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eight in the morning, but he got rolling drunk and soon lost interest in listening to
Tim. He turned his attention to his wife and started abusing her, instead.
We decided that we'd leave early the next day and that we'd think about splitting
up later on. But early, when it came around, turned out to be 4.30 p.m. Tim, who
was easily distracted at the best of times, was in another world and he could only
do one thing at a time. If he was drawn into a conversation during a meal, even as a
listener, he would hold a forkful of food hovering in mid-air until the talk stopped.
Then he would return his attention to eating. I knew that I should be tolerant and
understanding; I wanted to be, but after half an hour my best efforts were exhausted
and I was back to being pissed off with him.
Finally, we said goodbye. I was grateful to my hosts, Natasha and Dima, for
their hospitality and sorry that I'd probably been a less-than-ideal guest, but I had
no regrets whatsoever about leaving Omsk. Once we made it out onto the road, I
pedalled faster and faster. Tim was somewhere behind and I knew he was going
to be angry that I'd raced ahead, but somehow I couldn't help myself. I felt a des-
perate need to get away from the city. It was a place where I'd felt more trapped
and frustrated than ever before in my life, and I didn't stop to wait for Tim until
the last of the tall apartment blocks had passed and I was well and truly into the
countryside.
———
Away from the city, the black cloud that had been hovering over me lifted a little,
but there was still no room for enthusiasm. Tim was dragging a chain of low morale
too; and after riding in silence for an hour, he tried to explain how he was feeling.
'Bruce's death … it was so pointless and he threw so much away. But somehow
I can feel that he's still there and that he's telling me to cheer up and enjoy it be-
cause there's just so much here to live for. It's what he's always said, that's how he
lived life himself. And now …'
I could understand up to a point, but as I'd never known Bruce I could only
dredge a little bit of consolation from my own dispirited gloom.
We camped late in a small birch forest and the sky, which had been grey and
threatening all day, now let forth a steady downpour of soaking, humid rain. Tim
wasn't interested in food, and I decided that I couldn't be stuffed cooking dinner
just for myself. Instead, we lay in the tent, sweating and exhausted. We were way
too close and well inside each other's personal space when, ideally, we should have
been alone. I mentioned my thoughts about chucking it in and flying home and
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