Garry Abson: Motherland: A Gripping Crime Thriller Set in the Dark Heart of Putin's Russia

Her hair was still damp after rushing to get dressed. In the kitchen she discovered an old Parmesan rind in the freezer and did a little jig before dropping it whole into the bean soup. Next she retrieved one of the few inherited items from her mother: a steel rolling pin. She took some chilled dough from the fridge, tore it in half and started pressing one of the lumps to make a flat sheet.

She heard the door followed by the sound of shoes being kicked off in the hallway. Mikhail appeared; out of habit he opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Ochakovo. He twisted off the cap before downing half the bottle.

‘Don’t I get a welcome?’

‘Sorry, Angel.’ He put his free arm around her waist and kissed her on the mouth.

Mikhail tasted of beer but she didn’t mind.

‘How was your day?’ he asked.

‘Better now it’s the weekend. This morning I overheard Rogov referring to me as The German to some new recruits.’

Mikhail grinned. ‘Well, he is an insolent bastard – you have to hand it to him.’

After the Soviet Union collapsed, her father had taken a job as an administrator on a cultural exchange programme in Hannover. She had loved Germany instantly but it didn’t take her mother long to feel uncomfortable with her new life and start complaining about everything, from the language and endless varieties of toothpaste in the supermarkets, to the openness with which any subject could be discussed, including sex and religion. Four years later, when Natalya was sixteen, her mother decided they should all go home. Her father refused, as did her sister, Klavdiya, who at eighteen was old enough to decide her own fate. At the insistence of both her parents, Natalya unhappily returned to Russia with her mother, splitting the family in two. Her father and Klavdiya were now German citizens and she kept in contact regularly, trying to see them at least once a year. Though she was no more German than Rogov, there was something to his insinuations: the more time she spent in Hannover, the more foreign she felt when she returned.

He pointed the neck of his Ochakovo at her. ‘Want one?’

‘No thanks, I’m on call.’

‘OK, I’m going to get changed.’

She looked at him properly, noticing the grey-blue suit that perfectly matched his eyes and complemented his black hair. Naked, she knew Mikhail was a few kilos overweight but his frame was big enough to take it and the buttoned-up suit smoothed out his belly, making it flat to outward appearances.

‘You look nice.’

‘Day in court.’ He took another swig from the bottle.

‘How was it?’

‘Dull. Did you hear about Colonel Vasiliev?’

‘Yeah, he’s retiring. It’s the worst kept secret in the department.’

Mikhail shrugged with his mouth. ‘Well, Rogov told me a new major started today. Some prick called Dostoynov. Before you ask, I already know he’s a prick because he’s ex-FSB… Vasiliev has put him in my office.’

‘What’s does that mean?’

Mikhail did the mouth shrug again though she suspected it was more to hide his feelings than to signal that he didn’t care. Colonel Vasiliev had a reputation, much like the President’s, of pitting his subordinates against each other and awarding the victor the spoils. The prize in this case was control of the Directorate and the only person with the rank to challenge the new major was Mikhail. There was only one snag – if Mikhail got the top job she would have to transfer to another department; it was against regulations to have a supervisory role over a spouse.

He swigged some more of the Ochakovo. ‘How was your day – apart from Rogov?’

His eyes flickered momentarily in her direction – she could tell he wasn’t interested and decided not to bore him. ‘Don’t ask.’

She laid the sheet of dough over a pelmeni mould.

‘What are you cooking?’

‘Bean soup and dumplings.’

‘Why? We could get a take-out.’

‘Anton.’ She took out a teaspoon and scooped chopped pork and beef from a frying pan before depositing it in an indentation on the mould. She started on another one.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s staying with us tonight.’ She dropped it in the mould and took another from the pan. Thirty more to go.

‘So? You don’t normally bother.’

‘He’s bringing his new girlfriend – I put it on the calendar last week. Please tell me you remembered.’

Mikhail pressed his lips together in a mock apology. ‘I still don’t know why you bother.’

She knew the reason – in all likelihood, Anton was the closest she would get to a child of her own and she intended to take her stepmother duties seriously.

She turned away from the mould and put floury hands on her hips ‘OK, if you can tell me her name I’ll let you off.’

‘What is this?’ He took another swig to cover his embarrassment but she saw through it.

‘You lose. It’s Anna.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s right.’

‘You lose again, her name’s Tanya, and they’ll be here soon.

‘Wear something nice,’ she said to Mikhail’s retreating back.

She returned to the pelmeni , wishing she’d bought pizza instead, then heard the key in the door.

‘Anton?’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’

She waited for another voice.

‘Tanya’s not here.’ Anton’s head appeared; he was slim and handsome with close-cut hair that was just too long to be a skinhead’s. He fixed her with the brown doe eyes he’d inherited from his mother; annoyingly, Dinara was beautiful.

‘But she’s still coming, right?’

He shuffled in his socks; his arms behind his back. ‘There’s stuff going on at home, her parents are divorcing… What’s for dinner?’

‘Don’t change the subject. When did Tanya tell you this?’

‘What, is this some kind of interrogation?’

She glared at him. ‘Just tell me how long you’ve known so I can decide what object to beat you with.’

‘Wait, I can prove my innocence.’

‘OK,’ she said, picking up the steel rolling pin and tapping the end into an open palm to make a slapping noise, ‘but if you lie to me I’ll kill you.’ She offered a mock-menace scowl. ‘You won’t be the first.’

Anton had one arm behind his back; he brought it forward: ‘She gave me this for you – eleven red roses. She told me to say how sorry she is.’

Mikhail returned to deposit the empty beer bottle. He was wearing a pair of white boxers and his fresh shirt had all the buttons undone. ‘What’s this about innocence?’

‘Tanya’s not coming.’

‘At least you told me before I put a tie on.’

‘So trousers weren’t your first thought?’ Turning to Anton she said, ‘You made me cook so I’m going to make you eat until I hear your stomach tearing.’ She fixed him with a bright smile.

Anton groaned then ran a hand over his stubbly hair. ‘There’s something I need to tell you both. It’s bad.’

‘Is she pregnant?’ Natalya asked. ‘Please tell me you’re using something.’

Mikhail stared at Anton. ‘What is it?’ he growled.

She studied her stepson’s face, reading reticence. ‘Let’s talk about it later,’ she said, knowing Mikhail was calmer after dinner.

‘Whose son is he?’ Mikhail had overstepped a boundary and immediately looked contrite.

Anton studied her face. ‘Shall I leave it?’

‘Don’t look at me, apparently I’m not part of the family.’ She raised her eyebrows in a mocking gesture aimed at Mikhail. ‘But as I was asking’ – she picked dough off her fingers – ‘is Tanya pregnant?’

‘No,’ said Anton, sounding disturbed. ‘But it’s best if I show you. It came in the mail this morning but you know what Mama is like. She’s been happy this last week but anything can send her down. Will you sort it out for me?’