In truth, he’d never been handsome, and in our forty years together his looks certainly hadn’t improved. I stared at him now. Over time, in a sort of strange facial continental drift, his eyes and mouth had migrated to the edge of his face, as if fleeing at a glacial pace some terrible event that had occurred somewhere around his nose.
He could also be rude: intolerant, abrupt, occasionally profane. As for money, every pound was a prisoner. And his grammar was truly appalling.
He looked up and caught my eye.
“I love you, hon.” He smiled.
“I love you too.”