Moonlight on the Thames

by Lauren Westwood

  ‘You definitely have me mistaken for someone else,’ Nicola said, moving swiftly to the door. ‘Goodbye.’

  19

  Dmitri awoke with his pulse thundering in his head. He was lying on his bed, fully clothed, drenched in sweat. He’d been dreaming of her. Nicola. It was all so vivid. He’d been lying on a huge white bed. She’d been there, on her knees over him. Her long red hair fell into his face like waves of flame, possessing, enchanting him. Her lips brushed his, and she lowered her hips on to him, promising to take him to heaven. In the dream he’d closed his eyes, but the kiss hadn’t come. When he’d opened them again, the face was Irina’s. She’d cried out in horror and he’d seen the disgust in her eyes, and worse, the pity. She melted away, ice turning to freezing water, slipping through his fingers…

  He rolled to the side, curling into a ball. His head ached and his eyes hurt from the light. The light.

  He glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed. It was two-thirty. In the afternoon? What day was it? Sunday? Fuck.

  He swung out of bed, panicking. The rehearsal started at three o’clock. He had no business being out all night and then sleeping all day. People were counting on him. The choir needed him.

  There was no time to shower, but he put on clean clothes, shaved quickly and rushed off to catch the bus to the church.

  In the end he was ten minutes late. As he walked into the church, he was relieved to hear that Carole-Ann had things in hand and had started the soloists on their vocal warm-ups. When she caught sight of him, he could tell from her face that he must look like an old shoe that had been chewed by a dog and spat out again. Which was better than he felt.

  As the warm-ups continued, Dmitri took out the score, filled with his pencil marks, notes, and coloured tabs. He tried to get his mind on Handel and his great oratorio, the Messiah. For this concert, they were doing the Christmas section, consisting of solos for soprano, contralto, tenor and bass, plus a dozen choruses that would tax a professional choir, let alone what he had to work with. They were also doing the famous ‘Hallelujah Chorus’.

  His eyes skimmed over the sections to be rehearsed today. The bass aria in particular, and the chorus that followed:

  But who may abide the day of His coming,

  And who shall stand when He appeareth?

  For He is like a refiner’s fire.

  And he shall purify…

  The words gave him chills. Though Dmitri was technically an atheist, when the heard the words sung to Handel’s divine music, he wished more than anything that he could believe. But he had seen too much – life had taken too much – for that. Fire did not always purify—

  ‘Dmitri?’ He looked up, realising that Carole-Ann was trying to get his attention. Warm-ups were over, and the soloists were sitting in the pews.

  ‘Yes? Are we ready to get started?’

  She nodded.

  He didn’t apologise or give an excuse for his lateness. Instead he went to the piano and called the tenor soloist, Jonathan. He’d sung the part twice before in previous years, though he’d missed last year because his wife had just given birth to their first baby. Dmitri talked him through the part: where to breathe, where to crescendo, reminding him to focus on the final consonant sounds of the words to ensure that the diction was clear. Jonathan was keen, and, for the most part, his voice was up to the job. He had a few problems with sustaining the long notes, and the notes near his break were weak. But then most people had the same issues.

  When Jonathan had rehearsed his section, Dmitri called up Linda, the alto, to sing her aria ‘Oh thou that tellest good tidings to Zion,’ which was one of his favourites. Linda also knew the part well. Today, though, she sounded a little out of breath.

  The next few solos went reasonably well, though Jenny, the soprano, was on the edge of a cold. He prescribed lots of hot water and lemon. This time of year, colds were always an issue, and Jenny had three school-aged children and a husband who worked in the City. None of that stopped her, however, from standing closer and putting her hand on his arm quite a bit more than was strictly necessary. He ignored it, but didn’t move away either. He’d walked this thin line with other women in the choir before. As she was relatively new, he didn’t want her to do a runner with the concert coming up.

  All in all, he was glad when the last solo had been rehearsed. The singers stayed to chat for a few minutes, then left to go to the pub. Carole-Ann, though, stayed behind. Dmitri steeled himself for the grilling he knew he was due. About the fact that he looked tired and scruffy and hadn’t done anything on the Oxford application yet.

