‘He’s drunk,’ she grumbled. ‘Drunk and bested in a fight. Stupid fool. If he’s going to fight a gang of dolts, I’ve told him again and again to make sure it’s a number he can flatten.’ She slapped him again, on his buttocks this time, and returned her bulk to the chair where she scowled at the needle in her hand and jabbed it into the fabric as though it were somebody’s eyes.
Lydia waited for peace to settle, then fetched a bowl of cold water and bathed Liev’s cheek as best she could without moving him. The white enamel bowl turned pink. Did he need stitches? She wasn’t sure. The gash was deep. It reminded her of when she’d sewn up Chang’s foot by the river in Junchow, and suddenly the ache for him that was always there hit so sharply that her hand shook and she spilled crimson liquid over Liev’s broad back.
‘You trying to drown me, girl?’
The water flowed down to his neck and under his ear.
‘Yes, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.’
‘Men bigger than you have failed.’
‘Don’t talk. It makes it bleed worse.’
‘Shit!’ he grumbled as the pain sharpened.
Lydia held a cloth pressed hard to his cheek and sat beside him as time trickled past in silence. The rumbling had drifted off somewhere until it was no more than a cat’s purr, but his breathing was laboured. When abruptly all noise ceased, Lydia leaned close, heart thumping, listening hard. She prodded him in the ribs. Nothing happened. She jabbed an elbow into the ridge of his neck and only breathed herself when he jerked back to life. He slammed a hand out at her in a reflex action that nearly knocked her head off and the rumbling started up again at a lower volume.
‘Feel like talking?’ she whispered, afraid he’d die in his sleep.
‘Hah!’
‘I bet the others are in worse shape. The ones who did this to you.’
‘Hah!’
‘What was the fight about?’
‘The bastard motherfuckers.’
‘What did they do?’
‘They were waiting outside.’
‘Outside where?’
‘Outside that place of yours.’
Her heart stopped. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, ‘The one in Raikov Ulitsa?’
‘Da.’
Suddenly she was cold, her teeth chattering.
‘How did they know? Chang and I are so careful. We double back again and again, so no one can follow.’
‘Hah!’
‘How many of them?’
‘Chetiri. Four.’
‘But now they’ll inform on us and-’
‘Nyet.’ He twisted his head round and the black eyepatch was wrenched upward, revealing the deformed empty socket. ‘Nyet, little Lydia, they’re dead.’ A crooked grimace stretched his cheek and set the blood oozing once more. ‘So smile,’ he growled, ‘because you and me, Lydia, we’re alive.’
She rested her cheek on his, the stink of him warm and familiar, the feel of his shoulder like a sun-baked rock next to hers.
‘The trouble with you, Liev Popkov, is that you’re just too nice to people. Try being tougher next time.’
He chuckled, his ribcage rattling like iron bars. ‘I need a drink.’
Lydia sat up. ‘I’m going out to buy you the biggest bloody bottle of vodka in the whole of Moscow.’
He grinned at her. One of his teeth was missing.
‘Elena,’ Lydia said, ‘get over here, please. Keep him warm. Watch him while I’m gone.’
The woman put down her needle and gave Lydia a long look. In that single moment Lydia felt Elena take a step back from her, as clearly as if she’d picked up the scissors on her lap and snipped at the thread that held them together. Their friendship had suddenly come unravelled in some way and yet Lydia could-n’t be angry. She knew it was her own fault. She trailed danger around with her the way other girls trailed ribbons. She watched sadly as the woman left her chair and clambered fully dressed on to the bed, where she wrapped herself around the big man, one arm tight around his neck, almost throttling him. Within seconds he was snoring.
As Lydia pulled on her coat, Elena tucked her face into his greasy black hair and muttered, ‘One of these days, Lydia Ivanova, you’ll be the death of him.’
47
Edik was out stalking. Lydia spotted his prey immediately, a man carrying parcels. He had just emerged from a tobacconist store where smoking pipes of all shapes and sizes were displayed in the window, and he was far too preoccupied with relighting the fat cigar he was rolling between his equally fat lips to notice the skinny bag of bones tagging along behind him.
Lydia touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘Bite me and I’ll keep Misty’s chunk of kolbasa sausage for myself.’
Edik stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Piss off, I’m working. ’
‘Don’t let me stop you.’
He regarded her with suspicion, recalling the time she’d made him replace his spoils in the pocket he’d stolen it from. With a shrug he darted forward, tucking in behind two women busy discussing the merits of their hats. Lydia admired the way he glided up to people and hovered briefly at their elbows, close enough so that he looked to others as though he might be with them, but not close enough to cause alarm. Lone youths were always suspect.
‘Mind if I tag along?’ she asked.
‘You’ll get me spotted.’
‘No, I won’t. I’ll give you cover.’
He thought for two seconds, saw the sense of it and let her come alongside.
‘I have a job for you,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘Another letter?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
The speed of the no rattled her. ‘I thought-’
‘No. No more letters.’
‘Is this about wanting more money? Because-’
His blue eyes skimmed her face scornfully. ‘Of course not. I just can’t do it any more.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t. That’s all.’
‘Frightened of the prison?’
He didn’t even deign to answer that one. They had worked their way nearer to the man with the cigar and the parcels, and Edik was up on his toes, hands loose at his sides, ready.
‘I’ll get you a good snatch,’ Lydia promised, ‘if you’ll deliver one more letter.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Watch me.’
Lydia moved in close. She swung to one side of the man, the boy to the other. As if hurrying past the unsuspecting mark, she banged her hip on his bundle of parcels, winced, stumbled and clutched at him for support. Instantly the man was all solicitude. She smiled her most charming smile, thanked him and moved on rapidly. By the time Edik caught up with her in the next side street, he was laughing.
‘You’re good. For a girl.’
‘You’re not bad yourself. For a kid. What did you get?’
He held out a heavy silver cigar case inlaid with diagonal stripes of jet. ‘It’ll do, I suppose.’ He said it in an offhand manner but both knew it was a valuable snatch. ‘You?’
She hoisted a calfskin wallet from her pocket. It felt well stocked. She tossed it to him.’
‘Mine?’
‘I promised, didn’t I?’ she said. ‘Now the letter.’ On her palm lay the square metal folder. She proffered it to him.
‘No.’ The sallow cheeks flushed a dull pink and made him look very young.
‘Edik! What the…?’ And that was when it dawned on her. Chyort! She should have seen it coming. ‘It’s the vory v zakone, isn’t it? They’ve ordered you to stop.’
He nodded, angry and ashamed.
Then something else clicked into place. ‘Misty? Where’s Misty?’
He looked away. Wouldn’t let her see his face. His fingers were counting out the rouble notes in the wallet but his whole body drooped with an inner misery that seeped out at the mention of the pup’s name.