a roast chicken meal. It wasn't as nice as home cooked though. He didn't get to choose the vegetables. Pumpkin and carrots weren't his favourite veges.

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

I leaned against my chair, shaking. What had I done? He would come back tonight after the cops were gone. As if she had read my mind the cop said,

"He's likely to try to come back tonight. Do you have a brother or someone who could stay with you? If he breaks the Trespass Order, we can up the ante to a Protection Order." Demi looked at the frightened woman and thought she knew what she was thinking. The law had some major shortcomings. They couldn't act until he committed a crime. Which could be murder. She recognised Duncan's type. He was determined to get her back and they had two children he could use to threaten her with.

"I can't stay guarded all the time. Once he gets another woman, I'll be safe."

Jenny came to a decision and scooted into her mother's room. She quickly found the phone and scrolled through finding the name she wanted and rang it."

"Hi!"

"It's Jenny. Mummy's just had a fight with Daddy and the Police think he'll try to come back when they leave. Can you come over?"

"I'll be there ASAP."

Jenny put the phone away and snuck out into the lounge. She went down the hall to her bedroom and let Dewey out. She scooped him up and hugged him as she started to shake. She fought to stop herself crying. She decided she didn't like her father anymore. She went back into the lounge and listened and watched as the Police talked to her mother. Why did he have to do things like this? Why couldn't he just love them? Why was he so nasty to Mummy suddenly? Mummy had been helping him.

Things had just started to settle down and now this happened. Mummy had been getting happy. Now she was upset and frightened and it was all his fault this time. She shouldn't have let him in. She was pleased to see him but he had stalked in and started ordering her around and sat down on Mummy's chair and changed the TV channel. It was her turn to watch TV first then Sam's then Mummy's last. She had tried to explain that but he'd ignored her so she had made him a coffee after explaining they didn't have any beer. Mummy didn't drink it. And they didn't have any wine either. Mummy didn't have any alcohol.

He hadn't been pleased about that. He had thought she was lying and searched the kitchen and checked out tea in the crockpot and said he was staying for tea. He had told Sam to go and buy him some beer but Sam wasn't old enough to buy alcohol. Sam had explained that and Daddy had sworn again. He wanted beer. Jenny explained that Mummy said she couldn't afford it and coffee was cheaper. Daddy didn't understand that and swore at Mummy behind her back. He kept saying nasty things about her but also kept saying he wanted her back. He said they should be a family again. But they weren't a family anymore because he had wanted Sally, not Mummy. Jenny was very confused. Why did he say he wanted her back when he kept saying she did things wrong?

• • •

The police finally left and I turned to tea. My stomach was in knots but the children would be hungry. The rice and silver beet were cold. I tipped the rice into the batter bowl, added a little water and zapped it in the microwave. When it pinged, I dished up some and put the silver beet in another dish and zapped that. I should have zapped the silver beet first and then dished the rice up. I wasn't thinking straight. I dished up the casserole and by that time the silver beet was hot. Finally, we sat down to tea. I struggled to eat because my stomach didn't want food and my hands were shaking so much, I spilled half the food. I couldn't talk to the kids. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what they would think of all this. I didn't know if they would blame me for this and think their father was in the right. And I knew if I started to talk, I would cry.

I had just taken a few bites when the doorbell rang and I dropped my fork. I screamed at Jenny as she ran for the door. I leaped up as she peeked around the door and then opened it. It was Mike. The mix of emotions, from sheer terror to relief, over whelmed me and I started to cry and shake. In front of my children. I heard Jenny talking as Mike strode over and hugged me. Although I tried so hard, it was several minutes before I could pull myself together and finally, I stopped crying, burrowed into Mike. I felt so safe with him here.

Sam stared. He couldn't remember ever seeing his mother cry like that. He didn't know what to think. He was totally confused. This was all a little overwhelming. His father said it was all his mother's fault that they had separated but Sam wasn't so sure about that. And what was Mike doing here? He'd bet that was Jenny's fault. She was looking very pleased with herself, while his mother clearly hadn't been expecting Mike. He watched as Jenny cheerfully dished up tea for Mike and within a few minutes everyone was eating. Except him. He'd finished.

"Well that was very nice," Mike said contentedly as he finished his tea. "I love mince stew." He didn't confess he'd already had a pizza. Part of a pizza, by the time Jenny had phoned him. Coal liked pizza too. He was betting the cat was finishing it off. He'd dropped his pizza on the table and run. Literally. It wouldn't be there when he got home. Coal never let a chance go by.

"So what happened tonight?" Mike asked softly and listened as, mostly, Jenny and Sam gave him an out of sequence account of the afternoon's incident and the arrogant attitude of their father.

"He just stalked in like this was his place and started ordering us around," said Jenny indignantly. "In our own home."

"He ordered me to go and buy him some beer," Sam added.

"How old are you?" Mike asked.

"Nearly fourteen."

"How old do you have to be before you can buy beer?"

"Eighteen."

Mike looked at Jolene and shook his head, "Attempted corruption of a minor. You only look sixteen," he said truthfully but also aware that Sam would take that as a compliment.

"So you kids, how does a Trespass Order affect you?"

"I think we're still allowed to see him?" Jenny asked him, "But we don't let him in and he's not allowed here?"

"Correct. So what do you do if he turns up here?" Mike asked. He looked at two confused children. "You call the police and use your cell phone to photograph him. That gives you proof for the Police so they can tell him off."

"They should run." I said. "Run and call for help."

"No," said Mike. "Not if that means leaving you alone with him." He leaned over and took Jo's hand. "You're a family, the three of you. Families stick together and help each other. Unless he's a very good fighter. Is he?"

I couldn't lie, "No. He's a coward. When I fought back, he started threatening to hit the kids. And Dewey. He threatened to hurt Dewey. He bashed me one day when I was carrying Jenny. She was teething and I wanted him to help me with her." I maybe shouldn't have said that in front of the kids but then I rethought that. They needed to know the danger I was in. That they were in. We must not return to that life. From what the kids were saying, he was lording it over them too. And I didn't want him to start putting Jenny in the same category that he put me; his idea of a woman's role. My Jenny was going to learn that that wasn't right. It wasn't just or fair either. My phone pinged and my heart slammed the accelerator down. I got out my phone. A text from Abby. He must have told her.

<What's up?>

<It's alright. Safe now. Mike's here.>

My phone rang,

"What do you mean 'safe now?' What's Mike doing there? What's happened?"

Oh cripes. I'd let the cat out of the bag. "I had some trouble with Duncan. I've Trespassed him. I was scared he was going to come back."

"And you rang Mike. Good move. That explains why I can't find him. I'm coming over. I'll bring his cell phone. I gather he forgot it as usual."

• • •

Abby breezed in forty minutes later after everything had settled down. Her brain had obviously been in overdrive while mine had been in idle. She listened as Jenny, mostly, explained what had happened and then I watched as she picked up my car keys and threw them to Mike,

"Put her car in the carport and yours in the garage."

Mike left to obey his big sister's orders while my brain switched back on. Tried to switch back on. They were setting Rat-Bait up. I opened my mouth and closed it again. Elementary. Stay out of it and leave it to the expert. Her brain works. Her brain isn't shocked.

I watched as Abby confiscated two cell phones off two rebellious kids.

"That's not fair," grumbled Sam as he handed his over.

I wished he would obey me like that.

"If your father asks you why you didn't warn him, what are you going to say?" Abby asked.

Jenny beamed, "Aunty Abby made us hand over our phones!"

"Exactly. And that keeps you kids neutral for the time being."

I didn't think that would last. I thought the kids would have to take sides fairly soon and Mike had made his opinion plain as to who they should side with.

• • •

An hour later we were organised. Mike's car was hidden in my garage and Abby's was around the corner. Abby had checked that the curtains were all pulled tight so Rat-Bait couldn't see in. The back door was locked and Jenny and Mike had made the sofa up into a bed for Mike. Dewey immediately claimed ownership and was purring. Of course, he was lying right in the middle.

"We will leave the front door unlocked for now. That way we can photograph him inside the house. It's still too early though. There are too many people about."

I didn't have to look outside. One jogger and two dogwalkers an hour. Too many people? I might have undercalculated the dog walkers. There was a park not too far away. But no, it was winter. Most people drove their dogs to the park in winter. And sometimes in all seasons. The point appeared to be to exercise the dog, not the owner. And the most important aim was that the dog needed to go to the toilet. Which couldn't possibly be on its own property. As you can tell, I'm not a dog lover. My yard gets used as a dog toilet in the front because I have no fence in the front and in the back because of the well-named Doug next door. I read this book once that said you should put dog turds in their owner's mailbox. I'm still thinking about that one. Especially for Doug, the large black mongrel next door who keeps breaking my fence on that side. For the rare times when their property has the gates closed and he needs to get to his favourite toilet. My place. But they assure me it couldn't possibly be their dog's poo. He goes in the park when they get around to taking him. A few times a week if he's lucky. And he couldn't have broken the fence. Which they never fix. Not their dog. Couldn't possibly be their dog. I'm thinking again about their mailbox. Or maybe I'll be nicer and throw the poos on their lawn. So _their_ lawnmower can chew it up instead of _mine_.

The best dog deterrent on the property was Dewey but he was selective. Size matters. And Doug apparently didn't intimidate well. Dewey picked the fights he could win. Not that one. I went and put the kettle on. Planning an ambush was thirsty work.

We had a council of war over the teacups. Well mugs then. It doesn't sound as good. It was now nearly eight o'clock. Nineteen fifty-three hours in military lingo. Sounds better. I was learning about Abby's ambush preparations. She had her priorities right. She had gone to feed Coal first and found out he'd managed to do that all by himself. So she had grabbed Mike's phone and come over.

"So is the pizza on the floor?"

"No Mike. He has better table manners than you. What's left of it is still in the pretty cardboard container and on the table."

The kids giggled. We had a similar ongoing battle with Dewey. We made up rules and he ignored them, broke them, ate it anyway. We learnt and picked our battles. We ignored the occasional scavenging from the rubbish bin and yelled at him when he jumped up onto the benches or table. He had learned. Cat speed. Rapidly for 'yes' rules. Very slowly for 'no' rules. Occasionally, cat prints were found where his paws were forbidden to go. So food got put away, otherwise the kids _and_ Dewey got yelled at. Meat thawed out in the microwave overnight. Yes, the kids weren't the only absent-minded ones and Dewey didn't give second chances. Dewey couldn't get into the microwave or the oven but sometimes the oven wasn't the safest place to hide food. I'll leave you to work that out. Oh, alright then, the smell of burning plastic normally indicated the error there. I wondered how much time Dewey spent trying to get into the microwave.

I reluctantly pulled my attention back to the battle plan but I was happy to leave the planning to others. I didn't want to think about reality. Hard, painful, frightening reality. I'd rather remember the little things. What happened when women didn't have others to help them at times like these? I was so shattered I knew I'd have trouble working out how to brush my teeth tonight. This level of strategizing was beyond me. He was the father of my kids. I'd always have to deal with him. I'd loved that man. What an idiot I was.

The evening went on as we had mild arguments as to what to watch on TV as the boundary crossed into my time for the remote. Kid's time for procrastinated things like homework. Delayed until the last minute.

"I'm too tired now, I can't concentrate. Wake me in the morning."

"No. You won't get up any earlier. You don't get up until the last possible second."

"I'll get him up. What time?"

I looked at Mike. Mike looked at Sam. Sam looked back. I watched Sam get up and go into his bedroom. He went via Abby and held out his hand. She returned his phone.

"I'm bigger than him," Mike said cheerfully.

He was. He was bigger than everyone in this room. Abby always says he pinched some of her height. He was bigger than Rat-Bait. He also had the self-confidence of the larger and more muscular. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight. Idiot! Well of course he could. He'd had to. Abby was his big sister.

I looked at Jenny and she reluctantly headed off to bed too. She was way past her bedtime but she'd got away with it tonight. She scooped up Dewey as she left, collecting her phone from Abby as she went.

As it reached twenty-two hundred hours (10pm), Abby decided to leave saying, "It looks like he's got some sense. I wonder where he found it. It wasn't there earlier."

I chuckled and then as she left, I felt really awkward. I imagined six ears listening carefully. Yes I said six. You think Dewey was an uninterested party? Everything inside the house concerns a cat.

"I'm so tired," I said. "And I forgot to do my outwork."

"Outwork?"

"I bring work home almost every night. It helps pay the bills." I looked around, "did you remember a toothbrush?"

He held up a backpack. "Big sister. She probably packed undies too." He looked, "Yep."

"There's only one bathroom. Sorry. Bags it first. I'll be quick." I was. Sore point. My parents were rich and I'd grown up with a bathroom to myself. I hated sharing. Even with Rat-Bait. Especially with Rat-Bait. He was an untidy slob. Once I paid this house off, I was going to get another one with an ensuite. Just for me. Oh bliss. I snuck off to bed feeling very uncomfortable, in one way, with Mike there but also safe. He hadn't made a move on me and I was grateful for that. He probably didn't dare. He might think I'd tattle on him to his big sister. I started giggling at the thought. I looked, and found, my unsexist pyjamas and put them on. I'd forgotten to tell Mike he could leave the heat pump on if he liked. It was cold, or it would be if it wasn't on. And a warm house made it easier to get the kids out of bed in the morning.

I climbed into bed and turned out the light. Now if you think about it, you'll know what happened next. No, not the Hollywood jump on Mike male-sex-fantasy bit. The reality. The real consequences of such a fraught evening. I couldn't sleep. On reflection I didn't feel safe at all. I was waiting for an ambush and who was the bait? Me. Who else was here? Two children, whom I was supposed to protect. One brave male friend. Oh, and one cat who, if danger presented, would hide. Himself and his tail. Cats don't do 'guard dog.' Not usually. And Dewey didn't like Rat-Bait.

I tossed and turned and turned and tossed. I must have slept briefly, in tiny bits, because I kept waking up having heard a grizzly bear, a polar bear, something dangerous coming. I watch too many programs about Alaska. The dangers there fascinate me. So does the fact that people live there among the dangers. But why would people live there? I wouldn't. Quite apart from the animals and the extremes of temperature, Alaska has mosquitos. Lots of them. But they can't kill you. Unless you jump over a cliff to avoid them.

New Zealand doesn't have bears of any variety. It doesn't have musk ox, buffalo, moose, bison, lynx, wolves and such. It doesn't even have snakes. But it does have mosquitos. The most dangerous creatures here are two-legged, not four legged and one of the two-legged variety was after me. I was scared. I was bloody scared. See? I admit it. Until this evening, last evening, I had felt secure in my own home. Now I didn't. Rat-Bait had taken that away from me. It was infuriating. Now I know why Americans are gun-happy. I longed for a revolver. A big one. A four-four magnum. Of course the kick-back would knock me over. I'm only five foot six. Hand guns are illegal here without a licence and I would need a good reason to even apply for one. The police wouldn't think my wish to knock off my ex was a good reason. I thought it was.

I had to work tomorrow. I hadn't done my outwork. I had to concentrate in my job. How was I going to do that when I couldn't sleep? And I couldn't take sleeping tablets. If; when, he turned up, I mustn't be groggy. How my life had changed in a few hours. Why had I taken out that Trespass Order? I'd increased his anger towards me.

But what alternative had he given me? I wasn't going back to him. Not now. I shuddered to think that I hadn't wanted him to leave me two years ago. But it wasn't just him. I didn't want the shame of being a divorcee. I didn't want the disruption in my life. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be on the discard pile and I didn't want to be seen as fresh meat. And I had no intention of putting the kids through serial stepfathers. It wasn't the kid's choice as to whether or not I went back to Rat-Bait but they did have a choice about any new guy. Like Mike? Don't get ahead yourself, I told myself.

My brain was buzzing. I tried to take my mind back to a happy day. Finding the money would do. And I was as sure as I could be that he didn't know about that.

# Chapter Thirty-Nine

I was fast asleep when it happened. There was a loud crash. One moment I was lightly sleeping and the next moment I was on my feet and flying into the lounge. I turned on the light. Rat-Bait was on the floor and Mike was standing over him. Right on cue, in came two kids. Jenny followed instructions to the letter. I saw the flash and then saw her use her phone.

"Police," she said. "My Daddy's here and my Mummy has a Trespass Order out on him. He's not allowed here."

I switched the light on. I heard Jenny give our address and saw the shocked and betrayed look on Rat-Bait's face. As he opened his mouth Mike said,

"She's following the instructions I gave her. To protect her mother. From you."

"Who are you?"

"None of your business."

I looked at my watch. It was just after three am. I yawned and stayed exactly where I was.

"How did you get in? The door was locked." Mike demanded.

"It wasn't locked."

"Oh yes it was! You have a key. I heard a key in the lock."

"That's rubbish. The door was unlocked."

• • •

Rat-Bait made two attempts to get up but Mike stood on his coat. I could see that every time he tried to get up, Mike put more weight on his coat. He seemed to be applying so much weight that Rat-Bait couldn't get to the buttons to get out of it. There was some language from him that his children really shouldn't have heard. We had a very uncomfortable fifteen-minute wait until the police arrived and Mike finally let him get up. If looks could kill, Mike would have been long dead. Different police. Two men. I was relieved that Mike was there. I would have felt overwhelmed dealing with men on my own; it would have put me on the defensive, very fast.

These two were not as sympathetic and one actually said to me,

"Do you want to take this further?"

Mike jumped straight in, "There is a Trespass Order. It's only a few hours old and he's broken it already. There are two young children here. He is a danger to her. He's broken the law! The law you are supposed to uphold."

"And you are sir?" Asked the same surly one.

"Someone who is a lot more concerned about her welfare than you are about the law. And would you please search him. He has a key. He shouldn't have one."

I watched as the younger one promptly did so having apparently spotted something. He quickly checked the key in the lock. It worked. Everyone looked at Rat-Bait who shrugged,

"Sam gave me a key. So I could pick him up."

"I did not! Mum, he's lying! I didn't!"

I looked at my son and my ex and didn't know what to think and then Jenny said,

"He had your backpack. He was asking you about your homework."

Sam threw a pathetically grateful look at his sister and almost ran for his backpack. He came back with his pack saying,

"My key is gone. He stole it Mum. I never gave it to him."

I looked at Rat-Bait and saw that smirk I knew so well. "So you stole Sam's key while pretending to be interested in his schoolwork. As if you'd be interested in anything the children do. It's all about you."

I turned to Sam, "And he was trying to drive a wedge between you and me. That's what he does."

I listened while Rat-Bait was cautioned and informed he would face a fine. He thought he was getting off easy but he wasn't. I would use this as a justification to take out a Protection Order against him and I could do almost all the paperwork myself. What was my job? Where did I work? Especially, I could do the supporting statement. Rat-Bait had given me a lot more ammunition than I needed. I went over to the desk and wrote down the names of the police and the date and time. He might try to contest it but he wouldn't win. And to my statement I would add all the times he had hit me and the one time I ended up in the hospital. I couldn't prove any of it because I had never told anyone and I had lied to the nurses. But that was normal for women who get beaten up and now, they would take my word for it. They would also take my word on the fact that he had threatened me. Two police call outs, clearly justified, within a few hours of each other and the endorsement of those nice police that came first. That would mean the Protection Order would sail through unless he tried to fight it. He knew I worked in a law firm. I doubted he was that silly.

He had been an idiot to break the Trespass Order. And stealing Sam's key showed planning and intent even prior to the Trespass Order and further justified a Protection Order. He would now be up for a fine at the very least. The younger cop was more sympathetic to me.

# Chapter Forty

When I got to work, after fitful and not-enough-sleep, I got onto organising the work for the day. When all the urgent stuff was done, I sent a message through to my boss Sean, just saying I needed to do a Protection Order against Duncan. Two minutes later he flew into my office,

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, but I had to call the police twice. He's decided divorcing me was a bad idea. His girlfriend walked out on him and he's afraid of the dark. And he's terrified that he might have to look after himself. Because he doesn't know how to." As I said it, meaning to be sarcastic, I realised that most of that was true; certainly the latter. Rat-Bait was like many men and couldn't entertain himself. Quite apart from ignoring his responsibility to clean up his own mess and organising his own life, he got bored easily. I never get bored. There's always something to do. I suspect only lazy people get bored. And people who decide they are far too lofty to do anything they don't want to do.

"What happened?"

Sean's tone told me he wanted a proper answer. So I told him.

"Who's Mike?"

I smiled.

"Ah ha! I knew there was someone! I want details."

Sean sounded like a girlfriend. "He's a mechanic. He's been very good to me."

"Does he make you feel good about yourself?"

"Yes. All the time. And he's fixed my car. Well both of them."

"I noticed you had a new car."

"I got it cheap because of him. And he fixed my other one and I sold it." Well I did sort of. I got $406,000 for it...

"Anyway, I typed this out at home," and I handed it to him. I'd typed it up and Emailed it to the office and then printed it out. My printer was out of ink again. Two kids, remember? He sat down and read it.

"This is good, should go through. Will he contest it? Who's his lawyer?"

I told him.

"Hmm. Sneaky bastard. I'll keep you out of the loop entirely and I'll tell him that. He can deal with me. I'll threaten his client with charges for "Threatening,' 'Entering' and 'Theft of a key with intent,' if he whines. Now you need an intermediary. You have to communicate over the kids."

We went over some of the technical details that had to be worked out. Abby and Mike had both volunteered to be rude to him on my behalf if he wanted to say anything about the kids.

"I don't know what to do about the kids," I said.

"Let them decide for themselves. So long as they're safe with him. Are they?"

"I think so. But both of them told me this morning that he'd said nasty things to them about me. He tried to say the marriage breaking up was all my fault. They both blamed Sally, but I told them Sally told me he'd lied to her and told her the marriage was over before it started. And it was Duncan that blamed me. Sally had believed the marriage was well over and they had been an item for months before I ever knew about her. And there were others. A lot of others." I saw Sean wince.

"I'll get this actioned," Sean said.

As he left, I was relieved. I knew he would action it today. I smiled as I thought of the conversation Mike and Abby and I had had behind the children's backs. When she offered to be an intermediary, I had gently had to explain to Abby that it was safer to pick Mike. Rat-Bait might try to intimidate her. Mike had laughed and told me _she_ intimidated _him_. I had noticed. But I didn't want to be responsible for injuries to Abby. Rat-Bait would be unlikely to threaten Mike. On several occasions he had attempted to hit me from behind although I had got out of his way. That was one of the problems with violence. The threat was bad all on its own. He had actually hit me on only about four or five occasions but attempted or threatened me on many occasions. And I did not want Abby to be attacked from behind. He had also thrown things at me. I was good at dodging. I also noticed that it was my things that got thrown and smashed and not his. Never his. Funny that.

A peculiar thing was how much I had forgotten about his violence. Or had I blocked it out? Mum and Dad and Abby had queried a few things when I finally admitted he had been violent. It had been 'oh yes I forgot that,' moments. I wondered how I could have forgotten, but I had. And my father cited a quarrel he had overheard where he had heard me threaten to hit Rat-Bait back and I cannot remember that. Even now. Not that time. But others I remember. And it is difficult carrying on the normal things after something like that. And going to bed with him after he had been violent or threatening felt so wrong. I did not want to get into that bed. Not with him. Getting into bed with him was like colluding with him. Like saying what he had said and done was acceptable. It wasn't. Yet I had stayed. Why was that?

I carried on with my work. Never mind. I had got my own back on him and in so many different ways; the Alfa, Sally, the money and now this. And that Protection Order would make it easier for any subsequent women to ask for protection from him.

# Chapter Forty-One

Yesterday, the Saturday following all this mess, was the usual sports day and my kids tried to get as dirty as possible. No problem; the washing machine worked and I had a dryer.

Today, Sunday, I was sitting with my second coffee and on the second wash of the filthy sports clothes from yesterday when the first kid, Jenny, surfaced. I'm not counting the furry kid; he was up as soon as he heard me head for the bathroom. No problem getting him into or out of bed and he's dressed in a flash. He had me well trained though. He got his breakfast first. The consequences of putting up with his various forms of manipulation if I fed me first, were not worth risking. He'd even, when totally frustrated with lazy servants, been known to nip toes. But he was a dainty eater and still eating when I started on my porridge. I made a batter bowl full, put it in the microwave and put the brown sugar and golden syrup tin on the table. I opened a tin of evaporated milk and luxuriated in the taste of it and the golden syrup on my porridge.

"Good morning," I said to Jenny. "Porridge is on the bench. How many bruises?"

"Didn't look," she answered as she filled up a plate from the batter bowl.

Usually, she and Sam boasted of their various sport-caused bruises. The kids got porridge in the winter and Weetbix in the summer. In the Christmas holidays, as a special treat, they got to pick a box of cereal each. Something else. Something much more expensive, with more sugar in it and less nutrition. I told them Weetbix and porridge were better for them. Well they were. They were also much cheaper. Cooked breakfasts didn't get made in this house except very occasionally. And if they did, they were eggs without the bacon or pancakes. Both kids could make pancakes but the execution of this particular task was intermittent. The nagging of the mother however, to do so for them, was frequent. As in a nearly every weekend basis.

We should be going to church and the kids to Sunday School but the mother in this household was having a little conscience problem. As in grand theft. But what could I do? I couldn't put it back. And he owed it to me and he was laundering it which was illegal. It was a mess. And it was all unplanned as in the quantity. I was so pleased I had insisted (was it me or Sally?) that we had had left all the loose stuff. That so far had delayed him finding out, I was sure. He was way too calm. And I was also thinking of the weight of the box and the difficulty of getting it out and back in. It had taken Sally and I. That might delay him discovering the theft. But I was having difficulty understanding why he felt the need to hoard all that money and keep adding to it. And this while refusing to support his own children. How did that work?

Sometime later, Sam straggled out of bed and made it to the kitchen. There was a litre left of the porridge mix I had made and he shoved it back into the microwave to heat up and headed to the bathroom. Within a few minutes of his return, in two large platefuls, he had demolished the lot. At least porridge was cheap and filling. Keeping him fed was a problem and Jenny would be entering her growth spurt soon. I would have two of them surging up at the same time. I had to keep reminding myself that it didn't matter now. I would be able to afford to feed and clothe them. I was now quite conflicted about the money as you have by now figured. I justified it to myself that it would be used for and left to his children. I now knew that they would get little support from him for the rest of their lives. They would be lucky to inherit anything from him as well, as it would go to the current 'latest.' It was just as well they would inherit from me. My boss Sean, as well as Nadia, had insisted I change my will as soon as we split up, even though I couldn't believe what was happening. They could.

I wondered, not for the first time, how I could have been so blind. Rat-Bait had turned out to be a cheating husband, a rotten father (past tense and present tense) and a dishonest businessman. Plus he had zero financial judgement. What had I seen in him? I was severely shaken in my ability to pick a good man. How could I have gotten it so wrong? And it wasn't just me; he had treated Sally just as badly. That did make me feel a little better. Sally had gone up in my estimation. I still was disgusted at her cheating on me but he had lied through his teeth to her. She was smarter and more street-wise than me. I hoped she was doing well. Oh, that shocks you? The better she did, the safer I was.

It was disquieting to know that Rat-Bait would now be aiming to get another woman and I was sure he would. He was so shallow he would have gone from getting ready to marry Sally, to now looking for a replacement and probably overnight. God help whoever he got. He was a charmer, good looking and appeared prosperous but he was also superficial, shallow, lacked ethics and was totally undependable. So I tell you again he would be looking for a replacement woman now. He couldn't cope on his own. He was like a helpless child who couldn't care for himself and had no intention of ever learning. He hated living on his own. He couldn't cook, had never done the laundry, didn't do housework and didn't deal with all the complexities of life outside of selling cars. Any of them. I had done all the organising, bill paying, appointment making and reminding. He just expected others to do everything around him, for him while he worked and then came home and slouched on the sofa, guarding the remote and waiting for maid service. All those mundane things that he seemed to feel were beneath him? I would be interested to know how he solved them and the bill paying, now without Sally.

Before I met him, he was forever getting threats of legal action, final notices, his power was cut off and his phone was forever being cut off until I set up the direct debits. Sally had probably continued all that and he would be able to run on that for a while. But when something went wrong, like a direct debit failed because he didn't have enough money in his account, he couldn't handle the problem. He would cope by ignoring the issue at first and hoping it would go away. He would only attempt a solution when some type of consequence was incurred like a service being cut off or a bailiff. And then he would be indignant. He did not deal with reality. He needed a woman to do that for him. All he was good at was selling cars because to him it was like a sport or a competition. It was fun. He had explained that to me once. It explained why he 'worked.'

I looked up as Jenny came back in, carrying Dewey, all dressed and ready. Jenny was all dressed I mean. Dewey was dressed all the time. I looked at my watch. Mike had suggested we get there at about 1pm. I pointed at the washing pile and as I saw the indignation on her face I said,

"Don't you dare moan. I took me hours to do that washing. The least you can do is put it away. It'll take you minutes." Honestly, you'd have thought I'd asked her to climb Everest before lunch. And I had been reliably informed by many people that it just got worse from here on. Getting kids to perform any household task I mean, not climbing Everest. Climbing Everest is probably easier. It would certainly take less time. Rearing and training kids takes eighteen to twenty years. Each. I should have chosen Everest. A few years training and I would have knocked it off.

I didn't have the same battle with Sam. He just took the clothes and emerged from his bedroom two seconds later. He shut the door on the evidence. The sins of omission, I mean. For the puzzled with no children, that means he hadn't put anything away.

I continued getting tea ready, loading one lot into the crockpot and one into the oven on low heat. Finally it was 1pm and we were climbing into my Honda, which was a lot more comfortable than Mike's Ute I surmised. It was also cleaner. It was cold and wet so It was Plan B. Plan A had been the beach and fishing. Mike had all the gear. Sam had been real keen on that. Surfcasting had been the plan.

"It's our turn to pay today," I told the kids. "Mike did a full service on the Honda for me. I owe him." I didn't mention how much I owed him for the security guard service.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

"Star Wars movie." That put two happy smiles on two faces. Three counting mine. We picked up Mike and Martin and delivered the kids to the matinee. Sam didn't even need to nag me; I bought the tickets and a bucket of popcorn.

The movie was great and we all enjoyed it judging by the happy expressions and I had another treat planned. We set off in my Honda and within a few short minutes, the three kids had worked out that we weren't going to Martin's home, our home or Mike's place.

"Where are we going?" Jenny asked.

"It's a surprise."

It didn't take my kids long. They knew the way.

"Gelato!" Jenny yelled.

I winced at the volume. My tactic was to fill them up again so I could be left in peace to finish tea. I had a meatloaf in the oven but I needed to cook the greens and the potatoes. Or if I felt lazier; rice. The kids didn't care which and they had learnt to make fried rice out of the leftovers for after school snacks. They were getting increasingly inventive and innovative with recipes and had discovered how to make sauces; out of sauces. In other words, tip half a bottle of sauce in, discard the evidence in the rubbish bin, don't write it up on the grocery list and don't tell Mum.

You can see the problem. Items I went to the cupboard for weren't there and no one knew anything about it. When the kids were younger, I used to have an almost photographic list of the contents of my cupboards in my brain and could confidently set out to put a meal together without looking. Now, ingredients were increasingly missing. The joys of kids. Particularly ones in the house alone after school and before I got home.

We got home, the kids boiled into the lounge and put on a Star Wars DVD, an old one, and Mike and I retreated to the kitchen for a kiss and a cuddle and some cooking. More of the former and less of the latter. We had fun and we also somehow managed to peel the potatoes and put them on and then cut up some cabbage. I grated some carrots into the cabbage, added butter, pepper and salt and a tiny bit of water and set it on low to steam. At least my kids would eat it like that and I'd see what Martin thought of it. I tipped some of the fat out of the meatloaf and again had to persuade Dewey that he couldn't eat it hot. He had to eat cat food until it cooled down. As I put it back in the oven, somebody's arms slid around my waist.

"Smells yummy. What's the recipe?"

"Mincemeat, sausage meat, beef stock cubes, Worcester sauce, ketchup, onions, egg and whatever else I feel like adding. Grated carrot."

"Why do you grate the carrot all the time?"

"So the kids have to eat it. Otherwise they won't. They pick it out if they can see it. It's good for them. It also bulks out the meatloaf and makes it moister and nicer. And it's cheap. Does Martin like carrots?"

"I don't know."

"Tsk tsk." I noticed Dewey had given up on his few minutes of hunger strike and was eating the cat food I had put out for him.

Mike and I had some more cuddles and by that time the tea was ready and Mike was setting the table for me while I mashed the potatoes. I dished up while Mike hollered for the kids. The DVD was temporarily halted. It always amazed me how long it took to cook a meal and how, in ten minutes, it was gone. But there were leftovers. I had plans for the leftovers. Meatloaf sandwiches which I loved. Now I just had to ensure there were leftovers. So the surviving meatloaf had to elude three kids and a cat. I hid the remains in a clean dish in the microwave and when the kids looked for more, they saw the empty casserole dish it had originally been in. Classic misdirection!

I dished the rice pudding up which was in the crockpot and there was heaps of it. Cheap food and filling. With a can of peaches and a can of pineapple for added nutrition. The kids got up for extras and all three had two plates each and there would be some left for after school tomorrow. Three full kids were now moving more slowly as they returned to the DVD and Mike and I stacked the dishwasher and kissed and cuddled.

We separated as we heard the DVD finish and when the kids arrived back in the kitchen we were innocently sitting at the (cleared) table with empty coffee mugs in front of us. A mince stew was bubbling in the biggest pot. Tomorrow night's tea. I boiled it hard for an hour and then put it on the bench to cool.

We watched another DVD, all together and then finally, it was time for Mike and Martin to leave. As two tired kids got ready for bed, I made meatloaf sandwiches and loaded up the lunchboxes. Pink for Jenny, green for me and a larger sized blue one for Sam. The colour and size choice meant the kids never mixed them up. Sam collected his first and he wouldn't be seen dead with a pink lunchbox. Finally, Dewey got some meatloaf. I tipped the leftover veg mix into a container and the leftover potatoes into another container. The now cooled pot of mince went into the fridge, safe from Dewey and that was most of tomorrow night's cottage pie done.

# Chapter Forty-Two

Getting up early, I soaked a cup of lentils and skimmed the fat off the mince. I only put a tiny bit of fat in Dewey's plate to shut him up. I threw the rest out for the birds. Dewey would only eat a little fat despite what he said to the contrary. I added some chopped up onions and some grated carrots, added salt and sat down with a coffee and Weetbix. After the kids had left for school, I added the lentils, stirred everything to hide the vegetables, added frozen peas and corn (I didn't have to hide them), spread the mashed potato on the top and returned the casserole dish to the fridge. The rain had gone and the sun was out and I was looking forward to next weekend and more cuddles. In reverse order.

I scooted happily off to work. It was getting to be so much fun to be answering texts from a boyfriend and making them too. Mike and I were not talking and not planning. We weren't there yet. Just at the kissing stage. Lots of kissing. I loved it. But did I love Mike? I didn't think so. Not yet. I liked the yet. As I arrived at work, I dragged my mind back to the job. On an impulse, I sent another text to Mike.

<Want to come for tea? Cottage pie.>

<Yes please>

• • •

I got on with my work and looked up as Sean came in a few hours later and shut the door. Immediately, I knew why. The Protection Order. Sean had told me Rat-Bait was fighting it. "Any problems?" I asked.

"Pretty much a typical response. He has made a whole pile of counter accusations which I have declared as malicious, intended to deceive, spurious and intended to pervert the course of justice. He tried to charge Mike with assault but I said without any medical evidence and with the police at the scene seeing nothing visible and no sign of injury and no complaint at the time, he had no case. He also has been unable to deny that he was working the day after the alleged assault. He, of course, denied ever assaulting you, but since men always deny that and since you weren't charging him for it, that was pretty much ignored. He's declaring Mike is unfit company for his children and they are at risk from him but again, with no evidence, he has no case. Mike has no police record and no history of domestic violence."

I'd thought that, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. "I told Mike to stay away from Duncan and cautioned the kids not to tell their father anything about Mike for Mike's safety."

"Duncan is apparently obsessed with finding out who Mike is and assumed you two had been having a torrid affair for years."

"I'm not sure when I would have found the time or the energy. I only met him a few months ago."

"Yes, I know exactly when. I noticed the smiling and definitely the humming. Duncan's lawyer tried to shut him up but Duncan wouldn't listen. He helped the case against himself by opening his mouth and placing both feet firmly in it."

Sean was smiling but I wasn't. That bastard who was totally amoral, cheating, dishonest, breaking the law and exposing my son to women's underwear all over the floor was maligning _my_ morals? What did all that underwear everywhere tell my son about his father? Rat-Bait was collecting it. It was like a trophy only on the floor instead of on the wall. So he could walk over it? Walk over its' previous owners?

"What do I need to do?" I asked.

"Nothing. The police evidence and his breaking the Trespass Order is all we need. He's proved, by that, that he is a risk to you. Relax. I can't see any reason for this not to be granted."

I heard the confidence and hoped he was right. Rat-Bait would have an oily, amoral lawyer but he was fighting a law firm that specialised in these types of things. And who took the case? One of the bosses of the firm. And it would be costing Rat-Bait big time and it was costing me nothing. But it put a damper on my day. Which meant I upped my game and worked harder to burn off all the anger and distract myself. Which worked. I found myself calming down. I checked my watch seeing it was almost knock off time and who was coming for tea? I smiled. Due to my anger and the subsequent speed I worked at, I had done an hour of what normally would have gone home with me. I would ensure I charged Sean no overtime this week but I would still do the work. The outwork I mean.

Arriving home with groceries, I cut up the broccoli and cauliflower and put them all in a large pot. I tidied the lounge and kitchen and casually informed the kids that Mike was coming for tea. Neither kid commented so I deduced that conveyed approval or neutrality. I set the table. Mike didn't close his garage until 5pm and he had told me he would have a shower first, so he would be fit for company.

By the smells in the kitchen, toast had been cooked and neither kid was fainting so I surmised one or both of them had had toast. A few weeks ago, the evidence would have been all over the place. Now, most of the evidence was being hidden in the dishwasher. Perfect. And the budget could take the strain. Even better. But they were as good at hiding evidence as Dewey was at hiding his tail. There were crumbs, margarine, peanut butter and two varieties of jam on the counter. I put them all away and cleaned up the crumbs. Mike was coming for tea. I think I've said that several times but I'll say it again because it made me feel so good. I was humming inside. Well maybe outside as well. I didn't have to wait until the weekend to see him. I made a coffee and sat down. I couldn't do anything else until he came. He said he would be here at six. I got up and put the washing on.

The six o'clock news had just started when Mike arrived. I welcomed him in but not with a kiss. Two kids watching, remember? I thought he would sit with the kids but he followed me out to the kitchen.

"I'm just going to be cooking."

"I might learn something."

"You'll learn some short cuts," I said. I turned the oven on and then took the cottage pie out of the fridge, nuked it in the microwave for ten minutes and then put it in the oven. Oh you want to know what happened during those ten minutes? With the connecting door shut? Use your imagination. You can have lots of fun with your clothes still on.

I disengaged myself, succeeding in not giggling like a schoolgirl, turned the oven ring on and put the kettle on. Two arms snaked around my waist and he snuggled in as I hooked the vegetable pot over.

"You're distracting me."

"I'd be really upset if I wasn't."

Two minutes later, I tipped the boiling water over the broccoli and cauliflower and put them on the hot ring. We split apart as we heard footsteps. Sam looked in,

"When's tea?"

"Ten minutes," I answered. Was there a knowing look in my son's eyes? He stood there.

"It stops the veges going mushy," I said, looking at Mike.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

Yep, he was suspicious, "Mike wants to know how to cook. He noticed I pour boiling water over the veg."

"I thought you did that because you're in a hurry," Sam said.

"That too. But the veg taste better and they're crisper. And some people think it locks more vitamins in." I tried not to giggle as my son left, bored.

"You did that on purpose," Mike whispered looking after my enthusiastic cook (not) son.

"It works all the time," I answered in a whisper. Sam had left the door open.

"Did he leave the door open to supervise?"

"No, he never learnt how to close a door. Except his bedroom door."

"Can he close the outside door?"

"Not always."

Mike started to laugh and Jenny was the next to enter.

"Seven minutes," I said pre-empting her question.

"Hi Mike," she said as she turned and left the room. And shut the door.

Mike took a step towards me as I whirled towards him holding the tomato sauce and the salt and pepper. He grinned and headed for the table so when Sam walked in it was all innocent. You see, when the below-ten-minute count-down starts for tea, the kids do a 'is-tea-ready-yet' at intervals of about a minute. Alternating. As if that would speed me up. It has the opposite effect. Past tense. I ignore it now. Mostly. If I'm in a bad mood, it's very annoying. When things were very bad, I yelled at the kids a few times. In those days it was taking all my concentration to get tea ready and I kept being interrupted by two kids, who knew how to read the time.

I checked the cottage pie. Browning slowly. I turned the grill on to speed things up. I checked the veg. Went back and checked the pie. Kept a constant check on both till the pie was browned. I removed the pie and put it on the table. Two kids re-appeared. I checked the veg again. Not ready. I sat down. Two starving kids (who had had toast about two hours ago), stared at me.

"The veg is not ready yet but I can dish up the pie if you can't wait a minute." They couldn't. Why did I bother asking? I dished up, warning them it had been under the grill and was very hot. They ignored me, took a bite, and complained it was too hot. Go figure. Mike and I had the sense to wait. A minute after that, I dished up the veg. Those kids had the look of a starving dog forced to stare at food and wait. At least they weren't salivating.

Tea was very nice if I say so myself. I just did. The kids however were future focused.

"Any pudding?" Sam asked.

"Not tonight."

"But we've got visitors."

