Tolya, the most difficult, needy and troublesome spirit. Tolya, whose resilience had kept him living when all was lost. After battling with life for sixty-odd years, now it seemed this Tolya had simply slipped away in the night, without so much as a tip of his hat or a wink from those green eyes.

  Gor remembered: boys’ eyes cold and hard as split pebbles, chests heavy, lungs burning with the effort of sucking in icy air, heartbeats aching in their throats as they watched and waited at the window, silent in the darkness of the afternoon. Lost days when the howling wind rushed spirits out of the forest like bats from a cave, straight into the blood-red minds of the boys. The boys had been cruel. A shudder threaded his spine.

  The teachers had done their best to beat sense into them. It hadn’t worked for Tolya. His imagination would not be crushed. He had been a kite in Gor’s hand, thoughts blown on the wind. Before the fire, he’d made sense of the world for Tolya. He’d looked after his cousin, guided him. And afterwards, somehow, although they’d lived together, he’d let him go. He’d spent sixty years letting him go.

  His hands clutched the steering wheel, knuckles pale as china, as he tried not to think. Fat raindrops thudded on the windscreen, mingling with his heartbeats. Mouth dust-dry, he listened to the patter and wondered when it would stop. It became too much: he broke his hold on the steering wheel and jerked his hand towards the radio dial, pressing the switches in quick, trembling desperation. Sound filled his ears and familiar notes flooded his mind. The wind chased across the car park, rocking the little car. Still he sat.

  He knew he should speak to Matron and learn the dull details of his cousin’s last moments. He should see the notes of how he breathed, how he struggled, how the blood in his veins surged, faded, and cooled. But he had no heart for it. He opened the car door and placed his feet on the shingle. Perhaps he should return to Sveta and Albina, the only people who might care, and explain what had happened, his treachery and his loss? He stood staring into the rain as it bounced off the hedges and the gravel, and did nothing.

  Raindrops trickled down his forehead and neck, soaking his collar. As time stood still, through the hiss of the rain and the buffeting of the wind, he eventually became aware of uneven steps, crunching closer. Someone was trudging up the drive. He ran his hands through his wiry, wet hair and reached for his handkerchief.

  It was a woman. She was hunched over, wire thin, her black coat billowing in the wind and a scarf pulled close around her face. As she got nearer, Gor saw her clothes were spattered with mud all the way up to her knees. She did not look up, but scurried on, talking to herself in a low monotone, boots clunking. She went to mount the entrance steps and Gor looked into her pale face.

  ‘Polly?’

  She jumped sideways as her face twisted to him, fingers clinging to the scarf flapping at her neck. Dark eyes squinted at Gor from a rain-washed face.

  ‘Papasyan?’

  Even her lips were white, barely moving as she spoke. They stared at each other for a moment.

  ‘Is everything all right? You’re soaked through!’ Gor’s arms came up as if to touch her, and she backed away, stumbling up the first step.

  She stared, her broad, beautiful face otherworldly, almost like a painting. But the eyes were empty, and the lips gnawed on each other. She glanced down at her sodden clothes and nodded.

  ‘The bus broke down. And I must visit … I must visit—’

  The wind whipped at her words and Gor leant forward to hear. He smelled stale vodka on her breath and something else, something sharply medicinal.

  ‘You don’t look at all well. Let me—’

  ‘Time is running out. I have to sort out his affairs.’ He felt vaguely queasy as her pupils dug into his for a second and then swam away.

  ‘I see.’ He nodded. ‘A relative? Can I help at all? Maybe a lift back to town when you’ve finished?’

  ‘No,’ she said on a sigh, a sad smile splitting her face. ‘No, no. I’ll be some time. But it has to be done.’ Again her eyes dug into his.

  ‘If you’re sure? Good luck to you, Polly. You’re doing the right thing, you know.’ She started up the steps. ‘I have just lost my cousin!’ he called after her in spite of himself. ‘Care for your loved ones while you can!’

  She stopped and turned. ‘Your cousin?’ Her voice was a whisper.

  ‘Yes. He … he died on Saturday night.’

  ‘No!’

