I take another look at the miserable place that we’ve apparently decided to spend our time in, and then I make a stupid, ridiculous mistake. ‘I reckon we should go with this one, Carrie. You chose it. I bet it’s lovely inside. That other place was probably all front.’

Ivan catches my eye in the rear-view mirror, and shakes his head sadly. He mutters something in Russian, and then opens the car door and climbs out. He disappears around the back and lifts our rucksacks out of the boot, then walks silently over to the hotel, and up the three steps to the front door.

‘I hope we’re not being mental,’ Carrie says.

‘How bad can it be? It’s all just part of our adventure.’

‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘Also … I’m sorry, V. I was a total dick on the train. Can we just forget it?’

I’m about to tell her that I’d already forgiven her, when Ivan appears back down the steps.

‘One thousand rubles,’ he says.

Carrie hands over the note she has taken from her purse, folded up in her hand, ready. Knowing how much it should be. Yet again, not letting us be ripped off.

The hotel will be fine. The main thing is, we’re together.

22

The reception is small and cramped, with a chest-height, dark, wooden desk on one side and a tired-looking red-velvet sofa on the other. The floors are polished marble, and a quick glance around suggests that the place is clean, if not luxurious. I squeeze Carrie’s hand and she gives me a small smile. We’re here. We’re still together. But we do have lots to talk about. I’ll let us get settled before broaching it though.

‘Room seventeen, on fourth floor. Lift is at end of corridor. Restaurant is at end of corridor also. No food now. Breakfast eight until ten. Dinner five until nine. No lunch.’ The bored-looking receptionist rattles off the bare minimum of information needed without even the hint of a smile. She hasn’t asked for any money yet, so maybe Carrie has pre-paid, but I don’t bother to ask her.