The figure at the table rose slowly from the chair, the movement awkward and ungainly, not like his father at all. Not quick and confident like Papa. Yet they were Papa’s strong shoulders and it was Papa’s voice calling his name.

‘Pyotr.’

Pyotr threw himself into his father’s open arms and together they tumbled back into the chair where the boy clung tight and hid his face in his father’s shirt. He was crying like a girl and didn’t want Papa to see.

‘Pyotr, my son.’

Something in his voice made Pyotr look up. Papa’s cheeks were wet with tears.

48

‘An unanticipated pleasure, my dear. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’

Deputy Stirkhov exhaled a grey snake of smoke that coiled round the room as he waved Sofia into a chair in his gleaming chrome office. A vodka bottle sat on his desk without its lid. It was half empty but the glass beside it was full.

Sofia slid on to the leather seat in front of the desk. ‘You underestimate me,’ she smiled.

‘You have information for me?’

‘Of course. It’s what you paid me for. Didn’t I promise it?’

A satisfied smile split his smooth moon face in half. ‘Not everyone does what they promise in this world.’

‘I do. If you think otherwise, you don’t know me.’

‘I intend to get to know you much better,’ he said smoothly and reached into his desk drawer. He drew out another shot glass, filled it and pushed it across to her. The glass had Lapland reindeer etched on its surface.

‘Thank you,’ she said, but didn’t pick it up.

She felt his gaze on her blouse. It was one of Zenia’s, of homespun cloth, a dusky rose-pink with embroidered woodland flowers on the collar and cuffs.

‘I am informed that a member of your village is in prison right now.’ He seemed to be talking to her breasts.

‘If you mean Comrade Pashin, he has been released.’

His eyes shot up to hers. ‘Indeed? When?’

‘Today.’

‘That’s a shame, I was sure they’d hold on to our wayward factory director. Dagorsk is better off without the likes of him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s a troublemaker. Oh yes, I grant that he knows his stuff as an engineer and has shaken up those lazy imbeciles who work in his factory, but he’s one of those arrogant bastards who think they know better than the Party line.’ He leaned forward on his elbows and pointed a manicured finger at her. ‘That one is not a man of the people like he pretends. He’s hiding something, I’m certain. I tell you I can feel it in my piss every time I see him. Just wait,’ he threw the vodka down his throat and stubbed out his cigarette, still jabbing at it long after the butt was out, ‘he’ll trip himself up one day and I’ll be there to catch him.’

Sofia scooped up her drink from the desk. For a split second Stirkhov’s eyes widened as though he believed she was going to throw it in his face, but instead she raised her glass to the portrait of Stalin and drank it straight down. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat that was almost a hiss, then she smiled at Stirkhov.

‘How perceptive you are, Comrade Deputy.’

‘And how very beautiful you are, Comrade Morozova.’

She let her eyelashes flutter and put a hand to her throat, as though to still the sudden race of her heart. ‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ she smiled. ‘Now we can do business.’

‘So what’s this information you’ve brought me from Tivil? A kolkhoznik been late to work, has he? Or did one of your hamfisted peasants get into a drunken brawl and is now being denounced for singing obscene words to the tune of the Internationale?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Then what?’

‘Someone in Tivil is hoarding, and I mean large quantities of potatoes, swede and grain.’

It was like throwing a grenade. In her mind she heard the explosion rip through the quiet smoke-filled office. Comrade Stirkhov’s mouth hung open.

‘Now I’ll grab Tivil by the throat,’ he growled, ‘and shake it till it begs for mercy. Who is this Enemy of the People?’

Sofia raced back to Tivil. The morning sky was a vivid splash of blue and a handful of crows hung on the breeze, barely dipping their wings. The street was noisy when she reached the village – two women and a gaggle of girls were trying to wash a goat under the water pump and the animal was putting up a struggle. Its bristly white coat was caked in mud from the pond and the children were shrieking with laughter each time it butted their skinny chests. Sofia paused, observing the scene, memorising it, savouring the ordinariness of it. From now on, nothing would be ordinary.

She headed over to the school, where summer camp was still in full progress. The yard was bustling with crisp white Young Pioneer shirts and shining bright eyes, little bodies all racing around and performing perfect cartwheels. Yes, she thought, Zenia was right. These children are the future of Tivil. It astonished Sofia to realise how much she cared. This village had in some strange way nestled tight against her heart.

‘Have you come to read to us?’

It was Anastasia, swinging on the fence with her feet bare, a tendril of hair threaded between her lips.

‘No, not today, Anastasia. Another time, I promise. I need to speak to your head teacher – will you do me a favour and tell her I’m here?’

At that moment she spotted Pyotr’s unruly mop of brown hair. He was over in the shade of a clump of alder trees, obviously demonstrating to a circle of younger boys how to build a cantilever bridge with logs and planks. It looked an elaborate construction to Sofia’s untutored eye and when a child leapt on to the central span and bounced up and down on it, she held her breath. But it didn’t collapse and she felt an absurd rush of pride in him. Anastasia’s eager eyes followed Sofia’s to Pyotr and her small chest heaved in a silent sigh. Then she skipped off to the stretch of parched grass where Elizaveta Lishnikova was timing races with a large stopwatch.

For one vivid second, Sofia wanted the world to stand still. Right here and now. With children at play and Mikhail safe in his bed, the sun shining and Sofia herself in the village street as if she belonged there. Just stop. Here and now in this small moment of happiness. To stay here for ever. But she drew in a deep shuddering breath and moved on to the next moment and the next after that. Because there was her promise to Anna.

But what if Anna were already dead? What if all this was for nothing?

‘What happened last night?’

Elizaveta gazed sternly at Sofia. ‘You were there,’ she said. ‘You have eyes in your head. You saw what happened yourself.’

They were standing in the teacher’s elegantly furnished living room. Pictures lined the walls, old photographs of men in extravagant uniforms and formidable women in large dresses, with medals and jewellery hand-tinted to shine out. Sofia wanted to spend time examining them, seeking out Elizaveta Lishnikova’s strong features in their faces, but such curiosity would not be welcomed. Instead she asked the question again.

‘What happened last night? You are a rational person. I don’t believe you would take part in a ceremony that was… unhealthy.’

‘Is that what you think it was? Unhealthy?’

‘No.’ Sofia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. But I’ve seen the damage it does to Rafik and the way it makes him ill.’

Elizaveta frowned and ran a finger along the arch of one eyebrow, smoothing out the thoughts behind it. ‘Sit down,’ she said.

Sofia chose a seat on a fragile chaise longue and to her surprise Elizaveta came and sat beside her, her back erect and her hands folded quietly on her lap. The pose made Sofia think immediately of the aristocratic women in the photographs.

‘Comrade Lishnikova, I want to understand more about what it is the gypsies do.’ Sofia looked into the other woman’s proud brown eyes. ‘Please. Help me.’