Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope by Anne Plichota and Cendrine Wolf

forgot, I used bleach instead of bubble bath.”
    “Fine, make fun of a poor man concerned about the well-being of his darling little girl!”
    “Oh, it’s a hard life being a darling little girl,” muttered Oksa with a smile.
    “Okay, call me if you need anything.”
    “No problem, Dad, don’t worry.”
    “I’m not worried.”
    Oksa couldn’t help smiling. “The legendary Russian OTT-ness,” she murmured, sinking beneath the water.

    She climbed out of the bath a few minutes later. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she noticed a large star-shaped bruise on her stomach around her belly button. Oksa wondered when she could have got such a bad bruise. It hurt a bit but, given its size and colour, it wasn’t too bad. Perhaps it had been when she collapsed after feeling so ill, on her first day at school? It looked as if she’d been punched and that was exactly how she’d felt just before her fall.
    Weird! She looked closer. What an odd shape! “
I’ll have to show it to Baba, she’s bound to have some ointment for it
,” she thought. She got dressed and went upstairs to see her gran, who greeted her wearing a long midnight-blue velvet housecoat embroidered with brightly coloured Russian motifs.
    “You look amazing, Baba!”
    “Thank you, Dushka. How are you?”
    “I’m fine. I wanted to see you because I have a large bruise on my stomach. I was sure you’d have some cream or oil to put on it.”
    “Show me.”
    Oksa lifted up her T-shirt. Seeing the bruise, Dragomira put her hand over her mouth in amazement.
    “How long have you had that? Why didn’t you show me before? Has anyone else seen it?” she gasped breathlessly.
    “Hang on a minute, Baba, that’s a lot of questions for a tiny bruise! No, I haven’t had it long, I’ve only just noticed it, but I fell over three days ago, so I might have hurt myself then. Er… what was your last question?”
    Dragomira didn’t say anything, which was totally out of character as she was normally so chatty. She seemed stunned and euphoric at the same time. She looked at her granddaughter, her eyes shining, muttering incomprehensible words which, Oksa thought, were probably Russian.
    “Baba? Have you got some cream then?” she repeated.
    Dragomira roused herself, still looking incredulous, and stammered:
    “Yes, yes, of course, Dushka.”

    Once Oksa had gone back downstairs, Dragomira went up to her workroom. The two Lunatrixes, who were brushing the shelves with tiny feather dusters, greeted their mistress deferentially. Dragomira patted their rumpled little heads absent-mindedly and sat down at her desk. She switched on her computer, opened her email programme and tapped feverishly on the keyboard:
    Leomido, something incredible has just happened: it’s the Mark. There’s no doubt about it. Come as soon as possible! I’ll contact our friends.
    From: your affectionate sister
.
    She clicked “High Priority” then “Send”, her heart racing and her hands shaking. Her face lit up in a smile and a strange light flickered in her eyes. She couldn’t help giving a sigh, which sounded like a cross between a groan and a whoop of delight.
    “Is something vexatious tormenting Your Graciousness?” asked the Lunatrixes, rushing to her side.
    By way of reply, Dragomira began to dance round the table in the middle of the workroom. Floating vertically three feet above the floor, she spun round with her arms in the air, clapping and singing at the top of her lungs. The frizzy-haired potato-like creature clambered onto the table and waddled heavily, running its fingers through its luxuriant mane, while another creature lethargically undulated its fat, wrinkled body. The plants moved their leaves in rhythm, except for the Goranov, which seemed frightened by this sudden frantic activity. Apart from Baba Pollock, none of them knew what had caused this outburst. Still, none of them thought twice about joining in cheerfully with their mistress. The whole