Francesca and Me

FRANCESCA AND ME

The Consequences of Denial - an allegory

I was reading an article recently describing how it was generally thought that women better than men can intuitively sense their spouse is cheating. It said this is a myth because men do but they are more inclined for one reason or another to deny it in their minds.

That was certainly true of me. I suppose I knew for years she was unfaithful but to who or when I did not know. There were probably several reasons. I was unwilling to find out because all of the shit I would have to go through financially and emotionally. I would rather let sleeping dogs lie and hope the problem would resolve itself. Then there were our two sons. I wanted them independent before I lowered the boom. In a way, using that excuse covered my procrastination. They were not that close to my wife at all. Francesca had virtually ignored them since their early teens.

The story I tell is a confession, my health, my life expectancy is now on the line and before I die, I really need to get this one off my chest all be it so long ago.

I had known Francesca since my high school days. We went to different schools, but we were both sporty and met socially through that. I played rugby and she, netball. Unfortunately, I was a hot head and a bit of a smart mouth in those days, and this got me into trouble on the rugby field. I was red carded a couple of times and I got disciplined by the school and told to go to an anger management course before I could resume playing. It was a big decision because I was in the school first fifteen. I had developed a reputation and as a result a bit of a marked man on the paddock.

I went to the anger management course; my parents took care of that but I never went back to rugby. I was too ashamed. Instead, I became more academically focussed and figured that although a promising rugby player, it would interfere with my engineering aspirations.

I did not actually get together with Francesca until after I graduated. She had graduated and was teaching at a local college. We met in a bar socially, remembering one another from school days. She had broken up with someone and I was at a loose end. Our relationship flourished and we were eventually married.

Francesca was the catholic daughter of a fisherman and a teacher. She was very exotic looking with her Italian heritage, Thick Jet black, wavy shoulder length hair, parted in the middle framing a cherubic face. Pale olive skin and a beautiful curvaceous body. Like me she had been sporty. I remembered watching her playing netball, and boy was she physical. She admitted to coming to watch me play rugby and was there the day I got banned.

Francesca could be a snob, she could be self-entitled, self-opinionated and self-anything actually. It did not worry me in those days as it was never directed toward me. It would amuse me socially in how she could put some obnoxious person down verbally.

We never really argued. Sure, she would take a hissy fit from time to time and wave her arms about shouting but it would always blow over quickly and never turned into a real argument. She also did not goad people like some wives would. She would just blow off. I think she knew there was a temper buried in me somewhere and it was not where she wanted to go. The upshot was that there was never ever any violence between us but then we were never forced to open up about things that were personal or were aggravating us.

In fact, in the early stages of our marriage we got on really well. Yes, when we got married, we were romantically and deeply in love and couldn't get enough of one another then as the reality of children and the humdrum married life set in, we were still there side by side supporting one another.

Our lives were comfortable, we had a good house, nice cars, we could go on good holidays mainly because I progressed in my career quickly and her income supplemented it nicely. Maybe in retrospect it was a little too comfortable for her, I don't know, I think in the end she took it for granted. Her life was never challenged, and she struggled for nothing.

She was a fantastic mother to our two boys up until their early teens. They were very sporty like their parents but as they tended toward cricket and football it was less of an interest to Francesca. I was a parent coach for a while and although Francesca came along to games initially, eventually she would be off with something else to do. To her credit she tried to get the boys interested in tennis so that we could all share a sport, but they faded with that one. They did get interested in golf and we would play occasionally but Francesca was not interested in that. As the boys went through high school cricket seemed to consume their free time along with gaming on their home computer setup.

Another gulf between Francesca and the boys was that her degrees were in languages and English literature. The boy's direction was science and eventually engineering like me. She was all over their homework when they were young but not so when they hit high school.

So, when did I first suspect that Francesca was stepping out on me? I suppose after 10 years of marriage. She was still teaching at the high school. It was just that her school working hours seemed to change. They became less regular. I was busy with work and the boys at the time, and she just seemed to come and go. It was the case that if I didn't see it in front of me, I did not worry about it.

