Entwined

Dimitri was bathing Dima when Karina got home, she could hear the splashing through the open door further down the hallway. She stamped the snow from her boots and shook out her coat before hanging it on a peg.

“Hello,” she called.

“Mummy’s home,” Dima’s three-year-old voice sang back.

“Nearly done,” shouted Dimitri. Their daughter Elizaveta didn’t appear to be home, but that wasn’t unusual. At 14, she was probably out with friends.

Karina stuck her head into the bathroom to say hi before changing out of her work clothes. Then she took over from Dimitri, drying Dimi and reading a story until he curled up ready for sleep. She couldn’t focus on the words, distracted by what she had to discuss with her husband.

She joined him in the kitchen where he was draining pasta. She didn’t say anything then, or when they moved to the table to eat. She was nervous, though she wasn’t sure why.  Finally, sat on the sofa, drinking tea, she told Dimitri what was on her mind. “I’ve been invited to lecture in the UK,” she ventured.

Dimitri looked at her. “Okay..?” He drew the word out, a question hanging in the air. When she didn’t elaborate, he carried on. “I thought we agreed you weren’t doing anything international until Dima was at school. That last tour completely exhausted you.” Still she said nothing. “Why now? Why this lecture?”

Karina sighed. “It involves a talk in Northern Ireland. The university in Belfast.”

Dimitri nodded. “You want to go back?” he asked.

“I don’t know when I might get the chance again – the Academy is really cutting back on the budget for lecture tours. And you don’t want to travel. This is a great opportunity,” she sighed. “I don’t want to leave it too late, Dimitri.”

Karina was a lecturer at Saint Petersburg State Paediatric Medical Academy. Her speciality was childhood cancers. Her groundbreaking research meant she was in demand as a speaker in Russia and beyond. The USA had come calling, then mainland Europe. But the tours were demanding, and when she fell pregnant with Dimi, she told the Academy she would only teach locally for the foreseeable future.

But that was before this afternoon, when the Dean told her about the invitation to lecture in the UK. She knew Dimitri would not be enthusiastic. But she also knew he would not stand in her way.

“When do they want you to go?” Dimitri asked.

“Mid-March,” Karina replied. “Around four weeks. I will only be gone a fortnight. Dimi is really settled in the crèche. Elizaveta can mind him if you need to work late. It will be the last tour, honest…” She knew she was pleading.  “I so want to go back Dimitri – I need to go back.”

**********************

Ten days later, more than 2,000 miles away in a small red brick terraced house in a village not far from Belfast in Northern Ireland, Lizzie was puzzling over an official looking envelope when her daughter Eleanor came bursting through the back door. “I’m gasping for a tea,” Eleanor exclaimed, grabbing the kettle and filling it through the spout. “Want one…? What’s that?” Eleanor clicked the button of the kettle and stepped to the kitchen table to peer over Lizzie’s shoulder.

“I don’t know. It’s got Queen’s University on it. Why would Queen’s be writing to me?” Lizzie continued to stare at the envelope.

“Well, open it then,” said Eleanor pulling out a chair. “Maybe they’re giving you an honorary degree or something!” She laughed at her own joke. “At least it can’t be a bill, can it?” Eleanor’s face grew more serious. “Dad didn’t sign up for a course and forget to pay for it surely…?” A few unanticipated bills and other communications had arrived at the house in the weeks following Norman’s death, but after 18 months, surely all the surprises were over?

There was only one way to find out. Lizzie ripped the envelope open. Inside was an invitation.

Queen’s University Belfast would like to invite Mrs and Mrs N Johnston to a lecture by
Prof K Yahontov in the Great Hall at 7pm on March 31 inst.
This lecture is organised in conjunction with The Chernobyl Children’s Trust

“Awww, that’s nice,” enthused Eleanor. “They must be inviting all the families that looked after the kids back then.” Her eyes strayed to the open door leading to a cosy living room. There, on top of the bookcase, was a faded photograph from 1996 – a smiling Norman and Lizzie, a chubby Eleanor aged just two, and a thin, serious-looking girl of around 12. A reminder of the part Karina had played in their lives so many years ago. “You will go, won’t you Mum? I can go with you. I’m sure they won’t mind, in the circumstances.”

