He sat beside her, then, and held her hand, and they watched the TV together, without speaking. At first her hand was stiff in his, but after a couple of minutes she clung to him, and he could feel the cold dampness of her palm.

The phone rang, startling Viktorenko.

York let it ring a couple of times. Then she unwound her hand from Viktorenko’s and walked to the phone. Her steps were slow and deliberate, as if she were wearing some invisible pressure suit.

“York.”

He heard her exhale, softly.

“Oh, hi, Mom. No. It’s not true. Well, maybe. I’ve only seen the TV news, like you. NASA hasn’t called me. Until then I… No, I don’t think I should call them. They know where I am. I’ll just wait here until — yes, maybe you should get off the line, Mom. I’ll call as soon as I know. Bye. Yes, me, too. Bye.”

She hung up. She turned to Viktorenko and shrugged.

On the TV a rerun of some awful dated sitcom was showing; Viktorenko could barely follow the quick-fire accents, and he found the visual business of the show cheap and unfunny.

York sat silently, trembling a little. He doubted that she could even see the TV images.

The phone rang. York got up again.

“York.

“Yes, sir.”

She fell silent, then, for long seconds.

“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll do the best I can. Sure. Good-bye.”

She hung up the phone. Viktorenko did not dare to speak.

York walked to the TV, where the canned laughter was still rattling from the inane sitcom. She picked up one of Viktorenko’s miniatures, twisted it open, threw the cap across the room, and downed the draught in one gulp.

Viktorenko couldn’t contain himself. He got off the sofa and crossed the room in one great stride; he got hold of York by the elbows. “Well? Well, Marushka?”

She looked up at him, her eyes small and vulnerable under those peculiar big eyebrows. “It’s true,” she said. “Vlad, it’s true. That was Joe Muldoon.”

Viktorenko wanted to dance, shout, pick her up and whirl her around!… But she just stood there, looking up at him, fiddling with the empty bottle; he told himself to be calm, and wait on her needs.

She picked up the phone, and called her mother. Then she suggested that they should wait a while, in case there were any more calls.

So, bizarrely, Viktorenko found himself back on the sofa, holding York’s trembling hand, and watching the stupid sitcom run its meaningless course.

After a time, York said: “I can’t stand this, Vladimir.”

“What?”