Seven Million Sunflowers by Malcolm Duffy

Author:Malcolm Duffy
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800241695
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

TWENTY-FIVE

‘WHERE ARE YOU from?’

‘Kharkiv,’ I say.

I wait for a reaction from Grigori. There is none. He merely nods and pours himself a large glass of wine.

I thought it was all over between me and Felix. I’d imagined his friends pushing him away from me.

Don’t go near her. She’s trouble.

The way she stormed out of your party like that.

Is it worth it, Felix? She’ll be going back one day.

Then, out of the blue, he got in touch. He apologised for ghosting me. Said he’d needed time to think about us, and what had happened. Felix clearly felt I was worth the trouble, because here I am, having dinner at his house, in a room where half the people are Russian.

I told Georgia that Felix and I were going to the movies. Marko would kill me if he discovered where I really was.

Grigori is casually dressed. The only thing about him that yells ‘money’ is his watch, which is big and complex. Sitting next to him is his wife, Felix’s mum, Maddy. She’s the opposite in looks to Grigori – tall, slim, a cascade of blonde hair over her bronzed shoulders. She wears a beautiful low-cut gold dress, the sort Georgia would die for. I’m wearing the black dress I wore to the party where I met Felix. Hope it will bring me good luck, like it did that night.

I’ve been nervous all day in the build-up to dinner. I did drama at school once. The Lion King. I remember how shaky I felt. There’s no spotlight on me tonight, but the eyes around the table have the same effect. Apart from Felix, Grigori, and Maddy, there are two others – Timur, Grigori’s son, and Roksana, Grigori’s daughter. His children are both in their twenties. Like their father, they’re Russian, but you’d never guess it from the way they talk. Educated in England, they have accents they could have borrowed from any of Felix’s friends.

We’re surrounded by gentle music, as if there are pianists in every corner of the room. The piece sounds Russian. But perhaps not. All piano music sounds the same to me.

‘U tebya preskrasny dom.’

You have a beautiful house.

‘Spasibo,’ replies Grigori.

Thank you.

He nods, seemingly impressed by my Russian. Most people in Kharkiv speak it.

‘Felix says your mum and brother are here,’ says Roksana, with a smile that turns my anxiety down a notch.

‘Yeah, we’re staying with a family in Kingston… upon-Thames,’ I add, in case there’s another Kingston somewhere.

‘That’s generous of them,’ says Grigori.

‘Yes, they’ve been kind.’

‘And your dad, if you don’t mind me asking?’ says Timur.

The anxiety is back.

‘He’s in Ukraine. Fighting.’

Everyone carries on eating, as if I’d been talking about the weather.

‘Terrible what’s going on over there,’ says Maddy, as she drizzles lemon over her salmon.

‘Yes, it is,’ I say.

The question that’s been chained inside me is wrestling to get away.

Time to set it free.

Buty khorobrym.

Be brave.

‘Where do you stand on the war, Grigori?’

The metallic sound of cutlery stops.

Grigori turns to me. ‘I think the war is a human tragedy.

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