It's really odd watching them together.
"Could you rub some sunscreen on my back for me?"
"Sure"
And he does.
His hands move gently, skilfully over her skin, smoothing in the lotion. His face is calm and quiet. His
eyes flicker from the nape of her neck to their son, playing in the shallow
water of the toddlers' pool.
They share a cigarette, drag for drag, and their fingers touch unselfconsciously
passing the butt back and forth.
They walk side by side to the kiosk, and share the can they've bought, sip for sip.
She worries about her bikini-line, and whether she's shaved it well enough... and he reassures her, and she relaxes.
Sure, they don't smile into one another's eyes, their bodies don't yearn towards one
another, but ... they look together.
And they're not.
It's been at least two months since she asked him to leave. He lives in another house. He sees his
son a couple of times a week.
I suppose it's a good thing, to be able to be pleasant, warm, to appear to be
good, close friends...
But it's really really odd watching them.
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