‘Yeah, it is.’ Seeing Stuart: handsome, clean-cut, and seemingly the perfect husband home for the weekend, reminded her of Ollie. Which wasn’t fair. Not all men were cheating bastards. Only the ones she got involved with.
‘So,’ he said, eyeing her frostily, ‘I hear you’re coming on Christmas Day. On your own.’
Nicola stared at him. Had Jules told Stuart about her affair? Her cheeks grew flushed. ‘I thought Jules said she wasn’t doing Christmas this year.’
‘Oh, she still wants to have everyone over. It’s just the cooking. The smell makes her sick.’
‘Right. Well I could—’
‘Stuart? Nicola?’
‘In here,’ she called out to her sister. ‘Just finishing my coffee.’
Jules came into the room. Her blonde hair had been tamed and straightened, and she was wearing make-up. Her cheeks were glowing from the cold. She looked good… Perfect.
‘Wow!’ Stuart said. ‘You look fantastic.’ He went to Jules and gave her a kiss on her glossy lips.
‘Thanks,’ Jules said, smoothing her hair unconsciously. She had eyes only for him. ‘Are the kids OK?’
‘They’re just watching a DVD,’ Nicola said. She felt like a third wheel. Though she was happy for her sister, and glad that Jules had come to terms with her ‘situation’, the loneliness she felt inside was almost overwhelming. ‘I’m afraid I need to get home. I’ve got a call that I need to prepare for.’
‘You two,’ Jules said, taking in both Nicola and her husband. ‘Always working. You put the rest of us mere mortals to shame.’
Nicola forced a smile. ‘I think you’re the one doing the real work, with kids and a family.’ She admired her sister’s ability to give and receive love no matter what, wishing it was a quality she shared. Nicola gave Jules a kiss on the cheek and gathered her coat and her phone to leave. ‘Take care of yourself. And each other.’
‘Oh, we will.’ Jules went up to her husband and put her arm through his. At that moment, Nicola was sure that Jules had told Stuart everything. And here they were – a united front against the ‘other women’ of the world.
‘OK, say goodbye to the kids for me. We’ll talk soon.’ The first tear began to roll down her cheek. She turned away and went out the door.
29
13th December
Another rehearsal, another concert. Somehow, when he’d met with Kolya, told him about this crazy, impossible idea – to play piano again – he’d expected to feel differently. But as the last person from the choir left the church and he prepared to climb up to the choir loft, all he felt was scared. Scared of his own life – of being alone.
The idea of telling his story was bad enough; that soon, everyone would know the truth that he had hidden away for so long. But if he was going to achieve his dream, he would have to do it. He was less resigned, though, about what to do about Nicola. He’d been debating, turning it over in his mind ever since he’d learned that she’d come to the shelter. A plan growing and taking hold, like a haunting melody that refused to leave his head.
The door banged open and he looked up, startled. Tanya came into the church. ‘I left my scarf here; did you find it?’
Dmitri nodded. He took the red wool scarf out of his bag and held it out to her. He remembered their mother knitting it for Tanya, years ago now. He’d found it in the pew where she had left her things for the rehearsal. How sad that a lost scarf was Tanya’s only reason for coming back, for speaking to him at all. After the argument they’d had over the incident at the Richmond charity shop, Tanya had apologised. But it had been brief, and not, he thought, very sincere.
Tanya took the scarf from him. Then she dug in her handbag and pulled something out. ‘Here, I brought you these,’ she said. ‘I mended them as best I could.’
He took the gloves with the Christmas pattern from her, feeling a rush of emotion. That despite everything, she still cared enough to fix them for him. The stitches were a bit uneven and the wool not quite the same colour, but that didn’t matter. ‘Thank you, Tanusha,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’ To show he meant it, he took off the grey gloves he was wearing and put on the mended gloves. Even in that fleeting second of having his hands bare, he felt self-conscious. Was this another thing he was going to have to get used to once the truth was out? Right now, it all seemed too daunting.