  But just as he was gathering his excuses, the door of the church opened and Phil walked in. For a second, Dmitri cursed his sister. She had made good on her threat.

  ‘Phil,’ he said, going up to him. There was a slightly awkward moment when he wondered if he should hold out his hand for the older man to shake. Instead, he decided it was best to give him a brief hug. ‘It’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t called.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’re busy, and so am I,’ Phil said. ‘But I’m still hoping I’ll be able to drop in some evening, do some carolling.’ His smile took in Carole-Ann too. ‘Just like old times.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dmitri said, feeling wistful. His mother had loved singing carols, and everything else about Christmas. Phil had made sure that Marina had the best of everything. They always had a lovely tree, and a giant turkey with all the trimmings. Tanya and their mother would spend hours cooking and baking up a feast of Russian and English dishes. Some years, Phil’s kids came, or Kolya and Nigel, Carole-Ann, other people from the church. With Phil at Christmas, there had always been a lot of laughter, joy, good food and company. Dmitri had even, at times, tried to convince himself that what had happened – their coming here – had been for the best. He’d never quite managed it, though. ‘You should come along, Phil,’ he suggested. ‘We’ve got lots of concerts and carolling scheduled. You’d be very welcome.’

  ‘We’ve missed you, Phil,’ Carole-Ann added. ‘It hasn’t been the same without—’ She broke off, looking embarrassed. Dmitri hadn’t realised until that moment that it had been three years since Phil came regularly to the choir. Since Marina died. ‘…you,’ Carole-Ann finished quickly.

  ‘Ah, that’s sweet of you to say.’ He went over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Time flies, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Carole-Ann said, blushing a little.

  Dmitri wished he could just slip out, leaving the two of them chatting together. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Phil was a busy man. The fact that he was here… well… Though the last thing Dmitri wanted was a ‘friendly chat’, there really was no avoiding it.

  ‘Do you have time for a pint?’ Carole-Ann asked him. ‘It would be lovely to catch up.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tonight,’ Phil said, looking genuinely sorry. ‘But I’m free a few nights this week, if you’re doing any carolling.’

  Dmitri nodded to Carole-Ann, happy to let her go through the schedule with Phil. They were doing Covent Garden and an old people’s home in Barnes. Then there was a Christmas light switch-on somewhere in south London – he couldn’t recall exactly where. In his present mood, the idea of Christmas carolling held no joy.

  As Carole-Ann and Phil went through the details, Dmitri flipped absently through the score to the Messiah. He liked Phil, loved him, even. But being around him always made him feel like a boy of twenty, the age he’d been when Phil had first come into their lives. Saint Phil, ready to save fallen women from a life worse than death. In this case, it had been Dmitri’s mother, Marina. When they’d arrived with nothing, they’d been lucky enough to meet Kolya early on at the mission. He’d helped them find a temporary place in a hostel while Marina tried to find work. But even that had been too expensive. Marina, who had been an accountant back in Russia, had got a job as a cleaner during the day. But even at the time, Dmitri suspected that when she sometimes went out on her own to work a
so-called ‘second-job’ at night, it was something shameful, that he didn’t want to think about. He worked all hours so they could stay off the streets, but London was such an expensive city, and even with Kolya’s help, it had been a struggle to keep their heads above water.

  But everything changed almost overnight when Marina met ‘the boss’ in person. Normally, Phil had managers who took the cleaning crew from place to place in a van, and Marina had heard his name but never met him. That day, however, the manager hadn’t turned up, and Phil had driven them to their jobs himself. Marina was a kind, beautiful woman, who had also worked very hard to learn English. Unwittingly, she had managed to charm her employer. Though they had never officially married, Phil and Marina were together for thirteen years.

  Dmitri felt sincere gratitude towards this man and all he had done for them. It was thanks to Phil that they had a place to live; thanks to Phil that they were able to get visas; thanks to Phil that they had all had their teeth fixed; thanks to Phil that Marina could work as an accountant again for his business, and Dmitri had been able to do a degree in music education.

