train. She said we should go as well, because when visitors are around Mr and Mrs Shostakovich don’t argue so much. She said —’
‘Sonya,’ interrupted Nikolai. ‘You shouldn’t repeat everything other people say. It can be very embarrassing.’
‘But they’re not even here! I wouldn’t say it to their faces. Give me some credit, por favor !’
This last phrase was a favourite of Sollertinsky’s; Nikolai could hear the rich satirical tone behind Sonya’s bird-like voice. ‘Let’s get ice cream,’ he suggested, heading for a kiosk.
By the time they reached the People’s House, the midday sun had rolled high above their heads and the stone buildings were bleached against the backdrop of blue sky. Excited screams came from the direction of the roller-coaster. Nikolai wished he hadn’t eaten most of Sonya’s strawberry ice cream; his stomach rolled in anticipation.
‘Two tickets, please.’ Sonya stood as tall as possible in front of the booth, and counted out her birthday money saved for the occasion. ‘You’re sure you want to do this?’ she asked Nikolai, chewing on the end of her long dark braid.
‘I’m sure,’ said Nikolai, taking a deep, surreptitious breath.
Once they were strapped into the carriage, he focused on thinking about household finances: the most boring subject he could come upwith, and the only possible way to ward off terror. The man working the switch shouted, while Nikolai shut his eyes and started adding. Thirty extra roubles to Tanya this month, for looking after Sonya while he waded through appalling student orchestrations of Mussorgsky —
The carriage lurched, and his eyes flew open. They were nearly at the top of the first loop, and he saw the track thrown carelessly in front of them, like coins from the hand of a drunken gambler. Coins , he thought desperately, shutting his eyes again. Kopeks, roubles . Thirty roubles for Tanya. A hundred roubles for Sonya’s new winter clothes —
‘Why are your eyes closed?’ Sonya’s voice pushed through the chinks of his counting.
He opened one eye and looked sideways at her. ‘Just working out some bills in my head.’ It was almost the truth.
‘Papa!’ Her voice rose. ‘This is meant to be a treat!’ The car was at a temporary standstill at the top of the loop; wind whistled in Nikolai’s ears, voices floated up from the ground, and screams came from those swooping in front of them. Was this like the moment of complete clarity before facing an execution squad?
Suddenly, they were flying, screaming, shrieking into nothingness. Sonya’s braid flew behind them, Nikolai’s eyes streamed with tears. As they churned over the bottom of the loop and back on an uphill gradient again, he felt relieved that at least he hadn’t been able to see clearly what was happening.
Sonya’s hand crept into his. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it? Are you ready for another one?’
‘Of course!’ Nikolai wiped his palms on his trousers and gave a forced smile.
After more ice cream, courtesy of Sonya’s birthday fund, and then some fried cutlets — ‘in the wrong order, but who cares,’ said Nikolai — they left the crowded Nevsky Prospect and wandered home along the narrow back streets. Windows stood open to the heat, and ragged tomcats lay at a distance from each other, too hot to bother with hissing or hostility.
‘Phew,’ said Sonya, when they reached their own front steps. ‘That was quite a day.’
‘Thank you for taking me out.’ Nikolai opened the front door and felt the cool breath of the hallway on his face.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Sonya formally.
Aunt Tanya had already finished the day’s chores and gone home, butthe cello was waiting for them, leaning against the sofa as if it, too, had succumbed to the heat.
‘I haven’t done my practice today.’ Sonya sounded guilty.
‘Consider it a rest day,’ said Nikolai. ‘Even professional musicians take days off.’
‘Did Mama?’ Sonya picked up the