Omega

Owain waited a moment to see if the interference would clear. The door to the dining room was ajar, his uncle and Giselle back at the table, talking quietly. Rhys passed by, not looking at him, closing the door as he rejoined the others.

Still the interference continued. It conveyed a sense of vastness and disorder, spreading out over the entire world like an electronic ocean into which he could quite easily be washed away. Amongst the turbulence there suddenly surfaced something that bore his name.

He stared at the mouthpiece, said into it: “Marisa?”

TWENTY-TWO

“…consider yourself lucky… might take a little time… anything you wanted to talk about…”

It was a familiar male voice, casual yet somehow earnest, conversational but with a purpose.

I looked around. Geoff was beside me in a green waxed jacket, a tweed cap on his head. We were walking around a small lake on a common, Tanya some distance ahead in a wine-coloured parka.

It was a blustery afternoon, the wind cold as it came off the water. Nearby someone was flying a boxy scarlet-and-blue kite. Wimbledon Common. We had just come out of a pub where I’d eaten knuckle of lamb with mash and root vegetables: snug in the alcove near an open fire, Geoff and Tanya and me.

“The thing is, you’re bound to feel disorientated for a while. Don’t try to rush things.”

He spoke in a soft, reasonable tone without making eye contact. This was him in his professional capacity, perhaps hoping to tease something out of me. Or keep me lulled.

Under his jacket he wore a Fair Isle sweater in earthy, autumnal colours. Heathery woollen trousers were tucked into green Welling-tons. It was just perfect. Easy to imagine him walking the fields of a family estate with a shotgun draped over one arm. But his family weren’t really landed and he disapproved of blood sports.

By contrast Tanya was in black leggings, her hair flowing free. I suppose what had drawn her to him was Geoff’s seriousness of purpose, his steadfastness and honesty. In the long term they were qualities more durable than passion.

There was so much I had to do, so much to find out. But the pressing conviction remained that I needed to make sense of my own recent history, be certain I had everything in place. And Tanya was somehow central to this.

After receiving the photograph from Kiev, I didn’t hear anything from her for three months. I assumed she was still travelling. Then one day t a message on my father’s answer phone. Tatiana had died suddenly and was being cremated the following Monday. Tanya gave the time and place, said that it would be good to see me if I could make it.

I rang her number several times but there was no reply. I told Lyneth that I was going to London to scout for suitable living places. She didn’t understand why it was suddenly so urgent, but I insisted it couldn’t wait. I added that I might stay the night with Geoff, whom I’d mentioned to her before.

The service was being held in the local crematorium. Toting my overnight bag, I arrived late and found perhaps two dozen people in the chapel. I’d never imagined Tatiana would have had that many mourners. Tanya was at the front in a sober skirt and jacket. Beside her, in a dark suit, was a beardless Geoff.

Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised, but my own vanity undermined me. To see them together in such a formal setting was far more significant than on a mere holiday snap.

After the service I loitered outside, watching Tanya accept condolences from elderly well-heeled men. One by one they were led away to smart executive cars by middle-aged companions who were presumably their sons and daughters.

Finally Tanya stood alone. I went straight over and gave her a hug.

Tatiana had had a heart attack two days before what was probably her seventy-fifth birthday. Tanya had found her sitting slumped on the toilet with a copy of Hello on her lap, open on an article about Princess Diana.

I didn’t know you were back, was the only thing I could think of saying. Since June, she replied.

The cars were driving away. Tanya told me they were old colleagues, civil servants, most of them. They’d worked with Tatiana in the post-war years, in administration, they said. How did they know about the funeral? She reminded me of the yearly birthday phone calls from Lionel. Tanya had given him the news.

A silver Carina pulled up. Geoff was at the wheel. He greeted me heartily. Tanya climbed into the front passenger seat and asked if I was coming back to the house. I slung my bag into the back.

I didn’t allow much of a silence, remarking that it must have been a pleasant surprise to see so many mourners. Tanya said that they’d all been warm about her grandmother but uninformative about the precise nature of their working relationship. Lionel himself hadn’t been able to attend: he was ill, but had sent flowers and a card.