She took some leave from the orchestra and flew out to the small town Evgeny came from, outside Minsk. She felt that she owed it to him and his family to attend his funeral.
She had been unprepared for the open coffin and had clutched at Mary-Ann’s arm when Evgeny’s pale, beautiful face confronted her in the church. Mary-Ann had spoken with his family, explaining how talented and popular a member of the orchestra he had been, but Lydia felt quite unable to say anything to them, her guilt over the manner of his death weighing her down. She spent the day looking furtively around for any sign of Milan, but he didn’t appear.
She had tried to contact him over the course of the days that had passed—by phone, by text, by email—but he seemed to have disappeared. He would be preoccupied with funeral organisation himself, she realised. She contemplated trying to get in touch with his father or his brother in the US, but supposed even Milan couldn’t hold a grudge so tightly that he wouldn’t inform his own family of a member’s death.
Once Mary-Ann had finished her attempts to console Evgeny’s family, she came to join Lydia for a drink and a dish of vegetables, rice and raisins.
“You thought he’d be here, didn’t you?” she said.
“I wondered. But he’s got his mother’s funeral to cope with. Too many funerals.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself, you know. For what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
Lydia, who had spoken of it to nobody since the dreadful day, let her shoulders slump, swallowing back tears.
“I feel responsible,” she whispered.
“You aren’t. And neither is Milan, really. He didn’t force Evgeny to go and get so drunk he caused an accident.”
“He knew Evgeny wouldn’t take a breakup well.”
“Yes, but that’s no reason not to break up with somebody, is it? Because you’re scared of their reaction? That’s a recipe for a lifetime of misery. He loved you, Lyd, he must have done.”
“Really? Do you really think so?”
“You gave him new eyes. He saw his life differently after he met you. If it hadn’t been for what happened…I think you and he could have worked. Who knows, perhaps you still could.”
“Oh, no, it’s gone past that. You didn’t see him after he found out his mother had died. It was like a light went out in him. It was like his last chance to be something different had just been snatched away. I don’t think he’ll change now. I think it’s too late.”
“You don’t think that, Lyd, or you w
ouldn’t keep looking over your shoulder for him. You still have hope.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. That’s why I can’t stay with the WSO. I can’t have you, and I can’t just be friends with you. I’m going to work out my notice, then I’ve applied for something in Vienna. I made some good contacts there.”
“Oh, Mary-Ann, I feel like all my friends have left me.”
“They haven’t. I know this will sound like I’m lying, but I hope you and Milan work things out. I really do. I want you to be happy, and I’m not sure you can be, without him. Don’t give up, eh? Follow your dreams.”
“It’s following my dreams that landed me in this mess.” Lydia’s gloom fitted the mood of the room. All the same, she picked up her mobile phone and checked it for messages—there were none—before texting Milan again.
“Am at Evgeny’s funeral. Thinking of you. Wish you would let me know you’re OK. Love you, L x.”
She put the phone back in her pocket, not expecting any reply, and addressed herself to the vodka bottle.
She was lying on her back in the hotel room, watching the ceiling spin while Mary-Ann snored in the twin bed across from hers, when her phone rang.
“What time’s it?” she muttered to herself, struggling to find the phone in the pocket of a jacket she had flung to the floor.
The display said ‘Milan’. She almost screamed, but managed to put a hand over her mouth in time, looking over at the oblivious Mary-Ann.
She jabbed with hopeful clumsiness at the call button, missing it at first, but she hit it eventually.
“Milan,” she gasped into the phone. “Milan, is that you?”
There was a silence at first, then an accusatory, “Are you drunk?”