Early morning in Barbados. Up again to the sound of birds, the heat not hitting yet, the sea not blue but a soft shade of grey. Not the grey of a Welsh sea, after all this is Barbados where even the cool days are hot.
There's a gentle breeze blowing and the air is so comfortable that I could easily sit here for ever. Nothing much seems to matter, nothing is pressing on this wonderful day.
I didn't dream last night, or if I did I don't remember. No crumbling houses, no steep roads. But most of all no dreams of him. Of course, he's still here in my mind trying to spoil things from afar, but I'm not going to let him. He's spoiled too many holidays and special times over the years for all those fools who let him get away with it - including me.
Even if he were to start shouting at me I would not hear him here. The police won't come, his dog won't bark, I can almost feel him shaking with frustration, the way he does, because he has no power here.
Centre of attention? The centre of his own hateful world.
I feel a little peace and for once it isn't brought on by the alcohol. It seems to be easier to deal with the past when you are thousands of miles away from it on a tiny island where he has never been. This place is clean of him and only I bring a little of him here with me. The sins of the father's and all that, particularly my father.
Seven in the morning, up since six. I wonder what the day will bring? It doesn't really matter, he can't get me here, floating in the fluid of the Caribbean.
The sun is warming now, in an hour it will have burned off the grey to blue. If only it could burn away the clouds he put in me. I think I will go for a swim in the ocean and wash it all away for a while.
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