  He stared at his boots, touched and shamed by her concern.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I left it too late to, to put things right with him. So you run along – go to your relative! Good girl!’ He looked up and smiled, eyes filming with tears.

  She stared into his eyes, her face wild and bleak.

  ‘No,’ she mouthed.

  He went to touch her arm but she turned away, the wind whipping long strands of brown-black hair around her face as she hobbled up the steps towards the glowering glass doors.

  This was how good people cared. This girl had walked half-way from town to make a visit, while he had waited, nurturing his excuses of Albina and the petrol cost. He leant on the car, legs refusing to move. He could no more look Sveta in the eye than he could coax his cousin back from the dead. The grey sky beat against his head as the world shifted with the wind. He stared out to the flatness of the estuary, where sky and earth and sea met in one muddy brown line.

  A Windswept Place

  Sveta’s head snapped up. ‘What time is it, baby-kins?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mama.’ Albina was tracing patterns in the dust of the windowsill with her finger and spit.

  Sveta put down her book and eased herself upright.

  ‘Gor has been gone a long time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It will be dark soon.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fire the ovens,’ cried Klara from beneath her crackling sheet. Tatiana Astafievna sniffed the air loudly, and licked her thin, grey lips. Sveta nodded.

  ‘Something is wrong.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The heat in the room was making Albina drowsy. Not a single thought rotated in her head.

  ‘I don’t know. I have … a sense. Why would he be gone so long? Gagarin wing is only fifty metres that way. He could have orbited the moon by now.’

  Klara nodded busily to herself, and the machine let out a prolonged ping. Sveta looked to the window and the green-grey light beyond.

  ‘Maybe he got lost,’ suggested Albina, rousing herself.

  ‘You’re not being helpful, malysh. Pass me the gown.’

  Sveta swivelled on the bed and eased her feet to the floor in a decisive movement.

  ‘What are you doing, Mama?’

  She threaded her bandaged hands through the sleeves of her gown. ‘Foreboding! That’s what it is! This building is full of it! I’m going to look for Gor.’

  ‘But what if Matron sees you?’

  ‘I don’t care if Matron sees me! I’ve been waiting for Matron all day.’ She stood so that Albina could knot the belt at her waist. ‘I’m beginning to think she’s a myth. Slippers, please.’

  Albina shrugged and stretched under the bed for the slippers.

  They marched on soft feet down the corridor, Albina opening the doors and Sveta hopping through. Glancing over their shoulders, they skipped past the nurses’ station and eased down the stairs. It was easy: no one paid attention. They heard the echo of the mini-cinema, and headed for the entrance hall and its confluence of corridors.

  The administrator was arguing with a visitor, hunched and dripping over the counter.

  ‘I cannot give out confidential information!’ she roared. ‘How much clearer do I have to be?’

  There was no option to scuttle unnoticed across the hall, so they set out at a march, backs straight and heads high. They nearly made it.

  ‘One moment! Citizen … Woman! Patient! Where are you going? You can’t go through there!’ The administrator was outraged.

  Sveta did not stop. ‘I have lost my friend. He came this way. I have to find him.’ They made directly for the door to Gagarin wing.

  ‘I know you! You were here on Friday! You’re the citizen who burnt her hands!’

  ‘Uh-huh!’ nodded Sveta with a smile, waving her hands and still making for the door.

  ‘You’re looking for that man, aren’t you?’

  They slowed.

  ‘The tall, dark, miserable one?’

  They stopped.

  ‘You won’t find him.’ The administrator pushed her glasses back up her nose triumphantly. ‘He ran out of the door half an hour ago.’

  Albina and Sveta swapped glances.

  ‘He hasn’t gone. He wouldn’t do that,’ whispered Sveta.

  She took Albina’s arm and they swerved for the entrance door.

  ‘Hey! You can’t go outside! Matron will—’

  It slammed behind them.

  The little car stood forlorn in the car park, door open and keys in the ignition. There was no sign of Gor.

  ‘Something terrible has happened! Look, the seat covers are all wet. He wouldn’t leave it like that. There’s evil at work here!’