"That was a delicious treat for me all by itself," Mike said contentedly. He promised himself to remember not to tell Coal. Coal didn't have a doggy bag. "I could always go and buy some ice cream," he suggested," And your mother could put her feet up while you kids clean up the kitchen for her." Mike noticed the initial enthusiasm rapidly get tempered by the prospect of working. He stared at the kids, eyebrows raised and smiling as Jenny got to her feet and kicked her brother into action.

I sighed as I saw the reluctance of my beloved children to help with any labour they didn't get paid for.

"It's not all their fault," I said. "This was the expectation of their father. He instructed all of us that the world is divided into two; his and hers. I told my kids that their father defined any job he didn't want to do as women's work. That was all the unpaid jobs and the jobs that weren't fun or that he couldn't be bothered to do. Which included all child care and the lawn and the garden. And, of course, all housework. Well kids," I added, "You can see where that got your father. Now he can't look after himself. Look at what I do; I do it all. That's what you need to learn so you can do everything."

"Yeah, don't be a useless git like me. I never learnt to cook. I grew up the only male in a family of females and I was the youngest. There are all sorts of stuff I never learnt when I was a kid and I had to learn the hard way. Yes I can get others to do things for me but I'd rather learn to do it myself. That's something recent. I used to like getting takeaways but I'm sick of the lack of variety. I've been eating takeaways now for nearly three years. The really nice stuff is much more expensive or homemade. My advice? Your mother is right. Learn to do all the boy stuff and all the girl stuff."

I was impressed. I could see the kids were listening to him. It would be fun to teach him. Cooking I mean. What did you think I meant?

I sat down, gratefully, the kids stacked the dishwasher and Mike disappeared out the door.

Mike returned with a packet of ice cream cones and two tubs of four-flavour ice cream giving the kids the impossible task of making a choice out of eight flavours. Well six, because there were two duplicates; vanilla and chocolate. I laughed as he supervised the kids and then he and I made our choices and sat down to enjoy them. Yes of course the kids went back for more. Mike told them they could and I was happy with that. It saved the leftover cottage pie for another night.

In the laundry, was my deep freeze. The laundry contained a lot of things. It had originally been another porch with a clothesline in it. The line assembly was still there. Sometime, someone had enclosed it and turned it into the laundry as well as the back entrance, which made it into a big usable space. So there was room for an old deep freeze. In there, I stashed leftovers and every now and then, when I had no energy to cook, tea would be a freezer dive as I called it. Pick your own tea. And the deep freeze was locked. It had been left behind and the mystery of the lock and why it was there was never solved. The key had helpfully been left in the lock by the previous owners and I took possession. That kept two kids from doing a freezer dive of their own, unsolicited.

I managed to eventually get both kids to bed until finally, it was just Mike and me vertical. I was doing make work in the kitchen and those arms were around me again but there was a problem. Now, I was unsure how to proceed. I didn't want to just jump into bed with him. I wanted to get to know him first. I didn't want to make another mistake. Now how could I get that across without making him feel unwanted? I rethought that. He shouldn't expect me to do what he wanted. There were two of us in this beginning relationship.

Mike kissed me around my neck and said, "Would you like me to stay the night?"

Laughter welled up inside me and before he took it the wrong way, I took him by the hand and said,

"There's a problem. Come and see." We walked into the bedroom and I gestured him forward. I shut the door to drown out his laughter so he didn't wake the kids. I looked at my bedroom wryly. It was a large room but all that was in it was a very old wooden divan bed with three drawers under it. A single. Tatty and marked and clearly old but washable and still within its use-by time. And two mismatched chests of drawers that I had gotten for free. Plus a lot of neatly stacked cardboard boxes.

I watched as Mike laughed and then spluttered out,

"I get the message. The flannel pyjamas helped to prepare me."

I smiled. I was not going to let on that I had specifically chosen those pyjamas. First, for the warmth of the material and secondly because their style made them even warmer. They revealed very little of their contents. Thirdly, because their function, to keep me warm, put them in stark contrast to what Rat-Bait had bought for me. But most importantly, because I chose them. And I chose them for me, not for any man. So their looks were irrelevant. Which was just as well because they were pretty ugly.

"So, I gather there was no spare cash for your bedroom. The kids have nice furniture."

"I bought it for them years ago and then had to fight Rat-Bait so they could keep it."

"So what about yours? This rather mismatched lot."

I pointed to a chest of drawers, "I picked up this one up soon after I arrived here. It was languishing on the verge with a 'free' label on it and the second one was free from an op shop. I think they could see how desperate I was. And how embarrassed. But free or almost free was all I had been able to afford at the time. I bought the bed for ten dollars. I had been sleeping on the original couch which was left behind by the previous tenants. And in the daytime, the couch was all we had to sit on. We also had no TV, no stereo, no table and no chairs but we had a washing machine, also left behind and the house came with a stove. The previous tenants left a few more things behind; kitchen stuff, some linen, the deep freeze, a lot of rubbish and that washing machine. I put a second-hand fridge on time payment so then I had a functioning house." I sighed, remembering my first night in the house.

"I hated my first night in this house. I hadn't had time to clean it properly and it smelt. Three of my friends came around the next day and helped me clean it. Abby hired a carpet cleaner plus the upholstery cleaning attachment and the fact that there was very little furniture in the house made it really easy to clean." I smiled at Mike, "From then on, things improved. My parents bought a TV for the kids."

"And no allowance was made for a boyfriend."

"No. I didn't see you coming. But it's not just that." I took a deep breathe, how was I going to put this? "I..."

"You're not ready."

I looked at him but he was smiling.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have pushed it," he said. "I don't want to get kicked out."

"It's not just that," I said. "I'm not the sleeping-around type."

"Yeah, I can see that and Abby told me that and I should have listened. OK. I'll go home. At least Coal will sleep with me. And he's cuddly too but kissing him just won't be the same."

I smiled, he said that mournfully but his eyes were twinkling. He left after a few more kisses and I went to bed reasonably sure I'd see him again and certain that I had made the right declaration anyway. If this relationship was conditional upon me jumping into bed with him then it was doomed because I wasn't going to. And it was better for him to know that now. With Rat-Bait, it had been all about what he wanted and what I wanted was irrelevant. I looked down as my phone pinged.

< loved the cottage pie. Pretty keen on the cook too XXX>

< thanx, enjoyed the evening XXX> I decided to leave it at that. I wondered if I would hear from him re the weekend but it looked hopeful.

I suddenly realised I had told him nothing about Rat-Bait fighting the order and making accusations about him but I didn't want to spoil the evening. I had wasted enough anger on that bastard today. And there was always the problem of little ears overhearing. Not a good idea. I didn't want to involve the kids any more than they already were.

# Chapter Forty-Three

The next morning, I sent a text to Mike asking him to ring me when he had time. When he rang, I told him of yesterday's developments with the Protection Order but he said,

"Well what did you expect? He's not the type to just roll over and admit it. And of course, he will accuse me of assault. Why do you think I stood on his coat? It was to keep my fists off him. He's that type. Nothing is his fault. Had I assaulted him, I was so mad I would have flattened him. Not a good idea. It doesn't solve anything."

He was right, I thought, which just showed me which man was a man and which man was a child.

"And part of it I understood," he said. "I know you're divorced but it still will have given him a shock and made him jealous to see you with someone else. I felt that way when Gwen and I split up. I left because she was a child, but to some extent I must have encouraged or allowed that. I was furious to find she not only had someone else, but that she was behaving much better with him. Even her voice and conversation had changed. She grew up, almost overnight. Clearly, in some way we weren't good for each other. That made me think a lot but unfortunately, in the meantime, I'd jumped straight into another relationship. Without allowing time for learning anything. I understood all this when it was drummed into me at full volume by Abby. After fuming for a bit, I thought about it and decided she was right. Don't tell her that. So I determined to do better next time starting with allowing plenty of time to get over the last break-up. It's been nearly three years. And each break-up cost me a lot financially. So I determined also that the next woman I was involved with would not be broke so I wouldn't get fleeced if we broke up. She would preferably have a job and assets and be an adult. I scored a three out of three with the one I've got now. And she's a fantastic cook. That's a four out of three. I'm pretty pleased with myself."

I laughed, but I got his point. However he was wrong about the money. I had way more than him. Not that I could tell him that.

The rest of the week whizzed through because we were very busy at the office with work pouring in. This also meant I had even more outwork than usual. Several hours of outwork a night meant I simply did not have time to cook properly, so the kids got cheap takeaways or instant type meals. They didn't care. Every night they watched TV and I sat in the dining room and worked. The trouble with the dining room was that it adjoined the kitchen, as in, it was one large rectangular room; kitchen at one end and diner at the other.

While I tried to work, two kids went in and out of the kitchen, seemingly every add break, foraging, talking, interrupting me and finally just after 8pm on Thursday night I had had enough! I erupted.

"I've asked you to leave me in peace so I can get this work done and I'm being interrupted all the bloody time. I've had enough!" I turned the TV off and ordered both kids to bed. To my astonishment, they both complied. In shock, I think. That made three of us. I slammed the kettle on and made a cuppa. Trying to calm down so I could go back to work.

The solution was obvious. I needed a desk in my room so I could work there. Both the kids had desks but I didn't. You know what's in my bedroom and it is very basic. Three pieces of very second hand furniture with stickers stuck to it, knobs missing, coffee stains, carving that the maker didn't authorise etc. Shabby, unwanted and thrown out. But at least wood is cleanable and it was clean.

For the first three weeks, all that was in my bedroom was cardboard boxes. After three weeks the bed went in first, then the other bits, singly, several weeks later.

My parents came around, looked and offered to help and I let them buy the TV for the kids but nothing for me because I was so ashamed. Ashamed of my marriage failing, my struggles to provide the basics for the kids and being an emotional wreck. I was not able to support the kids through their emotions because I was such a mess. I thought it was all my fault and I must sort it myself. At least I could work.

Truthfully, I think now that my appalling furniture was self-punishment. Of course in reality, I was able to pay cash for anything I liked but now I couldn't. Conspicuous consumption, remember? Suspicious son adding up the money spent.

I sat down with my coffee and got back to work. I could see another two-hour lunch break coming tomorrow. Somehow, I needed to solve this with a minimum of finance or the _appearance_ of a minimum of finance. I saw two choices; slowly build up a nice bedroom suite or buy or make anything that would work. I sighed, given my recent conspicuous consumption, option B was the safest one. The auction house was the best resource. Or op shops. I would have to do some research.

I finished half an hour later, put my notes down and started to tidy up. Part of my bad temper was because I was tired and I had been nearly finished. But of course, since I was working on the kitchen table, I had to tidy up completely for all meals. Which meant my laptop and everything else had to go back into my bedroom or onto my bed or onto the floor because there wasn't anywhere else to put it. My chests of drawers were in use. One as a bookcase and one to hold all my dressing table type stuff. I had learnt not to leave any make-up in the only bathroom which would have been more convenient. I had a daughter, remember? I showered and got into bed but I was still grumpy. I tossed and turned but I was wide awake. Time for sleeping pills? No, I'd taken them last night. I decided to read but there was another problem. For that, I would have to get out of bed to turn on the light and it was cold. No bedside table and no lamp remember? While I was still pondering this dilemma, my phone pinged. I reached down to where it was on its charger on the floor.

<Any good ideas for this weekend?>

<Thinking>

<????>

<2 tired 2 think. Think 2moro>

<OK XXX>

<XXX>

I turned over, smiling. I had said 'no' and he had accepted it. Life was good. I had a say. I was liking this guy more and more and now I felt safe with him. As I lay there sleepily, I had a good thought. The Police Museum. I thought it was in Porirua? Sam was struggling with an essay on crime and punishment and I'd been too grumpy to help him with it. The problem with Google was that it was overwhelming. You asked it for some information and it threw a library on the subject at you. A Museum then. Perfect. That should give him some more simple ideas and a novel angle to make his essay different. I'd had a naughty thought about him using his father as an example of a criminal but that was a little unfair. Tiny bit. Domestic violence? I could teach him quite a lot about that! Don't be mean, I thought. At least I wouldn't have any worries about domestic violence from Mike. I could sic his little sister onto him. Big sister. Little in size and big in authority.

# Chapter Forty-Four

We had a fascinating few hours at the Police Museum that Sunday followed by a discussion about Sam's essay topic while I got tea ready. I had made notes while at the museum with the topic in mind. Sam was on the computer writing up bullet points and headlines supervised by Mike and Jenny and my contributions from the kitchen. Tea was from the crockpot. Lamb shanks and red onion in barbeque sauce which had been marinating overnight and cooking since nine this morning. With mashed potato and a cabbage, red onion, grated carrot mix, steamed in a butter/water/mustard seed concoction. My kids could cope with my experimentations. It was delicious. If the way to Mike's heart was through his stomach he was skewered. We finished that up with the apple pie and custard that he brought.

Mike took Martin home while Jenny and I cleaned up and Sam started filling out his essay. Which had to be in tomorrow. Tomorrow night's tea was going to be a freezer dive plus tonight's leftovers. Jenny and I got first and second choice since we were cleaning up. I was going to clean up the lamb shanks as was Jenny. That meant Sam was relegated to the leftovers in the freezer. Jenny and I would be eating as he grumbled about nothing to choose from. There were probably twenty to thirty different choices. I'm not kidding. Every time there was less than enough for three (and one who ate for two so make that four), it got labelled with description and date and shoved in the freezer. Locked.

Additionally, I had a locked pantry also in the back porch cum laundry which now contained enough food for fourteen days for four people. So every time I shopped, which was every night, I got something extra. And dated it and hid it. You know where I got the money from for my stores.

Organised, see? Everything in the laundry pantry was dated and it would be turned over every year. The kids knew there was food there but they thought it was enough food like rice and noodles to last them 3 days; the earthquake Civil Defence recommendation. Which is all that had been there until two weeks ago. The pantry was old and wooden and battered and didn't look like it contained anything valuable. It looked like an old wardrobe which was what it originally was. Someone, not me, put shelves in it. It was old, solid, dark oak. I inherited all sorts of interesting things from the previous owner(s). Tools and garden tools even.

For disaster preparation, I also intended to get a water tank or two; those 250-gallon white ones in aluminium frames. I hadn't done it yet.

One very full and tired Jenny was in bed soon after Mike returned. Mike and I cuddled up on the sofa with a DVD and one satiated cat who had scored some of the lamb shanks. With the sauce scraped off. No, it's not that I wouldn't waste barbeque sauce on a cat. Don't be mean. He doesn't like sauce. Especially not Worcester and chilli. And he hates Tabasco. He goes into reverse gear. Dewey has a range of likes we are still finding out about but he makes his culinary opinion very clear as regards dislike. Reverse gear gives it a zero out of 10.

I'm not sure I followed much of the movie at times. But we were both well aware of Sam, awake and, presumably, frantically working on his essay which had to be handed in tomorrow. Twice, he arrowed out of his room. Once, to the bathroom and once to the kitchen. Both times, he appeared oblivious to us canoodling on the sofa but I'd bet that he noticed.

As he went back into his room shutting the door to keep us or the TV distracting him, I said to Mike,

"You know the kids haven't made any comment about you. Either good or bad. Has Martin commented?"

"No, he hasn't. And before you ask, he's not used to me dating. He's certainly not used to being included in outings with pretty women."

"I wonder if that means approval. I sense my kids would tell me if it was disapproval. They wouldn't dare tell their father they disapproved of his latest, but they would make sure I knew if they didn't like anyone _I_ brought home. And I've not dated anyone since Rat-Bait so they have no experience with this."

"You'll find their mates at school will have been educating them. That's what Martin says."

I pondered that. He was probably right. I snuggled back into him. My outwork was done, the washing was done and the last load was in the dryer. The dryer and the big Maytag washer were making a huge difference to my life. They were saving me several hours of work every weekend and you know how I'd been spending my free time. I know I've said that several times but it took one of my big problems away and made a simple solution to it. It was so nice to have some free time. And the pocket money system meant the kids were doing the unloading of the dishwasher, the lawns, the vacuuming and washing the floors. It was bliss. In summer, I was going to teach them how to weed the garden and I could put some plants in. Finally, at eleven I got up and said,

"I need to get some sleep."

"You're repelling boarders?"

"Sorry, yes."

Several kisses later he departed and I toddled off to bed by myself after first checking on Jenny, Dewey and Sam. Light off so assignment finished? Never mind. I floated off to bed.

# Chapter Forty-Five

The next morning, I discovered Sam still hadn't finished his assignment so I took him a coffee and said I'd make him some extra sandwiches so he could skip breakfast. He carried on, but he wasn't frantic so I deduced he was nearly finished or checking. He would print it off at the last minute. I had not only bought an ink cartridge but a spare! I remembered times at school when I had worried about an assignment and gone over and over and over it, being nit-picky. Again, I blessed my parents for their supply of old laptops meaning we could each be working on something at the same time. Even Jenny had one but she preferred TV. My Mum's job meant she wanted the latest and it was tax deductible as she kept telling me. Our phones were all their cast-offs too. Rat-Bait told me I wasn't allowed to take my phone and grabbed it from my purse. That was one time I did something about it. When he went to the loo, I swapped my new(er) phone for my old one. Luckily, they were the same size. My phone had almost all my photos of the kids. So many memories. And all my phone numbers. I wondered if he ever found that out. It was probably still switched off. He had taken it just in spite. That phone had been a Christmas/birthday present from my Grandparents.

Back at work, I took another two-hour lunchbreak and toured the second hand shops. I saw nothing suitable. Most desks were far too small. I went back to work, deciding I really needed a table. There were plenty of those and they were cheap.

Sitting at my desk, I opened a letter that I found on my desk to find the Protection Order, which Rat-Bait had contested and dragged out, had been granted. Sean had, as promised, kept me as out of the loop as he could. It had all been done by the lawyers. I had won. Over Rat-Bait, I had won. In law. I felt like a bolt of pure glee. And Sean had told me that he had warned Rat-Bait not to contact me in any way and assured me his lawyer had also so warned him. I knew I was probably safe while this went through but what would happen now? Sean had also done this for me for free; I had written the first submission of course but he had handled it from there.

Leaving early to go home, I scooted into a church op shop and bought, for $10, a table I had seen earlier. It was rougher than the kitchen one but sturdy and wooden. I could put a table cloth on it. I got given, for free, a blanket that was well passed its use by date and categorised as a dog blanket. The shop lady helped me to put the blanket on the roof of the car, then the table and we tied it on.

I got the kids to help me unload it and put it in my room. I thoroughly washed it. When it dried, I would put a tablecloth on it and that would be my desk. It was about four feet by six feet and would be perfect. The price of $10, I left on the top until I started to wash it. I was sure Sam noted it. I tossed the blanket into the laundry. I'd find a use for it when it was clean. Maybe Dewey would like it. It would be fine so long as I never told him it was a dog blanket.

# Chapter Forty-Six,

June 30th

Duncan walked into his office and stopped abruptly. Alison looked frightened and flustered. Two men and one woman, all in suits, were standing over her and his two salesmen were watching, clearly apprehensively. Duncan had a sinking feeling. This looked bad. Was this because his GST return had been late? When was the next one due? He calculated rapidly but no, it wasn't overdue yet. Due next week so he didn't have to worry about it till Friday. He'd better get it done then. So what was this about? His accountant had repeatedly warned him he was in danger of being audited. Oh well, he also told him what strategies to use. Duncan squared his shoulders and walked over,

"What's the problem?"

"Duncan Hinckley?"

"Yes."

"Then these are for you," and she handed him some papers.

Duncan's brain struggled to understand as he looked through the sheaf of papers. He was expecting Auditors. That started with an A. This started with an I. Finally, the light went on. He was being Investigated. This was a whole lot more serious. He looked through the other papers. One was authorisation under some law or another to audit his books, search his office and search his home. Search his bank accounts. His bank accounts? His home? Well they wouldn't find anything at home! Nothing suspicious. Nothing suspicious in his bank accounts either.

"Your staff say you do the books at home."

"Yes." Who was this woman? Who were these men? Shouldn't they be wearing badges or something? Oh, they were. Duncan was still reeling as he found himself being loaded into a car and driven home. And they had confiscated his cell phone. And left one man behind in his office. On guard? Duncan's brain started to work better. His accountant had coached him. He would get through this but he might end up with a bloody great tax bill.

• • •

Sapphire walked into Duncan's home and looked around, carefully. Duncan tried to direct her into the office, which she spent a scant few minutes in. She walked around his home, she continued looking, seeking and finding. It was everywhere; the signs of prolific spending. A huge TV, an elaborate sound system, new and expensive appliances, good furniture, lots of kitchen gadgets. Lots of technical toys cluttering up the lounge. Ignoring his indignant bluster, she walked into the bedrooms. He tried to stop her but Alan was very good at being an immovable object. He was young, large, tall and imposing. He was employed partly for that and partly because he was an excellent defuser. Much better than she was, she admitted to herself. He was working hard; she could hear his conciliatory tone.

"I know this is upsetting Mr Hinckley but it's better just to go along with this. All the warrants are in the paperwork in your hand. Perhaps it might be better if you read that? It would help you understand what's going on."

"What is going on! The office is there. What's she doing looking everywhere else?"

"We are looking for the difference between declared income and apparent income," and as Alan looked, he too could see the difference between, everywhere.

"What does that mean?"

You declared a lower income that we think is the case. We are looking for evidence of that. If you can prove how you paid for things, where the money came from, then you can keep it if it came from a legal source."

Duncan heard his so politely stated vast threat and immediately understood. He sank down, stunned. His accountant had warned him about this frequently, loudly and repeatedly. Confiscation. Second-to worst alternative. He would lose everything that he couldn't show a legal money trail to. Protesting and trying to fight it would just make the Inland Revenue Investigators dig their toes in more. And investigate more. He had been lectured to. He hadn't listened.

His accountant knew all about Al Capone. A famous case in the US in about the 1930's? The triumph of the accountant. No link could be found to prove that multiple murders were ordered by Capone. No link was able to be proved to associate him with organised crime. An accountant had got him by following the money trail. He was convicted of income tax fraud. The end result was the same; imprisonment. Justice was served, and accountancy was the route that had worked.

Sapphire walked down the stairs and into the garage. Jackpot. The calculator in her brain had been adding up the luxuries as she walked through the upstairs, but now it sounded like a Geiger counter at Chernobyl. She could see a large triple garage, well filled with toys. Two expensive cars, she checked, one almost brand new, one just over a year old and a luxury launch, modified so it would fit into the garage. The launch had a detachable top. There was scuba gear, a jet ski, sports and fitness equipment everywhere. She started opening boxes. Most of the boxes had never even been opened yet alone used. Especially the fitness equipment; classic impulse spending. So many toys and luxuries. So much high-volume spending. Clear signs of not only impulse spending but excessive amounts of money. And duplicates of buying; possibly forgetting he already had it. This was prolific spending which his stated income absolutely did not support. High-volume spending that she was well practiced in adding up. She knew her prices. According to Mr Hinkley, he was barely scraping by. That was clearly untrue unless he had another income. If he had another source of income, he needed to prove it. If he had won or inherited any money, he needed to prove it. If he received any money from any source at all, aside from his business, he needed to prove it. She was pretty certain he couldn't. Had he been able to, he would have blurted that out before she got in the door.

In his business, some months he declared no profit at all. She did not believe that. But who was the woman who lived here and did she have an income too? His staff had said he was presently living alone. The flustered office lady definitely suspected Duncan was dodgy on so many levels and had stated his last two exes had not been on the payroll and had both worked there. So they were paid cash in hand?

Sapphire walked through the laundry noticing a matching and updated washing machine and dryer. She looked outside and gazed at the four-wheel drive which also looked near new. Bought just to tow the boat? She walked outside. There was an elaborate outdoor kitchen that looked like it came out of a catalogue. She mused it would have cost more than the kitchen in her home. She only had one kitchen. She lifted the lid of the barbeque. It looked brand new and unused. Ditto the fridge. Never used. It was like these were just garden ornaments and there for show.

There was outdoor furniture that looked wind-swept but posed; not sat in and not moved as it would be, if it were used. He was clearly a messy slob and if he used this kitchen or the outdoor furniture, then it would look like it was used. It didn't. And wasn't there another barbeque in the garage? He needed two?

She added up. With the Ute, she could see nearly eighty thousand dollars of excess spending just in his back yard and nearly three hundred thousand dollars in the garage plus another one hundred thousand in the upstairs. Half a million roughly of spending. All looking to be relatively recent purchases as in within the last five years. She walked back upstairs to find, by the expression on his face, that Duncan had finally caught up with the predicament he was in. She sat down near him.

"Do you have another source of income other than your business?

"Not now but my ex-wife worked. At a law firm. She earned a good wage."

"But you've been apart over two years and a lot of the spending you've done is less than two years old."

Shit! Duncan thought. How did she know that?

"Do you currently have another source of income?"

"No." He knew not to pretend. She would ignore anything he said unless he could prove it. He had been told. Warned. Lectured to. Repeatedly.

"Who lives here?"

"Just me."

"Who owns all the women's clothes. You?"

"No! My ex-girlfriend moved out a few months ago and left some of her clothes behind. Looks like she's not coming back for them."

"I can see at least two sizes."

Shit, he thought, unnerved at her observational skills. "There have been a few other women here."

Did he collect their underwear as trophies she wondered? "Are you currently married?"

"Divorced."

"And the ladies who own the clothes?"

"Sally Johnson lived here for about two years after my marriage ended. And then a few after her."

"Did Sally work in your office?"

"Yes."

"How did she get paid? I understand she wasn't on the payroll and neither was your ex wife but they both worked for you."

Who dobbed that in? "I didn't pay them. We were building up the business for our future." His accountant had warned him here too. He would be in no trouble saying that but lots of trouble if he claimed he paid them in cash, since his office staff would have told them Sally worked full time. Tax hadn't been paid on their incomes.

The personal questions continued, staff, business, who owned what, especially the house, the vehicles and then came the clincher as she said,

"We believe we can see clear evidence that your income is far greater than what you have stated. Can you show me receipts to prove how you paid for the multiple luxuries I can see here?"

"I can't. I keep losing receipts. I'm terrible at paperwork."

"Do you have another income? Have you won or inherited any money?"

"No."

Well at least he wasn't wasting their time, she thought. "If you tell us where you bought the expensive items from, we can trace how you paid for them."

Shit! "I can't remember. I'm a bit impulsive."

Well, she thought. He _can_ tell the truth. "Is anything on time payment or is it all paid for?"

"The house has a mortgage."

"Do you owe money on the cars or the boat?"

"Yes, on the cars. The boat is paid for." There was no point lying. His accountant said they could and would check. Which posed a further problem. The Audi and the boat were partly barter. Swaps and cash. He couldn't tell them that. He had used dodgy buying practices and if he told, he would be in serious danger. More danger than from this woman. Danger from people who considered the law a nuisance. He could hardly explain that he had swapped cars for stuff. He'd put a cash deposit on other stuff and paid in cash instalments. He'd paid cash for the trailer and jet ski and everything else that was less than ten thousand dollars.

"Who signs the tax return and the GST returns?"

"I do. And my accountant for the yearly one."

"Based on the information you give him. The GST returns; who actually does them? The handwriting is different to yours and there are clearly two different styles of calligraphy."

"What?"

"At least two different people wrote out the GST returns you filed. If you just signed them then three people did them."

How did she know that? "I'm not good with paperwork. My ex wife did them when we were together and then Sally did them." And then he thought he could implicate the whiny bitch; "My ex-wife did the last two. Ask her."

"Where is Sally Johnson?"

"I don't know." They hadn't asked where the whiny bitch was. That indicated they knew. He thought furiously about how he could blame her for some of this but it would have to be believable. And then he realised it wouldn't wash. His signature was on the forms. She signed nothing. She had refused to. She had told him she knew some of them were wrong. Silly bitch. They were all wrong.

But the main problem was; if this woman was concentrating on lifestyle, she would take one look at the whiny bitch's hovel and walk out. Sam had told him, when he had asked for something, that all their stuff was second hand. It looked like it. He looked up as the doorbell went but as he stood up, one of the men went and opened the door. His door! And in came a dog and another woman in a suit!

"What the Hell?!"

"Relax Mr Hinckley. This is one of our dog handlers. The dog is going to have a little sniff around to see what she can find."

He sank back down, flabbergasted, as the dog took what looked like seconds to dance around the room and home in. She sat down at the top of his stairs, her tail wagging furiously. His chest heaved in fright. Surely it couldn't smell money? He saw one happy dog and four happy people and he wasn't looking in a mirror. He could only watch in abject horror as his money cache was discovered in another few minutes. The box was hauled out into the lounge and opened. He thought he couldn't be more shocked than he already was and then he saw the bundles were gone. Well most of them. In their place were magazines. His car magazines. Where was his money? Mostly, just the loose change was there. He sat quietly, his brain calculating possibilities, probabilities, likelihoods, conjectures, speculations and consequences. He needed to concentrate on that last one.

"How much is there?"

"I don't know." How true, he though.

"Why are the magazines there?" Sapphire asked.

As usual, his brain worked fast when he was in trouble. "Balance. The box fitted in between the floor joists. It's the right size."

Sapphire looked carefully but everything was a tight fit. She checked and flipped through all the magazines but they were just magazines.

Duncan shut up. He had a fair idea what was coming next.

"Mr Hinckley, you now have two choices," Sapphire said. "We can do some confiscating unless you can provide us with evidence of legal means to ownership. Where the money came from to buy all this. Where the cash came from. We can simply remove things and leave. Without formerly charging you. Or you can contest that and we can charge you with living off immoral and/or illegal earnings and money laundering."

"I won't contest. I can't prove anything. Like I said I'm careless with bookkeeping. My office lady is always complaining." As he watched, the dog was playing with a toy and being praised to the skies by her handler. Her tail was wagging like a helicopter rotor. The other three occupants of his lounge were almost as happy. The only reason their tails weren't wagging too was because they didn't have any. They were counting money and bundling it up. He listened as the woman in charge rang up a towing firm and a removal firm. They must have been on speed dial.

For the next five hours, he watched as many of his possessions were removed. The boat, his cars, and his four-wheel drive disappeared off his premises as he was handed the change of ownership forms to 'voluntarily' hand them over plus the paperwork, keys and handbooks. He didn't think they were allowed to remove goods that money was owed on and then realised that most of this stuff was paid for and it was being removed in a job lot. The cash was removed and he noticed he was just given a receipt. The removal firm emptied his garage and back yard when they arrived just after the tow trucks. Again, he signed a voluntary waiver to say they could take what they liked. He guessed that included the money. He wondered how much was there. He couldn't see clearly but at least $20,000 in bundles just of the hundreds. Maybe another $5,000 in smaller notes. Where was the rest? He felt too sick to look at the amount on the receipt and just pocketed it.

Finally, they all departed and he was left feeling like he had just lived through a nightmare. But he had survived. He wasn't in prison and he hadn't been charged. And he thought they hadn't touched the vehicles on his yard. He hadn't signed any of those over. A lot of them weren't his anyway; he sold many of the vehicles on behalf. Most of the expensive ones. His business was still running. He hoped. So he should be able to survive and rebuild. He walked downstairs. His garage was virtually empty. The motor mower was still there. The whiny bitch's garden tools were there. She'd wanted them but he wouldn't let her take them. That meant she would have to buy new ones. He wanted her to regret displeasing him and making him have to replace her, until the day she died. He could think of no better way to make her pay than to ensure she was as poor as possible. Because that was the worst thing he could think of. You could face anything if you had money and nothing if you had none. He looked around. There was a foot pump he didn't remember owning. They'd kindly left the rubbish bins and the rubbish and almost everything else was gone. His garage was virtually empty. Now he saw it like that, he couldn't even remember what had been on the shelves. He knew what had been parked there though! He'd hardly used the boat. Once, he thought. He stepped outside. The backyard was cleaned out too. His outdoor kitchen was gone, the new one and he hadn't even used it yet. All the backyard furniture was gone too and they'd even taken the shade sail. He walked back upstairs. He wondered why they hadn't removed anything from upstairs. Except his money. They'd removed that.

• • •

"You gather that that was because we might not have won?" Sapphire said when the car doors had closed, "Plus the court and further investigation costs. It would have taken a lot of time and money. And there is an infinitesimal chance that he will go straight from now on." She heard the scoffing signs from Alan as she started the car. "Yes, I don't believe that either. We'll watch him. I'll flag his file and when we have time, we'll go after him. He's almost on the way home for you. Do you think you could drive past once a day while he's closed and photograph the cars on his lot?"

"And then you'll follow the money?"

"Exactly. We'll get him by tracing the cars' ownership and purchase price, versus market value and insured value." She laughed heartily, "The look on his face when the dog homed in on the money. Priceless. I'm surprised there wasn't more cash though. Particularly given who he was seen with," she chuckled. "I'll bet he doesn't know the dog smelled the drugs on the cash."

"That dog is a gift,' Alan said as he watched Carrie drive off with one very happy Treacle, her tail still going flat out.

"We'll just hope some of those notes are the marked ones and that will get Robbie back inside." Sapphire was well content. Duncan Hinckley had not been their target. Their target was Robbie, the drug dealer that had been seen buying a car from Duncan. Duncan was just a bonus. And now on the list to be landed at a future date for crimes he had yet to commit. He'd paid, probably a reasonable proportion, for the crimes he had committed so far. It was a good day. It was an even better day because the Taxation Department would get the money from auctioning off these goods, instead of law enforcement. That was not just the icing on the cake; it meant they got the whole cake.

Duncan watched with relief as they drove away. He didn't know whether to call his lawyer or not. He hadn't been charged. He went to the fridge and removed a beer. He hadn't drunk anything while they were here. He'd been worried they might explore further. On a sudden fear, he checked the drinks cabinet. Half the bottles had gone. All his wine and his whisky. More than half of the bottles. All the full ones? When had they done that? He couldn't remember seeing that. He looked around but nothing else seemed to be missing. He sat down with his beer. He guessed he must have been in shock. He remembered watching a documentary about head injuries in American football players. They could play a whole match and not remember it. He felt like that.

He wandered back down to the garage. He saw a pile of rubbish and was about to tip it over when he realised it was all the stuff that had been in his car. He stood there and sorted it. As if in a dream, he put the true rubbish in the bin and carried the receipts and the stuff that wasn't rubbish, upstairs. He put it all in the office. Then he wondered why he had done that. Oh, of course. Sally wasn't here. He so liked it when she had to search through all the rubbish to find the receipts. It kept her in her place. Showed her who was the boss. He wandered around and then flopped on the sofa. He sank down again. He looked at his watch. It wasn't even three o'clock yet. The day had felt like a week. He hadn't had lunch. He hadn't had breakfast. He went over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Stale milk, margarine and beer plus a heap of sauces and fancy stuff he wouldn't know how to use. He remembered Jenny had cleaned out all the long dead vegetables.

He opened his wallet with an awful premonition and a vague memory. He was right. That woman had taken all his notes. And his car keys. And his car. He shuddered with horror. He had no cash. No money for a taxi, no cash for takeaways and he knew his credit card was at its limit. Over it, they said. Sally used to pay it for him from the business account and since she had left, he had forgotten to pay it. He hadn't paid it since she'd left and they had frozen it. He had been annoyed and done nothing and now it wouldn't work. He hadn't known they could do that until they did it.

He phoned his lawyer but the phone went to answerphone and he didn't want to detail things so he just asked for a return call. He went back to the kitchen and opened the freezer. He found some bread and brought it out. He kept searching, finding anonymous stuff Sally had put there, uncooked meat which was no good to him and then he found some sausages. He hauled them out. He knew how to cook those. He kept looking and found some saveloys. They would be faster and he knew how to cook them too. He put the sausages in the fridge for tomorrow. He put the whole pack of saveloys into a large pot, heated them up and put some toast on. A few minutes later he sat down with six saveloys, four pieces of toast and tomato sauce. He felt better as he finished that lot.

He put the kettle on and made a cup of coffee. He needed a clear head. He went and fished an envelope out of the rubbish bin and made a list. He thought hard. At the end of ten minutes, he had a list of twenty-three names, on three envelopes. All the names of people who had been in his home since Sally had left. Those who would have been able to get the money. All the ones he had left alone in the house or who had slept here. Someone could have got the money while he was asleep. He crossed off the whiny bitch and the kids. He had been in the lounge the whole time they had been there. And if she had had that money, she'd have told him to get stuffed and not been desperate for a second hand washer and dryer. And when they went down to the laundry, the door had stayed open. That left twenty names of women who had been here overnight or longer.

He looked at the list. Sally was a strong possibility. As were a few of the hookers. Especially those two who stayed the weekend. The expensive ones. The ones with all the extra tricks. He put the envelope down. He couldn't prove anything. He had no idea when the cash had gone missing and neither had he any idea who had taken it. The last time he had counted it had been, what five months ago? Six? There had been just under a million. He took a taste and tipped the coffee out. He'd forgotten the milk was stale.

He sat and thought. Since Sally left, he supposed he had dug into the cash a fair bit. He'd bought all his food. And as he'd explained to his friends, he'd become bisexual. If he wanted sex, he often had to buy it. Those hookers that stayed for his days off had stung him for $5,000 each but it had been worth it. There's nothing like good professionals, he thought. They knew what they were doing. So long as it hadn't cost him a whole lot more; like another few hundred thousand. But he'd seen them leave. They'd had a two-seater with hardly enough room for groceries. That money would have needed a large suitcase. They'd had a backpack each and a purse each and the suitcase full of toys. They'd been good value those two. They'd done all his laundry for him as an extra in exchange for copious takeaways; their choice. He chuckled, that weekend had probably cost him $15,000 when you added in the food and the booze. They were well worth it though. One of them had even cleaned the kitchen up. They'd done a lot of other things too...

He wondered what the Tax Department lot would have done if they'd found a million in cash. Would they have charged him? Would that have made a difference? He had a sneaking suspicion it just might have. He suspected it would have put him in a whole new league. Not that that made an almighty theft like that acceptable. So who had stolen his money and how was he going to find out who did it? He couldn't call the police, he daren't engage a detective agency and had no money with which to do so anyway. He was going to have to study those who could have done it. Watch them for signs of excess spending. The first thing he would do if he had money was buy a new car so he needed to look for that. He looked at his list again. Then he took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He checked the receipt for the money. $118,750. That would pay the cars off. That explained why they had removed items that weren't paid for.

So who stole his money? He recalled the whiny bitch had another car but her old one had been written off. Sam said she'd paid about $5,000 cash from her old car towards the $9,500 for that Honda and put the rest on her credit card. He wondered where she had got the money for a car anyway, but then remembered Sam had told him his grandmother had paid for it. Interfering bitch. She should have left her car less.

He went to turn on the TV and sat in shock. His TV was gone. Its huge speakers were gone. He looked around. The stereo was gone. When had that happened? He walked around to see what else was missing. He checked the bedroom. Nothing seemed missing...the TV was gone! When had that happened? Suddenly, he'd had enough. Abruptly, he went and had a shower and went to bed. It wasn't even 6pm. Tough. He turned off the light. At least the water was on and the power was on. He'd had worse.

# Chapter Forty-Seven

A few minutes later.

I'd not long got home. I set up and washed the table to make it into my new desk. I'd microwaved the macaroni cheese I had prepared yesterday after tea and the kids had demolished it in minutes. While Sam stacked the dishwasher, I dried the table and then put a blanket and then a tablecloth over my new desk and loaded my laptop, satchel and work stuff on it and up off the floor. I went back to put the kettle on and I was tidying up the kitchen when the doorbell went. I went to answer the door. There were three suits there. Two male and one female. "Yes?"

"Mrs Jolene Hinckley?"

"Yes?"

"We're from the Inland Revenue Investigation Department. Did you do the last two GST returns for your ex-husband?"

"Yes."

"May we come in please?"

I didn't know what to do and found myself walking backwards as they walked towards me. I noticed the woman was having a good look around my house. I watched as she then walked around my house, very obviously continuing to look. I was shocked and didn't know what my rights were. Was I being investigated too? Did they know about the money? Were they looking for it? Were they looking for evidence of where it had been spent? I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I _should_ do. Confused would do, I decided. I could do that.

The woman said, "We understand you have a Trespass Order out against Mr Hinckley. Could you tell me please why you did his GST returns?"

"He paid me to do them. That was before the Trespass Order. I have a Protection Order now. He paid me his old dryer for the first return and a washing machine for doing the second one. Both second hand. Sitting in his garage. I didn't have a dryer and my washing machine was too small and it kept breaking down." The younger man handed me some papers but I couldn't concentrate on them and I couldn't believe what the woman was still doing. She kept looking at everything. She walked into the kitchen. She opened my fridge and looked inside and walked into my laundry as I followed.

"Is this the washing machine and dryer he gave you?"

"Yes. The ones I earned! He never gave me anything. What are you looking for?"

"Signs of excess spending."

Here? "I have a job. Full time with overtime."

"Yes we know. You work an average of 52 hours a week." Sapphire stood in the kitchen and looked around seeing second-hand looking furniture, well worn, three lunch boxes in the kitchen with scraps of fresh food in all of them. When she had opened the fridge, she'd seen no alcohol, no juice and just standard food. Mince and sausages, not sirloin. No luxuries. Meals looked to be home made. Clearly, macaroni cheese was for tea judging by the little bits leftover and the nice familiar smell and the cat had had the same. The house needed redecorating, the carpet was well worn, there were few kitchen appliances apart from the basics. The cutlery and crockery and everything else she could see was cheap and the woman's' clothes were not new. She wore no visible jewellery. No rings. Little make-up if any and she looked tired. It was Monday. And she had worked that amount of overtime for around two years. Clearly, she needed the money. If twelve hours overtime every week was needed just to make ends meet then her collusion looked unlikely.

