‘Fantastic!’

  ‘Gor, you are never common. But tell us – a thief, really?’

  ‘Did you rob a bank?’

  Gor hesitated. ‘Do you really need the detail?’

  ‘An orphanage?’ she snorted.

  He sighed. ‘No. Not an orphanage. I abused the trust of those who respected me … I—’ He raised his sorrowful eyes to gaze at Sveta and shrugged with a defeated air. ‘I took the Magic Circle money. I could almost laugh now. But … I was desperate.’

  ‘Ah?’ Sveta’s eyebrows corrugated her forehead. ‘Magic Circle?’

  ‘I am the treasurer. I meant to borrow it, you see, to invest. I was desperate. I lost my life savings – to inflation. There, in the bank.’

  ‘Inflation?’ Sveta looked doubtful.

  ‘They keep adding noughts to the rouble bills. Doesn’t it make you wonder what happens to the roubles in old savings accounts? I can tell you; wipe-out. I had nothing. I sold things off to make ends meet, but I struggled. Then it came to me … the Magic Circle interest account: I could invest it, quadruple the money, replenish my savings, and replace the principal. If I played the market right …’

  ‘Not PPP Invest?’ whispered Sveta. ‘Tell me you didn’t—’

  ‘The very same. It’s almost funny, isn’t it? The PPP pyramid.’

  ‘Oh Gor!’ Sveta pressed her cheeks, shaking her head. ‘You silly!’

  Albina frowned and surveyed the horizon with a serious eye. ‘An unwise investment. How much did you lose?’

  ‘About … about a million roubles.’

  She brightened. ‘Oh, that’s not so bad then.’

  ‘It seemed like everything – like the end of everything. I was so wrapped up in it … so wrapped up in money! The day I stole it … the day I went to the bank … was my cousin’s birthday. That’s why I forgot it! Don’t you see? I was wrapped up in money, and I forgot about him – for weeks! If I’d only remembered, I’d have known he was sick. I could have helped! My greed killed him, as surely as if I’d stuck a dagger in his belly!’

  ‘No, no really, this is ridiculous. First a thief and now a murderer! Gor, this is not you!’

  ‘He’s dead?’ Albina’s face paled. She leant forward, putting her arm around Gor’s shoulder as he huddled on the patch of sandy mud. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Sveta blotted her eyes on the back of her bandages and sniffed hard. ‘No matter what has happened, not matter what you say you are, Gor, I believe you are good, and we are here to help you.’ She put her arm around the other shoulder. ‘We are your friends. We will sort all this out. We will not abandon you.’

  Gor sat head down, nodding gently to himself, dry-eyed, his back bent with the weight of his thoughts, as the drizzle sheened their skin. High above, a gull hovered on the air.

  ‘Ahoy!’

  The cry came from the direction of the Vim. Sveta raised her head. A figure was stumbling towards them, hopping over pot-holes and long grasses. Someone in a house coat, with lank hair and glasses. She looked cross.

  ‘What are you doing out here? Elderly citizen: really, sitting on the wet ground? Citizen patient – you should know better! Child, you too! Are you all mad? Matron has seen you from the tower – and she is very distressed. You must come in at once! At once, she said!’ The administrator pointed towards the dull grey tower on the end of the building. They saw a figure at the window move away into the shadows.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sveta ruefully, ‘we’d better go. Come, Gor.’

  They rose as one, and as one, each arm in arm, they made the journey back to the hulk of the building. Mud oozed through Sveta’s toes and she shivered. The shaggy dog watched them as they straggled back through the yard, thumping its tail in greeting.

  ‘So, Sveta,’ said Gor softly as they reached the bottom of the entrance steps, ‘go and make yourself ready. I should speak to Matron about my cousin, but I don’t have the strength. At this moment, I can only think of going home. We will wait for you here.’ He could barely lift his feet, one after the other, up the crumbling entrance steps.

  ‘Well, Gor, I’m afraid … Matron hasn’t yet signed me out,’ Sveta said in a small voice. She glanced up at the doorway where an orderly with a blanket was pushing through the glass, eyes fixed on her. ‘And I don’t think she will now.’ She turned to Gor. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’

  ‘Akh, Sveta … if you think it is for the best, to stay another night? I will come back tomorrow lunchtime.’ He looked deeply into her eyes.

