I had a face, an address, and a name but nothing concrete to tie whoever the fuck this was to Simone apart from anecdotal ‘maybes’.
She was still denying flatly she was seeing anyone (I asked that question so many time in many different ways and, quickly losing patience with my interrogation she clammed up. When she didn’t want to answer a question : silence. When she got stuck in a corner cos her diabetic brain wouldn’t work fast enough to keep up with the lies, she would cry. Ouchats about the house became increasingly uncomfortable and her changing personality each visit was just messing with my head.
One thing was certain : David from work was real.
The rabbit hole got deeper and I dived straight in. Contemplated stupid things and crazy plans to find out what the fuck was going on. Eventually I went back to basics : went through the house from top to bottom looking for…anything. I searched the bins (yes I know, desperate but hey – theyre my bins too) but found nothing. Every notebook, every scrap of paper, every odd placement of our household items telling a story (2 coasters on the lounge instead of 1? hmmm…). Eventually after a few days of moving all my stuff and searching the house I was ready to give up.
Then I noticed she’d swapped out her bags (to go out I guess…taking a smaller clutch) and her day bag was hanging on the breakfast bench hooks at home. Hmmm….how bad do I want this? P
retty bad.
Upending it on the bench there wasn’t much there. Normal regular things – no burst condoms, sex toys or soiled undies (although the laundry basket was full of suspiciously stained sheets). Both happy and sad about not finding anything, I went to put it back on the hook and noticed a tiny crumpled up piece of paper jammed into the bottom corner of her gag. Unfolding it gently, I took a breath.
FUCK.
This was it. The smoking gun.
I had his name, his sons name, and Simones (although her surname was spelt wrong)
Dave from work.
A quick search of Facebook and Linkedin and it was verified. This was the guy. Worked at the same University (Hell as it turned out they sat next to each other for 6 months), was indeed the Facebook friend of Simones that Id linked a while back as an unknown. An ex-Scott Base person with mutual friends as it turned out, and I reached out to them for help – find this guys socials and troll them for my partners name or face. Paul (whom im currently Wintering with at Scott Base) knew him well – “Yeah he’s a good guy – I heard he split with his wife 6 months ago though…” RUH-ROH.
Simone and I had one last conversation about the house and just couldn’t reach agreement on 1 point. Frustrated the conversation turned to the apparent porkies she’d been telling not just me, but all of our mutual friends (some of which shed known for over a decade).
She finally admitted that she hadn’t gone tramping alone : that this tramping group included a few guys (why she hadn’t told me apparently), one of which was David from work. This did not go down well and she clammed up. “None of your business, we’re not together any more”. Right ok. We talk about her counselling again, some of the issues from her childhood come to the forefront, issues with her Mum (now on husband number 5) leaving her father then having her second husband cheat and lie to her to the point where she was destroyed : Simone had to step up at 19 and run the family looking after her mum and sister. Imnnot sleeping at all and its harddddd.
Ahhh…back to the old tears strategy,
“I’ll bring some strong Melatonin over if you like, it might help.”
‘Yeah ok, thanks” – back to civility for a moment.
She was going to a wedding on the weekend. ‘Oh who’s getting married?” I ask.
“No-one you’d know, and old work friend, dont even know why I got an invitation really, its our Arakoa way”
Oh…ok thats cool. you going with anyone?
Stonewall : “none of your business. I’m going alone. Why do you want to know who im going with?”
Riggghhhttttt. Ok then! bye.
In my head, I plan her trip to ‘arakoa way” roughly knowing when shed planned to leave (theres only 1 route in and out). Why? I felt it in my guts she was going with this guy. Our anniversary dress (She bought it to wear on our 31st January anniversary dinner each year) was freshly dry cleaned with a nice black jacket. It was an overnighter but as she was coming back on.
Cut to Sunday.
I knew her rigid outine was going to kick in strong. our shared bank account pinged her having brunch around 11 then I knew she’d be on the way back to do shopping and get ready for work on the Monday.
So I drove past ‘David from works’ house about the time I figure shed be back – not knowing what I was going to find and hoping to find nothing. Her little white Nissan Leaf EV was parking in his driveway.
Fuck. There it is. My stomach cramped and I felt sick.
Head full of fog I drove home, told a friend, drove them back up to the house as a witness but both cars were gone.
Another night of no sleep and nightmares for me, thanks. MMM yummy.
Cut to Monday. Knowing she leave the house at 8am most days I drive across to our house drop off the Melatonin. Her cars still there and it’s getting later. Weird. So I wait. 5 minutes becomes 10 minutes becomes 30 minutes.
Damn it better message her….and I pick up my phone just as Dave from Works car rolls past and does a lazy u-turn in from of the driveway with Simone driving. Just her. In his car. With his kids car seat and her groceries in the back.
FUCK! Do I get out of the car? Do I go? Frozen with indecision with my hand on the door handle I watch her park (poorly). She hasn’t seen me! (not unusual as shes almost legally blind)
I get out. Phone in hand recording just in case shit goes down.
I approach the car, she looks up and fumbles with her phone (probably recording as well by now)
“Simone…what the hell are you doing? Driving his car? What the actual FUCK…”
Caught with absolutely not wiggle room to lie her way out, she switches into what I now know to be the real Simone. Cold, robotic, cruel.
She answers my questions this time – “David told me how he felt about me in January – And I went “shit!” (not, no I have a partner, mind you like a fucking normal person).
Have you slept with him?
I have.
What the FUCK are you doing Simone!”…
The 10 minute conversation was variations of the same theme – What are you doing? Why? How? and ended with me walking away cursing her life and wishing her ill – I think my parting shot was “I hope the diabetes kills you at 50” (one of her greatest fears). Not my finest moment.
Im still processing that conversation, and were about to start legal wranglings in relation to the house : her getting legal advice from her new boyfriend and me getting advice from an actual solicitor. Let see who wins.
Oh did I mention every single on of our friends is disgusted with her now and have turned their backs on her (for the moment at least). I spoke to her friends, I spoke to her Boss, and told everyone any work
Her little bubble of sluttery well and truly busted, I finally know the truth and can try to move on with my life.
Fuck this woman. What a piece of shit.
Simone Moana Kent, 42, Christchurch. Fuck You.
Im outta her on Wednesday – back to Antarctica for the winter and not returning until October. That should hopefully giver things a chance to cool down and allow some contemplation and healing.. Again I’m not proud of these things Ive done and it’s a measure of how twisted grief can make your mind.
Hopefully 6 months of peace will help.
Man Down! 