The Only Woman to Defy Him(76)

                ‘Alina,’ Demyan said. ‘Her name is Alina but right now—’ He didn’t get to finish.

                ‘And my mother’s name is Nadia,’ Roman interrupted, and Demyan halted at the threat in his son’s voice. Yes, he had said less than pleasant things to Nadia but never when Roman had been there, Demyan was sure of it. Then his heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds, it just stilled in his chest as Roman turned to him and Demyan realised that he didn’t have to tell Roman the dark truth, for it would seem his son already knew. ‘Whatever she might have done in the past, my mother’s name is Nadia.’

                Demyan watched as Roman’s dark eyes filled with tears and he was so, so proud to see them. Proud, not just of Roman, for even if incapable himself, he had raised a son who could show his emotions in the most natural of ways.

                Maybe he wasn’t so incapable of showing emotion for, as Roman spoke on, it was Demyan who felt moisture in his eyes.

                ‘And my father’s name, whatever happened in the past, will always be Demyan.’

                It was discussed without words, it was said without saying.

                Whatever some laboratory decided, Demyan was Roman’s father.

                ‘I do want to be in Russia,’ Roman said as they walked further and talked more deeply. ‘I want to learn about my culture, I want to learn the language better. Can you understand that?’

                ‘Of course,’ Demyan said.

                He had never wanted to return but now that he had, through adult eyes he could see its beauty.

                It just didn’t feel like home.

                ‘Who is this Alina?’ Roman asked.

                ‘We are not seeing each other,’ Demyan said. ‘She was working for me.’ It was pointless to lie, he simply could not dismiss her. ‘We were seeing each other for a while but it did not work.’

                ‘Why?’

                Demyan told him that it was personal. ‘We will get a drink.’

                They walked into a bar and sat at the counter. ‘When I was younger, before my mother was so ill, we would come here some mornings. She worked at the market and I would come here and have kasha.’ Roman pulled a face, the thought of porridge not appealing. ‘I had it with jam,’ Demyan said, and he sat there remembering days that he had never thought of before. His mother waving a spoon at his face, smiling and laughing as she cajoled a small child to eat. He remembered too the feel of her picking him up, ruffling his hair, before her illness had taken hold.

                No, he had not done the opposite of his mother with Roman—the beginnings of a parenting manual had been put in place by Annika. He had known love and affection, but only now could he remember it.

                As they were served their drinks at the counter Roman, as gangly teenagers often did, knocked the salt. Black eyes met his father’s and though Demyan had done his best not to pass on the superstitions, he saw in Roman that slight start of fear. But Demyan smiled and took a pinch and threw it over his left shoulder.

                ‘I do that,’ Roman said, ‘when you are not looking. A friend showed me that.’

                Demyan smiled. ‘Here, we don’t throw it, but a friend showed me that too...’ Except she was far more than a friend to him. ‘Alina,’ he corrected. ‘Alina showed me that.’

                Roman pushed for more information when perhaps he should not have, but he had never known his father with anyone. ‘Alina is the only woman you have ever brought to our home. Were you serious?’