  ‘Thank you, Gor.’ She pressed her bandaged hands onto his. ‘Today is a turning point. Just a turning point on your journey. When I am home tomorrow, we will talk it through. We will set you right. And all will be well. But for tonight – rest and sleep. Quiet sleep.’

  ‘You are so very brave. Thank you, Sveta. Go in now. We can’t have you …’ He did not finish his sentence; the orderly had enveloped Sveta in the blanket.

  A Disappearing Girl

  ‘Kalinka, Kalinka, Kalinka, moya, rum-pum, pum-pum …’ Albina whisper-sang as she waggled the paws of the smallest white kitten who lay supine, lost in rapture, gazing into her eyes as if they were stars in its heaven. They sat on the old red-brown rug in the middle of Gor’s living room, the other kittens scattered under the piano, lovingly clawing up the sheet music. This kitten was special. Albina had christened him Ponchik, or Doughnut, because he was so sweet. Her fingers lingered in the silkiness under Ponchik’s chin, and she tickled, laughing as he stretched out his neck, giving himself up to her completely.

  She glanced at the clock: still only one p.m. Gor had left her in charge of the kittens: he said the cats could look after themselves. All had been calm, but Gor was not himself. When they had returned late the previous afternoon, he had gone straight to his room, and had stayed there for two hours. She had taken him tea, played with the kittens, and waited. There was no tapping. There were no phone calls. An absolute hush had descended on the flat.

  Eventually he’d emerged, worn slippers shuffling on the lino, and cooked up a cutlet for her. He did not eat. They had sat side-by-side on the old yellow sofa, the radio humming in the background, and spent the evening sorting through old photos Gor had tugged from the back of the sideboard. Here was Tolya as a youth, fresh out of military academy, a bemused look on his face as he stood skinny and pale, stiffly holding his diploma. Here was a wedding couple, jolly in a restaurant: Gor dark as ever, but with a light dancing in his eyes, his bride looking both proud and self-conscious. Here was Olga as a toddler, all chubby arms and freckles, playing with a ball at the beach. Here was Olga, a serious, dark-eyed girl, tall and slim with plaits down to her waist, on the first day of term. Here were mother and daughter either side of a wiry, sharp-toothed monkey on a chain. The photos ran out around 1975. Albina told Gor he should put them in a photo album. He had blown his nose and said perhaps, perhaps.

  His plan this morning had been the grocer’s and the dairy, and then to motor over and collect Mama, no matter what Matron said.

  He said he wouldn’t be long, but he had been ages, and time was dragging, despite the kittens and the radio. Albina was learning that she didn’t like being on her own, although she didn’t like company either. Gor had suggested she go for a healthy walk, but she had laughed. She didn’t like walking. She didn’t really like being outside: people looked at her, and it made her feel stupid.

  Her eyes wandered to the glossy, muscular body of the piano. It called to her, and the day was too silent. She pushed herself up from the floor with Ponchik still on her shoulder, his tiny claws curled into the knit of her jumper. Raising the lid, she looked down at the perfect pattern of black and white keys. When Gor had played it, the melody had been immense, cascades of notes spilling out of its body like water from a fountain. He said you had to be careful with grand pianos, especially baby-grand pianos. She reached out and touched the key that was middle C, pressing gently. No sound came. She pressed harder and jumped back as a note rang out, clear and cool. She played her fingers across the keys and listened to the tinkle, the tones dropping and pinging like rain on a pond. She laughed, played louder, pressing keys with her fists, her elbows, her forehead, rolling her hands up and down, to and fro, creating thunder and rainstorms, dew and snowflakes. Ponchik silently mewed for his mother, who slinked nonchalantly past on her way to the kitchen.

  Hammering at the front door eventually silenced her playing. She leapt back guiltily from the piano. Was she in trouble for the noise? Should she answer? She returned the kitten to his siblings and trod quietly into the hall. She knew how to handle angry neighbours. She would be firm, and blame the little cats. She would not swear.

  ‘Hello,’ she said to the door without opening it, her voice bouncing, sounding silly, like a child. She stood on her toes to look through the spy hole, losing her balance and squashing her nose. She couldn’t make anything out. More blows rang out. She struggled with the lock, tangling her hair into it as her fingers slipped. Finally, she pulled it open.

