Tatiana’s Day

Chapter 1

January 25, 1990

“What are you doing tonight? We’re celebrating with beer and nearly fresh chocolate cake. There are about ten of us going to my place – and my parents are warned and willing to cooperate. Want to come? I’d like you to come.”

Grey eyes sparkled at her, and a big smile worked some magic. Tatiana didn’t realise at first that Oleg was talking to her.

“Me? You're asking me?”

There were a lot of people hanging out, all smoking, all chatting. Exams were over and spirits were high. “You, of course. I’m asking you. What’s your name by the way?”

“Tatiana.”

“And that in itself calls for celebration! ‘So she was called Tatiana!’” he quoted teasingly. “Hey guys, on the lucky day of St Tatiana we are going to have Tatiana with us!” She just wanted to disappear. Urgently. To fly away with the myriad snowflakes that were generously falling from the January sky. Ever since she’d found out she was named after the heroine Tatiana Larina, from the doomed love story-in-verse Evgeny Onegin, Tatiana had dreaded the association. Oh how she wished they hadn’t chosen that name, her Pushkin-loving parents. But Tania was even worse – far too common and simple. She preferred Tatiana.

But of course St Tatiana, the patron saint of all students. Damn. Damn 25th January – my name day and her name day. I’m going to get teased for the next four years!

All eyes were on her now, and she did not like it. The blue-eyed girl, whose youthful looks hid her real age, she was only ever good at talking in the classroom. And that was because she always studied, did her homework and knew exactly how to answer the teachers’ questions.

Oleg’s friends were all smiling at her confidently. They were the ones who laughed the loudest, told the rudest jokes, drunk beer – both boys and girls – as if their only purpose was to have a good time. Studying was not top of the agenda, yet they were bright and charismatic. Tatiana knew that they could all pass their exams by cramming the night before. What she didn’t know was why she was standing next to them in the ‘Smoking Square’, opposite the university.

Since almost everyone smoked, it was tightly packed with students from every year. It was something you had to do to be accepted. A cigarette was the ticket you needed to belong there. Even better if you didn’t have a light - by asking for one you could start a conversation.

Tatiana found herself standing next to Oleg’s group because she knew one of the girls – one of the witty, loud ones – from school. No one had ever questioned her right to stand there, but no one had really spoken to her before either. Not since September, when the year had begun. And now the first person to address her, invite her even, was The Man himself. The group leader. Oleg Isaev.

He was at least two years older than everyone, they said, although no one knew for sure. He was in the army, before, almost definitely Afghanistan, and he was the best at everything – jokes, witty banter, pulling pranks, playing guitar... But he was tight-lipped about his past and never gave anything away. He also had a strange sort of poise or charisma that meant nobody ever questioned his authority.

So when Oleg asked her to join the party, Tatiana just took it as a command, not an invitation. In fact, she felt honoured if not a little confused. She knew all about him, but he didn’t even know her name.

“Me? You’re asking me?”

These were her first words to him.

Snow kept tumbling down. Huge snowflakes, each one beautiful and unique. Tatiana loved winter days like this. The temperature was just right, only a few degrees below zero; not too cold, not too windy, all quiet and magically still. Ever since she was little a fresh fall of snow excited her. Even now, she loved to pick up a small heap from the ground, all the individual snowflakes still visible, and press them between her mitts. But they wouldn't stick together – it was too cold for that.

It was a fluffy, soft snow. Just right for sticking your tongue into, or for cramming into your mouth and letting it melt on your tongue. And that was the best taste ever. In her mouth it turned into the sweetest of all waters. If only it could be bottled and sold as 'Snow Water’. Tatiana could even picture the label on the blue bottle. All silver with a scattering of snowflakes.

Today, the snow was magnificent. Nature on her wedding day. The time when the huge grey metropolis of Moscow turned into a spectacular bridal party. White, festive, glamorous. And quiet.

The snow had muffled the city’s traffic, sirens, all that noisy city buzz. And the ever-rushing Muscovites had become fairy tale wedding guests as the falling snow adorned the tops of their hats and the shoulders of their coats sparkling like Swarovski crystals under the street lights. The spectacle dazzled Tatiana. It would be a shame to go home on a night like this.

“OK, I’ll come. But I need to call my parents first.”

“Good girl.” Oleg took a coin out of his pocket. “Go on then, make a public phone feel useful.”

Oleg lived with his parents in a small two-bedroom flat in the south of Moscow. It was empty when the noisy group of excited students reached it. They walked up to the fifth floor (the lift was out of order) with armfuls of beer bottles.

Inside the typical Moscow apartment, with its small rooms and narrow corridors, the first thing Tatiana noticed was the books. They were everywhere. Thousands of them. An old piano took a proud place in the centre of the living room.

“You can smoke everywhere,” Oleg gave permission. “We just need to open the windows before my folks get back.”

Inhaling the heavy fumes, they all quickly got drunk on the students’ favourite of vodka-and-beer-chaser. Because of that Tatiana didn't have a clear memory of the night.

She remembered they were all singing at the top of their voices. Popular wartime songs about faithful girls in blue shawls waiting for their soldiers to return, and some childish Soviet rhymes from the ‘70s about drunken hedgehogs and Thursdays’ departures from Liverpool harbour.

She also remembered Oleg playing the piano, first to accompany the singing, then later on getting more serious and slipping into some kind of jazz. He played with skill and passion, moving up and down on the stool in time to the rhythm. Then she remembered sitting on his lap at the top of the table and the sky outside the window was turning pale pink. The smoke from the nearby power station was rising up high – the unmistakable sign of freezing temperatures outside.

The conversation was dying out, all the faces turning pale, when Oleg gently pushed her off saying, “Let’s make coffee for everyone, Sunny.” And it was there, in the tiny kitchen, that they kissed.

Tatiana wasn't even sure if it really happened or was it a part of her dream. She was tired, a little drunk and hazy after the most exciting night of her life.

But she did remember the two of them counting the number of mugs and spoons of instant coffee, as familiar as an old couple.

“Hi, it’s me. What are you doing tonight?” Oleg called her two days later. He doesn’t even use my name! Before she could answer, he simply said, “I’m coming to pick you up at 7pm. Bring your swimsuit with you. What’s your address?”

Tatiana had never been spoken to like this – not by a boy, certainly. He just gave her orders. But in such a way that she couldn't protest. She heard him smile on the other end of the phone. It was a game, with the rules she had to follow. And somehow it felt right - she wanted him to take charge.