There was a desperation in Elísa’s voice, so Agla hushed her.

‘It won’t be like that next time,’ she said. ‘I’ve fixed things with Sonja. With the Boss. You’ll be left completely alone.’

‘How did you do that?’ Elísa suddenly sounded agitated. ‘I owe one of the guys who works for the Boss and promised to do something for him instead, and those debts don’t disappear, even after a couple of years. You don’t know how all this works, Agla.’

‘Don’t worry about all that. You’re safe. The Boss doesn’t own you any longer. You’re mine.’

‘That’s if you want me now,’ Elísa said and burst into sobs. ‘I’ve no idea how it happened, but I’ve just been told my blood test says I’m pregnant.’

103

His father was sitting in the living room, watching TV when Anton came home. He dropped onto the sofa next to him, kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie.

‘Well, then,’ his father said, with the habitual artificial cheerfulness Anton knew he switched on in order to appear buoyant when things had been difficult. More than likely his mother had been more than usually unpleasant to him this evening. ‘How’s things with the younger generation? How was your evening? And the meal?’

‘The meal was fine,’ Anton muttered.

‘Good to hear,’ his father said. ‘I told them to look after you, and let them know that it’s Júlía’s birthday. Did they make something out of that?’

His father switched channels, as the ten o’clock news bulletin was about to start.

‘They brought ice cream and sparklers and stuff, and the waiter sang for her,’ Anton said, and his heart ached. Two hours ago they had sat in the restaurant, happy and satisfied. Júlía had gazed at Anton as she did sometimes, with a tenderness in those brown eyes that made him feel there could be nobody happier than he was.

‘Hey, what’s the matter?’

His father turned down the TV and turned to Anton.

‘Nothing,’ Anton said, yet wanted his father to keep asking, because there was so much that had gone wrong.

‘I can see something’s up,’ his father said. ‘Spill the beans, young man.’

‘Umm.’

He didn’t know what he could tell his father without saying too much.

‘What happened, my boy?’

Now his father had switched to the gentle voice, and Anton felt himself give way. The tears forced their way out and he buried his face in his hands.

‘We split up,’ he gasped.

His father stared at him in amazement.

‘What? And tonight of all nights? My poor lad.’ His father shifted closer, put an arm around Anton’s shoulder and pulled him close. ‘There, there, my boy,’ he crooned, patting his back as if he were a small child who needed to be burped. ‘There, there.’

Gradually his words and the patted rhythm on his back drew him in. It had been years since he had grown out of curling up in his father’s arms, but this time he let himself lie against his shoulder, in the security of his bulky body, while the ten o’clock news bulletin, devoted solely to the explosion, rolled across the screen.