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Archie sits on the wall like a statue and watches us, feigning disinterest. Even the damn cat hasn’t been the same since Dominic disappeared. Archie has gone off his food and nothing puts this animal off his grub. He’s listless, as opposed to his usual lazy, and even a rare treat of prawns can’t muster any enthusiasm in him.
I’m raking up leaves that have gone black and slimy in the rain and cold, heaping them into piles to be taken to the Tidy Tip. Mike is doing the heavy manly lifting. The things that Dominic should have been doing with me. He’s pruning branches, even though it’s probably the wrong time of year to be doing that. My garden has to survive on a blend of inexpert maintenance and sheer neglect.
My mind drifts as I work. What more could we do? I wonder. Cover the same old ground that has yet to yield anything? I still have no clue where Dominic is and it seems that scouring the countryside isn’t going to offer one up. This feels too much like admitting defeat, but I have to accept, perhaps for my own sanity, that Dominic might not be coming back. Can I ever move on if he never comes home to me? Has he found somewhere to live? Has someone else, some other woman, taken him in? What might he be doing now? I wonder if he has found a job. If he has, perhaps he has saved enough money for a ticket home. I still have his passport in the drawer, but could he have reported it lost or stolen and simply got another one? Maybe he could buy a fake. Who knows, these days? If he could, would he go home? Forget about our love, marry a Maasai woman? Would that make Dominic’s life easier? Is that what he wishes he’d done all along?
I wonder if I could have read him so wrong to believe that we would be together for ever, that he would always be here by my side, but my heart won’t allow me to believe it. If it hadn’t been for other people’s opinions then Dominic would still be here, I’m sure of it. Now I’m concerned that he’s come to some terrible harm and I feel powerless, utterly powerless, unable to do anything to help him. He could have been lying hurt or suffering from hypothermia in one of the thousands of ditches or hedgerows that Mike and I passed and we would have been none the wiser. We could have driven by him, feet away, and never have seen him.
Yesterday, I dozed on the sofa, on and off all day. I even slept for part of the night until I woke up soaked with sweat and aching with wanting at three in the morning. Archie and I roved the house and channel-surfed until dawn when it was time to pretend to eat some breakfast. But part of me is frightened that I’m starting to forget Dominic. I have to look constantly at his photograph to remind me of the lean outlines of his handsome face. I’m scared that, as times goes by, the lilting tones of his voice will leave me, that the feel of his hard body against mine will become a distant and blurry memory.
‘Brrr,’ Mike says, breaking into my thoughts as he comes to check on my progress.
I stand back from my raking.
‘You’ve got on well.’
Have I? Looking at the pile of leaves in front of me, I see that he’s probably right although I have no idea what I’ve been doing for the last hour. My thoughts are still entirely with Dominic. I’ve been reliving our times together in Kenya, the morning he took me on the balloon ride, the nights we spent in my tent.
Mike claps his hands together to get some warmth into them. ‘It’s a bit parky out here today.’
His constant support and optimistic outlook have really helped me to survive these last few weeks. I have no idea what I would have done without him.
Smiling at him, I say, ‘What about some hot chocolate? Would that work?’
‘Hmm. Sounds good to me.’
‘I’ll go and make some. It’s about time we took a break.’ I check my watch and to my surprise I see that we’ve been out here for two hours already, pottering about. Keeping occupied is clearly the answer. ‘Coming in for a minute?’
Mike shakes his head. ‘I’ll stay out. Get me in the warmth of the cottage and I won’t want to go out again. I’ll load some of these branches into the back of my car.’
Thankfully, there’s a gate at the back of the garden and a lane which leads round the side of all the houses, which means that my garden rubbish doesn’t have to be carted right through the house.
‘I won’t be long with the chocolate.’ As I pass him, I touch his arm. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you for this.’
Mike smiles at me. ‘You know that you don’t have to thank me.’
Walking back to the cottage, I strip off my dirty gardening gloves, deep in thought. How would I have managed without this man? What on earth would I do without him now?