Sapphire walked back into the lounge. Two stunned-looking children were sitting there and the little girl had been watching a TV that was a 42 inch and several years old. The boy was holding a smartphone. She held out her hand for the phone. He handed it to her. A Galaxy Six and about five years old. Sapphire handed it back. She saw that there was a desk top computer; again, a few years old.

"Were you intending to do any more work for your ex? I wouldn't recommend it. Not at the moment."

"I won't be going anywhere near him!"

Sapphire smiled at her vehemence. And she knew she was skating on thin ice investigating here but she had wanted to look before the woman had had time to hide anything. Mrs Hinckley hadn't asked her to leave. Nor had she demanded to see a warrant. She checked the bedrooms finding very nice, matching furniture in the children's bedrooms and a train wreck in Mrs Hinckley's bedroom. It looked like she'd picked all her own furniture up from the rubbish dump. She pushed the blanket back on the table seeing she was using a disreputable old table as a desk. The tablecloth couldn't hide the shabby legs.

She walked outside. There was an old freezer in the porch and an old wardrobe. The lawns were rough, with what looked like dog excavation holes and there was no outside furniture. There was a minimal, badly kept garden, a falling-down shed, an old clothesline. Now where was the dog? She spotted a black mongrel watching her from next door and a fence with multiple patches apparently failing to keep the dog out. She looked in the single garage which was open; a Honda that was several years old, an old mower, no expensive toys, no luxuries and a clothesline under the adjoining carport that looked recently used. Two children's bikes, again not new.

She turned back to the woman who was following her and looking stunned,

"Thank you for your cooperation," Sapphire said politely, "I won't be bothering you again."

As they got into the car she said to Alan, "I don't think she's involved. She has been doing a steady ten to twenty hours weekly overtime for the last eighteen months or so and it looks like she needs every penny. There's no alcohol there, no indications of drugs and she doesn't smoke. There are no signs of sudden wealth there and she's explained her recent involvement with his business. They both told us the same."

"Will we chase up the past girlfriend," Alan checked his note,

"This Sally Johnson?"

"There's not really any point at this stage since we're not charging him."

• • •

I stared as she walked away followed by her crony. What had that been about? Rat-Bait was under investigation? Serve him right. Just as well he'd back-paid some of his child support. Once he ended up in prison, I'd get not a sausage more. Not that it mattered now. But I'd had my warning. Another one. No more spending. I drifted into my bedroom wryly wondering where that woman found any luxury spending in this house. Absent-mindedly, I went to close my jersey drawer and suddenly remembered something. I reached down to the bottom of the drawer and there it was; the five thousand dollars in cash; the back dated child support Rat-Bait had given me just before I'd Trespassed him. In all the stress and drama, I'd forgotten it. Five thousand dollars. Forgotten about. How my life had changed. And clearly, I shouldn't spend it. But as I looked around my room, I decided _where_ to spend it. Now I just needed to 'find' some good furniture, oh, like in a shop. A furniture shop selling new furniture. It didn't matter if I was the only one that knew it was new. But I would need to wait. Never mind. I had solved the desk problem for ten dollars, with evidence of the money paid and I could now catch up on my outwork. It was about time I spent another weekend working. No I wasn't. Maybe just Saturday. I had a better idea for what to do with my Sundays.

I was just about to sit down for the night when my cell phone pinged. Alison. Curious, I read,

<Can I ring you? Urgent>

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

<Yes>

My cell rang, "Yes?"

"I felt it wise to warn you that Duncan is under investigation and they were asking us all sorts of questions. About you also. I had to answer truthfully."

"It's alright Alison I know. They came here. They asked me about the GST returns and I confirmed I wrote them but I never signed them because they weren't finished. I told them I did the last two also and that he paid me to do them."

"Oh good girl!"

"What happened to Sally?"

"We don't know. She was obviously upset at work the last couple of days and then we never saw her again. He said nothing for a few days and then he said he kicked her out. I doubt that. I think she left him. Good job too."

Oh if she only knew how good a job Sally did on him, "So you haven't heard from her since? They were asking about her. I said I didn't know where she was."

"No, we've never heard from her again. I tried phoning her several times but she never answered and then the phone went to that message, something about the number being unallocated."

That would figure. She would have gotten another phone. Or probably another sim card. Well she could afford it! "How's the business going?"

"A lot better than I suspect it is on paper."

"Do you need to look for another job?"

"No, I've decided to stay here and see what happens. Brian's staying too. He's hoping to take the business over if Duncan ends up in prison."

I laughed; I couldn't help it. "Wouldn't you be the best one to do that?"

"Duncan would never give that job to a woman! He will pick the most incompetent male. Harry would do a better job."

"Yes, he would." I chuckled, "So the business will go downhill or continue illegally. Maybe they'll convict Brian just as Duncan gets out of prison. They could rotate."

"Well I'm just glad you're not upset. I didn't think you were implicated. But do you realise dear that he made a very big mistake in divorcing you?"

The light went on. She was right. "Oh I didn't think about that. Oh dear. That puts me in a difficult position. Not because I wouldn't be delighted to testify against him but for the children's sake. Oh well, he's a rotten father. I don't think they'll be too upset. Embarrassed maybe."

We chatted on a bit more and then ended that very interesting call. I went back to the lounge to my still hot coffee. Oh dear. We were divorced. He was an idiot. I could testify against him. I would be delighted to, were it not for the children. But his lawyers would be very nasty to me. And try to throw mud at me. Would throw mud at me. They would try to 'prove' I was unreliable, lying, implicated and any other lie they could think of to discredit me and my evidence. And none of that would stop me. I had a law firm behind me to help me and two could play dirty. I knew a few threats to throw at crooked lawyers. For instance, every time they tried to change my answer, I could complain to the judge that they were trying to alter the truth. Remember the oath? The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth Rat-Bait's lawyers would try to discredit, pervert, alter, muddy, malign etc. Depending on who the judge was, I could challenge that. So could the prosecutor.

I shook myself. I wouldn't offer. Best if I didn't testify. I probably wouldn't be needed. Mainly, I needed to protect the children.

# Chapter Forty-Eight

Tuesday July 1st

Duncan awoke and got up. After using the bathroom, he wandered out to the kitchen, put the heat pump on and put some toast and the kettle on. He remembered he had no milk. Damn. He'd have to drink his coffee black. It was supposed to be his day off. Monday and Tuesday. But he was bored with no woman here and now he had no TV. What could he do? Going to work yesterday had been a disaster. And it would be embarrassing facing his staff today. For several reasons. He had gone to work yesterday because the payroll was overdue again and he had been going to pay them. In all the hassle, he had forgotten that little detail. He looked outside. He had forgotten to draw the curtains, again. He went back to his bedroom and searched the drawers for some clean underpants, finally finding a pair. He needed to buy some more. He thought this might be his last clean pair. He got dressed because it was cold. He had some trouble finding enough clean clothes. There were holes in his socks. He couldn't find a pair with no holes. This was unacceptable! It was still dark outside because the sun wasn't up yet. It wasn't even 6am which probably explained that.

He drank two coffees, black, and ate his toast. He was annoyed. There was no milk and he'd just used the last of the marmalade. Which presented rather a large problem. He had no money and he didn't do grocery shopping. That was women's work. He was running out of clean clothes too and now he couldn't afford the drycleaners. He leaped up as he had a sudden brainwave. Going in to the office, he saw to his relief that the office equipment was still there including the computer. He started up the computer and logged onto his banking site. Smugly, he went to transfer $10,000 from his business account into his credit card account and then realised that if he did that, he wouldn't be able to pay the payroll. He knew what would happen then. His bloody staff would walk out until he promised them a cheque each. Like what they did last month. And he was now late again. He knew they'd walk out again if they weren't paid by this Thursday. He changed the transfer to $2,000.00. That would leave some money in his business account for the cheques but pay enough off the credit card. Not enough to pay the bill but enough to pay the overdue minimum and unfreeze his credit card. There was so much to remember! He kept getting these annoying demands for money and when he didn't pay, they cut things off. Bastards. Sally had set up all manner of automatic payments which came out of his business account. That kept things like his cell phone going and the power at work but other bills, like the power bill for the house, came out of his credit card and if there was no money in his credit card, all sorts of nasty things happened. Like getting sent 'overdue' bills with penalties attached. At least he had sold two cars last weekend. And his staff had sold five last week which had gone through the books. But they would all walk off the job if he didn't get in and pay them. Ungrateful bastards. He looked up at the clock. It was still only six thirty. He stood up to go to the office and then remembered he had no car and no money for a taxi. In temper, he picked up his mug and smashed it on the floor.

He prowled through the house in fury. He couldn't get a lift until the first person turned up at work. He had no TV. He was running out of clean shirts. He'd have to buy some more but he couldn't until the credit card cleared. That could take a day. He'd found that out last month. Last month, he'd solved that problem by going and putting some cash into his credit card but now he didn't have any cash! How would he cope with no cash?! With no cash, and no money, he couldn't order a new car!

He sat down and leafed through his car magazines, ignoring the fact that they were all out of date. He had a sudden thought and went into the office. He picked up every receipt and Sales Contract he could see, stuffing them into his satchel. He added a copy of Sally's template. The whiny bitch had told him that was needed although he couldn't remember why. When it was 8.30, he rang the office.

"Harry, grab a car and come and pick me up. I forgot to hand out the cheques yesterday." He sat down in relief. That was what was called motivation. Harry would not waste any time. Brian would have had his face in a coffee or not been at work yet. That would get him a car and someone would have bought milk. He could have a decent coffee. He could pay out the cheques and then someone would be sure to sell a car and get him some money. And he could drive a car off the yard until he had enough cash to get another Alfa Romeo. Or maybe a better car. A flashier car. A sports car. That should make it even easier to pick up girls.

Harry picked him up and he knew the kid was full of questions but wouldn't dare ask. Duncan sat in silence. He wasn't volunteering anything. When he strode into work, he could feel the atmosphere. He got himself a coffee, with milk. He then sat down and started to write out the cheques. The commission list had been on his desk since last week. He had noticed it. Every time he put something on top of it someone would excavate it and put it back on top. He'd already added up how much he needed and the computer told him how much was available in the business account. He knew he had to leave a thousand for the automatic payments. He could never remember which ones, when and how much. Sally knew all that.

"Everybody," he said loudly, "We have a cash flow crisis. GST return was late and the Tax bastards demanded some money. Immediately. Everybody is owed twenty per cent. Except me, I'm owed one hundred per cent," he lied. "I'll pay the arrears, as much as I can, when I can. Get out and sell. You sell today, you get your arrears today." He smiled as he immediately realised that that excluded Alison. She didn't sell. She'd have to wait. And then he scowled as he remembered the bloody GST was due again on Monday and Alison would have to do it. He'd have to be nice to her. He thought and then text Jessie, telling her to come in early afternoon. He'd send her to get his groceries. He got to Alison's cheque and, annoyed, wrote it out for the right amount. He needed that GST return done.

He went around and handed the cheques out. Ungrateful bastards didn't even look appreciative. No one said thanks except Harry. And then, finally, Alison. After she checked the amount.

"I need you to do the GST return," he said handing her the satchel.

Alison took the satchel, unhappily and full of questions. She knew full well that Duncan had just lied to them all. Whatever went on yesterday was far more serious than a demand for extra payment due to a late GST return. They'd all been talking yesterday and wondering if they would still have jobs today. They'd all decided they needed to ask him what was happening but she guessed the pay cheque was a partial answer in itself. But they had all had their warning; be aware the money might stop. And cash the cheque quickly. Why couldn't he put it through electronically like other bosses did? She guessed it was the power of handing it over. But for her, today, was the fear it would bounce.

For the first time she wondered if it was also the delay that Duncan wanted. The cheques would clear overnight. They couldn't be cashed. She wouldn't find out if the cheque had cleared until tomorrow. Was he gambling on making a sale today to clear them? Well, Friday was a good sale day. She looked at the satchel and cleared a place to open and sort it. She had been scrupulous in getting all the paperwork and ensuring the others handed in all their contracts and any receipts. But almost all the receipts were, unfortunately, courtesy of Duncan. She had suspected this chaos would happen when Sally left. After all, she was the one who had taught both Jolene and Sally how to do the returns. Not Duncan. She had her suspicions as to why the task of doing the returns had been handed over to those two to do and her suspicions, she felt, were confirmed by the fact that the Tax Department wanted to Investigate. That wasn't an audit. She had been through an audit before and knew the difference. She suspected Duncan was being investigated. She had suspected for some time that he had been underreporting sales. Too many cars appeared on the car lot and then disappeared with no paper trail. And too often these missing cars were followed by Duncan splashing cash around.

Within an hour, they had all been to their respective banks as Alison found out at lunchtime. She wondered if the other two, like her, worried that the cheques would bounce. She watched, warily as the subdued salesmen went through the day. Luckily, Harry quickly made a sale, an electronic payment, one with the money going direct into the business account and Duncan made a point of paying Harry another cheque and then disappearing.

"I wonder if he was counting on a sale today so the cheques won't bounce," Harry said softly to Alison.

Alison smiled. So she wasn't the only one thinking that. "I'm worried about that too. But that $8,500 won't cover the cheques unless there was still some money in the business account."

"You don't have access to the business account?"

"Never. I lost all access once Duncan took over the business. His very secretive manner always made me wonder what he was hiding."

"Should I get another job?"

"I don't know Harry but I would if I was you. You need a steady income. I'm OK. I'll stay. If he goes under, I'll cope."

"What about Brian?"

"I think we'll keep today's conversation between each other." Alison decided not to tell him Brain had aspirations of taking over if Duncan ended up in prison. Duncan was such an idiot. He could lose the house and the business if he went to prison. Had he ever thought of that?

She noted the quick look of conspiracy on Harry's face. Alison finished the GST Return and made a list of the receipts that were missing and the one missing Sales Contract that she knew about. It had taken her most of the day to do but she had done all the weekend work yesterday. Working took her mind off worries. She looked up as Duncan finally returned to the yard and prompted him for the contracts for cars that were missing off the yard although she knew sometimes, they would have been retrieved by their owners. Duncan appeared to be deliberately 'not hearing.' He drank two coffees and disappeared again. Alison sighed in exasperation. He never told her details like that that she needed to know! And then he would say, in front of others, that he had told her. Several of the receipts and Sales Contracts in the satchel were for next month so she carefully hid them so she would be able to find them for the next return. She left a note that if he provided the missing items, she would finish the return on Monday.

Again, she had had to get a copy of three missing receipts she knew about and she wrote in the lease amount. That receipt was always missing. Probably because it was the biggest. It was only paid because Sally had set it up as a direct debit. Duncan either didn't know about that or he didn't know how to reverse that. Or he hadn't thought of reversing it yet.

She left the mostly completed return on Duncan's desk because he was still out as she left, late again. As she drove away, she wondered for the 100,034th time, approximately, why it was that she worked for him? She wryly wondered if it was for the challenge of lurching through another month? Or was it because she wanted to know how long he was going to stay out of jail and in business? Perhaps it was to set a record for coping with an incompetent boss? She wasn't really worried. She was sixty-three, had good savings and her husband, who was six years younger than her, still worked. She didn't have to stay at work and felt just pure curiosity kept her here. Perhaps the knowledge that she could walk out whenever she wanted to was also what kept her there. At the same time, she pondered she wasn't ready to retire and decided to have a look around for another job.

Jessie turned up to see Alison leaving and Duncan arriving. She shuddered; she didn't like being in the office with Duncan without another woman being here. As her boss approached, Jessie tried not to look as apprehensive as she felt. He headed for the coffee saying,

"You need to do some shopping for me."

"Ok, what do you want?" She fished into Duncan's rubbish bin for an envelope and grabbed a pen.

"Marmalade, milk, coffee..."

"What brands? What type of milk?"

"I don't care! And socks, black. And underpants."

Jessie wrote quickly as he added extras and knew whatever she bought would be wrong. And she would hear about it and in front of others. And he would say he had told her exactly what to get and she hadn't listened. This had happened before although not with groceries. Why did he need groceries? Why didn't he buy his own? Why was she buying socks and underpants? Has his expensive, fancy washer broken down? She looked at the list thinking quickly. She would also be to blame for anything he forgot,

"Do you need toast bread and margarine?"

"Yes."

She knew better than to ask his sock size. She took a quick look at his shoes and put down 8-11. Underpants would be medium. Black would be safer.

"Go and get that lot."

"I need some money."

To her surprise, he peeled off two one hundred-dollar notes,

"And I want the receipt and the change."

Jessie quickly took the keys of a car and headed out the door half expecting to be told to walk instead. As she pulled up at the supermarket, she picked up the envelope. Noticing it hadn't been opened, she turned it over to see it was the power bill. Moron! Did he think the power company just asked politely to be paid for the power he had already used the previous month? And thought it was fine if he didn't want to pay for it? Probably. What an idiot!

She sincerely hoped he found another woman stupid enough to live with him. She had felt it was a waste trying to teach Ashley anything. The girl had been a bimbo. A classic example of a beauty, used to getting others to do things for her by being helpless. Who then couldn't do so many things for herself. But Duncan wanted the appearance of beauty and bimbo but the competence of a smart and organised office worker cum house manager. He had succeeded twice to her knowledge. She wondered why Sally had left. The poor girl had been smitten with him. Jessie would bet on unfaithfulness being the most likely cause, followed by finally understanding she was being used as the second possible. She checked her list. Nearly done. She picked up the socks, paid at the checkout and headed back to the yard.

Once again, Jessie chided herself to stop stalling and find another job. The kids were old enough to be latch-key so she could work full time. She put the bags of groceries down. It was nearly five o'clock so he would be leaving soon. Jessie quickly tidied up the office, surreptitiously searching the rubbish bins for more receipts as she worked. And finding one! She spent an hour just on tidying up before she could get onto the vacuuming. She then had to wait for her money while Duncan concluded a sale. She walked off in disgust with twenty dollars for three hours work, deciding that was the last time she did his shopping for nothing.

Duncan watched her walk off, grinning. Well he hadn't promised to pay her for the shopping. He'd just asked a favour. He had done two sales, Brian had done one and Harry had done one so they were all paid up and he was set for the weekend and he had another cash sale coming tomorrow. A good one so now he had plenty of cash. Poverty didn't last long in this business. But now he had to find another place to hide the cash, since the bloody Tax Department knew where that one was. It had worked in two houses now and he was very sorry to lose that particular hiding place. He had taken long enough to get it done since he had to wait until the whiny bitch went out. Had his permission to go out. She hadn't been working then. And he was no carpenter.

He'd have to do a quick trip home to pick up a whole pile of clothes to take to a laundromat one of his customers had told him about. They washed and dried it all for you and it was cheaper and faster than the dry cleaner. Perfect! He could pick it up on the way home tomorrow. He hadn't known such a service existed. That solved that problem. Then he would go out for a decent meal and chuck those sausages in the rubbish. He was flush with cash again. The sales today would have to go through the books because he couldn't hide them but the weekend one; he'd just say the customer took the car home again. Change of mind. He loved selling the more expensive deals on behalf. He could so often pull that trick. And no one could prove anything. They didn't go through the books. The Change of Ownership papers were pre-signed.

# Chapter Forty-Nine

Oct 2019

The months went by and they were Duncan-free. We were now up to three months with no word from him and I was very happy with that. He didn't contact the children either, which relieved me, and then I heard via Abby that he had another live-in girlfriend. Someone to do his housework and all the other necessary tasks of daily living that he didn't want to do. Someone to pay his bills and do all the intellectual and dreary organisational skills for him as well. Someone to look after him because he couldn't look after himself.

The chores for pocket-money trial was going well and the kids were earning and at the top of the list were the conditions; mother's opinion was law and no arguing and jobs were not counted until they were finished. And they had to be completed the day they were started. The exception was the lawn; play could be rained out. Uncompleted jobs caused some controversy and I had the courage to insist on them being finished. And if I finished them, no one got paid.

As I expected, Jenny soon caught on and finished jobs Sam had started, ensuring there were some screaming matches. But there was one clear winner; me. The washing got put away and properly and mother demanded access to check. That latter saved me some money until Sam finally seemed to get the point. And the kids re-learnt how to vacuum and how to dust and how to clean floors and how to clean the toilet. I hated cleaning the toilet. I always had.

Gradually, the lawns and gardens got tidied up and my home no longer looked like a rental. This process was helped by the next-door neighbours' dog getting stuck in the fence when Mike and Sam fixed it yet again one Saturday. I didn't realise that they had done an ingenious booby trap based on a lobster trap. Doug had awoken many of the neighbours at one am on the Sunday morning, a few hours later. The dog wasn't hurt, I hasten to add, but I photographed him in situ. We had to cut him out of the fence. The neighbour was furious, especially when I insisted he chain the dog up or fix the fence. Right now. He chained the dog up. Unused to this type of treatment Doug howled. Half the neighbourhood woke up and yelled dissatisfied comments. Finally, they had to put Doug in the house for the night. I wondered where Doug pooed that night? In their house I hoped.

The next morning Mike came around and insisted on repairs to the fence. He threatened them with Animal Control. We now had proof. An argument ensued and finally the problem was solved. To Mike's disgust and mine, the dog was surrendered to the pound. Now Doug would have seven days to find a new owner, with a reputation as a Houdini and undisciplined. After seven days he could be euthanised. That wasn't the solution we wanted and we all went back inside unhappily.

"Why couldn't they have fixed the fence?" Jenny asked.

"It wasn't just that," I said. "They would have had to have taken over from us and kept fixing it or put in a better one. But that's not all. You have to take a dog for regular walks and keep him company. He kept himself amused by escaping and wandering. And dogs don't like going to the toilet on their own property. So that's another reason for walks at least once a day. Then there is registration fees and dogs eat a lot more than cats. And they need to be bathed. Cats are cheaper to feed, don't need registration, bury their poos, exercise themselves, wash themselves and amuse themselves. And they are efficient and good-looking rodent control officers."

Jenny giggled, "But if they loved Doug why didn't they do all that stuff?"

"Because it takes work," Mike said. "I don't think they loved Doug that much. A dog needs to be looked after and loved. My Misty had at least one walk a day and several in the weekends but I loved her and I loved taking her for walks. She was such cheerful company. If it's a chore it doesn't get done the same."

"I think they were sick of him," I said. "There are two adults and three kids in that house and often Doug never went off the property for days on end. And he lived outside."

"And he didn't have a kennel. He lived in the back porch," Sam added. "He didn't even have a blanket last winter."

"I didn't know that. I'd have given him one."

"He destroyed them," Sam explained. "He dragged them outside and left them in the rain. I was talking to the youngest kid, Linda."

We were all feeling guilty about Doug, whose name was very apt by the way but not his original name. His absence would sure improve my garden and I would be able to plant some shrubs without Doug digging them up. The neighbours denied all the damage to my lawn was up to Doug, even though he had constructed a matching pattern on his own property.

# Chapter Fifty

Late October

I organised this coming Saturday for my parents to pick the kids up from sport and entertain them while I spent the day working. I'd tell my parents I needed the money. I offered to cook tea but Dad said he would and invited Mike who happily accepted. I'd already checked, Mike needed to work most Saturday mornings and also take Martin to sport. Mike and generally one other mechanic spent Saturday doing urgent jobs and urgent Warrants of Fitness. They charged extra to do them on a Saturday too and customers paid. When they finished, that was usually it for the week but it varied. Mike told me that just before school holidays, there was enough work to give them all overtime. All day Saturday.

I was at work just after 10am. I organised everything I could for Monday morning and sat down with a coffee.

<any ideas for tomorrow?> I sent.

<lots of kisses and cuddles>

<as well as that. Weather forecast lousy>

<thinking>

I smiled and got up to attend to the dreaded filing. There was a pile. I would be very popular I thought as I finally reached the last letter and filed it. Now that was a rare sight; an empty filing box. I went through to the strong room next, tidying and organising and trying to find extra space for the next time we needed it. This room was fire-proof and contained valuable documents like deeds and wills. It was also organised so an earthquake would have to be a ten on the Richter scale to upset the contents. Everything was in well labelled boxes and copy safe pockets or laminated. It had to be almost impossible to lose something here. Even if all the boxes broke open, we reckoned we would be able to sort it out. Every valuable document was contained, labelled, or in some way obvious. Every piece of paper had unique initial codes; usually initials and numbers.

Finished, I went and got another coffee and my lunch and settled down with the typing. I liked typing. It was my favourite job because I was good at it and fast and that was why I did all the jobs I didn't like, first. Then I could just type until I was finished or it was time to go. I wanted to finish it. My aim was for everyone to turn up on Monday morning and find an empty typing box and an empty filing box. Then they could get on with all the little jobs we struggle to get finished. This was my 'thank you' to the office for the work Sean had done for me and I wasn't going to put it on my timesheet. This was payback.

At just after four o'clock, I was finished. I had been getting up and filing everything as I finished each batch so I had just this one contract to put out on the boardroom desk pile for a client for Monday. That was my method of avoiding typing strain or OOS. Occupational Overuse Syndrome. I never spent hours just typing. I had upset the carpal tunnel in my right hand once and I ensured I never did it again. I had immobilised the wrist for three days that time, in a brace and it settled. I was told I was lucky. I had had two children by that time and an unhelpful husband as I think you know by now. I knew I would get no help from him if I needed an operation.

I got in my car and drove over to my parents' house to find everyone already there and my father and Mike in the kitchen, working together. The atmosphere was congenial. The kids were watching a DVD. My mother was working on a draught to turn part of a former suite of offices into inner city bedsits and one-bedroom apartments. They were for a firm of investors who pulled overnighters, when something was being worked on or the stock market was crazier than normal. For the seniors who lived out of Wellington. Too busy to go home. Not a job I wanted. I had a look. She was converting the six offices that had the worst view. Well it was just for sleep so that was logical.

I could see she was busy so I joined the kids. They were watching Avatar. I first saw it in 3D in the cinema and every time I saw it, I re-imagined it in 3D. I loved that movie. "What's for tea?" I asked Jenny.

"Beef stroganoff."

"Yum."

"And Aunt Daisy's apple dumplings."

"Double yum." Aunt Daisy was a radio chef before such things were invented. In the 1930's or thereabouts. She talked about recipes and household tips and published cook books with household tips included. This was before it was fashionable. She was reputed to have tested every recipe. And her books contained multiple recipes on every page and no pictures, so you got a lot for your money. I never had a flop with any of her recipes.

"Oh, this is wonderful," Mike said savouring Dad's cooking. "So much better than my usual food except for when I'm dining at your daughter's. You taught her well."

"What are we doing tomorrow, Mum? Sam asked.

"There's a Food festival," Mike suggested.

"Any exhibitions on at Te Papa?" I asked.

"What's on at the movies?" Martin asked.

"Yeah movies," Sam agreed.

"So much for education," I sighed and watched as two kids simultaneously got onto their phones to check out the cinemas, Jenny quickly copying. I looked at Mike, amused. "Why don't we have a system where we each choose in turn? Then you and I won't have to keep going to movies." I also wanted to ensure Jenny didn't have to go along with the boy's choices in movies and DVD's. But as it was, Jenny decided on one movie, the boys on another and both were at the same cinema complex. Mike and I decided to dawdle over a coffee instead.

• • •

So there we were on Sunday, Mike and me, with the kids delivered to the cinema. We decided to skip a movie and share a Chinese meal and sat talking. We were discussing the kids and about to go pick them up when Mike said abruptly,

"And what about us? We're getting along pretty good, so how about I move in with you?"

I was a bit taken aback and paused for a second then said, "No that's..." and abruptly shut my mouth as Jenny came bouncing in. Her movie must have finished earlier than the advertised time.

We headed off and collected the boys and I didn't have another chance to talk to Mike alone. I worried he would feel rejected but with the kids around, there wasn't a chance to talk. I'd explain later. We got back home and I headed for the kitchen where lemon chicken was in the crock pot. I put the rice on and the beans and corn which my children were convinced were the best accompaniment for lemon chicken. That didn't mean they wouldn't eat anything else but feeding them that combination made for happy kids.

I expected an incoming sous chef with amorous intent, as per usual, but he stayed in the lounge with the kids watching TV. I tried to tell myself it didn't signify anything but I failed miserably. I missed the help, the company, the kisses and the cuddles. I set the table myself and dished up, calling the kids in.

As we ate, I tried to maintain the appearance of normality but Mike spoke only to the kids, mostly asking about the movies they had seen. I went to the freezer and got out the ice cream, adding the cones and the scoops and left the kids to it. I didn't know what to say to Mike so I said nothing. All too soon Mike decided to take Martin home.

I stacked the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen, Sam helping as it was his turn. I ticked his pocket money list and sat down with a coffee, thoroughly miserable. But as the evening went on with no texts and no Mike returning, I began to be angry. How dare he just assume and how dare he snob me when I turned him down. But I should have known. He'd been in several relationships and had two kids from two women so what did I expect? Well I was not going to be number whatever it was. I took my coffee cup back to the kitchen and went to my room to pretend to be doing some of my outwork. Typing. Well at least I could do that with half a mind working and the other half seething, so I got cracking. I had done all the work typing so I did make work, mostly a letter to Rat-Bait. In case the children came in. I deleted the letter. It wasn't very polite. And I was unsure how to spell some of the swear words.

I returned to the lounge briefly, to find all kids in bed and the TV still on. I turned it and the lights off and went back to my typing and typed furiously. And then deleted it all. By just before 1am I was finished and finally tired. Well that relationship had been nice while it lasted, I thought. But clearly it was now over. I'd like to say I cried myself to sleep but I didn't. I swore rather a lot and said some very unprintable things about Mike. Twice more I picked up my phone to check for a text. None. I finally turned over, yawning and decided I was back on the singles shelf. I should have had more sense and stayed there.

# Chapter Fifty-One

Mike sat through the delicious lemon chicken meal struggling to swallow. Several times he almost gagged. Why didn't she want him? He'd thought they were getting on so well. Why didn't she want him to move in with her? He could protect her from that bastard and help her out with the finances. He could just about pay cash for a decent bedroom suite for her. Had he done something wrong today? One moment they'd been chatting away talking about Martin and his school project and the next minute she'd shot him down cold. Why?

He finished the meal in agony, passed on the ice cream and went and watched TV. He looked up as the kids drifted in one by one but she didn't. He loved it here. Had loved it. Living in a proper house instead of a tiny flat would be bliss. And he liked her kids. He thought they all got on. Was he wrong? Was that the problem? Did the kids not want him here? Why didn't she even want to talk to him? She was staying in the kitchen and not coming near him. Abruptly, he decided he couldn't bear to stay in the dog box any longer. He felt like an intruder, unwanted. He nudged Martin,

"Go and thank her for such a yummy meal and I need to get you home."

Martin went into the kitchen and said, "Dad says he needs to get me home. He says thanks for tea. What was that? I've never had that before."

"Lemon chicken."

"Well I loved it and Dad said it was yummy."

As Mike drove Martin home, he continued to agonise over what he'd done wrong. Dropping Martin off he turned for home. At least Coal was pleased to see him. He fed the cat, finally noticing the dispenser was empty. No wonder Coal was glad to see him. Because his hours were so long and so unpredictable if there was an emergency, he had this system. Coal always had a dispenser of dry cat biscuits and a large bowl of water. That ensured he never starved due to an absent owner. But Coal also got leftovers, sachets of food and whatever he hunted, usually mice but occasionally rats. There were several restaurants in the area and their food scrap bins weren't always rat proof. So Coal kept himself fed and entertained.

He sat down with the remote, eventually being joined by a purring Coal and tried to watch TV. He failed, dismally, to follow what was on the box. Finally, just after 11pm he sent,

<are you home?>

<Yes>

<Busy?>

<no>

<lbnbs>

< come round> Abby stared at her phone. It was coming up 11.30pm. What was wrong? She got out of bed and put her dressing gown and slippers on. That message meant he was in trouble. Big trouble. Big sister needed and Raelyn was in Auckland so that ruled her out. Family speak; literally, it said 'little brother needs big sister' and it was an SOS code. Only to be used in emergencies. And he had only used it once before with her that she could remember. She and Mike had always been closer than Mike and Raelyn. And they all had their own text codes. So did she need her tissue box or more likely her wallet? What had happened and on a Sunday night too? Did the garage get broken into again? Vandalism? Arson? She put the kettle on and opened a packet of chocolate biscuits. Definitely chocolate for emergencies. At last she heard his car and made a coffee each. At least the disaster wasn't his wheels but it was just after midnight. Whatever it was, it couldn't wait. She took one look at his face as he came in and went and hugged him.

"What's happened?"

"Jo kicked me out."

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

"So is that a problem?" Abby noticed the glare she got and said softly, "Do you love her?"

"I don't know! I've never felt this way about a girl before. I can't bear the thought of living without her. I can't stop thinking about her. I know you'll say it's my fault but I can't think what I did wrong."

Abby noticed he was in tears. That was something she hadn't seen for a few decades. "Sit down, eat some chocolate and tell me what happened just _before_ she kicked you out." She watched him as he couldn't sit and continued to pace her kitchen. She had never seen him this distraught; not as an adult.

"We were just talking about Martin's science project, then I asked if I could move in with her and she said, 'no.' He looked up as Abby abruptly stood up, stormed into the lounge, came back with a pillow and started to beat him up with it. He tried to duck and defend himself but she was too fast and too accurate and he had seldom won a pillow fight with her anyway. But the message was clear; in family speak. Fixable error. But how? And what was the error?

"How could you grow up in a household with three women and never learn how to communicate!? And how come you never learnt to listen?"

"Stop terrorising me and just tell me what I did wrong."

"I just did."

"Dumb it down for me."

"She doesn't sleep around. I told you that! Didn't she tell you that too?"

"Yes, but I wanted to move in with her. Permanently."

"Fine, but you forgot one step. Well, two steps."

"What?"

Abby looked to the ceiling for inspiration, getting none except the message she needed to clean it. Fly spots. Shouldn't have looked.

"Do I need to get a bucket?"

"Just dumb it down." Maybe he did need a bucket of cold water. Final message for 'think.' Normally applied outside the house not inside.

"It's not just about what you want. There are three other people involved who all need to consent. First. And I suspect you should have asked Jo something else first but that's for you to figure out."

"Just tell me! Stop torturing me!"

"How do you feel about her? Different from how you felt about Gwen and Rosie and all the others?"

"Yes."

"Has every girl except Jo been a one-night stand that expanded?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"I got the impression that happened with both Gwen and Rosie. It was just convenience. You drifted into it."

"Well yes, I guess so but that's not the case with Jo."

"Tell me my thick little brother. Have you ever heard of the institution of marriage?" She looked in despair as his face altered as if a light bulb finally came on. A blinding one and she grabbed him as he went to head out the door.

"But I need to talk to her!"

"And what are you going to say?"

"Ask her to marry me!"

"Quite apart from what the time is, have you ever told her you love her?"

"No."

Abby despaired as she saw the sheepish expression, sighed and said, "Did it not get through that thick skull of yours that that should come first? A bit of advance warning? You have the sensitivity of a hippo. A denser than usual hippo." She saw that he still did not really get it. "Sit down!"

"What? First you tell me to propose first and now you tell me not to."

"Correct! Sort out your feelings first before jumping in the deep end this time. Go home and think! How do you feel about her, her kids, her habits, her life style, her goals and her ambitions? Do you even know what she wants out of life? How do her kids feel about you? They should be included in the decision-making. Think! Engage brain. That one." She pointed to his head. "Not that one," she pointed three feet South. She observed the blush and shook her head in despair. She sat down and sipped her coffee. She ate a chocolate biscuit and then decided she needed several. This was definitely a multiple chocolate biscuit problem.

"So what do I do?"

"Go home and think."

"I don't need to think..." he saw the clear warning in Abby's eyes but insisted, "I want to marry her."

"That's not how it works."

"What?"

"She gets to have a say too you blithering idiot! How does she feel about you? She needs to have a say in this too."

"I don't know."

"Try asking. _After_ you tell her you love her."

"But what if she doesn't feel the same?" He picked up his phone, "I'll text her." He ducked as Abby threw the cushion at him.

"You're clueless! A romantic non-starter."

"Yes, I've been told that before." He scowled as Abby laughed. A minute later he said, as she continued to laugh, "It's not that funny."

"Yes it is. My darling brother, if you want a relationship to last try thinking it through first."

"Well what does she feel about me?"

"You're asking me to tattle on her?"

"Yes."

Abby sighed, "She likes you a lot. I haven't asked if she loves you and she hasn't told me. A lot has been going on in her life lately in case you hadn't noticed."

"I know. But I can protect her. And I can help her financially. And she won't clean me out if we break up like the others did because she has a house."

"Yes, she's a good choice financially. She's a hard worker too. And she's loyal. She won't play around like Gwen did. But you need to ask her how she feels about you. And you really need to tell her how you feel about her."

"But the kids are always there."

"So invite her out for tea. Just her, not the kids."

"But what about the kids? She won't leave them alone in the evening."

"No, she'll ask me to babysit." She reached for another biscuit, "Now this is what you're going to do."

After a long-involved discussion and more coffee and chocolate biscuits Abby thought she might just have got some suggestions and points into his thick skull. She sighed; he was right. They had protected him. They clearly should have taught him better social skills, particularly in regards to women. The problem, she suspected, was that most women picked up social skills by observation and instinct, while clearly Mike was one of those males that needed to be told. Literally and in detail.

• • •

A few minutes after finally turning the light off, again, I looked down as my phone pinged.

<Sorry if I offended you. Getting a bit keen on you. Am I forgiven if I promise to behave? XXX>

I thought about that, but I'd been lying here feeling wretched and obviously I wasn't the only one that was too upset to sleep.

<Yes>

<See you next weekend? XXX>

<Ok>

<Come out to dinner with me? Just you and me? Your choice, my shout. I'll get Abby to babysit. Friday night?>

<Ok>

Abby handed him back the phone. "You owe me little brother. I've booked a date for you. Don't stuff it up."

# Chapter Fifty-Two

The week went by and I heard nothing from Rat-Bait which was just how I wanted it. It was several months after the Protection Order had been granted and there had been no consequences. I'd just arrived home on Wednesday night when Sam said.

"Dad wants to take us out for tea tomorrow night and is that OK?"

Oh dear. What was he after? "Yes. He can pick you up outside the house. He's not allowed in."

"He already suggested that. He'll text me the time. He said about six."

Sam wandered off while I pondered what this was about. Rat-Bait had said he wanted to see the kids? He was going to spend money on them? I might have agreed, but I wondered what his motive was. I was sure it wasn't fatherly devotion; he didn't have any. Well at least I didn't have to cook tea tomorrow. I would do a freezer dive and bring extra work home. And then I was being taken out for tea on Friday. But I'd still have to cook tea for Abby and the kids. And Abby would expect home cooked. I'd better buy some mince tomorrow.

• • •

The next night I watched as Rat-Bait picked the children up just after six pm. He had never taken them out for a meal before. What was going on? Worrying thoughts like kidnapping went through my brain. I put two kilograms of mince on the stove to boil hard, then searched around in the freezer finding a fish pie meal and nuked that. A home made one. The commercial ones had a thick layer of potato with a millimetre of fish sauce under it. I lavishly loaded lemon pepper onto my much better-quality pie. It was so nice being able to afford all the condiments I liked. Like this one. And kids didn't notice stuff like that. I got myself a coffee and a tray and sat down to belatedly watch the news. The news was just finished when I heard the kids returning and Rat-Bait roaring off down the street. I watched as two disgusted looking kids came in and looked at me. I was very relieved they were safely back but what was with the expressions?

"What happened? You don't look happy. Either of you."

Sam and Jenny looked at each other.

"I think the only reason he wanted to see us was to pump us for information about you and Mike." Jenny said, "I deliberately told him that Sam and I both like Mike. He didn't like that. His face went stormy."

I knew that look. But they had hopefully been in a public place with him and safe.

Sam said, "He insulted you and Mike and said it wouldn't last. I told him that, judging by what I had seen, it was his relationships that didn't last." He grinned.

Brave kids; both of them. I gather later that at this point, all three decided to end the evening.

"Can we have some tea?"

"But didn't he take you out for tea?" They had been with him for less than an hour, I thought sadly.

Sam said in disgust, "Dad bought us a happy meal each and we're both still hungry."

I sighed. He hadn't even fed them properly and he had chosen what they ate, not them. Typical. A happy meal was designed for a five-year-old. "I've had my tea," I said and took the freezer key from around my neck and handed it to Sam. Both kids returned from the freezer with a meal and nuked it. Sam first, as Jenny acknowledged that he was hungrier. I sat down with them at the kitchen table while they ate. I had been thinking all week long about Friday night and should I go and wondering what Mike's motive was. I had decided on numerous occasions to cancel but as you can no doubt tell; I hadn't done it. Doing nothing is sometimes doing something. Work it out. And it was now Thursday night.

"Auntie Abby is babysitting tomorrow night," I said casually, "Mike and I are going out for tea. He's shouting."

"We don't need a babysitter," Sam said indignantly.

"I totally agree," I said. "I misspoke. Auntie Abby will be your security guard tomorrow night so I can relax and enjoy the night."

Both kids looked at me and Jenny said slowly, "You want to make sure Daddy doesn't come here when you're out."

"Correct," I said. "And you kids don't have to kick him out. Auntie Abby will do that."

Jenny chortled, "Yes. I've seen how she bosses Mike around."

"Mike says she fights dirty," I said. "She says he does. I'll bet they both do. Their mother worked full time and they spent a lot of time on their own."

"What happened to their father?" Sam asked.

"He died. He was a fisherman. They don't know what happened but the boat disappeared. There was some unexpected bad weather. No one survived. That was over thirty years ago and they didn't have cell phones and the radios weren't as good as they are today. There was apparently no distress call. Mike said no way was he going to be a fisherman. He doesn't remember his father; he was three. Abby was five and she remembers him but not well. Raelyn was seven and remembers him well."

