Reckoning Point, стр. 9
It’s a fine day when Elian exits her apartment and she pauses when she gets to the street, tips her face so she can feel the sun warming her skin. She hitches her bag on her shoulder and walks at a leisurely pace to the promenade, checking out the various shops that spill out on to the pathway. The clothes are cheap; mostly vest tops, shorts and cargo pants. Elian doesn’t care what is in fashion, she’s always stuck to her own style, and all she wants are clothes that fit and that are clean, and maybe cool if this scorching sun keeps on day after day. With a small selection of clothes in her arms she goes to the counter, not making eye contact, thankful that the shop clerk seemingly doesn’t want conversation either.
It’s on her way out of the door that the notice board catches her eye. It’s filled with items lost and found, cars or holiday flats to rent, but in the middle is an A4 piece of paper, larger than all of the others, and she reaches out and plucks the page off.
Self Defence Classes, taught by a woman and not too far away either, by the looks of the advert, in Frederikstraat in neighbouring Den Haag. Elian shoves the paper in her bag and then takes it out and slips it in her notebook, thus ensuring that she will look at it later.
As she walks along the promenade she pulls it out again, wondering if maybe she should go along now and check it out. It’s not far, and now she has done her one and only chore for today – buying new clothes – so her day is her own.
But it’s a longer walk than she anticipated with the sun beating mercilessly down on her and its after midday when she reaches Frederikstraat and the address for the gym.
When Elian sees Brigitta standing outside the entrance she’s horrified, certain for a moment that she must have wandered around aimlessly for an hour only to end up at the apartment block where they share mutual residency. Then, she takes a proper look at Brigitta, registers that she is wearing gym clothes and a towel is draped around her neck.
As Brigitta flicks her cigarette into the road she catches sight of Elian and her face lights up with seems to Elian to be a welcoming smile.
“Hey, screamer,” Brigitta calls and Elian cringes as she walks over and prepares to make conversation.
“Do you use this gym? I heard about the self defence classes, are they any good?”
Brigitta, though she has only just discarded a cigarette, taps another one out of the packet and lights up.
“Well, they’re better than nothing, you want to join up?” Brigitta narrows her eyes as she scrutinises Elian, as if assessing her ability.
Then, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, she covers the distance between her and Elian. “What the fuck happened to you, girl?”
Elian’s instinct is to walk to away from Brigitta, the gym and the self defence classes, and most of all Brigitta’s question. But as she is backing away she happens to lock eyes with her neighbour, and at that split second, she sees that no matter what secrets she tells Brigitta, there’s nothing much that could shock this girl. And it’s been such a long time since she had a friend. Even before Chernobyl, there was nobody that she was especially close to. For a bittersweet moment she reflects on Greta and Paulina, the closest she had to friends back in London and she wonders what they’re doing now. She wonders if they ever think of her.
And there’s Alex of course. But as soon as his name comes to mind it’s a real, physical pain so she banishes the memories, musing as she does often, wondering if she’ll ever be able to remember him without hurting.
“You don’t need self defence, girl,” Brigitta says, her voice pulling Elian back to the present. “You need a fucking shrink.” Brigitta smiles. “Or a drink.”
“Yeah, that last one,” Elian replies, agreeing before she can talk herself out of it.
“Let me get my stuff.” Brigitta flicks the second cigarette to the kerb and it lands near the first discarded one. “Wait here.”
Elian nods, leaning against the wall and shifting her bag to the other arm as Brigitta vanishes down the stairs leading into the gym.
Something akin to excitement runs through her but it takes her a while to identify the emotion. It seems like a long time since she has felt anything other than sorrow, regret and dread.
As she waits, a tram squeals to a stop a little further up Frederikstraat and a tight group of people, chattering together, alight. Elian, waiting with impatience now, watches the group. They are disconcerted, she can see that from where she is standing, and there’s something about the subject of their discord that makes Elian edge closer to them. It’s a guy, a man she presumed was with them, but as he pushes his way through the little throng of tourists it becomes apparent that he’s not part of their group.
With a glare at the people that held him up, he walks quickly away in the direction that Elian herself came from, towards the seafront.
Elian hadn’t realised that she had broken out into a sweat until she feels a trickle of perspiration running down between her shoulder blades.
It’s him, it’s Russian Lev. It’s the man that she came here to