Eleanor got up to make the tea. “I don’t know pet,” Lizzie said. “It’s such a long time ago. I don’t really see the point. Karina never stayed in touch. Your father and I were always very sad about that.”

“Maybe this way you’ll find out why,” said Eleanor. “Perhaps the lecturer wants to show that people like you and Dad did make a difference to those children’s lives, getting them away from the radiation. Go on Mum, I might learn something too. I don’t remember Karina, not properly, so this might be a nice wee night out for us.”

**********************

The Great Hall was full. Lizzie was glad to be directed to a seat. Parking around Queen’s was never easy and her feet were tired from walking from Botanic Avenue. Not that she wasn’t used to walking – she did plenty of that going to and from the supermarket where she worked in customer services – but she normally wore flats, and tonight she was in a slight heel. Her dress and jacket needed it, and looking around, she was glad she had made an effort. Most people seemed to be dressed for an occasion.

Eleanor squeezed past others in their row to sit down beside her. “Thank goodness there wasn’t a queue, I thought I was going to burst,” she said. “Here, I picked some of these up.” She passed Lizzie a batch of leaflets, all branded The Chernobyl Children’s Trust.

Already the lights were going down. A bearded gentlemen, who introduced himself as Prof someone or other from Queen’s, welcomed them and spoke briefly about Prof Yahontov who, it seemed, chose to specialise in children’s cancers after her own experience growing up in Kapyl in Belarus, not far from the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant where a reactor had exploded with devastating consequences in April 1986. “Karina lives in Kapyl,” Lizzie whispered to Eleanor.

The professor finished his blurb, the audience showed their appreciation, the lights on stage dimmed, a spotlight came on, and there, standing behind a lectern, was Karina. Lizzie gasped. Older, taller, infinitely more confident looking, but still the Karina Lizzie held so dear.

**********************

Lizzie failed to absorb much of what Karina said during the hour-long talk. It related to cancers and other illnesses caused by the radiation which spread over such a wide area of Ukraine, Russia and Belarus. Karina made mention of the Trust, and how important the opportunity to visit other places to breathe clean air and to eat untainted food was for children from the affected areas. But it seemed most of those in the audience were from the medical profession, not ordinary people like Lizzie, and so much of the talk went over her head.

She felt dazed. Did Karina know she was here? Might she get a chance to speak to her, or would Karina be whisked off like a pop star to one of Belfast’s upmarket hotels? She must be married, that would account for the changed surname. A professor too! Lizzie wondered if Karina had children. She really wanted to find out more, the silence of the past 24 years was profound. Lizzie touched her hair self-consciously. She was 57 and it was no longer the dark brown it had been when Karina stayed with her that fortnight in 1996. Now it was in a short crop, flecked with grey. And she was wearing glasses. Would Karina even know her if she bumped into her?

She was soon to find out. When the lecture ended, a man was waiting at the end of the row. “Mrs Johnston?” he asked. Lizzie nodded, alarmed to feel her heart beating much too fast. “Is Mr Johnston not here?” Lizzie shook her head. “My daughter, Eleanor,” she pushed Eleanor forward.

The man seemed unfazed. “Professor Yahontov…” – she noted he stumbled a little over the name, which didn’t flow so well in a Belfast accent – “…would like to see you. Come this way please.”

Encouraged by a nod from Eleanor, Lizzie followed the man through the now near-empty Great Hall.

**********************

Karina was perhaps more nervous that she had ever been in her life. She had received letters from Ireland for several months after her return to Kapyl in 1996, but her mother had discouraged her from writing back, saying they could not afford the postage. Eventually the letters had stopped, and Lizzie, Norman and little Eleanor lived on only in her memory.

The memories became more powerful after Elizaveta was born, and even more so 11 years later when, after three heartbreaking miscarriages, Dimi arrived. Karina had considered writing but hadn’t. She couldn’t really say why not. Her English was near perfect. The rudimentaries of the language she had picked up in Ireland that year had stayed with her, along with a burning desire to do the best she could in life. She had studied English at school and at night class along with her medical degree.

