Chapter 1

It had been six months. Six months since he'd packed his belongings, turned the key to the house over to the agent, taken a taxi to the airport and flown away. Away from his home, his daughter, his life. The first three months he'd worked and drank, not necessarily in that order and not necessarily as separate events.

Then an angry call from his daughter had made him question the drinking. So to prove her wrong, he went a week without drinking. The week turned into two, then three and before he knew it six weeks had passed. He wasn't sleeping better but he wasn't waking up feeling worse than when he'd gone to bed. Eventually he did drink, but never more than three.

By month five, he actually began to enjoy the island. Its natural beauty was breathtaking. It made him wish there was someone to share it with, someone to walk the beautiful, snow white beaches with. There were women here, of course, but he didn't see the point. He wasn't planning on staying forever and anything he started here would have an expiration date. It was refreshing though to realize he could think about the possibility of a life with someone else.

By month six, though, the pervasive sun had begun to grate on his nerves. He missed England, he missed Oxford. Lyn kept him up to date on Manchester, where she lived, but it wasn't home. Oxford was his home.

The very thing that had sent him to this island paradise, his drinking, also meant he didn't have many friends left in Oxford. In fact, there was only one friendly face he could think about.

Laura Hobson was his only friend in Oxford, possibly his only friend anywhere, if he was honest. All of the others had slowly fallen away as his drinking took its toll, she had remained steadfast. There had been no leaving do, most were happy to see him go, if a bit jealous of the assignment. But she'd shown up at his desk, asked if he wanted to grab a bite.

They'd had a leisurely dinner. He'd laughed for the first time in months with her. It was also the first time in months he hadn't passed out drunk at the end of the night. She'd offered to take him to the airport but he'd declined. It seemed like a pity offer and he didn't want to see that, not from her at least. He didn't care about the others, but not from her.

It was the call from Lyn earlier which had him contemplating his next move. He needed to feel connected. Need to feel as if there was something to go home to. The sheets of paper lay in front of him, a few discarded pieces crumpled on the table.

He watched the sun set over the horizon and realized he needed to do this. He needed to find something to anchor him, to make him believe there was a home to return to. If he didn't, it would be too easy to fall back into the bottle. Lyn would be angry but it wouldn't matter. If he fell into it again, he wouldn't emerge. His children would be parentless, an inevitability of life.

Picking up the pen, he started writing. He didn't concern himself with trying to be artful or clever. They were simple words he wrote, words designed to connect him to a place and in the back of his mind, a person. If he couldn't make a connection he wasn't sure he would survive the next eighteen months. The monotony would consume him, drive him slowly mad. All he could hope was she would provide him with a lifeline to sustain him until he could go home.

Dear Laura…