Then she changed jobs. I don't know why, and it was all very sudden. She really did not explain the need, but I do know she took a slight cut in salary as at the high school she had been head of her department. She joined an up market private girls' school. The new job did make her more self-opinionated and dare I say it, self-aggrandising. It was during this time the boys drifted away from the tennis club. I had initially been going as well but I was the first to leave because of work commitments. The boys were to tell me later that it was her behaviour toward certain parents from her school at the club that made them uncomfortable and embarrassed. I was a bit pissed off when I first heard this as they had never said anything to me at the time. But I came to realise that parental relationships are a place that teenage boys fear to tread.

I have to say that at the time I thought as much that tennis was more than hitting balls for her. Why? I don't know, it was just the context of what was happening, the opportunity and an increasing off hand attitude toward me, emotionally and sexually. But I was unwilling to investigate it.

Francesca loved the girls' school. She was constantly talking about 'her' girls. She would also try to team them up with our boys. She was successful in that our eldest, Lloyd, eventually married one of the girls.

It was around this time she came up with a desire to have two more children. She said she was disappointed that she had not had any girls. Offhand it seemed impractical to me. It would be like having two families and besides we had started married life deciding that we would only have two children.

Now I was not totally against the idea, but I admit I was a little sceptical and she never pushed the case. It was convenient for me to just let it go. In retrospect, I look back at that as our biggest mistake.

The next event in Francesca's life was when she resigned from the school and joined a firm to train as a real estate agent. I was completely floored. She had been rabbiting on about getting a new house design and built and was even planning some ideas. I was not opposed to it, but she talked a lot to the boys about it but not so much to me.

She had previously always looked down on real estate people regarding them as intellectually inferior, so it was a doubly surprising move from my point of view.

A year or so later Lloyd left for a gap year before he went to Uni. He was the most enthusiastic of the two boys when it came to cricket and through connections hoped to spend a season playing cricket in England. This left our youngest son in his final year of college.

About this time, I had a major promotion, and I was made principal director for New Zealand by our overseas company. Now, Francesca had always accompanied me at work events, and she was very charming, going down well with my colleagues. In fact, my promotion also had a little bit to do with the overseas directors' impression of her as a suitable spouse. Despite this Francesca seemed oblivious to what I was doing there, my status and the big deal this promotion was. She always saw me as an employee and not the actual owner. For god's sake! For the New Zealand arm, I was the majority shareholder. I could not understand why she wasn't proud of me and showed so such disdain.

All this became a part of my creeping resentment that was gnawing away inside me. it was getting close to our youngest leaving, and I was starting to dwell on her probable infidelity which further fuelled my resentment.

Now being in real estate, it was the perfect job for a cheating spouse. I never knew where she was. Also, she was too smart to allow me to link phones. The work cars were in a pool which they shared so a tracker was out of the question on the car. I was just never going to know what she was doing.

It was not until I got a big wakeup call that I was galvanised into action. I had just got in, cycling home from work one day when my youngest son, Ben appeared out of his grotto he called his bedroom.

He had been gaming all evening having completed his homework and he had just received an Email with a picture attachment. It seemed to have gone to the wrong address and was from someone at Francesca's work. Ben's email address was similar to Francesca for historical reasons, so it was not surprising. It was a picture of Francesca standing with a guy, arm around one another in front of a partly finished house. It had an attached message like, "the pair of you with the lovely house looking good, all the best Sue." Whoever Sue was.

What the fuck. Ben was confused. I had a knee jerk reaction to it and just said it was a work-related message just delete. "Ben just shrugged and said, OK." And that was that. But I could see by the way they held each other and the way she was looking at him that more was going on. Ben was too inexperienced in life to really pick it up on the nuance and perceiving I was not concerned; it did not worry him.

But me? Yes, I was worried. I knew the house. As it happened our house backed on to a large tree covered domain. On the other side of the domain is a small cul-de-sac with a few houses on it. I used the domain and the entrance from this cul- de-sac as a shortcut in biking to and from work. I had seen this house being built on the site of one previously burnt out and demolished. I also knew of the guy. He was a well-known architect. Our firm had done work for him in the past, but he was a poor payer, so we dumped him.

The following Sunday I happened to be out on an extended bike ride. The weekends were a symptom of the malaise in our marriage. It was a busy time for Francesca with open homes and the like. Weekends had been a source of togetherness, and we would often go out in the evenings or make love. Now she was just too tired, or she had to lock down some deal on a property with a client. It was a source of rising tension in our relationship and my trust in her at this stage had probably hit rock bottom.

