Life was empty without Rover. I'm not quite sure how Robert and I got through it. For a while I would still fill up his bowls, call his name out and wait. The reality would soon hit and I'd once more be reduced to a blubbering mess. I would never wish that pain on anybody else.

We kept his lead and collar, had placed them in a box frame and hung it above our mantlepiece. We had to move a few bits of Naomi's, but Rover deserved to have that spot. This had been his home far longer than it had ever been hers.

——————

"Mrs Collins, you keep telling us things that have no relevance to Naomi and what has happened. If you don't mind me saying, we don't really care about a dog. We want to know what happened to Naomi and where her body is."

I glare at Ben. Why shouldn't I talk about my Rover? The world doesn't revolve around Naomi after all. My lips tighten, arms folded across my chest. If he doesn't want to hear my story, then fine, I won't tell him anything. I don't owe him, or anyone else for that matter, an explanation for anything.

A thick silence clings to every corner of the room, Ben and I never lowering our gaze. Gary shuffles in his seat, clearing his throat repeatedly. No-one says a word, no-one moves. Not even an inch. I focus my attention on the soft hum of the air conditioning, the hairs on my arms standing to attention.

"The quicker you tell us what we need to know, the quicker we can all get out of here." Ben says.

He shrugs his shoulders once, leaving the floor open for my choice. A large part of me, the part I inherited from my father, wants to lean back and make myself home. To make it known that I won't bend my will to anyone. Yet, the quieter, more timid side that my mother fed into me rears its sleepy head. There is little competition. My body is numb from a chair designed to provide little comfort in order to gain a confession. My mind is exhausted, all the memories and stories I need to weave as one taking its toll.

"Fine."

A simple statement. An admission of defeat. For this battle, at least.

————-

Things had been relatively quiet in our life following Rover's death. Robert still wasn't working despite his promises, though I saw him even less than I previously had. When daylight would intrude into our bedroom, he would be up, showered, dressed and out of the door before my morning dose of caffeine had found the back of my mouth. I did my best to ignore the pang in my stomach as I watched his car pull out of the drive.

There was one day in particular, I remember it well. It was the day before mine and Robert's wedding anniversary and I'd snuck about the house searching for a present I'd hoped Robert had concealed somewhere. He had always been a nightmare for remembering important dates, but each year I held out hope.

I'd been stuck under the bed, my backside in the air, pulling box after box out, trying not to sneeze as dust attacked my sinuses. Robert shuffled about below me, nursing what he claimed to be the worst hangover known to mankind. Men really are babies when it comes to being a little under the weather.

Wiping the thick layer of fur and dirt off my trousers, I let out a deep breath. Nothing. I surveyed the room, trying to put myself in the mindset of a drunk old man. If I were a gift, where would I hide? The closet was out of bounds. Only I was allowed to enter that space, so I knew nothing of relevance would be kept in there. My fingers tapped against the wooden bedframe as my mind ticked. He had to have got me something. Right?

My fingers had just brushed the handle of his bedside table drawer when the shrill ring of the home phone stopped me in my tracks. It couldn't be! I turned, tripping over a discarded slipper and falling face first onto the carpet. The ringing continued. I had to get to the phone before Robert did. Why hadn't I installed one upstairs too?

His footsteps slapped the bare floorboards below me. Louder and louder as they drew near to the living room. I half crawled, desperately trying to stand and move forward at the same time. Time was of the essence. Door knob in my hand. Door flailing open. I could do this. I could make it.

"Hello, Collins residence. Robert speaking. How can I help?"

I collapsed against the bannister, face pressed against the bars, trying to eavesdrop on the one sided conversation. Robert's tone was even, something I took to be a good sign. With no idea who was on the other end of the line, or what they were saying, I could do nothing but pray it wasn't Twin B.

"Let it be one of those accident claim calls." I whispered.

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

I pulled back slightly, waiting for Robert to call up. To let me know he was leaving. Only the sound of the door slamming shut acknowledged my presence. I tried to steady my breathing. If it was Twin B, in her quest to convince us she was Naomi, I have no doubt Robert would have let me know. There was no way, in my mind, that Robert would meet this stranger, knowing Naomi lay in the dirt a few hours away. It had to be someone else.

But who?

No-one that I knew had our home phone number. Robert especially relied heavily on his mobile phone and the only people who had ever tried to make any contact with me through the home phone were my parents, who had long since passed.

I pondered for a moment, wondering whether the person he had spoken to was the mystery woman he would sneak off to meet. God, how I wished in that moment that I knew how to reverse call a number. Robert had tried to show me in the past, but I always forgot his instructions.

I could do nothing but wait.

—————-

With Rover gone, the house was too still, too quiet, for just me. The television held my attention for a short while, but most of the channels had repeats on. Not the best for someone who needed their mind to be fully occupied. I'd tried to settle down with a book, but since I was no longer bringing them home from the library, I only had books I'd read a thousand times already to hand.

I settled for baking instead. A banoffee pie and lemon drizzle cake. Robert's favourite. I thought they'd go down well with the carbonara and ciabatta garlic bread I planned to make for our dinner that night. We never had a home cooked meal on our anniversary, often choosing to eat out at a local Frankie and Bennies, so I made sure to cook something Robert would love the night before. Just to really show him how much I cared. How much of a good wife I was.

Flour, caramel sauce and banana skins littered the kitchen sides, a welcoming scent of toffee and lemon seeping into every crevice of our home. The clock displayed four in the evening. Almost dinner time. There was still no sign of Robert, no text or phone call. I hoped he wouldn't be much longer. While dinner wouldn't take too long to prepare and cook, I didn't want either of us eating too late. Not with our stomachs being as fragile as they'd become with age.

When six o'clock rolled around with Robert still not home, I tried to call him. It instantly diverted me to answerphone. I tried not to panic. To think of every logical reason that accounted for his phone being off. I told myself he wasn't dead somewhere on the side of the road. That he hadn't gone to meet another woman, not when he had sworn blind he would never do such a thing to me, that he actually held his vows as gospel. I tried to have faith in the strength of our marriage. In him. But it was hard.

With still no Robert by eight, I wrapped the desserts in cling film and placed them in the fridge, playing Tetris with our groceries until they all fit neatly. I placed the eggs back into the egg house I'd bought from Next for no reason other than it being aesthetically pleasing, trying not to crack in any my frustration. The hunger that had stabbed through my stomach continuously over the hours had become unbearable, though I was too angry to make something of substance. Instead, I ladled a plate with ham and cheese sandwiches, ready to sit with a lap tray in front of the television.

I should have guessed then that our wedding anniversary was going to be spent alone.

I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. The sunlight blinded me, my hand covering my face to ease the sharp sting. I blinked back the confusion, waiting for my mind to catch up with my body. Through half-drawn curtains I could see Robert had come home at some point, his car parked half on the drive and half on the lawn. He wasn't yet up, the house silent around me. What time did he get back? Why didn't he wake me? A familiar stab of hurt brought tears to my eyes. Was I really holding on to a crippled marriage?

The plate of half eaten food on the coffee table stared back at me in disgust. I needed to eat something substantial. Accepting Robert wouldn't be bringing me breakfast in bed, or rather sofa, that the job would once again fall onto my shoulders, I sulked my way into the kitchen. A full English fry up it would be. The sound and smell of bacon sizzling in a pan pulled Robert from his slumber. His heavy footsteps shook the floor as he almost sprinted down the stairs, landing with a heavy thump in the chair. Without uttering a word, he pulled the brown sauce and pepper towards his plate and shovelled every greasy morsel into his mouth. Happy anniversary to me.