ME-TIME

A weekend in the cabin in the woods was just the job for recharging the batteries – if they ever managed to get there

- Raymond Jamieson

Fran sighed in anticipation. Saturday morning had finally arrived. And instead of her usual shift at the hospital, she and Martin were driving up to the quiet lakeside cabin she’d inherited from her aunt. It was a sturdy wooden cabin with a fireplace. Set amid trees, a stone’s throw from the water’s edge, it was the perfect refuge.

Finally, Fran and Martin could have some time alone there, just themselves and nature. She smiled at the thought of sitting on the south-facing veranda, a glass of chardonnay in her hand, watching the birdlife.

The smile faded as she looked outside and saw her husband in his old overalls, a spanner in his hand. He looked up, his guilty expression confirming her fears.

She knew without checking that he hadn’t even begun to think about packing.

How was she going to prize him away from his classic Triumph motorbike? Since he’d retired from his job as mechanic, it had become his all-consuming new interest.

‘Would it make any difference if we drove up on Monday? Or Tuesday?’ he said, his eyes barely meeting hers. ‘I’ve just figured out how to replace the brakes.’