‘Where have you been?’
Tanya’s voice had a frantic edge to it that he hadn’t expected. In fact, he hadn’t expected her to be here at all. It was Sunday morning and he’d been out walking for half the night. He’d walked all the way from the bar in Central London to the church, where he’d practised the piano into the early hours. Now, a hazy sun had risen above the horizon. It would be another short, cold day.
‘I’ve been out,’ Dmitri said. Absently, he walked over to the bookshelf and picked up the book of Russian fairy tales that his mother had found in a little second-hand bookshop on Charing Cross Road not long after they had come to London. The text was in both Russian and English, and the three of them had read the stories aloud, trying to improve their sense of written English. The book was illustrated with photos of Russian lacquer art: beautiful, whimsical images with bright, jewel-like colours against a black background. He opened the book and flipped through it, a sense of loss crashing over him like a wave. In his childhood, his father had liked making up his own versions of the classic tales. Dmitri had identified with the heroes: warriors like Ilya Muromets, Dobyrnya Nikitich, and Alyosha Popovich; the dashing and clever Ivan Tsarevich. Now though, he mostly identified with the host of other characters that were aptly named ‘The Fool’.
Dmitri flipped through the book to the illustration of the Firebird, its tail a swirl of flaming orange and red as it swooped down from the sky to steal a golden apple.
The story in this book was a variation on the one he’d heard as a child. Not all of the versions were happy. In this tale, a beautiful maiden had been enchanted by a sorcerer and transformed into the fiery bird. Young Ivan, lying in wait, grabbed hold of one of her flaming feathers. He rode to the ends of the earth on the back of a grey wolf, performing heroic feats in order to release the Firebird from her golden cage and break the enchantment. Naturally, the beautiful maiden and Ivan fell in love, and they lived happily ever after.
Dmitri slammed the book shut and put his head in his hands.
Tanya came over and banged a tea glass down on the table in front of him. ‘I will make your tea,’ she said. ‘And then you will tell me what the hell is up with you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, too exhausted to argue.
‘I spoke to Phil yesterday,’ she said, filling the kettle. ‘He says you aren’t returning his calls. And Carole-Ann came to the bakery.’ She’d switched to Russian. He was definitely in for a telling-off. ‘She told me about the Oxford thing. That she told you about a month ago.’ Tanya turned around, her hands on her hips. ‘She told me you could get money to study there and get a doctorate in choral music. And I was so happy for you.’ She shook her head. ‘And then she said she was worried. That you hadn’t filled in the application or got the letters of reference yet.’
‘I’ve been busy, you know that.’ He got up and put the book back on the shelf. The idea of Carole-Ann bullying him through his sister was enough to make him want to throw the application in the bin. With all of its questions about his qualifications, his goals and aspirations, and his reasons for applying: ‘How will a Doctorate in Choral Music advance your career plans?’
The kettle switched off. Tanya poured water into the ceramic teapot. He took the teapot from her and sat back down at the table.
‘God, I want to shake you sometimes,’ Tanya said. ‘I wish mamochka was here. She wouldn’t let you get away with this. I’m glad I’m leaving. So many times you’ve broken my heart, and now, you’re doing it all over again.’
‘Please, Tanusha.’ His head felt like it might split open. ‘I will apply for the job, if that will make you happy. You are right – I should have started by now. But I’ve still got time.’
‘Do you promise that you will do it?’ Tanya sat down at the table and took his hand in hers, tracing the line of his finger below his grey glove. ‘Promise, on the soul of your mama?’
‘I said I would do it.’ He jerked his hand away. He was aware of her staring at him as he took a sip of tea. She’d made it too sweet.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll do it.’
Tanya poured herself a glass of tea and took a sip, blanching at the taste.
‘Too sweet,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I will make another pot.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He put his hand out to stop her. ‘Do you remember how Papa used to take us to pick wild strawberries in the summer?’ he said, more softly.
She set her tea glass down on the table. ‘Yes,’ she said, hesitating. ‘I think so.’
‘They were so delicious. The taste would just explode in your mouth, the juice would get everywhere. All over your hands, face and clothes.’
‘Mama would get mad at the stains.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled wistfully at the memories and took another sip of the tea. ‘Those were good times.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, the edge back in her voice. ‘But I do not miss those days at all. What we have, right here, right now, is enough. More than we – well, I – ever could have dreamed of.’
‘Yes, and I’m happy for you.’ He was aware of the ache inside him getting stronger. Once Tanya was gone for good… He didn’t want to think about it. ‘You know how they say that someone must have done something terrible in a past life to deserve to suffer in this one? For me, I know what I have done – in this life. But it feels like a different life, if that makes sense.’
He could sense the anger coiling within her again from across the table. ‘That’s bullshit, and you know it,’ Tanya said.
Dmitri sat back in the chair and stared hard at his sister. ‘Because of me, our mother suffered and our father is dead. I made Irina, a perfectly innocent girl—’
He felt the sting of the slap even before the sound registered.
‘Shut up,’ Tanya said. She stood up from the table and turned away, facing the wall. ‘I feel like I’m talking to a child, a stupid, self-absorbed little boy. A little boy who has skinned his knee and wants someone to kiss it better. But you’re not a boy, Dima. Not for a very long time.’ She turned back, her dark eyes that were a mirror of his, now shiny with tears. ‘I have said it a hundred times, and I will say it one more time. But this is the last time.’ She came back over to the table and sat down. ‘Because I cannot bear to see you like this. Go to Oxford – go back to Russia – I don’t care—’
‘Tanya, please.’
‘You were the victim, not the cause of what happened. Mama did what any mother would do for her beloved son. And Irina…’ her face twisted like the word was sour, ‘Irina was a spoiled bitch.’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t blame her for what she did.’
‘But you should blame her.’ Tanya’s voice rose again. ‘I do. She is not your precious Snegurochka from your precious fairy tales. Made of ice and snow, to melt at the first touch of a man. She was solid fucking ice.’ Tanya shook her head. ‘Do you think that if Mark was you, I would act as she acted? No. I would love him, care for him. Maybe even more than before.’
‘Stop it, Tan’ka,’ he said, his voice hardening. He didn’t need to hear this, couldn’t hear it. He was the one to blame, no matter what his sister said.
‘How many years have you wasted? How many more are going to pass by? When you look back on your life, will you be proud of what you have done?’ She picked up her glass and slammed it down on the table. ‘Will you be proud of the time you have spent with your choir, your books, your one-night stands? Never allowing yourself to love or find the love you deserve.’
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘You’ve made your point.’
‘Have I?’ She got up from the table and came over to him, kneeling down. ‘I wish that were true,’ she said more softly.
With a sigh, he put his arms gently around her and held her close, stroking her hair. There really was nothing more to say.
Finally, Tanya pulled away and stood up. ‘I have to go, and you need a few hours’ sleep.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And a shower. And then, you must get to rehearsal. Carole-Ann said she tried to phone you yesterday but you did not answer.’
‘I was busy.’ He felt the hollow gnaw of regret as he thought of the day he had spent with Nicola – ‘The Heckler’. How Tanya would laugh if she knew. But he had already decided not to tell her. He did not want to laugh. He wanted to cry.
‘Yes, you are busy.’ Tanya shook her head. ‘Too busy to continue with this self-pity. You must prepare the soloists for the concert. That is the important thing you must do today. I will tell Phil that that is where you will be if he still wants to speak to you.’
‘Yes, OK,’ he said, lacking the will to argue.
She kissed his cheek and stood up. ‘And tonight you will start on the application.’
‘Yes. I will.’