Mick booked the Wild Weekend because the photograph showed a bath large enough for two people and neither of them had enjoyed a bath without a laundry basket beside it since 2019.

He sent the link to his husband, Sanjay, who replied, 'That is an unreasonable amount of bath. Yes.'

They were two men in their early fifties who had been married long enough to recognise romance when it included someone else washing the towels. Mick worked in council procurement. Sanjay managed a community theatre. Between a budget review and a production requiring seventeen identical hats, they'd barely shared a meal sitting down all month.

The week before the trip, Sanjay had been eating dinner from a container while sorting costume labels at the kitchen table. Mick sat opposite him with his laptop open and said they ought to do something together soon.

'We are,' Sanjay said. 'I'm assigning you the medium hats.'

Mick labelled three before admitting that was not quite what he had meant. Sanjay looked up, softened and pushed the pile aside.

'All right. You choose. Somewhere we can be useless for two days.'

This was how the bath photograph acquired such influence. Mick imagined warm water, a slow breakfast and no question requiring him to compare suppliers. The booking page appeared to offer all three, along with an amount of scenery he considered optional.

He packed on Thursday evening, proudly ahead of schedule. Sanjay packed on Friday morning while answering a call about a missing prop umbrella. Between them they remembered nice clothes, casual clothes and a charger. Neither packed anything with which to inspect a distant bird.

In the car, Sanjay put his phone away after sending one final message. Mick noticed and turned the music down a little so they could talk.

'What are we doing first?' Sanjay asked.

'Nothing.'

'Excellent. How long have you booked for that?'

'Flexible arrangement.'

Sanjay rested a hand on his knee. Mick felt quietly pleased with himself for organising exactly the sort of weekend they needed, a judgement he would soon be required to revise.

The hotel sat above a sweep of Victorian wetlands. At reception, a cheerful woman handed them a canvas bag and said the rest of their group was very excited.

'Group?' Mick asked.

'Only twelve this weekend. Very intimate.'

Sanjay looked at him. Mick looked at the canvas bag. Inside were binoculars, an identification booklet and a laminated schedule beginning at 5.15 am.

For a moment neither man spoke. Then Sanjay held up the binoculars.

'How far away is the bath?'

The receptionist laughed. 'You're here for the Wild Weekend package?'

'We are,' Mick said cautiously.

'Wonderful. Fiona will meet everyone by the minibus before dawn. There's a chance of seeing the bittern.'

Sanjay's face remained beautifully composed. Mick had seen that expression at an opening night when an actor had forgotten his trousers. It meant laughter was being postponed for the protection of someone else's dignity.

In their room, Sanjay read the booking confirmation aloud. He began at the top, including all the text Mick had skipped underneath the bath photograph.

'Two nights of discovery. Get closer to nature. An unforgettable encounter.'

'You can see how I arrived where I arrived.'

'Guided birdwatching included, Mick.'

'The font was small.'

'It is the same font.'

They laughed until Mick had to sit on the bed. Outside their window, a bird made a noise like a hinge. Neither could identify it. This was apparently about to become an educational gap requiring urgent attention.

The hotel offered to remove the excursion from their package. Sanjay was ready to accept when Mick flipped through the booklet. There were extraordinary birds in it. Long-legged birds. Tiny severe birds. A bird that appeared to be wearing formal evening headwear.

'We could go for an hour,' Mick said.

'At dawn?'

'We've already got the equipment.'

Sanjay considered his husband, the schedule and the possibility of retelling this at dinner for the next twenty years.

'One hour.'

Dinner that evening was included in the package. They arrived expecting a quiet corner and found a long table occupied by people comparing binocular straps.

Pat waved them towards two empty seats. She introduced her friend Graham, who had visited the wetlands several times and still seemed delighted by the prospect of returning.

'First trip?' he asked.

'Very much,' Sanjay said.

Mick admitted they had misunderstood the package. He expected a laugh at their expense. Instead Pat laughed with them and said she had once booked a walking holiday without noticing the word strenuous.

'How strenuous?' Mick asked.

'I developed opinions about gradients.'

They relaxed. The conversation moved from birds to food, then to the strange things people discovered after clicking confirm. Sanjay told the story of a theatre booking that had required the company to supply its own chairs. Mick watched him become animated in a way he had not seen for weeks.

Later, in their room, Sanjay set the alarm and placed the borrowed binoculars on the desk.

'You're actually looking forward to it,' Mick said.

'I'm looking forward to being allowed to stare at something without being asked to fix it.'

Mick sat beside him on the bed. It was an answer he understood immediately.

They left the curtains slightly open so they could see the dark outline of the wetlands. Sanjay leaned against his shoulder. The enormous bath waited unused, having briefly lost its position as the entire purpose of the trip.

At 5.12 the next morning, they stood in the lobby wearing borrowed waterproof jackets. Sanjay had the expression of a man attending a meeting called by a seagull. Mick carried a notebook he'd purchased in the gift shop.

