The story so far:

There’s a lot of crying in the chair and Dan and Isaac do their bit, but will Sally recover?

DAN reached for another serviette.

Sally’s already snotted and cried two of them into soggy, limp lappies.

Number three.

Okay, Sally, get out of that chair. I’m taking you into the garden.

Sally sighs, and throws her head back.

In a while, her sobs quieten, but her eyes look like saucers of pain, swimming in a sea of grief.

Dan links arms with the woman, who’s slightly shorter than her 5ft 9.

And leads her off the verandah.

The fragrance of the jasmine soothes Sally.

Dan’s presence becomes real. She’s a pillar for the broken woman.

What’ve I started here, she asks herself.

Her eyes are drawn to Sally’s breasts, well, it’s that big stone that captures her attention, and then it’s umm, downhill from there.

Dan can see the pulses in her neck. They throb with life. They quicken when Dan draws her closer.

You’ll be ok with me, she says, looking into her swollen, sad face.

We’ll do things, like 10-pin bowling, and white-water rafting. It’s hard to cry when you’re doing things!

Sally’s smile is as bleak as a cold grey morning.

Her sadness is ash, the passion burnt to a blob of grey.

Isaac watches them walk back to the table that he’s cleared and reset.

He’s fluffed up the cushions (holding his breath: the mites!) and replaced the tablecloth.

The women sit down.

Dan raises her eyebrows and her right index finger.

Isaac is already on his way. And Sally’s stopped crying.

(to be continued)