I had arrived home and was bounding up the stairs to our bedroom when I heard the shower going in the ensuite. Standing in the bedroom was a naked Francesca about to enter the shower room. The sight of her curvaceous naked body was just too much. Overcome with lust I just announced, "Hi Francesca, wow a midday shower, that's unusual, is it for me too?"

Francesca was trying to say something as I discarded my bike gear, but I couldn't hear above the noise of the shower. She was already in the shower when I slipped in. She turned around and glared at me but did not resist when I nuzzled her and massaged her large pendulous tits. We pumped out her special moisturising body lotion and started to soap ourselves down. I worked my way down behind in between her legs and arse. She was wide and very turned on. I felt her arse and it was dilated, which to me was a surprise but also a turn on. My dick was straining at the leash, and it flashed across my mind that I could get some arse action for the first time in about 20 years. With that illusion I got one finger in, two, three then my cock was in, quick as a flash and I began grinding her arse as she flattened against the shower wall. She was not resisting at all; in fact, she had a hand in working her cunt. As I ground and pumped, I nuzzled her neck, and she leaned her head back absorbed in the sensations I was giving her. She pushed her butt back into me and began to arch her back and with a quiver followed by some sharp jerks as she climaxed. With those sharp jerks and a sudden retraction of her arse muscles I went over the top and discharged a load deep into her insides.

I withdrew and Francesca turned around and with her arms around my neck gave me a deep affectionate kiss with her tongue. God, this was new. I felt some hope. I remember now, but I ignored what she said at the time. "I said something like, "Yeah wow Francesca that was so good." She just muttered a reply like, "I hope you enjoyed it because it is the last time I will do that."

I just thought she was referring to the anal sex but in retrospect... well?

As we dressed, I tried to start a conversation. I was buoyed by the sex and thought it would be good to get together and have a heart to heart about things. I burbled on it trying to explain why we should sit down and talk through our future. She looked serious and began to say something like, "I am sorry... I.." she cut herself off and just said "look, I am in a hurry, can we talk about it later." And that was that.

It dawned on me in my resentment that I really had not been doing enough for Francesca lately. I had not been making any positive initiative to our relationship and encouraging her in any way.

I got the idea our marriage needed a refresh before it was too late. I thought a cruise maybe or a stay in the tropics to coincide with our wedding anniversary. I hit on the idea of flying to Dubai to visit some old friends then to England to meet up with our oldest son then a cruise on the Caribbean. There we would get some time alone to discuss things. Next day was Monday and I made tentative flight bookings linking up with a potential cruise and texted our son and the friends in Dubai when we might have been coming. I thought I would discuss it with Francesca and make the final arrangements for the vacation when I got home in the evening.

That night I rode home on my bike as I always did. Tonight. I was energised by the thought of surprising Francesca with my plans. I rode down that cul-de-sac in the wintery evening dark, glancing at the house I had seen in the photograph, the one that had jolted me into action. Unlike the other houses it was dark. The house looked largely finished on the outside apart from the garden which was a construction site mess.

Arriving home I parked my bike in the garage. The garage door was open, and I noted only my Jaguar I-Pace was there, Francesca's VW GTI had gone. Taking off my bike helmet I walked into the sitting room to find Ben sitting there polishing off what looked like the remains of a quiche and watching something on the TV.

"Hi Ben," I said, "Where's Mum?"

"She's gone to grans. There is another Quiche in the oven for you."

As I took out the quiche, I collected some utensils from the drawer and sat down next to Ben and began to eat."

"When is Mum due home?"

"Dunno."

'Damn!' I thought, "I hope she is not too late." I was excited to have my discussion with her. I just knew the surprise would make her happy.

Ben started to get up. "Where are you going?" I asked, "Have you completed today's study?"

"All cool dad, I am gaming this evening."

I needn't have asked really, He was very serious about his work but liked to get it out of the way early so he could spend the evening gaming."

He put his dishes into the dishwasher and disappeared up the stairs to his room. I finished the quiche and put the dishes away. I had not really been looking at what was on TV so I thought I would go up to the bedroom and shower and change out of my bike gear.