Instead of leaving, Tanya walked a few paces towards the front of the church. She seemed pensive, like she had something to say but couldn’t find the words. After a long moment, she turned around and faced him.
‘Why do you not come to the pub any more, Dima?’ she said. ‘People are wondering if you are OK. I tell them yes, even though I know it is not true.’
‘I’m fine.’ Although a part of him longed to confide in her, the way he used to, the lie slipped so easily off his tongue.
Tanya sat down in the front pew, toying with the fringe on the scarf. ‘I am tired of arguing with you, brother. Tired of worrying. I know you have not done the application, even though you gave me your word. But can you at least tell me why?’
He came and sat down beside her. Took her hand. Her warmth felt like a precious gift, a lifeline. He traced the veins of her fingers. ‘You can ask, Tanusha. Of course. And I will tell you.’ All of a sudden, he was bursting to do so. ‘But you must keep it a secret for now.’
‘A secret?’ She turned and looked at him. He smiled and waited until she smiled back, warily.
‘All these nights when I have not been at the pub, or filling out the application, I have been here.’
‘Here?’ She looked stunned. ‘It’s freezing.’
He shrugged. ‘It is not so bad.’
‘What are you doing? Have you finally lost your mind?’
‘Yes,’ he grinned. ‘Probably.’ He leaned in and whispered into her ear, ‘I am playing piano.’
‘What?’ She turned all the way to face him.
‘I am not going to apply for the doctorate in choral music; I am going to apply to study piano again.’
‘Piano?’ Her face was a mask of disbelief. ‘You mean here, right? Not,’ she paused, ‘in Russia.’
‘Yes here, of course. At the Royal College of Music. Or at Oxford. There are many good music schools. I don’t know yet. But I would like to see if…’ he took a breath, ‘I might be able to perform.’
‘To perform?’ Tanya’s dark eyes widened in surprise. ‘But you have always said… you have always had a million excuses.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And all of them are real. Nonetheless, I want to try.’
‘Please say this is not a joke.’
‘It is not a joke. Come here.’ He put his arms around her and held her tightly. He had put her through so much, so many years of worry, when he was the eldest – it had been his job to look after her. He could never atone, but he could draw a line in the sand. Start again. From the very beginning.
When they came apart, her eyes were shining. Looking at her face was like looking in a mirror – at his younger, unblemished self. He felt a rush of love for her, for her trust, her strength, her unwavering stability.
‘Have you told Kolya, yet? Or Phil?’ she said. ‘They will be so proud.’
‘Kolya knows. But I have not told Phil. Please, until it is more certain, say nothing. There are so many variables. I have to apply. I have to get accepted. I have to get funding. I will have to change my whole life.’
‘We can sell the flat,’ she said immediately. ‘You will need your half of the money.’
‘Let’s not discuss that now,’ he said. ‘I just wanted you to know that this is what is in my mind. So that you are not so worried. So disappointed.’
‘I am worried, but I have never been disappointed.’ She stroked the hair back from his face. ‘Only you have been disappointed, Dimochka.’
‘Yes, well. There is good reason.’
‘Shh.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘Will you come to the pub? Just this once?’
He could feel th
e smile slipping away from his face. ‘I promise I will,’ he said. ‘But not tonight. Next time.’ He looked away.
‘What is it? There is something else.’
The word ‘no’ formed automatically. But she cut him off.
‘Is it she?’ she said quietly.
‘She? You mean “her”?’
‘She, her! You know who I mean. The woman from the station. I do not want to call her something you do not like, so please, will you tell me her name?’
‘Nicola.’
Even saying her name aloud seemed to invoke her presence, and a rush of the mad folly. Because really, that’s what it was.
‘Nicola,’ Tanya repeated, stretching the syllables. ‘And what is this “Nicola” to you?’ She put up her hand as he opened his mouth. ‘And do not say “nothing”.’
