Riding Icarus by Lily Hyde

Mercedes was parked outside the tower block, purring to itself. Masha hurried past, wondering who was watching from behind the tinted windows.
    Inside the flat, Ira was flustered and Gena envious.
    “The driver’s been waiting for you for ages,” said Ira. “Hurry up and get changed. You’re to go round to Uncle Igor’s for the day.”
    Masha’s heart sank. Uncle Igor lived on an estate of brand new houses for rich people which everyone nicknamed Tsarskoe Selo, or Tsar’s Village, after the place where the Russian royal family had lived before they were all killed in the revolution. Masha had been invited round several times after her mother had left, to play with Igor’s daughter Anastasia.
    “Do I have to go?” she asked.
    “Of course you do. He is supposed to be looking after you, after all. Now, how about putting on that nice frock he gave you for your birthday.”
    “I don’t want to wear it.” Masha looked at the frilly dress with loathing. She hated wearing dresses, but to appease Ira she changed into an old one that her mother had made for her. It was very short and tight, but it was better than wearing Anastasia’s cast-offs.
    “Be a good girl and behave yourself,” Ira said at the door. “The driver will bring you back this afternoon.”
    “You’ll get to ride in that car again,” added Gena. “That’s so cool. Have a good time.”
    Masha didn’t expect to have a good time at all. She sat gloomily in the back of the Mercedes, staring at the dashboard crowded with little gilt-framed religious icons. A furry hare’s paw hung from the mirror, along with a jumble of crosses and prayer beads and a bunch of white heather. All these were for good luck. Masha knew from experience that Igor was ludicrously superstitious. Once she had been at his house when another visitor had arrived and handed him a bunch of flowers over the threshold. Uncle Igor had been angry and nervous the whole day after that because it was bad luck. Another time, his wife, Anya, had gone out and then returned five minutes later because she had forgotten something. Masha had heard Uncle Igor shouting at her for bringing bad luck on the house.
    This had given Masha a wicked idea. Now when she was at Uncle Igor’s she always tried to do something that was supposed to be bad luck for the head of the household. Igor had never caught her but she hoped it made him miserable, just as he had made her miserable by sending her mother away. He had promised that Mama would come back from Turkey after six months but, two years later, she still had not returned. He had promised to build them a house but, although he was the richest person Masha had ever met, he had left her and Granny to live in the trolleybus. Her mother had said that while she was gone Uncle Igor would look after Masha, but he had never done anything. Masha was sure that the occasional presents and visits were only because his wife remembered.
    His wife, Aunt Anya, was as nice as Uncle Igor was horrible. She always wore expensive-looking clothes, and had a different hairstyle every time Masha saw her. Masha thought she was very beautiful, but she also thought that, despite all her lovely clothes and make-up and her huge, fabulous house, Anya never looked happy.
    Aunt Anya was waiting as the car swept through the gates and halted smoothly in the driveway. The gates swung to at once, shutting the house and garden in a thick, expensive silence.
    “Hello, darling.” Anya greeted her with a swift, perfumed kiss.
    “Hello.” There was something a little too eager about Anya’s kisses and cuddles. They made Masha feel cosy and at the same time uncomfortable.
    Aunt Anya’s hair was a shining honey colour today, and her lips and nails were painted pale pink. She took Masha to the immaculate kitchen, where sweets and crisps, a shop-bought cake and a loaf of bread were laid out. As Aunt Anya looked into the fridge, Masha surreptitiously turned the loaf upside down. That was