Drawing a Line

Dave swallowed the last swig of tea and put the mug in the kitchen sink. He went to the tap to rinse it before he remembered he'd already turned the water off. The gas and electric would be turned off tomorrow and the house would then become officially empty.

Instead, he took the box from the counter and wrote Kate's address on the lid.

They'd been together for eight years and had shared a lot of wonderful times, but the final year had buried them all under acrimony and bitterness. Time can be merciless like that.

The box was filled with keepsakes from their relationship. They'd been precious to him and most of them, he hoped, would be special to her too. She'd recognise a lot of them, the ornately decorated silver camel they'd bought in Tunisia, the photographs they'd taken when they first moved into the house and the glass Christmas bauble, the first thing they'd bought together. There were other things too that she wouldn't understand, like a piece of the plate that she'd thrown in that last, fierce argument before she walked out.

They were relics, really, of something that was firmly gone. He'd held on to them like a lifeline to the past, but he didn't need them now. There was nothing there for him anymore.

He heard a beep from outside. The taxi was here. He picked up the box, shouldered his rucksack and left the house. He locked up and put the keys in the box, the last piece of their life together. He sealed the package then got in the taxi.

“Where to, mate?” The driver asked.
“Post office first, then the airport.”
“Nice, where you going?”
Dave grinned as excitement welled up inside him.
“I don't know.”