He laughed. ‘You know me so well. But in this case, you are wrong. It is true what I told you before. She came to the church to apologise. I took her out. We went all over London together. We went ice skating, and to the shelter, and we rode on the London Eye.’ He recounted the day, leaving nothing out. Feeling, just for a moment, the same magic that had shimmered through his body around her.
‘So she kissed you,’ Tanya was saying, gripping his arm firmly. ‘And then what?’
‘I pushed her away.’
‘Oh, Dima, I could smack you.’ She furled her brow in annoyance.
‘Yes. Well, ever since then, I have been here every night. Playing piano. In part it was to get her out of my mind. Or maybe, if I’m honest, it was to keep her in my mind.’
‘Yes… and…? There is a “and” – isn’t there?’
Dmitri sighed. When Phil had asked the same question, he’d been quick to say no. But now? What was the answer?
‘She went to Kolya,’ he said. ‘He told her everything.’
‘What?’ Her eyes darkened to black.
‘Everything. All my secrets.’
‘No! I don’t believe it.’ She put a hand on his chest. He drew back reflexively, his lungs deflating.
‘Yes,’ Dmitri said. ‘He told her about that. He said he did it for my own good. To spare me another Irina. I was very angry. But I have chosen to believe him. If I am going to do this thing – apply to study piano – then I need his help.’
‘Yes, but there is more. There must be.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. Unlike Irina, she did not walk away. She ran.’
‘Then she is a bitch!’ She spat out the word with venom.
‘Shh.’ He stroked her hair as she bowed her head. ‘I wish for your sake that I could tell you something different. Give you some hope, but what can I say? She came to find me, and then, when she learned the truth, she made her choice. In a way, I am grateful to Kolya that it was done without my knowledge. That I did not have to see her face.’
‘He had no right!’
‘And yet, because it is done, I feel strangely free. Like I have finally gone so far down that none of it matters any longer.’
‘Please tell me you’re not drinking vodka.’ Her face clouded with distress.
‘No,’ he said, trying to explain. ‘Like I said, I am playing the piano. I am working very hard, for many hours. Playing my warm-ups, doing scales and exercises. Then I am practising something for the audition I will no doubt have to do. But also, I am having fun. Testing myself. Seeing what I remember. And the music, Tanusha. To have the music back…’ he felt his eyes welling up, and swallowed hard.
‘Yes. But… tell me it is not all for her. For this Nicola. Because if she ran away like you said—’
‘It is not all for her. It is also for you. And for Mama.’ He looked down at the Christmas patterned gloves, feeling a deep sense of loss, but also, of hope. ‘And, it is for me.’
‘That is the only way,’ Tanya said. ‘It must be for you. But I will try and support you if I can. In…’ she hesitated for a moment, ‘whatever you choose to do.’
He took her hand and looked up at the altar. Stared at the benevolent face of a pale Jesus Christ nailed to the cross. A man who died for the sins of the world, and then lived again.
He breathed in and closed his eyes, but only for a second. The time had come, the decision made. He really had run out of things to lose.
‘There is something you can do for me, Tanusha.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘A small thing. Perhaps I will regret it, or more likely it will have no consequence whatsoever.’
‘What is it?’
He explained, and she listened, finally nodding when he had finished.
‘And when would you like it?’ she said.
‘There is no time to waste.’ He raked back his hair, once again feeling intoxicated by the pure folly of it. ‘Can you do it tomorrow?’
30
14th December
‘Nicola?’
The knock on the door frame startled her. Though her screen faced away from the door, she quickly shut down the internet search she’d been doing, on jobs for charity executives and trustees. It was early Monday afternoon and she’d just got back from a session at the gym. Trying to exhaust herself into oblivion. It hadn’t worked.
‘What is it, Chrissie?’ She looked up.
‘A man came by to see you. Earlier, when you were out.’
Nicola looked up and frowned. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Who?’
‘He didn’t have an appointment, and there was no meeting in your diary,’ Chrissie said. ‘He said he just wanted to leave something for you.’ She came over to Nicola’s desk and held out a white bag taped shut with a red and gold Christmas bow on it.
