"Bloody hell fire!" I yelped.

Completely disorientated, I had got out of bed and brained myself on what seemed to be a brass Deathstar masquerading as a lampshade and hanging from the ceiling.

"What the buggery is that?" Nursing my head, I took in my surroundings, rapidly re-orienting myself. I was in New Orleans. More specifically, I was in what I was informed ''Uptown", installed in a flat which had looked good in the pictures but appeared to be furnished with the cast offs from a nineteenth century brothel. If this was "Southern Chic", they could keep it.

Groping my way to the kitchen, I found to my delight that not only was there a coffee maker but that there was also coffee. God bless people who leave their un-used coffee behind in holiday rentals. The sun was streaming into the small room, highlighting the dodgy hospital-green paintwork and the suspicious stains on the walls. Still, it was somewhere to sray.

Suitably fortified I pondered my next move. I couldn't avoid it; like a grain of sand in a shoe, my conscience kept irritating me. I had to speak to Toby. He would be livid, furious, devastated. I was a crow, no doubt and in the cold light of day, my hasty decision to run away from him didn't seem to clever after all.

I picked up the phone

"Toby." My voice shook and I sat down suddenly. I hadn't really thought this through. What the heck do you say to a husband you have just run out on?

"You left me. Fifteen years of marriage and you just leave without a word." he hissed.

"I did. I'm so sorry, I was just so miserable… ' My voice caught. I was ripped apart with sadness. "We've been frozen in ice for so long. We never even touch each other. It was like we were separated by glass, together but apart. I was so lonely and we seemed to be living in different worlds."

His voice rose, "You could have at least done me the courtesy of talking to me instead of just disappearing."

His words seared into me like a hot iron.

"I know. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I couldn't cope any more. Such a coward." I was sobbing now, big heaves of pain.

I could hear the vague noises of my (ex) house in the background; the radio permanently on, the muffled drilling of the workmen next door. I sagged but knew it held nothing for me. Toby was speaking again.

"Actually it was a vast relief"

For a minute, I thought that I'd misheard. For the first time in our relationship, Toby had surprised me.

"Relief?" I gasped.

"Yes." he replied, firmly. "Both of us trapped in our own unhappiness. Not talking, just sinking further and further into gloom. My drinking. Your eating problems… not symptomatic of a joyous life are they?"

Ah yes, I hadn't mentioned that. We'd never really addressed the Elephant in the Room. I had chronic bulimia.

It had started at school, vanished under Edward's regime and was now back with a vengeance. I ate my head off and then threw up whenever I had the chance to do so. An hour alone in a kitchen turned me into a magnificent maniac, devouring everything in sight. I had even been known to eat raisins with milk and flour when things were desperate. The low point was finding myself going through the bin one evening, trying to get to the remains of a pie which I had thrown out earlier. I hadn't realised that Toby knew. I was starting to understand that there were a lot of things I hadn't appreciated about him.

Our call wound on. Across a thousand miles, we were finally able to communicate. Ironic really given that we had spent almost every evening sitting at different ends of a six foot table and yet we had never managed to have a conversation.

"I don't think I can come back." I said eventually.

"I know…. We had a good go of it but I was never really enough for you and if I am going to be honest, I just want a quiet life. I know that you thrive on drama and you want more than I can give. You'll find it at some point and I hope you earn to love yourself. We'll sort out the house at some point. I suppose an amicable separation?"

And with that, my marriage was over. Toby was a better man than I had given him credit for. I didn't cry but for a long time I gazed into space, holding my rapidly cooling mug in both hands.

Along with random advice about how to eke out a pound of mince and why you should never trust a red-headed priest, Granny had passed on the best wisdom she could have offered; 'When I married, I had nothing. For most of my life, that hasn't changed. Get yourself a degree. Get yourself a career. Save, you'll never lose with bricks and mortar. And never, never be without a pot of gold, just in case.'

I had followed her recipe for success. I collected degrees, I saved, had a couple of flats which I rented out and had accumulated a stash which would last me for a long time provided I didn't paint the town red. Bathing in caviar had never been my style so I would be fine. I didn't want anything from Toby and when we eventually sold the house, we would split the proceeds equally. Fair's fair. Naked you come into the world and naked you will leave or something along those lines. We had built a life together and now we would dismantle it. Before I became too melancholy, I shook myself and jumped up. "Enough! Get a grip."

I needed to orientate myself.

I knew all about the South from books. Post-Edward I had read everything based in the region which was not nailed down. I had sighed with Scarlett, mourned for Blanche and delighted in Ignatius. I had gone off piste and read everything written by Florence King that I could get my hands on. I even read every variation on "mawkish platitudes interspersed with recipes" that Amazon could supply. In short, I knew everything and nothing. In my mind, the whole place would be full of men dressed in cream who lived in variations of Tara and denim clad roughs who called everyone 'ma'am', drank and fought but loved their Mommas and lived in something called a double-wide. I was a bit hazy about what this actually was but it seemed to be as mandatory as the wearing of worn cowboy boots and battered hats.

New Orleans certainly didn't fit my dreams of the South. For one thing, the potholes were so big that a car could have disappeared down them and be lost forever. The houses were heavenly though and the streetcar made me quote Tennessee Williams. God I am pretentious.

I was still shaken from my call and so I did what I always do when I am in a bad way, I went to Church. And there, of course, I saw Edward.