When I entered the bedroom, I got an almighty shock. The doors to the dressing room were wide open and most of Francesca's stuff cleared out. I numbly looked into the ensuite and all her toiletries were gone. I rushed around to her bedside cabinet and the drawer was hanging out. That's where she kept her passport and other personal papers. But worse, on top of the cabinet were her engagement and wedding rings. I felt as though my head was going to explode with incandescent rage. I didn't yell, I didn't roar, I held it in. My mind went blank with anger and then I became fixated on the only evidence I had of what she might have done. That house. There was no one there I thought, but I had to do something. I thought I would go there and find something, I don't know, to damage it. I was totally irrational.

I grabbed my helmet and jumped on my bike and took off into the domain. At that time of night there was never anyone around in the trees at that end of the domain. All the action was down on the flood lit playing fields at the other end. I rode around to where I thought was the back end of the property the house was on. The trees were fairly open there. I parked my bike and crept quickly to the house. There was a moon so I could see fairly easily. I looked around a little. There seemed to be no CCTV at the rear of the house, and I noticed a back door ajar, so I opened it quietly and looked in. It was the utility room and laundry. I noticed the appliances were not yet installed and some plumbing work had been going on. There was a lot of paint and solvents stacked there along with brushes and what not. Obviously, this was the store for the interior decoration.

Also, there was an industrial gas bottle with a self-ignitable blow torch connected, I guessed for the plumbing work. My mind was still raging, and I took the irrational next step. It was just too tempting. I turned on the gas bottle and lit the torch and propped it so that the heat was directed onto a pile of wood shavings I gathered next to the solvent bottles.

I then rushed in a blind panic back to the bike, mounted and headed home. At that point I felt a peculiar satisfaction that I was able to avenge Francesca's actions with something tangible.

I arrived back home, went into the sitting room and collapsed in front of the TV. It was only then that I started to feel some remorse as I calmed down.

Why the fuck did I do that. If I get caught, I am toast, career, everything. I thought about it. The damage might not come to anything. A house that new would probably have a domestic fire sprinkler system. It was then I heard a distant boom. Fuck! Was that the gas bottle going up? A few minutes later I heard sirens. Ben heard them as well and he came out of his grotto and down the stairs. "Do you hear those?" he said, "what's it all about?"

"I have no idea," I lied, "sounds like a fire or something."

He just shrugged and went back to his bedroom while I blankly continued to sit and watch TV. I wondered whether Francesca had actually gone to her parents. I pulled out my phone and called. Her Mother answered. Despite how I was feeling I kept my voice as normal as possible and asked her if Francesca was there. Her Mother answered that she had just left. There was nothing unusual about her mother's voice so without mentioning what I had seen in the bedroom I just said, "oh good, I will catch her when she gets in." Her mother did not react to what I said, and we gave our goodbyes.

I then became hopeful that she would come back, and we could talk. Somehow, I was sure that she would return for whatever reason. I was really dumbfounded about her leaving so suddenly without saying anything to Ben or me or leaving a note. For the first time I got up the courage to call her, but it just went to voicemail. It was then I picked up a message from our friends in Dubai. The reply was puzzling. I had sent them my proposed dates and they had replied, "has there been some mistake, we were expecting you next week."

I could not make head nor tail of that reply. So I just sat and waited in front of the TV until a breaking news announcement came on. It was announced that a house belonging to well-known architect Rupert Bellsworthy had been badly damaged by fire and a body had been removed. They then showed a clip of the responders dealing with the fire and a stretcher being taken to a waiting ambulance. What floored me was a figure of a distraught woman being escorted back to a car. I could not get a good look, but her distinctive hair was like Francescas and the car looked like her grey VW Golf GTI.

I sat there taking deep breaths. What the fuck had I done. The fucker must have been asleep in there or something when I was there. I decided there and then that I would keep quiet about things and just let it play out. If I got caught, so be it. I had no intention of killing the bugger, I had no idea he was there. I would get done for arson and manslaughter if I was caught, I supposed. Well, I would be finished if I were caught. In my mind I started to blame everything on that cheating slut Francesca.

I was still thinking Francesca would come back home so I started to plan what I would say to her. She can't have been far away. After half an hour she had not shown. I thought then that she had gone back to her parents. I did not want to ring them in case I gave something away. I also decided I would not tell Ben what I had seen but I did go up to the bedroom and change, then I went to see Ben in his room. I opened his door and got a, "Whassup!"