And now she was back in Ireland.

There was a knock on the door, a gentle push, and Lizzie stood in front of her. Karina had no time to look at this women who had opened up her home and her heart all those years ago. Time and space fell away as the two women embraced. Behind Lizzie, Eleanor wiped away tears and wondered why this reunion had not happened sooner, when her father could have been part of it.

They went to the Europa Hotel where they talked over a light supper. Karina about leaving Kapyl when she was 18 to study at university in Moscow. She told how she lost both her parents to cancer much too young. She could not say if the cancer was a consequence of Chernobyl, but it could have been. She talked about Dimitri and her children. Lizzie was overwhelmed to hear that Elizaveta had been named after her! Mother and daughter listened intently as Karina talked about her lecturing, her work, and her home in St Petersburg with a view of the bay.

There were tears as Lizzie recalled Norman’s sudden death from a heart attack. Thank God for Eleanor, Lizzie said, they had only been blessed with one child, but how very blessed they were. Eleanor filled Karina in on her job as a primary school classroom assistant, her boyfriend James, and the home they shared just a mile from Lizzie.

Suddenly it was midnight. Karina was flying from the George Best City Airport to Heathrow in England the next morning. Her lecture series was continuing at Imperial College, London, and she had already been to Glasgow, Edinburgh, Cardiff and Manchester. She would be flying back to Russia in just six days.

As Lizzie and Eleanor prepared to leave, Karina clutched Lizzie’s hands in her own. “You have to come,” she beseeched her. “Come to Russia, come to St Petersburg, come and meet my husband and children. Come and see what you did for me, how you helped give me the life I have now. Please.”

**********************

Lizzie didn’t say much on the 20 minute drive home. She felt emotionally drained. Eleanor was concentrating on driving. Conscious her daughter needed to be in school early, the two said a quick goodbye

By the time Eleanor had finished work the next day, Lizzie had her mind made up. She would go to St Petersburg. She and Norman had planned to travel one day, and she owed it to him not to give up on their dreams. She was due leave from work, and would go in May, before the school holidays made travel so much more expensive.

Eleanor was miffed she was not included in the plans. “I don’t want to wait until the summer holidays when you get off school,” Lizzie told her. “And you can’t take holidays in term-time.”

“I might be able to squeeze in a long weekend,” Eleanor said, disgruntled.

“You can’t get to St Petersburg by sea in a weekend!” Lizzie exclaimed. “You know I’m nervous about flying.” She tossed a glossy brochure in front of her daughter. “I going on a cruise!”

**********************

Lizzie was holding her breath as she disembarked the cruise liner in St Petersburg Port. It was 7.30am, and today there was no-one hustling her forward in their haste to get off. She had been one of the first in the breakfast room, her fellow passengers clearly enjoying a lie-in, happy in the knowledge that, for the first time in the past 10 days, they had two full days to explore the city that awaited them.

It had been a magical adventure so far. The coach and boat from Belfast to Southampton had been stressful, as Lizzie had had just so much time to think. She had never travelled outside the British Isles before – mainly because of her stupid fear of flying, but also because holidays with Norman had been spent exploring the Highlands of Scotland and the wilds of West Cork, not to mention regular trips to Donegal and, closer to home, the Mourne Mountains and the seaside town of Newcastle.

She had a few more favourites to add to her list now. Copenhagen, the lovely German port of Warnemünde, and Stockholm were all incredible, with the organised tours really giving her an insight into the history and culture of not only each city, but each country. Tallinn in Estonia was top of her list at the minute, it seemed more personal somehow. Perhaps the last port visited is always the favourite, its marvels staying upmost in the mind.

But today she felt sick with nerves, her biggest worry being walking out the port exit and not seeing Karina.

**********************

Lizzie need not have feared, for there was Karina, casually dressed in cut-off jeans, a stripped tee-shirt and lightweight jacket, waving energetically from the arrivals’ gate. The sun was already shining, the temperature warm but not hot. The two women hugged tightly, Karina pulling away first and holding the older woman at arm’s length. “You look amazing Lizzie,” she enthused. “All tanned and happy.”

