MORNING SERIAL

HELEN sits on the periphery, tense. The sense of comradeship with Anton fading.

‘Vona tvoya? Mozhna ya yiyi viz’mu?

‘Vona nalezhyt’ sama sobi.’ ‘Ya vse zh mozhu sprobuvaty.’ Helen sees him wink at Anton through the mirror. She doesn’t like the way their conversation makes her feel, the automatic exclusion of their shared language.

Anton sits up and leans forward, supporting himself on the backs of the front seats and hovering in the space between Helen and Maksim. ‘Ty b ne vyzhyv!’

Maksim explodes with laughter, his body seeming to crumple and fold as he howls and slaps his thigh. ‘This man, here,’ he waves towards Anton’s face with a loose wrist, ‘he thinks a lot of you!’

‘I should think so, I brought him back from the dead.’

‘F*** me!’ Maksim exclaims. He runs a hand over the stubble of his head. ‘I want to hear it all. All.’

The farms and villages are slipping away. Maksim pulls over into a service station and they climb out. The strip lights are dazzling, harsh, and Helen goes straight to the toilets to relieve herself and wash. She can let out nothing more than a trickle of orange fluid.

Her kidneys ache. She strips off her clothes and changes into the fleece-lined leggings and long-sleeved top she wore under her leathers to travel in all that time ago. Crams the contaminated clothes into a plastic bag and shoves them deep into the sanitary waste bin. Soaks some paper towels and scrubs her boots, running the muddied soles under the tap until they are clean. Finally, she stands at the sink and lets the hot water redden her hands raw, washes her face over and over. Drinks, the tap water cupped in her palms. It tastes of chemicals.

When she goes back out into the shop area Anton and Maksim are standing near the counter, wolfing down hot dogs. Maksim pauses mid-chew to look her up and down. Anton hands a hot dog to her. ‘Horse meat?’ ‘Probably.’

> The Half Life of Snails by Philippa Holloway is published by Parthian at £15

CONTINUES TOMORROW