Сумерки

           "Hey,whatwasthenumber?"

           Thecabbie’squestionpuncturedmyfantasy,lettingallthecolorsrunoutofmylovelydelusions.Fear,bleakandhard,waswaitingtofilltheemptyspacetheyleftbehind.

           "Fifty-eighttwenty-one."Myvoicesoundedstrangled.Thecabbielookedatme,nervousthatIwashavinganepisodeorsomething.

           "Hereweare,then."Hewasanxioustogetmeoutofhiscar,probablyhopingIwouldn’taskformychange.

           "Thankyou,"Iwhispered.Therewasnoneedtobeafraid,Iremindedmyself.Thehousewasempty.Ihadtohurry;mymomwaswaitingforme,frightened,dependingonme.

           Irantothedoor,reachingupautomaticallytograbthekeyundertheeave.Iunlockedthedoor.Itwasdarkinside,empty,normal.Irantothephone,turningonthekitchenlightonmyway.There,onthewhiteboard,wasaten-digitnumberwritteninasmall,neathand.Myfingersstumbledoverthekeypad,makingmistakes.Ihadtohangupandstartagain.Iconcentratedonlyonthebuttonsthistime,carefullypressingeachoneinturn.Iwassuccessful.Iheldthephonetomyearwithashakinghand.Itrangonlyonce.

           "Hello,Bella,"thateasyvoiceanswered."Thatwasveryquick.I’mimpressed."

           "Ismymomallright?"

           "She’sperfectlyfine.Don’tworry,Bella,Ihavenoquarrelwithher.Unlessyoudidn’tcomealone,ofcourse."Light,amused.

           "I’malone."I’dneverbeenmorealoneinmyentirelife.

           "Verygood.Now,doyouknowtheballetstudiojustaroundthecornerfromyourhome?"

           "Yes.Iknowhowtogetthere."