What's The Worst?

I was tempted to applaud her—she was that good an actress—but I kept my game plan in the forefront of my mind. She had to choose free and clear, not be compelled through lack of options.

"Wow, you're good," I said, smiling benignly for the benefit of Lover-boy. "So, if you're so separated, who is Jonathon taking to Perth next week to visit Jared?"

She gasped and looked at me more closely. I could feel her annoyance at herself at not being able to remember me. Regardless, she was now aware I knew Jonathon well enough to be privy to his plans.

"I'll cut to the chase, Priscilla. I'm going to give you a choice. One you should consider carefully. Yes, a choice and a chance."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

She was impatient. Her attitude irked me and once again I questioned giving her an opportunity to save her marriage. By giving Jonathon a chance at avoiding pain I was offering his wife one I didn't think she deserved. I steeled myself by thinking, I'm doing it for Jonathon, not her.

"I'm talking about giving you a choice between Jonathon and your lover. I'm talking about giving you a chance to save your marriage, and your husband a wealth of pain we both know he doesn't deserve. He saved you and your children from the gutter and this is how you repay him?"

She paled and for the first time looked unsure of herself. It was then I realised I'd been seeing a façade for the last two minutes. Far from being the self-assured woman in total control, she was a terrified wife about to have her world torn apart.

"Aah, not so separated after all, I see."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. I want nothing from you. In fact, it's the other way around. I'm giving you something, something, frankly, I don't think you deserve, but against my better judgement, I'm giving you a chance to avoid Jonathon finding out about lover-boy over there. I'm giving you a chance to save your marriage."

Her shoulders sagged slightly, but as she was side-on to her lover I doubted he'd notice.

"What do I have to do?"

"You don't have to do anything. Weren't you listening? I'm giving you a choice."

She nodded, and I smiled.

"It's now nearly midday. I'm giving you until four-thirty Melbourne time to phone me from the 03-area code confirming you're back in Melbourne or I'll send Jonathon an email I've already prepared with these three attachments."

I removed my phone from my pocket and quickly opened the folder containing the three photographs I'd taken of her.

"Oh god," she moaned, closing her eyes. "Please. Please don't. Jonathon will be devastated."

"You really must learn to listen better, Priscilla. I said you have a chance to avoid detection. You have until four-thirty local time in Melbourne, so considering Daylight Saving, you have a little over three-and-a-half hours to get yourself back home."

"But it's nearly midday. That's not enough time."

"Oh, it will be tough, but there are a few direct flights that will get you there in plenty of time."

And there were, as long as she abandoned lover-boy and her luggage immediately to purchase her ticket.

"Here's my card. Phone me on my cell no later than four-thirty and the email and attachments will never leave my draft folder. Well, unless, I suspect you're exercising bad judgement, like you have done in recent times. You call me by the designated time and, from here on in, treat Jonathon in the manner to which he deserves as your husband and the email and photos will never see the light of day."

She took my business card, reading my name and title, and at last I saw the penny drop. She swallowed noisily, raising her gaze to look at me fearfully. I smiled and nodded, confirming her unspoken question. Yes, I was that Dave.

As I watched, I saw the exact moment she remembered the story her husband had told her. Good, she now knew exactly how uncompromising I could be.

At that moment, out of my peripheral vision, I spied a chauffeur holding up a placard with my name on it. I quarter-turned to wave at him and when I turned back, Priscilla was deep in thought next to the baggage carousel. Her lover was walking toward her again. Glancing at my watch, I realised I didn't have time to hang around to see what transpired. It was going to be touch and go as it was to get to my first meeting on time. From here on in, Priscilla's fate, and the fate of my best professional friend, was in her hands and those of the gods.

######

PRISCILLA

PAUL DIDN'T EXIST for me once Dave had confronted me. I didn't bother explaining myself. All I managed to say to him was, "I've got to return to Melbourne. Lose my number."

My handling of Paul showed me there wasn't a shred of doubt in my mind I wanted to save my marriage. Present circumstances excepted, I loved Jonathon. Dave was right—Jonathon didn't deserve what I'd been doing. All those years ago Jonathon had saved me. He'd been a knight in shining armour to both me and my children and I was repaying him with betrayal.

