‘My children want me to sell the house, they want me to move in with one of them. But why, when I have lost my wife, would I willingly give up our home? We lived there for so long together. All our memories are there. It makes no sense.’ Then to Galina. ‘They worry about me. Like you worry about your uncle.’

A short time later, Mikhail gave her permission to leave. He said he would make his own way home. Galina checked he had sufficient money for the taxi, and that the card with the saddlery address was in his wallet. Alexei stood up to say goodbye. ‘Do you mind?’ he said, holding out his arms. She stepped forward and he clasped her to his big soft chest. Mikhail had no choice but to embrace her too, yet it wasn’t just for show: as he held her close, he whispered, spasiba, thank you.

Standing outside on the footpath, Galina felt different. A light breeze blew, the air was enticingly fresh, the sky with intricate ribbons of cloud was a work of art. She unbuttoned her coat and strode down the street.

‘It might turn out all right,’ she said quietly to herself. ‘It may just be all right.’

She walked past terrace houses with tiny front gardens, she passed factories and warehouses and small corner shops. She smiled at a woman pushing a pram, at an old lady walking with a stick, at two boys in school uniform riding bikes on the footpath. Up ahead, she saw a woman, much the same age as her mother, tending an unruly creeper. She slowed down and breathed in the gorgeous perfume. Intense and flowery, this creeper with its messy habit and small innocuous white-and-pink flowers was nothing to look at, but its perfume was sublime.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ the woman said. ‘You know spring is coming when the jasmine appears.’

A short time later Galina arrived home. While the coffee was brewing she rang Sylvie to report on the success of the visit. Sylvie was not home, so she left a detailed message with effusive thanks. She took her coffee out to the courtyard and sipped it slowly. It was quiet and peaceful.

When she returned inside she went straight to her desk. She took a sheet of paper and ruled a line down the middle, forming two columns:

She studied the two columns. One of them, the left-hand side, seemed Soviet in flavour, while the other, the right-hand side, was more Australian. One of them, the left-hand side, reflected the past; the other, she decided, pointed to the future.