After the row they were kind to each other. He made two cups of coffee and asked if he should prepare some strawberry jam sandwiches. She gave the question more consideration than was necessary, then said 'Yes please, that would be very nice.' They took a tray through to the sitting room and sat on opposite sides of the coffee table, in separate patches of sunlight.

In earlier years, they had had a physical alchemy to mend quarrels. In bed, they had wrestled with their anger until it had fallen away, leaving them miraculously renewed. That no longer happened. It was not that they were too old, but being old enough, they had become more skilled in warfare and they inflicted on each other wounds too severe for the rough encounter of bodies.

She sipped her coffee and ate a biscuit which tasted of dust. The sun poured the shaped of the windows over the carpet and across her feet. A branch of the magnolia tree scraped a corner of the glass. Its dark green leaves, fired with light, were reduced to abstract movements on the far wall.

She couldn’t taste the coffee either.

These days there was no shouting, no tears. They had long since made maps of the vulnerable areas so that they knew now how to wound with the slightest touch. They used silence and small politeness, gestures which to another might seem harmless. They hid poisoned darts in something they called duty.

'Why do we do it,' she thought, staring at the window. 'Why does it seem necessary?'

She realised that he, too was avoiding a meeting of eyes. He finished his coffee and lit a cigarette, but instead of leaning back as was usual, he sat forward, hunched over his knees, turning the cigarette in the ashtray to wipe off ash barely formed. He said, 'Have you got much to do on Wednesday?'

'Is there something you want?'

'If you've got time, you might like to get the car serviced. It'll need a grease and oil charge before we go to Lucia's.'

She glanced at him, but his face offered nothing. 'Do you want to go?' she said, demanding the truth.

'It's not a matter of wanting.' He sounded equally severe. 'She's expecting us and that's that, we're committed. I suppose it's a possibility that once we're there, I might even enjoy myself.'

'No you wont. The children will drive you mad.'

'I'll shut myself in their TV room. I'll watch the football.'

'What about chess?'

'It's not important.' He raised his hand to stall her interruption. 'I'm not contradicting myself. I mean, it's unimportant compared to Nathan's birthday party. He's expecting me. Kid's remember things like that. I can play chess any Saturday I want.'

'Not in the tournament. Look, there'll be other birthdays and parties -'

'You said we were coming, right? Right. So we'll go. Don’t worry, relax, I'll be nice to my grandchildren, only I warn you, if those kids start screeching and throwing food round the place, I'm locking myself in with the TV.'

'What will happen about the tournament?' she insisted.

He waved the question away, but she knew that he was hurt and that the wound would lie between them for a long time.

She said, 'I can easily phone Lucia.'

He put out the cigarette, and stood up. 'Make sure when you get the car serviced, you tell them to check the tyres.' He smiled gently, 'I'm going to mow the lawns.'

She wanted to keeo him there, talking, but there seemed little else to say. She took the cups back to the kitchen and washed them, and a short time later, she heard the lawn mower on the front lawn. She went othte front of the house.

He was walking determinedly up and down the lawn, behind the machine, his sleeves rolled up, his face set in concentration. Wet grass and smoke sprayed over his boots. The noise tore the air apart.

She ran down the path, followed him along a shaved strip, and tapped on his shoulder. When he turned his head, she shouted in his ear.

He stopped and the engine raced. 'What?' he bellowed.

She felt embarrassed. 'I love you,' she shouted again.

He was still. A suddenness of something moved across his face. His eyes opened wide to take in the sun, and became lighter in colour. Then he smiled, and they were both wrapped up in laughter.

Left to itself, the mower carried on across the lawn, and stalled in the flower garden.