Nicola took the bag and held it to her nose. She could smell cinnamon and spice. It reminded her…
She opened it and took out a square box about the size of a small plate. The box had a logo on it: ‘The Braided Loaf’. There was a clear plastic window on top. Inside was a gingerbread heart, decorated with complex swirls of white icing. A Russian church with intricate onion domes, and a flurry of snowflakes falling all around it. Taped on top of the box was a memory stick.
Instantly, her stomach churned with emotions – fear, hurt – and above it, like a bird taking flight – precious, beautiful hope. He took shape in her mind’s eye like a ghost materialising from the ether. His dark eyes, his tall, strong body. The scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, his warmth, the joy in him… and the darkness. The scars, underneath where no one could see. Scars on his skin, and scars on his soul. He deserved to love and be loved. He deserved someone better than her. He had walked away; she had run. She couldn’t give him what he needed. And yet, he had come to find her.
Nicola stood up instantly.
‘Is he still here?’ Her voice was breathless now.
‘No.’
The word felt like a door slamming in her face.
‘He didn’t want to disturb you,’ Chrissie said. ‘I think he was a little relieved that you weren’t in.’
‘Relieved?’
‘He said he wanted to leave the bag for you. That you would understand.’
Yes, she understood. He had made an opening gambit. Testing and challenging her in that way he had. And, in truth, she didn’t know what, if any, move to make in response.
‘Did he say anything else?’
Chrissie was grinning now. ‘He asked me my name. How long I’ve been working here, and how long I’ve known you.’
‘Yes, he would,’ Nicola found herself saying.
‘He was very friendly. Which was nice. And…’ Chrissie leaned in, ‘very handsome, and quite sexy. Though, I am a bit surprised. He didn’t seem your type.’
‘He’s not my type,’ Nicola snapped. ‘He’s nothing to me.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Chrissie said, ‘but—’
‘You’re right, Chrissie, it isn’t,’ Nicola interjected.
Frowning, Chrissie put her hands on her hips. ‘But I’m going to say something anyway. Whether you like it or not.’
Nicola leaned
back in her chair and put her hand to her forehead, rubbing at the frown lines. ‘Is it anything you haven’t already said a thousand times?’
‘Maybe not.’ Chrissie pulled the door shut, leaning against it. She picked up the box in front of Nicola on the desk and looked at what was inside. ‘But, damn it, I want you to listen.’
Nicola leaned forward. ‘What is it, Chrissie? Do you want me to hold out my wrist so you can whack me with a ruler?’
‘I know about you and Ollie,’ Chrissie said, her voice low. ‘You think you’re being careful, but you forget about us members of the underclass. PAs, post room workers, security guards. We know a lot more than you think.’
Nicola kept very still, not speaking.
‘I’ve known about it for a long time. I never said anything, though I think it’s shameful.’
Nicola opened her mouth, then closed it again. They had always been careful – or she had, anyway. Infrequent liaisons that usually took place well away from the office. Or late at night after most people had left. But, of course, even if her colleagues were gone, there were people around. People that, as Chrissie rightly suspected, they’d paid no mind to.
‘And the thing that gets me – the thing I really don’t understand – is how stupid you’re being if you think he’s going to leave his wife for you.’
Nicola took a breath, trying to summon her usual anger. ‘Whatever you think there might be between Ollie and me, you’re probably wrong. And if – if – there was something, then it’s over.’ Nicola let out a long sigh. ‘So, feel free to update your underground network of cleaners and post room workers.’
‘Well, I hope it’s true. Because there are other rumours going around about him.’
‘Other rumours?’
Chrissie ignored the question and ploughed on. ‘I swear, Nicola,’ she said, ‘what makes me so angry – just kills me, quite frankly – is how much time you’ve wasted. When you started here, I thought you were amazing. A strong, smart woman who could take on all the dickheads and come out on top. I was rooting for you. We all were.’
Moonlight on the Thames Page 20