Carina

Carina.

                How could I not be forgiven for getting it so wrong that morning?  After all, Arthur's compulsive behaviour was always more than a match for my own insecurities.  Take for example, his propensity to organise the food on his plate into different colour groups, to write himself little to-do notes every hour and to insist on having his newly washed clothes neatly folded into perfect square piles on his dresser.  

                 He left for work that day at 8:00 am sharp, like he always did, but not before depositing his dirty laundry in the basket, placing a perfunctory kiss on my forehead and collecting his umbrella from the hallway.

                 As I was ironing his trousers, I noticed a piece of yellow sticking out of his back pocket. It was a note, one of his pointless reminders.  'Spending afternoon with my beloved Carina, don't forget keys, may come home late'.  My insecurities took hold as the room started to spin.  Who was this Carina? Why did he need to come home late?  Panic gave way to anger which in turn gave way to obsession.  I needed to know more.  Maybe if I confronted him, asked him straight up, I would learn the truth.  Of course there would be a perfectly good explanation.  

        That night, I studied Arthur carefully as he chewed his dinner.  Despite his annoying habits, I had always seen him as a decent, loving and loyal man.  Now all of a sudden, with this Carina woman in the picture, I questioned everything I knew.  As he patted his lips dry with his napkin, I could not bear it any longer.  "I need to ask you, who the hell is...."  Arthur sprang to his feet as the loud ring of the telephone rudely interrupted my sentence. "Hello William, just a moment, I'll take this upstairs."  I started to clear the table as I watched my husband suspiciously climb the steps to the bedroom.  

                 I made sure that he did not hear me follow him up the stairs.  Arthur bubbled with excitement, his voice reduced to a mere whisper, and I could only catch fragments of their conversation.  "Oh William, Carina is so beautiful... every time I touch her... pure silk... I feel so alive... Anna suspects nothing."  I knew I had no choice now.

                 The next morning, he shouted the usual "Goodbye dear" and as soon as he was out of sight, I put on my coat, jumped in my car and kept a reasonable distance.  My suspicions were confirmed when he stopped outside a large abandoned shed on the outskirts of town.  I parked nearby and walked towards the shed when I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.  "Anna, what on earth...?" Arthur asked, looking confused and worried and somewhat guilty.  I burst into tears and handed him the note, screaming "I know you are having an affair with her, I saw the note."

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