I’M BACK
I’m back. Everything’s unpacked. Love the house. My house, not the landlord’s or the bank’s. Good-sized block too: paling fences, raised beds and a swathe of kikuyu grass. I’ll be kept very busy out there. Perfect. I’m very tired. Bliss. I’m feeling inspired. Better buy gumboots. Better write a list.
My belly’s pressed against the sink. My phone on the bench by my side. It’s being silent. I swipe the screen to check for replies to the group text I sent earlier in the day—Violet, Chris, Sammy and Joe—thinking by now one of my friends must have got in touch. They haven’t. I put down the phone telling myself I have to give them time. Time to adjust. After all, I left in such an almighty rush that day five years ago, and they’re probably getting used to me being back.
Has it really
