Writer's Notebook

Gina felt like she wanted to throw up. She wished she had never come. This was supposed to be a safe date. A nice easy barbecue together with some good friends. Things started to go wrong when some newcomers arrived and a guitar was unpacked. Within minutes her husband had ingratiated themselves with the newcomers and they were promising a sing-song after dinner. And now there they were, her husband and her son making fools of themselves in front of the crowd. It was not as if they were drunk. Indeed, when her husband was driving, he didn't touch a drop. But he didn't need alcohol to start singing. There they were, the two of them singing their hearts out and seemingly enjoying it. Did they have no sense of shame? Gina wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

The journey back was silent - not the happy silence brought on by tiredness after an evening well spent. This was a foreboding silence. Gina knew exactly what would happen once they reached home. Her misgivings, his recriminations, the tone rising with each sentence. They'd been through it all so often before.

Unexpectedly, Silvio broke the silence. Why did you marry an Italian? The question took her aback. She thought awhile but silence was the only answer she could find. How absurd it seemed to him now that she had once found his eccentricities romantic.

Well, if you haven't got an answer, then I've got news for you. Some people appreciate me. They appreciate me far more than you ever will. That's why I'm leaving. Jessica has not only agreed to publish a volume of my verse, she's also agreed to set up home with me. She'll be waiting at the lodge for me and we'll be leaving tonight. I admit to having regrets. I think, I'll miss you. But one thing I'll never be sorry about is not seeing that eternal scowl on your face again.