And all because Paul reminded me of Jerome, my first husband. Jerome, who'd left me while I was still madly in love with him. Jerome, who'd made love to me on the morning he left me, never to be seen again. I should have hated him for his abandonment. Instead, I'd always felt I needed closure, an explanation of why. Why, when I'd done nothing but love and support him emotionally and financially? Why, when I'd kept my figure and would fuck him at the drop of a hat? I'd never understood what I'd done to drive him away. Somehow, my affair with Paul was a way to get the closure denied me for close on thirty years. The fact that he also made my fifty-two-year-old arse feel young when the upcoming birth of Jared's second child made me feel old, was merely a bonus.

For the first time since meeting Paul, I felt shame at what I'd done. Dave's words made me acknowledge all my rationalisations for the affair were hollow.

I glanced at my wristwatch, time was ticking by way too fast. I scanned the length of the carousel—my bag was nowhere in sight—and made a snap decision. To hell with my new Victoria's Secret underwear. To hell with the little black dress I'd bought especially for this weekend. To hell with my phone charger. I abandoned my luggage and walked as fast as my stupidly high heels allowed toward the ticketing counters.

I was born the daughter of a wealthy man, accustomed to privilege and being treated with deference. Fat lot of good that did me when a man in a three-piece suit raced by me, briefcase flying, to secure a slot ahead of me in the queue.

As I waited with barely concealed impatience, my stomach in knots at the delay, I allowed memories I usually denied to fill my mind.

Vague, barely-there images of a mother I'd never really known, she having died when I was four years old. Would things have turned out differently if she'd survived?

Had she loved my father? I struggled to believe she did. With me, he'd always been strict and aloof, never affectionate. Later, when I was a teen, I'd realised he was also racist and a snob, and they were some of his better points.

Had he been kinder, more encouraging, would I have rebelled the way I did? Would I have fallen so hard for a man I knew my father would detest? A young, half aboriginal, ex-con, ironically hired with the money my father provided to a local charity as a tax dodge. His name was Jerome and he cleaned our pool.

I fucked Jerome. I got pregnant by him, and, just to spite my wrathful father, I married him. My father's reaction was as violent as it was predictable. As soon as I announced abortion wasn't an option, he threw me out. Total and complete disinheritance.

I was dragged back to the present by the harrumphing of three-piece suit. It only took me a split second to realise why he was making his frustration known—the couple currently being assisted were Asian and clearly knew little English. The more I listened the more my frustration mounted. Why couldn't they afford to employ a second person to help on the counter? Brisbane was a state capital, for Christ's sake.

My attention was drawn back to three-piece suit. He was turning his head this way and that, checking out the other airline counters. That woke me up to my own stupidity. Why was I waiting in the Qantas queue? Just because I'd flown into Brisbane on them didn't mean I had to fly back to Melbourne with them. Three-piece taking a step in the direction of the Virgin Australia counter decided me. I removed my heels, and, ignoring amused glances, sprinted for the Virgin counter, pipping three-piece at the post. He wasn't happy, but I didn't care.

"I'd like a ticket on the five-to-twelve flight to Melbourne, please."

"Ma'am, I have a couple of seats left on that flight, but the gate is closing shortly. Do you have any luggage to check?"

"No, none."

"I'll need some form of ID."

I gave her my drivers licence as well as my credit card and silently urged her to enter my information into the computer faster.

"I've taken the liberty of checking you in, Mrs. Carstairs, but even so, you're going to have to run to make the gate in time. Here's your boarding pass."

My fingers closed around the pass and I took off in the direction of the departure gates, clutching my handbag to my side with my elbow to stop it flapping about. As I ran, I glanced down to check which gate before scanning overhead signs for the corresponding gate number. I felt like I was in a movie. An innocent woman dodging and evading the enemy. Except, I wasn't innocent. All I could do was pray my guilt wouldn't be punished by fate.

Seeing the line at Security made me groan. I made a judgement call and headed for what looked like the fastest moving queue and prayed it wasn't like the queues at the supermarket where I never seemed to pick with any accuracy the quickest one.

