- If I had known that you would come, I would have met you!

Olga shuddered in surprise and raised her head. On the balcony of the second floor, her neighbor and childhood friend Sergei Mezentsev smoked. The flame of the cigarette rose and fell, flashing and hissing. In the twilight it was impossible to fully see Mezentsev's faces, but his voice had not changed at all over the years.

- Hello, Seryozha!

- Hey. Here's who you weren't expecting.

- She's in shock! Olya wasn't joking.

- Three, five, seven, - Sergey dictated the code and threw away the cigarette, - press and pull. See you?

- Of course, - Olga smiled.

Nervousness let go of her a little, giving way to fatigue. The girl entered the hallway. The light turned on automatically. Olga stopped in front of the door and exhaled, inserting the key into the well. He entered easily, as if he had done this for many years, day after day, several times. The lock clicked. Olya was inside the apartment, pulled off the scarf from her neck and took a breath. In silence, a cabinet door creaked open.

The apartment was stuffy, smelled of dust and old newspapers. Stacks of yellowed waste paper under the wardrobe, in the toilet, in the bathroom, under the kitchen table and on the windowsills. Olga ran her finger along the gray surface of the mirror, leaving a curl of the letter "O". She sat on an old sofa in her former room. A washed-out plaid with tangled fringes, from which Olya had plaited her hair as a child, lay folded at her feet. The girl took it in her hands and buried her nose in the old fabric. Somewhere nearby, an alarm went off, but after a few croaks, it went silent. Olya took off her shoes with relief. She stretched out on the couch with her elbow under her head and closed her eyes.

- Wow, what a Snow Maiden! Just for you, Morozov!

The men laughed out loud. Olga looked at these flushed faces in confusion and crumpled in her hands the edge of the oilcloth apron, which was too big for her. After one of them pulled off her headscarf, the girl tried to somehow tidy up her blond curls in a bun. But they did not obey her and constantly fell on her face and shoulders.

He alone did not laugh. He looked greedily at her, and the scar on his swarthy bristly cheek quivered with impatience.

Olga was frightened by both this look and this scar. They didn't bode well. And, as luck would have it, Marinka and Valentina disappeared somewhere! However, no one orders Roman Morozov. The whole environment grovels before him, obsequiously looks into his eyes, catches every word. Everyone wants to please Santa Claus...

chapter 4

Olga opened her eyes.

The arm was numb, so I had to lie down for several minutes, looking at the ceiling, until the blood circulation was restored. What he saw did not please: there was definitely no repair here for eight years. Look for a team, buy materials, spend decent money in order to bring the apartment into a divine form? Stay in Chudovo for an indefinite period to control the work?

Sunday. Eight am. It's quiet outside. Yes, this is not Moscow.

Olga stretched, yawned and trudged into the bathroom. The faucet gave out a full overture before bursting out into angry coughs and squirting rusty spray. Leaving the plumbing to clean naturally, Olya dragged her travel bag into her room and slowly took it apart. She greedily drank the rest of the water from the plastic bottle. There were some rags in the chiffonier, a torn sock and a scarf stuck together, with traces of moths. Olga left everything in a bag, but left her things on the sofa. Dragging stacks of newspapers closer to the threshold, a few dirty cans from under the sofa, a couple of beer bottles and small trash from the drawers of the desk, she stated with surprising calmness that there was not a single thing left in the house that would have belonged to her before. As if Olya had never lived here.

Well, Aunt Valentina was always consistent in her actions, and after Olga's escape she erased any reminder of her.

The kitchen also looked depressing. Olga looked around the greasy cabinets, the table, the surface of which was decorated with black circles from a hot frying pan and greasy stains. There was no refrigerator.

- Yes, why is everything like that? Olga muttered in bewilderment and shook her head. She forced herself to go to the door of the "hall," as Valentina called her room. For half an hour now, Olya has been running back and forth, carefully avoiding even looking in this direction. But, since now she is the mistress here ... The door swung open, softly hitting the handle against the wall. Olga, drawing air into her lungs, now let it out noisily, adding an indecent word at the end. There was practically nothing in the room, except for an armchair and a rickety TV stand - no TV.

Everything disappeared: the Czech wall with a slide of crystal, which Valentina adored, carpets, appliances, expensive trinkets that lined the surfaces of the polished trellis and coffee table. How much time Olga spent in childhood, wiping countless porcelain figurines, crystal glasses and swans, gilded spoons and ceramic vases from dust with a piece of gauze! And how she hated them for their bad taste and the desire to escape from her small hands. For broken things, Olga got hit with the same dusty rag in the face.

Well, less furniture means less dust. In this unusual emptiness, Olga suddenly felt a surge of cheerfulness. In order to force out the thoughts about Artyom that were creeping into her head, Olga set about cleaning with redoubled zeal. Opening the windows, she let fresh air into the apartment. The “Whiteness” of three years ago, found under the bathroom, was used, and a balding broom with a trash can came in handy. Olga wrote down everything she needed to buy in the nearest store on her phone, but for now she planned to take out the remnants of her former luxury in the trash.

When the doorbell rang, Olga was just trying on the mountain of packages that had formed in the middle of the corridor. Brushing away the cobwebs that stuck to her forehead, the girl opened it. In front of her stood a young woman in a dressing gown, slightly taller than Olga, with swollen sides and an unimaginable clump of burnt hair on top of her head. Olya froze, peering into vaguely familiar features.

The guest smiled broadly, flashing her golden bottom four, and, slightly moving Olga to the side, went into the corridor.