I noticed it was a fairly sober night, that night. I was so pleased I hadn't told the kids until tonight that I was going out tomorrow night. That was one advantage of having been unable to make up my mind all week. They hadn't known. That meant their father didn't know. It was so sad that I had to think of things like that. The kids said no more about their father. I was sad for them too. So sad I wasn't angry. All the fun Mike had with them and their own father was too stupid to appreciate what he had. Too self-absorbed to enjoy their company and they were super kids.

• • •

That morning I finally booked a restaurant. One I had never tried. That evening, Mike picked me up and I was all dressed up. I had even bought a new dress. It was an apricot cocktail dress, a beautiful cut with a pinched waist and a flared skirt. It had a lacey overlay and looked lovely. I'd bought something else too. I was getting a bit of assistance from spandex to even out my shape...

I bought white shoes to go with it and some make-up all in a well-used lunch break today. Yes, of course I paid cash for it all and it was all my own choices. And I kind of had to buy it. My weight kept changing. First, I had had to let all my work suits out when I kept gaining weight over the last few years (or replacing my work clothes because they were at the maximum seam allowance and still too tight!). And now I was taking them in. The only clothes that fitted me properly now, were several years old and I had thrown most of them out because guess whose taste they were? So I had to buy new. Not a problem. I bought new make-up too. My old make-up, the stuff that didn't suit me, I gave to Abby. It suited her. She had the black hair, pale skin and blue eyes that Mike had. Well he would have had pale skin if he wasn't so suntanned. Abby liked red lipstick. And yes, I know you're not supposed to give used make-up away but some of it I'd never used and Abby didn't care.

The evening therefore started well. I was all dressed up and I got to pick where we went and I chose a French restaurant because I'd never been to one. Rat-Bait didn't like French food. Or their waiters or menus. Or all three. I wasn't sure which. The menu was in French, which neither of us spoke, but we figured out most of it. I picked fish and he picked beef. We knew those words. What else was in the dish we'd risk.

The restaurant was secluded and the music was soft which I liked. Not a conversation killer. We were up to the desert when Mike, who had looked increasingly tense, blurted out,

"Look, I'm not any good at this so I'll just say it. I'd like us to get married. That wasn't a question so don't say 'no.' Think about it. When you're ready, let me know. I'm being hopeful so I said when. Not if. Of course I'd like to move in with you too but Abby says she'll kill me and I have to marry you first. That's because some unmentionable bastard didn't really give you any choice the first time around and I've been told I'm not allowed to do the same. And I'd like another kid that has my surname this time and I'd like to get to have a say about his upbringing but that's up to you. That's your decision too. Oh and I love you. That's new for me too. This is all coming out wrong but that's the gist of it."

I finally managed to shut my mouth and he finally managed to look at me. I hadn't expected that. Not yet. Not all of that thrown at me at once. Although I had had some fairly large hints as to a relationship but not exactly as to marriage. What a change to my first proposal which was staged and romantic and ring and all. Of course he'd gotten me pregnant first so I didn't really have a choice. Not the way I saw it. That proposal was show and sham. This felt like a laughable show as far as romance went but genuine. I knew which one I preferred. This one, just in case you didn't get the point.

So. Rat-Bait made all the decisions for me and Mike virtually told me where he stood and that the major decisions were all mine. Oh my. Part of me wanted to jump up and down and scream 'Yes!!' Another part of me calmly said I wouldn't know what he was really like until we were married and living together and the honeymoon was over. And what was I going to do about the money? I'd have to tell him. Mentally, I screamed to a halt. What? I was going to say yes? Just like that? I slowed down and thought. Oh yes I was. Mike was the opposite of Rat-Bait and everything was visible. No hidden faults. Unless he snored. And what was Coal going to think of Dewey? And vice versa?

Slow down girl, I thought. Two kids need to be included in this discussion. And, I thought, this time I just might include two parents. I was so absorbed in thinking I hadn't noticed that Mike seemed to be not breathing. And was he a tad pale?

"Thinking," I said. "Favourably, but I need to include the children in this." I laughed as Mike whooshed out the breath he had been holding and gasped in another.

"Can we ask them tonight?"

"No, I want to think first. And I'd rather ask them when you're not there so they can feel freer to talk straight. And I want some dessert please."

He finally looked at the dessert menu. I think his thoughts had been elsewhere. But then so had mine been. And I realised there was something I hadn't told him.

"By the way," I said softly, "I love you too." His face lit up. "But this is a big deal to put together and we have to take at least two children into account."

"That sounded like a qualified yes."

"Yes it is, and it will be less of a shock to the children than you just gave me. Jenny has already asked if you're moving in and that was at the dinner table."

"Remind me to give that child an ice cream. Or ten. What did Sam say?"

"Nothing, he just looked a bit startled." We both looked up as the waiter came with our dessert. We both ordered crème caramel which I had never tasted before. Or made. I didn't have a blow torch to burn the sugar. Mike probably had one though; about ten times too big. This was delicious, I thought. A pity it was just a taste though. It was tiny. Not even a tea cup full. More like half a cup. The whole meal had been really nice but I had made the mistake of coming here quite hungry because I'd missed lunch due to shopping, remember? The courses had been really small. I had had just a main and a dessert which was all I usually had but I was still hungry. Obviously, we were meant to have all eight courses. It would have been nice if that had been indicated somewhere on the menu. Since each course was the cost of an average main course, and the main course was four times normal price and less than a quarter the size, the whole meal, if eaten in eight courses, would have cost around $500 not counting drinks. And in my cook's opinion, it wasn't worth that much. It wasn't _tha_ t good. Snobbery was also something I wasn't prepared to pay for. I know to some people good cuisine was art as well as food, but I had no time or leisure for those type of tastes. I went out for a meal to get fed.

As we left and Mike's wallet took a severe hit, the receptionist asked if we had enjoyed our meal.

I looked directly at him, "It was tasty," I replied, "But poor value for money and I'm still hungry." As I walked away before he could come up with a crack, I pondered he couldn't even say I was greedy. I'd come down two dress sizes in the last year and I was no longer overweight. I guessed Mike might have been sympathetic with the look on the waiter's face because I heard him say,

"We're both hard workers and neither of us has a sedentary job."

That was another thing Mike was; kind.

As we got to the car, my Honda of course because we were in good clothes, Mike said,

"Where to now? Another restaurant for some food?"

I smiled; he had a sense of humour too. "How about back to my place, drop me off, go and get a couple of pizzas or something with carbohydrates and I'll have a little word with the kids while you're safely out of the way." I looked at him, saw that that met with his approval, chucked him the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. I'd never been a passenger in my own car yet. Oh yes I had. That first day when we all tried it out.

# Chapter Fifty-Three

A few minutes later as I walked into the house, I wondered what to say and more to the point how to say it.

"Where's Mike?" Jenny asked.

"He's gone for some food. The restaurant I chose was a bit of a disappointment and we're both still hungry. It liked you to taste the food, but not really eat it." I noticed two happy beaming faces contemplating a second tea. Abby had both eyebrows up so high they disappeared into her fringe. I pointed at her,

"You. Out. Family conference."

Abby swung out the door, beaming happily. The smug expression on her face told me she'd caught on to what had happened with her usual lightspeed. I swear she knew _exactly_ what had happened. She probably bugged us. Or gave Mike instructions which he clearly hadn't followed. Mike might have played the fiddle but she was the conductor and he obviously couldn't read the music. I looked back at the table to find one flabbergasted kid staring after Abby and one beaming kid, eyes on Mummy.

"He's moving in?" Jenny asked. The beaming kid. The flabbergasted kid was still a few minutes behind in the play and trying to catch up. But he clearly didn't know in which direction to run.

"What's going on? Why did you kick Auntie Abby out?"

See. Told you. I put the kettle on and sat down. "We need a family conference. Auntie Abby's not included. Not yet anyway. Mike has just asked me to marry him." Well he had. Sort of. That was his intention.

"Well? Did you say yes?"

"No Jenny. I said I needed to ask you two first."

"Oh, Dad won't like this."

Sam had caught up. Wonders never cease. "Well? What do you kids think about getting a stepfather?"

"Does that mean I have to share a bedroom with Martin?"

"No Sam. Martin lives with his mother."

"I like Mike. I'm happy."

Well that was one yes. "Sam?"

"Well he'd be better than Dad."

"Darling that describes most men on the planet." Oops; I shouldn't have said that. He was his father. Well sperm donor. Not father in any accepted sense of the word.

"Dad will be really pissed."

"His opinion will not be sought." Oops again. Sam was stalling. There was silence. Everyone was looking at Sam.

"What are you all looking at me for?"

"Mummy's waiting for you to answer."

"What would you do if I said no?"

"Then I won't marry him. He's not going to live here if you really don't want him here. You kids are my first priority until you leave home or reach eighteen. You must be my first priority." No, you're wrong. I was calm. Mostly. I know my son. He was testing me. And these kids needed one responsible parent who put them first because we all know how important they were to the other parent.

"I don't want to share a bedroom."

"Then I will promise you that you don't have to. And in the unlikely event that Rosie dies, I have a solution to that. Come with me."

The kids followed me to the back porch and outside. I pointed at the porch,

"We can cut the back porch in two and put another bedroom back there. The entrance can be from the end of the dining room. I could get Mike to do that anyway, before we get married, if we do, to ensure you're happy. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes."

"So that's a yes from you on that condition?"

"Yes."

"Ok. I haven't given an answer to Mike yet so don't say anything to him. I wanted to check you two out first before making a decision."

"So are you going to say yes?" Jenny asked. "You are, aren't you?"

"Probably, but I want to talk to my parents first too. They begged me not to marry your father, I ignored them and they were right. I want to sound them out first." Mike hadn't given me an expectation of when he wanted an answer so this time, I would take my time. I got out some plates and cups and switched on the kettle as two bottomless pits happily contemplated a second tea. Belatedly, I remembered the mince which I had finished cooking just before I went out for a meal. I looked. Enough for tomorrow night. Oh goody. I checked the veges and spread them all out to cool. I peeled some potatoes and put them on to cook. Cottage pie for tomorrow night. The kid's favourite leftover meal. They liked potato top pie better than pastry top. Probably because they almost always bought pastry pies for lunch when they got money instead of sandwiches.

I sat down to wait for Mike, thinking. Well that went about how I thought it would except I didn't realise how worried Sam was about sharing a bedroom. Must have been something to do with something he heard at school? Making another bedroom would be cheap at half the price. And it would add value to the house. I suddenly thought of something else. Did Martin want to live with his Dad? Had he confessed that to Sam? Oh dear. No wonder Sam was worried. And then I thought about how Rosie and Boris didn't take Martin on holidays but left him with Mike. I wouldn't consider going on holiday without the kids. Well maybe with the exception of a honeymoon. And let's face it, Sam went with me on the first one... And then I wondered if Sam worried that a baby was coming. Now or later. Well I could see why that would worry him. Good point. I hadn't thought of tucking a baby into this house. I had thought of a bigger, better house in a better area. It was so wonderful to have these choices. Well we would have nearly nine month's warning to prepare for any baby so there was no rush.

I flicked the kettle back on, turned the potatoes down to simmer, made a drink and sat down waiting for a decent feed as in sufficient calories. I had almost finished my coffee when Mike came back bringing fish, hotdogs and chips and we all tucked happily in my favourite way; off the paper. I cheerfully put the crockery away.

I managed to eat a piece of fish and a hotdog which pretty much tells you how many calories the fancy restaurant didn't provide for me. I was annoyed. I felt Mike had paid for what we didn't receive. A restaurant shouldn't let you go away hungry. Not after taking several hundred dollars off you. If I was nasty, I'd give them a bad review but I wasn't so I wouldn't. But they should warn people their courses are really small. We wouldn't be going back. And there had only been six diners there. I thought I knew why. Very few repeat customers.

Still, two centuries ago, people ate like that. Rich people. They used food and conversation as an evening's entertainment. Before television. Before the Internet and social media. Heck before radio even. I had heard of sixteen course menus. I grabbed one of the last chips. You had to be fast when living with a teenager. I saw Mike had learnt that. Like Jenny, he had a small pile of chips on the paper in front of him. Claimed, to be eaten in leisure while Sam was shovelling the last unclaimed ones in. I put the kettle back on, making a cuppa for all of us. The kids grabbed theirs and drifted off to the lounge and the TV (Jenny) and his cell phone (Sam) while Mike and I chatted about nothing the kids shouldn't overhear. I got up and checked the potatoes to find they were cooked so I mashed them. I tipped all the now cooled leftover veges into the mince. Tipped everything into a casserole dish, stirred in some frozen peas and frozen corn and added the potatoes. They spread better when they're hot if you're wondering why I spread something hot over something cooled. And the frozen veg would cool the potatoes down fast. Tea cooked for tomorrow. Excellent. The kids had some type of sports tournaments pretty much all day tomorrow.

Mike sat down after our second tea and I cuddled up to him murmuring in his ear,

"Jenny gave an unconditional 'yes' but Sam had one condition. It would require a bit of DIY from you."

"What?"

"Section off part of the back porch into an extra bedroom."

"Why?"

I had been thinking about that, "I think he's worried that there might be a pending patter of little feet and he was terrified of having to share his bedroom."

"Did you explain we hadn't got to that stage yet?"

"He doesn't need to know."

Mike spluttered and laughed even harder when I hit him. Of course, both kids came in from the lounge to see what the joke was. By this time Mike was at the rolling-around-laughing stage and by the heat I could feel, I was blushing.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked.

"Don't you dare!" I warned Mike.

The kids eventually went back into the lounge, one of them and the other into the kitchen, door open of course and Mike eventually stopped laughing except for the occasional slip of chuckles. Clearly, he was feeling very hopeful and therefore relaxed. I wasn't. Relaxed I mean. I was not going to reveal details of my sex life, or lack thereof, to my teenage son.

Both kids then stayed in the lounge for some program, I forget what. I was thinking! Eventually Jenny, then Sam, trotted off to bed leaving us finally alone, except for one open bedroom door. Jenny's. She seldom closed it so Dewey had access.

"So two kids are happy and now I just have to convince their beautiful mother?"

"Something like that," I confirmed. "I just don't want to make another mistake."

"I can't guarantee I'll never do anything wrong but I do have some good qualities."

"Like a good grasp of how to be romantic?"

"Well all right. That's a fail."

I laughed, "Well it was genuine. And unique. And well communicated in that I one hundred per cent understood. And believable. That's one of the many things I like about you but one thing I do want to know and that is what are you like at DIY?"

"Pretty good, I think. Amateur good but I have a few like-minded friends. I'm owed a few favours. What do you want done? Something else?"

I looked around the shabby lounge and then looked at him.

"Can we get married first? It would be easier if I'm living here. I don't have to do it all this weekend do I? And can I ask a serious question?"

"What?"

"If we get married will you keep working?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Well as soon as I moved in with Rosie and Gwen, they stopped working. Well Rosie didn't have a job but she gave up looking."

"Why?"

"Good question I thought, but she didn't."

I paused to think, "I don't think anyone should support me or my kids. Except me and the kid's father. I think I should support myself and the kids. And if we do marry, I think we should do a prenup. The business is yours and the house is mine." I saw the relief on his face. "You thought I would just quit work and leave you with all the bills?"

"Well..."

"Not a chance. I'm the independent sort. And my kids are not your financial responsibility. Nor is my house. Mind you I'd like some help with the grocery bill, the way you eat." I was talking lightly but the expression on his face! He was so relieved. He thought I would drop everything and depend on him and he still wanted to marry me? Good grief!

I decided, since we were being blunt, to be blunter. "I would want help with running the house like maybe you could help with the rates and insurance? Because you'd be living here. But the mortgage is on me. Like the garage bills are on you."

"What about the garage income?"

"Plough it into your mortgage and the equipment you need. Build up the business."

"Really?"

"I'm no parasite, Mike,"

"What did you do when the kids were little?"

"That was where my Mum helped. She paid the first month of a good day care unit and then when my first pay came through, from then on I paid it."

"Rat-Bait didn't help?"

"Nope. I sold him the idea of me working, by promising to take over the house mortgage. Because he seemed to be struggling to pay it and the car yard bills." Struggling to part with the dragon's hoard, I thought now. He probably had one even then. I wasn't going to tell Mike he took over my pay. Judged it as being his too I mean. And he didn't even let me have pocket money. He took it all; every cent. But I would have agreed to anything by that stage. I was going crazy stuck at home with a baby and I could see my mind going down the gutter if I didn't get some adult company. Because Rat-Bait wasn't adult company. He didn't read except for car magazines. He had no interest in politics, world affairs, nature, music, documentaries, decent films, in fact anything I would call adult. His world was cars and sport. And other women as I found out later. He was superficial. You couldn't have a grown-up conversation with him. He was an intellectual lightweight that just ran on ego and senses. There was so much in this world that he didn't understand and he was determined to stay like that. He fought knowledge like it was an enemy and he belittled all my study courses and most of my books.

"So that's where you got to be such a terrific organiser?"

I refocused, "Yep. He insisted I had to do it all; work, child care, housework, gardens, the lot. If I wanted to work outside the house and not in his car yard. He seemed to think he was being magnanimous in letting me get out of the home. After Jenny was born, I worked in his car yard. His office lady had taught me the job before Sam was born. I worked there, full time right up to when I got a job as a Legal Executive. Then I did a lot of his office work from home. I tried taking Jenny to work in the car yard before she was old enough to go to kindergarten, but he went nuts if she made a noise. After a few days he ordered me to take her home. That was a bad day. If I went to work for anything after that, I had to leave her in the car while I scooted in and got stuff." Mike was looking gobsmacked.

"So how did he cope if the kids cried at home?"

"Badly. He'd slam doors, turn the TV up high, walk out, especially with Sam. Jenny was quieter. He'd order me to take Sam down to the laundry to sleep. Sometimes, I'd take Sam for a drive until he went to sleep. I had to keep him quiet. Jenny was a more contended baby and mostly easier to keep quiet. And luckily both kids are good sleepers and easy to settle. Once asleep, they stayed asleep and didn't disturb him."

"It sounds like you tip toed around him."

"Yes I did but I've grown up a lot in the last two years. I would never tolerate that type of treatment again."

"No, you'll toss a crying baby at me and tell me it was all my bright idea."

"I love that idea!" I did too!

"You cook the meals and I'll mind the baby. Done that before. Know it all, feeding, changing nappies, bathing, reading to them, the lot."

I smiled, that was one promise Rat-Bait never made. As he so often reminded me. Both my children were accidents but I'd never tell them that.

"I'd better go. Gotta be at work at eight. See you Sunday?"

"Yes, Jenny says it's her turn to choose something."

He left ten minutes later following some fairly enthusiastic kissing.

• • •

As Mike drove off down the road, he ensured he was out of sight of Jo's and then pulled over. He got out his phone and turned it on. Fifteen texts rang off one by one. All from the same person. He read them, his grin widening. His big sister was getting annoyed at lack of information, was she? Tough. He sent back,

<all good> and drove off laughing. Three more texts exploded on his phone as he continued on to one neglected cat. Coming in the door he was enthusiastically welcomed and then instructed on what was required and where. He fed Coal. He then phoned his sister,

"Hullo Abby. What can I do for you?"

"You bastard! What did she say?"

"She's thinking. But we're also doing some planning and sorting things out. I'm doing the thinking you ordered me to do and so is she. She wants to stay at work and she wants to do a prenup to secure my business. Whew that's all a relief. I couldn't run the risk of losing the business again."

• • •

I looked at my watch and sent a text to my mother,

<You awake?>

<Yes>

<mike asked me to marry him>

<what did you say>

<I'm thinking. Do you want to come for tea tomorrow night?>

<You come here>

<ok> That invitation would have been prompted by Dad who would be cooking. Mike was going to be busy with a sport competition with Martin so it was perfect. We couldn't talk about Mike if he was there.

I trotted off happily and put the cottage pie in the freezer. And before you ask, no I couldn't leave it in the fridge for Sunday night. Two kids in the house who both knew how to use a microwave. They were supposed to eat fruit, noodles, bread and cereal for extras but I couldn't depend on it and especially not if Mike was coming. It would be embarrassing to find a quarter of it gone. And there was really only enough for me and my two kids.

# Chapter Fifty-Four

We turned up at my parent's for Saturday night tea and at my insistence, I bought dessert. An apricot pie, a blueberry pie, an apple crumble, a litre of custard and a nice bottle of wine. All shop bought. All cash. All free in real terms. When my mother protested the expense I said,

"I spent the day at work while the kids were at sports. It's in the budget. Besides, Sam will eat a whole pie by himself."

"I will not."

"You probably will and I don't mind anyway. I earned a lot of overtime today." I had too. I handed the food over and watched my Dad cooking, thinking. I liked being at work when no one else was there. It was bliss. No interruptions, no phones, no appointments, no upset or angry people to deal with, just peace and quiet. Meanwhile, I caught up on all the paperwork of the office that I was authorised to do and that was most of it. The very confidential stuff was a tiny component and when I typed, I typed. I didn't consciously follow what I was typing and I'm female. I can multi-task. I can type accurately while listening to the concert program on the radio and partly thinking about something else like the music. Or Mike.

And it's so much more relaxing and pleasant with no clients. People underestimate the cost of other people's emotions on you. On me in this instance. Life is often so unfair. On a work day, I could go home upset after having tried to lessen the impact of something bad on someone else's life. And it still hurt them whether they were stupid or deceitful or someone else was and they got left with the consequences. And the impact for some of them was dreadful like losing superannuation savings, businesses, houses and some faced imprisonment. But betrayal was the worst aspect.

So many were like the man I had seen on Thursday whose wife had gambled away almost all their savings. He still was having trouble believing what had happened. I had finally had to write down a list of what he needed to do because his concentration was abysmal. The list started with cutting her off from his bank account and what was left of their joint savings and cutting up her credit cards. Separating her from 'their' and 'his' money so she could only spend 'her' money and he couldn't be forced to pay her credit card bills. She had a good income. And getting her to sign all this now while she was still remorseful. And then I recommended she also be responsible for starting to pay this back. I suggested various methods which came out of her pay before she got it. But never in the rest of her working life would she be able to repay what she had gambled. They were both in their late fifties and starting to plan their retirement. All their plans were unravelling.

I wondered if she knew that if they divorced and he took her to court, gambling debts then often came out of her half of the settlement not theirs or his. The same with drug debts. I felt exhausted after the nearly two hours I spent with him; trying to help him stick back together his shattered life, that now had huge holes in it. There was a lot of repetition as he wasn't in a state to listen let alone remember.

I wondered if they would stay married. I suspected they would, but their feelings were unlikely to recover completely from this. Trust is fragile; easy to break and hard to fix. It generally leaves scars. I was still working on forgiving Rat-Bait even with the money I had got back off him. But I had to; for my sake and Mike's. I had to get over this so I didn't carry emotional baggage into my next marriage and scar that one. And so often the Sunday sermons at church were about forgiveness. Forgiving others and forgiving yourself. Both very difficult in my case. On balance, I was getting there. I was moving forward.

Dad didn't need any help cooking so we just chatted. Mainly about the recipe. Dad's meal was wonderful; an Indonesian fish dish with subtle flavours and cooked in coconut milk. And it was so nice to have wine with a meal. Alcohol was rare for me. Originally due to the cost and now due to lack of habit. After the kids were filled to capacity, Mum dumped them into the TV room and we went into the lounge to talk.

"Right," said Dad as we sat down, "Have you given him an answer yet?"

"No. I wanted to ask the children first and you two. I ignored you last time and you were so right. And it cost you so much to help me get into that mess and then out of it."

"Forget that. It was worth it all for two precious grandchildren, especially seeing we're getting nothing out of your brother," commented my mother tartly.

Too true I thought. Aaron was a confirmed bachelor and not promising any change in that policy.

"What did the children say?"

I answered Mum with what the children had said and added, "And Mike said he'd like another child. Apparently his two both have their mother's names. And I would surely love to change my name." And then I remembered, "Oh I keep forgetting to tell you two, Duncan is under investigation from the Inland Revenue. He's been under-declaring income." I saw two happy smiling faces. Oh they _really_ didn't like him.

"Oh, what a shame," cooed my mother oozing sarcasm.

"Could you be implicated?" Dad asked, clearly worried.

"No, absolutely not! I never sighed anything. The responsibility and the omissions are all his. And they've already been through my home. They told me they were looking for signs of excessive spending. They would have to really look hard to find that," I said with total truthfulness. But having said that, I had dealt with very rich people who gave zero outward sign of wealth. Caution was still required.

"They went through your home?" Mum asked. "Did they have a warrant?"

"One of them shoved some paperwork at me but I was so shocked I didn't even look at it. He must have taken it with him," I remembered. "I don't even know what it said. And I don't know who they were. They said they were from the Investigative Branch of the Inland Revenue. The boss, the woman, she looked all through my house and even looked in the fridge. She knew about the Trespass Order but not that I now had a Protection Order. Until I told her. I told her I had done two of his GST returns and why and that they weren't complete and I left him to complete them and sign them. She told me she wouldn't be bothering me again."

"I doubt that was legal," Mum said thoughtfully, "No matter what paperwork she had but then they weren't after you. Just wanting to find out your level of involvement I'd guess. And I suspect they hoped you would effectively 'invite them in.' Did you tell Sean?"

"Yes I did. He was incensed and ready to go into battle for me, but I told him to forget it. He was angry but when he calmed down later, he told me that because what they did was shaky in law, it would hamper any subsequent case they might try to bring against me."

"But if you never sighed anything, they don't have a case. It was his responsibility to check it and sign it. Really, they could only call you as a witness. Are you aware of anything really illegal Jolene?"

"Yes." I couldn't lie to my father.

"What?"

I could see neither of them were shocked at that, "I don't want you two involved at any level."

"Interesting," drawled my mother.

"We're supposed to be talking about Mike," I prompted.

"How do you feel about him?" Dad asked.

I paused; I'd been thinking a lot about that. "You never can really tell what someone is like until you start living with them. But I don't want to just start living with him. I favour a longer engagement this time." Not the four weeks of the last one. When I was in a hurry so I wouldn't be showing when in my wedding dress. I'd been just over ten weeks pregnant on my wedding day and nothing showed. Mum had been very quick off the mark. I'd started vomiting at three weeks and she had me straight to the chemist. Left to myself, I would have ignored reality until I busted out of all my clothes. At least they hadn't insisted on me having it or aborting it. That decision was left up to me. Dad insisted. God bless him. He said I was the one that had to live with any decision. I regretted marrying Rat-Bait but I never regretted having Sam. Or Jenny.

"That's not what I asked you," Dad insisted.

I smiled and refocused; no it wasn't. "I'm not sure," I replied honestly. "And I think I'm unsure because I made such a mess of the last time. I think, if I'd never married Rat-Bait, that I'd have a ring on my finger by now. Does that answer your question?"

"You're frightened to commit?"

"Yes Mum, I think so. I'm constantly second guessing myself."

"So we're not going to be doing any wedding planning yet?"

"Not yet Mum. Let me think first. And there's no hurry this time." There; I'd virtually told them it wasn't shotgun this time.

"Ok but remember you have to book venues months ahead. It's November tomorrow. The best places are usually booked out for six months ahead. That means April."

"Oh, I didn't think of that. So how did you get my booking so quickly last time?"

"I rang every venue and begged for a cancellation and the minute one came up I drove over there and booked and paid in full. As I had promised. Money talks. Especially paying in advance."

I gulped. I hadn't known that.

"How many relationships has he had?"

"At least two Dad. He's never been married."

"But he's obviously keen. What kind of a businessman is he? How successful is his business?"

"I don't know Dad."

"Have you asked him?"

"No."

"Offer to do his GST returns for him," Mum said, "That will give you a good idea on how his business is going."

"I couldn't do that! Not for that reason!"

"No; offer to do that because you know how to. See if he hates paperwork. Many manual workers do," said Dad with a sneaky look at the woman who did almost all his paperwork for him.

I thought about that. Dad did almost all the cooking and a lot of the housework and therefore each did the job they liked and avoided the ones they hated the most. Mum hated almost all housework. She loathed cooking and she wasn't good at it. She had a reputation for burning water. But she was a whiz on paperwork. Like I was. Mathematical or clerical, it didn't matter.

But this suggestion to offer to do his GST returns was sneaky. But if he also was a dishonest businessman then it would be helpful if I knew that _before_ we married. So I could change my mind. And I always had two kids to protect. I knew all about men preying on step-daughters. I had seen nothing to spark concern. In all honesty I'd be more worried about Rat-Bait in that regard. He was the amoral one. Mike was protective. But the more I thought about it the more sensible it sounded. And Sally's template was a brilliant idea and one I could replicate. Especially for a boss who was lousy at paperwork. I'd have to think about that though. Maybe I could offer my business expertise.

# Chapter Fifty-Five

Early November

So I had virtually decided to accept Mike's quirky proposal, had I? Now how was I going to do that? Should I check his books first? Most women would check other things out first...

I rang him up, "I've decided to take you out for dinner next Friday night and let you choose the restaurant. You can't do worse than I did. And I was so embarrassed at the tiny courses and the huge price."

"I have a clear favourite and you won't go hungry. It'll be a lot cheaper too."

"Sounds good."

The week went through, a very busy week at work with lots of outwork. So I could honestly say to Mike that I'd earned more in overtime than the next restaurant will cost. But now the overtime wasn't needed, it was going to be hard to get out of it. It was expected of me. They relied on me to do it especially for the typing and they thought they were being helpful to me to me in leaving it for me. They thought I badly needed the money. I decided to leave it until we married and then use Mike as the excuse. And I was well aware that Rat-Bait was in serious trouble. A poor, ex-wife, doing lots of overtime to pay the bills, would encourage people not to look suspiciously at me. Like lawyer-type people looking to spread the blame.

Alison hadn't contacted me since that one word of warning. The yard was still open; my spy kept a check on it for me. Rat-Bait was still working and Abby said there was a woman at his house. No, I didn't ask. I knew the cameras had been removed about a year ago. That had been demanded by Nadia, worried I would be implicated in the crash. Which was just as well considering my little meeting with Sally a few months ago. I briefly wondered how Abby 'just happened' to get to know anything she set her mind to. She should have been a private eye.

And I got cracking and did my research. On Friday night I got on the internet with my list. I looked up venues first. I wanted an idea of what was available for how much. My mother had picked up the bill last time and I no idea what it had cost. This time I was paying although Dad had already told me he was making the wedding cake.

And this time, I would get to choose the colour for my bride's maid's dresses. To my embarrassment, last time, Rat-Bait had dictated to me that his favourite colour was bright red so he would wear that colour shirt. Meaning my bride's maids had to wear bright red. The choice should have been mine and I would not have chosen red. Before he said that, my mother and I had always said my colour was green. A deep, clear green.

# Chapter Fifty-Six

Friday night was a repetition of the last week except the restaurant was noisier, larger, better patronised, more cheerful and I had to hand the last of my main meal over to Mike as I was full. I ordered a luxury item; a large pulpy orange juice. Mike copied me. I was full and on one reasonably priced main course dish. Better still, Mike had booked and managed to get, a quieter table in a corner. We talked about inconsequential things until I finally said,

"My parents like you but they want to know how good a businessman you are."

"I could show you my books. I know you would understand them. I'm well in the black and ahead on the mortgage."

I decided on full disclosure. Well almost full. I picked up a napkin and wrote down the value of my house minus the mortgage for him. "That's my net worth," I fished in my handbag, "And that's my pay slip. That's average and with overtime." I watched his expression as he looked a little guilty and then really looked at it.

"Wow, that's a good salary! Hey you're worth marrying."

"What are you like at paperwork?"

"I hate it! I mean I'm good at sorting out what to do and good at being careful collecting it, but when it comes to putting it all together my eyes glaze over."

I smiled, "Would you like me to do it for you? That's a family tradition. Mum does all Dad's main paperwork. He just does the day to day stuff." I saw the relief on his face,

"You would? It terrifies me. I have to psych myself up to do it and I always leave it till the last minute. Sometimes I can't face it and I just hand it all over to my accountant and pay her to do it."

"I did all the car yard books. You would be doing a lot more volume in paperwork, but I doubt there would be anything I couldn't work out. It's just ins and outs." I could tell he didn't think there was anything simple about it but it didn't panic me.

I felt a lot better. I didn't want to be sneaky about checking his books and I appreciated his hesitation before he looked at my payslip. He had a clear sense of privacy. Rat-Bait would have gone through my hand bag weeks ago.

There was no comparison between them. I _liked_ Mike as a person as well as loved him. With Rat-Bait, I had convinced myself I loved him but I didn't like him. I did not like his attitude, nor his behaviour, nor his treatment of me and nor his treatment of his children. Life with Mike would be very different. I held my hand out to Mike,

"When you get to the brave part about proposing, just to let you the answer will be yes."

"You'll marry me?"

"Yes."

"Does that count as a proposal?"

I should have known better. Ok so I wasn't going to get the moonlight and the staged scene, "Yes."

"You don't mind that it's not romantic? That I'm not romantic?"

"No, I don't mind. I don't care." I didn't either. Not really.

"What about a ring?"

"Yes please. Can I choose it?"

"Please do! I wouldn't have a clue. I don't even know what size. Do fingers have sizes?"

"Yes they do."

"Really? That's weird. That a finger can be a size, I mean."

I looked at his hands. Typical mechanic hands. No rings, no bracelets and black rimmed fingernails. He didn't even have a watch and then I remembered he said he'd kept breaking them and there were two large clocks in his workshop, each facing the other at opposite ends of the workshop. That was so everyone could calculate the labour component of jobs. He had a receptionist but all his staff had to do their own job cards, both labour and parts.

When we left the restaurant, Mike, to my amusement, insisted on driving and then I soon realised he wasn't going home. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere romantic."

Oops. Something must have shown in my expression as we went under a streetlamp and he quickly said,

"I have something planned. And I want some serious kissing time without interruptions. Not even furry ones."

I chuckled. The last time we had done some fairly absorbed kissing, I had become aware of something furry beside me. Dewey was at my shoulder and as I turned, he stepped on my arm. It was like he wanted to know what on Earth we were doing. He literally squeezed between us and then sat in my lap as if telling us enough was enough. But I was going to have to police this. I was not on the pill and things were not going to get to the stage where I would regret that.

He drove us up to a look-out and we weren't the only darkened car. To my astonishment, he reached over into the back seat and picked up an iPad. When had he put that there? He switched it on, fiddled about, loaded something and up came a page on engagement rings. I laughed; I hadn't expected this.

"Now," he said, "we are going to leisurely go through this and find out what you want. What ideas do you have? You're choosing it. I haven't a clue and you have to wear it."

I stared as he put it into my lap and I started to scroll through. These were some of the local jewellery shops. I didn't know their jewellery was on line. I'd bet my whole pay that he had had instructions by one big sister, but it was a great idea. Mmm, more likely she had set the pages up for him. That was good anticipation. Well alright; she had bluntly asked me what my intentions were towards her beloved brother. This was quite a public romance for people unknown in the media. I refocused.

"I know what I _don't_ want. I don't want something large. I want something I can wear all the time and that won't get in the way," I said thinking of the garish, huge monstrosity Rat-Bait had picked out for me. It caught on things and snagged material like pantyhose and lacey fabrics and was a nuisance. "I want something pretty, not too big, not costing a fortune and nine carat gold so it will last." I kept scrolling, making and saving the occasional screenshot. I liked the way each time I did this the name of the jeweller was saved with it so I would know where to go.

I knew the big solitaire diamonds were the most valuable but I like colour and coloured diamonds were not in the budget. I was looking mainly at rubies and sapphires and emeralds. I knew they were strong stones. One jeweller in particular had a lot that I liked. Pretty, colourful rings. Mike's arm was around me and he was nuzzling into my neck and encroaching on my concentration. Not that I was complaining you understand.

We were both so engrossed, we failed to notice what was going on outside the car and that the sole entrance road had been blocked. A startled and annoyed voice got my attention and I turned to see police and people being dragged out of their cars. Woops. Mike finally noticed.

"I think it's a raid of some sort," Mike said looking around. "Drugs or vice probably. Just as well we've both got our clothes on."

A few minutes later, there was a knock on our driver's window. Mike turned on the ignition and lowered the window," Good evening officer," he said politely to her.

"Would you tell me please what you are doing here?"

Mike gestured for me to turn the iPad around, "We've just got engaged and we're looking at engagement rings. I'm a hopeless romantic case and I want her to choose it. And we needed some privacy. We've got kids."

I noticed he carefully didn't ask what the police were doing here and he was polite, truthful and respectful. He even managed a bit of implied sense of humour to which she responded with a smile. Rat-Bait would have been the opposite and gotten both of us into trouble.

"Very good sir and congratulations. Would you just speak into this please," and she put a breathalyser in front of him.

"She just said yes and we're both sober," Mike said.

The policewoman laughed and moved on and Mike closed the window. I glanced back at the iPad. We looked around as she moved on. A police van had arrived and we watched as people were loaded in. We didn't know what was going on and we didn't want to but two cars left as we continued to watch, two cars remained, plus ours and three cars were possibly abandoned, prior occupants now in trouble. Ten minutes later the police were gone. I opened the iPad as Mike said,

"Don't you want to make a run for it?"

"No, this would have to be the safest place in the city now." Besides, I was engrossed. This was fun. Me time. I had very little of that.

Finally, I had made my choices. I reviewed them. "Three jewellery stores and two I like better and one clear favourite. When do we go shopping?"

"Monday afternoon? Can you get time off work?"

"No problem. That's a date." I Emailed the screenshots to me. I could dream and browse all weekend. I blessed Abby. I would never have thought of this and I would bet my pay Mike didn't either. I knew the delicate hand that had loaded these pages. The hand that was going to belong to my sister-in-law and how cool was that? I closed the iPad. With the car darkened, we sneaked a few kisses in, but now the light of the iPad was off, I started to worry about what the police had been doing here and more to the point what were their targets doing? I drew in a deep breath,

"Perhaps we should go. Sport tomorrow?"

"No, day off. I thought, now we are officially engaged persons, I should have a look at that porch."

"Oh, good. Only Jenny has sport tomorrow. Turn up when you like. I feed my workers."

"I was counting on that. See you about ten?"

"It's a date."

We drove back home, him continuing to drive as I looked at the contrast in driving. Mike drove smoothly, not jerking me forward and backwards as Rat-Bait did by driving via the accelerator and brakes. I always felt mildly nauseous and like I had whiplash after driving anywhere with that unmissed ex. Not to mention the constant anxiety as I felt I had to look everywhere he wasn't. With Mike, I was relaxed. He had full control of the car and was aware of his surroundings. He had his mind on the job. Driving. And when he talked to me, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. And he wasn't in a hyped-up state. He was relaxed too. That so described many of the differences between them.

And for all his fails at romance, Mike seemed a more secure and balanced individual. I thought life with him would be good. And what was he like in bed? Well, I would find that out later but my prediction would be that he would care about me and what I liked, rather than just getting what he wanted and rolling over. Like guess who? It had been a good evening and I loved the way my soon-to-be sister-in-law was training him. He delivered me home and we told the kids together. Jenny bounced around the room and Sam looked a bit wary. And was he looking at my tummy?

"So when are you getting married?" Sam asked.

Everyone looked at me. "Don't ask me. My mother did all the organising last time. I think the waiting list for a venue is about six months. Or we could just go for something simpler. I've no idea what the costs are. Mum and Dad paid. We need time to save up. And I need to think first. There's no hurry." I hoped Sam got that last message. Of course I could have anything I wanted but it would look awfully suspicious. So I had to figure out how I or we would 'raise the money' and in the meantime tell people we were going to wait until we had saved up a bit. I wondered if Mike would let me choose where to go for a honeymoon.

I had only once been on a cruise and that was a short one. Nadia and Warren went on them frequently as in at least once every two years. For them, the attraction was that they led such busy, tightly organised and stressful lives that on holiday, they wanted someone else to do the thinking and organising for them. Warren said one of the best aspects was you unpacked once and then you didn't do the travelling, the ship did. Nadia commented that on business trips and other holidays, Warren kept losing things like shavers and chargers and the book he was reading. Except on cruises. The chargers had to be somewhere in the cabin. And sleep. Nadia said they both got on board with huge sleep debts and learned how to sleep again. Of course I'd still have to do the laundry! I'd love to go somewhere exotic. Hmmm. I could honestly say that I'd got the money for a honeymoon from someone else. That was true. I wasn't allowed to say from whom. Also true. I hated lying. Both those statements were true; maybe a tad misleading but true.

# Chapter Fifty-Seven

The next morning Mike and Martin turned up just after ten am. Jenny had gone to sports and Sam was still in bed. We went through the house and Mike examined the back porch cum laundry.

"How big did you think of making the room?"

"I thought about twelve feet wide. That would make it twelve feet by ten feet and that still leaves plenty of room here. There's only really the cupboard and the freezer on this side that need to be here and the freezer could be turned around crosswise rather than across the back wall. And the cupboard moved back this way. I'd love to ban everything else," I said, looking at two bicycles, dropped coats and jackets, the recycling bins and the rubbish bin and other miscellaneous items.

We studied the porch. It was the full length of the back of the house which was just over twenty-two feet and it was ten feet deep. You walked in the back door and the laundry was on the left, about three feet by ten feet containing the washing machine, dryer and an old concrete double tub as old as the house. Allowing three feet wide for a walkway, that left five feet by ten, to house the freezer and pantry and twelve feet for the fourth bedroom. Mike had a good look, saying,

"That's going to look good. It's unusual that the roof line is the same. It's going to look like it was always there if you remove those inside back windows. You could leave the one in that is over the freezer."