“Happy to see you, darling,” said Lizzie. “I can’t believe I’m here, in Russia. Oh, but it’s been an amazing trip, so many beautiful places. I am so lucky.”

Karina linked her arm through Lizzie’s. “So today we are going to see some more fabulous buildings, and Dimitri and the children are very excited about meeting you tonight. Then tomorrow we will all spend the day together. Oh, Lizzie, I can’t believe you are here either.” Her face clouded over a little. “I am so sorry Norman is not with us – I wish I had made contact sooner.”

“He’s looking down on us right now, I am sure of it.” Lizzie had promised not to dwell on the past, and instead to enjoy the present. That’s what Norman would have wanted. “I don’t think he would have enjoyed the cruise so much though, all that dressing up – Norman never liked to put on a tie. But I’m having a ball getting dolled up every evening, it’s fabulous. And I have met some lovely people, it’s just ….”

Lizzie’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide as she took in the building in front of her. “Oh my,” she gasped. “How incredible.”

“The Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood,” said Karina. For the next hour, the two women strolled through the interior of the former Russian Orthodox Church, marvelling at the mosaics, hearing more about the history of this stunning memorial to the assassinated Alexander ll.

Afterwards, they stopped for coffee at a pavement café on Nevsky Prospect, Lizzie having to constantly close her mouth as she marvelled at the glamorous style of the Russian elite, strolling and striding past.

They made their way to the Kazan Cathedral, where Karina and her family occasionally attended Mass. In one Chapel, a service seemed to be taking place, and the two women walked between the columns below the stunning domed ceilings in quiet reverence in respect to both the place and the people there to worship.

“Have you had enough of cathedrals, we aren’t far from St Isaac’s?” asked Karina as they emerged into the sunshine.

“Maybe I will save that for the next time,” said Lizzie, who had already determined that she would return one day. “Will we get to the Winter Palace?”

“Of course we will,” replied Karina, “but first, lunch.” They ate outdoors in the beautiful Mikhailovsky Gardens, before walking to Palace Square and admiring the façade of the Winter Palace, once the home of Russian Emperors. They passed a whirlwind two hours touring the State Heritage Museum. Lizzie was sure she had managed to take in only a tiny portion of the Hermitage’s 2.7 million exhibits – she would definitely have to come back some time.

After another much-needed break, this time for a refreshing cup of tea, the two women crossed the river to the Field of Mars, where, beside the Eternal Flame, Lizzie said a silent prayer, not just for victims of wars and revolutions, but for all those she loved who were no longer here, and for Norman, especially for Norman.

As she strolled away from the gardens, Lizzie held Karina’s arm. It was after 5pm. Her feet were sore, her legs beginning to ache, and there was so much she had not yet seen, but the real treasures were still ahead – Karina’s family.

“Shall we go home now?” Karina asked. “It will be about half an hour on the metro, there’s one not too far from here. Dimitri and the children will be home before us. They can’t wait to meet you.”

“Oh yes. It’s been a wonderful day, but let’s go home,” said Lizzie, her stomach bubbling with excitement. The Metro station appeared and together they descended into the bowels of the city.

**********************

Like many St Petersburg residents, Karina’s family lived in a wooden framed house, painted a pale grey, and surrounded by a small but pretty garden. Lizzie approached the door nervously, anxious about what Dimitri might think of her, excited to meet her teenage namesake, and itching to cuddle little Dimi who looked so cute in the photos Karina had shared with her.

“Hello, we’re home,” Karina called, pushing the door open. A little tornado flew to meet her, wrapping chubby arms around her legs. “Hey dinosaur,” Karina sang, bending to pick the little boy up. His hair was white blonde and his eyes very blue. Dimi stared at her unblinking. “Hello wee man, nice to meet you,” said Lizzie, and Dimi burst into laughter, excitedly babbling in his mother’s ear in Russian.

“He says you talk funny,” explained Lizzie. “He hasn’t met anyone from Ireland before… Ah, here’s Elizaveta.” Karina stepped aside and there, standing in the hallway, was a mini-Karina – at least, the Karina of 20 odd years ago. Taller, not quite as scrawny, but there was no doubt Elizaveta was her mother’s child. Lizzie stepped forward, ready to reach out her hand, but Elizaveta flung her arms around her and gave her the most wonderful hug.

