The next day, no one was interested in any sort of outing, so they stayed at home. Peter noticed the small lawn needed mowing, so called his gardener to come and do it.
Just after lunch, with the kids packed off to Jane's sister's house, shadowed by one of Pete's lawyers, the banging and shouting at the door resumed. This time, Jane whimpered and hid, obviously distraught at the sounds of her soon-to-be ex-husband's pain. Once again, the phone call was made, and the police hauled the screaming man away. This time the feedback from the lawyers was that Dave was in gaol until he could convince a judge he would no longer violate the restraining order. Three days later, they braced when told Dave had been released, but nothing happened.
Despite the clout his legal team had, Peter and Jane couldn't get a custody court date within three months, so settled in for the long wait. The children totally ignored them both while their dad was incarcerated, and afterward only spoke to their mother when absolutely necessary. They pretty much ignored Peter entirely. It was as if he were invisible. Dinner was an uncomfortable affair most days with monosyllabic answers to every question Jane put to the children and silence when Peter spoke. Peter promised Jane it would pass.
With Bart, at seventeen, about to get his licence, Peter brought several catalogues home, displaying a variety of top-of-the-range cars. The next day, Jane reported finding them in the bin.
Offers to buy Deb and Chloe ponies went unheeded. Peter and Jane hunkered down to wait them out.
Peter waited until Dave had been released for a few days before propositioning Jane for sex. He was rebuffed. The next day a luxury king-sized bed was delivered, but there was still no nookie for Peter. When pressed, Jane told Peter she was too worried about Dave to relax. Peter set his lawyers to work for a status report on his rival. Unfortunately, they gave their report when both he and Jane were in the office signing documents. That was two weeks after Dave was released and Jane had concluded he was no longer a threat. Perhaps she could convince Peter to lift the restraining order. It would look better to friends and family if there was no order in place. The battle for the moral high ground had begun.
In a nutshell, Peter's lawyers reported, Dave had disappeared. He hadn't applied to the courts for either a living allowance or access to limited business funds. With no other surviving family— Dave was an orphan— Jane hadn't a clue where he'd gone. Calls to mutual friends didn't reveal any leads. Calls to the receptionist at his work resulted in the young girl, whom Jane until now had considered a friend, virtually spitting down the phone at her. Peter showed no interest in helping to keep Dave's business going, saying they didn't need it. More troubling to Peter was the fact that Dave hadn't signed any of the legal documents which would markedly slow the process down.
Peter was getting worried about Jane's health. She wasn't eating properly, and her inner glow, which had been what drew his attention in the first place, was sadly absent. In the end, he convinced her they should go away for a week. Her parents were due for a visit from interstate the following weekend: they would spend the Saturday and Sunday together, then Jane would ask them to look after the kids while she and Peter escaped for some much-needed relaxation.
That reminded Jane. She had to have an uncomfortable conversation with her parents. They'd always looked on Dave as the son they'd never had. This would take some very careful spin. Over two hours, they rehearsed the official story. She and Dave had grown apart and separated. Peter was a friend who was helping her through it, and somewhere along the line, after the split, they'd become more than friends.
The phone call was made to the expected disappointment, and Jane's parents agreed to stay for the week. Jane couldn't really relax until after a long conversation with all the children convinced them that talking to Nan and Pop about the day of the serving would be in no one's interest.
Decision made, Jane visibly relaxed and started to daydream about their week-long escape. Peter smiled, knowing he'd called the shots well. He chartered a private Lear to fly them to Phuket the following Monday. That night, Jane felt relaxed enough to accede to Peter's request for sex, but insisted they make no noise. The need for silence somewhat dampened Peter's enjoyment of the interlude.
The next day, a Wednesday, Jane decided to resume her exercise regime, so she looked her best for Peter while wearing a bikini on the beach or by the pool. She knew Peter, fifteen years her senior, had been attracted by her youth and beauty. She also suspected that any prolonged withholding of bedroom fun might lead him to slacken in his resolve. She'd nailed her colours to Peter's mast and him dropping her now would be an absolute disaster, so she resolved to screw his brains out in Phuket, and maybe even in the private plane flying them there.
