He stepped into his new house and breathed in the air, and he imagined this must be the feeling a convict felt on his release from prison.  He felt great.  No more nagging, no more filthy looks when he came home late, and best of all,  freedom, total freedom to do what he wanted.

He returned to his van and began un-loading.  There wasn’t much, everything he owned was packed into half a dozen cardboard cartons and a couple of tea chests.  He didn’t even have any furniture.  His ex-wife’s solicitors had seen to that.  But he didn’t care; it was worth it just to get away from her.  And away from her he was, fifty miles away from her to be precise, right on the coast.  He’d always wanted to live on the beach.  But his wife hated it.  She said it was too isolated.

He carried in the last carton, then hunted around and found the electric kettle, plugged it in and made himself a cup of coffee. 

With a steaming mug of coffee in hand, he stepped out the back door and leaned on the porch railing, and lit a cigarette and surveyed the back yard.  The grass needed mowing, parts of the fence needed fixing, but apart from that it was okay.  It was the house that needed attention.  Whoever owned it before hand had let it run down.

 It was a two story house with three bedrooms, a large open kitchen, living room, attic and a cellar.  The bedrooms were fine, nothing that a lick of paint wouldn’t fix.  The banister was a bit unstable but the stairs were okay.  The living room and kitchen needed the most work.  New sliding door, new cupboards and a new stove were on his list, but for now he’d make do with what he could repair with a hammer, a few nails and a screwdriver.

The next day he woke at nine thirty from the best night’s sleep he’d had in years.  Eight years to be exact.  He’d slept on the floor with his head on a pillow and a blanket wrapped around him.  It was rough, but he’d slept like a baby.

He showered and shaved then drove to the local supermarket.  He pushed the trolley around the aisles and bought only what he wanted.  Something he could never do when he was married.  As he approached the check-out, he found himself smiling.

He paid the girl, pocketed the change and loaded the van with his groceries.  As he drove off, he noticed a man watching him, but when he looked at him he quickly turned away.

Back at the house, he un-packed the groceries, put the frying pan on the stove and put in a few strips of bacon.  As the bacon sizzled, he cracked open two eggs. 

Ten minutes later, he sat on a tea chest in the kitchen, with a plate on his knees, and ate his first breakfast in his new house.  He finished it off with a mug of coffee and a cigarette, while he sat on the steps of the back porch. 

It was a great morning.  The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the birds were singing.  What more could you want?

He finished his coffee, stubbed out his cigarette and returned to the kitchen.  He washed the plate, then went to work repairing the door hinges on the cupboards.  He was tightening the screws on the door to the pantry, when he saw a key, hanging on a cup-hook.  It wasn’t a door key.  It was a key to a padlock.  Attached to the key, was a tag, with the word CELLAR scrawled on it in Biro.  He was intrigued.  The cellar was the only room in the house he hadn’t been in.  He removed the key and shoved it in his pocket.