The Breakfast Alibi

Martin takes the breakfast photograph at 10:47 AM.

He moves the coffee cup closer to the eggs, pushes a crumpled receipt out of frame and turns his left wrist so the watch covers the nightclub band underneath. The result looks reassuringly uneventful.

He sends it to his wife.

Up early. Getting into a routine.

In England, it is still the middle of the night. The photograph will be waiting when she wakes. Martin likes this arrangement. Phuket gives him several hours to finish a story before anyone back home is available to ask questions.

The trip was presented as a reset. Work had been stressful. His sleep was poor. He wanted sunshine, a few gym sessions and some time to clear his head.

His wife suggested coming for part of it.

He said she would be bored.

For the first two days, Martin follows the itinerary he described. He walks along the beach. Finds a gym. Buys a bottle of water large enough to suggest commitment.

On the third evening, a man at the hotel recommends a place to watch football. The football is on a small screen above the bar. Most of the available attention is elsewhere.

Martin stays until closing. He describes this to himself as being sociable.

A woman called Bee remembers his drink the following night. By the weekend, he is timing dinner around the start of her shift. His large water bottle sits unopened beside the hotel kettle.

The daily reports continue.

Gym was good.

Weather's been great.

Might have an early night.

None of these sentences needs much invention. There is a gym. The weather is good. An early night remains theoretically available.

His wife calls on Sunday while he is sitting at breakfast. He angles the phone toward a blank wall and explains that he feels much more rested.

Behind him, a hotel employee brings over a small black purse.

“Your friend left this.”

Martin's face does something his voice is unable to help with.

He covers the microphone and asks the employee to leave it at reception. His wife asks what that was.

Someone looking for a lost bag, he says.

He is now lying in full sentences. The trip has progressed.

After the call, he sits with the purse beside his plate. Bee messages a laughing apology and asks if he can bring it later. He replies immediately.

At noon, he goes to the gym for the first time in four days. He photographs the dumbbell rack. Does several hurried sets. Carefully saves the picture instead of posting it.

For the next three mornings, it accompanies reports of workouts that have not happened.

Martin has finally established a routine. Breakfast, evidence, recovery.

On Thursday, his wife says he looks better and asks what has helped most.

He studies the question while Bee's purse hangs from the back of his chair.

“Less stress,” he writes.

Then he mutes his phone.