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‘Missing? How? What’s happened?’ she wants to know.
‘Ask Nina,’ I reply tartly. ‘Ask Nina what happened.’
Then I hang up. If she sacks me, so what? I could care less. Let Nina fit in my clients today, as I’ve done for her so many times in the past when she’s been having problems with Gerry and has been unable or unwilling to turn up for work.
Still steaming, I throw on some clothes. A quick check in the wardrobe tells me that Dominic has taken very little. His small case is still here and so is his shield and his machete. Thankfully, his passport is still in the drawer too and I hug it to me. Not that he would have had the money to, but at least I know for sure that he can’t leave the country. All the clothes I bought him are hanging from the rails. His trainers are missing but other than that, he hasn’t taken any other clothing with him. Not even his warm coat – in this weather – and even the thought of that chills me to the bone. Does that mean he’s not planning to be gone for long?
When I check my purse, I can see that all he has taken is a ten-pound note. Ten quid. That’s not going to get him very far. He’s left another twenty-five behind and I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not. How will he manage out there on his own?
Mike and I have to find him. We just have to.
As I leave, Archie is sitting on the doorstep, miaowing pathetically. I give the fur behind his ear a reassuring rub.
‘We’ll bring him back,’ I promise. My cat doesn’t look convinced.
Mike is already in the car, engine running. It’s warm when I slide inside, but I still feel frozen.
‘Where to?’
I look blankly at him. ‘I don’t know.’
‘If you think he might be in the fields, then let’s just drive around,’ Mike suggests. ‘We’ll cover the local area as best we can.’
‘He doesn’t know anywhere.’ That makes me wonder if I’ve tried hard enough to fully integrate Dominic into my life. I’ve never taken him into Buckingham or to the salon. But then my life is small. All there is to it is work and Archie and Mike. Without Dominic in it, my life was extraordinarily dull.
‘Then he must still be round here.’ Mike pulls out of the drive while I, in the passenger seat, chew frantically on my nails.
We tour the lanes around Nashley, Mike driving at a steady speed, both of us with our eyes peeled for a tell-tale flash of red from Dominic’s shuka. It’s becoming light now, but the temperature is still barely above freezing and there are pockets of fog hanging in the dips in the road.
‘He’ll die out here,’ I say and I don’t think I’m being melodramatic. I’m genuinely worried for his health. He was out half of the night in pouring rain and now this. I know that Maasai warriors are supposed to be tough, but he’s not used to this at all.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Mike counters. ‘Dominic isn’t stupid. He won’t put himself at risk.’
Inside I can feel my hysteria rising and, for the rest of the day I struggle to fight it down. When we’ve covered as much of the countryside as we possibly can, Mike and I turn our attention to the town.
‘Let’s try Milton Keynes first,’ Mike says, and we trawl up and down the main roads, hoping to get a sight of him. He should stand out like a sore thumb here.
But nothing.
It’s getting dark and my eyes are dry from staring. We haven’t eaten anything all day. We haven’t had so much as a cup of tea and now we’re both flagging.
‘Let’s stop,’ Mike suggests. ‘Get a sandwich and a drink. We’re no good like this.’
He pulls up at a garage and we buy plastic cheese sandwiches and get putrid coffee from a machine. But I’m just grateful for something and we sit in the warmth of the car and force them down.
I turn away from Mike and stare out of the window as I can’t stop the tears from falling. Where is Dominic now? Is he cold? Is he hungry? Is he missing me? Has he thought better of his actions and has now gone back to Little Cottage and is waiting there for me, wondering where I am?
Taking out my mobile, I dial the house number and let it ring until the answerphone cuts in. Looks like there’s no one home. I should have kitted Dominic out with a mobile, but I just hadn’t got round to it. To be honest, in the short time he’s been here, we’ve hardly been apart at all, so the need hasn’t arisen. How I wish he had one now. But, I wonder, if he can walk away like this, would he answer my calls at all? Does this self-imposed exile, if that’s what it is, last for a few days or a few weeks or is it for ever? I have no idea. I know so little about the ins and outs of Dominic’s traditional customs.
