She pulled up in the carpark.
She was driving.
She nearly always drove, except when he did and her head would bang violently against the passenger window, the wheels nearly flying up off the ground on his side as they cornered too fast.
‘Don’t DO that,’ she would say, screwing up her face. He would laugh.
She opened the door and turned her face west to the December sun. At least he was out for Christmas.
She looked up to the vast sky as if a prayer might help, down to the dusty red gravel to stab at a rock with her ballet flat, then straight ahead.
He walked towards her, head down but looking up. He always looked ashamed. The black suit he had worn to court was crumpled, his tie hung around his neck.
He smiled. She knew it was over.