  Gor and Sveta arrived home half an hour later after a largely silent car journey. Sveta had tried to begin some jolly chat, but the old man was not ready for it. She was looking forward to getting back. When they arrived, the kittens were asleep in a bundle of old shoes, Dasha and Pericles happy and relaxed lying on the sofa. All was well. But Albina was not there.

  Gor stood perplexed in the hall as Sveta scooted from room to room calling her daughter’s name with increasing volume. She returned to him, open-mouthed. Gor’s bag of pryaniki slipped to the floor. They checked the cupboards, behind the doors, under the beds; they even opened windows to look out and call. Perhaps she was on the balcony? Only a deep stillness greeted them there. There was no girl, and no note. After whirling through the flat with increasing fervour, room-to-room-to-room, they stood together in the kitchen, panting, and noticed two cups of tea with a pink flowery pattern standing untouched on the side, next to a half-empty box of sugar cubes.

  Sveta swooped on the cups, pressing the back of her hand to one. ‘Warm! Not even sipped! What does this mean?’

  Gor shook his head dully. ‘Someone was here?’

  ‘Two people!’ Sveta nodded. ‘Albina doesn’t like tea!’

  ‘She does if she’s allowed sugar.’ He smiled sombrely, and stepped forward to taste from each cup. ‘That second one,’ he coughed, ‘Albina’s: sweet enough for bees. Perhaps you should go and check next door – Galina Petrovna on the left, Baba Krychkova on the right. Maybe she’s gone to them? Or left a message? I will investigate here: there will be a note – we must have missed it.’

  Gor began another search of the apartment, eyes scavenging the living room, picking apart the ordinary, looking for something wrong. The girl’s things were all still in his former dining room: a tangle of clothes, books and homework, and a dog-eared teddy. Her purse lay abandoned amongst the rubble.

  He stood in the hall and scratched his head. Two cups of tea in the kitchen, and not a sip drunk. He returned to stand over them, examining the rims and the ring of brown left on the side by a spillage. He picked up the kitchen cloth to wipe away the mark, and caught a whiff, the shadow of a smell. He sniffed his hands, and then the cloth: yes, it was definitely there, a distinctive medicinal tang pricking his olfactory nerves. He frowned: he’d smelled that smell recently, somewhere else. Was it at the Vim? The nurses? Or maybe Madame Zoya?

  He heard steps in the hall and Sveta appeared in the doorway, her worried eyes glassy.

  ‘They have no news. Baba Krychkova reported hearing the piano being played very loudly, and a banging, which she assumed was a neighbour complaining. Galina Petrovna could offer no help at all – she’s just got in from a dance class. I’ve looked out at the courtyard too: no sign.’

  Gor shook his head. ‘I’ve found nothing. Only this – a funny smell. Can you identify it?’ He raised the cloth with an outstretched hand. She took a doubtful sniff, frowned, and pressed it closer to her nose.

  ‘That’s Zelenka. What of it?’

  ‘Of course! That’s it!’ He clicked his fingers, and shook his head. ‘I don’t have it in the house.’ Their eyes met. ‘And I’ve smelled that smell just recently. I can’t put my finger on it—’

  ‘Well, think Gor!’ Sveta’s eyes bulged. ‘It might be important!’

  ‘I’m trying!’ He screwed up his face in concentration. ‘It was a vague smell … akh, maybe if I sit. My mind is so fuddled, I hardly know what day it is.’

  He sat heavily on a stool, the cloth still clutched in his hands, sad eyes dim. ‘Where can she be? She promised … promised to be good. She wouldn’t go anywhere, when she knew you were coming home.’

  ‘She would not. She’s a good girl.’

  ‘Yes. She is a good girl.’

  ‘Someone was here …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A friend?’

  ‘Sveta, you know me better than that.’ He frowned.

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The telephone bleeped from the hall. He opened an eye and observed it from where he sat.

  ‘Answer it, man!’

  ‘But what if—’

  ‘You’re not scared, are you?’ Sveta’s eyes glowed as still he sat.

  ‘No. I’m not scared. I will answer.’ He pushed himself up from the stool and hastened for the receiver.

  ‘Papasyan!’ he barked.

  ‘You’re back! I’m so glad!’

  ‘Albina! Thank God!’

