i had always liked the beach and thought of neil`s ideal holiday as greeny-grey.it didn`t matter if the sun didn`t shine while you were hiking in the lake district--in fact, a light rain made it all the more exhilarating.i yearned for the bright blues, yellows and reds of a beach holiday, but just watching the world go by had never really been neil`s bag.so i was a little surprised to get the postcard when it arrived.it showed the rear view of a very sun-tanned man, glistening with oil, standing on a perfect beach wearing only a golden thong.he had his hands on his hips.it had arrived two weeks ago and had read, `emma.house sold, money in bank.having a great time here in mallorca.neil.ps karen says hello.`no kisses.
the money was indeed in the bank.i had a substantial amount in my new single name bank account.i suppose one way that i could look upon my six years with neil was as a kind of complicated saving scheme.i had just let neil take over absolutely everything when we got married, he even decided whereabouts we should live.i wanted old and run down, he wanted new, purpose-built and convenient.
i had no emotional attachment to our little starter home and no qualms when i had left the house.karen and neil had waved me off from the doorway.i realised as i looked at them waving that i had very little emotional attachment to neil really, so i`m not sad or sorry for myself, just a little lacking in direction.i savoured my third slice of burnt toast--with jam--and pushed the tiny segment of photo around and around the table with my buttery finger.
whatever the name place written on the back of this photo-graph was where i would be heading this time tomorrow.i`d just wash this plate up first.there was still plenty of time.