He stared out of the window. It was a beautiful day.

He drew a breath.

       She took a bite of the cake, opened her mouth to say –

             “We should fake our own deaths and run away.”

                     She coughed cake over the table.

“What?”

He looked at her, picking crumbs out of his coffee. “It’d make a fantastic story. You and me in a diner in…New York. On the table next to us is an old couple. Jewish, of course. We’re all tawlkin and they say ‘You look like a great couple. May and I have been together 60 years.’ She’ll nod and say ‘Sixty years,’ and he’ll reach over and cover her hand with his, and smile. Then they’ll look and say ‘So. How did you two meet?’ And we’ll say ‘Well, it all stated when we faked our own deaths. Could you pass the sugar?'”

She laughed. Took a breath. Laughed again.

“We’d travel the world,” he continued. “People would see what we left behind and say ‘That looks just like their work. God, if only they were alive to see it.'”

She stopped laughing, wiped her eyes and took a mouthful of coffee.

“We can’t do it.” She eventually replied. “The pain would kill my mother. We’ll have to wait until she was dead.”

“That could be at least 30 years!”

She smiled. “Surely I’m worth the wait.”

“Oh, undoubtedly you are. I’d just like to be able to enjoy it.” He took a bite of the cake. “This is amazing!”

“I know! I was about to say that when you started with the death and stuff.”

And nothing more was said about it.

***

It was late when her mobile rang. Her hand flopped about for it and she frowned through sleep stuck eyes at the name.

“This had better be good.”

“Secret Identities,” he said. “What about secret identities. We just need excuses to travel. A lot. No death, just fake names at hotels and bars. And disguises.”

“Good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She hung up and turned over. For 2 minutes her eyes refused to close. She reached for the phone and hit redial.

“When?”

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