“Families are overrated, in my opinion,” Delphine said. “They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
Marianne offered Sophie the last crust of the loaf. “Oh, I don’t know. Spending time with my parents is lovely.”
“If you like playing Scrabble,” Delphine said.
“Well, I do!” said Marianne with enthusiasm.
“Although when my mother saw your dad at New Bloomsbury’s open house,” Delphine went on, “she liked his cravat and that weird jacket he was wearing.”
“She also told him the impoverished English look was going to be all over the catwalks next season,” Marianne added. She opened the door of the stove and put more wood on the fire.
Sophie picked up the cat and put it on her lap. The animal settled down happily, his body becoming relaxed and heavy. “Why don’t we take turns staying awake so that we don’t miss the next train back to Saint Petersburg?”
“That’s a really good idea,” Delphine said, settling herself further into the little chair and closing her eyes.
“And it will mean that the fire won’t go out,” Marianne added, stifling a yawn. “Because whoever is awake can make sure there’s plenty of wood on the stove. And listen out for the train.”
“Will you hear it above the wind, Sophie?” Delphine said cheekily.
Sophie didn’t mind being on first watch. She didn’t mind if she kept watch all night. She was far too excited to sleep. Being here in this Russian hut, stirring up these memories of her father and those stories, felt somehow right — as if it was where she was meant to be, however ridiculous that sounded.
“Sergei has excellent hearing,” she replied, stroking the cat’s haunches, and the creature started a deep purring.
What was the story her father had told her? she wondered, as her friends’ eyes closed and their breathing became steadier. She could only remember the picture in the book, the hut in the woods that was so similar to this one it felt as if she had stepped into that picture and was now sitting inside the story. If only she could hear her father’s words …
And as she stroked the cat, she felt that the wind was no longer hostile, but was calling up images and pictures in her mind, of bear cubs and magical horses and beautiful maidens dressed insarafansand a child carved from snow. And … a hummed tune, which, after seven years, she still remembered quite clearly, although the words had slipped away from her memory. Then, beneath the wind, a voice, a familiar voice, that seemed to be right inside her head. What was it saying … ?
“Oh, gray wolf,” says the little snow girl …
Yes, that was how it went. The snow girl. She was called …Snegurochka? And what did she say to the gray wolf?
“I have lost my way and it is getting so dark, and all my little friends are gone.”
Yes, she remembered now — there was always a tiny, delicious pause before the next line. The voice would become lower, pretend to be threatening.
“I will take you home,” says the old gray wolf.
And she would always feel so scared. She wanted to tell the snow girl not to go with the wolf!
“Oh, gray wolf,” says the little snow girl, “I am afraid of you. I think you would eat me. I would rather go home with some-one else …”
She hadn’t heard his voice, the voice of her father, as clearly as that for a long time — not since the first few weeks she had spent with Rosemary, in fact. Lying in the dark in her room, she would have whole conversations with him … but Rosemary had shouted at her and said she was “weird” and it had to stop. From that day he had stayed silent. It was as if her father didn’t want to upset her guardian.
“I will take you home,” says the old gray wolf.It was the story her father had told her: Those were his words. She had been the snow girl and he had been the wolf. She knew she was meant to be frightened of the wolf, but because it was her father’s voice, she always felt sad when the wolf ran away.
The cat’s purrs were so loud they filled the room. Sophie looked up to see moonlight at the small window and a broad slice of silver on the floor. She had fallen asleep!
Sergei sprang down onto the floor and sat looking at her, as if he expected her to do something.Fool!She had been the one on duty. What if they had already missed a train? She must not let her friends down.
Feeling determined, she got up, pulled on her coat, and went to the door.
Sophie stepped out onto the platform. The moonlight made everything glitter and a light flurry of snow danced about in the dying wind. All around were the narrow, dark triangles of pine trees, each branch laden with snow, waiting like passengers for something to happen. Every so often, the weight of the snow would be too much for one of the branches and the snow would suddenly slide off and land with a satisfying thud, sending up a white cloud of snowy dust. Then the branch would spring up, light again at last.
The air was cold, and it made her catch her breath. There was a brisk scent of pine needles as well as the softer smell of snow. Sophie’s face was already tingling. She knew she should be anxious — she had fallen asleep when it was her turn to listen for the train, after all — but seeing this forest coated in thick drifts of snow and moonlight, breathing air so clear it seemed to sparkle inside her lungs, made her feel full of excitement. This was not like the silver forest her father had taken her to in her dreams. But then, that would be impossible.
Marianne and Delphine stumbled out of the hut, both in their coats, bleary-eyed.
“Oh, you are clever, Sophie!” Marianne said.