  And it was thanks to Phil that Dmitri had met Irina.

  ‘OK, Tuesday night then,’ Phil was saying to Carole-Ann. ‘We’ll have a few pints afterwards and you can tell me all the gossip.’

  ‘Great,’ she replied, her eyes bright and shining. Dmitri wondered if Carole-Ann might fancy Phil. As far as he knew, Phil had been alone for the three years since Marina’s death. Maybe he should take it upon himself to play matchmaker. But that could wait for another day. His head hadn’t stopped aching since waking up earlier in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was play piano for a while, then go home and have a cup of tea and a shower. He’d make a start on the damn application – he’d promised Tanya that much. And then, sleep. Praying that this time, he didn’t dream.

  Eventually, Carole-Ann left the church, carrying her large handbag and ‘Keep Calm and Join a Choir’ canvas tote bag. When the door closed behind her, Dmitri took a long breath. Phil walked a little way down the main aisle of the church, rubbing his hands along the smooth, varnished wood of the pews.

  ‘So Phil, is everything OK?’ Dmitri decided it was probably best just to get this over with.

  ‘Tanya’s worried about you,’ Phil said, straight to the point. ‘She’s worried about what happens to you when she leaves. So am I.’

  Dmitri raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose I should find a new flat. We’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough.’ He sat down in one of the pews, facing the front of the church, away from Phil.

  ‘The flat is yours, so you can do what you like,’ Phil said. ‘Keep it or sell it. That’s not what this is about.’

  ‘Then what is this about?’ Dmitri turned. He felt himself reverting to the role of ungrateful stepson, that sullen, damaged boy who didn’t appreciate the fact that his mother had taken up with another man, even if it had been for the good of everyone involved – and even though Dmitri had been responsible for all their troubles in the first place.

  ‘Aren’t I allowed to come and see how you’re doing? Since you never return my calls?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dmitri said. ‘I should have called you.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Phil said, a little too easily. ‘I just wanted you to know that if you need anything…’ he paused, ‘like money. You know you only have to ask.’

  Dmitri felt the shame creeping over him. He ought to be acting a lot more grateful to this man who had done so much. And who, even after his mother’s death, was still offering to help out.

  ‘Thanks Phil,’ he said, putting aside his pride. ‘I appreciate that. But I don’t need money. You know I don’t spend much. I’m fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  They both fell silent. There seemed to be so much to say, but Dmitri didn’t even know where to begin. Didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

  Phil continued to pace. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he spoke, bowing his head. ‘I don’t know whether or not you believe me, Dmitri, but Marina was the love of my life,’ he said. ‘And not a day goes by when I don’t miss her.’ His blue eyes grew cloudy. ‘I would have given anything for a few more years.’

  Dmitri felt his own throat tightening. He wished Phil would just stop talking.

  ‘I did my best to make her happy,’ Phil said. ‘But there was one thing I couldn’t give her. The thing she wanted more than anything else.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Dmitri barely managed the words.

  ‘She wanted you to be happy. And after Irina, when you closed yourself off, it broke her heart.’

  He welcomed the anger that surged up inside him. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Phil, but it won’t work.’ His tone was sharp. ‘My mother is gone. You know perfectly well why things are like they are. And why Irina did what she did. Do you think that bringing it all up again is going to help?’

  ‘I could find you ten girls tomorrow who would accept you as you are, Dmitri.’

  ‘What?’ he seethed, his voice low. ‘Ten women who could come to the flat, clean my toilet and then stay a while, show their gratitude? Is that your idea of love, Phil?’

  Phil clenched his fists. ‘If you’re implying – anything,’ he said, his voice low, ‘then you’d better shut the fuck up.’

  ‘Look, sorry,’ he said, forcing himself to look up and meet Phil’s angry blue eyes. ‘I know how much my mother loved you. You gave her a life she never could even have imagined. A great life. I’m glad you had the time you had. And I miss her too.’

  Phil said nothing. His nostrils were still flared, his face red.

