Moving through the high-ceilinged, gilded, pillared excesses of my father’s home, my heels clicking on the marble, and the relief of not being discovered gone, I feel oddly hollow, as if I have left an important part of me back in Noah’s home.

I go up to my room, open the door, and immediately my beloved four-year-old blue Doberman, Sergei, rushes over to me and throws his sleek body at me. I crouch down to have my face and neck thoroughly washed, but he suddenly stops and sniffs me curiously.

‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve been with a man, a beautiful, strong, powerful man.’

Sergei stops sniffing me and licks my face gently, as if he understands that I am sad and lost. I hug him tightly.

‘Oh, Sergei, Sergei, what am I going to do? I never thought it would be like that. I thought I had built it all up in my mind and it would fall flat. He would be a selfish brute, but he was just beautiful. Just beautiful. Indescribably beautiful.’

I lie on my bed, Sergei’s head on my stomach, while my mind replays last night. I think of Baba’s expression when she grasped my hand and told me ignored dreams die sad deaths. I think of my father’s chilling eyes and then I think of Mama.

When I was five years old my parents separated, no, that would be giving the wrong impression, that the decision was in some way mutual or amicable. Nothing could be further from the truth. My father kicked my mother out. Literarily opened the front door and kicked her out so she fell sprawled on the front door steps. He spat on her and forbade her to ever see me again. He did all this with me watching and screaming with fear while Baba held me in her arms. I still remember Mama, getting up to her feet, her knees were bleeding, but she was staring at me, desperately memorizing my face, when the door shut on her.

He did all that because he suspected her of being unfaithful to him. Of course it was not true, but my father was, is, and will probably always be highly paranoid. Every shadow is a Judas waiting to betray him, steal from him, plot his murder. He even did a paternity test to confirm that I really was his child. And since then Papa has been married three times. None of them could bear him any children. He divorced the first one. I think she went back to Russia. She hated me and I didn’t like her. The second one was more cunning. She made a huge pretense of liking me, but disappeared one day. I don’t know whether she ran away because she was so afraid of my father, or my father did away with her. Papa’s third wife died in a car accident. Brake failure. When he was informed of it, he nodded slowly, then put another forkful of calves’ liver into his mouth. We went to her funeral dressed in black. Nobody shed a tear.

After my mother went I cried for days. I never stopped begging Baba to let me see my mother. At first she told me to forget Mama. Mama had left the country.

‘But where could she have gone? All her clothes and shoes are here?’

‘You can’t see her. The sooner you accept that the better it will be for everybody.’

‘I’ll run away,’ I threatened.

‘There are bad men outside these walls. They will catch you and do terrible things to you.’

‘Can’t you ask Papa to bring Mama back?’ I begged.

‘No, Solnyshko, I can’t.’

But I wouldn’t relent. I was determined. Every day without fail I begged her. Sometimes I wouldn’t even eat.

Then one day she took me shopping and we ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mama. Oh the unexplainable joy. I can still remember how I wrapped my arms tightly around her neck and howled when it was time to part. Then Mama started crying and Baba scolded me.

‘If you don’t stop that we’ll never be able to see Mama again.’

Every time I turned back I would see her standing where we left her, watching us sadly until we turned a corner, or the crowd swallowed us.

In the car, Baba cautioned, ‘Remember you can never ever tell anyone about this. If you do you will never see your Mama again.’ Her eyes stared at me earnestly. ‘And perhaps not even me.’

My mouth opened in horror. ‘Will Papa kick you out of the house too?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said softly.

From that day on I learned to be ultra-secretive. To keep my mouth shut. To watch everything that came out of it.

As I grew older, Baba taught me how to use the rope ladder. Ever since then I have been using it to go visit my mother.

Sergei suddenly lifts his head, jumps off the bed, and goes to scratch at the door. I let him out and call Lina. It is nearly nine o’clock.

‘What?’ she says sleepily.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I … uh … left a jacket in your recycle bin. Would you mind very much putting it into a bag? I’ll pick it up from you when we go to my fitting appointment.’

There is a slight pause. ‘A jacket?’

‘Yes, a brown leather one.’

‘In my recycle bin?’

‘Right,’ I confirm.

‘Uh … huh. Am I going to get any kind of explanation?’

‘Um … not, right now.’

‘‘Fine, go ahead and be mysterious, then.’

‘It’s important.’

She sighs. ‘What do I do with it again?’

‘Just bring it with you when we go for our appointment.’

‘Okay. What time are you coming?’

‘About ten thirty.’

‘Are you excited?’

‘Yeah, sure. Sure, I am.’