A sob burst from his throat and the tears flowed. He wanted to say ‘sorry’ but couldn’t even form the word.
‘Promise me,’ Rosa insisted fiercely, her fingernails digging into his palm, and he gave a little nod.
Chapter Sixty-One
Albany, New York State, 1955
Around ten o’clock one February evening, a nurse rang to tell Dmitri that Rosa was very weak and unlikely to make it through the night. Nicholas and Marta piled into the car and they collected Rosa’s mother and sister then drove to the hospital. Rosa was no longer conscious but lay with her mouth open, gasping for every breath like a fish lying on a riverbank. They all spoke to her, told her they were there and that they loved her, but there was no reaction. She was too far along the journey to the next place. Chairs were brought, cups of coffee offered, and they sat with her as the breaths became fainter and further apart.
Dmitri perched close to Rosa’s head, whispering to her, wetting her cracked lips with a damp sponge, as he had learned to do after her bouts of vomiting. He felt panic welling inside him at the thought of life without her, but at the same time he couldn’t bear her to suffer any more. He must be strong tonight for the sake of his children. Marta was crying and Nicholas was white-faced. Somehow they would get through this.
‘You should take the wedding ring off her finger now,’ a nurse advised. ‘It’s harder to do once she’s gone.’
Rosa’s mother and sister glared at him as he slid off the gold band and slipped it in his pocket. They both knew, although the children did not, that there had never been a wedding.
When the end came, none of them recognised it at first because the breaths were already so far apart. They listened, scarcely moving a muscle, watching her throat for a tiny flicker, but after several minutes with no movement Rosa’s mother sobbed, ‘She’s gone.’ A nurse came to confirm it and recorded the time of death as 3.20 a.m.
Dmitri wanted to be on his own with her, to whisper his last private messages of love, but he couldn’t; she belonged to all of them, not just him. He was dry-eyed, shocked, and extraordinarily tired. He failed to smother a yawn, and Rosa’s sister shook her head and tutted.
Before long, the nurse came to tell them that the body must be moved: that’s what Rosa was now – a body. They trailed out to the car and Dmitri dropped off Rosa’s mother and sister then took Nicholas and Marta back to the house. They were exhausted and went up to their rooms to sleep, but Dmitri sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands, feeling utterly bereft. He couldn’t bear the emptiness, the terrifying hole Rosa had left in the universe. He wanted to cry but at the same time was scared of crying because it might make him fall apart completely.
On a sudden impulse he got up and slipped out the back door, closing it quietly behind him. He climbed into his car, pulled out of the drive and headed across town to Tatiana’s, knocking on her door at five o’clock in the morning. She answered, wearing a long satin dressing gown, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
‘She’s gone,’ he said, a frog in his throat. ‘I had to see you.’
She pulled him inside and held him close for several minutes. ‘I’ll get some vodka,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’
He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, which suddenly felt as though it was choking him, and kicked off his shoes.
‘To Rosa,’ Tatiana toasted, handing him a shot of vodka.
As Dmitri drank he heard a banging on the door. ‘Who can that be?’ he asked. ‘I hope I didn’t wake your neighbours.’
Tatiana shrugged that she didn’t know and went to see. He heard a voice in the hall – ‘Where the hell is he?’ – then Marta burst into the room, her face scarlet from crying.
‘You bastard, how could you? Mum’s not even cold!’ She picked up a glass of vodka from the table and threw it over Dmitri.
What could he say? He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his cheek.
Tatiana gathered her wits. ‘You must be Marta,’ she said. ‘I am an old friend of your father’s, from Russia. Please sit down.’
‘Forget it! I’m not accepting hospitality from a whore!’ Marta cried.
‘Marta!’ Dmitri rebuked. He was too exhausted, too drained to deal with this.
Marta was hysterical, spitting out her words. ‘Nicholas and I followed you in my car because I suspected you might come to your other woman. Oh yes, I’ve known for ages: all those long walks with the dog, and mysterious errands, and fictitious meetings. I warned Mum there was someone else, but she would never hear a word against you. All the time she was struggling with cancer you were coming here … I just thought you might have the decency not to come tonight. Have you no respect at all?’
‘Have a drink,’ Tatiana urged. ‘You are overwrought. You don’t know the facts but we will explain if you sit down. I’ll go and invite your brother inside …’
‘You must be joking,’ Marta screamed. ‘Sit down for a chat? In your house? Frankly, I never want to see either of you again.’
She turned to leave. ‘Marta, wait!’ Dmitri called, and stood to go after her, feeling utterly useless.
Tatiana put a hand on his arm. ‘Leave her. You can explain tomorrow when she has had some sleep and calmed down a little. Talk to both of them. I don’t mind what explanation you give. It’s up to you.’
A few hours later, Dmitri drove home. He expected to find his children sitting in the kitchen over breakfast, but neither of them was there. Trina whined and nudged his leg, desperate to be let out to empty her bladder, and equally keen for her breakfast. There was a short note on the table telling him that both Marta and Nicholas had gone to stay at their grandmother’s house. He sighed, imagining the character assassination that would be going on over that breakfast table. It would all come out now. How could he talk to his son or daughter with the disapproving in-laws present?
He made the necessary phone calls to tell friends of Rosa’s death and spoke to an undertaker about organising a funeral then called his mother-in-law’s house to consult them on the date. Neither Nicholas or Marta would come to the telephone and Dmitri didn’t know what to do, short of driving round and forcing his way over the threshold. Tatiana suggested that he write to them, and he did: ‘We need to stick together to get through this terrible loss,’ he wrote. ‘After we have buried your mother, I will tell you anything you want to know about my long friendship with Tatiana. Be assured it is not what you imagine.’
Worrying about the rift with his children stopped him grieving for Rosa. He went through the motions of ordering flowers, choosing a coffin, and picking hymns for the service, with only brief phone calls to his mother-in-law’s house to ask their wishes. On the day of the funeral they made their way separately to the church and when Dmitri walked in, he saw that his children, their partners, and Rosa’s family had occupied the front row, forcing him to sit one behind. After the service, they huddled together at the graveside leaving no room for him, just glancing across red-eyed and accusing when the minister called Rosa a ‘beloved wife and mother’. From their sneering expressions, he suspected Nicholas and Marta had been told he never married their mother: one more sin that would have to be explained.
In his head Dmitri asked Rosa, ‘What should I do?’ She would have known how to fix this, just as she had smoothed over every family argument through the years, but there was no reply because she was in the cold earth.
He telephoned that night and Nicholas answered the call.
‘Won’t you meet me, son?’ he begged. ‘We need to talk. Please let me explain …’
‘I don’t care about your private life, Dad,’ he said wearily. ‘Nothing will bring Mom back. I can’t come out tonight because Pattie and I are flying to California in the morning and I’d like to spend the evening with my grandma.’
‘What about your sister? Is she there?’