Doctor Gavrilov by Maggie Hamand

arrogant, I know, but he’s all right really.’
    Dmitry said, ‘He’s a journalist. He’s nosy. Besides, he fancies you.’
    â€˜Oh Mitya, whatever makes you think that?’
    â€˜I saw the way he looked at you. Besides, you are very beautiful. What man in his right mind would not want to make love to you?’
    They lay for a moment in silence, then Katie rolled over and suddenly, hungrily, he began to kiss her. She responded eagerly, wanting him, needing to connect with him, wanting to dispel all the bad feeling between them so that they could feel close again. He was aroused, excited; she put down her hand guide him into her, and as she touched him he gave a moan of pleasure and opened his eyes wide to her.
    And then the baby started crying.

    The bank manager was young, a brash, eager man who made quick, jabbing movements with his hands to illustrate his points in a manner which annoyed Dmitry. He had a file open on the desk and looked through it, turning the pages with care. Dmitry had seen this technique before, used as a means of intimidation; it did not impress him. He sat, in his best suit and tie, and waited.
    The manager cleared his throat. He said, ‘Now, we seem to have a few problems with your account… it seems to be rather a long time since any money has been paid in… You informed us last month that there would be a reasonable sum of money coming in but this has never materialised…’
    â€˜I sent you a copy of the contract from the publisher. The rest of the money is payable on completion…’ Dmitry could not bring himself to say that the publisher had gone bankrupt and the money wasn’t coming.
    â€˜Yes, we have it here… but even this will mean you can barely make the mortgage payments and then there’s the question of the overdraft, which is now up to the limit.’
    The desk in the meeting room was bare except for the telephone, the in-tray, and the file. Dmitry looked at the sunlight gleaming on its polished surface. The bank manager was looking at him with something which was not exactly pity, though no doubt he would have felt pity had he had the imagination. Dmitry felt humiliated.
    â€˜You realise that you now can’t make any more payments unless we renegotiate this overdraft. We’ve already extended this twice and we can’t keep on doing this indefinitely when we can’t see any money coming in… I’m afraid this time we will have to say no.’ He sighed. ‘Of course, I suppose this is all quite new to you. I don’t suppose you are used to this kind of thing in Russia.’
    Dmitry said, ‘No, but now I believe we are beginning to enjoy all these new benefits of the capitalist system; unemployment, low pay, mortgage arrears, and bankruptcy.’
    The manager, taken aback, gave a short, dry laugh. He glanced again at the file. ‘Have you any ideas, yourself, how you would like to solve this problem?’
    â€˜Well, I have been offered a job, I don’t particularly want to do it, but now, I see, I have no choice. Don’t worry, I’ll be paying in some money very shortly.’ Dmitry could not help enjoying, for a moment, a secret sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that the manager would have felt nothing but abhorrence at being instrumental in forcing him to do this dreadful thing. Dmitry slowly stood up; the bank manager shook his hand as he left. As the door closed behind him, Dmitry was sure he saw him shaking his head.

    The notebooks Dmitry had wanted were up in the attic, among dusty piles of papers and notes going back for years. He brought them downstairs and sat at the table, going through them. Soon he became utterly absorbed. When he looked up at the clock he and realised that it was nearly three-thirty; if he didn’t hurry he would be late to pick Anna up from school.
    On the way he stopped at a phone box and dialled the number Rozanov had given him.