Polly and her husband have been together for twentysix years. They meet at university, marry after graduation and, two years later, welcome a son. It is the usual picture of a British family.
Their son grows up, gets married and moves to London with his wife. Once he leaves, Pollys life with David changes dramatically. Suddenly theres nothing left to talk about, and they dont even feel the need to. They know each other inside out, finish each others sentences, share a glance and then fall silent.
When Polly first starts working after university, there is a woman in her department who is about fortyfive. Polly thinks she looks older than her years because of her perpetual tan. The woman always takes a winter holiday and returns with an even skin tone. Her boyish short, bleached haircut only accentuates the bronzed complexion.
Must be a solarium, whispers a younger colleague.
One day Polly cant hold back any longer and asks the woman how she gets that glow in winter.
We spend the holidays at a ski resort with our husbands, the woman replies.
Really? At our age? Polly gasps.
The woman laughs, her voice ringing with the confidence of someone who has learned a hard lesson.
Fortyfive, love. When you reach my age you realise this is the real youth not foolishness, but maturity. Remember, boredom is the biggest enemy of a marriage. All the affairs, the divorces they start because of dullness. When the kids grow up life settles into a quiet rhythm, and thats what drives many men round the bend. We women have no time to be bored. We work, we look after the children, we juggle the house. Meanwhile the man lounges on the sofa, thinks about how to use his unused energy. Some drink, some look for thrills, as the saying goes, they start hunting for a new woman.
I used to be naïve, thinking my husband was simply exhausted from work, that it was harmless to sit in front of the telly, drink nothing and be content. I was buzzing around the house like a windup toy. Then one day he tells me hes fallen for someone else, that Ive become boring, and he walks out. Imagine that.
When I married again, I behave completely differently. I make my husband share the chores, we drive out of the city on weekends, go to the countryside, ski in winter. I never give him a minute to relax on the sofa. Were still together, the kids are grown, and we travel around the UK. It isnt for everyone, but take a note.
Polly stores those words in her mind. She notices Alex, her husband, after a hearty dinner, heading straight for the sofa and the television. Hes harder to pull away from the house than he used to be. He used to go trekking, rafting down rivers, and surprise her with elaborate birthday gifts.
Polly tries to rattle Alex awake. She pulls out theatre tickets, a cruise on the Thames on a threedeck boat along the historic circuit.
In the theatre Alex dozes off, at a friends house he yawns after a couple of glasses of wine, and on the boat he complains about the cramped cabin. Skiing is out of the question now; his growing belly makes him resist any vigorous sport.
When Polly suggests a cinema outing, he looks at her with tired eyes and says, Where are you dragging me? I just want a quiet weekend, a proper nap. Go with your friends.
In the early days of their marriage Alex used to go camping with his mates. They formed a tightknit crew, loved whitewater rafting and kayaking on fast rivers. Alex played guitar and sang decently.
Polly never joined them work never let her, then pregnancy, then caring for their little boy.
Dont give him too much freedom, warns her mother. Hell find a hobby buddy and a new confidante.
Cheating doesnt need a campsite. You can find anyone right at home. I trust Alex, Polly replies, believing his promises.
Eventually the camping crew settles down with families and the trips stop.
One lazy Sunday Polly hops onto the sofa with an old photo album. At first Alex looks reluctant, then, warming to the memories, he flips through the pictures.
Dont you want to relive the old days? she asks.
No, who would I go with? Everyones busy, the grandchildren are here.
Come on, Ive never been on your trips. Take the initiative, call your old mates, maybe someone will join.
Do you really think were that reckless now? Alex jokes.
Too sensible, perhaps? Lets at least go to the theatre this weekend, have a cultured night, Polly says, slamming the album shut and sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Alex ponders. Later at dinner he mentions, I talked to Tom about a route. He still has his old tent. We could rent a raft from the club. Polly sees his eyes light up, and it makes her happy.
He finally shows interest in an adventure, talking only about the upcoming trek.
Youll need to be ready, Polly. Itll be muddy, therell be insects, youll sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag, no hot showers, youll have to crawl under bushes. The first day youll be begging to go home, Alex warns.
I wont quit, Polly promises.
