Kirill opens the door before we reach it. He is in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which is as informal as I have ever seen him and he looks genuinely pleased.
"You're late," he says.
"You moved further away from town," I reply. I texted him last night to tell him I was coming. Yes, I was a bit late because a battered Renzo takes twice as much time to get ready.
He grins and pulls me into an embrace and shakes my hand at the same time in the way we have always done it and steps back to look at Renzo.
"What happened to your face?"
"Work," Renzo says.
"He supervised poorly," I offer.
Renzo says nothing.
From somewhere inside the house comes the smell of garlic that has been cooking for a long time. The domestic smell of a house that is actually lived in. My house smells like cigarettes and freshlinen and whatever the kitchen produces three times a day on schedule. It does not smell like this.
"Come in," Kirill says. "Annika has been cooking since this morning. She'll be furious if it goes cold."
We follow him in. Annika comes out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth and her face opens into a big smile when she sees me.
"Finally," she says into my shoulder. "I thought you'd cancel."
"I would never cancel," I tell her with a smile.
She pulls back and holds me at arm's length and looks at my face. Then her eyes go to the bandaging visible above my collar, where Nathalie stabbed me. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
"It's nothing," she replies, in a tone that is not a debate. Then she looks at Renzo and her expression softens further. "Renzo. What did you do to your face?"
"I fell," he says gently, obviously happy that she noticed him.
"Into someone's fist," I add.
Annika looks between us and decides, correctly, that this is not a thread worth pulling. She takes Renzo by the arm.
"Come and help me carry things through. The children are at school so I need the extra hands."
Renzo looks at me. I shrug and he follows Annika into the kitchen.
The table is properly set and the food is exceptional.
"How are the children?" I ask.
"The little one is furious that he can't come to the unveiling," Annika says, passing the bread. "He's decided he's an art critic. Last week he told me that my latest piece was kinda wonky at the nose. He's very advanced, it was kind of wonky at the nose." she replies, without irony.
Annika was a sculptor, she was fully doing what she loved now and from Kirill's proud grin, I could tell he supported her.
Annika coughs suddenly and Kirill reaches for the water jug before she has finished and fills her glass and sets it in front of her. Then he reaches into his shirt pocket and produces a small white pill.
She looks at it. "We've just sat down."
"Halfway through the meal," he says. "The doctor said halfway through."
"I know what the doctor said, Kirill, I was at the appointment."
"Then you know to take it now."
