As Galina walked home, Andrew’s words resonated, not in the context he meant, but in her own situation. Ever since Mikhail had gate-crashed her life, she had not stood up for herself. He was still living under her roof, he was still eating her meals, he was still expecting her to look after him; he was, in short, still using her to negotiate his Australian life. Initially, all decisions had been beyond her, but with Mikhail’s expanding interests through the Russian club, she had regained something of her old self — though not enough, it seemed, to resume her life properly. It was as if she were becalmed, and while the state was not disagreeable, it was largely ineffectual. But now? She had to stand up for herself. She’d put her own life and her own future on ice for long enough. She needed to act.

She had long ago fixed on the solution to Mikhail’s housing: Alexei Lebedev from the Russian club. In the three months since their first meeting, Alexei and Mikhail had become firm friends. They met at the club two or three times a week, they’d been on several club outings together, and Mikhail had stayed over at Alexei’s place a number of times. Alexei was lonely, his family home was large, he would welcome Mikhail as a permanent housemate. And at Alexei’s place, Mikhail would have the space he had enjoyed as a member of the Soviet elite, along with all the Western conveniences he so admired.

When he first visited Alexei’s house, Mikhail had returned home full of admiration for the kitchen machines and household gadgets.

‘You live like a peasant,’ he had said to her. ‘No mixmaster, no Bamix, no air conditioner, no microwave. A peasant,’ he repeated in disgust.

A long time ago, Sylvie had asked if she were afraid of Mikhail. Galina had not answered, but of course she was. Though what could he do here, in Australia? To her, or to anyone, for that matter? And the answer was clear: nothing, nothing at all. But it seemed that rationality had no authority when it came to her fear. This man had been responsible for his own parents’ death, he had treated his sister abominably, he had thrived during the worst of times. This man now lived in her home, he slept metres from where she slept. She should have told him to leave long ago, but she was afraid of what he could do, a fear well founded on what he had done.