Walking along the footpath hand-in-hand with that monstrosity of a boyfriend she was taller and noticeably more gawky; her slender brown dress did not fit where it was supposed. Where it promised sculptured, sleek designer lines it just hung limply, sadly. Below the ragged hem two clumsy legs scuttled along; bright and vibrant, almost glowing, reflecting the sunshine.
Her face was clasped, virtually locked, within shoulder length straight mousy hair. Peaking beneath the fringe you could just discern she was near to tears, and he, clasping her hand, couldn't see it coming. But it had to be done; done on this very walk in the park. Alongside the bowling greens and the tennis courts, she'd wait until then, that's the place, on that seat with the old men watching anxiously on, she'd have to tell him, somewhere public enough for him not to make his usual fuss.
She'd known him about a year or so and at first she'd been flattered. The gawky one getting that good looking boyfriend. But she quickly discovered he was not what he first seemed. So she'd waited for something better to turn up, and kept him in tow as the backup to go out with, the problem was the something better had never arrived.
At last her life was moving on, another job, another city, new friends beckoned, even a career, maybe, who knows? The something better was not another boyfriend – though that would be his accusation. She knew he would take braking up badly, that he'd be imploring, picky demanding, accusing, and that in public he'd have to resist the temptation of being abusive.