Fine then, Alex says, eyeing her manicured nails, fluffy house slippers and a cosy robe with embroidered birds. Youll need proper gear, not high heels.
They shop together; Alex keeps a tight grip on her arm.
I know youll buy swimsuits and dresses, but a trek needs warm clothes and sturdy boots, he says.
Polly complies, following his lead. The packing soon fills both their backpacks.
Put it on, lets see how you manage, Alex orders.
Polly hoists the heavy pack, grimacing under its weight, realizing shell have to trek over uneven, ditchfilled ground.
Take it off, lets see what youre actually carrying, Alex says.
She unburdens herself, only to watch him pull out hair rollers, a makeup case, a hair dryer, dozens of bottles of cream and shampoo, plus a pile of gardenclothes unsuitable for the hills.
Youll get eaten alive by the mosquitoes, he jokes. Maybe you should stay home? He looks at her with a hint of pity.
She nods, confused, while Alex removes the unnecessary items, leaving only the essentials. The pack becomes considerably lighter.
I can do this, Polly declares, feeling a surge of confidence.
She remembers how she once tried to drag Alex into theatre and art, insisting on her interests. He had obliged at first. Now she tells herself she must stand by him, through rough and smooth.
As the departure day nears, doubt gnaws at her, but they board a train at Euston, heading away from the comforts of civilisation. With them sit three other men and a woman from Alexs old camping circle.
Are the rest of your friends divorced? Polly asks quietly.
No, their wives are with the grandkids, Alex replies.
The journey is lively; the men swap jokes, Alex pulls out his guitar from the loft and strums a few chords. Polly decides that if this keeps going, shell manage and enjoy herself.
When the train stops and they walk a few miles from the station, Polly feels the weight of the pack in her back, her legs shaking, sweat soaking her face. She feels ashamed to complain while the men lug sleeping bags, tents and a deflated boat.
The countryside is beautiful, but she forces herself not to stumble, not to fall, not to break a leg. Reaching the river, she just wants to lie on the grass and stop moving. The men spark a fire, set up tents as if they arent tired at all.
Youll get used to it, encourages Tanya, one of the women. Lets fetch water, we need dinner.
Tears of longing for a warm shower and a soft bed swell in her eyes.
Then the music starts. Alex plays the guitar by the fire, his voice ringing clear. She forgets how handsome his voice sounds. In that moment he seems lively, joyful, exactly the Alex she fell for years ago.
Thinking of running off? he asks the next morning, eyeing the blisters on her palms after the river raid.
No, she says firmly.
At the rapids she hesitates; the river roars, sharp stones jut from the water. She wants to suggest walking along the bank, but Alexs teasing grin stops her. She clings to the rafts side, ignoring the oars, terrified of plunging into the icy water.
When the rapids finally pass, she exhales a huge sigh and screams with triumph louder than anyone else.
A week later they return home, exhausted but buzzing with stories. Polly realises shell miss the new friends, the songs around the fire, the openness of the wild.
After a hot shower and a hearty dinner, they sit sidebyside at the laptop, scrolling through photos, teasing each other. They havent done that in ages. The trek has brought them back together, giving them shared interests again. They fall asleep in each others arms, just like in their early days.
Next year well do another trek? Polly asks, snuggling close to his familiar side.
Did you enjoy it? Alex laughs. Its not a West End play or a fancy restaurant. Its life.
Ill plan better next time, so you wont be embarrassed of me, she promises.
Never embarrassed. For a beginner you were brilliant. I didnt expect that, Alex says, making her blush with pride.
When their son calls, she gushes about the adventure.
Sounds like a wild life over there, I thought youd be bored and lonely, he jokes.
Bored? Not at all. How are things with you? she asks.
Were expecting a baby, a boy or a girl, well see, he replies joyfully.
After her holiday, Polly returns to work with bright eyes and a beaded friendship bracelet on her wrist.
Did you holiday in the south? You look barely tanned, a colleague remarks, pointing at the bracelet.
Its a charm. A shaman gave it to me, Polly smiles.
So, to revive the spark in a long marriage, dont stay at home; share your partners interests. Extreme sports may not suit everyone, but theres always something else to try. As a writer once said, Never regret the effort you put in to save love.
