Vivienne Crawshaw: Keep close eye on property developments

Ivan was a man's man, always had been. He had worked on the wharves all his working life and loved it. He hated being on strike. Not that he hadn't supported the boys, of course, but he never liked being idle.

"The devil makes work for idle hands," he'd heard his mother say.

She had come out from Yugoslavia when he and his new bride had first married and though the phrase was one from her adopted country, he had taken on board her exhortations to work hard.

He had been little more than a young fellow then, still running round chasing skirt. It had taken him a while to settle down to married life but he had got there in the end and Rosemary was a good wife.

There had been a time there when things had been rough. "You did marry a Kiwi girl," his mother had reminded him when she knew his eyes were wandering (she could see through him, that was for sure).

Rosemary had had enough of him by then. She packed her bags, with the kids snivelling and him feeling like a heel. He'd just headed off down to the boozer, found his mates there and hidden in his oblivion, too scared to go home to an empty house, waiting it out until she came back.

She did, of course, after enough time away to make Ivan realise he'd go mad without her.

Rosemary had gone home to her parents. They'd never liked him, a watersider and a Dally to boot. Not good enough for their daughter. Though he noted that the butcher next door would have done them fine, they'd raved about him enough.

But the bad times were well behind them now. That was more than 20 years ago and he and Rosemary had settled down, the kids had left home and come back again a number of times. He'd retired from the wharf, and spent a lot of his time on his manicured back lawn practising his putting skills.

The trouble was, the less he had to do, the more he was bored by the afternoon and the sooner he started to hit the bottle.

Rosemary was busy doing voluntary work but she was starting to become weary of Ivan's afternoon boozing. He was no benign drinker. By evening he'd become nasty, criticising the meals she'd cook and sometimes even up-ending them on the floor.

Watching the television news made him shout, and he yelled at the dog.

One day Ivan came home from the RSA to find a "For Sale" sign at the front of the house. He wrenched it from the front garden and found Rosemary pruning the hedge.

"This is a joke, right?" but from the look on her face he realised there was certainly nothing to laugh about.

"Don't worry about the sign," said Rosemary, her face steely, "someone's signed up already - the very same day it went on the market."

He went to push her but stumbled and the look Rosemary gave him sickened him. After Ivan realised that Rosemary had not gone stark raving mad, he popped down to see a mate, a former cop, who he reckoned knew a thing or two. He was still reeling. Ivan's friend Ron was equally shaken. He knew Rosemary, and thought of her as long-suffering and eternally patient (in a way that his own wife wasn't) and secretly had been rather envious.

Ron thought there was no two ways about it, Rosemary was serious and Ivan had better get himself to a lawyer smartly.

No one could see him until the next day and Ivan camped out in the home; neither he nor Rosemary would talk to each other and both crept around avoiding the other's eyes.

Finally the time came to see the lawyer. He did an online search of the family home and Ivan was astounded to discover the house was not in his name. The lawyer said it had been transferred from joint names into Rosemary's sole name more than 20 years ago, about 15 years into their marriage.

The lawyer asked if there had been anything untoward going on at the time. Had they separated? And it all came back. Yes, he recalled. Rosemary had got him to sign something before she'd come back home. He remembered now. Her parents had put her up to it.

But he thought that it was all sorted once they'd got back together.

There'd been a few women over the years, but mostly they were a family. He'd never dreamed she'd do the dirty on him like this. The lawyer wasn't taking any chances and slapped a notice on to the title of the house to prevent it being sold from under Ivan's nose.

He found a copy of the separation agreement signed in the early 1980s. It provided for the house to be in Rosemary's sole name with $5000 to be paid by her to him to compensate him.

His super from the wharf would be classified as "'relationship property" to be shared equally between them. That shocked him, too. The house was worth well over $600,000 now. He felt faint.

"But hold on," said Ivan, "I never got any dough. Her family said they'd pay the money but they never forked out."

Ivan's lawyer wrote to Rosemary's explaining that he would apply to set aside the agreement as being seriously unjust and suggesting instead that the home be equally shared.

He recommended that the offer Rosemary had received on the property could be accepted and the house sold, the proceeds being divvied up between them. That changed Rosemary's tune and soon she was talking to her daughter about having Ivan around for tea, getting him to AA and looking at reconciliation.

Ivan decided he'd take his time. His lawyer left the notice of claim in place. Ivan's interest in the house was now protected and he'd let her stew for a bit.

Ivan did go to AA. The lawyer cost him an arm and a leg, but he reckoned he was worth his weight in gold.

* Vivienne Crawshaw is a family law specialist based in Auckland.