Free The Art of Unpacking Your Life by Shireen Jilla

of course. What could he say? My wife hits me. Sara would have been outraged. You let the bloody PA hit you? Hit her back. Luke never did. He hadn’t got it in him to hit anyone.
    Luke finally left her, taking the children with him. Emma’s violence meant there was no question of her getting custody of the children. And Luke couldn’t risk it – even though she had never hit them. Yet. Though no one except Luke’s lawyer knew about Emma’s abuse. And he had to absorb the unspoken disapproval of his parents and all their friends, accepting that he might lose Matt and Connie. Matt viciously said he was worse than his ex-wife. How could anyone take a mother’s children away from her? What could Luke do? He could never tell anyone the truth. He never would.
    He sighed and slowed down as the track wound round towards a small cluster of pale grey functional bungalows flanked by safari vehicles. Emma cornered him and he gave into her. That hurt. It all hurt, if he was honest. He had been destroyed by her. He had Finn and Ella. Yet she shipwrecked them. They were lost and incomplete.
    He was jogging, barely faster than a walk, hoping he wouldn’t face the embarrassment of bumping into Gus, when his left ankle gave way. It slid feebly sideways down an aardvark hole. Luke lurched, madly jerking his arms. Desperate notto fall, he fell awkwardly, agedly. The shock made him shake. His chest was screaming. He lay, face smothered by warm sand, afraid to move, terrified he was injured. He didn’t budge. He gingerly lifted himself into a low crouch, hips down. He waited for a stab of certain pain. There was none. He stood up with bent knees. Was his left ankle hurt? Slightly. He felt a stiffness, which could be from lack of sleep. Maybe the after-effects of the flight.
    And yet. His body was strong. He would get back into his stride, shake off this feeble morning-after lethargy. His legs started to loosen up, despite the fall. Luke sped up a little as he spotted Gae. Running was the answer. Running from middle age and its total lack of room for manoeuvre. Running marked the freedom for him to start again. As his body performed, the truth dawned on Luke. He loved his children and every moment of their time together. They had a great relationship. But his marriage had masticated him, vomiting out his remains.
    He needed to concentrate on himself, not to mention his health. Get back out into the world. Luke glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes – he would whip into the gym for a few stretches on one of those black mats. He ran straight past the pool to avoid being dragged in by the others for a coffee and doubtless more food. He walked the last few yards past the thatched fence into the oval enclosure that held the one-room gym and massage area.
    Kimberley, the girl who had greeted them at the airstrip, was bent over a massage bed on the grass to the right of the gym. Wind chimes rang in the tree above her head. She was covering a blue leather bed with two pristine white towels. Her calves were slender and brown under her white uniform. He could see the outline ofher narrow hips inside her dress. Kimberley immediately unfolded her body and turned towards him with a whitened, uncomplicated smile, which propelled her full, young face towards him. ‘Morning, Luke. Good run?’
    Easy and warm with possibility, Luke thought. Could this be the answer?

Chapter 7
    Connie watched Luke running past the bar where they were meeting without looking in her direction. Even from a distance, he appeared angst-ridden. She wanted to ask him about his divorce and why he had taken the children away from Emma. She disapproved of the way he had behaved. It was out of character. He never did anything to hurt anyone, Connie thought, even when she deserved it.
    She reached to pour another coffee from the flask positioned on the bar. She felt horrendous. She never drank more than half a glass – she wasn’t