- Nu nothing itself you here heaped up!

- Bulka? Olya looked at her former classmate in confusion. - Tanya? Where? - she barely restrained herself from asking the question: “What happened to you?”. Of course, it would be tactless, but it just got on the tongue. In their class, Tanya Bulykina was known as the first beauty and fashionista, and she also had a heavy hand, which increased her chances of taking this place of honor.

- Hello, hello, - Tanya, slowly walked through the rooms and looked into the kitchen. - And now I'm not Bulykina, but Mezentseva.

- Ah, that's it, - Olga smiled restrainedly, - congratulations.

- The son will go to school soon, - Tanya straightened her hair in front of the mirror and looked at Olga through it, - And you, along the way, have not given birth yet?

- No, - Olya spread her hands.

- Okay, Valeeva, there will be a holiday on your street, - Tanya, feeling superior, noticeably cheered up. - As you can see, - she circled the space with her hands, - there is nothing left here except the walls. Your aunt Valya drank everything away. How did you have enough health for so many years? I have been living with Seryoga for six years, I have seen enough.

Olga wanted to ask Bulka about many things, but something pushed at the door and drummed on the handle. Olga opened.

Standing in the doorway was a shaggy boy in jeans cut below the knee. Sniffing, he walked into the corridor in a businesslike manner and muttered in an unexpected bass voice:

- Are you taking so long? The father is calling.

The man is growing! - Tatyana proudly looked at her son. - Go, Vovka. Now I am.

The boy walked backwards.

- I'm going to feed my men! Listen, what am I doing. We haven't seen each other for so many years, - Bulka again meticulously looked at Olga, - it's interesting, after all. Seryoga offers to go to a bar - sit, talk. I will send Vovka to his mother. How are you? Agree?

Bulka's voice sounded pleading notes. For all Olga's reluctance to advertise her appearance in Chudovo, she understood the desire of her former classmate to get out of the house.

- Good. But not for long.

- Fine! Then, come on, seven o'clock? Let's walk in the center. Did you miss it, didn't you? Bulka winked. - Dress uniform!

Olga closed the door and thought. Bulka's behavior was absolutely normal. Normal within the framework of their long acquaintance and the etiquette of the city of Chudov. Olga was looking for a hidden meaning in her words and did not find it. The girl listened to herself. Will there be an alarm bell or a prick of fear. It really seemed like everything was calm.

“So we are going according to plan. Tomorrow the notary, - grumbling under her breath, Olga picked up two bags of garbage, - the day after tomorrow at the cemetery. If I manage to do everything, I'll go home on Tuesday.

At the word "home" Olga's heart sank and her hands trembled. Her house was near Beletsky. But she made a choice. That will be better for everyone. And her loneliness is a retribution for the past.

At five minutes to seven, Olya went up to the second floor to the Mezentsevs' apartment. The girl didn’t even think about dressing up: classic blue “Levi * s”, a beige sweater, sneakers. There is nothing exceptional about going to a city cafe. The more inconspicuous, the better. Close attention has long been the first item on the list "Everything that can ruin me" by Olga Valeeva.

At the door, the girl paused, staring at the brown upholstery.

Once Sergei really liked Olga. It was a youthful crush on a high school student, and was it worth remembering now? Then one look from him made Olga's heart beat faster. What would happen if Mezentsev answered Olya's feelings? Would he take her side? Would she be honest with him?

Olga shook her head. Here again, she analyzes other people's actions, instead of building her own defense. Enough! We must finish our business here and leave as quickly as possible. The inner voice will shut up someday by itself. After all, it's not her fault.

"Come on, tell yourself..."

Pressing the bell button, Olya heard Bulka's voice from behind the door:

- I soon! Wait!

I went into a dark narrow corridor. On the right is a hanger with a mountain of outerwear. On the left is a pile of shoes. A hair dryer is noisy in the back of the apartment. Olga trampled on the felt rug and peered into a large room, the entrance to which was nearby. A large carpet on the floor immediately caught my eye. His drawing reminded Olga of the creation of Uzbek masters from her aunt's room. The crystal table boat full of sweets was also vaguely familiar.

Olga stepped back towards the door when Tanya appeared. Tight orange dress, high heels, a cloud of bouffant around evening make-up. Yes, it was Bulka in character. And it was frightening.

Closing the door to the large room, Tanya began to push Olga towards the exit.

- It's you? I thought my husband had arrived. We would have come for you, you shouldn't have risen! Seryozha took Vovka to his mother.

They went down. Olya constantly turned around, hearing the sound of Bulka's heels. It seemed that she was about to fall off them. But the classmate felt more than confident.

Sergey was wiping the windows of a gray Ford Focus and, when the front door opened, he turned around. Something flashed in his eyes. Olya said hello. Sitting in the back seat, she leaned against the window.

- First, to the center, - Bulka sat down more comfortably, - you'll see how the city was put in order by May 9th. There was a salute. Are you for long? For a week?

- I'll think about it, - Olga decided not to share her plans.

- Where do you live now? - Sergei watched Olga in the salon mirror.

- In the suburbs, I work in an atelier. And what are you doing?

- I got a job in the accounting department at a garment factory, and my Seryozha - in the police. He is in good standing with Makarov! Got a senior lieutenant! So, you understand, - Bulka did not let up, - and our town is small - everyone knows each other. Oh, come on, strange things happen. Of course, you don’t know anything, our life is not interesting to you. It’s understandable, I wouldn’t bother either if I left closer to the capital. You are used to everything. Especially for things like this.