in front of him. She was going to wait till later.
‘Annoying and protective.’
‘No, just annoying.’
Natasha took Stanislav’s hand in hers. She didn’t want the walk to the station to end just yet, but it wasn’t far, and soon they were there.
In the sea of weeping women and sombre men, Natasha hugged her brother and said, ‘Promise to write. And please, please, please, come back soon. I still need you to protect me.’
Lisa hugged her brother and said, ‘I’m glad Alexei is only eighteen. He’s not enlisting yet.’
Nikolai couldn’t say anything because he was struggling to hold back tears, so he hugged his brother in silence.
Mother wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘It’s so unexpected. I wish we had some warning, more time to prepare.’
‘It’s okay, Mama,’ said Stanislav, putting his rucksack down on the pavement and embracing his mother. ‘It’s easier this way.’
‘On the train, eat the boiled eggs and bread I packed for you. Wear your jumper if it gets cold.’
‘A fine soldier I would make, wearing a jumper at the end of June.’ Seeing his mother’s stricken face, Stanislav added, ‘I love you, Mama. Please, don’t cry.’
‘When are we going to see you again? What are we going to do?’ Mother sobbed.
‘Soon, Mama, I promise. I’ll be back soon. This war won’t last long. A couple of months at most.’
‘Look after yourself, son,’ said Father. ‘We’ll see you when it’s all over.’
In silence they watched Stanislav as he climbed into the carriage and turned around, a sad smile on his face. ‘Girls, look after your mother,’ he said, saluting them once more, and then the train was moving and the Smirnovs were running along the platform to catch one final glimpse of their firstborn son and older brother. Soon he was gone but still they stood, watching the train that carried Stanislav to the front, until the train, too, had disappeared. Then they went home, where they had dinner without their son and without their brother. As they chewed their meatballs and vegetable salad, the girls and their mother and even Nikolai cried quietly into their plates.
September 1941
After breakfast the next morning, Natasha read to her grandmother, a little bit from The Three Musketeers and a little bit from The Count of Monte Cristo. And as she read Mark’s favourite books, she imagined his smile. Only two hours to go till she saw him again. Finally, when Grandmother nodded off to sleep, Natasha closed the door to her bedroom, got dressed and brushed her hair.
She wished she had some make-up, some perfume, anything to make her more attractive to him. She peered at her reflection in the mirror. Peered at her light-green eyes, at her pale skin, pale eyelashes, pale everything. She longed for some colour in her face, a shade of red for her lips, some pink for her cheeks. She rummaged in her sister’s drawer and found some lipstick and mascara.
When she was ready, she locked the door behind her and practically ran downstairs. She was afraid that the sound of her beating heart would wake her grandmother and alert her father to the fact that something remarkable was happening on this unremarkable Monday morning.
She was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she bumped into her sister. Lisa sang tonelessly as she walked through the front door of their building. If Natasha wasn’t in such a hurry, she would have recognised Lisa’s voice in time to hide behind a pillar. But as it was, she was moving with such a speed, she almost knocked her sister off her feet.
Lisa stopped singing. ‘Ouch,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Sorry, I was just leaving.’
Lisa peered at Natasha suspiciously. ‘Going somewhere special?’
‘Not really. Just to see Olga.’
Natasha made a move to get past her sister, but Lisa grabbed her by the arm, blinking and staring.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Natasha.
Lisa said, ‘Come here for a moment. Under this window.’ After a second or two of incredulous observation, she exclaimed, ‘I knew it.’
‘What?’ Natasha wondered how long it would take to get around Lisa and to the front door, but her sister was clutching her arm so tightly, it was impossible to move. ‘Let go, you’re hurting me.’
‘What is going on?’ demanded Lisa.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tell me right now where you’re going.’
‘I told you. To see Olga.’ What time was it? Natasha didn’t want Mark to wait for her. What if he thought she didn’t want to see him?
‘And what’s that on your face?’
‘Don’t
