Read Online The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Rob Smith
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He lowered the pillow quickly, not wanting to catch sight of her opening her eyes. He pressed down as hard as he could. Quickly she grabbed at the pillow, at his wrists, scratching. It was no good, he wouldn’t let go-she couldn’t pull loose. Rather than trying to break his grip, she tried to wriggle out from underneath. He straddled her, locking his legs around her stomach, keeping her fixed in position and unable to move while he kept the pillow in place. She was pinned down, helpless, weakening. Her hands no longer scratched, they merely held his wrists until they went slack and fell by her side.
He remained in the same position, on top of her, holding the pillow for some minutes after she stopped moving. Finally, he eased back, letting go, leaving the pillow across her face. He didn’t want to see her bloodshot eyes. He wanted to remember her expression as being full of love. He reached under the pillow so that he might shut her eyelids. His fingertip roamed her face, getting closer and closer until he touched her pupil-the faintly sticky surface. He carefully closed her eyelids and lifted the pillow, looking down at her. She was at peace. He lay beside her, his arms around her waist.
Exhausted, Nikolai almost fell asleep. He shook himself awake. He was not finished yet. Standing up, neatening the bedsheets, he picked up the pillow and walked out into the living room, turning toward his daughters’ bedroom.
SAME DAY
Zoya and Elena were asleep: Leo could hear the rise and fall of their breathing. Adjusting to the darkness, he carefully shut the door behind him. He couldn’t fail at being a father. Let the homicide department close, let him be stripped of his apartment and privileges, there had to be some way of saving his family, nothing mattered more. And he was sure that this family, despite its problems, offered the best chance for all of them. He refused to imagine a future where they wouldn’t be together. It was true that both girls were far closer to Raisa than they were to him. Clearly the obstacle wasn’t the adoption but his past. He’d been naive in thinking that his relationship with Elena and Zoya merely required time and that like a trick of perspective moving far enough away from the incident would make it appear smaller and less significant. Even now he used euphemisms- the incident -for the murder of her parents. Zoya’s anger was as vivid as the day her parents had been shot. Instead of denial, he had to confront her hatred directly.
Zoya was sleeping on her side, facing the wall. Leo reached over and took hold of her shoulder, gently rolling her onto her back. The intention had been to ease her out of her sleep, but instead she sat up straight, her body tensing, pulling away from his touch. Without realizing exactly what he was doing he placed his other hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving away. He did it for the best of reasons, for both of their sakes. He needed her to listen. Attempting to maintain a measured, reassuring tone, he whispered:
– Zoya, we need to talk, the two of us. It can’t wait. If I wait till morning I’ll find some excuse and I’ll delay till tomorrow. I’ve already delayed for three years.
She said nothing, remaining motionless, her eyes fixed on him. Although he’d spent at least an hour in the kitchen trying to work out exactly what to say, those carefully planned words disappeared:
– You were in my bedroom. I found the knife.
He’d opened on the wrong topic. He was here to talk about his failings, not to criticize her. He tried to turn the conversation around:
– First, let me make clear, I’m a different person now. I’m not the officer that came to your parents’ farm. Also, remember, I tried to save your parents. I failed. I will live with that failure for the rest of my life. I can’t bring them back. But I can give you and your sister opportunities. That’s how I see this family. It’s an opportunity. It’s an opportunity
He remained in the same position, on top of her, holding the pillow for some minutes after she stopped moving. Finally, he eased back, letting go, leaving the pillow across her face. He didn’t want to see her bloodshot eyes. He wanted to remember her expression as being full of love. He reached under the pillow so that he might shut her eyelids. His fingertip roamed her face, getting closer and closer until he touched her pupil-the faintly sticky surface. He carefully closed her eyelids and lifted the pillow, looking down at her. She was at peace. He lay beside her, his arms around her waist.
Exhausted, Nikolai almost fell asleep. He shook himself awake. He was not finished yet. Standing up, neatening the bedsheets, he picked up the pillow and walked out into the living room, turning toward his daughters’ bedroom.
SAME DAY
Zoya and Elena were asleep: Leo could hear the rise and fall of their breathing. Adjusting to the darkness, he carefully shut the door behind him. He couldn’t fail at being a father. Let the homicide department close, let him be stripped of his apartment and privileges, there had to be some way of saving his family, nothing mattered more. And he was sure that this family, despite its problems, offered the best chance for all of them. He refused to imagine a future where they wouldn’t be together. It was true that both girls were far closer to Raisa than they were to him. Clearly the obstacle wasn’t the adoption but his past. He’d been naive in thinking that his relationship with Elena and Zoya merely required time and that like a trick of perspective moving far enough away from the incident would make it appear smaller and less significant. Even now he used euphemisms- the incident -for the murder of her parents. Zoya’s anger was as vivid as the day her parents had been shot. Instead of denial, he had to confront her hatred directly.
Zoya was sleeping on her side, facing the wall. Leo reached over and took hold of her shoulder, gently rolling her onto her back. The intention had been to ease her out of her sleep, but instead she sat up straight, her body tensing, pulling away from his touch. Without realizing exactly what he was doing he placed his other hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving away. He did it for the best of reasons, for both of their sakes. He needed her to listen. Attempting to maintain a measured, reassuring tone, he whispered:
– Zoya, we need to talk, the two of us. It can’t wait. If I wait till morning I’ll find some excuse and I’ll delay till tomorrow. I’ve already delayed for three years.
She said nothing, remaining motionless, her eyes fixed on him. Although he’d spent at least an hour in the kitchen trying to work out exactly what to say, those carefully planned words disappeared:
– You were in my bedroom. I found the knife.
He’d opened on the wrong topic. He was here to talk about his failings, not to criticize her. He tried to turn the conversation around:
– First, let me make clear, I’m a different person now. I’m not the officer that came to your parents’ farm. Also, remember, I tried to save your parents. I failed. I will live with that failure for the rest of my life. I can’t bring them back. But I can give you and your sister opportunities. That’s how I see this family. It’s an opportunity. It’s an opportunity
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