Emma and James had been together for twentysix years. Theyd met at university, married after graduation, and two years later their son, Oliver, was born. It was the picture of an ordinary British family.
When Oliver grew up, married and moved to London with his wife, the quiet of Emmas house turned into an echo. Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about, and they didnt even miss the chatter. They knew each others habits inside out, could finish each others sentences with a glance, and then fell into a companionable silence.
Early in Emmas career, there was a woman in the office, about fortyfive, named Margaret. Though she was only a few years older, Emma always saw her as someone from a different era. Margaret took long winter holidays, always returning with an even tan and a boyish crop of blond hair that highlighted the lightness of her skin.
Must be a tanning salon, whispered a younger colleague as Margaret strutted in.
One day Emma could no longer hold back and asked how she managed to stay so bronzed in the cold months.
We spent the winter at a ski resort in the Scottish Highlands, Margaret replied.
Really? At your age? Emma gasped.
Margaret burst into laughter. At my age? Im only fortyfive. When you reach my years you realise this is the real youth not foolish, but mature. Listen, love, boredom is the biggest enemy of any marriage. All the affairs, the divorces, they start because of it. When the kids grow up, life settles into a calm routine. Thats when men go off the rails. We women never have the luxury to be bored. We work, we look after the children, we carry the whole household on our shoulders while the man lounges on the sofa, thinking about how to spend his spare energy. Some drink, some chase new thrills, as the saying goes, they go looking for another woman.
I was naïve, thinking my husband was just tired after work, that there was nothing wrong with him sitting in front of the telly, not drinking, and being content. I was the one buzzing around the house like a windup toy. Then one day he said hed fallen for another woman, that life with me had become dull, and he left. Can you imagine?
When I remarried, I did things differently. I made my husband pitch in at home, we drove out to the countryside every weekend, skied in winter, never gave him a minute to rest on the sofa. Were still together now, the kids are grown, and we travel around the country. It may not suit everyone, but take the lesson.”
Emma stored Margarets words like a talisman. She began to notice that after a hearty dinner James would shuffle to the sofa and flop in front of the television. Pulling him away became harder; the man who once trekked the Lake District and rafted down rapid rivers now seemed glued to that couch. He still managed surprising birthday gestures, though.
Determined, Emma started to rattle James awake. She bought theatre tickets, planned a threedeck river cruise along the Thames, even a weekend in the Cotswolds. In the theatre James dozed, at a friends house he yawned after a couple of glasses of wine, and on the cruise he complained about the cramped cabin. The thought of skiing made him groan; his growing belly made the idea of exertion feel impossible.
When Emma suggested a night at the cinema, James stared at her with weary eyes and said, Where are you dragging me? I just want to sleep in on the weekend. Go with your friends.
In the early years of their marriage James had been part of a hiking crew. They loved whitewater rafting, camping, and James even played guitar and sang a decent tune. Emma had never joined them work, pregnancy, and caring for Oliver kept her homebound.
Youre letting him off the leash, warned Emmas mother. Hell find a hobby buddy and
An affair doesnt require a hike, love. Trouble can be found right here. I trust James, Emma replied, trusting him to keep her out of his adventures.
Eventually, the whole crew settled down, families grew, and the hikes stopped.
One lazy Sunday Emma plopped onto the sofa with an old photo album. At first James glanced at the pictures out of politeness, then, warmed by the memories, started to flip through.
Would you like to relive the old days, remember the youth? Emma asked.
No, who would I go with? Everyones got grandchildren now, he muttered.
Come on, with me. Ive never been on your trips. Show some initiative, call your old mates, maybe someone will say yes.
Are you serious? Those were the reckless, wild days now were?
Too sensible? Emma quipped, smiling. Then lets go to the theatre this weekend, have a proper night out. She slammed the album shut, sending a puff of dust into the air.
James seemed to consider it. Later, over dinner, he said, I talked to a mate. Tom promised a route, still has the old tents. We could rent a raft at the sports centre. Emma watched his face light up a spark she hadnt seen in years.
He warned, Itll be tough for a beginner. River, rapids, mosquitoes. Well be sleeping on the ground, no showers, no proper latrine, and well have to crawl under bushes. Youll probably beg to go home on day one.
I wont, Emma vowed.
Fine then, James said, eyeing her manicured nails, fluffy slippers and a cosy robe. Youll need proper gear, not highheeled shoes.
