Page 75 of Along Came Alice

“She’s been once, and she’s just a friend. I didn’t think that qualified as an automatic invite,” I say.

Smithy stares at me. “She’s been twice. The second time, you just weren’t here, and I have to say, she was worried sick about you. I thought I was going to have to find her a paper bag to breathe into.”

“She was worried enough to drive over here straight from work to ask for our help. And I would’ve liked to have seen her this evening to make sure she’s okay,” Romana chips in.

“She’s fine. We’ve been gardening all week,” I reassure them.

“Gardening, huh?” Smithy raises an eyebrow. “Is that how the young people are referring to it nowadays? I thought it was Netflix and chill.” He laughs at his joke as Romana shakes her head but can’t hide her small smile.

“She didn’t strike me as green-fingered,” Romana says.

“No, but she went out and bought plants for the garden I rescued at work. I think she’s trying to keep me busy and maybe take my mind off things.”

“Wow. That’s dedication for you,” Smithy says while stirring the pan.

“Or something else?” Romana throws Smithy a conspiratorial look before adding, “And is it working? How’ve you been this week?”

It doesn’t feel like six days without Paul. It feels like it’s been a black hole of never-ending nothingness.

I’m fine at work. There’s a lot to keep me busy, and I’ve enjoyed spending time with Alice doing the garden. We’ve been on separate shift patterns, which has meant we’ve had to snatch twenty-minute breaks together here and there, but it’s been nice to have something to focus on, and the garden is really coming along.

Then I go home, and it all hits me—the emptiness of the house, the loneliness that occupies the rooms. The quiet I crave so much is now so loud it hurts my ears.

That’s the only way I can describe my grief: deafening.

No matter how hard I try not to listen, it’s there, breaking me until I can bear it no longer. It’ll remain this way because there’s nothing to dispel the silence.

“When are you getting a new dog?”

“Honey, it’s a bit soon,” Romana says, patting Dana on the head as she climbs onto the bench.

“Your mum is right,” I tell Dana, taking a seat at the table. “It’s just a bit soon.”

What I can’t explain is how this is the furthest thing from my mind right now. It would feel so wrong. I’d feel as if I were replacing Paul, exchanging him for a younger, newer model, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

A new dog.

I don’t want a new dog. It’s like saying all dogs are the same, and you can just buy a new one when the old one dies and everything will be fine. But it won’t be. I don’t want a new dog. I want my old, faithful friend. I want the dog I spent the last fifteen years of my life with.