Free Elsewhere in Success by Iris Lavell

anyone else for that matter.
    One morning he woke up early and decided it was all just so much bullshit and that he didn’t care anyway – they weren’t worth it. Or they were worth it. He’d been getting there for a while, scared of what he was turning into. He finally gave in and signed. The other bloke adopted Bella officially and gave her his name.
    Yasamine told him it would be the last thing she’d ever ask of him, that he could keep everything else, she didn’t care. He wouldn’t have to pay child maintenance. It was insulting, as if his intentions were so mercenary. That was more her style than his. He signed anyway, ending the conversation for good.
    It’s one of those days when he can’t stop thinking about it, so he decides not to try. He indulges, makes another coffee and stares out the window. The rain has stopped.
    Harry tries to conjure up Yasamine’s face, but this time he can’t. Instead he remembers a photograph of her sitting in a boat tied to a jetty. After he took the photograph he stepped into the boat and one of the oars fell into the water with the movement that he created. He tried to catch it but only succeeded in pushing it further away. She got mad at him; shecalled him an idiot, and got out of the boat. Then she came back. They must have got the oar back and gone for a row. He can’t remember the rest of it. But there were other things on that holiday. Good things. He remembers walking through the forest at Pemberton and the cool, musty smell of the bark.
    There was a time when it could have been different, when he could have kept everything together, but for some reason he hesitated. He found it hard to make a commitment, even when she threatened to leave. He couldn’t give in.
    It all sounds stupid now. Other people, normal people, plod on, mend their differences, accept that life isn’t perfect. He’s spent his adulthood looking around for the perfect job and the perfect lifestyle, but has succeeded in scraping together just enough to pay the bills. He’s always been dissatisfied.
    By three o’clock the rain has cleared and the sun is shining. The tree guy still hasn’t arrived. He’s probably not coming. It’s been a miserable day – can’t blame him. Harry decides to take Buster down to the dog beach. He leaves a note for Louisa: Lou, Gone to the beach. You might want to get a couple of frozen dinners. H xx
    When he gets to the beach there is one small parking space available so he eases in there, between two urban assault vehicles. These days, spaces seem to be getting smaller in inverse proportion to the growth of vehicle sizes, and he feels a twinge of jealousy at the ostentatious affluence of everyone, it seems, except him. He feels like he’s the only one who can’t afford to live in a big house and drive a fancy car, although he notes with satisfaction that while the cars next to him would do nicely for the grey nomad life that he aspires to, they look as if they have never left the bitumen.
    As he opens his door, Buster shoves past him and the driver’s door is pushed onto the vehicle in the next bay. Harry checks and can see nothing, no damage at all, but when he returnsto his car after their walk, he finds a note on the windscreen. Scrawled in capital letters on both sides of a piece of paper torn from a small notebook is the following:
    THANKS FOR THE SCRATCH ON MY CAR YOU FUCKING FUCKWIT. LEARN HOW TO FUCKING PARK YOU FUCKING IDIOT. I WOULD FUCKING KEY
    Harry turns the note over.
    YOU’RE FUCKING CAR BUT IT’S OBVIOUSLY SUCH A FUCKING PIECE OF JUNK THAT YOU WOULD’NT EVEN NO IF I DID. YOU FUCKING FUCKWIT.
    The spaces on either side of him are now clear. Harry looks around to see if anybody is sitting in a vehicle watching him, but there is no one. He wonders about the occupant of the vehicle that was next to him. Did he walk past him on the beach with his dogs or his