Olga moved along the rows with vegetables and fruits and caught herself on the fact that her eyebrows fly up to the very bangs at the sight of the price tags.

Artyom, especially lately, persistently offered her money, defiantly leaving several green bills on a shelf in the hallway. But she only took advantage of his offer a couple of times, continuing to buy food at her own expense in the area where she lived and worked. So yesterday she very successfully grabbed a decent piece of veal, which turned out to be cheaper than those laid out today on the street counter, a tomato. The tomatoes were really good and smelled of the south. Artyom has been accustomed to the best since childhood.

Olga trampled in front of a pile of tomatoes, then took a couple, choosing the most ripe ones. And greens. Yes, greens are a must!

The dairy department was crowded with customers. Olya liked the young saleswoman in a lace kokoshnik and white apron. She somehow imperceptibly reminded Klara Luchko in "Kuban Cossacks", and at the sight of her ruddy face, a familiar melody immediately sounded in Olga's head.

- Is the sour cream fresh? - a portly woman behind Olya tapped on the glass of the shop window with a convex gold ring, attracting attention to herself.

- We have everything fresh, - the saleswoman melodiously responded, releasing the smiling uncle in glasses.

- Tell me the date! - the woman with the ring did not let up.

- Eighteenth!

Olya shuddered and frowned. She turned to the woman.

- What is today?

- Eighteenth! Did you notice too? As if we would believe that today's sour cream! God forbid, if yesterday.

- The eighteenth of May?

The woman moved slightly away from Olga and looked at her suspiciously from head to toe:

- Well, yes. Will you take something?

Olya bit her lip thoughtfully.

- What, daughter, fell out of reality? - the bespectacled uncle winked at her and shook his finger. - It's too early to suffer insanity! Drink vitamins!

Olga stepped aside from the scurrying customers and took out her phone. Stumbling with impatience, she listened to long beeps until she was answered.

- Jeanne, hello, it's me!

- Who am I? Sablina cleared her throat hoarsely. - Valeeva? You are crazy? I just went to bed.

- Sorry! - Olga overcame the desire to switch off. But since you answered...

- Lord, - Jeanne drawled and coughed again, - my head is splitting! Wait, I'll take an aspirin. - There was a gurgle and a groan. - Come on, Valeeva, finish me off. I'm ready.

- Zhannul, I'm back to you for help. Registration ends, and I, you know, really need it.

- What, it's been six months already? Damn, time flies. You, Valeeva, do not need registration, but you need a good man. So many years in Moscow, but you live like a nun. Then I would go to the monastery, where worldly troubles do not bother people.

Olga waited in silence. The palm was sweaty, and the girl, placing the package between her legs, shifted the phone to the other hand.

- I'll call today or tomorrow. And immediately about the payment: I looked after myself a coat from Marnie's latest collection, - Jeanne's voice acquired saturation and sonority, - the fabric will be customized for me from Italy. I want you to redo something in the model. I want an exclusive.

- Of course, Jeanne, whatever you want. Can I not come for registration? Everything is as usual?

- Yes, I'll leave a certificate with the administrator at the theater. And by the way, I now have a little more in my chest, - the actress laughed coquettishly, - a gift for March 8, so to speak! Beletsky checked it out yesterday! We crossed paths in the Clouds. I was in that black dress, remember, slitted to the core? Barely crammed in her wealth! You should have seen Luchnikov's eyes! The old brute was drooling! And it was necessary to pay attention to me in time, when I was still a chick and did not know where to go. Now sit, rotate your greedy little eyes! I have a make-up artist on the payroll and a trainer on the hook!

- Was your lipstick red? - Olya, forgetting about sour cream, left the pavilion.

- A strange question, Valeeva, only red, and only Chanel!

- Who was with you? You didn't hang out with your banker, did you? - Olya thought about the cherry print on Artyom's face.

- You will not be fooled, my little detective, - there was a click of a lighter. - Of course not: the pot-bellied bear frolicked in his native lair with his cubs and the old evil bear. Inga Rozova tailed herself after the show. She pisses me off, you know? Infuriates! No faces, no skin, but the uncle is Rybalchenko himself. She doesn't have to stand in line for roles. Maybe he's not her uncle at all? But no, she's scary! And no talent. I threw myself at Beletsky yesterday. I thought she would swallow it. However, he is a free guy. But why does he need it - a worn wallet? Are you here, Valeeva?

- Yes, Zhanna, - Olya sighed heavily, - thank you! Rest!

- Come on, see you! How do you decide to take up the mind, tell me. I will help you arrange your life. Don't forget about the coat!

Pressing the end button, Olga shoved the phone back into her raincoat pocket. Looking around, I noticed a bench. She sat down, exposing her face to the rays of the spring sun.

"What am I doing? Why? It will never work out the way I wanted ..." - thoughts rushed through her head, stumbling and jumping, on each other. “My dear, my dear, Beletsky, you are my light in the window. How I need you! And how I don’t suit you, I don’t fit into your life. Where can I get the strength to leave you?

- You feel bad? - a female voice brought Olga out of her stupor.

The girl opened her eyes and immediately wiped away the tears that had accumulated on her eyelashes.

"The sun," she smiled nervously.

“You are more careful, your skin is porcelain, and the spring sun is greedy,” an elderly woman in a charming hat stroked a small dog in her arms.

- Yes, I'm a little frustrated - Olga removed the package from the bench and put it next to it, freeing up space.

- No, no, Arnold and I are walking. We have a morning promenade. All the best.

Olya looked after the woman. I admired her slender figure for a venerable age, her hair styled in the old manner and thin ankles. Suddenly I remembered the photos of Artyom's ancestors in the heavy velvet album. From cardboard pages, protected from the light by weightless silk paper, they looked majestically at Olga Valeeva. And in their eyes a silent reproach was read: who are you, and what are you doing here?

Phone vibrated. The girl raised it to her ear without looking.

- Yes, I'm listening.

- Olga Pavlovna? - the female voice was unfamiliar to her and sounded as if from afar.

- Yes, it's me, - Olya answered cautiously, scolding herself for inattention and excessive haste.

- Valeeva Olga Pavlovna?

- Who you are? A chill ran down Olga's back.

My name is Maria Nikolaevna Kerr. I am a lawyer.

Olga swallowed hard and asked in a hoarse voice:

- Would you like to order something? Who recommended me?

- Oh no! - Kerr's voice was soft and, at the same time, insistent. - Tell me, does the name Korobova Valentina Semyonovna tell you anything? Citizen Korobova, who lived at the address: the city of Chudov, - hissed and clicked in the receiver. Hello, can you hear me? I do not understand, it seems, something with the connection! Call me back on this number, please! I'm on the track now. Find time to meet? Hello! Can you hear me?

- Yes, - squeezed out Olga and wiped her sweaty forehead.

- Very well! Kerr almost screamed. - It would be ideal if you drove up to the Universitet metro station, can you?

The girl nodded resignedly, then caught herself and answered:

- Yes.

Chudov, eight years ago