Their guide, Fiona, introduced herself quietly. Everyone else introduced themselves even more quietly. Within minutes Sanjay realised this was a hobby where enthusiasm increased as volume decreased, an arrangement he found compelling after thirty years in theatre.

On the minibus, a woman named Pat asked what they hoped to see.

'Breakfast,' Sanjay said.

Pat smiled. 'That'll come after the hide.'

Mick wrote hide in his notebook, then crossed it out when he realised it was a place and not a bird.

The wetlands were still and silver. Mist sat over the water. For several minutes, neither man spoke. Mick watched Sanjay lift the binoculars and fall unexpectedly quiet in a way that had nothing to do with being tired.

'Oh,' Sanjay said.

A bird stepped out of the reeds. Fiona whispered its name. Mick repeated it carefully, trying to store it in the drawer of his brain normally occupied by supplier codes.

Then Sanjay saw another one before anyone else did.

'Over there. Beside the fallen branch.'

Fiona nodded. 'Good spot.'

This was the beginning of a problem.

Sanjay straightened. Mick noticed. Twenty minutes later, when Mick identified a familiar species correctly, he received his own good spot and stood considerably straighter himself.

Fiona showed Mick how to adjust the binoculars for his view. He had been watching the world through two overlapping circles and assumed birdwatchers simply tolerated this as part of the discipline.

'Oh,' he said when the image settled.

Sanjay turned. 'Welcome. We've had one landscape for several minutes now.'

Mick nudged him lightly with an elbow. Through the binoculars he could see a small bird moving along the edge of the reeds, its attention entirely occupied by something neither man could make out.

He pointed without speaking. Sanjay followed the direction, found it and smiled.

For a moment they shared the view without needing to explain anything. Then Mick asked Fiona whether it was the species pictured on page twelve of the booklet. She nodded.

He could not help looking pleased.

Sanjay noticed. 'Studying ahead?'

'Just browsing.'

'With page numbers.'

Pat, beside them, hid a smile behind her binoculars. Mick opened his notebook and wrote carefully, suddenly aware that the act of writing had become visible to his husband in a new and competitive way.

Sanjay asked to borrow the booklet. Mick handed it over with exaggerated generosity. Within two minutes Sanjay had located the page he wanted and begun scanning a different patch of water.

The morning had acquired an unexpected shape. They were no longer merely tolerating the activity for the sake of a funny story. Each wanted to notice something worth showing the other, and each was beginning to enjoy being the one who noticed it first.

Their promised hour passed. Neither mentioned leaving.

By seven, they had developed different strategies. Sanjay scanned the reeds with dramatic patience. Mick made columns. At one point he drew a small tick beside a sighting Sanjay considered shared.

'We both saw that.'

'I pointed first.'

'You pointed at an area. I identified the movement.'

Pat, beside them in the hide, raised one finger to her lips. Two men who had survived renovations together were being shushed over a bird neither could have named yesterday.

At breakfast, Sanjay put the jam between them and asked how many sightings Mick had recorded.

'It's not a competition.'

'Excellent. How many?'

Mick turned his notebook over.

After breakfast, Pat found them studying the booklet near the lobby window. She asked whether they had enjoyed their first outing.

'Very peaceful,' Mick said.

Sanjay looked at the notebook tucked beneath his elbow. 'Mostly.'

Pat smiled as though she had heard this sort of answer before. She suggested they take their time on the afternoon walk and look at the whole place as well as the individual sightings.

When she left, Mick closed the booklet. Outside, the water had changed colour under the daylight. Sanjay stood beside him, close enough that their sleeves touched.

'We should probably look up occasionally,' Sanjay said.

Mick nodded. For a little while they did, watching the place they had booked accidentally begin to feel like somewhere they had chosen.

The afternoon was supposed to involve a nap and the enormous bath. It did involve the bath, though they spent most of it arguing about whether a distant shape had been a bird or a plastic bag. Sanjay maintained bags rarely changed direction with such confidence. Mick said wind existed.

They returned for the evening walk without discussing whether they would. This time Mick left the notebook in his pocket. The light was gold, their shoulders touched as they waited, and for once no phone demanded that either of them solve something.

A rustle came from the reeds. Fiona raised her hand. Everyone stopped.

The elusive bittern emerged slowly, unbothered by the twelve adults silently rearranging their lives around its appearance. Mick found it in his binoculars. Beside him, Sanjay inhaled.

For a while they simply watched.

Back at the hotel, Sanjay wrote something in Mick's notebook. Mick expected a disputed score. Instead it said: Saw something lovely with my husband.

He read it twice before closing the book.

On Sunday they booked another visit. The receptionist asked if they wanted the same package.

'Absolutely,' Sanjay said. 'We understand the wording now.'

In the car, Mick admitted he'd marked the bittern as a shared sighting.

'Generous,' Sanjay said. 'Considering I saw it first.'

Mick opened his mouth, then looked at his husband grinning in the passenger seat.

He decided romance occasionally meant allowing an incorrect entry in the official record.