I would be sad to see those windows go but he was right and we couldn't have windows from the dining room looking into a bedroom. I looked and thought. He was right and the far dining room wall was in what used to be another porch so it was a window wall from about two foot six feet up. And also on the North side, so there would still be plenty of light. This house had had an L shaped porch running the whole of the North and East walls. Two bedrooms and the bathroom and laundry were on the South side and my bedroom was on the North. The lounge was in the middle of the house and must have originally been fairly small but then the hallway had been mostly removed and the porch included. So now it was big. Originally the house had had a lot of separate rooms but now it was open plan and much better and bigger. The glass French doors between the dining room and lounge were probably original but I didn't know. This house had been altered a lot. That was a point,

"Do we need a building consent?"

"No. We're not removing any walls or building anything outside the footprint. We're enclosing. By putting a wall in we're strengthening the structure. And those back windows are big enough for a fire escape. They do open, don't they?"

"Yes, all but three of the windows open and those all do." I followed Mike as he walked into the dining room and studied the North/East corner. He thumped the wall. "That will be easy. I'll find an internal door that matches the others," and he took his phone out, walked a few steps and took a picture of Jenny's bedroom door. "The size doesn't matter so long as I get the pattern right."

I was impressed. He clearly knew what he was doing but then I remembered he said he was the one that had made a flat upstairs, inside his workshop.

"So we can do this the first weekend we have a labour force of three kids to help move stuff like the freezer and contents. School holidays?"

"Sounds good." That was three weeks away. That gave me time to hide the more expensive items from the pantry in my bedroom. All I needed to do was have the expensive stuff packed underneath and the cheap stuff in open banana boxes on top. Simple. Kids don't lift anything up to look underneath.

• • •

Three weeks later, with six adults and three kids working, the bedroom was enclosed in less than two days. Oh, who were the six adults? Mike, me, Abby, Peter who was a carpenter friend of Mike's, my father who remember was a building contractor and an ex builder and my mother. Mum and Dad did the door from the dining room into the bedroom. The carpenter friend, Peter, removed the windows between the dining room and the new bedroom in the ex-porch and rebuilt the wall where they had been. Peter then re gibed and smoothed the new bit of wall ready for painting. Mike put in the new wall, with Dad's assistance. I noted how they worked together and was impressed that Mike listened to Dad and worked well with him. Yes, I snooped. So? I noticed they laughed and joked together in the process. Either they were very good actors or they liked each other. It meant so much to my potential future that Mike listened and followed instructions. Having two professionals on the job meant the work went so smoothly.

The kids were the gophers. First, they emptied the right side of the porch of everything except the freezer and the wardrobe. Little did they know that nothing was going back in if I had anything to do with it! They also emptied the freezer so they could move it and then later refilled it. The kids also helped to move the cupboard. This minimised the area taken up by those two items and allowed the new bedroom to be twelve feet by ten which was small, but was a reasonable size for a single. My parents thought this whole idea was a brilliant one and had insisted on buying the door and frame that Mike found.

While everyone else was eating Dad's baking on the Sunday afternoon, I walked through the new bedroom. It was lovely, just needed painting. And the house looked much better. The rear, obviously enclosed, overlarge porch, had looked rough and it had had a clothesline in it and been cluttered with children's bikes, rubbish bins and junk. I suspected the porch had never looked right once it was enclosed. The whole back of the house now looked balanced, neat and tidy with the junk now in the garage and carport. That included the bikes. I had gotten sick of climbing around those bikes to get to the freezer. A wasted, untidy space was now a fourth bedroom and it had cost me several lots of food and a few hundred dollars all of someone else's money. I thought it was wonderful and so did everyone else. I now had nine happy people here, tea in the crockpot and just the greens and the rice to cook. And Sam was beaming. The promise I had made to him was fulfilled. Before we got married.

Of course I now had the new bedroom and the dining room to redecorate rather urgently. But Mum and Dad had transferred the dining room curtain tracks and curtains that had been on that dining room wall into the new bedroom and of course they fitted. They just needed the track to be shortened. The windows were all the same size. As soon as I put in some furniture, the room would be functional. And it urgently needed some carpet or a large mat. And some underfloor insulation. Whoever originally did the insulation had skipped that bit. Mike said he and I could do that but not next weekend please.

• • •

Life settled down into the new normal with suggestions coming from everywhere for all aspects of a wedding and honeymoon. If I'd listened to all of them, I'd have made a serious dent in my savings. And best of all Mike begged me to plan it. Everything was my choice and he would go along with it but he gave me a budget of $20,000 and rising. He said we could go anywhere for a honeymoon but preferably abroad and not Australia because he'd been there. He told me he could add $500 a month to the budget too. And I so wanted to plan it myself this time and in a leisurely fashion.

Bookings for venues were hopeless until Mum found one vacancy on Saturday March 28th 2020. It was a tip-off from a friend of Mum's. I had had no idea how many people were searching for me and it came highly recommended. We went out to have a look and we both loved it so I put a deposit on it. This beautiful venue which was out in the bush with fabulous backdrops for photographs. For a menu choice, I went with a smorgasbord which everybody thought I chose because it was a lot cheaper. I just like being able to choose my own food and especially the veges I like the best.

Next was the honeymoon. I went online and searched, finally finding a cruise starting in Singapore and travelling up to China. Perfect. Mike said to go ahead so I booked and paid. Done. You realise I paid for separate bits in cash. All payments under $10,000. We had a motel booked on our wedding night here in Wellington, then a flight the next evening to Perth, Australia and a hotel booking for two days there. Then we flew on to Singapore. I was doing nothing rushed and I wanted breathers in between flights. And gaps to allow for delays etc. Nadia had warned me to ensure we arrived the day before at Singapore where the cruise left from. I decided to stay there for the three days before. We wouldn't miss the start of the cruise! Because I didn't have any annual leave left, I would be taking leave without pay. And all that booking was done on the same Saturday.

The next day, with huge satisfaction, I got cracking on my computer, wrote out the wedding invitations, then printed and posted them all out. Nearly five months' notice. Quite an improvement on last time...

And Mike's books? Well he begged me to help him so I did. I found out he was a good businessman with good equipment and a very good cashflow. He owned the building! Well, he and the bank. But it meant he would eventually own it fair and square. And from now on I would be doing his books. He thought I was wonderful but truly, it eased my worries. I knew how to look for 'cooked books' and I saw no indications. He was making a steady profit, not including paying off the mortgage and some of the equipment.

Rat-Bait gambled his business. He ran to maximum, high interest bank loans where Mike was paying back over the minimum amount. In these days of low interest loans, Mike was chomping through the principal and was on track to have the mortgage paid for in twelve years. Or less if he kept over-paying the mortgage. Looking at Rat-Bait's books panicked me. Looking at Mike's reassured me. What a contrast.

# Chapter Fifty-Eight

It was nearly December. The main Christmas school holidays were in a few weeks. Such a pity all the venues were booked solid then. It would have been lovely to get married and have a honeymoon in summer. I should have gotten engaged months ago. But stretching ahead soon, were six weeks off school and off work, plenty of cash, two kids old enough to work and most of a whole house that needed redecorating. See where I'm going with this? Two kids motivated by cash and I had plenty of that. My Dad had told me I needed to paint the outside first and it was weatherboard. Labour intensive. The South side was done except for the overcoat. My father also said he would help train the kids. And me. I explained all this to the kids and they were keen even when I told them it would be five dollars an hour. No I was not exploiting them. They would need some training before they were worth that much and this house, or the one that replaced it, would be theirs one day. And it would be out of character for me to offer more. That last one was important.

I still worried that Sam might, in some way, innocently let on to his father that I wasn't as skint as I should be. Rat-Bait must not realise I had cash I couldn't account for. If he ever became suspicious, I thought he might be deadly. He knew some unsavoury types. Nadia was right; he could arrange a robbery to find the cash or a hit on me, or both. I felt it was not likely but I couldn't take the chance. I had two kids that needed me to raise them.

So after dinner one night I explained about their potential employment prospects to the kids and added, "As you know I have been consistently doing a lot of overtime. Some of the money I have been able to save. I saved it for an emergency, but with Mike joining us next year I don't think I need to be as worried financially. I don't have any medical insurance. My savings were meant to be that; insurance against disaster. But a disaster looks less and less likely so I am prepared to spend that money to get this house done up. By the looks on your faces I gather you two are keen to earn that money?"

"Yeah. When can we start?"

"As soon as the holidays start Jenny."

"What are we allowed to spend the money on?" Sam asked.

"Anything you like that isn't cigarettes, alcohol, drugs or anything illegal which includes gambling." I noticed their expressions. Jenny scoffed as if she wouldn't waste her money on any of those things but there was a tinge of guilt on my son's face. I wondered which of those he had been speculating about.

"I'm going clothes shopping," Jenny announced.

Sam was silent. Barring the prohibited items, I suspected a new cell phone was high on his list. For the one he wanted, it would take every cent. I had ignored his hints, pleas, manipulation and demands. He had a phone. Yes, it was about six years old and I hadn't bought it for him, but he did not need the latest. At least Jenny was more reasonable. I wondered if it was normal that one kid asked for very little and the other one seemed to think I was depriving him of the basic necessities of life. The oldest cell phone was my one. And Sam had lost one cell phone and dropped another, destroying it. I had forced him to use a cheap 3G dumb phone until his grandparents were due to hand their old ones over. Especially, because I suspected the lost one was lost deliberately, in order to get a better one. Particularly when he 'found it' a month later. He knew, if he ever tried that trick again, that there was a dumb phone spare... Jenny and I were more careful.

• • •

Christmas Eve saw me exhausted. Work had been frantic, hours had been long and two stressed kids had been sitting exams, finishing assignments or both. And neither were keen on most of their schoolwork. I wondered if it was partly because neither of my two had any idea of what career they wanted. Except both hated maths in all its forms.

So it was Christmas Eve tonight and tomorrow I could sleep in and relax. As usual, we were going to my parents for Christmas dinner which was at one o'clock. We would roll home at about five and anyone who could fit any more food in had to get it themselves. Those were the rules. Even the kids had agreed it was my day off. And better yet Mike was invited too. And coming here early. I had invited him for breakfast and he was bringing it. He had insisted. The kids were delighted even if they had to get out of bed for it. Pyjamas were allowed.

# Chapter Fifty-Nine

December 2019

It was Christmas Eve and Duncan roared down the driveway and into his garage. Tonight was his turn to cook so he had brought Indian. He picked up the bag and carefully carried it upstairs. Lacey had her feet up on his coffee table as usual. He sighed, that woman didn't know her place but she sure had other qualities. And although she couldn't match Sally in the housekeeping stakes, she was a Hell of a lot better than Ashley. He thought it was so funny that she was a fugitive and had escaped from a police station. What a woman! And she was here in his house. He had never harboured a fugitive before and he wanted to laugh every time he saw a police car. If only they knew. If only they knew she had now been here for months! He was sure his status had gone up in all the gangs. They all knew she was here; in his house right in the Capital City. He thought it was hilarious. He imagined cops running all around New Zealand trying to find her and here she was.

He watched as she got tea ready to be dished up. She was not keen on cooking. At first, after offering her accommodation, he had been outraged that she dictated to him what she would and wouldn't do. But he had had to compromise. He couldn't stand being alone and because of the theft of his money, he was reluctant to bring lots of different women here. Just one was safer. One or more women had had robbed him. He still didn't know who and, in fact, hadn't eliminated any from his list.

So when he heard Lacey was needing a place to hide he had thought that would be a good solution. He had never known a woman stand up to him like she had. Well apart from Alison but that was different. He had had to give in. So Lacey cooked half the time and the other half he bought tea.

They had settled into a routine, adjusted to each other and mostly got on well. But he still had the upper hand. If she got stir crazy and wanted to go out, she could only go out at night. It was December and summer which made that increasingly difficult. The days had gone from warm to occasionally hot and she couldn't go outside in the day time. She could only go outside after nine thirty when it was dark enough. Or she had to hide on the back seat under a blanket while he drove out of town until he found a deserted beach. But that had now become risky. The school holidays were here and the population was spreading out into all the normally unfrequented places, where it was no longer safe for her to go. Not until February. She was more confined. She would have to amuse herself in other ways. That could be fun. She would have to rely more and more on him. He was pondering how she could reward him for finding safe places for her.

He looked at her delicate frame. Lacey was such a sweet female name. Clearly not the right name for her. She could out swear him easily and every time she opened her mouth out poured something outrageous. She was also covered in tattoos but had none on her face or hands. She liked having her tattoos all covered up and then uncovering them. For the shock effect. It never failed. The area of her caesarean scar was covered up by a spectacular alien monster coming out of her stomach. Like what happened in the film. And on her back, she had scars from a motorcycle accident. From gravel rash. She had had the scars disguised by a nest of spiders erupting over her back. Over her arms and legs, she had various stuff mostly pictures of her favourite singers, rock bands and names of various boyfriends. And other stuff. She'd gone through stages. Various themes. Several pictures of her dogs. A chain circlet on one upper arm and a barbed wire one on the other arm for the twice she'd been in prison. She was determined not to go back. She was a good worker so long as the job was illegal, which he envied. She boasted she had never paid tax and had never held down a legal job. She was thirty-seven. She went out at night occasionally, picked up by he knew not who, to do he knew not what. The fact it was probably illegal added to her mystery and attraction for him. She could be an assassin for all he knew.

He loved the deal they had struck; free accommodation in return for a little bit of housework. At least she knew how to do the laundry. And she did the grocery shopping online for him so he just picked it up, thus solving two of his biggest problems. He wasn't stupid; he knew not to let her anywhere near his bank accounts. He compromised for the housework plus the sex. When she did the cooking, it was heat up something pretty much prepared but her repertoire of what she could prepare was a lot better than his. And she was good at combining things and she knew how to cook frozen veg properly. Better still there was always a bowl of fruit and always beer in the fridge.

That mattered to him. Both the beer and the fruit. His childhood had consisted of all the cheapest and blandest foods available which was all his mother could afford. Few veges and seldom fruit. He was born at the end of the prosperous 1980's, in 1988, after the bubble had burst on Wall Street and then all over the world. His parents had lost their jobs due to the economic downturn. And then had come the black budget when the Minister of Finance, had cut the unemployment benefit by 30%, plunging his family into poverty and eventually driving his father away. He was only about four, he thought, but he remembered the cut-backs, the lack of money, his father walking out after a quarrel over no money for something he wanted and then him, his mother and brother moving into a cheaper, cramped flat in a bad street in Porirua. It had been eighteen years before his father returned and by then he was an alcoholic. And broke. And Duncan and his brother had left home.

As he grew up, Duncan was determined to get wealth, no matter what and no matter how. He had succeeded until that bloody robbery. But every time he tried to narrow down the potential thief, he would remember another woman who needed to be added to his list. The list that had held thirty names when he gave up and put it away. One week, he had picked up six women and three had not made his initial list. It was hopeless. There had been too many whose names he had forgotten. And many would not have given him their real names. And many he wouldn't remember again if he fell over them. He had been drunk a lot. Had he boasted about the money to any of them when drunk? Did he talk in his sleep? He had no idea.

He and Lacey were getting on well though. They struck a deal over the dishes and kitchen clean-up. He paid for the food and booze. She prepared it and dished up and kept the kitchen cleaned up. He knew she thought she was getting the better deal because she told him so but he thought he was by far getting the better deal. The costs that all went on his credit card were paid at the bank by him in cash. All free money from money laundering or cash sales. And he would sit down and wait to be served. Much better. That was how a man should be treated.

The only snag was that she couldn't do his GST returns. He was having to work around Alison but he was getting better and better at that. What they hadn't discussed was how long Lacey could stay here. He hadn't told her, but he had decided she could stay until he found someone else. In the meantime, he had a free housekeeper and all the sex he wanted. And she was captured. She couldn't leave without help. She was like a slave. A servant/sex slave. Unpaid. It was delicious.

It would be Christmas tomorrow and he was doing a roaring trade as people updated their vehicles before going on holiday. Or bought their first. Which meant he was selling as many cheap vehicles as better ones. Trade-ins weren't staying long on his lot and he and Brian and Harry were selling flat out. And they had taken on Alec, a university student, over the holidays. Just for their busiest month. In January, the sales would reduce until they surged again as the students and others returned to Wellington next year in February.

# Chapter Sixty

Christmas Eve 2019

Sapphire looked over Alan's spreadsheet showing the cars going on and off Mr Hinckley's yard with changes of ownership going through, but not going through the books. She saw an average of what looked like five sales a week with no paper trail, no tax paid and no income declared. She counted every car that arrived on his yard and was subsequently sold. Some just turned up, had a valet done and then disappeared, their ownership changed.

"I've got four vantage points where I take photos from and that covers the whole yard, but these are where all the 'sales on behalf' are." Alan pointed, "so that makes it easy. These ones go through the books," he pointed to one side, "And only half of these do."

"How many cash sales is he doing?"

"It varies but at least two a week that I can see, often several in a day. And these here," he pointed to the other side, "are sales where the price declared is less than the car is worth, sometimes a third of the value. And the new owners have criminal records or connections or both."

Sapphire nodded, "You've traced the ownership?"

"Yes, through the number plates. Some never go under his name, not even if they stay on his lot for over a month. Some are on his lot and on online auction sites at the same time."

"But that's not how they're displayed?"

"Some sit on his yard without a window card. They don't look like they're even for sale. Most have a standard window card and no indication that they are also on an auction site. Some of them, about half, get sold by the other salesmen. If they sell them, they go through the books as sales on behalf."

Sapphire looked through the spreadsheet tracing the transfer of ownership, "And other cars appear briefly on his yard as well?"

"Yes, there's the occasional one that he seems to pick up and sell pretty much the same day. I've traced a few to multiple Auction site sales and some sell here. I suspect he sometimes has a buyer waiting and just takes the car there, but almost every car stops at his yard for cleaning. These are all cash sales I presume. They don't go through his GST returns. Most, but not all of them, are cheaper cars. I did some asking around and a cop friend of mine tipped me off. He's picking up cars from two drug dealers as well and selling them. The police got a tip off from a disgruntled owner who turned in the drug dealer and our lovely Mr Hinckley. He said he was forced to sell his car at a quarter of its price to clear his drug debts and that our lovely Duncan was there at the time, although not the one doing the threatening. But he was definitely a witness and he sold the car after being aware of the circumstances. And there's at least one sale I found that I think was a stolen utility and he sold it to a farmer. It was a four-wheel drive with a tough deck, roof rack and a canopy. East to trace. A bit of paint altered the number plate."

"That's pretty amateurish."

"True, but it worked at least far enough to deliver it to the farmer without detection under number plate recognition of stolen cars."

"But you photographed it. Lovely. So he's got his pudgy fingers in a lot of pies and is well aware these are dodgy deals. I don't know if my calculator can cope with all these charges. Well this is a bit more than we expected. Let's run this one on for another couple of weeks. There is some nice networking going on here."

"Yes, I've promised the police some information after we move but that's not all. His latest girlfriend is Lacey Ferguson."

"Should I know that name?"

"You would if you were a cop. She's a fugitive. The daughter of one of his drug dealer friends."

"Oh. Nice. This just gets better and better." Sapphire laughed. "What is she wanted for?"

"Escaping from custody, possession for supply, money laundering, possession of illegal firearms and concealed weapons."

Sapphire chuckled, "So that adds harbouring a criminal and probably drug possession and possession of illegal firearms if she's there. He's going inside for years for this lot. Keep up the good work. And better still, we'll ask for police help because of her at the last minute and they'll be so pleased to get her they won't poach on our investigation. Her presence guarantees police cooperation. Oh well done Alan."

"So when are we going to move?"

"I'll ask the legal team. I'll tell them we're ready when they are?"

"Yes. I'm just getting more details. We have enough now and then some."

"That we do. Good work Alan."

Sapphire looked in great satisfaction at all the painstakingly collected evidence. A slam dunk.

"So when are we going in?"

"A Monday morning, early. He's a late riser and it's his day off. He'll be home."

"What date?"

"Everyone's knocking off today for Christmas and many for annual leave. We won't be back to full complement until February. Probably mid-February? We'll firm the date up when everyone's back at work."

# Chapter Sixty-One

Christmas Day began with Jenny shaking me awake and telling me that Mike was here. I looked at my watch. It was just past nine am. I yelped. I'd slept over nine hours!

"He says you can appear in your dressing gown," Jenny said cheerfully. "The bathroom's free."

Washed, I turned up for my pre-ordered MacDonald's choice to find Sam had nearly finished his. I greeted everyone and picked up the McCafé coffee. Oh it was so good. And a large. I so loved expensive coffees and even though I could now afford them, I hesitated to buy them since it felt so indulgent. And expensive. Eighteen years of lack of money, choices or both had left me still feeling guilty spending money on myself. Which was now ridiculous. While Sam and Jenny wolfed their McMuffins down, I delicately ate my pancakes.

Mike smiled as he looked at Jo. Her hair was mussed, her dressing gown fully buttoned up and he thought she looked beautiful. March 28th seemed like a lifetime away but it was now just over three months. Three months and they would be travelling to countries he had never been to before. Going to China. He would never have dreamed of going there. A civilisation thousands of years old. And he'd never been on a cruise before. And he'd never been married before. He'd never really wanted to. So many firsts.

I finished my pancakes and sat back with my coffee. I noticed that Mike had bought extras but I left them for the kids. Dad would have turkey, or ham or lamb for Christmas dinner. Those were his favourites and he was sure to cook two of them. All three were above my usual budget. I wanted a good appetite to deal with those and there would be at least five vegetable choices.

"I forgot to tell you," I said to Mike. "The family tradition is a full hot dinner today and tomorrow, a barbeque with salads. Mum takes over the cooking and gives Dad a break."

"I thought she couldn't cook."

"She can, but she gets distracted and burns things. She's usually trying to work and cook tea at the same time. She's not a good multi-tasker. Dad is. But she can't burn this. It's all from packets except she can make fruit salad. And she can open cans. It's her turn to prepare everything and he cooks the meat. He also usually does make some fancy sauces and I make some desserts. Aaron usually comes but he can't make it this year."

"What does Aaron do?"

"He's a quantity surveyor."

"What's that?"

"He works out what materials are required to build buildings. Anything from a garage to a high rise. He's another mathematician." I laughed as I saw him wince.

I went back into my bedroom, got rapidly dressed and reappeared for the rest of my coffee.

Jenny, meanwhile, had beaten Sam to it and cleaned up the kitchen/diner which just meant rubbish into bin. But it counted. She pointed to the table and the fridge and I signed her spread sheet on the fridge. As usual, she was earning more than Sam this week. That little few minutes of work had just earned her 50c. I looked over. Sam was still absorbed with his phone. I glanced at the dishwasher and back at Jenny. She beamed, opened the dishwasher, discovered it was full of clean dishes and proceeded to put everything away. I signed. Another 50c. And it would take her five minutes. That worked out to six dollars an hour which was average housework pay per my rules. And since Jenny was quicker than Sam to start the work, she was earning an average of twenty dollars a week while Sam was earning more like fourteen. And I was the real winner since in reality their Dad was paying. It was delicious.

Sam finally became aware of what was going on and scowled as he realised what had just happened. What had just happened? My kids were competing with each other to get the housework done. Oh joy.

We drifted into the lounge and began our usual custom. I started. I picked up a present I had bought and handed it to my son. That was our custom. One by one. The giver picked up and gave to the receiver. That stopped a mad, messy, disorganised, sometimes disappointed and impersonal rush. And in my mind, it better reflected the spirit of Christmas. And disguised the fact that there were not many presents. Usually. This Christmas was going to be a little different.

Sam undid his present which was three new T shirts. But it was the unwrapped present on top of them that was the true present for Sam; a one-hundred-dollar phone voucher. He dropped the shirts and picked up the voucher,

"Thanks Mum!"

Jenny leaped up and handed me her present and I unwrapped a mascara! I grinned at her. She had seen me absent-mindedly running my old one under the hot tap to get the dregs out of it. The gift-giving went on, the number and value much improved on last year. Everyone had money this year. I gave Mike his present and he received it with joy, immediately knowing what it was. It was a bomb-proof case for his cell phone. A garage was a hazardous environment for a cell phone. The case was designed to be waterproof and drop proof. Shyly he handed me a manila envelope and I opened it taking out brochures for bedroom suites!

"You have to pick one," he said.

I blushed but I looked through them. "I'll pick the one I like the best but only if you let me help pay." He looked cross but I confessed, "I like the most expensive one," and pointed to the chunky, solid wood one. I didn't want a fragile or fancy one and I wanted one that would last.

Mike considered. He also liked the solid wood one and it was hardwood. It was more than three times the price of the cheaper ones but it would last. He thought quickly,

"I'll agree to that if you'll let me buy the bed and a new mattress now. We can wait for the rest and build it up as we can afford it."

"Deal. I was already saving. I have enough for a tallboy for you. Or that lovely scotch dresser."

"I'll have the scotch dresser and I'll buy you the dressing table."

"Deal. The larger one please." It was only one hundred dollars more than the smaller one but would hold nearly fifty percent more. I handed him the last present and he shook it out. It was a heavy, black, home knitted jersey. Oh you want to know when I found the time? I had started it for Rat-Bait and completed the back and front but it was too baggy for him. Mike was heavier and it would fit him. Better still, the kids didn't know it had been started for their father because the more observant Jenny had been four when I packed it away. It was too big for Dad, Sam and Aaron as well. Mike was taller and well built. I had only had to knit the sleeves and I had done both of them together and then Mum had helped me sew it up.

Dewey came in and Jenny shook a loosely wrapped and untidy parcel at him. He unwrapped it and she picked him up and the parcel and dished him up the gourmet meal. He tucked into a second breakfast with not a single complaint. There were another three parcels for him. Some would contain more catmint mice. I had given Jenny twenty dollars for him.

• • •

That was the start of one of the best Christmases I had had since I got married. Dad surpassed himself as usual. No one needed any tea after that and Dad sent us home with leftovers. Mostly the turkey and the lamb and I told the kids to help themselves to turkey sandwiches. I wanted the lamb for meals. He had roasted two lambs. I guess he figured Sam and Mike would eat one between them. Dewey got turkey for tea. I thoughts animals should be included in Christmas and I never heard an objection from Dewey.

# Chapter Sixty-Two

On Boxing Day, we took the children to Westgate Mall to spend their Christmas present vouchers, while Mike and I went furniture shopping. Which took us minutes because we both knew what we wanted and agreed. We looked at the bed we liked,

"It'll have to be Queen size like this one," Mike said. "I'm too tall for double."

One of the salesladies came over saying hopefully,

"Good morning, can I help?"

"Yes please," Mike said, "We'll have that, that and that." And he pointed to the furniture we had chosen.

"We have two specials on today," she said. "Ordering three items gets you another for half price."

"We need a mattress," Mike said.

"Half price," she said with a smile.

"One bedside cabinet and I get another free?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she declared, "and I'll throw the glory box in for free."

"What's the other special?" Mike asked.

"Ten percent discount for all furniture paid for today. Fifteen percent if it's cash or eft pos. And it's free delivery within fifty kilometres."

"I can do that. I have Christmas money." I declared. "Cash. And I cashed in my last pay with all my holiday pay in it. I can pay cash for all this if you can pay me back some money later."

Mike looked at me hesitantly but then he nodded. He had his priorities right. Discount over ego of being the purchasing one. We went to look at mattresses, choosing a middle of the range one. I was going to be in Heaven. New furniture and somewhere to unpack the cardboard boxes into and a bedside table for a lamp I didn't have. That was a point. Everyone was happy including the saleslady who was probably paid on commission. She thought she had sold extra because of the sales. She was right. And I wasn't finished yet. I grabbed two matching bedside lamps; the ones you touch to turn on.

I went to the counter and paid. Cash. Guess whose? My pay remained in my bank account. Rat-Bait would be livid at what his cash was spent on this time. He'd be incandescent if he knew what we intended to do on that mattress. It gave me a delightful feeling of revenge. We met up with the kids for a confab and Mike took them for brunch while I scooted off.

I had checked out the Boxing Day sales online. My next stop was Manchester where I bought a mattress protector, two sets of white Egyptian cotton sheets, a winter down duvet and new pillows. Mike had said he didn't care about duvet covers so I bought a dark blue velvet duvet cover and a plain matching mink blanket in midnight blue. Cash again of course. And expensive because they were good quality. I know my thread counts and materials. Mink blankets aren't expensive though; I just like the feel of them and the warmth. I pushed the trolley to the car and unloaded after removing the prices. I went back and found Mike had bought a coffee and sushi for me. I tucked in, famished following all the spending. The cash was taking a beating.

"What do you kids want to do now? Finished shopping?" I asked as I demolished the last piece of sushi. I had noticed the shopping bags beside them; multiple in both cases.

"Yeah we're done and it's getting crowded." Sam declared.

"Bed linen?" Mike asked.

"Got it all. I hope you like white sheets."

"I'm not fussy."

The kids would now be occupied with their presents and purchases, tea was being cooked by my parents and Mike and I had the afternoon together. Bliss.

# Chapter Sixty-Three

I was contemplating life, a few days after Christmas. It was annoying. It was just after Christmas, summer school holidays and my holidays. I had enough money to take the kids to London for a holiday and I couldn't. We had to stay at home. Think about it. I could not explain being able to afford to take them anywhere. Not even within New Zealand except for day trips. I was supposed to be broke and saving for my wedding and honeymoon. Everyone would think there was nothing left over. It was infuriating. I had also had had enough of two kids who by now were bored. And what had I suggested they might like to do over the school holidays? Even if the wages were poor? That's right. Paint the outside of the house. Golden. To go with the dark green roof. And the windows would have to be white but they were wooden and would take a lot of preparation and then three coats for the worst of them. And even though it was summer, there were two windows I couldn't open and the toilet window wouldn't close. But the South wall was prepped and undercoated so that was a start.

But my low expectations of the work ethics of my children was unfounded. By December 30th, the kids were over the holidays, bored and eager to start. Dad had had a few days off and was also ready to start. My mother declared we were all nuts and she was having another week off first. Incredibly, the kids were out of bed, breakfasted and dressed by the time my Dad turned up at just after nine.

"Kids ready to start?" Dad asked. "Dressed?"

"Redressed. Both of them were sent back into their rooms to take off good clothes and put on the clothes they didn't like and don't want to wear again." Dad laughed. He laughed again as two kids re-appeared. They both looked disgusted and both were wearing reasonable clothes, shorts and T shirts but presumably ones they didn't like. But it was the expressions they were wearing on their faces that was really funny.

"Maybe they'll feel better ones they get some paint stripper on those clothes," Dad murmured.

"What do we paint first?" Jenny asked cheerfully.

"Nothing. We first do the windows, then take the old paint off the weatherboards, replace rotten weatherboards, inspect the wood and generally _prepare_ for painting," Dad declared.

Two faces dropped. I smiled, poor kids. I had warned them. Kids don't listen to what they don't want to hear. A bit like some adults. And some sixteen-year-old girls, pregnant and thinking they were in love.

"So what are we going to do first?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to do you both a huge great favour and save you hours of dirty, nail-breaking and boring work. And save your mother a lot of money."

He had the attention of all three of us.

"We are going to remove all the windows, pack them carefully on a trailer I borrowed and I am going to take them all away and bring them back tonight with all the old paint off them. And then you kids are going to help me put them all back on again. Tonight."

I was going to pray for no rain.

"Some of these windows don't open. How are you going to remove them?" Sam asked.

I was wondering that myself but Dad said, "We are going to do this job backwards. We are going to remove all the windows that are easy to remove first. Then re-evaluate."

That sounded like paint all the others in place, closed, as the ones before us had done.

We, all four of us, started on the North side and one by one removed all the windows. A couple of screws were well attached but I got the impression it didn't go as badly as Dad had suspected it might. Almost all the screws were well painted in and some were rusty. Some screws came out easily, some were reluctant and others needed a lot of persuasion to leave home. A bit over an hour and we had carefully packed all the windows on the North side of the house onto one side of the trailer he had clearly borrowed for this job. I noticed Dad marked the glass of each window as he removed it. N1 was the one nearest the road on the North side. Jenny was in charge of collecting all the screws as they came off as well as helping hold and transport the windows.

We moved to the back of the house and a few windows later Mike and Martin turned up, got their instructions and started on the East wall. Jenny joined their team. We were soon moving at more than twice the speed due to competing with each other and that was heartening. Mike was clearly an expert at removing screws. Kind of comes with his job. It was a dead heat as both teams finished their walls.

And now it was the dreaded South side where two windows hadn't opened since we'd moved in. Mike delegated those miscreants to his team and started as our team moved onto the co-operative windows. By lunch time they were all out but Dad and Mike had been required for two of the three that were determined not to leave home. I watched as they used chisels to dig out the paint and Dad, several times, bashed on the frame with a book. It took a while to get them out. No windows broke. To everyone's astonishment I suspect.

"Now the toilet window will close once we've removed layers of paint, both the bathroom windows will open and both the laundry windows will open once these are all done," I said in satisfaction. We had found yet another window had stuck fast so that had made three that wouldn't open plus the one that wouldn't close. And this was in summer. Several more wouldn't open in winter. As we were fastening the last window to the trailer, Mum turned up with lunch. All home made by my father I assumed but I was wrong.

"I made sandwiches," Mum said proudly. Well they were hard to burn. I suspected she hadn't made the scones or the chocolate slice since they were not burnt but I refrained from commenting. Going over to fetch everyone in, I saw Dad and Mike and Martin conferring and Dad said,

"We're going to all go together and strip the paint off these. I'd like Mike to help me lift them."

I thought that was a great idea. The construction industry is hard on bodies particularly joints and backs. Dad didn't complain much but I knew his back, hips and knees in particular were often not on the best of terms with the rest of him. Thank God this was summer.

After lunch, Dad, Mike and Martin left with the window trailer and I showed the kids how to strip back the old paint from the window frames. They started without a great deal of enthusiasm for the job and their attitude didn't improve with time. By afternoon teatime, I saw I was getting a poor return even for five dollars an hour. Both of them were doing a sloppy job, very slowly. Rather than criticise, I thought for a few minutes. What would Mum have done I wondered; she who had scarpered just after lunch before anyone thought to give her a job. Like me.

As we broke for a drink I said to the kids, "We're going to have a competition. An extra five dollars for the one who finishes, properly, their window frame. The whole frame. In groups of two. To win, you have to do it to the standard I do it." I noticed the immediate improvement in their attitudes. Now would it result in better, faster preparation? After an hour I saw it clearly did. Both kids were applying the scraper just after the paint stripper, following instructions no less and the job was proceeding much faster. The old paint was being evicted. As instructed, they were then scrubbing the frames down with sugar soap and pot scrubbers and the end job, I thought, would satisfy Dad. He was going to do the final check.

It was just after six pm when the boys came back with the windows and fish and chips. Now we had the job of reinstalling the windows before anyone could relax but Mike had been on his phone I discovered and three additional staff reported for duty and fish and chips. Abby, Charlotte and Con turned up. The latter two were employees of Mike's. Charlotte was the auto-electrician and Con was an older man who was an engineer. This increased our workforce to nine and then I saw Mum tucking into the tea as well. That made ten. The windows were reinstalled within two hours and I noticed a few new hinges had been fitted and we had new screws. The windows looked as if they were reverted back to wood with almost no paint left on them.

"How did you get them this clean?" I asked Dad.

"We dip them in a caustic bath. Just the wood, and then scrape the paint off. It's much stronger and faster than the stuff you and the kids have been using, but you have to wear special gloves because it burns skin. It's professional stuff that isn't available to the general public."

I was well aware that that process had enabled them to work much faster than we had. When you looked at it, an enormous amount of work had been done and I had had no idea that Abby was that good with a screwdriver. Abby's firm had also closed down for the year. She was normally on annual leave at this time of the year. She hadn't gone away this Christmas, as she usually did, because she had a cruise booked to go to Alaska in late May next year. So she was doing odd bits of urgent work for inconsiderate customers who hadn't done things in time, or early and now faced penalties. She was working and charging those idiots double. Which meant she was available to come here. Could she wield a paintbrush? It turned out she could but she told me it was her holidays and she refused to work more than twenty hours a week and only painting.

Although no day was as frantic as that first day on 30th December, January came and went as the house got painted. Dad supervised but as the kids and I got better and better, he spent less time helping and more time supervising with a book or a glass in hand. The kids didn't mind as they managed, by the end of January, to get up to and over forty hours a week. I think we were all going to look forward to our usual lives to work less hard! By January 24th, we were finished. My house was golden, with a green roof. It stood out from the crowd. It looked lovely and my family and I had done it. And my kid's father had paid for it...

# Chapter Sixty-Four

Late January 2020

Lacey sat down with her usual lunch of cheese on toast and put on the TV. She tossed up between BBC news and Aljazeera and decided on the latter today. She could never get near a news broadcast when Duncan was home unless it was the sports news. Anything else; forget it. She watched the news on the corona virus with increasing worry. She didn't like the progression of it. Even though the Chinese were saying it wasn't spread person to person. That was fine if it stayed in China but if it became contagious and flew overseas attached to passengers? She didn't like diseases. She was fine with something she could see and fight but not with something that didn't fight fair.

Lacey had travelled widely and had been to China. She had seen not only the usual tourist spots but also the high-density housing. She could imagine disease spreading there in the high risers. And she had walked through a bush meat market. Although she had been told not to go there, as locals were suspicious of Western tourists and she was warned she might find it upsetting. She almost never obeyed instructions like that, so had blatantly walked through a few markets, careful not to use her camera so the locals didn't get suspicious and feel spied on. Possible unpleasantness from locals didn't bother her anyway. And growing up the only girl with three older brothers, she had learnt to fight and fight dirty. Not much scared her.

But she had also seen the films Outbreak and Contagion and they scared her silly. She had thought this was serious when it was first announced a couple of weeks ago and hoped it would go the way of SARS and MERS. But it didn't seem to be being contained as strictly. Perhaps because it wasn't as lethal as they had been? But that's not what social media were saying. Social media were saying it was killing people. China was only a few hours plane ride away and it was a popular destination for tourism. An increasing number of Chinese tourists came here too. That meant it could get here on one direct flight.

Still, the World Health Organisation were now involved. That was both frightening and reassuring at the same time. But she hoped the virus wouldn't get here. It was being described as affecting the lungs and it was killing those with underlying health conditions. Her mother was a chronic asthmatic and where was she living? Here in the capital city. She sat, considering. She had read that the favourite highways for diseases were trains, buses, ships, main trunk highways and planes. Wellington had all of the above and was on a main junction for all of them. It that virus arrived, it would visit Auckland, Wellington or Christchurch first, the international airports and be at all the airports a few hours later via all the domestic flights. It could be here in Wellington the same day it landed in New Zealand. It was invisible. It could be busy infecting people weeks before it was diagnosed. Why hadn't China closed its' borders, she wondered. Why hadn't we?

She picked up her phone and looked through a few sites noticing the disparity in reporting, between social media and the official news channels. She shuddered and hoped the official news was right. Worried, she got up and fetched a coffee and an apple and sat down again deciding to see what BBC news said. The housework could wait. This was nerve-wracking.

The news over, Lacey pondered the information she was getting from both sources. It had been nearly two weeks since the world had been made aware of this corona virus, but social media were saying it was killing people in China and the hospitals couldn't cope. They were also saying it had been going for a few months. Some said November and some said earlier. Some said that November had been when it was very obvious. Not when it started. There were horrifying videos of dead people in hospital corridors in an over-run, crowded hospital. Overcrowded hospitals with an infectious disease was like a feast to a virus. If that was true it pointed to frighteningly inadequate infection control. People were saying there were deaths that weren't being counted in death statistics as being from this virus, because there were not enough testing kits. Or sometimes not any. If true, that meant it often wasn't being diagnosed. And if it wasn't diagnosed then no one knew who had it or who had died of it. Or where it had come from or where it was. And if it was spread person to person then that was crucial wasn't it? Surely it had to be person to person spread? Could it spread this fast if it wasn't? Could there be a vector like rats or birds or chickens? She thought of how many books on this subject she had read. It held a morbid fascination for her. Her instinct said it was spreading like it was person to person. That was the pattern. Not just infecting from one place.

Lacey then saw the BBC news to the end and decided to wash the floors. Her usual way. She went around with a mop and just did the dirty bits on the main thoroughfares. Finished in minutes. And she left the bucket with its' cleaning aroma in the lounge until Duncan text that he was coming home. She then quickly cleaned the two toilets and tipped the soapy water into them. So when Duncan arrived home for dinner, he should conclude that she had been busy cleaning the floors and the toilets. Instead of watching TV. The whole place smelt of cleaning smells. She knew how to do the bare minimum of work while appearing to have been busy. Duncan wanted a hot and cold running slave. The only place she worked hard was in the bedroom and it wasn't housework that she was doing. Which was why she was prepared to work harder there.

She got tea out of the oven. It was baked potatoes and a chicken casserole she had made earlier this morning, by tipping a tin of chicken soup over the pieces of frozen chicken she had taken out of a packet of frozen chicken pieces. She had added a chopped onion and left everything to defrost. She grinned, she called that marinating. Three ingredients. Well it would sound impressive when she told Duncan it had been marinating all day. She was now microwaving mixed veges. Simple. And even that was something he thought was difficult and couldn't do. She chuckled at the thought. And it was tasty if she said so herself. Dessert was an apricot pie and custard. Both store bought and she had concealed the otherwise incriminating rubbish, like the wrappers and tipped the custard into a jug. So it would look homemade. Not that he knew. He never put the groceries away. Or the rubbish. She'd spent about an hour doing housework and the rest of the time watching TV or on social media, or doing business via the phone.

She dished up tea for them both and sat in front of the TV. Watching sports of course and Duncan was guarding the remote as usual. What was it with men and remotes? When the ads came on, she said, "There's a virus raging in China. It looks like it could be serious."

"What's that got to do with us?"

