They were in Maksim Voshchinsky’s living room. Lydia hated having this argument in the first place, but to have it in front of the thief made her sick. Nevertheless she had no choice. Until he succeeded in finding a room of his own, Alexei had abandoned her empty bed in the room with Popkov and Elena, and was sleeping in Maksim’s apartment. But by the look of him he hadn’t slept at all well. Damn him. She couldn’t help hoping it was an excess of brandy and late night cards and too many cigarettes, rather than anything more sinister. The thought of her brother crawling through windows and stuffing someone else’s clocks and candlesticks into sacks sent the soles of her feet into spasms of fear. She didn’t trust this Maksim. Any more than he trusted her.
‘Alexei,’ she said with a patience that astonished even herself, ‘I am grateful that you and Maksim are working out a-’
‘No need for you to be grateful, my dear,’ Maksim said with a smile so smooth and empty she wanted to knock it off his face.
‘Of course I’m grateful to you, pakhan. Alexei is my dear brother, so-’
‘Brothers and sisters don’t exist in the vory v zakone,’ Maksim pointed out. He leaned towards her in his chair, gathering the soft folds of his liver-coloured dressing gown around his fleshy body, and he let her see into his eyes. Let her peer at the sharpened daggers in there. He wanted her to know. To make no mistake. She blinked but didn’t look away.
‘ Lydia, my dear,’ he said in a tone as pleasant as though he were about to offer her more tea, ‘go away. Alexei and I are busy.’
She remained seated. ‘I’d like to hear, if I may, the plans you have for-’
‘When we are ready, you will know.’
She didn’t argue but neither did she believe him.
‘The truck?’ she asked instead.
‘Alexei,’ Maksim addressed his new vor, ‘is this necessary?’
‘Yes.’
At least that was something. She smiled at her brother but he gave nothing in return. She wanted to seize his hand and drag him out of here.
Maksim applied his empty smile with a sigh that rumpled his moustache and wobbled his chins. ‘We’ve tracked the truck.’
‘To where?’
‘To a location well outside Moscow.’
‘I’d like to see it.’
‘Nyet.’
‘I assume it’s well guarded.’
‘Of course.’
‘I need to see it, Maksim. Please.’
‘Nyet.’
She thought fast. It was that or scratch the bastard’s empty eyes out.
‘My brother will not want me to make a nuisance of myself, any more than you do. He knows how difficult I can be. After this,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘I shall not bother either of you any more.’
His small eyes didn’t even flicker. ‘Agreed.’
It all happened so quickly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now go,’ the thief said politely.
‘May I have the letter back?’ she asked Alexei and held out her hand. She was frightened he would destroy it if she left it with him. He’d been so annoyed. Even now she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t tear it up in front of her just to make his point.
‘No more letters,’ he reiterated as he passed it to her.
Lydia took it and tried to hide her relief. She nodded stiffly to Alexei, rose to her feet and moved over to the door. She made herself smile at Maksim before leaving.
‘Thank you, pakhan. Spasibo. I look forward to hearing from you soon.’
A cool stare was the only response. Alexei had the courtesy to join her at the door but his manner was still withdrawn. She knew what the real problem was, where the hurt and the anger came from. I love you, their father had written to her in the letter. But only scrawled Give my fondest thoughts and gratitude to Alexei. A world of difference. She didn’t want that gap to open up at their feet. She might tumble into the void.
She said quietly, ‘Walk with me to the corner of the street, Alexei.’
In his coat Alexei looked more like his old self. She was pleased to see it was the one with the tear in the collar, the one against which she’d slept on the train with her head rolling around on its itchy shoulder. At least Maksim Voshchinsky had not replaced that. Not yet. Outside the street was almost deserted, instead of the usual bustle and rush of workers, and the chill air smelled of burned rubber. It settled like stinging black bees in the nostrils.
Alexei frowned. ‘Damn it, another factory burned down. Poor bloody fools. That means jobs gone. No jobs means no food and this winter is far from over yet. It’s the second fire this month. Industrial fires happen all the time because of lack of safety regulations. Just carelessness. The workers smoke cigarettes where they shouldn’t, hanging round chemicals and gas cylinders. No one stops them.’
‘What about the unions? Don’t they enforce rules?’
‘They try but no one takes a blind bit of notice. It’s the old working habits. They die hard.’
‘Unlike old family habits, it seems.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that you seem to have forgotten we’re brother and sister.’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, Alexei, don’t forget about Jens too.’
He seized her arm, drew her across the road to a baker’s shop and made her look at the queue outside. A line of women with gaunt faces and old men with eyes hard as iron. He headed to the front of the queue and into the shop. Through the window Lydia watched the woman behind the counter smile at him, a cautious twitch of the mouth, remove a grey paper bag from a back shelf and present it to Alexei. There was no exchange of kopecks.
Alexei rejoined Lydia on the pavement. With a solemn face he removed two pirozhki from the bag and presented her with one.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is why your implications are absurd.’ She could hear the quiver of anger in his words.
‘The advantages of a vor?’
‘Exactly.’
He was breathing hard. Lydia wanted to throw the pirozhok on the ground and tread on it. She was the first to look away.
‘Alexei, there are disadvantages as well as advantages. Don’t forget that.’
To her surprise Alexei laughed. He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close, steering her past the dismal queue. She slipped the pirozhok into the hand of a pockmarked child hiding in its mother’s skirts and concentrated on enjoying the unexpected warmth of her brother’s attention.
‘Now what is it,’ he asked as he marched her to the corner of the street, ‘that you wanted to say to me in private?’
‘Don’t trust Maksim.’
He stopped. Faced her. The anger there once more at the back of his eyes.
‘Be careful,’ she added. ‘I don’t want you to be…’
The word wouldn’t come.
‘You don’t want me to be what?’ he demanded.
‘To be… damaged.’
She didn’t look at him. The silence that ballooned between them was pricked by the sound of a cart rumbling past. Alexei kissed Lydia ’s cheek, a quick touch of his lips to her cold skin and then away, as though ashamed of the gesture. When she looked up he was off striding back down the street, arms swinging as if they would drive him even faster away from her.
Without turning round he shouted, ‘No more letters, Lydia.’
Damn you, Alexei Serov. Damn you to hell.
Elena was in a bad mood when Popkov came home with a nasty gash on his cheek and one leg of his trousers slashed up to the knee. A bruise the colour of split damsons had hatched along the length of his shin. He slunk into the room, making low rumbling noises, and collapsed face down on his bed, inert.
Lydia leapt past the dividing curtain and perched on the edge of the quilt, gently patting his back.
‘Liev,’ she murmured, ‘are you all right?’
No answer. Just the rumbling sound seeping out of him. Elena rose from where she was sewing in the chair and came over to examine him. A quick firm finger to the pulse below his ear and a slap on the back of his head.