As it was a nice day, one of the last in late autumn, she decided to walk around the local park. Her job as a tour guide paid a pittance compared to what Peter was worth, so she'd resigned and was now trying to become what she'd always wanted to be - an attentive stay-at-home mum.
The park gently sloped up to one corner, had lawns and children's play equipment in the centre, and a war memorial garden with a trimmed hedge on the downhill side. At different times of the year, local and European flowers were showcased in different sections. What attracted Jane, though, was the path that ran almost along the boundary. A total of about six hundred metres, it provided different inclines to get the heart pumping and the calories burning. She'd pushed all the children around it when they were younger, and she was working to regain her figure. She and Dave had... No. She wasn't going to spoil her day by remembering the times she and her husband had stopped in a certain grove of trees for some bonding time while walking back from various restaurants after dark.
The only downside for the last few years was that some homeless people, known locally as winos, had taken up residence. They camped near the top corner, probably due to the thick bushes there and the shelter provided by the high enclosing wall on two sides of the park. You could see them sometimes hanging around the picnickers, hoping to be the first ones to the bins if any food was discarded. There had been a few incidents lately; mainly the bums fighting amongst themselves. The police moved them on sometimes, but they always drifted back. Jane herself never paid them much mind. It suited her exercise routine to walk rapidly up the hill and past that corner before relaxing on the downhill run.
There were three or four of them today, sitting around one of the benches; obligatory brown paper wrapped bottles beside them. She'd become very good at not seeing them; most people had. Now, she fixed her gaze centre-right and hastened past them. At one time, she'd wondered how they got that way, but since then her mind had focused on jealously guarding the comfortable lifestyle she and Dave had earned and shied away from them. To avoid thinking along those lines, Jane began daydreaming of her future, including a huge house with a maid and gardener. Trips abroad. Nice cars and no need to rush to work. Yes, she'd finally arrived where she belonged. If only thoughts of selling out Dave and the annoying voice in her head reminding her of her own morals would leave her the hell alone.
Entering the downhill slope, her mind drifted to what she'd already started telling friends, both her own and the ones she shared with Dave. It was a variant of the 'she and Dave drifted apart, and Peter was just a friend' story. The fact that Dave had disappeared might help there. No discrepancies in the story. A few dinner parties at an upscale mansion and they would soon forget her former life. If worse came to worst, Peter had plenty of friends who had already welcomed her.
Then there were Peter's children. Fiona was twenty-four, married to Mike who was a stockbroker. They had a little girl of their own. She'd been a little cool toward Jane on the two occasions they'd met. Jane could understand that. In Fiona's mind, Jane was being compared with Fiona's mother; taken by cancer ten years prior. Brent was twenty-two and a typical spoiled rich kid. Still living at home; never holding a job for long, and generally living irresponsibly. His attitude was very much take-it-or-leave-it with Jane.
Jane stopped daydreaming when she neared the top corner again; on alert. The group of winos had broken up. One was still seated, two had wandered away, and the fourth was digging through one of the bins for a late breakfast. Jane forced her peripheral vision to keep tabs on the two remaining. Experience told her they were harmless in groups but were more likely to approach her for a handout when alone.
Something about the one on the seat drew her attention. Jane never knew what it was. She turned her head directly toward him. The fact his eyes were downcast allowed her glance to linger longer.
Although he wore the almost obligatory moth-eaten army surplus greatcoat, his pants and shoes were in better condition than his bench-mate's. His shoulders sloped down defeatedly; his hands, clad in fingerless woollen mittens, rested on his lap. A blanket roll lay on the ground beneath him, clamped between his feet for protection. A paper-wrapped bottle was also between his legs. He wore no hat, and his hair was unruly; having not seen a comb for many days. His face was dirty and unshaven, and a large bruise extended from his left cheek to that eye. The eyes, what Jane could see of them were hollow and unblinking, tears trickling down both cheeks, glistening in the morning sun.
