Kiama thinks again, he knows what he wants to say, but isn’t sure if he’s brave enough to come out with it. ‘Okay, let me ask you another way, what are you waiting for?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. Don’t make this more awkward for me than it already is. You know who I’m talking about.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Black Friday

December 2020

Yvonne

In that first week back home, Yvonne plodded through each day of work on autopilot. No one really asked her much about Kenya other than if she had any photos of safari and if she found Nairobi as dangerous as everyone said it was. There was also a sense a genuine disappointment from her idiot intern that she hadn’t adopted a baby and it made her think of Kiama and his jibe about her bringing an African orphan home.

At night she fell asleep quickly, but would wake several times at odd hours, remembering the same vivid dream, of Emma in Kenya, picking tea leaves by the roadside and wearing a gold crown.

Emma. It was strange how Yvonne missed her more now than ever before. She had felt so present in Kenya, so by Yvonne’s side. It was amazing to have, after all this time, someone she could talk about Emma with. Kiama never bored of hearing about his mum and it was a relief for Yvonne to be able to bring up Emma at any time and not have to worry about making anyone awkward. She wasn’t just a dead friend from years ago with Kiama, she was Emma the person, full of life and off-colour remarks. That’s why it hurt coming back, because it was like losing her all over again.

She hadn’t heard anything from Kiama and respected him enough to not make contact. But in moments of weakness she looked him up online and scrolled through his photos, his various nights out, festivals, meals, girls and hairstyles. He looked like anyone else his age and continued to post as if nothing had changed. Maybe it hadn’t for him, his life was unusual anyway. But for her, everything was different.

Night after night she spent hours online researching orphanages and programmes, charities and fundraising. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She set up a generous monthly online payment to one of the big children’s charities in Kenya and hoped this would appease the deep feelings of guilt she had, but it didn’t. It didn’t even make a dent. So, she got back in touch with Makimei and discussed how much it would cost to have a counsellor on his staff, someone who could go around the orphanages under the Kindred Kenya umbrella and work with children like those they met in Lari, children who had seen horrors which were never spoken about unless it was to get westerners to open up their purses.