They went shopping together; James never let her slip away. I know youll buy dresses and swimsuits, but for a trek you need warm clothes and sturdy boots.
Emma obeyed, her preparation becoming a shared mission. Soon the rucksacks were packed.
Put it on, lets see what youve got, James instructed.
She hoisted the heavy pack, grimacing as it pulled her down, realizing shed have to trudge over uneven ground, through gullies and brambles.
Take it off, James said. Lets see what youre really carrying.
She set the sack down, and James fished out hair rollers, a makeup case, a hairdryer, countless jars of cream, shampoo, and a stack of gardenparty dresses none of which belonged on a mountain trail.
Thosell just attract more mosquitoes, he snorted. Maybe you should stay home?
Emma felt a flush of embarrassment. With a sigh, James stripped the sack of everything superfluous, leaving only the essentials. The load lightened dramatically.
I can manage, Emma said, feeling a surge of confidence.
She remembered how shed once tried to push James toward theatre and art, and hed tentatively gone along. Now, as his battleready partner, she was determined to stand beside him in both storm and sunshine.
As departure neared, doubts gnawed at her, but they boarded the train with three other men and a woman, all heading for the countryside.
Are the other mates divorced? Emma asked quietly.
No, their wives are at home with the grandchildren, James replied.
The journey was lively; the men swapped jokes, James pulled out his guitar from the loft and strummed a tune. Emma decided that if she could survive this, she could enjoy it.
When they finally left the station and trekked a few miles from the tracks, the weight of the pack made her back ache, her legs trembled, sweat soaked her face. She felt ashamed to complain while the men lugged sleeping bags, tents and a deflated canoe.
The scenery was beautiful, yet Emma saw nothing but the ground ahead, fearing a stumble, a fall, a broken leg. At the riverbank she longed to collapse on the grass and never move again. The men hurried to light a fire, pitch tents as if fatigue were a foreign concept.
Youll get used to it, encouraged Tilly, the wife of one of the men. Lets fetch water, we need to cook.
Tears welled as Emma craved a hot shower and a soft bed. Then the night fell, and James played his guitar by the fire, his voice ringing clear and warm. She forgot how handsome he was in the daylight, how lively and full of life he seemed. In that moment she saw the young James shed fallen for all those years ago.
The next day, as he examined the blisters on her palms, he asked, Thinking of running off?
No, Emma declared firmly.
Approaching the rapids, her heart pounded. The water roared, sharp rocks jutted out. She wanted to suggest staying on the bank, but seeing Jamess mischievous grin, she clamped her hands to the rafts side, ignoring the oars, terrified of being swept into the icy current.
When the rapids finally passed, she exhaled a breath of relief and shouted triumphantly, louder than anyone else.
A week later they returned home, exhausted but buzzing with stories. Emma realised she would miss the new friends, the songs around the fire, the open air and quiet.
After a hot shower and a hearty dinner, they sat sidebyside at the laptop, scrolling through photos, teasing each other. They hadnt talked like this in ages. The trek had stitched them together again; they fell asleep in each others arms, just as they had in their early days.
Next year, shall we do it again? Emma whispered, pressing close to Jamess warm side.
What, you liked it? James laughed. Its not a night at the West End. Its life.
Ill be better prepared now. No shame for you, she promised.
And I wasnt ashamed either. For a rookie you were brilliant. You surprised me.
Emmas cheeks flushed with pride.
When Oliver called, she babbled about the adventure. Your life sounds wild, I thought youd be bored, missing us.
Were missing you, Emma replied. How are things?
Were waiting for a babyboy or girl, Oliver announced brightly.
Back at work after her holiday, Emma walked in with shining eyes and a beaded friendship bracelet on her wrist.
Did you spend the summer down south? You look barely tanned, a colleague remarked, pointing at the bracelet.
Its a charm. A shaman gave it to me, Emma replied.
And so, the moral emerged: to rekindle a marriage, dont stay cooped up. Find shared interests, even if theyre a bit extreme. It may not suit everyone, but theres always a way to bring back the spark. As some writer once said, Never regret the effort you put into saving love. James still leaves his muddy boots by the door, and Emma still sighs at the messbut now she smiles too. They plan their next trip in whispers over morning tea, maps spread across the kitchen table like promises. The sofa gathers dust, the television stays silent. And when the wind howls through the trees, they remember the river, the firelight, the way they laughed as if no years had passed at all.