"It could spread. It could be worse..." She looked at the look on his face and saw she was wasting her time. It wasn't related to cars or sport so was irrelevant to him. She should have known better. As he ostentatiously finished his can of beer she went and fetched him another. Serving him was tedious but much less so than finding another safe place to live. He was an idiot and so easy to manipulate and she was well aware she was getting the best out of this deal. Safe and free living, while still in Wellington and able to organise her drug selling network, meant she stayed on top of her business. She could openly use his landline phone, which she very much doubted was monitored, while her employees used other safe landlines or burner phones. But mostly they all used other peoples' landlines. None that could be traced to them. And they had their own codes. The codes indicated they were discussing their children and delivering them to sports and dancing lessons. Taking turns to car pool. They were talking as if they were organising who was picking up which kids and where they were delivering them. It wasn't kids they were delivering.

When Duncan went to sleep following a full meal and five beers, she took the remote out of his hand and turned the TV back onto Aljazeera. After a while she muted it, seeing most of it was repeats, and she rang one of her employees. An hour later she met him at the front door as he delivered some McDonald bags. They didn't hold food. She went and hid them under the bed in one of the spare rooms. Just as well Duncan never did any housework. And she found the best way to discourage curiosity was that the doors to the spare bedrooms always stayed open. Nothing in there to hide, see? She chuckled at the thought.

# Chapter Sixty-Five

February 2020

It was Monday morning, the 10th of February. The kids had settled back at school after the summer holidays and they had done brilliantly and earned lots of money. But the inside of the house now looked shabby in comparison to the outside. The windows were all fresh and painted inside and out making the contrast obvious. I noticed this as I dawdled over a coffee. Dewey was up on his feeding station having a wash and purring. No one had stepped on his tail while he was eating, since his move there. Our eardrums had recovered. As I fitted my fingers around the mug, I kept looking at my new engagement ring. I'd removed it while I was painting and had just put it back on recently. It was four months old today. It was an emerald surrounded by a ring of diamonds. It was set low which probably didn't show the diamonds off properly but it wouldn't catch on things. It was a ring to be worn all day, not a ring to show off. Just what I wanted.

With Mike's help, and he said he was handy, I could continue to do this place up, sell it and buy a better house. With the critical state of rental housing, she'd sell quickly even though this wasn't a posh neighbourhood. It now being a four-bedroom house, lifted her value too. Rents were so high in Wellington that for a house of this value, paying a mortgage was cheaper than renting even when you added insurance and rates. Of course you did need a deposit and an income! The best factor was that a house would eventually be mine. I would be mortgage free by retirement, hopefully by forty. All from others viewpoint, apparently via my own efforts. The current low interest rates were helping greatly as so little was going on the interest and so much was chewing down the principal. The house, in two years, had increased in value by $180,000 not counting what I had done to it by adding in the extra bedroom. A lot of cleaning had been done for a start. The smell would have lowered the price I had paid. So her market value would be higher. I could now buy a better house in a better neighbourhood. It was a point to ponder.

When Mike and I married, I wasn't sure how things would go. Maybe a prenuptial agreement that he owned the business and I owned the house? He had a mortgage too. I thought the business was his priority and the house was certainly mine. They were probably equal in value. I had a Plan B this time. Very important that Plan B.

Life was good. My future was looking all good and that was a huge advancement on last year. I could pay the bills, I loved my job and I loved Mike. Better still I liked him. Everyone else significant in my life liked Mike too; my kids, my parents, my friends, my workmates and my boss Sean who had met him. Nadia and Warren told me he was a good catch and he came highly recommended by Abby...

I sat in the kitchen, my hands around that first coffee of the day. All was quiet and peaceful. I still couldn't get used to not having to worry about the bills. The honeymoon was paid for, as was most of my wedding-to-be. The washing machine was washing all the sheets and when I got home, two dryer loads would get them dry. The kitchen floor had been vacuumed and washed by Jenny yesterday and the windows had been washed by Sam. Life had changed so much from total disaster three years ago.

Tea was in the crockpot and the kids had done that housework yesterday for their pocket money. Which I could now afford. Sam had his new cell phone and Jenny had saved for and bought, a keyboard. She had found, and bought, an online teaching program. Better still, she could do her music lessons in her bedroom. I'd told the kids that I was going to be continuing to work through my lunch hour this year to get the money to pay them their ongoing pocket money. That wasn't new; I'd been doing that for years but they didn't have to know that. I put my coffee mug in the dishwasher and switched it on.

Mike and I needed to get planning the last details of our wedding. We could get married in my church. Oh life was good and it was going to get better. The only problem might be Coal and Dewey but they could have separate bedrooms initially until they learned to get on.

The only fly in the ointment was that virus in China. And where were we going for our honeymoon? China. Still, hopefully if would be wiped out by then. We weren't going to get there until nearly May. That was four months away.

I drove to work and was working away happily just after lunch when I became aware of movement and looked up from my typing to see the receptionist and the other Legal Executive leaving the room. Sean and Ryan were coming over to me. I must have gone pure white because Sean quickly said,

"It's not the children! Duncan has been arrested."

I put my head in my hands and fought to hold back the tears as Sean reached me and put his arm around my shoulders. To be honest, I was worrying about the kids, Mike and my parents and all at the same time. I gulped. Ryan disappeared. I told you he can't handle emotion.

"I gather it's serious," I said and was amazed that my voice sounded normal. I wasn't. I was trying to get my heart to decelerate and it wouldn't. It felt like it was doing 500 beats a minute and was about to go into orbit. This was bad and scary in so many ways.

"He's in real trouble and he mouthed off at the cops," Sean told me. They caught him with a fugitive there living with him and he boasted she'd been there for months. If I was his lawyer, I'd have refused to represent him. He could have pleaded innocence on that by saying he didn't know she was a fugitive. It would be difficult to prove he knew. He's an idiot."

"Yes, well I know that. And by the way boasting is right. He would rather it be known that he harboured a fugitive deliberately than try to pretend he was duped. It's an ego thing."

"Yes, well my guess is that he'll be remanded in custody, considered a flight risk. Did you know he has a criminal history?"

"What?! No."

"Receiving stolen goods, shoplifting, car theft, theft from a demolition yard and car conversion."

"Good grief! I never knew that. Has he done prison time?"

"No. He was under eighteen for all those charges. He was fined for the earlier, not so serious charges and fined and given a suspended sentence and Community Service for the later charges. He hasn't been convicted of anything since he turned eighteen."

"Until now. So what else has he been charged with?" I looked up as Ryan walked in with a glass of water for me and I promptly emptied it. It helped. My mouth had felt dried out. Whoever said your mouth goes dry when you're in shock was right. It does. "Thank you," I said as Ryan sat down. So why were they both here?

"Harbouring a Fugitive, Tax fraud, Money Laundering, Drug Possession, so far," said Ryan. "Probably more charges to follow."

"So why are you both here? Did he try to say I was the ringleader?" I spoke lightly but I was serious. It would be like him to blame everyone else up to and including our Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern. She was female. That was enough reason.

"Only he and Lacey Ferguson have been charged. The drugs were probably hers," Ryan said.

"Lacey who?"

"The fugitive he was harbouring."

"Don't know her."

"Not someone you would want to know. A bad apple from a bad tree."

And my ex-husband was shacking up with her? What did that say about my taste in men? But I had been shocked at the fact that he had a criminal history and I hadn't known that. Oh my God my children. What could I tell them?

"I suggest you go to the school and get your children," Ryan said. "Details, true and exaggerated are all over social media."

He must have read my mind. I stood up and Sean grabbed my arm,

"I'm driving."

I opened my mouth to protest I was alright, saw Ryan shake his head to warn me and saw the challenge in Sean's eyes. I handed him the keys and we went out to my car while in the background, I heard Ryan ringing a school, from the conversation. How did he know which schools my kids were in? I decided not to ask. I had enough to cope with. I was trying very hard to control my shaking as Sean drove us to Sam's school. He clearly knew where it was because he didn't ask me anything.

Sam was waiting outside the school gates as we drove up and hopped in.

"I know," he said. "Dad's been arrested. Is he guilty?"

"Yes he is and he's probably going to prison," I said bluntly. So much for innocent until proven guilty.

"Did you know?"

Thank God he didn't ask me if I was involved. "I suspected a couple of things but I had no idea of a whole raft of things I've just found out. Charges, I mean. Some of the worst things seem to be very recent. Maybe he got into bad company." I remembered all the addresses of criminals Nadia had noticed when we investigated where he went in a week. "And I've been told that he's just boasted that some of the charges are true." He didn't need to know his father had a criminal history and that wasn't allowed to come out in court so I wasn't telling him. We drove a short distance and saw Jenny with the headmistress standing outside the school. I got out, thanking the headmistress and Jenny hugged me. I wasn't sure who was comforting whom.

"Is it true?" Jenny asked. "Has Daddy been arrested?"

Oh my poor child. I could kill him! "Yes Darling, it's true. We'll talk at home."

"Thank you," I said to the headmistress. "She'll be back at school tomorrow but it might be with another sim card!" I noticed the sympathy on her face before she turned and went back to the school. She was only middle aged but I would bet she had seen her fair share of life's troubles among her pupils. I shuddered. We would weather this one somehow. I wanted to strangle Rat-Bait. All that greed and breaking of laws just so he could feel important and above others. He could have had a good living honestly. He was knowledgeable and good at selling cars. He earned enough legally. Why wasn't a good income enough for him? He had no idea of the impact this was about to have on his children. He wouldn't care if he knew but I did! I was beginning to think removing some money from his premises had been a very good idea. It would have been confiscated by now or soon. I was sure the police and Investigators would currently be ripping the house apart to find it. Unlike me, they would expect to find hidden money due to the money laundering. Was any buried I wondered? Did his lack of interest in gardening extend to not burying money there?

We drove home as the children kept asking questions I couldn't answer. Mostly because I didn't know the answers. They never thought to ask Sean who probably knew more than I did. I kept trying to plan strategies to help the children cope but it was like I'd start a plan and then my thoughts would get lost somewhere and fail to make it to their destination. I wanted to go home and shut all the phones and computers off. Maybe I would. Now to add to all the emotional problems the kids would have in dealing with this, we would have to add coping with 24 hour a day trolls.

We reached home and Sean sat the kids down at the table while I made everyone toasted sandwiches. At least I could still cook! In the short time so far, since this news had hit social media, I myself had received two nasty messages from people I vaguely knew, claiming I had been living in luxury off drug money and the like. Yeah right. I could say I dismissed it but I'd be lying and I'm betting you know that. It doesn't matter that it's not true but I guess it would matter more if it was? I rethought that. Probably not? On consideration I thought it hurt more because it _wasn't_ true. If he was selling drugs, it was very recent. I was almost certain he hadn't been a user or seller when I was with him, but I was wondering what else about him I hadn't known.

I listened on and off as Sean instructed the children on what to say to others and what not to say and why. He told them frankly that their father was likely to go to prison. He asked them outright if they wanted to support their father or distance themselves from him. Both kids looked at me.

"It's your decision," I said, "And I will support you and help you with whatever you decide. I won't be supporting him. That doesn't mean you can't. And you have to decide fairly soon like probably before school tomorrow but not right now. I will take you to see him if you want to go."

"I don't get it," said Jenny.

"Do you want to tell people he's a good man whatever he did wrong, or do you want to tell people he left you three years ago and you've hardly seen him since?" Sean asked.

I winced at his bluntness. My poor little girl. She shouldn't have to be making those decisions. I listened as Sean told them,

"Don't 'feed the trolls' Jenny. Don't argue with them because you can't. People who make nasty comments only want to hurt others and they don't want to listen to reason because then they might have to admit they were wrong. Imagine their words are knives and want to stab you and the only way they can't hurt you is if you don't read what they write. The words are the knives. Block them, delete them, unfriend them."

He kept saying not to read what they write, again and again. Finally, I realised he was telling Jenny but talking to all of us. I realised he was right. I wanted to answer my accusers but they wouldn't want to listen and would only use a conversation to stab deeper and get others to join them. Not answering them seemed wrong but it was right, he kept saying. I tried to think about that and finally I got his point. It wasn't a rational conversation they wanted. It was a one-way slanging match. They were bullies and bullies aren't interested in right or wrong. Especially right.

"Not answering doesn't admit guilt. It means they're not worth answering and that's what you tell others but not them. Don't talk to them. You tell other people the allegations are so ridiculous it would be silly to answer. And you say you don't like those people and don't want to talk to them. Do you understand that?" Sean asked again addressing Jenny but talking to all of us. "The British Royal family have a policy with this type of thing; 'don't complain, don't explain.' That means don't complain about the lies and the harassment and don't explain yourself. Don't defend yourself. There are untrue headlines about the Royal Family in magazines saying whatever the journalists think will sell more magazines. The sillier it is the more papers they sell. It isn't about truth or lies, it's about selling magazines."

"And about these trolls," he said. "They don't care who they hurt. To hurt others is what they want to do. But they can only hurt you if you let them. And remember trolls are ugly inside; they're bullies. It's not what they say that's important it's that they want to hurt you. Or anyone. And remember this will all be over fairly soon and they'll go and hurt someone else. They'll go away even faster if you refuse to feed them."

But it wouldn't be 'all over' for years I realised. There would be a trial in a few months' time and it would all be back and then it would flare up again when he was sentenced. I wanted to leave town. I wanted to hide. I couldn't. I had a house here and a job here and two kids in school here. I had to stay put while this rained down on my family like incoming mortar fire. I wanted to hit him. I seriously wanted to beat him up. I am not a violent person but I wanted to hit him for all the devastation he had caused me and my children in the past, now and in the future that we would have to deal with.

I heard cars arriving outside and looked up fearing the press but it was a dead heat between my father and Mike. Mike was younger and quicker to reach me but after a quick hug my father tapped him on the shoulder and said firmly,

"My turn."

Everyone laughed as Mike let me go and my father enveloped me,

"Your mother has a meeting she has to go to. She'll be here as soon as that's over. And Aaron is flying down on the weekend."

The clan was gathering. War clouds were on the horizon and the clan was gathering. And that wasn't all. Mike said,

"We're getting married. That wasn't a question. If you won't let me move in until we're married then we'll just have to get married sooner. Like a couple of weeks. I want to be here with you. I can't protect you properly from miles away. I know it's a different threat now but I still want to be here with you." He turned around, "Are you kids ok with that?"

I smiled as he received a positive response. Very enthusiastically from my little girl but Sam seemed alright with that as well.

# Chapter Sixty-Six

February went by in a blur as we suffered trolls and being unfriended and as if that wasn't enough, on the news at night we watched as more and more countries became involved in this corona virus problem and the death toll was rising. Things just seemed to erupt around me as things just got worse and worse. And I was floundering. I persuaded Aaron not to come. I knew he was busy which was why he hadn't come for Christmas. The building industry was going nuts in Auckland. And we didn't get married in a hurry as Mike wanted to, because my life seemed to be falling apart and all my dreams were unravelling but I wasn't yet ready to let go of them. Not all of them. We could continue with our proper marriage and the reception at least. I wasn't sure what was going to happen about the honeymoon. Abby and Mum and others kept telling me I needed to cancel my honeymoon and I stubbornly refused.

As February dragged on, we watched the news each night and saw the corona virus which had escaped from China had hit Italy hard. I'd never been to Italy. On 21st, Italy went into lockdown like Wuhan had in China. That was a shock. I couldn't imagine being stuck in a house. Then the virus hit other countries and some cruise ships and I shuddered with horror. It seemed to be relentlessly marching across the globe. Why had China let all those people leave just before locking down Wuhan? But then Abby told me many of those people were tourists wanting to go home, not Chinese. And would it hit New Zealand? February was a month of horror. I started having nightmares about something with big teeth chasing me and black clouds chasing me and ghosts chasing me.

And then, for me came the real disaster. At the beginning of March, the first case was diagnosed in New Zealand and then on March 11th the World Health Organisation declared a global pandemic. Horrified, I suddenly realised that the insurance I had taken out on our honeymoon didn't include a global pandemic because it was one of the exclusions and everyone was right and I should have cancelled while I could. Now, it was too late and I had paid full price and wouldn't get anything back. I went into the kitchen and cried. I didn't know what to do. Why hadn't I listened when the others had begged me to cancel? I'd booked and paid in late November before this virus was known about. Would that help? Could I get even a partial refund? I did have insurance. Are you wondering why it mattered so much? It wasn't Rat-Bait's money it was mostly Mike's and I couldn't pay him back without explaining where I'd found thousands of dollars.

Finally, I decided I had to cope with reality. I called Abby and Mike around when the kids were out. I handed Mike and Abby a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table with them saying,

"We need a council of war. Now I am finally facing reality, we have to make some decisions. I've put in requests for refunds for everything I booked and Mike I'm so sorry that I've cost you money by delaying."

"That's alright love. We'll cope. Maybe they'll refund most of it."

I told you Mike was kind, didn't I? Rat-Bait would have blamed me for everything up to and including the virus.

"How are the trolls?" Abby asked.

I smiled, it's funny how priorities change. My biggest anticipated problem in February, Rat-Bait being arrested and then the resulting trolls, seemed petty. "Not as bad as I anticipated. Especially when I posted that we had been apart for over three years and that I had a Protection Order against Rat-Bait. I think they've forgotten about us now. Something about a global pandemic seems to have diverted their attention."

Mike smiled, "The really funny thing I thought was that rumour that millions in cash were missing and all those numerous people that broke into Rat-Bait's unoccupied house to search. And those that went to dig up his garden."

We all laughed. You should have seen the damage to the outside. I wondered if the floors had been pulled up and the walls ripped apart. Someone had probably found what he hoarded since Sally and I robbed him. And no, I didn't start that rumour. It appeared Sally wasn't the only one who had put the pieces together and reasoned there had to be a sizable cache there. "I heard that even when he moved his parents in to look after the house, the break-ins and excavations only lessened."

Abby added dreamily, "Was it too much to hope that among the bills probably not being paid was his house and contents insurance one? And will they cancel his insurance because he is in prison? Remand? Whatever."

"I could hope. It was all his fault." Do you get the idea that I was lacking in sympathy? That we all were?

But of course, the main reason we were now out of the public eye was because of the corona virus which dominated the news every night. My problems were probably petty in comparison but I had lost a paid-up honeymoon; the hotels and motels and air flights and a cruise from Singapore to China. And the flight back. All paid for. And most of it with money Mike had insisted on giving me. Now you see why I was so devastated and also why I felt so guilty moaning about that when people were dying. But that honeymoon had been important to me. I had planned it. Me. Finally something nice that I could plan.

"I wonder what is going on with the car yard?" Mike asked.

"I went past. It's was still open and trading."

It figured that Abby had sleuthed. "I wonder if Brian is in charge or if Rat-Bait had more sense and put Alison in charge."

"So what are we going to do love? What do you want now we can't go on that honeymoon?"

"I don't know love. I'm all out of ideas. Maybe you have an idea?"

"Do you like fishing?"

"Not really. Hmmm. Maybe I would with you. What did you have in mind?"

"I have a mate with a motorboat who owes me a favour. A boat big enough to sleep in I mean."

I perked up. "What? Just you and me and the Pacific Ocean or the Tasman Sea?"

"Yeah."

"What's your navigation like?"

"Stay within sight of land."

We all laughed, "I thought your Dad was a fisherman."

"Yeah but he died before he could train me."

I thought about that and the more I thought about it, the better I liked it. It would be very different and very cheap and I owed Mike a lot of money according to my conscience.

"OK," I said, "So long as you realise I can cook fish but I'm clueless about catching it and gutting it. I'll transfer all the arrangements to you?"

"Deal."

"So is this going to be cheap?"

"Free. It'll just cost us gas and groceries. Pete was broke and I fixed his engine for nothing. He's not poor anymore and he's been nagging me to use it. He's so busy now it's seldom used. It's a thirty-footer, I think. Maybe a bit bigger. I've been out fishing with him. I know how to run her. She has a good engine and sails as well. And a wind turbine so she has power. She has a galley, so fridge, stove, etc."

"What about a bathroom?"

"A toilet and a shower."

"I'm sold. Deal." I saw how pleased that made him. I was clueless about boats so I hoped he knew how to work everything. The more I thought about the privacy element, the more I liked it. Mike and me alone on the ocean. It sounded blissful. I wondered if there was a sundeck. And I liked the idea that it was his choice. I'd had mine.

"Could I take some books? Would you be offended if I was reading while you were out in the cold hunting our dinner?"

"No, brilliant idea. I could fish and not feel guilty."

I was just thinking; at sea, no kids nagging, no cars, no city noise, no barking dogs when I suddenly exclaimed, "So that's why Doug was digging up our backyard. Someone tell him he has the wrong house." I smiled as everyone laughed. If only they knew. Which was yet another reason why I couldn't leave the area or the house.

Well we would still have a wedding. I had paid cash for a beautiful wedding dress and all the accessories down to new shoes. It felt right that Rat-Bait paid for it in real terms. I'm not telling anyone what that all cost either and yes, I cut all the tabs off. Abby assumed it was all second hand and I didn't correct her. I bought it on my own so nobody knew it was all new. And classic misdirection; I told everyone, 'The shoes were new.' Which implied everything else wasn't. I had even bought an emerald pendant and matching earrings and bracelet. A huge splash. I could hardly believe I'd done that.

Abby bought Mike's outfit. She insisted and paid very little for it apparently. Mike didn't care and neither did I. He told me the shoes and socks were new... He also told me it was the only decent outfit he had.

# Chapter Sixty-Seven

Duncan awoke in remand after not enough sleep. As usual. It was noise that kept him awake too long and noise that awoke him too soon. Coughing, calling out, farts, men presumably having nightmares and inconsiderate bastards talking. And smells. Male bodily smells he was sick of within the first twenty-four hours. He preferred female smells. Nice ones. He was getting used to life in remand but not liking it much. It was boring for a start and the food was bland, full of carbohydrate and unimaginative. Time dragged here. There was nothing to do and the weeks felt like years. He thought he would swap a car for decent food and some car magazines. He looked up as a guard said,

"The police want to see you."

Now what? More charges? He went into the interview emerging a few minutes later and sat down to try to deal with what the cops had just told him. Duncan seethed. His home had been broken into again and another window had been smashed. He shouldn't have hinted at a hidden hoard of cash. That was the only thing he really regretted. Saying that to his cellmate who promptly broadcasted it. Who were these bastards that kept breaking into his home and car yard now he couldn't do anything to stop them? And why weren't the police stopping them? Where were the cops when you needed them? Why weren't they guarding his house and his car yard? He had thought getting his parents to move in to protect his house would help but people still kept breaking in. He'd had to persuade his mother to stay there. Ungrateful bitch. He was saving them rent!

She'd rung him and told him she was frightened. People were breaking in even when they were there she said. Silly bitch. They were after money not her. And there was no money left except for a little cash he had hidden in the attic. His mother had said she had woken up in the night, investigated and found two bastards ransacking his garage. She said they had yelled at her and threatened her. They had demanded she tell them where the money was. Silly bitch. Why hadn't she yelled back? His father had been drunk so he'd been no help. And whose booze was he drinking? Duncan was betting there was no alcohol left in the house.

He'd forgotten his father had what his mother delicately called 'a drinking problem.' His mother normally handled the money and limited his father's access to cash. She'd sorted that out with the Welfare and gotten his pension put into her account. He'd been aghast when he heard that. He'd never let any woman carry on like that! And what was his father doing allowing it? And why did the Welfare allow it? If his father wanted to drink all his money it was his business and nothing to do with her. But he had had to do some sweet-talking. He had had to persuade them to stay there.

It had been a mistake in some ways to move them in. His mother said she had tidied up and taken all the women's underwear to second hand shops. He was aghast at that but there was little that he could do about it from here. And it would be too embarrassing to explain himself to his mother. It gave him such a good feeling to stride across all that underwear and remember all the women who had been wearing it. And the view once they hadn't been wearing it. He'd persuaded most of them to leave something behind for him. Some of it he had nicked. A couple had insisted on taking it home with them. Lacey had thought it was funny. She'd even taken to wearing some of it. Oh he missed her. He hadn't heard from her since the police had arrested her. He'd even written her a letter but she hadn't replied. He wasn't allowed to phone her.

But his main worry now was his business. Apart from all the break-ins, Alison had been a right pain. Sales were down and she had said Brian was terrible at running the place. His accountant had agreed with her and badgered him until at last he had reluctantly put Alison in charge instead. His accountant had told him his business was in trouble. So finally, he'd had to agree and Brian had been so pissed off he had quit. Alison had said he was stealing but Duncan didn't believe that. Brian wouldn't do that to him. Alison had hired another two salespeople and he had had to delegate that to her too. Harry was training them she had said. But sales were still down and Alison was refusing to buy cars in. His stock was diminishing. Alison had told him people weren't buying cars because they were all worried about this virus thing. How idiotic could you get? Alison said it was serious. How could a bug be serious when it was only killing the elderly? Being here was annoying the Hell out of him. He should be running his business.

# Chapter Sixty-Eight

It was Monday 23rd of March. The twenty-eighth of March was fast approaching as in like this Saturday. I was finally on a countdown to my wedding. Everything was ready. Everything was booked and paid for. Dad had finished the cake and Mum reported she had helped. Abby; chief bridesmaid of course, Jenny; assistant bridesmaid and I were having our nails done on Friday lunchtime. Friday evening, Abby declared the hen party was organised. She refused to divulge details. And we were booked for hair and make-up at nine am on Saturday. Then Abby and Mum were going to help me get dressed while Dad got the kids organised and Kurt, Mike's best man, along with Simon, assistant best man, were instructed by Abby as to how to get Mike organised. She told me she had ordered him to soak in the bath for at least half an hour to get his hands and nails clean and Evelyn and Mike's mother would check him before the ceremony. I gathered that was a threat. Without Mike, Kurt and Simon, we were going to do a round of places with the photographer. And yes I was wearing white and doing the whole bride thing. Again. But this time I wasn't pregnant and I had picked a better groom. And I wouldn't be vomiting every morning. And I had started on contraceptives because I didn't want to get pregnant on my honeymoon.

The wedding was at five pm and the reception starting at around seven after the post wedding photos at the reception venue. The long-range weather forecast was for fine weather. That was the good news. Due to this corona virus, the borders were shut late last week except to returning Kiwis. Had we decided to fly anywhere, only domestic routes were open. The tourism industry was shutting to foreigners except those already here. But I had resigned myself to a honeymoon on a boat. It sounded romantic and would remain so due to there being little in the way of alternatives...

The only decision we hadn't made was how long we would be away and where we would go. Anywhere except another country. Mike had confessed to having a bit more navigational ability than he had indicated. The Marlborough Sounds sounded nice. So did "turn left and sail until morning." Everything was so strictly organised and regimented that for this substitute honeymoon, I decided we could go where the mood or the sunshine decided us. Mike liked that idea.

The virus was now in New Zealand and the first case had been diagnosed at the beginning of March which meant it got here around mid-February. Still, no one was dead and according to social media and the news, its' main target was elderly people especially men and/or people with underlying health conditions. One early fact reported by the news in January I think, was that among all the deaths, none were under nineteen and children generally didn't get it. So my kids were safe. They were saying it was like the flu and the flu could make you pretty sick but it only killed the really frail. Mostly, I thought. I knew swine flu had been very nasty in New Zealand and there had been more deaths from that flu than usual but I wasn't too worried.

I finished my egg and mayo sandwich, stretched and finished my coffee. I looked at the time. It was one fifteen. I picked up the next document for typing and started. I was alone in the outer office. There was a press conference going on with Jacinda Ardern, our Prime Minister, saying something about the virus and some of the staff were in the staffroom watching it. I didn't go. I was determined to leave on Friday with all the typing done and all the filing done. Finishing that document, I looked up at the clock to see it was after one thirty and I wondered where the other staff were. The receptionist took the phone with her wherever she went and she logged an hour of overtime a day for taking it with her on breaks. So I didn't have to answer the phone. She was welcome to it. The phone and the built-in overtime. The phone had been ringing continually according to the flashing light and I wondered who was in trouble.

I felt movement and looked up to see Sean and Mike coming over towards me. Mike in the office? The public weren't allowed in here! I felt the blood drain away from my face and went dizzy as I registered the expressions on their faces. I looked at Mike. Mike looked beseechingly at Ryan who gestured him forward. Mike gulped and looked at me.

"We can't get married on Saturday," he said bluntly. "New Zealand is now at alert level three and going to level four on Wednesday at midnight. Everybody has to get home now and stay there for four weeks. That's lockdown, I mean. Like Italy."

I sat there trying to understand through a brain too shocked to function. We had only just got to level two yesterday, hadn't we?

"We can get married tomorrow," he said. "We can go away in the boat for two days and get home before midnight on Wednesday night."

Cancel my wedding? After all my plans? I couldn't cancel. It was all booked, organised and paid for. Ninety-five people were coming in addition to everyone who lived locally. One hundred and twenty-nine in total. This couldn't be happening. But Mike was here in the office where he shouldn't be, with Ryan. Somehow, that fact registered. And I knew Mike wouldn't lie. I sat there and put my head in my hands. I cried. Time passed as I fought for composure. It was bad enough to lose my honeymoon twice but my wedding as well? It was too much. It wasn't fair!

I was vaguely aware that Mike and Ryan were ushering me out of the office. Mike was on the phone to someone. It must be serious if he had remembered his phone. He had grabbed my handbag and phone and demanded my keys as he ushered me into my car. He put my seat belt on as I continued to cry. After a while I saw he was taking me home. Sure enough we pulled up there and he led me in. In my lounge were my parents, Abby and one of the caterers.

"Darling we've all been brainstorming how to get you as much of your wedding plans as we can," my mother said and explained.

She tried to explain, I should say but I wasn't listening. Couldn't listen. It was as if the words were spoken but they didn't make sense. Time passed as I sat in a daze. Mum sat me down in front of the TV and I watched the repeat of the broadcast of our Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern's speech to the nation. I started to pay attention. I had been so focused on my work and my own family and my wedding that I had been only vaguely aware of what was going on in the rest of the world. But now the world's problems had spilled down to here. I had known that the virus was on every continent except Antarctica. Well that was no good. It was too cold there for a honeymoon. As I listened to the reasons for the Prime Minister's decision, I also realised that any wedding my mother tried to organise could have only 100 guests. No; 100 people. That included the caterers. That was because we were now at level three. A wave of cold washed over me. Did I need to get out and buy a month's groceries? But finally, I focused on the words going across the bottom of the screen telling me that the supermarkets and chemists and dairies were essential services and remaining open. And the restrictions on numbers of people that could gather. Down to families only, by midnight Wednesday. And the Prime Minister's repeated assertions that we all had to go home and stay there. Just in single family groups. Which was soon going to be just me and my kids. Oh, plus I would by then have a husband. That was something I hadn't done. I hadn't made room for him.

That was on my list for the next three days. Clear out a bathroom shelf and a cupboard for him in the old wooden vanity. My new bedroom suite was in and I had set it up. The shop had sold so many in that sale that it had taken three months for mine to arrive but they had further sweetened the deal when I agreed to be the last delivery. They had added a pretty, matching, bedroom chair so I could sit at my dressing table and put my make-up on. I now had somewhere nice to put my make-up. In my room. So I didn't forget any and leave it in the bathroom. Teenage girl sharing the only bathroom remember? Any make-up left in there was at risk. All my clothes had been put away, the banana boxes were gone and a scotch chest was empty for my husband-to-be plus a bedside set of drawers. Was that enough for him? And now he would be my husband tomorrow. I still needed to clear out half the wardrobe for him. Where would I put my excess clothes? I had meant to do a clean-out. In the next few days. Which were now re-assigned to a two day honeymoon. Less than two days. Just over one day in reality.

The Prime Minister finished her speech/instructions/orders and question time began. I walked into the kitchen where the council of war was going on asking, "What do I need to do?" I stopped. Where were the council? Only my Mum and the caterer were here.

"Leave it me," Mum said. "I've got the kids going through the guest list to see who can make it. We have so far got forty who can come plus the wedding party."

"What time is the wedding?"

"We've timed it for five o'clock, same time and the reception starting at seven. We've tried to keep everything the same; just four days earlier."

"Where's Mike?"

"He and Abby are packing up all his stuff and bringing it here. Your Dad is off getting your groceries and ours."

Jenny came into the kitchen, handed my mother a list and said, "That's it. I've left messages for the rest."

I noticed she then scooted out. Clearly on a mission. "Where's she going?"

"The kids have to get all their schoolwork organised as they have to be home schooled."

She must have seen the look on my face and added,

"Don't panic. The school is working out how to do it and the school holidays are starting next week, early."

Don't panic? What did I know about teaching? "But what are the kids doing here? They should be at school now. Did someone go and pick them up?"

"Yes, your father. The schools have to close at level three. They started closing a few minutes after the announcement was made."

That's today. While my head was in the clouds this chaos was taking place all around me. Everyone else was doing what I was supposed to be doing while I had a self-indulgent melt down. I decided the adjustment phase was needed now. My mother was a list-maker. Like me. I looked for her list, found it and picked it up. With an effort, I concentrated enough to read it. She was right; she had everything organised four days early. Concentrating, still with difficulty, I saw she had tried to do exactly what had been on my plan and largely succeeded except how many could come? Never mind. I determined we would make it work. What choice did I have? None.

I thought I should go and get some groceries and then remembered Dad was buying them. I looked around. Where was my car? I remembered Mike had driven me home. Did he have it? I checked my purse and found my keys were gone. I looked up as Dad came in and helped me put the groceries away.

"The supermarket was a nightmare," he said. "Your mother ordered me to get out and go shopping as soon as she realised we were going to level four. She text me the grocery list as I got there. Lists. I was at the supermarket by 1.40 and it was already crowded. Some people are panic buying. Actually quite a lot are. There are no shortages yet but there will be within an hour or so at the rate the groceries are flying out the door. Getting to the check-out was worse than Christmas Eve. I saw one woman empty her trolley and head back into the store for more and I bet she wasn't the only one. And some people are panicking. They're loading their trolleys with toilet paper and nappies and not thinking. Toilet paper is a luxury not a necessity."

I smiled, I had had this lecture before, when Aaron and I had played Mummies one day with rolls of toilet paper. We got a massive ticking off for wasting it. We learnt that when he was a boy, toilet paper was relatively more expensive than it is now. His family sometimes couldn't afford it and used newspaper instead. Newspapers were cheaper then and pretty much everyone got them delivered. My Dad was born in 1957. No TV. It had been invented but there was no network to broadcast it and TV's weren't sold here until around 1960 and they were very expensive. His childhood had no mass media, no cell phones, no computers and their family didn't have a car until the 1960's and then only one. I couldn't imagine life like that.

I heard a familiar noise and saw my car pulling up in the driveway and Abby and Mike unpacking it. I went out and helped them in with my not-quite-yet-husband's belongings and we loaded most of it into my/our bedroom and the rest went into the spare room anywhere we could shove it. I saw Abby disappearing around the other side of the house with boxes and assumed some stuff was going into the garage. We had planned to do this job after the honeymoon, just before his lease ran out. How much stuff did he have? And that reminded me,

"Where's Coal?"

"I decided to leave him at the flat. Charlotte is happy to look after him."

She was his auto electrician I remembered. "Why can't he come here?"

"Coal is old, although he wouldn't like me telling you that. He's at least fourteen years old and losing condition. Dewey is five years old, in peak condition, full of energy and much bigger. Coal is used to top cat position and I doubt he will be able to achieve that with Dewey here. It didn't seem fair to him. Charlotte offered to help. She was living in the workshop and didn't want to stay in a cold workshop for four weeks so she's moving into my flat and taking over the lease and Coal. I paid her flat deposit for her cat-sitting duties. It's all arranged. The lease runs out in six weeks and the landlady is very happy. With all this going on and all the commuters and tourists and students and everyone else who can get out, fleeing the capital, she quickly realised she would likely find no one wanting to lease it. Her flat might have been vacant. That's a bad idea because it's mortgaged as she told me when I first moved in."

Vacant accommodation in Wellington? It didn't seem possible. "Why was Charlotte living in the workshop?"

"She's saving for a deposit on a home. They take turns living there except for Con who owns a house. It's free as in no rent and no power. I like the security element and I don't have to pay for security guard checks. It's cheaper and makes good sense to let people stay there. I have had staff stay there in caravans too. It's so popular they have a waiting list. Two of my mechanics are moving in over lockdown. They will be first on call."

"When was all this decided?"

"This afternoon. Only Con is still working today. Everyone else has scrammed. I've told the staff to get themselves ready first and only work if they can today. They worked all this out for themselves and phoned me as I was going to get you. I maintain some of the government vehicles and they have assured me my services are still needed. They also told me the vehicles of essential workers still need to be maintained so I, or rather the workshop, will remain open. And we have to finish the vehicles currently being worked on. My workers will keep going until midnight Wednesday, if necessary, to finish. My staff are all coming to the wedding and then leaving after the meal to go back to work."

That was fast decision-making! And I wasn't at work now where I should be and neither was Mike and I suddenly realised my parents had left their jobs too. Our Prime Minister said we had to do this and everyone was obeying her. No questions asked. No one was moaning except me. They were just doing as they were told. I felt a wave of cold go through me as I remembered what she had said and that we had to get control of this virus now. There was community transmission and Abby had said that was really bad. It meant it was out of control. And Abby said the R value was over three and nearly four. I had a vague idea that meant each infected person was spreading it to more than three others. R was reproductive rate or something. Each person infecting nearly four. Remember, I'm good at maths. That sounded bad. I was well aware what a bell curve was and that an R value of four was showing fast growth for a disease. Clearly people agreed with her. Get ready in three days she said and we were. Well we had all seen what had happened in Wuhan and Italy. Could our actions now prevent deaths? Actually, it was not even three full days. More like two days' notice. People would be all over the country on business trips and holidays and jobs and they all had to get home in two days. Oh and students. There were thousands of students. And I thought I had problems.

I sat on the glory box at the base of my/our bed watching my husband-to-be putting all his clothes away. Of Course! I got up and started sorting out most of my summer clothes out of the wardrobe, leaving out my favourite summer stuff (because it was still summer weather) and started folding half of my clothes away into the previously empty glory box, putting my favourite summer clothes on top so I could get at them easily. That left half the wardrobe for Mike. I swept all my shoes to one side and gestured grandly to Mike and then scooted off to get him some room in the bathroom. I made the executive decision that it would be a freezer dive for tea and then thought to look in the fridge. I had remembered right. A six pack of meat pies were jammed in. That would do. There were a lot of meals in the freezer that now would not be big enough for the size this family was going to be tomorrow. Mike's appetite was the same as Sam's. Oops. I had been meaning to sort those smaller family meals out and instruct my parents (who had been going to look after the children), to demolish those first.

I went through the bathroom top cupboard with the rubbish bin underneath collecting all the out-of-date pills, lotions, potions, used toothbrushes and other superfluous throw-outs. Sorted. I now tidied leaving the top shelf vacant. I got some plasters putting three across the shelf and wrote on them Mike's Shelf Only. I repeated this process with the larger bathroom vanity and that's the fastest spring clean I've ever done. I allocated Mike the bottom drawer and labelled it.

I went back into the bedroom where Mike was finishing up and took him by the hand showing him what I'd done. Leaving him to muse over that I went back into the bedroom and fetched a tiny, fancily wrapped packet out of my drawer. As Mike came back into the bedroom for his stuff, I shut the door behind him to give us some privacy and handed him the packet.

"I was going to present this to you at the wedding and make a big deal out of it," I said. "But you need it now." I watched as he unwrapped it and removed the spare garage door opener, house keys, shed keys and one of my spare car keys. I had labelled them all. "The only key I haven't organised for you is a spare key to the freezer. That was on my to-do list because I had to get one cut. I thought I'd organise that when we returned from our honeymoon." I gulped; the honeymoon which had been cancelled, then replaced, then drastically shortened. Mike smiled and promptly hauled out his keyring and loaded them on.

"That's a relief," he confessed. "With all the disruption I was afraid you'd call it all off."

"What, the wedding?"

"Yes."

I looked at his face, really looked I mean and saw the relief and the remains of the worry. He was still worried. "No Mike, I'm disappointed, again, not using this as an excuse to make a run for it. The important thing is to get married not the song and dance routine." I said it but I could see he wasn't buying it all. He knew I was really disappointed.

"We'll have our original honeymoon as soon as we can," he said. "That's a promise. But, ah, where am I sleeping tonight? Charlotte's moving into my flat now."

I paused, thinking. My plan had been to take some sleeping tablets the night before my wedding to zonk myself out because otherwise I'd get no sleep and look awful on my wedding day. A wild night of passion tonight was not going to include much sleep. Very bad idea. My poor husband-to-be was going to find out in a few days that I was a right grouch with too little sleep and with real sleep deprivation, I was almost non-functioning. Oh dear.

"I'll sleep in the spare room."

I guessed my pause had warned him. I told you he was kind. "Would you mind? I need to get some sleep. It's been a bit of a stressful day and I'm not a very nice person with too little sleep and I want to look good tomorrow."

"Well I heartily agree with the latter. I get to sleep in the house and not on the sofa. I'll settle for that."

I felt guilty but to be honest, sex was the last thing on my mind and I know it sounds stupid but seeing the kids at the breakfast table tomorrow would just be sooo embarrassing if we'd been sleeping together. I had enough to deal with emotionally. I'd pass on the sex with two teenagers (mentally speaking), in the house. It wouldn't be so embarrassing once we (Mike and I), got over the initial awkwardness.

"Anything to eat?" Mike asked. "And what are the kitchen rules? What am I allowed to eat?"

Oh. Ground rules. Adjusting to each other and each other's bad habits. "Leftovers are fair game unless labelled 'don't touch.' Don't touch the cheese either unless you replace it." What did he need? Lunch? Tea?

"When did you last eat?"

"I skipped breakfast and was too busy for lunch and then all Hell broke loose."

