After forty years together, Liz and Martin decided to take separate holidays for one week. Liz wanted museums and early dinners. Martin wanted fishing and no timetable. Their friends called it brave. Their daughter asked whether they had argued.
They hadn’t. They simply discovered that compromise had made both of them mildly annoyed in attractive locations. Liz booked a city hotel. Martin rented a cottage near a lake. They promised to send one photograph a day and avoid calling unless there was an emergency.
On Monday Liz sent a picture of a sculpture. Martin sent a picture of a fish he hadn’t caught. On Tuesday she sent a museum café receipt and he sent his muddy boots. By Wednesday she missed having somebody to tell about a ridiculous painting. He missed having somebody to tell him whether the fish in his photograph was actually a leaf.
Neither wanted to admit it. Liz called their daughter and described a wonderful trip in an unusually detailed voice. Martin called his brother and said the quiet was perfect, then spent fifteen minutes explaining what he had eaten for breakfast.
On Thursday Liz decided to visit a small town outside the city. She boarded the wrong train and arrived at a village beside a lake. She laughed at her mistake, then saw a man in a familiar raincoat across the platform. It was Martin.
He claimed he’d come to buy tackle. She pointed out that the tackle shop was on the other side of the lake. He said he’d taken a scenic route. She said her train had been scenic too, especially the forty miles she hadn’t intended to travel.
On Friday Martin attempted a museum on his own, thinking he ought to understand why Liz liked them. He read three labels, admired a bench, and left after twenty minutes. Liz attempted to sit by the lake with a fishing rod she’d borrowed from a guesthouse. She caught nothing but enjoyed watching the clouds move. Neither confessed this experiment at lunch. That evening their photographs gave them away: his museum entrance and her lakeside bench appeared with the same crooked lamppost reflected in a window.
They had lunch together. Liz told him about the painting, a portrait of a stern man holding a tiny dog. Martin told her about the fish that was a leaf. They laughed longer than either story deserved. Then they agreed to return to their separate holidays rather than waste the experiment.
That evening each sent the required photograph. Liz sent a museum ticket. Martin sent the lake. Both pictures were taken from the same café table; they had forgotten to crop out the other’s cup.
Their daughter noticed. She called Liz. Liz said it was a coincidence. She called Martin. He said the cups were probably identical everywhere. Their daughter let them keep the secret.
On Sunday they returned home within ten minutes of each other. Martin asked if Liz wanted to travel together next year. She said yes, with two conditions: museums in the morning and fishing after lunch. Martin agreed if the fish were allowed to be leaves.
Their daughter asked what they had learned from traveling apart. Liz said she could enjoy a museum alone. Martin said he could enjoy a lake alone. Then he added that neither of them knew how to keep a secret when the evidence came with saucers.