I dumped my handbag into the plastic tray. At least, having earlier removed my shoes, which were covered in metal studs and buckles and bound to set off the metal detectors, I'd save myself a bit of time. Having pushed the tray onto the conveyor belt, I stepped toward and through the metal detector, only to hear the alarm sound.

"Please remove your belt, ma'am."

I groaned. So much for having saved time by having already removed my shoes. Even as I walked back to the trays I was unbuckling my big fancy belt buckle, and once I'd pulled it through the loops of my jeans, I dumped it unceremoniously in a tray. Again, I walked through the metal detector, breathing a sigh in relief when the attendant gave me the nod.

It didn't even occur to me to put my belt back on; I simply shoved it in my handbag beside my heels.

Once again, I ran, silently blessing the time my personal trainer had had me spend jogging on a treadmill.

I literally skidded the last two yards to the boarding gate, gasping for breath as I shoved my pass in the hand of the attendant.

"You're just in time," the attendant said with a smile, scanning my pass before handing it back to me. "Please use the back stairs as you are in seat 23B."

I nodded, still breathless. I retrieved my heels and roughly pushed them on my feet, awkwardly adjusting the straps.

The one good thing about arriving for the flight so late was most people were in their seats, their carry-on luggage already stowed, which made finding my own seat a lot quicker and easier.

I sank into my seat, feeling a wave of relief flood through me. I'd made it! This flight would get me into Melbourne by three-fifteen. Plenty of time to contact Dave and stop the exposure of my affair.

Relaxing, I turned my head to see who was seated beside me. It was a young mum nursing a toddler. A little girl with dark brown curls. Looking at those curls made me think of my daughter, Carly. She, too, as a toddler had had curls, silky black ones, and teamed with the cream-coffee coloured skin she'd inherited from her father, had always had a Spanish look about her.

Thinking of Carly as a baby made me remember other things. Things like the cleaning job I'd found within weeks of bringing her home from the hospital. I looked down at my hands. They showed no signs of the rigours of that job. Many manicures and pots of hand cream had seen to that.

I hadn't minded having to do such menial work. With my father black-banning Jerome, we'd had little choice, and though my meagre earnings didn't afford us much comfort, I'd thought us happy. I'd certainly been happy. Even going from a mansion to a tiny trailer hadn't mattered to me. For me that tiny trailer held more love than the whole of my father's huge house. So much love, I fell pregnant again and Jared joined our happy family a month early after a difficult pregnancy.

Things had been even tighter than usual the last month or two of the pregnancy as I couldn't work, and the unemployment benefit we received barely covered the rent. Despite the difficulties, I'd still been happy and made sure Jerome knew I had no regrets. I never complained, even when trying to juggle two kids with working.

But, as it turned out, my happy family was but an illusion. Jerome, true to his aboriginal heritage, was restless from being tied to the one place. He spoke longingly of the outback and told me stories of his grandfather going walkabout. Still, I never thought he'd actually leave me, leave us. How wrong I was. One day I came home from work, after a long bus ride, to find five-year old Carly looking after Jared. The car, Jerome, and anything of value, including my grandmother's brooch, were gone. Later, I discovered the meagre contents of our bank account was also gone. Worse, he'd left me in debt, not having paid the last month's rent for the trailer.

The manager of the trailer park had been deaf to my pleas. No amount of tears had moved him. The kids and I had gone from having a happy, if humble, home, to being homeless.

That was how Jonathon found us.

The sound of a voice over the intercom drew me back from the past. I groaned. Instead of the expected seatbelt warnings we were notified of an estimated thirty-minute delay due to the need to remove luggage from the hold for a passenger who hadn't turned up for the flight. Having heard the reason for the delay, I couldn't contain my venomous thoughts. Fuck the airline rule that stated if a dickhead fellow passenger fell asleep in the terminal and didn't report to the gate after check-in, everyone else got screwed around while their luggage was removed from the aircraft. I hoped the prick died in his or her sleep.

Looking down, I saw my knuckles were white as I clutched my handbag. Taking a few deep breaths, I made a conscious effort to ease my grip.

"Relax," I told myself. "What's the worst that can happen? You arrive at three-forty-five instead of three-fifteen. You'll still have plenty of time to contact Dave and avert disaster."