Oh dear. Well at least he didn't appear bad tempered when hungry. Or he was uncertain here and on his best behaviour. I looked at my watch and was startled to see it was nearly five pm. "I'll cook tea."

I walked into the kitchen, turned on the oven and hauled the pies out of the fridge. I looked around. No kids in the house and when had my parents left? Where had Abby gone? I shuddered. I had the feeling that everyone was tip toeing around me. That wasn't right. I did not want to be a bridezilla or a basket case. I firmly told myself to get a grip. At least I could cook. I sent a text to my kids saying dinner was early at 5.45ish. That was the best way I knew to get both kids home promptly. They would want to know _what_ was for tea. And they could only find that out by coming home because I refused to answer questions while cooking. They thought I was single-tasking. I wasn't. I was focused on getting my kids home. One teenager and one almost teenager with appetites. And an almost-husband who probably needed some reassurance that he was doing the right thing tomorrow.

I checked the oven temperature and put the pies on, turning on the timer. Thinking, I fossicked around in the kitchen finding a large tin of peaches. I tipped it into a large pie dish (reserving most of the juice so the crumb wouldn't go soggy), hauled out the flour, butter and some brown sugar, made a crumb and tipped it over the peaches. As my nearly-husband walked in to explore I said,

"What veges do you like? Frozen peas, corn, mixed veg, broad beans. butter beans, green beans?"

"All of the above."

He must have seen the look of frustration on my face as he quickly added,

"Corn and butter beans."

I went out to the freezer, obtained a good potful of each and went back into the kitchen finding he was setting the table. And he was doing this without the necessity for prompting, nagging or promises to pay pocket money to. Now this could be useful. It could save my voice and my wallet if he kept this up. I saw he had noticed the dessert sitting on the bench, waiting its' turn in the oven.

Thirty minutes later we ate with three dedicated appetites going flat out. I had dished up two of the six pies to Mike. I saw Sam had noticed but said nothing. Good restraint there; I doubted it was good manners. Normally Sam got two pies but tonight he was slumming it, sharing one-and-a-half pies with his sister. As they all finished, I dished up the peach crumble with the custard I had just made. We all tucked in. It was very nice if I say so myself. The kids were finished and watching for the next cue.

"Mike," I said, "your status has just changed from guest, to be treated politely, to family. You now have to fend for yourself. If you want seconds in this house you have to move fast. There's dessert left over. Leftovers in this house are generally under the endangered list." As I said that, two kids demonstrated what moving fast meant as they headed for the remains of the crumble and custard. That dessert had seconds to live.

As she sat down Jenny said, "Grandma told us to tell you that Abby will scoop you and me up at about nine thirty for make-up and hair and Grandma said Grandpa will get Sam ready later."

Startled, I belatedly realised my little eleven going-on-thirteen-year-old daughter was getting her first lot of professional make-up and hair tomorrow. I hadn't really thought about that. Just as well her father was paying. After all the honeymoon costs, wedding bills and wedding outfits, the shoe box under my bed was emptying fast and I would have to get up into the ceiling for replacement notes as soon as the twenty-four-hour honeymoon was over. And I would have to tell Mike about the money. I guessed his reaction to that would tell me a lot about him.

The evening passed in a whirl as I was still trying to process all that was happening. I felt like I was in an express train hurtling down a mountain. A big mountain. Southern Alps big. Mount Cook maybe. I started yawning at around 9pm and finally decided to get some sleep. I would have felt so embarrassed and self-conscious had we been trying to sneak off to bed with two kids aware of what was going on. Both kids had checked out the spare bedroom. Mike had left the door open. It did stop embarrassing questions and even more embarrassing answers.

# Chapter Sixty-Nine

On the morning of my wedding I awoke being gently shaken by my husband-to-be-later-today.

"Abby has ordered me to get you up and into the shower."

"What's the time?"

"Nine fifteen."

"Yikes!" I'd slept, what, nearly ten hours? I'd been dozing for the last two hours or so. I grabbed my dressing gown and some clothes and headed for the shower. Abby was picking me up at nine thirty. Oops, I turned back, "Jenny?"

"Up and showered ahead of you."

I wondered who organised that but I suspected Abby and Mike in collusion. Jenny was not an early riser. Showered and dressed, I reached the kitchen to find Abby instructing my two men (one mine and one almost-mine), how to make pancakes with one of those cheating 'add milk and shake' mixes for those who couldn't cook. Mike was the student and Sam was the chief cook. Judging by the plates, clean and empty, Abby had just arrived. I hoped they cleaned up after themselves. And then I realised it wouldn't be my problem. It would be Grandma and Grandad's problem. Mother was going on honeymoon today. Until midnight tomorrow.

Abby regally swept a giggling Jenny and a bemused me out the door. I remembered; we were going in her car because Mike needed mine. My seats were clean... We reached the hairdresser who was there with her daughter/assistant and setting up. Next minute I was in one chair having my hair washed while Abby was beside me getting hers done. I had decided to have my hair down this time. Mike liked hair long and loose and so did I, so it was going in giant rollers. The last time I got married, it was up so I would look less like the schoolgirl I was.

Next was the nails while my hair went under the dryer and Jenny's hair was started. I was always first so if anything wasn't perfect, there was time to redo it. It was now 11.30 and brunch had arrived timed for the bride, me, being still under the dryer but my hair was done. I had ordered small savouries and cakes and my second latte for the day. I drank the latte and tried to eat a little while the others tucked in. I was a bit more relaxed but my stomach was in knots. It's response to me trying to eat something was 'don't try that again or I'll engage the return-to-sender switch.' I heeded the warning and put the rest of the savoury down.

Things were going on time and I was aware that I had a lot of competent assistants elsewhere who were well organised. Although my mother had clearly taken over, I was fine with that. She did a good job the first time and I was in no state to do it, I admit. And she was following my original plan. I couldn't get over the feeling of being shell-shocked. It was like it was all a bad dream. This whole virus threat hanging over us was truly scary. I kept expecting to wake up. It was shocking. The world's response to the danger frightened me more than the numbers of infected. I should be enjoying this day today but life was weird. It was like we were living in a silent war, waiting for the explosions. I admit I was frightened. What we, our world, was doing now was unprecedented. This shutdown thing hadn't even happened during the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic. But it looked warranted. The death tolls in Italy and now other countries were truly scary. No one had any resistance to it apparently. And Abby reckoned we were only at the bottom of the bell curve. Abby was a very bright spark and a Science Fiction fan. She said she had been astonished that it taken so long for such a predictable situation to happen. She was scathing that New Zealand was clearly not prepared for this. But then it seemed no other country was either. Oh, except for those that had dealt with SARS and MERS. They were ready. Abby said we had had to go into lockdown to allow the medical response to catch up and get ready.

• • •

An hour later I looked around at the happy face of my daughter. She looked rapturous. Her hair was done and she was in the process of her make-up going on. This whole salon smelt beautiful, the atmosphere was calm and work was ahead of schedule. I had booked the salon for four hours and paid in advance. The deal was that I left when I was happy with the result. I had obeyed the first instruction; get a good night's sleep. The hen party arranged for Friday night had been cancelled, of course, not replaced (no time) and I wasn't sorry. Abby could survive on two hours sleep. I couldn't. Who had informed me she was in charge of the hen party? Abby.

So by midday, my hair was done, my make-up almost finished and my nails were done in russet-red to go with the lipstick I had chosen. By just before 1pm I was finished. I looked at the effect critically as did everyone else.

"Mum, you're beautiful," Jenny declared.

I assure you, I noticed the amazement. And my little girl was remarkable too. Abby had let her choose the style for both of them. Their hair was almost the same length and long enough for a French roll so they wore it in that style. But Jenny now had a fringe like Abby's and the whole style looked spectacular on her. And the little minx looked about three years older. She looked more like my sister than my daughter.

Now that I was happy with the overall effect, it was Abby's turn for make-up while my nails were finished and Jenny's were started. A layer of wispy-fine white lace was glued over my nails. I watched as Jenny's nails were finished. Pink with little crystals glued on. I guessed I was lucky she didn't ask for diamonds.

By just before 1.30 we were all finished and happy with the result and the hairdressers were hungrily finishing off the food. They deserved it! They had been flat out. I looked at Abby and Jenny and myself. What a lesson in how one could look if one could afford this daily.

Abby drove us to my parents' home where our dresses were; safe from a little girl who had been itching to have a look (and send a photo to her friends I was suspecting). Three quarters of an hour later we were all dressed and Dad was feeding Connie. the photographer, his home baking as she waited for us. As I emerged from Mum's bedroom, I saw my grandparents, my mother's parents, at the other end of the table. I flew across and hugged them.

"You made it! How?"

"We managed to change bookings. We're sleeping here tonight and we leave early tomorrow," Gran declared.

I noticed she was looking at me in approval and I swung around for her. My dress was in ivory velvet, princess line, with a long lace bodice, same style, over the top. The bodice was luxurious French lace with crystals hand-sewn into the flowers on the pattern. I had originally chosen pearls but the dressmaker had convinced me to go with crystals.

"It lifts it from pretty to sparkly spectacular and looks much better at night under artificial lighting. You will shine," she had said. "That's what a bride needs to do. Worn together, the outfit is clearly a wedding dress but both garments can be worn singly as well. The bodice, with a dress of another colour underneath, will make a spectacular evening outfit. The dress, without the bodice, can be worn as is. With your permission I'll hand-sew the bodice on so it can easily be removed."

I agreed. That made one wedding dress reusable. She'd convinced me and I also took her advice regarding the petticoat. I had a slightly hooped petticoat underneath but later, with the hem taken up, the dress could be worn conventionally. You can see I was thinking of the future. And there was also a long line, long sleeved jacket that went with the dress. Late March could be cold although today was fine and warm. The dress and jacket were off the peg. The bodice, I had had made.

You can conclude, correctly, that I had had a good look through magazines and shops. The veil was short but also very pretty with a border of the same lace as was in the bodice. That had been made for me too. The lace was astonishingly expensive so the most expensive piece had been the bodice but it made the outfit. It lifted it from conservative to spectacular. The price of the lace was eye watering while the velvet suit had been under a thousand, on sale. To top it off, I had a pretty hair comb with blue stones to hold the veil on and my emerald necklace that everyone probably thought was paste. It wasn't. I had the matching ear rings on and a matching bracelet that I wasn't wearing today.

And yes, the whole outfit cost thousands. You know who paid for it. It was delightful revenge. Jenny was already threatening to send a photo to her father. He wasn't allowed a cell phone in jail and by the time she posted it by snail mail, the day would all be over. I would be remarried and there was nothing he could do to prevent it or interfere with the day. The kids had been forbidden to tell him ahead of time, so hopefully he didn't know. And no, I'm not being paranoid. Clearly, he still thought he owned me.

Jenny and Abby were in the lounge and all dressed. They wore emerald velvet; nice, tasteful reusable dresses with jackets, like mine. We all wore white shoes and everyone chose their own to a rough guideline. Mine were shoes I could walk comfortably in. I felt that was important and Mike didn't mind that I was average height. He didn't need an Amazon in six-inch heels.

The bridesmaid dresses were plain but well cut. Nothing flouncy or cringing or embarrassing to wear. I so disliked dresses that shouted 'bridesmaid.' And I had bought them. There had been a set of three 'off the peg' and I had bought the set so I had one too. Due to them being stretch fabric, they were very forgiving as to size and the material was luxurious. And could I see the beginnings of curves on my daughter? She didn't look eleven. She looked more like thirteen. She certainly acted it. But then girls grow up faster than boys.

I knew Abby had bought Mike, Simon and Kurt vests to match the bridesmaid's dresses. In maybe the right colour but not velvet? I didn't know. Mike's suit was in my wardrobe in a suit bag and I hadn't peeked. I didn't even know what colour it was.

Sadly, my other grandparents hadn't made it from Cairns, Australia where they lived now. Dad's parents I mean. Grandpop wasn't well and they couldn't fly across the Tasman now anyway. The New Zealand borders were shut on 19th March and New Zealanders on holiday overseas were told by the Prime Minister to come home. As returning kiwis my grandparents would be allowed in here; but they couldn't be sure of getting back across the Tasman Sea or that Australia would let them back in. I hoped they would get a refund on their tickets. They weren't wealthy. Mike's daughter Marie couldn't come for the exact same reason; allowed in, might not be allowed back to Australia.

Luckily my mother's parents were from Auckland. They were wealthy and lived in a swanky retirement village with all the facilities one could wish for like a café, beauty salon, gym, swimming pool, a hall that had morphed into mostly a happy-hour venue/meeting room/library and it had a tennis court and a bowling green.

And then I turned at a wolf whistle, "Aaron!" I yelled, diving into his arms. "How did you get here?!"

"I flew down and I'm hitching back. Wouldn't miss this just because of a little bug."

I laughed. Typical. Hitchhiking. Mum and Dad would not approve but I was betting he would get a ride back North and clearly so was he. I'd bet he wouldn't be the only one on the road with a hopeful thumb out.

Now we had a photo shoot. We posed for photographs around Mum and Dad's beautiful garden. Mum's style was sort of wilderness/landscape and it was so designed that it looked like a lot bigger garden than it was. There were various levels and little picturesque bits where my parents had competed with each other. The BBQ area, a goldfish pond, a fernery on the shady side, a few bits of lawn, the dry garden with a whole lot of spectacular Australian flowering shrubs, the citrus garden, the vegetable garden hidden behind the lavender garden and the herb garden. The photographer had already been escorted around the garden by Dad and said,

"I want to start with the fernery. The green dresses will blend in beautifully and that garden arch with the iceberg climbing roses is perfect. Jo, I know the sun is in your eyes here. I want you to look down, close your eyes for a minute and then when I say so, look directly at me. Now."

I moved where she said and angled as she instructed as we moved around the various areas of the garden. To Dad's disappointment she was going to exclude the BBQ area he had worked so hard on, but I had other ideas. I had everyone sit around the BBQ table and Connie gave up trying to move us on and snapped the photos.

Connie looked through the lens and smiled, spotting the relaxation and the fact that they were now ignoring her. This was when she often snapped the gems; the candid situations that were often the best photos. People were relaxed and had lost the awkward self-consciousness that all but young children and the professionals exhibit. She continued to snap the photos as they sat, relaxed, talked, sprawled and interacted.

As Connie announced she had finished, I stood up and looked at my watch. It was nearly 4pm.

"I'll put the kettle on," Mum announced.

Mum headed indoors as we straggled after her. I had only been picking at food today and I should have been hungry but my digestive system was currently not encouraging to new arrivals. A bit like New Zealand's borders. I was keen on the prospect of a coffee though. As we attended to afternoon tea, I noticed that Connie was not off duty and she continued to snap photos at intervals and multiples of them. At one stage she was right beside me pressing the shutter and I realised that when she when she did so, the camera seemed to take several photos from one press of the shutter. Had that been happening all day? I looked at my watch again and saw it was nearly half past four and I was getting married at five. It was like it was taking all this preparation for my brain and my emotions to get in synch and adjust to yet another reality. Wedding advanced by four days. Honeymoon of just over twenty-four hours. Oh dear.

And Marie, Mike's daughter, like so many others had not been able to change her ticket and get here. Her father slept last night in the bed I had made up for her. And I had never yet met her. It would be fun if we could go on a holiday with all four of our kids. Although Mike's were older, they were all very close in age. What was Marie now? Seventeen? Eighteen?

As Dad drove us girls to my wedding, my mother beside him, my stomach tightened up again. Dad pulled up at the entrance to the church and we exited to get ourselves organised. It was just after five pm. I heard Abby muttering under her breath as late arrivals scooted into the church in front of us. As we got ourselves arranged, I heard the organ start playing Abba's "Gimme, gimme, gimme (a man after midnight). The song I loved and that I had chosen so many months ago to deal with any misconceptions that this was to be a dignified affair. My bridesmaids started off beside each other as Jenny announced she was too nervous to walk alone. Then I and my parents walked through the entrance together as the organ now played Abba's "I do, I do, I do, I do, I do." I smiled at the laughter. As we three walked through the double doors and down the main aisle, I saw my bridegroom as he turned around; possibly to ensure I was not making a run for it. He was in a dark green suit with a velvet vest and a lighter green shirt. No tie, I saw. He had refused to wear one. I didn't care. This might be 'the bride's day' but other people had rights too. I had categorically refused to be 'given' from one man to another so I had decided that that part of the ceremony was to be bypassed. But as we reached him my father handed me over to Mike with a loud,

"She's all yours, son."

I put up with the laughter. Mike was looking at me with the same astonishment my daughter had. Well, that's what a $200 make-over gets you. Oh, and a new outfit. A rather expensive one. We won't mention the spandex underwear which was smoothing over the consequences of bearing two children.

"Don't expect this effort more than once," I said softly, completely forgetting the microphone the priest had and the one on the video camera Connie held. I remembered as I figured out the reason for Val (the priest's) ear to ear grin and the titters from the congregation. Oops. As Mike took my hand, I saw his nails were clean. Somebody had done a job on him too. Probably his mother Marie who was sitting in the front pew. I had yet to meet her but I had seen photos. Let's hope she was better than my last lot of in-laws who seemed to think my ex's excesses were normal. I smiled at Mike and he beamed back as I looked at him.

As the service proceeded, we moved a little off the normal script. We had written our own vows although Val had had to ok them since it was her church. I guess she had standards to set. She had told us we could say almost anything we wanted to say that was acceptable in her eyes, so long as we declared 'I am marrying you' or anything meaning the same. So when it came to that time I said to Mike as I put the ring on his finger,

"I Jolene, take you Mitchell, to be my husband. I vow to stay true to you through good times and bad as long as we both live. You and you only." And then my unoriginal almost-now-husband said the same but reversing the names. And I became his wife.

As the ceremony ended, I felt the tension in me dissipate. It was done. No more second guessing myself and self-doubts. Now, we had to make it work I thought as we went to sign the certificates.

As we left the church, I felt I was really smiling for the first time today. I had a husband. I was a Mrs again. I was no longer a divorcee. I would have adult conversation in the house now and I was no longer alone. All good. Feminism is all very well but in reality, a single female is a target and a divorced female even more so. It shouldn't be the case that I was now judged as more respectable than I was this morning. My morals remained the same. But that was the double standards of the world we live in.

I looked around as everyone spilled out into the sunshine. I was, today, concentrating on who had made it here, not on who hadn't. Our guests and Connie were busy with the cameras. Half an hour later we all left for the original reception venue. Our guests would have drinks and appetisers while more photos were taken in those beautiful grounds. But in reality, I was over the photos. I wanted some food.

I wondered about our next transport option. This was where I had again delegated Mike to take the lead and I looked in delight at what had to be his choice. We would be travelling to the venue in two, matching, vintage cars. I wondered where he had gotten them. They were shining black. I laughed as Mike got into the driver's seat saying,

"No way was I going to pass up the opportunity to drive this myself!"

I eased my hooped skirt into the passenger seat carefully, "What are they?"

"1948 Vauxhalls. I helped rebuild the engine of this one. Or maybe it was the other."

Looking behind, I saw that Simon and Kurt seemed be arguing about something. Probably about who was going to drive. Abby and Jenny were, meanwhile, piling into the back of our car. It was only a four-seater. Mike started to drive slowly off and I noticed the huge grin on his face. Boys with their toys. The car; not me I was sure. Meanwhile Kurt seemed to have won the toss for the role of the driver and started up the second car. They proceeded behind us as we drove to the reception venue followed by a long line of cars. I was by now famished and my stomach was announcing it had settled down and wanted something to work on but it would have to wait. Now we had the main photoshoot but Connie had assured me she knew the venue and she wouldn't take forever.

As she lined the bride and groom up to a second picturesque spot, Connie saw the usual scene of a now relaxed bride and groom with the subsequent improvement to the mood of the photos. She always preferred the after-wedding shoot. And this was one of the well-known venues where she knew where to get the best shots, with this particular lighting, at this time of day. Like most weddings, there was always someone willing to hold the shade screen for her. Connie noticed how the guests varied from suited professionals to a bunch of four in blue overalls with dirty hands. Resignedly, she agreed to put them in a bridal photo hoping no one touched the bride's outfit. She figured they were workmates of the groom and there were three women with them although the women were nicely dressed. But she wondered why the men were in work clothes at a wedding?!

Photos finally over, we headed inside. I was seriously hungry. To my delight, I was informed everything would be ready in ten minutes. I headed for the bathroom and returned to find them setting up. I wandered out and checked out Dad's cake. It was three tiers, with the bride and groom painted in the colours of our outfits. It was traditional, tasteful and beautiful. Dad had told me that the bottom tier was chocolate, the next one was carrot cake and the top tier was a fruit cake. All our favourites. All chosen by Mike and me.

I wandered over, embarrassed but being polite, to the table displaying wedding gifts. I don't know what you think, but I think wedding gifts should pretty much be for the first wedding only. Not for repeat offenders like me. I had asked people not to bother but if they felt they had to then vouchers. I named a furniture store and an appliance store. But some people never listen. Just as well. You know who kept all the wedding gifts even the ones he probably didn't want. Just to make life harder for me, I suspected. My friends knew that, so some of the gifts I was now looking at were probably replacements. Like the good quality red toaster/jug set I unwrapped and the coffee table and a bookcase that I could see. I saw a prominent card in my mother's handwriting and another in my fathers. Puzzled, I opened both huge home-made cards to find the same cryptic message; 'you will find your present after your honeymoon.' Now what had they been up to and why separately? I was mystified.

Seeing something large and soft I opened it and gasped. It was a quilt. It was in an Amish design called 'Wedding Bands' or something similar and it looked hand made. I checked the card. It was from Marie, Mike's mother. It was beautiful. I knew this had taken a huge amount of work and it was in mainly soft blues and violets with a contrast of dark blue and a thread of gold going through it. It was stunning! I looked around for her to see her shyly smiling at me.

"It's beautiful," I said. "Did you make it?"

"Yes, I've made three in the same design but different colours. I seem to have only found a use for one of them! That, is Mike's one. Abby's in in greens and Evelyn's is in reds and they don't get them until they earn them!"

I chuckled. I wasn't sure Abby would ever get hers. Unwrapping more presents, I saw a set of quality towels to replace the second hand stuff I had and a lot of people had obeyed instructions and supplied vouchers. One gift puzzled me; a beautiful, huge flower arrangement with a name I didn't know. I had thought it was a decoration until Mike pointed it out.

"My friend Barry owns a florist's shop."

I had never seen a floral arrangement given as a wedding gift but what a brilliant idea. It looked to be made of silk flowers. It would last for years and I didn't have anything like it. Not even a pot plant. I had no flowers in the garden either; none had survived Doug's excavations. Seeing a large manila envelope in Ryan's handwriting, I opened it to see three cards marked 'Open me first.' 'Don't panic, open me second,' and 'open me third.'

The first contained my ripped-up request for seven weeks 'leave without pay.' The second contained an application for replacement wages for me, due to me being temporarily laid off because of the virus. The third contained a voucher from all the staff for two thousand dollars. There was my new lounge suite; well most of it and combined, maybe all of it. The second hand stores were going to get a bonanza; their goods back.

I looked around; most of the guests were already seated so I scooted to my seat. After Val led us for grace, I was courteously gestured to lead the bride's table off to the feast. I lost no time in that! All my favourites were here plus the best reason to truly appreciate food; hunger.

Connie watched in puzzlement as she saw the apparent workmates of the groom gestured in to eat just after the bride's table. She sidled up to the oldest man as he sat down with a very full plate and asked,

"Are you going back to work?"

"Yes. We have a huge amount of work to try to finish before level four."

"So, do you work with Mike?"

"He's our boss."

"Oh. So are you going into lockdown?"

"No. We're going to stay open for government and essential workers' vehicles. Mike's arranging some kind of a deal. All except me wanted to stay at work and we can provide a 24-hour service."

"Are you mechanics or something?"

"A mixed bunch of mechanics, engineers and Charlotte here who is our auto-electrician."

As he pointed at the youngest woman, Connie automatically checked out Charlotte's hands but saw they were clean although the nail polish was probably hiding a history of grease. Well that explained that mystery she thought. Lucky brand-new family with both adults keeping their jobs. She knew Jolene worked for a law firm so that probably meant her job was secure too. Unlike her own. Connie suspected her own income was going to take a beating but she had savings and could do with a holiday. But being stuck in a house on her own was not her idea of a holiday. Still, she had a lot of photos to print, and she could do a lot of work online. She also had three more bookings, all tomorrow and all those photos to then deal with. And then nothing until May and those could yet be cancelled.

Connie checked her video camera and loaded it onto a tripod, thinking. Jolene had chosen both a flash drive of photos and a traditional bridal album. Jolene and Mike were going to choose the photos and then she would professionally mount them and present the two of them with the finished album. As soon as she was allowed out of her house... Connie was very happy with the deal. She considered she did such a better job than most amateurs. Jolene had very nicely paid her cash in advance, so Connie was determined to do a comprehensive job. At least that was one bill she didn't have to worry about getting the money for, but she had noticed with trepidation the sudden stop in future bookings.

And the cancellations; weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, all those celebrations in life. She looked around wondering how venues like this were going to survive. And how were they going to deal with the future backlog? She decided to line up for some food as she saw the amount diminishing.

Sitting down with her food, Connie noted she had only just got in in time. The caterers were clearing the main course to clean up and presumably bring out the dessert. The speeches would be interesting. It was clear to Connie that there was a disparity in wealth between the bride's family and the groom's but they all seemed to be getting on well. She had been to some very awkward weddings where one side disliked the other. She noticed the closeness between Mike, his mother and his two sisters and saw that Jolene and Abby seemed to be very friendly so that was hopeful. Evelyn and Mike looked alike and were well built, but Abby clearly took after their little mother. Connie wondered where their father was. So many faces would be missing from this photo album including the groom's daughter it seemed. Four children between them she had learnt and these three youngest ones seemed to get along.

Connie studied the bride who was chatting with her parents and without really being conscious of what she was doing she picked up her camera and snapped a few photos. The affection between the bride and her father was apparent.

She looked up at movement and saw the mechanics all leaving. She snapped a photo and continued photographing people that indicated they wanted their pictures taken. In the old days, when her father had this business, people bought these photos but now few did. The record was almost solely for the bride and groom. It was just as well the photos were so cheap to take now.

# Chapter Seventy

At last the guests were starting to leave. I had been startled to see that my parents and Mike's mother Marie, had happily joined the caterers and portioned all the leftovers up into containers to take home.

"Oh, where is this going?"

"Into your freezer. You paid for it. Your father made most of the desserts because the caterers had too much of a volume of work today and tomorrow. Do you want to take some with you now?"

"I don't know. Mike was organising the boat. We really only needed four meals," I said dryly. I looked around for my husband and spotted him dancing with Evelyn. I watched critically. Someone had clearly taught him to dance. He had grown up the youngest of three with two older sisters. Might that have had something to do with that? Dance or else? I waited until the dance finished and then interrupted,

"Do we need food for the boat? Our parents are claiming all the leftovers."

"Heck yeah! I only stocked stuff I could cook."

"You mean canned, dehydrated and packets?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I forgot you can cook."

"I think you'll be 4th cook at home pending training," I muttered as I returned to the kitchen and claimed four ready-meals. I knew there was a fridge on the boat but I didn't know the size of it. Was there a freezer and a microwave? I'd find out. Otherwise the meat could be bait. I packed some dessert. I also packed fruit salad and separately, some of the chocolate steam pudding and chocolate custard. And some of the sticky date pudding. And I watched as the significant quantity of leftovers were packed away into various boxes and chilly bins. Jenny had been recruited to label everything. My mother was her usual, organised self and had a chilly bag for me. I packed it up and announced to my husband that we were ready to leave. The vintage cars had been reclaimed earlier. That was a point.

I asked my now-husband, "Ah, do we have transport?"

"Your car."

Probably my mother's doing. We managed to escape from the venue with speed and caught Abby off guard. By her expression, we had avoided some type of dire consequence. All we had to remove was a few 'Just Married' magnetic signs. As we drove away, the confetti blew off and Mike said,

"Home to change?"

"Yes please and did you pack any milk on the boat?"

"Yes."

"Good." I could cope with a lot of scarcities but milk, coffee and toilet paper were essential items for me, despite what my father thought about the latter.

We arrived home and within a few minutes I was changed, swiftly and self-consciously into jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers, picked up the bags I had packed earlier and I was ready. Mike had told me to just pack squashable bags as there was no room for suitcases.

We arrived at the boat which was moored at the marina and Mike switched the lights on!

"We're on power. Ah, I suggest we stay here for the night and cast off tomorrow. I know what I'm doing but it would be a lot safer to be able to see."

No arguments from me on that. I immediately investigated the galley. There was a fridge and it held milk, champagne and chocolates. I hauled out the champagne and chocolates and loaded the food in. As I did so I heard the champagne cork pop. I turned, Mike handed me a drink and said,

"Thirsty? I noticed you didn't drink much."

Oh he did, did he? "I don't normally drink. I'm usually the sober driver. Also I was so hungry I didn't want to waste stomach room on fluids!" I gulped it down although I told myself I'd better follow this up with water. I had never had a hangover and I didn't want one on my only day of honeymoon! I noticed the awkward atmosphere and was aware I had always been the one slamming on the brakes. Clearly, my bridegroom wasn't exactly sure how to proceed but possibly, he wasn't getting the right signals from me? Time to ease off the brakes but that was going to take a bit of an attitude change. In films and Television, you just rip off all your clothes but I doubt that represents more than a fraction of real-life behaviour. It certainly didn't in my case. Apart from anything else I was still wearing the spandex and what was underneath that wasn't exactly what was showing now. Could you call that deceptive advertising?

It would soon be the cue to turn the lights off. I could ease him gradually into the reality of the real figure I had. Now, was I going to go for romance or comedy? We were probably both too nervous and tired for romance. I went into the bedroom/stateroom or whatever you call it. I tossed the plastic bags full of our clothes etc on the floor and pulled back the cover. Bouncing onto the bed I said,

"Do we flip a coin for who goes on top?" Mike needed no further encouragement. I got the romance the next time and the next and then Mike fell asleep. Well it had been a long day. When I was sure he was asleep I sneaked out of bed, eased the spandex off and put a nightie on trying not to rustle the plastic bags too much. See? I think ahead. Imagine next morning with sunshine and two naked bodies. Neither of whom had yet seen the other in the altogether. Both trying to get to the loo without being seen. One shock at a time, I say. And it prolongs the adventure and discovery.

# Chapter Seventy-One

Duncan lay on his bunk in despair. Despite numerous attempts by his lawyers, he had been denied bail since he was deemed a flight risk. And now he wouldn't be able to get out of the country even if did get bail. Lockdown. Not only now himself but the whole country was going into Lockdown. He'd never heard of that before. Why would people obey a law like that? Some broad told everyone to go home and stay there and they were going. Well he wouldn't have.

But the hard reality, his lawyer told him, was that there were no flights out of the country except highly organised repatriation flights run by diplomats. He had no show of getting on one of those. His lawyer had told him every person leaving the country was a foreign national and accounted for. Or someone allowed in by another country due to special circumstances.

Or millionaire-owned jets. He couldn't afford one of those. Ditto a sea-going yacht. The super-rich were still travelling, he had heard. Mostly incoming, to a virus haven he assumed. He knew that those with resident status were allowed in. He wondered how many of those had bunkers here. Rumour had it that some of those called Preppers had building designs not showing on council plans. Ditto some of his more dodgy friends but for different reasons. Whatever. Places built as safe havens.

With the contacts he had, he could organise a new passport. From outside prison. But in here he could do nothing. And today his lawyer told him he had been denied bail and that was that. No appeals. Get used to it. He smarted at the memory. His lawyer had told him quite a few things and a lot were repetitions of lectures he had already had. Why had he boasted to the cops that he knew Lacey was a fugitive? If his lawyers had asked him that once they'd asked him a dozen times. Never confess, never admit blame, never boast, shut your mouth in here, don't talk to the cops. His lawyers had told him that time and time again. He thought back to the last time he had seen one of his lawyers. Ian, the old one who had berated him,

"You could have gotten away with harbouring Lacey. It would have been almost impossible for the cops to prove you knew she was a fugitive! What were you thinking!? Why did you admit it? Why did you boast about it in here? You're a blithering idiot Duncan! Don't you understand how difficult you've made it for me to defend you? We could have dealt with the tax charges. We could have got you fines and a suspended sentence and community service and avoided prison. It's a white-collar crime. It's a rich man's crime and the deals we can do make it almost embarrassingly easy to dial down the charges. It was a snip to deal with until the Serious Fraud Office came along. That changed everything. That made my life bloody hard I can tell you. We could get away with almost everything except murder until that came along."

His lawyer didn't understand, thought Duncan. He wasn't going to quiver under his bunk in here. The others needed to know he was 'someone' and his talk of harbouring Lacey had made him immediately popular. As had his tales of what they had gotten up to and how he had taken her on outings under the noses of the cops. But now things were bad. Trials had stopped except for those already in session. Lockdown stopped the court system except for charges. All jury trials had stopped; that was hard to believe. And his lawyer had told him the whole system would now grind to a halt and take ages to clear cases. Some cases would be held via video link but not under level four. Probably not until level two. And when would that be?

Expect at least a three month delay his lawyer had told him. Lawyers. He had four and all four of them were telling him off. But they didn't understand. He had to be tough to survive in here and making a mockery of the police had made him so popular. Here and now was what he had to deal with. At least he was in remand and allowed his own clothes.

The only thing he really regretted was hinting that he had money hidden. His home and his office had been broken into so many times that his Insurance Company had cancelled his policies. They didn't like him being in prison either, although they had been unable to cancel his policies for that reason, due to the fact that he hadn't been convicted. That was what his lawyers told him. He hadn't known an Insurance company could cancel a policy. They could. If they deemed the risk too great 'due to things he had neglected to inform them of,' or some such thing his lawyers had told him. But the problem with the break-ins was that more damage was done by breaking in, than damage and theft once in. And it was costing him a fortune in repairs. Moving his parents into his house had helped. It had reduced the damage done and his mother cleaned up most of the damage and mess. But the bill was appalling and the ongoing cost was crippling. At least it was tax deductible. But it cost so much even to replace a small window.

But his business was going to have to shut due to this virus. On Thursday. Tomorrow at midnight. For four weeks! He had argued but Alison had yelled back at him. She had told him they were shutting for a month and there was nothing he could do about it. Everybody had to go home and only grocery shops and pharmacies were allowed to stay open and not all of them either. She had told him they had sold enough cars to pay the rent and other bills in advance. She and his accountant had informed him they could apply for a grant for his employees, to cover 80% of their wages while the lockdown continued. And had done so. He shouldn't have given Alison so much control. He wasn't worried about their wages. His stock of cars was going down!

Alison was getting above herself. Her priorities were wrong. She was paying all the bills. And in advance. Why had she paid the lease for the yard in advance? She had a perfect excuse not to pay it at all! At least the accountant had had the mortgage on the house 'put on holiday' for six months. That had scared him. The income from the yard had dropped so much due to loans, bills, reduced sales and the repair bills for damages, that the mortgage on the house couldn't be paid.

But that wasn't the worst thing. The men in here were getting paranoid about this virus. They were all stuck in here and crowded in together. They kept watching the news. It seemed nothing else was happening in the world and other countries had shut down too. He'd never heard of such stupidity. Businesses were shutting! The country could go broke. That Jacinda should get her priorities right. Business came first, not a few old people. And the cleaning going on in here was beyond ridiculous! When the official cleaners were done, some of the prisoners would take over. And the screws were cleaning everything before they touched it. And they were wearing masks and gloves. And there was that guy here that kept coughing.

He hadn't worried about this virus at first but people were dying in Italy and America and that shouldn't happen. America was rich wasn't it? They had flash hospitals and Intensive Care units so why were people dying there? He didn't know about Italy but it looked wealthy on TV. So why were their people dying too? And what about Britain? They had hospitals that were world famous. People who got into hospital shouldn't die from something that was only a flu! What would happen if it got in here? They couldn't escape.

Everything was going bad. His business was going downhill and he couldn't pay his house mortgage. Not wouldn't; couldn't. What would he be without his big business? What would happen now? People couldn't buy his cars even if they wanted to. Alison had sold some of his motorhomes and persuaded some of the owners to take other motorhomes and cars home; the ones he was selling on behalf. She and Harry were going to squash all the remaining vehicles together and chain them and use clamps on the outside ones to stop theft during lockdown. They were going to close his yard down at five o'clock tomorrow and leave it closed! For a whole month!

At least they were trying to protect his cars. They had gotten extra cameras put in. Alison had paid for a whole new security system and she and Harry and one of the new staff, had put it in because the ones who were supposed to install them were all busy. Was that really necessary? He knew Alison wasn't a worrier and she was seriously worried. Well nothing was insured now. Maybe the woman was right. Did lockdown mean the cops stayed home too? That would be a real problem.

He lay there thinking too much. His lawyers said he wouldn't escape jail time because of Lacey. But that had made him a big man here. For the first time he seriously wondered if his business would survive while he was in here. And his house. Would he have to sell it? He could get out of here and be broke. Well, the business was more important than the house. If things didn't improve, he could sell the house. That decided, he turned over to try to sleep but that man was coughing again.

The others had kicked up such a fuss about the coughing that the man was in a cell on his own and at the end of the block. The far end away from the guards. The guards said it was asthma. Were they lying? This could be a plot to exterminate the whole prison. Maybe he did have asthma but did he have the virus too? The news said chronic illnesses made people more susceptible. So he could have both. He could be coughing virus all over the prison. Duncan wished he'd shut up. And every time the man coughed someone would yell at him.

# Chapter Seventy-Two

I awoke to a gentle touch on my shoulder and immediately noticed the smell of coffee. I also noticed the coffee mug was being slotted into what looked like a purpose-made container to ensure it wouldn't tip over and that this mug normally had a screw-on top. I also noticed my new husband was dressed in a pair of underpants and had a rather nice physique albeit with a little extra padding. Not that I could criticise.

"We going fishing?"

"If you like."

"I like. We might catch tea."

"Oh ye of little faith. I seldom go home with nothing. What do you want?"

My puzzled look brought a smile from him.

"You don't just go out to catch fish. You go to specific places to catch specific types of fish."

This was news to me! "I'm not fussy. I seldom meet a fish I don't like. Anything edible. You choose." As he went out, I decided to waste none of this one-day honeymoon. I dressed hurriedly and joined him on deck, brushing my hair as I watched him disconnect the boat from power and then cast off. He used the motor to slowly ease away from the marina and head out to sea. This was better! I had never been on such a small boat. I live by the sea and I'd never been out like this. As Mike pointed to the life vest, I obeyed my captain seeing he already had one on and had taken time to put some shorts and a T shirt on underneath the life jacket. A pity. The other view was better.

I slowly drank the coffee I'd retrieved and decided to enjoy the day as much as I could. It wasn't difficult, this was fun. Rat-Bait had entertained friends and customers on his, (not mine), not as big but much more expensive boat, but I'd never been out on it. Of course the children weren't allowed out on a business trip and of course I had to babysit. And this might be a one-day honeymoon but this time I had no morning sickness. That was a point.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"What have we got?"

He didn't know? "I'll find something." I searched the cupboards and put together a breakfast of baked beans and cabin bread. No bread, no butter, no cereals, no eggs. Mike had thought of tea type meals but clearly not breakfast. Never mind. I wasn't a fan of cooked breakfasts. He wasn't because he couldn't cook. This would do. The other canned choice was spaghetti and there were sardines and dehydrated bait. I hadn't known bait came dehydrated but it made sense. Not for our breakfast though.

Further investigating, I found some small containers of flour, sugar, baking powder and other cooking ingredients. If he had packed eggs, I could have made pancakes. There were some dehydrated onions, potatoes, peas, beans and mixed vegetable packets and a comprehensive range of herbs and spices and sauces and condiments to go with fish. Fancy that. There were also some of those expensive dehydrated meals; invention courtesy of NASA.

The dry goods were very neatly repackaged into containers that were all chosen for getting as much variety as possible into as little space as possible. The containers were chosen to fit together or stack. Every container fitted into a slot or drawer or behind a barrier of some sort. Somebody had put some thought into this. I called my husband in as the baked beans were ready. As I lit the gas, I was intrigued with the kettle. It was on a swinging system that I assumed ensured it continued to heat the water in rough seas and couldn't tip over. I didn't really want to picture sailing in seas like that. I wasn't sure I'd be eating in seas like that either. Today was fine and not windy meaning the sea had only small waves. Small waves were the ones I decided I liked. I didn't know whether I got seasick or not. I knew I didn't in large ships like the ferries and I had had one short holiday on a cruise liner. That didn't upset my stomach either. Would a little boat like this? In a choppy sea? I didn't want to find out. I looked up as Mike came down and looked at the contents on the table,

"I forgot bread and butter."

"This tastes nice. And different. Another coffee?"

"Yes please. I see you sorted out the galley."

"I've been camping. There are a lot of parallels."

# Chapter Seventy-Three

Duncan sat down, his head whirling. The cops had been in with yet more bad news. Probably tying loose ends up before they all went home for a month's holiday. The little one said,

"We've identified three of the men who broke into your house and five who broke into your yard on separate occasions. None of them have any money. You can try suing them but it will be a waste of your money. We're charging them but it probably won't be dealt with until after lockdown."

"So they just do all this damage and cost me lots of money and that's it? I can't sue them? I can't get my money back?"

"That's right."

"That's not fair."

"Yes, it's a pity you're not insured for this. And no it's not fair but they have no money. Or they're hiding it."

