Ah, Caroline on deck, putting out the washing.

Myself on top deck, tapping ash onto the awning below.

Aside from her bikini, Caroline cannot help but remind me of Degas, and those moments of sensual, yet awkward physicality. God I should clutch her arse and save us both.

I have to confess I have missed Gareth. Within seconds he was gossiping, open and intimate, revealing the end of his relationship with his life partner, his fear for Neil over his dwindling client list, and the ridiculous but charming concern over Helen and the schizophrenia that runs in her family, finally making itself known. And so I sat with Gareth in the kitchen, blowing clouds of smoke between us, wondering if I had missed him or, rather, missed the simple ache and grace of inclusion.

Clearly, I'm capable of anything.

I could walk out of my life again, again and again.

I could go paint boats in New Zealand.

Or chop trees in Scotland. Or find an Asian bride.

Give her all I own.