  They called his name, voices carried on the breeze to the edges of the estuary. The only reply came from the wind whistling around the corner of the building, blowing salt and drizzle on them from the sea.

  ‘Has he been kidnapped, Mama?’

  ‘Kidnapped? Well … Who knows in this crazy world! We must search for him. You go that way, malysh, quick, scout around, look for clues, but keep away from the water. I’ll go around the other side. If you need me – scream.’

  Albina nodded earnestly.

  Sveta lurched towards the building, the open flats and sea beyond, while Albina headed along the drive towards the road, following the edge of the creek. At the top of the entrance steps a dark, dripping figure watched them.

  Sveta’s progress was slow, hampered by treacherous slippers that were quickly water-logged. She rounded the building and found herself in the back yard. Here were the kitchens, warm scents of cutlets and buckwheat streaming through the door to lie heavy on the damp air. Voices came, the sounds of people carrying on their afternoon patter. A dog sat in the yard, well-fed and shaggy, ignoring two bright-eyed cats churning in a bin beside it. It yawned as Sveta stepped over uneven paving stones and through a broken wooden gate, out to the grass and mud of the world beyond.

  She spotted a tall figure in the distance, clambering over tussocks of sea grass, wobbling towards the lone tree that stood stark against the sky.

  ‘Gor! Gor Papasyan! Come back!’

  He didn’t hear. She bumped and stumbled across mud streams, old wooden buckets, rotten car parts, ancient broken nets, bones bleached white by the sun. ‘Gor! Wait!’ she shouted into the wind.

  The figure stopped, but did not turn.

  Sveta panted. Her slippers had disappeared into the mud, and the bottom of her gown slapped wetly against her calves. Her bandaged hands were smeared brown and gritty, and her hair fell into her eyes. She squinted up at the figure by the tree. It was looking out at the water, watching as the light began to fade. The wind whistled in her ears.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she bellowed.

  He turned, his gaunt face twisting.

  ‘I … I needed some air.’

  ‘Air? Huh!’ She gathered up the flapping hem of her nightie to clamber over the last mud-dune and reach Gor’s side. ‘Well, there’s plenty of air.’

  He stumbled backwards as she stood to face him.

  ‘What’s wrong? You didn’t come back!’

  ‘I … oh Sveta, I’m sorry, look at you! Running out here … worried about me. And I … He … Oh it’s too much!’

  ‘It’s just mud! I’ll get over it. But you—’ She looked into his face.

  ‘Sveta, don’t! I’m not worth your concern! I am a failure, not a human being!’ He threw himself to the ground, shrinking before her eyes, hands grasping tufts of grey grass as he knelt in the mud and growled out the words.

  ‘Is it your cousin?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve … I’ve gone wrong. It’s all wrong. So many … I don’t know … what to do.’

  ‘Is it … is it to do with the … the shameful thing, you once mentioned? The thing about you … that you said I don’t know. Tell me?’

  ‘Ha! Just one shameful thing? Just one, you think?’ He looked up, baring his teeth in a grimace fuelled by laughter and tears, and spat into the mud. ‘Dear Sveta, curl your toes! This will be the end of our friendship. I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘Start with whatever comes out first.’ She crouched down next to him and took his hand. ‘We’ll make sense of it.’

  ‘My cousin has … gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘He is dead.’

  ‘Ah!’ Sveta nodded slowly. ‘I’m so sorry, Gor.’

  ‘Not as sorry as I! I didn’t want to come, you see; I troubled over the petrol – no, really! Any excuse to avoid … finding out. And finally I came, to spout platitudes and say sorry, and ask if he needed cake. And his room was empty! He’s gone.’ The words came out clipped, staccato. ‘Without me. I wasn’t there with him! After all that time …’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ She reached out to him and squeezed his fingers, but he pulled away, eyes trailing to the pine tree swaying with the moaning wind.

  ‘I should have known! Mama told me to look after him. She told me to be kind. But I failed. I even forgot his birthday! I never forget his birthday! It is the one thing … I failed him. Not once but many times. No surprise to you, surely?’

  ‘Oh no, Gor. You’re being hard on yourself. You did your best—’

  ‘No Sveta, I did the bare minimum!’ He pushed away her hands as his eyes blazed. ‘Forget kind words. I did what I could get away with. I did not love him as I should have.’

