The Couple From Room Seven

I've been offering couples bookings for about a year, but I'm selective. I need to speak to both people beforehand, separately and together, and I need to hear enthusiasm from both, not just one. It's a rule that has saved me from more awkward evenings than I can count.

This couple passed every test with flying colours. Married for twenty-five years, in their early fifties, from Toowoomba, celebrating their silver anniversary with a week in a hotel on the beachfront. They emailed together, rang together, and on the phone they finished each other's sentences and argued cheerfully about whose idea it had been. (Both, they eventually agreed.)

Before

We met for a drink at the hotel bar first, which I always suggest for couples. It gives everyone a chance to relax, laugh, and check the feeling in the room before anything else. They were adorable. She was nervous and chatty. He was nervous and quiet. They held hands under the table the whole time.

We talked through what they hoped for, what was off the table, and how we'd check in with each other along the way. I explained that any one of us could pause or stop at any moment, no reasons needed, and that nobody would be offended. She said, "Oh, thank goodness," and they both laughed, and the tension broke.

Room Seven

What happened upstairs is theirs and mine. I'll only say that it was warm and full of laughter, that they looked at each other a great deal, and that at one point she said, "Twenty-five years and you can still surprise me," to him, not to me. That was the moment I knew it had been a good evening.

My job with couples is a strange and lovely one. I'm not really the centre of it. I'm more like the guest who helps a long conversation find a new sentence.

After

We had a cup of tea on the balcony overlooking the dark ocean, all three of us wrapped in hotel bathrobes, listening to the waves. He told a very long story about their wedding day, when it rained so hard the marquee collapsed. She corrected every detail. He let her.

When I left, they both hugged me at the door. She whispered, "Thank you for looking after us." I told her they'd done most of the looking after themselves.

Walking back along the esplanade at midnight, I thought: twenty-five years. How lovely, to still want to make each other happy.