“Mum talks about you much,” she said, in accented but very clear English. “I am happy to meet you. Dad is here,” and Elizaveta led Lizzie into what appeared to be a family living room.

At first she thought Dimitri was simply not going to bother getting up. Then she realised he couldn’t. A handsome, broad-shouldered man, with sandy hair receding ever so slightly, he was in a wheelchair.

Smiling broadly – what lovely crinkly eyes he had – he wheeled himself towards her, his arm outstretched. “Karina’s Irish Mamma – welcome,” he said.

Lizzie found herself speechless, nodding, but unable to form any words. Why hadn’t Karina mentioned Dimitri was in a wheelchair? Perhaps it was a temporary injury, a broken leg or something? But there was no evidence of a plaster or bandages. “Thank you for having me, Dimitri,” was the best she could manage, but if he was upset by her lack of response, he didn’t show it.

“Let me get us vodka – or Champagne if you want, as this is celebration,” he said.

“Vodka would be lovely,” said Lizzie. “Thank you.”

Dimitri wheeled himself into the kitchen to prepare the drinks and check on the food, which smelled delicious. “Goulash,” Karina said. “His speciality, he’s a great cook.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Lizzie said. “Why?”

“I thought seeing Dimitri in person would really show you just how important it was that children like me were able to get away from the radiation, even for a short time,” Karina explained. “Dimitri never got that chance. His mother was pregnant with him when the reactor exploded. They lived just 20 miles from Chernobyl.”

Dimitri came back into the room, trailed by Elizaveta, who was carrying the drinks. On the floor, Dimi was enjoying zooming cars around a toy track.

Dimitri did not appear offended that they were talking about him. “My English is not so good. Karina tells the story well,” he said, smiling at his wife, who continued talking.

“None of Dimitri’s family appeared to be affected by the radiation. They continued to live in the village, eating local food that had likely been contaminated, and because no-one got sick, they, like so many others, thought they had escaped. Dimitri did well at school, and his parents were so proud when he went to Moscow University to study engineering,” Karina paused. “Ypa!” she said, raising her glass in salute and then taking a sip of the vodka. Lizzie mimicked her, savouring the ice-cold liquid on her tongue before swallowing.

“It was when he was at university that he developed a limp, then a sore back, but you just kept going, didn’t you?” Her eyes sought those of her husband. Dimitri nodded and Karina reached out and covered his hand with her own.

“He was in his first year at work when things got really bad. His doctor sent him to the hospital, and they found the tumour on his spine. I was called in when they heard Dimitri’s history – not as his doctor – but because my thesis was in cancers linked to Chernobyl. He was very unwell when we met,” their eyes remained locked. “I felt so helpless. They had already decided that the only way to save his life was to remove the tumour, but that could damage his spine. He knew he may never walk again.”

“Without Karina, my life would have been over,” Dimitri interjected, but there was no trace of self-pity in his voice. “Thankfully, only my legs stopped working.” He gave a fairly cheeky grin. “And now I have my beautiful family.” He spread an arm to take in the room – Dimi on the floor, Elizaveta watching from a sofa by the window, Karina holding his other hand. “My life is perfect.” Dimitri released Karina’s hand. “Now I go ensure my goulash is perfect also!”

When Dimitri left them, Karina produced some photo albums. Her wedding day; pregnant with Elizaveta; images of the little girl growing up. Did Lizzie imagine it, or were there more pictures of a pregnant Karina? She looked at her questioningly.

“Three miscarriages,” Karina said sadly. “Perhaps something to do with the radiation from Chernobyl, but I don’t know, any more than we can say with certainty that Dimitri’s tumour was because of radiation exposure.

“We moved to St Petersburg six years ago, a fresh start, and we have been so blessed with both our jobs, with our children, so very blessed… Here, look at this.”

Karina pointed to a picture of a Elizaveta beside a large tree with a couple of friends. She blinked and looked closer. “Is that…?”  There was no need to complete her question because, for certain, the green sweatshirt Elizaveta was wearing had ‘Made in Belfast’ emblazoned across the front.

