The night is dark and silent, except for a haze of orange from the streetlights. Except for the rumble of a passing lorry. And so cold – cold beyond belief! Nandi wears three jerseys under her charcoal coat. And gloves. And a grey knitted scarf wrapped round her head. Still the cold reaches her naked skin and claws into her flesh.

But she is moving south. Yes, definitely south. Towards London, towards the Equator, towards her motherland. Every step she takes is a step closer.

She passes a garage where the lone attendant stares at her. She crosses a street where empty factory buildings tower above her. Then she follows a long, winding road with double-storey houses packed close together. Their windows are all dark, except for the twinkle of Christmas-tree lights.

Somehow, she finds herself in a children’s playground. The chains on the swings clank-clank in the wind. Such a strong, biting wind. But she fights against it to keep her body moving south.

For a brief moment she sits down on a park bench, holding her bag against her chest. How many hours has she been walking now? Her body aches. There is a ‘Missing’ poster nailed to the tree beside her. Someone has lost a dog. Rambo, his name is.

Nandi gets up. Hesitates. Which direction did she come from? In which direction should she be heading? Under the scarf, her brain is frozen numb. She heads towards some iron gates. They aren’t the same gates she walked in through, are they?

And then, somehow, she has reached farmland. She struggles up and down the furrows of iced soil. In the distance is the dark shape of a tractor.

Meanwhile Merv is fast asleep, under three blankets and a down duvet. Smiling even in his sleep because Nandi seems to be her old self again. And surely this will be a great Christmas? Especially if it snows.

Nandi looks up at the sky. Surely dawn will come soon? She has had her darkest hours and now the dawn must come, like Shedrak promised. But the sky is still dark, apart from the ghostly orange glow of streetlights. And the night is still silent, apart from the clank-clank of chains. Swing chains!

In panic, Nandi looks about her. She seems to be back in the park. Yes, there is the bench she sat on. There is the poster of Rambo the missing Rottweiler. And how can this be? Has she been walking in circles? She’s heard about that. It’s what happens to people lost and thirsty in the middle of the desert. Is it possible that such a thing can happen in the middle of a frozen UK night?

Weary and cold and hopeless beyond bearing, Nandi curls up at the foot of the tree, sheltered by its thick roots. She falls asleep instantly. So she doesn’t notice that snowflakes have begun to drift to the earth. They settle on the sleeve of her charcoal jacket. Her very first snow-fall!

Soon the snow flurry develops into a snow storm, blanketing the playground. Blanketing Nandi. Still she doesn’t wake.

*****

Merv wakes to his cellphone ringing. It is Mr Richardson! From South Africa!

“Merv, hi! Hope I didn’t wake you. Sorry – I forgot you guys are two hours behind us. But listen, we are having problems with the network. Is there any chance you could come back and do another contract or two? The company will fly you back – and Nandi of course. Oh – and I’ve already asked about renewing your Residence Permit. They say there won’t be a problem.”

Merv rubs his eyes. Switches on the light.

“Let me ask Nandi,” he says. “I’m not sure if she’ll want to. She seems to be adapting at last.” And then he realises she is not in the bed beside him.

“Nandi!” he yells. No answer.

He rushes down to the landing, rushes through the small houses. But she is nowhere. He is screaming her name now.

Mrs Scunthorpe tries to calm him. “Maybe she went for a little walk? Her jacket is gone. And look – the front door is unlocked.”

Merv opens the door, and is met by a blast of frozen Arctic air and the lawn thick with snow. “My God! It’s, like, minus four out there. What was she thinking?”

He dials her cellphone – and finds it ringing uselessly in the bedroom cupboard. He phones the police and Mrs Scunthorpe doesn’t try to stop him.

“You have to find her, Sir! I don’t know where she is! I don’t know how long she has been gone. You don’t get it, Sir; she’s from Africa. She doesn’t understand about our winters. She doesn’t understand about snow. She will die out there! You have to help! You have to find her. Fast!”

And then Merv rushes outside into the frozen wall of whiteness, screaming her name.

***

Tell us: If you moved to a foreign country, what would you find hardest to deal with? What would make you most homesick?