If he did not satisfy me, that is a reflection of my probably absurd yearnings, my frenzied diable au corps, not of his failings. Most of us seem to  stray just briefly from the course set by our parents, to catch sight, perhaps, of a distant atoll or a new species about which to dream and to bore our grandchildren. Then, if we are not wrecked on the foray, we slink back, sails a little tattered, into the flotilla. Tony is that sort of man – conventional and content to explore only tentatively and always within hailing distance of the fleet.
Now that he was married, he knew his role. He wanted to settle, to make money, to have children, to grow soft and plump. He wanted routine.  The longer I spent alongside him, however, the more I realised that I needed to strike out on my own. I did not admit it to myself. I was faithful. I tended the house. I told myself that this was just unrealistic adolescent hankering and would pass. I could of course blame Tony for his jealousy, and claim that, had he had felt more assured and so encouraged me to go back to work, our marriage might have survived longer.