“That’s the sweatshirt we got you at Cornmarket in the city centre!” Lizzie exclaimed, wide-eyed. She and Norman had bought Karina a load of clothes – she had turned up with so little. They even had to buy her a huge suitcase to take everything home – in the days when you didn’t have to pay a ransom to put luggage in the hold.

“It is,” Karina said gleefully. “I wore everything else until it was much too small or fell apart, but that jumper fitted me for years, then Elizaveta got hold of it.”

“I remember the first time you wore it, it just swamped you,” Lizzie felt her eyes moisten. “Norman said to take it back and get a smaller size, but you refused, you just snuggled into it.”

Karina produced a small flip album. “The most special photos,” she pronounced. Inside were pictures of Karina in Ireland – in the garden of the red brick terraced house; holding baby Eleanor on her knee on a swing; standing in front of the local cinema; running on the beach at Newcastle, her face alive, her hair flying behind her; and alone on a rock at the Giant’s Causeway, gazing out to sea. Pictures Lizzie had posted to Karina many years ago.

They were nothing like the quality that would come out of a digital camera today, but there was no disguising the happiness in Karina’s face, the glow of health caused by fresh hair, fresh food and, of course, love.

“Dad says we can go there when we come to Ireland,” Elizaveta said, pointing at the picture of the Causeway. “We are all coming to see you. Maybe next year. Did Mum tell you? I want to see the Titanic.”

“Titanic!” Dimi echoed from the floor, then, rather alarmingly, made gestures with this little arms which Lizzie could see were an attempt to emulate a collision, presumably between ocean liner and iceberg.

“Spoiler…!” exclaimed Karina.

Elizaveta looked confused. “They haven’t taught that word in English class yet,” Karina laughed. “I was saving that news until dinner, but Dimitri has looked at the figures and we have decided that next year’s Yahontov family holiday will be in Ireland.” She looked at Lizzie. “Would that be okay?”

Lizzie nodded furiously, unable to speak, on account of the tears of joy that were once again falling.

**********************

After dinner she helped bathe Dimi, listened with interest as Elizaveta read an English essay she had written on the value of having a dog in your life (though there was no family pet, so Lizzie was pretty certain this was Elizaveta’s way of dropping a not-so-subtle hint to her parents!) She and Karina drank more vodka, and talked long into the night.

The next day was idly spent – taking Dimi to the play park, walking beside the bay, Dimi on his tricycle and Dimitri propelling himself along easily in his chair. They had delicious Borscht soup, a local speciality, at a bayside café, before spending the afternoon in the garden, chatting, drinking tea, and playing hide and seek with Dimi, which Lizzie concluded was almost as exhausting as walking around a city!

All too soon it was time to return to the ship. Lizzie hugged Elizaveta and Dimi goodbye at the house, and Dimitri drove to the port in his adapted car. “Will you be lonely, back on the ship,” Karina asked.

“I’ll be sad because I have left you, but not lonely, no.”

“Ah, of course,” Karina’s eyes sparked with mischief. “You have your new friend John.”

Lizzie gave her a pretend smack. “I only mentioned John to you because he is one of the people at my table. There are Olive and Jack and Michael and Joan with me as well.”

“But John is from Belfast, yes, and single, yes, and tasty, yes?”

Lizzie laughed, but the port loomed ahead. It was time for farewells, promises that the family would all be in Northern Ireland next year, Dimitri having decided that his disability should not stand in the way of this big family adventure.

Standing outside the car, weaving her fingers through Lizzie’s, Karina whispered: “Our lives will always be entwined. Next year is not so far off.”

“No pet,” Lizzie’s voice was thick with emotion, “not after waiting 24 years.” She started to walk towards the departure gate. Karina said that Lizzie and Norman had changed her life, but Lizzie knew that the young girl who visited them so long ago had also changed her life. ‘Entwined,” she said quietly. What a perfect word.

Lizzie looked up at the massive ship which would soon sail for Helsinki, then Southampton. So many balconies, she couldn’t make out her own. She squinted behind her glasses. Was that John waving to her? It was. Her spirits lifting, Lizzie stepped on board.