The emotion caught up with me at that point and I sobbed.

Ben looked really concerned, "Hey Dad, what's going down, what's wrong."

I asked him, "did you know Mum took all her things when she went."

Ben looked incredulous, "What, no. What's she done?"

"I think she left us," I replied

And he said the obvious, "Why would she do that?"

Why would she do that indeed? Why just walk out not leaving a note. Had our communication got so bad that she could not come out and discuss her problems and wanted a divorce. Was she just too afraid to say anything or was this a wilful vicious act. If so, why do it to the family? What had the boys done?

Ben was suddenly beside himself. He wanted to ring Gran, I said I had already but when I did, I didn't know she had taken her stuff, I lied again.

He rang anyway. There was obvious concern on the other end of the phone by all the shouting. Ben finally put the phone down. He said they didn't know and then he began to cry. He said her parents said some nasty things about me that did not make sense. I asked what they said. Through his tears he described how they said I had been abusing her. He told them that I had never done anything like that, and it was all lies. They apparently hung up then.

Ben and I retired to the kitchen and pulled out a couple of cans of beer and sat down. There was nothing we could do. I contemplated ringing friends, but I couldn't think who she might go to, so I left that one for the morning and we went to bed.

I didn't really sleep and was aroused about one pm in the morning by a pounding on the door. Ben and I came down to open it and were greeted by two police officers, a man and a woman.

"Are you the husband of Francesca Holden," They asked.

I Confirmed and they said that she is thought to be the driver of a VW Golf driving down the wrong lane on an expressway that slammed head on into a Kenworth B train. I confirmed she was not home and agreed to come in the morning to make a statement and to formally identify her remains. It was not something to look forward to. Having been plastered across the grill of a Kenworth at God knows, the combined speed of whatever kilometres per hour, she was not going to be the pretty sight that I would want to remember.

To say it was devastating for Ben and I is an understatement. We had to ring Ben's other brother, Lloyd in London and everything became a blur over the next week. At that time it was the grief that got me. I didn't actually blame myself for what happened, it just seemed that whatever happened our marriage was terminal anyway. I didn't care about Rupert whatshisname.

Francesca's funeral went ahead once Lloyd had flown back for it. It was a full on catholic one and more about religious theatre than a personal funeral but that's the way Francesca's parents wanted it. Their communication with me was minimal but civil. By their looks they probably blamed me for her death but never said anything. Surprisingly I was more upset over what had happened than the boys. After their initial shock they seemed to handle it better than me. Had Francesca become so disconnected from the boys that they simply did not care that much.

The autopsy did not reveal alcohol or other substances in Francescas blood. They seemed to think it may have been a genuine mistake as nobody thought she was depressed. The police noted the possessions she had in the car, and they were returned to us. They asked on the basis of the amount of personal stuff if she was leaving us. We said it appeared so but had not left a note and it had taken us by surprise. Ben and I told them she seemed normal the last time we spoke to her and was mystified like everyone else about what had happened.

The police did not connect Francesca's death with that of Rupert shitface. They deduced with the fire investigators that the fire was accidental as he had been working in the house but as arson was a possibility they were investigating that. They were locked into a financial motive as he was in financial strife. I was never approached about it as they were only looking at creditors. It was thought he might have lit it himself for some insurance scam or some large creditor may have exacted revenge over some debt. Ironically our firm's finance administrator was interviewed over his debt to us, but it was not large enough to have provoked any sort of drastic action.

He had died of smoke inhalation and was found close to the front door. He was found with some burns which gave credence to the possibilities that he had started it himself or had been using the blow torch and had an accident.

I speculated privately to myself if he had been asleep when I was there, perhaps he had been napping while waiting for Francesca.

His funeral was held after Francesca's, I originally had no intention of going to it but had a morbid desire to see who may be there and relented. I had been researching up a lot about the fucker, his wife and two children and his work history. His wife, Anya, was a gorgeous blonde from the Ukraine. I saw her and the kids on his Facebook page and I wondered why anybody would step out on them. I was looking for clues to what sort of man he was and the social group he had shared with Francesca. I wondered also who might have effectively conspired with them against our marriage.

