Do me a favour

In the interests of veracity and well-scrubbed-lacrosse-stick-toting-play-up-and-play-the-game-girls-fair play I ought to admit that my ex is currently doing me a number of favours. This is somewhat of a surprise as I was out of favour for about half a decade. Last week he brought me some fresh milk round after mine solidified on contact with hot coffee in an unpleasantly ploppy manner. On Saturday I realised that I had left something vital with him last time he looked after our son and that the absence of this chit of paper was going to cost me a small fortune. So I rang him. He didn't answer on any of the first five calls as his mobile is always on silent. Finally I reached him and explained my predicament. He had Important Business to attend to and could not drop the chit off. I pleaded and he agreed to meet me somewhere half way between where I am and where he was going to deliver said chit. This, in itself, is little short of miraculous because we rarely ever met in a half-way-between-where-I-am-and-half-way-to-where-he-was-going manner whilst married, neither in time nor space nor emotion. So, we met, I got the chit and off we both went with a smile and a wave. There was grace and there was a favour.

Thinking about this on the train to Manchester (whilst waiting forlornly for the free coffee to arrive. It didn't) I realised:
1. Whilst I was in favour at the beginning of the relationship he made me happy
2. He helped make our son and that's the greatest favour anyone could bestow
3. And, at the end, he did me a favour by leaving me with my son and the house; dignity a little tattered and heart thoroughly broken; but in a position where I can regroup and become the person who writes this blog.

He's done me a favour.