  His legs buckled beneath him and he sat down with a thump. Albina’s voice was loud, lisping, full of life, and only a little wobbly. He waved his arm wildly to Sveta, beckoning her to the phone. Their heads bent together as they listened. ‘Where are you, child?’

  ‘I’m in a flat, it’s smelly, and I think it’s in Rostov. That’s what she said, anyway. And I’ve got some Danish yoghurt! Raspberry flavour—’

  ‘Wait—’

  ‘Mama’s here, malysh!’ Sveta’s voice broke over Gor.

  ‘Oh Mama! I’m glad to hear you!’

  ‘Who is this “she”, baby-kins? Who are you with?’

  ‘Oh, it’s such good news! Gor, are you listening? You’ll never guess: it’s Olga! Yes, your long-lost Olga!’

  ‘Olga?’ Gor cried. ‘My Olga? But that’s not possible! I don’t understand!’

  ‘She came to the flat while you were out! I guessed it was her – I just knew! She is tall and dark, just like you! I made her a cup of tea and scalded my hand and everything, but then she said we had to leave for a family reunion. We’re here now, and you’re not. Why aren’t you here?’

  ‘Where is here, malysh?’ Sveta’s face was white, but at least she could form words. Gor sat with the kitchen cloth still pressed to his lips, eyes haunted.

  ‘I told you: Rostov. She told me to phone you. I miss you. Why aren’t you here?’

  ‘Let me speak to this Olga!’ said Sveta heartily. ‘What does she think she’s playing at—’

  ‘Oh, no, Mama, she doesn’t want to speak to you. She only wants to speak to Gor—’

  There was a clunk as the receiver was grabbed, and they heard Albina being shooed away.

  ‘Papasyan?’ came a rasping, whispered voice at the other end.

  ‘It is I. To whom am I speaking?’

  ‘Don’t ask. Just listen. I have the girl. If you want her back, give me your gold.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Gold, miser! Your gold!’

  ‘Akh, what lunacy is this? I have no gold! You are no Olga!’

  ‘You lie! I don’t know where you’ve hidden it, but I know you have it! I need it! Time is running out, Papasyan!’

  As Gor listened, he closed his eyes and buried his nose in the kitchen cloth still held in his hand. A face materialised in his mind’s eye, lashed with rain, a face with dark eyes, and a twist of ruthlessness. And he smelled a smell, medicinal and sharp, carried by the wind.

  ‘Oh no! It can’t be! Why would she …?’ He dropped the cloth as his hand flew to his mouth. ‘I thought she was … a good girl.’

  ‘Gor?’ Sveta’s cheeks wobbled. He put his hand over the receiver.

  ‘I … you won’t believe this … The smell, yesterday – the Zelenka – it was Polly!’

  ‘What? Vlad’s girl?’

  ‘Papasyan!’ the voice in the telephone crackled. ‘Are you listening?’

  Sveta’s blue eyes shivered with recognition. ‘It could be!’

  Gor did not hold back. ‘Is that you, Polly?’

  There was a roar of sound, animal and wild.

  ‘It is, isn’t it? I am … I am astounded! Why have you taken Albina? What is the meaning of this?’

  The line crackled with static, but no words.

  ‘Polly?’ Sveta broke in. ‘How could you? You’ve taken Albina … for what? Gor has nothing, you wicked, wicked child!’

  ‘Shut up!’ shrieked the voice.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Gor growled. ‘What are you playing at? Is someone … is someone controlling you? Is that it? Is it Vlad?’

  ‘That idiot?’ The voice cracked with indignation. ‘I did this all myself! And it’s very simple – give me your gold, and you get the girl!’

  ‘But I have no gold!’ rattled Gor into the mouthpiece. ‘I’m no better off than you!’

  ‘Oh, of course not! That’s why the whole town knows about you! You moved it to spite me, didn’t you? You hate me, just like the rest! But I won’t be beaten! You better go and dig it up. Bag it up: everything you’ve got!’ Her voice dropped to a snarl. ‘If you won’t pay for her, I won’t wait: I’ll find someone who will.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Sveta and bit on her knuckle.

  ‘Get the gold. I’ll phone at six with instructions. And don’t even think about the police: I’ll know – I have connections!’

  There was a click and a hum as the line went dead. Sveta and Gor stared at each other.

  ‘The girl is … quite mad!’ said Sveta.