You Don't Own Me 2 (The Russian Don 2)

‘Oh, my darling, darling girl, you’re awake!’ the person says excitedly.

Olga. That’s Olga’s voice.

‘This is amazing. You woke up today. I knew you would. Zane is playing the piano at a concert tonight. He is already at the concert hall. I’m going to go and call him. He’ll be so happy. This is a miracle.’

I dart my eyes to the side and back to her, and she frowns. ‘You don’t want me to call Zane?’

I move my eyebrows and blink.

For a while she stares at me, then realization dawns. ‘You want to go to the concert. You want to surprise him.’

Tears fill my eyes and run down the sides of my face. I move my eyebrows and blink again.

She starts crying. ‘You have really learned to fly, haven’t you,’ she chokes out. ‘OK, I’ll call Noah and Stella. They’ll know what to do. Stella will make you pretty, and Noah will sort out how to transport you there. Don’t worry, between us we’ll get you there.’

I wriggle my eyebrows. There seems to be more movement and it was so much easier to perform. At that point I feel myself slipping into sleep again, but I know they will wake me up in time for the concert.

When I wake up again it is because Stella is screaming in my ear. I open my eyes without difficulty, and the room is pleasantly dim. I open my mouth and one word struggles out.

‘Kebab.’ It sounds high-pitched and strange to me.

‘Oh, you big idiot, you,’ she says, and hoots with laughter. She grabs my face in both her hands and kisses me on the mouth.

‘I love you, Dahlia. I love you,’ she sings.

I smile up at her.

‘I’ve called Molly,’ she says, ‘and she’s bringing a dress for you. Two sizes smaller. I’m afraid you’ve become one of them skinny bitches,’ she says cheerfully.

‘I … don’ … t … want … t … o … wear … a … dia … per,’ I say.

‘I agree. It’s not a good look.’ She grins.

Olga brings pillows and puts them behind me so I am propped up. Slowly, bit by bit, the words start forming and exit from my stiff, out of practice, throat. Stella calls my mom and Daisy and both of them sob with happiness. Daisy declares it a miracle, but I know it is something else. Love. Zane’s deep love reached out and touched me while I was in that still white world. I was always waiting for him. Always.

After the call I watch in a daze as Stella gives me a manicure and a pedicure. My nails are painted pearl pink.

‘Mark,’ I say.

And her eyes light up. ‘Oh, Dahlia. I think I’m in love with him.’

I beam with happiness. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. He’s wonderful,’ she gushes.

‘Happy. So. Very happy for you,’ I say.

At that moment Molly arrives with the dress.

‘I’ll tell you everything tomorrow,’ Stella promises.

‘OK.’

The dress is unveiled and it is beautiful: velvet, halter neck, deep green, and long. Both girls help me dress, then Noah comes and gently, as if I am the most precious thing on earth, lifts me off the bed and puts me into the wheelchair that Zane apparently ordered nearly a year ago.

I look up at them all, full of love and gratitude.

‘I love you all,’ I whisper.

From my box I watch the musicians come on the stage and take their places. My heart beats frantically as I wait for the pianist to arrive. Finally, he comes into the spotlight. Oh! Wow! How beautiful he looks in his white tie formal orchestra dress code: long black tailcoat, white wing-collared shirt and bowtie.

That there is my man.

I tremble with love for him. He turns towards the crowd and bows stiffly. The audience claps.

Then, as if against his will, his eyes stray towards my box. He does a double take when our eyes touch. Suddenly the rest of the audience falls away. We stare at each other. He shakes his head as if he can’t believe his eyes.

I smile at him.

His mouth drops open as his hands rise up in a gesture of incredulity. His eyes move to my left and fall on Noah. Only then does he believe his eyes. A fellow musician touches his arm, and he glances around at the man. He says something to him then immediately turns back to me, as if he is afraid that I am only an apparition. His face full of joy and love, he takes a step as if to come to me, but I shake my head slightly. It stops him.

‘Play for me, Aleksandr Malenkov,’ I mouth and smile at him.

He nods slowly before going to take his position at the gleaming piano. From there he gazes at me until Andre Rieu comes on stage and he is given a standing ovation.