Quite honestly I hated the guy with every fibre in my body - he'd become a complete asshole. What the fuck I'd seen in him really made me question my sanity now - I must have been out of my mind when I married him. Ye Gods, I'd even let him come and live with me in the house my parents had given me.
The dickhead had blown all my cash, yes the cash I'd worked hard for not his own; on buying porn; on expensive chat lines; even on prostitutes of all things.
I hadn't found out until it was too late; until he didn't come home one night; until I found his tracks on his laptop; until he got caught in some red-light zone, cruising where he shouldn't have been.
While he was locked up, it took me less than twenty-four hours to get every single sign of him out of the house - I went through it like a tornado until the very last vestige of his presence was expunged; until the house became mine and only mine again. It took me about the same time to instruct divorce lawyers to clean him out too...and even less time to tell him not to bother to return.
Actually just three things saved me from losing it - firstly he was charged with loitering and shamed in a local paper and secondly he lost his job. His status went from hero to zero in a matter of days.
Oh, and thirdly I had a lovely son from him who somehow managed to keep me smiling when things got tough.
And I'll mention it now rather than later - when that asshole eventually tried to get custody of our son and when he tried to claim some value from the house, he lost both cases to unsympathetic judges.
And so here I was, five years later, just me at thirty-nine and a nine months (don't even call it 'nearly' forty!) and my son Chris, a fit-looking lad just coming up on his twentieth birthday. Just us and the house, my car, Chris's car (if you could call that heap of scrap a car) and a cat... Oh, I'm Gina by the way - short for Regina, of all names to lumbered with.
For a while things had been a bit strained; Chris had liked his dad because he'd let him borrow his dirty DVDs, (or so I found out) and because he used to take him to football matches and help him when his car played up. I'd rightly guessed that I'd have to take Chris to his football now or perhaps let him go by himself and that I'd have to pay to help keep his car on the road, all of which entailed effort and money - especially money. Briefly I'd thought that I might lend him my car, but then I'd be stuck - so I gave that idea up and looked for other ways to finance his needs.
And so I'd buried myself in work for a while, immersing myself in it, learning new things, striving hard to achieve more income - and it had worked.
My bosses seemed to appreciate my efforts and thrust extra work at me; work for which I was paid quite handsomely. In addition, the extra work they gave me was designed to be done at home, so I still had a home life as well as work and income. Perhaps it helped that I'd given them my side of the story and they'd made sympathetic noises...
Whatever, inside those five years I'd recovered substantially; financially and definitely emotionally. The emotional recovery had been easier; I soon found that I didn't miss him as much as I expected and anyway, I had my dear son beside me all the way.
And Chris really was a darling boy; he helped me in so many small ways, ways in which he hadn't helped before. He came shopping with me; he learned about my finances and how to run the house; he took on the responsibilities of man-of-the-house and soon we realised that we worked well together; we made a good team. And he too knuckled down and worked hard - and no-one was more surprised than me when he came in and flopped wearily onto the settee beside me one evening.
"Mum, my bloody car needs new tyres; all four," he began and I saw money disappearing into a large hole again as I looked at his downcast face...but then he shocked me.
"Don't worry though, I've got it fixed," he said brightening suddenly, "I'm buying them out of my own money!"
Wow - I was impressed; Chris had seldom made much of a financial contribution before and this was eye-popping news!
"Thought you'd be happy!" he said as he relaxed beside me, "Ought to try to pull my weight, shouldn't I?"
I grabbed him and squeezed him hard and loved him all through.
And then one evening as we sat in the lounge idly watching the TV, I said something that changed everything...
"Chrissie," I said, wheedling, "I fancy a break, don't you?"
"Yeah, that'd be wonderful," he mused, "Be nice to get away for a while. Why, what were you thinking of?"
"Oh, I don't know - just a week away somewhere," I said, my mind meandering then focussing; "What about a week down on the south coast?"
I saw Chris pull a bit of a disappointed face as he heard my suggestion.
"Suppose so - guess Spain's out then?" he queried and I shook my head.
"Yes, afraid so - not yet, that's wishful thinking. Perhaps in a few years - I haven't got that much spare cash," I said, "But it would be nice just to get away, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, guess so," he replied, his smile hiding his disappointment, "Ah well, so long as we're together it'll be good."
I found myself thinking back; back some twenty years, when Chris had been just a lump in my belly when I'd gone with my new husband to a resort and where we'd had a great time. It wasn't the smartest resort but it had a lot of charm and I didn't mind that it reminded me of my ex - in those days he'd been a kind, caring partner.
"You won't remember Sandy Cove, down in Devon," I said, "It was a lovely place - I wonder if it's still there? You won't remember those old chalets either; they were terrible though!"
"Find out Mum," said Chris, yawning prodigiously, "I'll leave it to you...you decide. I'm off to bed now."
And with that he rose, kissed me on the cheek and departed to his bedroom...presumably to dream of those sun-drenched Spanish beach bodies...
The following day, in a quiet moment, I searched the internet for the Sandy Cove I knew and after several false trails I found it. The resort webpage showed that it still looked delightful; many of the features we'd enjoyed years before were still there and recognisable but it had changed substantially. The chalets, instead of being not much more than wooden huts were now purpose-built units - what they called 'nests'; the swimming pool looked better equipped; they'd added another pool as well and the gardens had matured - it all looked very inviting.
Time was short though so I didn't have a good look around but I saved the site to my 'favourites' to show Chris later on.
Chris was home from work around five thirty as usual, to find me in the kitchen, getting our dinner ready. Somehow a salad seemed appropriate today; dreams of a summer holiday and all the sunshine that usually accompanied a holiday pervaded my mind and, even though it was still only March I decided to break out the brightness in me. I'd even bought a nice bottle of sparkling wine which was now in the fridge to go with the dinner too.
And to go with the salad and my summertime thoughts, I'd dug out one of my light summery dresses; all soft colours and flowers and I felt all bright and cheerful as I worked.
"Hey Mum, you look happy; you look good too," said Chris, "What's got into you?"
So I told him about my findings, my mind already focussing on our potential holiday; our break or our vacation. The company I worked for was American and they always spoke of vacations, so I tended to use the word myself...
Chris was interested to a degree but there was something more important on his mind.
"When's dinner going to be ready?" he asked as he helped himself to a can of lager from the fridge, "Have I got time for a quick shower?"
"Yes darling, I'll do the steaks when you come out. The rest of the dinner won't get cold," I quipped, "Don't drink too much though - I've got some wine for us."
"Oh, nice!" exclaimed Chris as he headed off to the bathroom, "Ok, just this one can - won't be long."