Duncan noticed the grins at that last comment. And he distinctly heard the chuckles as they left. They thought that was funny, did they? And to add insult to injury, he'd had this letter from his Insurance Company officially cancelling his policies and telling him they won't be encouraging his business in future. And Alison had said she'd spent hours ringing around all the other Insurance Companies trying to find one that would cover him. One had finally agreed but only for fire and theft of vehicles. Not for damage to property. She said she had persuaded them by telling them about the fancy new surveillance system that had been put in. It had motion sensors attached to the cameras. Real expensive stuff. And despite that, that policy was seriously expensive! She had gone ahead and arranged it without checking with him. At least his house was also insured for fire now. There was that.

But then she had had the cheek to ask him if he wanted to sell his Alfa Romeo. Not a chance! She had pointed out that it wasn't being used and was costing him so much a month to pay off. Duncan didn't trust his father with it, so it was locked in his garage and Alison had all the car starters. She had suggested he lease a car when he got out.

There were some bits of good news. One of the new salesmen had sold a motorhome. Saleswoman. Didn't sound right. He'd never have hired a woman. She'd sold a big motorhome too and one of the few that he had owned. Well; he and the bank. Mostly the bank. That would help with the bills Alison had said. They had sold four cars as well today, but Alison had bought nothing to replace them with. That had been his job. Buying. No one was doing it now. Just trade-ins. So the cars were reducing. And Alison had spent a lot of time getting warrants of fitness done and registrations that would expire during lockdown. She had proudly told him that they could be up and selling as soon as lockdown was lifted. He suspected she was running the business down. Assuming he would be convicted and that the business would be wound up.

He wasn't fooled. She was paying all the loans and bills so the yard could continue to trade and stay in the black. His yard ran on credit and she was paying it back as vehicles were sold. He didn't do business that way! The bank kept telling him they loved his business and the whiny bitch and Sally and Alison and even his accountant kept telling him not to run so close to the red. But his business looked so fantastic with all those vehicles and only he and the bank knew how big his bank loan was. And now Alison was paying money off the bank loan instead of buying more cars!

Bank loans was his form of gambling and he loved it! Gambling he could, every month, pay enough off the loans to stay solvent. Which was why the wage cheques didn't always get paid on time and ditto the bills. No one could run the business like he did. None of them had the balls to run so close to major bank penalties. No one had the contacts. None of them did the lucrative cash deals. She thought he was going to have to wind up the yard and he was betting she was ensuring it didn't go bankrupt. They would all lose their last pays if it did. But how was he going to finance a restart once he got out of here? And when would that be? His lawyers were talking of up to six years. In here. And now there would be four weeks with all the outgoings and no money coming in. No sales for a month of lockdown. It didn't seem possible that a Prime Minister could just shut the country down like this. Just because of an invisible bug.

And last night more men had started coughing. The guards said it was psychological. They said people were coughing because they were _frightened_ that they were sick, not _because_ they were sick. They had been tested and so had the staff. How long would it take for the results to get back? And how would they know what the results were? Would infectious cases he hushed up? And every hour it seemed more and more were coughing. And in the daytime too. It was the tourists that had brought this virus here. Flights into the country should have been stopped months ago.

He paced, thinking. Maybe he should sell the Alfa Romeo. It would be six years old when he got out, if he spent six years in here. He didn't want a six-year-old car. He did his sums. It made no sense to keep it. He would tell her to sell it. He wouldn't get anything for it because he owed so much on it, but it would reduce the monthly bills. Sell it. Was he mad? But what else could he do? She was expensive to keep paying off.

The bloody tax department had taken his old Alfa that had had finance owing. He thought they couldn't do that; seize a vehicle that finance was owed on. But his lawyer told him his cash, being part of the seizure, had paid off the Alfa and the Audi. What a cheek! So this latest Alfa was his brand-new car. Bought as soon as he had the money for the deposit. Bought, he privately admitted, in a hurry to conceal the fact that his other one had been confiscated. God, that had been so embarrassing! And she'd just be sitting there. She still wasn't insured. The company had refused to cover her. His lawyers had finally convinced him he wasn't getting out of here in a hurry. They told him the cops and the Tax Department had too much evidence against him. But when he got out, he could always buy another car. And when would that be? He lined up to use the phone again. He'd better tell Alison to sell her.

# Chapter Seventy-Four

The day was sunny with a soft breeze, my beloved husband caught fish and I read a book in between watching him. I didn't read much. All too soon, we were eating wedding leftovers for tea. The fish was going home with us. In three hours' time. As we were finishing the sticky date pudding off, I heard an unfamiliar sound. I paused to identify it and my blood ran cold. My phone was ringing! The emergency phone my father had given me! (My normal phone was off, of course). I stumbled over to it,

"What's happened?!"

"Nothing's wrong, don't panic. You have a honeymoon reprieve. It's just come over the news. There are too many people who couldn't get home in time, especially if they're on the wrong island. The planes and ferries are going full speed but they can't shift the numbers involved in time. Jacinda has extended the deadline to Friday at midnight, but just for those travelling between Islands. Everyone else locks down tonight."

I tried to get my heart to slow down. It wouldn't. It was so loud, I was having trouble hearing my father.

"What's wrong?"

I handed the phone to Mike. His brain was probably working. It was. I watched as the grin exploded over his face and his eyes shone. He handed me back the phone after agreeing with my father about something.

"Get moving! Stick the dishes in the sink and secure everything in the galley! We have two more days!"

"Where are we going?"

"Where you wanted to go. Where we need to get back from. The Marlborough Sounds. We're going to follow the Bluebridge ferry. Your father says it's leaving in a few minutes."

Follow the ferry? My brain started to work. The ferries were lit up like Christmas trees which was just as well because in the dark, which it would be in another hour, we wouldn't be able to see the South Island. Two more days of honeymoon! Yay. It felt like a whole huge extension. I secured everything in the sink and covered the dishes and food containers with a tea towel. Everything was plastic or melanin so nothing would break. We were moving. I had to hang on to keep my balance. I put my life vest back on and went up to my husband. The grin on his face was still there. I looked ahead but couldn't see the ferry.

"She hasn't left yet. We're going to intercept her and follow."

"We won't get lost?"

"She's unmistakable and if she leaves us behind, we'll follow the Inter Islander. They're all going to Picton. But we don't have to keep up with her. We just have to keep her in sight. We have her lights to follow and her wake is visible too and extends for miles. We'll follow her as far as the sounds. I know somewhere we can tie up just inside the sounds. Then tomorrow, we can sail the sounds like you wanted to. Tea in Picton and buy some groceries?"

"Sound great!" It was a few minutes before the penny dropped. "Mike? The restaurants will be closed, won't they?"

"I didn't think of that. Probably. Just as well I married a cook. She'll see I don't starve. Cripes. I've just realised if I hadn't met you, I'd spend a month starving. I can't cook. No, I'd have moved in with Abby."

"She's in a one bedroom flat."

"She has a sofa."

I smiled back at him. He wouldn't have fitted. He'd have counted on Abby giving up her bed for him. Abby would fit on the sofa. But now; two more days! "There she is!" I pointed. I think I should have said starboard? Off the stern? Well, behind us anyway. I watched my new husband as he throttled the boat back and waited for the ferry.

As we started out in the wake of the ferry, I noticed a whole lot of lights like big Christmas decorations had come on and were surrounding our boat. They must be battery powered. And then I wondered if the wind generator, propeller thing, was powering them. I didn't like to ask. I went down below, got our windbreakers and came back on deck. We were now probably a few hundred yards off the stern of the ferry and I noticed we were keeping up with her. I had no idea how fast the ferry went or how fast this boat could go. Mike didn't seem worried so I decided I wouldn't be either.

Just over two hours later, I watched my husband as he used a searchlight to find the mooring he wanted,

"It's a friend of the boat's owner," he said, "So they will assume it's him and not set the dogs on us."

As we tied up. A searchlight was briefly shone over the boat, Mike waved and the light went out. We were parked next to three other boats on a long jetty and they looked like seriously expensive sea going yachts. They all had enough lights on them for me to get an idea of their size and looks. As we secured the boat and Mike checked everything, we saw someone coming down the jetty with a torch. Mike went out to explain while I ducked down below in embarrassment. Mike joined me saying,

"It's OK. They just wanted to check. They've taken in some mariner refugees for lockdown. Everyone is going to stay apart for fourteen days and then they will have picnics at three metres apart. I told them we're leaving in the morning but they say we can tie up here every night if we like, so long as we stay on the boat. I suggested they ring Pete and confirm we've arrived safely. Now, I've had a good idea."

By the look on his face and where his eyes were wandering, I could guess what that was. Some hours later, we heard the sound of people coming down the jetty. I looked at my watch. It was just after midnight. Level four lockdown had begun. I admit I was scared. At least I had Mike to distract me. He had been doing that very well...

# Chapter Seventy-Five

The next morning, we had somewhat of a late start due to being preoccupied but we finally got disentangled, showered (we needed it!) dressed and Mike got the engine going. We headed for Picton. The trip through the sounds was scenic and peaceful and calm and beautiful. Picton, was not.

We stepped into a different world. Picton was crowded and noisy and people were clearly stressed. Especially at the supermarket where I lined up with what looked like fifty others at a small supermarket. In single file. Mike and I had eaten almost all the food on the boat except the fish, so we had headed for the supermarket only to find that only one of us was allowed in at a time. We picked me. I had to wait on a red line, we had to keep two metres apart and we kept being yelled at by a harassed supermarket worker trying desperately to follow rules I was just finding out about. Possibly so was she. I wished I'd gone to a dairy. Some people were wearing masks and some were wearing masks and gloves. That, was frightening.

It took me twenty minutes to get to the head of the queue and people were not dawdling. Just in front of me, was a woman with two little boys in her trolley. They looked about three years old. Twins? As the trio got to the yelling supermarket worker, the worker squirted some hand sanitiser into the little boys' hands and told them,

"Wash your hands. Keep your hands inside the trolley. Don't touch anyone or anything. Got it?"

The little boys looked in bewilderment from her to their mother (?) whose face I couldn't see. By their expressions, they weren't used to this type of treatment but evidently, they got no reprieve from their mother. I suspect they did as ordered. Two little boys coming to terms with a world that had changed overnight. As was I.

The supermarket trolley was sprayed with disinfectant and pushed towards me as I got to the front of the line. I was told to wait until the next person came out before I went in and I was ordered to sanitise my hands before entering and stay away from others. I wandered around the supermarket making some fast decisions, one being that I wasn't coming back here! Hungry, I bought some hot pies for breakfast. But there was no toilet paper, no frozen chips, no potatoes, no rice, no flour, no hand sanitiser and a lot of bare shelves. But I did find coffee, eggs, bread and margarine. I bought what I found, rather than what I had been looking for, including low fat milk which was all that was there. And there wasn't much of that either. It would do. It was white.

As I reached the cash registers, I got several more shocks. Among the signs was one that read 'no cash. Pay wave or eftpos only.' Damn. I'd have to use my credit card. And there was a Perspex screen in front of the checkout man with a little hole to access the loyalty card and a bigger one for the eftpos machine. I exited with relief, packed my own groceries and went to find Mike who was sitting at a table. As I reached him, he handed me a packet and said,

"Bacon and egg toasted sandwich and a coffee."

He looked very pleased with himself and probably in response to my expression he pointed. There were four food trucks I hadn't seen before. Probably because of the throngs of people around them. I wondered if they were legal but there were people here who needed feeding until they got on a ferry. I took a seat and looked down as I noticed the dampness and smell. Mike said,

"They're trying to spray the seats between each set of customers but most people are eating in their cars."

I became conscious of every cough I could hear. I was listening for sneezes and searching the crowds for anyone who looked sick. And this busy ferry terminal town was a prime place for a bug to spread. Seriously hungry, I ate the pie as well, as Mike ate the other. I gratefully downed the coffee. It was lovely. It would be dried packet coffee from now on. We left, getting back to the boat thankfully, only to find five men by our boat who wanted a ride North and offered to pay for it.

"We're going South," Mike told them, "and it isn't my boat. I'm taking it home for the owner."

He muttered to me, "I'm getting sick of the comments when I tell people we're on honeymoon. And I didn't like the look of them."

Neither had I. Nor did I like the thought of us being outnumbered. And I did not want company or to be done out of a minute of honeymoon. Mike was prioritising me. I liked that. Rat-Bait would have fleeced them blind and ignored me and my worries and our honeymoon to follow a profit.

I put everything away and went up beside Mike donning my life vest as I went. "There were no potatoes and no frozen chips so it will have to be fish sandwiches. There was some canned peas and canned corn so I got those. Almost all the frozen stuff was gone."

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to being a bloke on my own. Eating a correct diet is not something I think about. So long as I get fed, I'll be happy. Abby's always trying to chuck veges down me but she's not a keen cook either."

She wasn't. She bought prepared salads at the supermarket and ate them with dressing pretty much all year round. And the protein part of her diet was sausages, prepared fish and prepared meat that she just had to heat. To really expand her menu, she microwaved frozen veg. Evidently, her abilities were a class or two above Mike's level though. We used the engine to get out of the harbour and then Mike switched the engine off and set the sails.

"I got some extra petrol so we have plenty but I love the peace and quiet of the sails."

So did I. We sailed on for nearly an hour and then Mike dropped anchor in a little bay and started to fish. I got out my book. It was idyllic. The day was fine, it was quite a warm March, and I was just in shorts and a T shirt. Luckily, I had brought enough clothes because I had planned layers. I thought it might be cold on the boat and I get miserable when I'm cold. I also bought a few things extra because I thought I might go swimming or I might get wet. Just as well.

As I sat there, I was worrying about telling Mike about the money. But if this relationship all went South and he knew, it would make me terribly vulnerable and maybe put my life in danger. Every time I tried to tell him I would relive the day Rat-Bait told me he had someone else and wanted rid of me. For me, it had come out of a clear blue sky. Others had warned me but I didn't believe them, I honestly didn't. Not my Duncan. After we split, others, including my parents, told me that they had noticed things. I had not. What should I do? I had to stay alive to raise two children. I knew how cruel Rat-Bait had been, especially after we split. He was obnoxious. But Mike was a different sort of person, wasn't he? I sat and worried and tried to decide. Indecisive was an inadequate word for the quandary I was in.

Mike netted the fish and glanced over at Jo. She was preoccupied and looked worried. "What is it love? You look troubled."

"There's something I have to tell you but I'll put myself in terrible danger if you tell on me."

Ah ha, Mike thought, here it comes, "You've murdered someone?"

I smiled, "No."

"You robbed Rat-Bait?" He watched as Jo turned pure white. Bingo.

I cringed and started to cry. I couldn't stop it. How did he know? Who else knew?

"You stole? From Rat-Bait? His legendary money hoard?"

I nodded and then Mike started to laugh; a deep, decent belly laugh. After what seemed like several minutes he spluttered and finally said, "I noticed little things. So did Abby."

Oh God, she would! Abby was too damn smart and far too observant.

"Was it just before you bought the Honda? That incident with Sally?"

I nodded.

"Yeah Abby was suspicious. She didn't believe your story. She said you're a rotten liar, obviously inexperienced at telling true whoppers. And she said you changed after that day. You became more confident, less anxious. Much surer of yourself and happy. You moved faster and laughed more and started losing weight. She knew something had happened but wasn't certain what. I noticed the changes in you too. We both wondered what had happened. She said your attitude to Sally changed completely on that day and you no longer wanted any revenge on Rat-Bait. It was like you'd got him."

Yes, well I had! I gulped, "How long have you known?"

"Known? Just now. Suspected; only since Abby started talking with me about it seriously, after you and me got engaged. Then I thought back to what I had noticed too. She told me what she suspected and why. So we both started looking hard. You had lots more cash than usual even though you were trying to hide that. You normally had almost nothing. And you were clearly hiding something but she was astonished that you didn't tell her."

"I felt I couldn't risk it. He'd kill me if he found out. And Sally will be his prime suspect, not me. So I thought if I kept quiet, no one would ever know. But I thought I had to tell you."

"Ok love, full disclosure. How much?"

"Four hundred and six thousand." It felt so good to tell someone. I could say it out loud and no one else could hear me. He nodded and I saw he wasn't shocked. Mostly he was amused and that shocked me.

"And Sally got the same?"

"About. I don't know. We didn't count it at the time. She got my car too. I signed it over to her. That was her plan if we found the money. She had no transport."

"So your car wasn't written off?"

"No."

"Where did she go?"

"Auckland, she said, but she could have gone anywhere. I don't know. She will have to hide and she knows it. She suspected he was money-laundering and set out to find it, but before she found it, he cheated on her. She couldn't take that. She had to either find it that day or leave with no money and just what she could carry. She worked for him for nothing you see. He didn't pay her. Just like me, he said it was for their future."

"Yeah, that happens in relationships and in things like family businesses. One of my school friends worked for his father on a dairy farm for years for pocket money. And then his father sold the farm and gave him nothing. And his father couldn't see what he had done wrong. Abe felt like he'd been a slave. Well, he had. A sixteen hour a day slave some days. I think they've hardly talked to each since. Abe is really bitter. He feels he lost everything; his job, years of his life, his future, his home and his relationship with his father all in one day.

"I think Rat-Bait knows exactly what he's doing. He's cheating others. Slavery is exactly what it is."

"So how much have you got left?"

"Just over three hundred and fifty, I think. It depends on how much I get in honeymoon refunds."

"Where is it?"

"In savings for the kids. In their names I mean. I pay cash for everything I can. Up in the ceiling. Buried in the garden. In a shoebox under my bed." I was glad no one could eavesdrop on this conversation. I did notice how amused he still was. He was taking this a lot better than I thought he would. He was going to be easy to live with, I suspected. He didn't fluster easily. Rat-Bait was like a steam kettle constantly on the boil and you never knew when he was going to erupt. Not restful to live with. I had to read his mood before I dared say anything. In stark contrast, Mike was so calm. I was calm too, now he knew. It was done. I had not wanted to keep living a double life. It was like getting married; I was now committed. And I had hated lying and keeping secrets. Now we would sink or swim together. Preferably swim.

We spent the rest of the day musing over plans and choices and talking. Mike was pleased I'd trusted him and told him. It made a shift in our relationship; like a barrier coming down. Trust. I guess I had learnt to trust again. That ability had, I thought, been destroyed by Rat-Bait. But it hadn't. So many shifts in our relationship since getting engaged. We were now relaxed and easy with each other and I loved it. I learnt, like me, others had chosen his career pathway for him. I queried the rightness of that but he said,

"I wasn't academic and I didn't do well in school. I hardly read books unless they're manuals. I'm better with things than people. I want to do things, work things out, touch them, find out how they work. I love my job. It's me. Everyone who knows me says I'm like my father. My father's friends and my Grandad paid for my training and they virtually gave me an apprenticeship and my Grandfather helped me into the business. He bankrolled me and then I inherited most of his estate. It was a little unfair on the girls but he'd already told them he was going to do that and why. He said they didn't need any help because they were academic and I wasn't and I did need help.

But I didn't think that was fair. So I gave Evelyn the deposit and went guarantor for her mortgage and I'll do the same for Abby. It's only fair. I got the inheritance and they didn't and that's what I told Evelyn's bank manager when he told me what a decent brother I was. I told him it was the inheritance she should have got."

We ate fish sandwiches for tea and a canned fruit salad. Not my usual standard but it was very tasty. Mike offered to teach me the finer points of gutting a fish but I declined. I was too preoccupied with thinking about the upcoming, after dinner entertainment. We were spending nearly twelve hours a day in bed and I don't mean sleeping. No wonder we were eating so much.

And he talked and cuddled after sex. He didn't just get what he wanted and roll over like you-know-who. I loved the snuggling and talking as much as the sex. We talked; about our lives, our dreams, our past, our future, the money and what to do with it. But this day had been special because I had told him and he had known anyway and everything was alright. He promised he wouldn't even tell Abby if I didn't want him too, but I relented on that. I wondered if Nadia and Warren suspected. And my parents. Did they? And most of all the day had been special because there was still another. There was a tomorrow. A still-on-honeymoon tomorrow.

# Chapter Seventy-Six

Duncan paced. Lockdown. No visitors. His lawyers wouldn't come even if it was an emergency. And the other prisoners were moaning about the 'no visitors' rule. What did the stupid fools expect? Hot and cold running visitors full of the virus? And this was only the first day! And they wouldn't stop watching the bloody news. The news was driving him insane but he was becoming addicted to it too. Normally, he only watched the sports news. He felt like the walls were closing in on him. Last night he had had nightmares. Something was chasing him. It was motorised, but not something he would ever want to meet. It was after him. It intended to squash him. Twice last night, he'd had a similar dream. In between being driven insane by the coughing.

And the mail was being delayed. The bloody screws had this piece of paper saying the virus could survive on paper for four days. So their mail was being kept aside for four days. Which also meant no newspapers. But they said it was no newspapers because the papers were all shut down. The only media that was going was electronic. And he wasn't allowed his cell phone. He kept reaching for it and it wasn't there. He used his phone all day and now he didn't have it. He was blocked off from his life with that phone gone. He was constantly using it for all types of things; his twitter account, Email enquiries, YouTube, weather, games, Facebook and google. Normally, every time he had a minute, he accessed something. And he always had the latest phone. He liked the looks of envy when people saw what he had. What were people saying about him on social media? Not knowing what everyone was saying about him was driving him nuts! Not being able to put his side out there. What were they saying about him?

At least they were allowed to use the landline phone but everyone wanted to use it all day long so they had to take turns. He, Duncan, had to wait while someone else used it. And then the screws would sanitise it before he could use it. So it stank of disinfectant. But the disinfectant smelt like alcohol. Which he was also now denied. At home he never had an evening without beer and now he wasn't allowed any. He couldn't sleep properly without a few in him. And he was slowly coming to the realisation that he was going to have to go six years or so without sex. Well without women, anyway. He'd always had women. He'd already had a few offers in here but he wasn't keen. Mostly because it was a risk with this virus and he had no condoms and there were few places where one could get privacy. He hadn't had sex in a public toilet for years. Since he was a teenager probably. And if anyone told on him, what would it do for his reputation? No, he'd think about that for a while. And not with this virus going around. And some bloke on TV had said that they wouldn't be safe until they'd all had the vaccine. But there was no vaccine. They were saying a vaccine was eighteen months away. The food was bland, there was nothing to do, no sex, no alcohol, he had no phone and it was driving him insane! Six years of this? How would he cope?

He tried to ring Alison again but she wasn't answering his calls. It was infuriating! How dare she! He had every right to call her multiple times a day. He was her boss. And maybe the yard was shut down but there were still things he wanted to know. And he had changed his mind about the Alfa. He must have been mad. He wanted to tell her not to sell it. That move was premature. He might get a light sentence or fines and supervision and community service. He might not get prison. If he ended up in prison, his phone calls would be seriously restricted. He only had easy access to a phone because he was in remand. The others told him phone calls were once a day only in prison and the screws could deny that right for all sorts of reasons. That frightened him. Being in here frightened him. And being in prison with a global pandemic raging just wasn't bloody funny! He had to get out. Maybe he could arrange a prison break. For himself at least.

• • •

After trying Alison several more times the bitch finally answered. Shortly after, Duncan seethed as he slammed the phone down. She'd sold his wheels! His precious Alfa. He no longer owned an Alfa. Alison had had a buyer lined up. She'd sold it on Wednesday! As soon as he said she could. The stupid bitch didn't know he didn't mean to sell it. He just said that in a moment of despair! Duncan looked up as a disturbance finally registered. "What?"

"You're under arrest," Vera said.

"What? What for? How can I be arrested in prison?" Duncan tried to brush past her.

"You're under arrest for destroying government property."

Duncan, bewildered, looked where she was pointing and noticed the broken phone, "So?"

"You broke something that wasn't your property," she said simply and patiently. "You aren't allowed to break anything in here and especially not other people's property." Vera could see the pent-up fury in Duncan. Something had upset him. He thought himself a big man and they always had difficulty in prison. Sooner or later the system cut them down to size and they realised just how influential they were in here and how much power they wielded. As in not much and none.

Duncan was still furious as well as bewildered. It was only a phone. What was she on about? But then he saw the baleful looks on the faces of a few of his nearby also-remanded 'new friends.'

Over the next hour, Duncan finally understood that he was now forbidden to use any phone for seven days. And another charge was added to the list; destruction of property. And he couldn't just pay for the phone or replace it because he didn't have any access to money here. Except for what was available to buy from his prison account. Items like toiletries. Phones were not for sale here. But Vera had stressed that that was not the point. The point was that he wasn't allowed to destroy things. But he always smashed things when he got really mad. Or hit people if it was their fault.

And per policy, the phone would not immediately be replaced. And since everyone was now in level four lockdown did that mean no phone for four weeks? That was unacceptable! But worse, he was decidedly unpopular. And two of the men had threatened to 'get you for this.'

But even worse than that, during the phone call Alison had told him about the caravan and Brian ringing up the whiny bitch, whose father had promptly taken possession of _his caravan_. This was appalling. The whiny bitch had his caravan. He'd had such fun in that caravan. Not with her of course. And he'd thought vaguely that if he sold his house, he would be able to live in the caravan while he found another house.

And in another insult, Brian told Alison who told him that the whiny bitch had just gotten remarried. So he wouldn't be welcome there either when he got out of prison. Which had been another possibility. Not now. What was she thinking? She wasn't free to remarry. She was _his_ wife. She couldn't remarry. He hadn't given his permission. Didn't he have to give permission? She might be happy. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He didn't want her to be happy ever again. How dare she remarry. She was his. Worse still, she was getting sex now and he wasn't.

# Chapter Seventy-Seven

The next day went so quickly; fishing (he) reading (me) and the knowledge to mar the day being that we had to be home by midnight. I felt like a sad Cinderella. And of course, the day flew. Not leaving things to chance, Mike decided we needed to head off home by late afternoon. And he decided we would sail because it was slower and he obviously loved sailing. We didn't need to follow the ferry because the North Island was clearly visible. To me, he looked wonderful and masterful.

This honeymoon was such a contrast to my previous one where I was an appendage, although I didn't realise it at the time. Well, I accepted it as normal because I didn't know anything else. I mean it wasn't like my parents' marriage but then I knew relationships differed. But to Mike, I was front and centre. It was so wonderful and such a change, to be asked what I wanted. We arrived in Wellington just after six. Fish sandwiches for tea again.

All too soon it was ten pm. Oh you want to know where the last nearly four hours went? Use your imagination! Once we got home there would be two teenagers inhibiting us. One fourteen and one old-for-her-age-nearly twelve. The latter with an increasing appetite accompanying a beginning growth spurt. We would have to be silent. So we made the best of it. And we weren't silent. Then we docked, tied up, packed everything including a lot of filleted fish of various species, loaded my car and regretfully drove home, arriving before midnight. As we drove into the driveway, we saw a caravan taking up most of the front lawn.

"What's that doing there? I didn't know you had a caravan."

"It's not mine. I'm too tired to ask. We must have visitors. Tomorrow," I muttered as we lugged everything into the house to be met by my parents. "Thank you for the extra two days Dad. Appreciated it."

"It was your mother's idea. She was listening to the news while burning tea."

"I heard that!"

"And then I thought of telling you to follow the ferries," Dad continued, ignoring the interruption.

I grinned at the indignation on Mum's face. She didn't _always_ burn tea. She just got preoccupied with other things, like work, while cooking. Sometimes she wouldn't even smell the smoke. It was a standing joke. Funny, because it often resulted in takeaways which we kids had loved.

"Whose is the caravan?"

"Yours. Well Sam and Jenny's legally."

She laughed, presumably at the expression on my face.

"You know how your caravan disappeared and reappeared morphed into one a tenth of it's value and belonging to the business?"

"I'd hardly forget, Mum!"

"Well he hid the real one by putting it into Sam and Jenny's name and by swapping the number plates. Then making a slight alteration to one number. He changed a 1 to a 4. And I'll bet no one ever thought to search in the kid's names. All legal. It was even paid for, so you couldn't check the finance records."

"Yes, the finance lists were how Nadia searched for it. Under both plates, year, type etc. I can't believe he paid it off. He never owned any vehicle. The bank did. I never thought of that. How did you find it?"

"That was Brian. He was mad at Duncan for taking the manger role off him and giving it to Alison. And because he quit in a temper tantrum, he won't get the Covid 19 wage subsidy. The unemployment one is much less. And Alison knew about the caravan and that he had it and she demanded it back once he quit. Brian told us he paid the registration and warrants and insurance in return for storing it and being able to share it. So he was determined Duncan wasn't getting it back. I think Alison thought it genuinely did belong to the business. I think she was going to sell it. Brian said she's an absolute idiot and she's selling everything she can and paying bank debt off. And not buying new stock in."

"Well Rat-Bait always did run close to the bank limit. And Alison is right in my opinion. People will have other priorities. People will be more likely wanting to _sell_ cars after lockdown, not buy them. I can't see a car yard making lots of money after a lockdown. But I could be wrong. He's lucky he doesn't sell new cars. They'd be hit even worse I'm thinking. What am I going to do with a caravan?"

"How about a holiday?" Mike commented.

"That's a good idea," Mum agreed, "Except we're first in line because we cleaned it up. And replaced the mattress and linen... "

"Yuk." I saw her point.

"Exactly. And by the way we're staying here. In the caravan." Mum reached for the chilly bin. She had the freezer key. I handed the bin over and staggered to my/our bedroom. I dropped everything, turned and checked on the kids. Dewey looked up as I walked in. He purred as I patted him. I knew both kids would be safe with my parents here but I just had to reassure myself. Two unfurry kids and one furry kid. Check. I staggered back to my/our bedroom as I heard my parents depart. For the caravan. I shouldn't have asked about it. I was too tired to take all this in. Could the caravan be legally ours? It had gone through two divorces; the original one that let Rat-Bait buy it cheap and then mine. But with a new mattress and linen, I could tolerate it. It was twenty-eight feet long, with a bathroom and a double bed and two seven-foot foam squabs at the front. We would all fit in easily. And Rat-Bait had added solar panels and waste and water tanks to make it self contained. I mean he had to have power to run his phone. I would have to ask Nadia re the legalities of ownership. I giggled; he could hardly dispute this and come and get it now could he? What do they say about possession is nine tenths of the law?

# Chapter Seventy-Eight

I awoke to find I was alone. We were going to have to adjust to that. I had trouble getting to sleep and awoke sluggish and reluctant to move and Mike got to sleep in seconds, awoke after eight hours of solid sleep and got up immediately. So where was he?

I got into my dressing gown and headed for the bathroom. Emerging and hearing voices outside, I walked out the back door and stopped in shock. My backyard was transformed. I didn't know where to look first. There was a proper, solid, dark green metal fence, dog proof, surrounding the back yard and it had trees espaliered onto it. They would be fruit trees. I knew my Mum's priorities for her poverty-stricken daughter. I counted; there were fifteen trees with flower beds in front of them. And the gardens were curved; no straight lines. Plus I saw five trees scattered across the back of the yard. Those looked like citrus. Probably including lemons, lime, orange and mandarin if I knew my Mum and I recognised her landscaping in this. And my father's building. This must be my wedding present. There was an entertainment area and a BBQ near the back door, all paved. There was seating built into raised herb beds near the BBQ. And some vegetables, I noticed as I spotted lettuce. And all the lawn was new. My old lawn had been weeds and Doug excavations. I wondered if they had found any bones whilst landscaping. Thank God I had buried the money deep.

The kids laughed as they saw me standing there and dragged me around 'all our hard work.' The old garden shed was gone, as was the chook house. Oops. Some future excavation would be required. When no one was looking. I kept looking around. There was a goldfish pond, about four feet square but not square, all equipped with plants and lilies and with goldfish in it. I loved goldfish. Mmm, Dewey. I might have to net it. I could see three goldfish and they weren't babies. Someone had put some money into this. I knew big goldfish could be thirty dollars or more each. The yard looked fantastic. There were another two raised vegetable gardens. A meandering paved path looked like it connected everything.

Splitting off the North side from the back of the house was the obvious work of my father; a trellis archway with baby roses on it. I walked through and saw a beautiful wooden gate beyond it. Hand made by my father, I would bet.

Going across to the South side of the house where the driveway was, there was another beautiful hand-made wooden gate. I saw the clothesline was still in the carport and then realised the other one was gone. The probably 1950's Hills clothesline that was concreted in and still operational although looking decidedly past-it's-use-by-date.

I wandered around as everyone but me got back to work. I wondered how much of an effort it had been to achieve all this. Now I knew why my parents had wanted me gone for another two days!

I stood there and watched as my husband, parents and children planted flowers (the adults) and thickly spread mulch (Sam) under the newly planted flowers while Jenny then watered them all down. And the flowers were perennials. Once in, they would keep growing.

"Mum, Dad, everyone, it's wonderful. Thank you so much. I lacked the time, the energy and the money as well as the expertise. And it seemed pointless. The neighbours have gotten another dog to neglect."

"Yes, I had a little word with them about sharing the cost of the fence," my mother said. "They weren't keen. They said they hadn't been consulted so they wouldn't pay. Dog control and the council disagreed. Apparently most of the council will remain working from home during lockdown. That was a shock to your generous and responsible dog owning neighbours. The nice council man I spoke to said they will be sent a bill. In a few days. The other neighbours had a different attitude and are prepared to pay although the lady at the back, Margery, we did a deal with. She helped with the garden instead of paying money."

I smiled, she would. She and I chatted over the back fence occasionally. Doug had broken in there too. Margery told me he left even faster as she threatened him with murder for damaging her garden. She was a retired teacher with a fabulous garden she put hours into. Almost every day. I suddenly suspected those goldfish might have come from her place. She was a dedicated gardener. I had no idea how much labour this one of mine had been, but it looked considerable. But it also looked fairly easy care now for me. For starter, there was a lot less lawn, the lawn was now flat and there were lots of pavers and mulch to deal with the weeds. I walked along the path finding a new garden shed behind the garage and a paved and covered area behind that and cleverly not quite attached to the fence. No permit required. And in that area was a new drop-down clothesline, a wheelbarrow and two woolsacks. I looked inside. One sack held bark mulch and the other held what smelled like compost. Stacked at the back were punnets of flowers and some shrubs. Lots of both. I looked into the shed to find many more garden tools placed on hooks as if they were at home there. In other words; now mine. And there was citrus food, another watering can, soaker hoses, some twine, and far more garden supplies than I had had a few days ago. I was seriously going to have to tell my parents that their little daughter was no longer a pauper.

I walked over to the North side checking the citrus tree labels as I went. Hearing the puppy, I looked towards it but their yard was now hidden. Seeing where I was looking, Jenny said,

"Before we did this, we photographed the fence, our yard and their yard and the dog. They didn't see us do that and they tried to say they don't have a dog anymore," Jenny said in a rush. "And we explained they gave their last dog up rather than fix the fence. And Doug went poos on our lawn because they didn't take him for walks very often. That was our evidence for the council," she said proudly.

I winced. I still felt guilty about that. It wasn't Doug's fault. There are very few bad dogs but there are a lot of bad dog owners. A dog is like a child. It's a lifetime commitment and dogs don't cope well with neglect. I deliberately tried not to think about Doug's fate. His owners had thought his excavations very funny. So funny that they had renamed him Doug. That was alright on their property but he made it impossible for me to even try to have a garden. And I hated the dog poo all over my lawn all the time. It made the yard unpleasant for me and the kids to use. So we didn't use it.

"Oh, and the gates are weighted so they close automatically," Jenny added.

Jenny and I automatically looked across at Sam who had such trouble closing doors; inside doors, outside doors, screen doors, cupboard doors, you name it. And then my mouth opened in shock as a concealed door I hadn't seen, opened in my back fence and there was Margery. As I watched in amazement, she settled herself down with her chair and a coffee table, a coffee and what looked like some home baking.

As if this was a signal, which it clearly was, everyone downed tools and headed inside as I stood there in amazement. I wandered over as Margery explained,

"Your parents and I have been talking. I told them I live on my own. Staying here with no social interaction for four weeks will result in isolation insanity. So your parents made this gate for me. We meet here every fine day for morning tea and every afternoon tea time, your parents meet with Alfie."

Alfie was the elderly man on the South side of me. I had completely forgotten that I had vulnerable neighbours. Alfie had to be in his eighties and had been alone for years. Margery had never married and was, I thought, in her late sixties. I looked behind me and saw Jenny and Sam bringing several camping chairs over and promptly placing their bottoms within two of them. I wondered where the chairs came from. I followed their example and a few minutes later my mother and Mike emerged with drinks for us all and then my father with home baking. Dad's baking for breakfast! Ginger gems and fruit cake! I grinned at Mike as he handed me a coffee and then got his own. And then I thought about what Mike had just done.

What a different life this was going to be. It was going to take some getting used to. A husband who served me first! A husband who served me at all! I sat, listening, as I learnt the story of how my beautiful garden was designed months ago and how my parents had been sneaking around, taking measurements, obtaining materials and most astonishing of all, my children had kept a secret. I was gobsmacked. But then I noticed something; everyone was looking at me. "What?"

"This garden is your wedding present from me. You haven't seen your father's one yet. Look in the spare room."

Mike got up and took me by the hand. He knew. I could tell by his expression. We passed through the kitchen and I was struck by how tidy it was. As we passed the dining table and entered the spare room I gasped. It was full of paint, wallpaper, decorating materials, rolls of carpet and some boxes of tiles.

"It didn't cost the Earth, a lot of it was leftovers from jobs," Dad said coming up behind us. "I've been saving it up since you bought this place. The kids have chosen the paint for their bedrooms and I've mixed it. They've promised to help if we do their bedrooms first. I can mix any colours you two want, but your mother picked this out the day after your wedding to go with Mike's quilt." He handed me a roll of wallpaper in swirly, pastel blues. I was sold, especially when I saw the hopeful expression on Mike's face. I nodded. Yes, this would go on the walls and his quilt would go on our bed. The dark blue from the quilt for the curtains, I thought. And the mink blanket I had bought would also go with the quilt.

"We have four weeks of enforced isolation," my mother said from behind me, "And since the windows are all done, the decorating will be quick. We might even finish on schedule. Redecorating the whole house, I mean. In four weeks."

I took a deep breath. Yes, we might. And my house would be transformed. Maybe we would stay here. We had two good neighbours out of three and in a better area, the sections were smaller. This section was over a quarter of an acre. The master bedroom was big enough to put an ensuite in and still be roomy. Maybe we should stay here. If we had several more kids there was enough headroom above for two bedrooms in the loft space. And money was not a problem. That was a point. We needed to tell my parents. And I wanted to repay them some money. And we needed to tell Abby. And then no one else.

And then I rethought that, remembering what Mike had tried to tell me yesterday. With a bit of effort, we could spend it all in a few years and when it was all gone there would be no proof. Sean and Ryan thought Rat-Bait should get a minimum of five years with good behaviour. We could spend it in five years. There had been a rumour about his hoard after all and it hadn't come from me. Eventually, I might even be able to tell the kids. I could feed cash into Mike's business and he could then 'help me' pay my mortgage off. And declaring it as cash payments made to Mike's garage, meant taxes would be paid on Rat-Bait's money and that would be moral. After all, Rat-Bait avoided and evaded tax all the time. All of his hoard was probably tax free. Someone paying tax on it would help my conscience as well and wouldn't that legitimise, rather than launder, some of the money? I hoped so. It would also make Mike look like an even better businessman. Everyone wins.

I wondered if Sally was doing as well as I was, but I suspected she was. She was smart. She had done me two huge favours. Yes, the money. But she had also taken my horrible, dominating, possessive and unfaithful husband off me and I had found a better one. And Auntie Abby was now a _real_ Auntie Abby. And my parents liked my new husband. And now we were in lockdown with two kids and four adults. Four adults; just as well considering I have to figure out how to home school my kids. That makes three generations on the same section. And we had a whole house to finish redecorating. Altogether. _And I had all this cash_ _and now I couldn't use it!_ And I had a new husband to get used to. And everyone else had to get used to him too. And he had to find his place here. And a global pandemic was raging. Don't forget the global pandemic. And it was looking to be like the one that raged a hundred years ago. The one that killed eighteen million. What could possibly go wrong?

Level four Lockdown is an eerie world. There are almost no planes in the sky and few cars on the motorways. It is so quiet! But I look ahead, and even with Covid 19, I think I can see a good future for us. Eventually that is, once we navigate through the next few years. Crisis is a growth point isn't it? Don't they say order comes from chaos? Well our whole world is in chaos now! So will the world change? It seems likely to me that it will change a lot. I hope my family will all grow a lot too.

Mike is calm and an adult and used to dealing with children. So are my parents. I'm not facing this alone. And my parents are already setting an example by looking after the neighbours as well. That is something our Prime Minister repeatedly tells us to do. She also tells us to be kind. And to save lives by staying in our bubble. I think I can see a future through this. There will not be bumps in the road; there will be mountains and crevasses. But we, Mike, me and my parents, all still have our jobs. So there will be a way through this. And maybe the patter of little feet. Life always goes on.

THE END

Thank you very much for reading my book. I appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed it. If you want more;

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Alien Checkmate by Maxine Millar (book three)

Alien Deception by Maxine Millar (book four)

Alien Extortion by Maxine Millar (book five)

Alien Franchise by Maxine Millar (book six)

Alien Galaxy by Maxine Millar (book seven)

Alien H (As yet untitled) *

*Due out late 2020 or early 2021 (book eight)

(these can be read in any order but are best in Alphabetical order)

Psi-ghted Trilogy (science fiction)

Psi-ghted by Maxine Millar (book one)

Psi-nister by Maxine Millar (book two)

Psi-Force by Maxine Millar (book three)

Non Fiction

Alien Alliance; Stolen

(the true short story of the theft of my first book!!!)

Romance/Adventure

Rat-Bait and the Alfa Romeo

Switched **

**(Due out late 2020)

# About the Author

Maxine used to be a nurse but is now a full-time writer and lives in New Zealand on a life style block.

