They haven’t sat there since the autumn, when the light was brighter, and their love just that less brittle. Not that their union is in danger. They are past that point, like realising when cleaning the house that you have less to go than you have already accomplished, and might as well push on. Not that they discuss it. Not with each other, at any rate. Not even with friends. Just with visiting relatives who have suffered the same ennui.
Interesting thing about who you discuss what with. Fran had long realised that she was fair game. Hardly anything was off-radar for frank and free discussions with her. Brush off the fallen leaves, remove the webs of long gone spiders, and the gloves come off. Just add a couple of flat whites, and a spare hour or three. Family laundry is fluttering in the breeze before the sugar is stirred.