More to distract myself than anything else, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to meeting Jonathon. The thing I remembered most from that first meeting was his kindness and concern. He'd looked at me with his gentle grey eyes and I'd known immediately I could trust him.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he'd asked me.

Those seven words were all it took to open the floodgate and for me to blubber my way through my story. Of course, my blubbering had sparked the equivalent in Carly and Jared. Poor Jonathon. Not that he'd been fazed. Somehow, he'd calmed us all, calmed us and inspired me with enough trust I'd not protested when he bustled us into his car. Nor had I protested when he drove us to the trailer park and helped me pack the remainder of our belongings which hadn't fit into the only suitcase I'd owned. Tears welled in my eyes when I recalled him squatting down before Carly and Jared, offering them each an ice-cream. Gently, but firmly, he'd instructed them to sit beneath the big elm tree while he and I filled the trunk of his car with the little I owned in kitchenware and linen.

And it hadn't stopped there. He'd taken us to his home, which had a small, two-bedroom granny flat situated in the rear corner of the property. After dropping us off and urging us to unpack and make ourselves at home, he'd gone and done a week's worth of shopping. Not since leaving my father's house had I seen a refrigerator and pantry so full of food. It felt like Christmas.

It was quite a bit later, when I finally felt sure the kids and I wouldn't be turfed out onto the street, that I felt brave enough to ask Jonathon what he'd been doing in the park that day. By then I'd been his housekeeper for a few weeks and knew he worked on the other side of town to the park.

"I was on my way to list the granny flat for rent with the real estate agency with an office opposite the park."

He must have seen the look of panic on my face—I certainly remembered the feeling clamping my chest until I could barely breathe.

"Don't worry, Priscilla," he'd said, patting my hand reassuringly. "Having you and the kids in the flat has worked out much better for me. Now I come home to a clean house and a homecooked meal."

"And freshly laundered and ironed clothes," I added, needing him to know exactly how much I did.

"Yes, and that, too."

A lump formed in my throat at the memory. Not once had he ever made me feel like I was a beggar he'd taken mercy on. He never made it feel like charity. He'd never been anything but generous and supportive. He'd trusted me with the keys to his house, set up accounts for me to do shopping for both households, and even paid me a small stipend. I could have robbed him. Run off with his money. Hell, I could have snuck up on him in the middle of the night and stabbed him while he slept.

And I guess, in a way, that's exactly what I'd done. I'd stabbed him in the back. Only I'd waited nearly thirty years to do it.

Facing the truth of what I'd done was too much. My mind shied away from it.

I only hooked up with Paul four times. It wasn't love. It was closure. It was a last wave to youth. Jonathon doesn't know, and, god willing, he'll never know. I'll make it up to him.

The simultaneous movement of the plane coupled with an announcement from the pilot interrupted my thoughts. I checked my watch—forty minutes late in taking off. I frowned and prayed for no further delays.

Once the plane had levelled off, I retrieved my phone and checked the weather forecast for Melbourne. As a city she had a reputation for experiencing all four seasons in one day and the last thing I needed was for some freak storm to delay the flight further. I relaxed—sunny with possible showers.

Reassured, I went back to my thoughts. I was certain Jonathon was clueless as to my brief affair. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him. I just had to keep him unaware.

Really, what harm have I done? After nearly thirty years I had a little fling. A fling that was in no way a threat to Jonathon or our marriage. At no point in my time with Paul did the thought even occur to me to leave Jonathon. In fact, in some ways Jonathon has benefited. Being with Paul has made me feel young and sexy. Jonathon has been the recipient of my renewed libido.

What's the worst that could happen? If Jonathon finds out I will have to throw myself on his mercy and beg forgiveness. He loves me. He won't want to lose me and the kids. It may take time, and it may be hard, but he'll forgive me.

I mulled over that for a while. What if he didn't forgive me? What if he kicked me out? We had a prenup. Infidelity by either party meant leaving the marriage with next to nothing. Even as I worried about the infidelity clause, I dismissed it. The agreement had been drawn up and signed nearly thirty years ago and there'd been a few cases in the news of late of prenups being turned over by the courts. Besides, I just couldn't envision Jonathon wanting to see me penniless and homeless. After all, he'd saved me from such a plight once already. He was a knight in shining armour type of guy, not an avenging devil.