I didn't really know anyone from the real estate firm she worked with. I never really met them, which was an acknowledgement, I suppose, to how far apart Francesca and I had grown. I was astounded to see Francesca's parents at the funeral. I was shocked that they had obviously known about the affair and wondered why they had never said anything to the police. I went to sit behind them. It was a risky act as the last thing I wanted was the connection to be made but I couldn't help it. I wanted to know what they knew. Although they were Catholics, they must have surely encouraged the infidelity or at least condoned it.

When I sat down her mother turned around and gaped, "what are you doing here?"

Quick thinking, I replied, "Oh, I know Anya really well. They had nice kids, don't you think?" Her head shot away to face forward. She definitely did not want to go there. When everyone was milling around to leave. I decided to approach Anya who was acknowledging everyone as they left. I noticed Francesca's parents staring at me as I did so.

I took Anya's hands and with my head close to hers, I said she may not know me, but I have some vital information she should know. She nodded her head sadly asking, "Was he having an affair?" I just nodded in return and gave her my card saying, "if you want to know more give me a ring."

She rang me the next day and we arranged lunch. The thing is she was left destitute because of his debts. I felt profoundly guilty as I had essentially caused his demise. I therefore set out to support her in any way I could. We began to meet regularly, and this led to a long-term relationship and eventually marriage. She was a lovely person who I grew to love very much. Despite everything, she had the ability to make me very happy and I could never figure out why he did what he did to her.

She said he knew who I was, she remembered my name, which was puzzling because I never had any direct association with him. She did not know why but he would put me down by name. She did not know about Francesca, so she assumed it was something to do with work. She did say as an architect he believed he was superior to engineers. I don't know much else but that may be a clue to whatever bullshit he fed Francesca.

I did eventually meet someone from Francesca's real estate firm at a property seminar. They told me that he must have got together over some property dealing when Francesca joined the firm. They did not know what the affair had carried on for so long and Francesca must have kept it so very secret that neither they nor I knew a thing about it.

I ceased all relationships with Francesca's parents. We had never been close anyway. Ben saw them occasionally for a while, but they never told him what they knew about the affair.

Just after the funeral a large obituary for Rupert Bellsworthy was published in the media. It seemed that despite his financial woes he was a very high-profile successful architect and a Fellow of the Institute.

The obituary outlined his career, his achievements and legacy of awards. Apparently, he had won some big international architectural competition for the 'Museum of the Skies' in Dubai and he was about to leave to take up residency during design and construction.

I read this obituary about the same time as I received the final autopsy report on Francesca. Something it stated I had never been told before was that she was pregnant, and I deduced in the circumstances it couldn't be mine. My heart just dropped reading that. They were off to play happy families in Dubai.

I discussed these things with Anya. Anya could not understand why Rupert fuckknuckle would not take her to Dubai. As she did not know about Francesca, she was confused about whether he was actually leaving her or not. He claimed he was not and would come back for them, but she could not trust him and doubted it.

All's well that ends well I suppose. But I did love Francesca, back in the day. Weirdly I do not regret my hand in Rupert dipshit's demise. At least it gave me the happiness of Anya and a new family, but I did regret what happened between Francesca and me. I blame myself for that. I took her for granted, I didn't read the room, as they say. Maybe if we had a couple more kids, she would have got her girls. I don't know what would have happened if they were two more boys.

Along the way I just ignored what might have been happening and denied that her infidelity was possible. I took no timely action to repair our marriage, and we all paid the price. Even if we had it out in the early days and decided it was better to divorce then the consequences would never have been as dire.

I console myself that it takes two to tango. Although she did try to talk from time to time about personal issues, in the end we were probably as bad as each other in our ability to communicate personal shit. And when things were getting bad, she did not reach out. Perhaps she was enjoying herself too much, who knows. That's the point, I didn't know.

And so there you go, those were the consequences to me and those affected by them.

Denial is an affliction that can affect all of us if we let it. It can affect whole populations who become blind to the impending consequences no matter how stark the evidence is to what that will mean. The positives are that we will learn along the way, and we can rectify the issue before it is too late. But when is it too late? I was lucky but anywhere along my journey I could have been thrown into the abyss so we cannot rely on luck to avoid the catastrophic.

Denial is always dangerous. It is better to heed the warnings and act early than to suffer the worst consequences of denial.