  ‘And I’m grateful for you letting us stay on in the flat. Believe me.’ Dmitri tried to smile but fell short.

  ‘I don’t want your fucking gratitude,’ Phil growled. ‘I never have.’

  ‘I know that,’ Dmitri said. ‘Still, you have it.’

  Phil shrugged. It seemed like a grudging acceptance of the unspoken apology.

  ‘And speaking of business,’ Dmitri drew in a long breath, ‘how is Alexei Maximovich?’ He gripped the edge of the pew. This was sheer stupidity.

  Phil came up beside him. He stood over Dmitri and crossed his arms.

  ‘You mean, have I had any news of Irina?’

  Dmitri stared straight ahead – at the altar, the crucifix, the large, dark windows of the church. People came here for comfort, for hope. How did they do it? How did they make themselves believe?

  ‘Yes,’ he said. In truth, he didn’t want to know, but he felt he had to ask. Alexei Maximovich, Irina’s father, was a business associate of Phil’s. He’d come to England in the early nineties and made a lot of money in real estate. Irina had gone to the best schools, been petted and fawned over all her life. Dmitri had met her one summer when she’d returned from studying at Amherst College in America. She had been twenty-two, he twenty-four.

  ‘I know that she’s still in America with her husband,’ Phil said after a long pause. ‘Boston, I think. They’ve got a second child now. A girl. Irina’s a stay-at-home mum.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Dmitri couldn’t say any more. In actual fact, it was a relief trying to picture Irina in her life that he would never have any part of. Anything other than relive that awful time. He didn’t love her any more. He was sure of that. But the sting of Irina was like alcohol being poured on to an open wound.

  Phil let out a long sigh. ‘Don’t ask me again, OK? Humour an old man. It’s been – what? – ten years? Ten fucking years, Dmitri. I need to know that it no longer matters.’

  ‘She no longer matters. I can tell you that.’

  ‘Well, that’s something.’

  ‘Yes.’ For the sake of argument, he agreed.

  ‘Hey, look,’ Phil came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘The last thing I want is a row. I just wish…’ he hesitated, ‘well, you know. But I also know that you don’t want or need anyone’s help. You’re a grown man. You make your own choices and you live wi
th them.’

  ‘Yes.’ For a second, Dmitri rested his head against Phil’s arm. He did appreciate the love that this man had shown him over the years, whether deserved or not. And, in fact, he was burning to confide in someone. ‘I did meet someone, Phil.’ There it was said. ‘Someone amazing.’ The vision of Nicola standing on Waterloo Bridge, with the moonlight shining gently on her face, awakened desire in every cell of his body.

  ‘And?’ Phil said, his face so hopeful, so round and shiny with love. Dmitri knew then he should have kept his mouth shut. Sometimes it seemed that in this lifetime, his destiny was only to hurt those who loved him.

  He sighed. ‘And, I lied to her, and then I walked away.’

  Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly. ‘And?’ he said finally.

  ‘There is no “and”, Phil. There never can be.’

  The older man nodded. He shoved his hands in his pocket and, without another word, turned and walked out of the church.

  20

  If he hadn’t been three thousand miles away, Nicola could have kissed the banker in New York who sent her a two-hundred-page info memo about an investment opportunity at a Paris fashion house and wanted a conference call at eleven p.m. that evening. Anything to get her out of her own head.

  Admittedly, helping get the charity shop ready for Christmas had been a bit of a lark – until the debacle with the knickers. If Chrissie had been there to see Nicola stringing lights and setting out charity cards, how she would have laughed.

  When she’d returned to her house, Nicola did a few internet searches. Sure enough, most charity shops didn’t take knickers (though many purported to want bras) and any donated knickers usually ended up being recycled into rags or else sent to landfill. Apparently donated swimwear did not suffer the same fate, which seemed a bit odd. Odder still, was the outing her ex-unmentionables might be getting now. Had the lady with the pram given any of them to the shelter? Nicola almost laughed. Yes, it would have been much better if she’d put them straight in the bin.