We set off early to walk the perimeter of Malua Island. From the north carpark at Malua Heads we followed a sandy path to the beach, passing wild trumpet flowers whose heads sloped up out of the scrub to greet us.

It was a beautiful clear morning in March. The pathway steepened and we emerged onto a long seaweed-strewn beach. The sun had just burst over the horizon, scattering its light on to the crests of the waves as they tumbled and foamed on to the beach. A seagull hopped amongst the glistening black seaweed near the water’s edge.

The sand was squishy under my sturdy walking shoes. My husband Tim pointed toward the island. It had been a real island thirty years ago, separated from the mainland by a channel. But over the years a permanent sandbar had formed making it accessible by foot.

Tim set a cracking pace, keeping to the upper part of the beach to avoid our shoes getting wet. We trudged in silence towards the island, my pack thumping against my back. I could hear the ice rattling in my water bottle and feel the coolness against my skin. Up on the dry sand, the seaweed was dried out and shrivelled, sand flies erupting from it as we approached.

Through my sunglasses the sea to our right now appeared bluer-than-blue, the sky dotted with pink-tinged clouds. The rhythm of our footsteps and the gentle breeze started to lull me into a kind of calmness after my earlier hysteria.

We started off on a track which veered off the beach as we had planned to walk the island in an anti- clockwise direction, so we could finish the walk with a swim in one of the sheltered coves.

My mind was still busy, plotting out the work I had yet to finish on my thesis, calculating the hours of research still to do, fact-checking, cross-referencing, answering emails. I was still angry, my heart pulsing in my ears.

I didn’t want to be on this walk. I thought back to our argument last night and tears stung my eyes. “Just a little break Kiki”, Tim had insisted over dinner. “If we leave early you’ll be back by mid-morning. The exercise will do you good.”

I had argued. I liked sleeping in. I needed to ease myself into the day, after two cups of strong black coffee kickstarted my brain. I had a routine and if I broke it I felt anxious and unhappy.

Tim and I were spending two weeks in a rented cottage in the seaside town of Malua Bay. He had annual leave from work. I was using the time to complete my thesis. Ten days into the holiday and despite having worked on it constantly I still had so much to do. I had envisaged endless days starting with a half hour of yoga followed by productive days at my laptop. But time was running out. I worked late into the evening, only shutting down my laptop in the early hours of the morning so that I ended up sleeping in and starting late – no time for reflection or self care.

Logically I knew Tim was right. And yet I would have given anything to keep sleeping this morning when Tim had noisily plonked a coffee on my bedside table and shaken me awake. I emerged from my dream like I had been drowning, groggily breaking through the surface of the water. I had been with a group of soldiers in a war-torn, crumbling city, the leader seemed to be my supervisor at Uni, and we were on the run, dodging sniper fire and hiding in burnt out buildings.

So it had been a stressful start to our day, with me complaining and resistant while he packed our day packs, fed me toast and bundled me into the car.

We had been walking for an hour when Tim stopped abruptly and sat down on a smooth flat rock. “Time for a rest stop,” he patted the rock next to him and pulled out his water bottle. We looked out at the rock pools glistening in the sun. This side of the island was teaming with birdlife. Seagulls gliding and swooping. Egrets drying out their wings on the rocks, looking like ragged scarecrows. I knew he was going to say it.

“Egrets, I’ve had a few.”

I turned to him, about to complain that he was so predictable. He was looking at me with a pleased look on his face, his eyes twinkling. I reached out and took his hand. It was big and warm and rough. I felt a lump in my throat, my heart swelling. I breathed in the salty air, felt the breeze cool my sweaty face.

“Thanks Tim,” I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. I leaned in and kissed his soft lips.  “This is just what I needed.”