  He pressed his hands to his mouth and closed his eyes.

  ‘But that’s human nature! Heaven knows, you can’t choose your family! But … we do our duty. I’m sure you did too.’

  ‘Ah, family duty? I assure you I have not done my duty. I have failed, Sveta! In everything! Do you understand? In e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. The people I should have loved and protected … My Marina!’

  ‘Marina?’

  ‘My wife. Beautiful, sweet little Marina. She chose me, you know. I was too shy, when I was young, to ever … But she picked me out, and she loved me, she really loved me … But what happened? After a while, I didn’t notice. I was busy, always busy with the stupid things in life; loans and savings accounts! And when she left, for better love, I sneered – who needs love, eh? And who deserves it? Not me! I buttoned up my skin, and pretended she had never been. Just like Olga.’

  ‘And Olga is—’

  ‘God’s gift to me! My child, my daughter!’ He raised his hands heavenward, fingers curled.

  ‘Ah. Of course, I remember now.’ Sveta’s face wrinkled. ‘But how is she involved?’

  ‘She’s not! She’s not involved in anything. She’s not in my life! I didn’t realise … I tried not to think! I put her to the back of my mind, when they went. But Albina asked me … at the dacha, she said, “Did she die?” And I thought – no, of course she didn’t die! How could you think that? She just went away.’

  ‘Yes?’ Sveta was confused.

  ‘So why did I act like she was dead?’ Gor shouted. ‘It didn’t have to be forever, did it? Why didn’t I write to her, phone her: go and see her in the holidays?’

  Sveta’s mouth opened to speak, but he carried on.

  ‘I’ll tell you why: because I was a coward! Because it would have hurt too much: because I would have felt everything, and suffered every time we said goodbye. I would have had to pretend that I was strong! And I couldn’t do it! So I put her out of my mind, and turned my back. It was all too painful. Just like Tolya, just like Baba, just like families …’

  Sveta’s bottom lip protruded as she scanned the sky. ‘That’s so sad, Gor. So very sad. But it doesn’t have to be like that. We can make happiness as well as misery. You made a mistake, but it’s not too late—’

  ‘Save your gentleness, Sveta. It is very much too late. There is nothing left in my life. Nothing to share, with anyone. I am a shell, a thief with nothing to offer. I lie to myself and I—’

  The earth shivered. Albina was bounding towards them, moon-boots snagging in the grass, floundering in the mud.

  ‘It’s all right, malysh! I’ve found him!’ Sveta waved. She turned to Gor. ‘What do you mean – a thief?’

  Albina flung herself to the ground next to them, panting and red-faced, before Gor could answer.

  ‘Why are you sitting in a field?’ Her voice held an edge of scorn. ‘We were worried about you, you know!’

  ‘Hush, milaya. Gor is feeling bad.’

  ‘Aaah?’ She turned to look into his face, her hair wiggling like worms in the wet air.

  ‘Not feeling bad. I am bad! Oh yes. The more I think about it, the more squalid I become: mean – ridiculous—’

  ‘What?’ Albina was incredulous.

  ‘Listen,’ he spoke with slow deliberation, ‘these people: my cousin, my wife, my daughter … they were my treasures, my responsibility, all these three. And I failed them. I forgot them. I conjured them away, out of my life. Even you, my dear friends: you who cared for me. How did I repay you? I let you run into a burning building, Sveta, and I let you run about on a roof, Albina. I put you in harm’s way, while you strove to protect me.’ His yellow teeth shone in a sickly grin. ‘My shame is complete, and absolute. I am a failure as a human. What is a little theft against that?’

  ‘Theft?’ Albina pushed herself up to crouch next to Gor, her eyes wide, considering. The smell of mud and salt and weeds blew through her hair.

  ‘Money. It took over my mind: I let it. After all, it was money, not love, so I fretted over it. Just money.’

  ‘You stole some money?’ Albina’s smile was gleeful.

  ‘Oh yes, I who lectured you on the importance of being a good student and getting good grades. I am a common thief.’