He had everything decided. He knew what he was doing, and all of it came true. When he saw her waiting at the hostel with her belongings, he found she had almost none. She was only cuddling something to her, like a living thing, and he assumed it was a favourite toy. Her soft toy turned out to be a photograph album in a plush cover. It looked faded and threadbare, but was bulging with memories and times past. She considered this treasure house of time to be her own property, as if she had been given it as a present, one which contained her whole life. It was a volume of compressed photos with no blank sheets left, which she had only to open to be able to lean over and read it like a book.
To get to Solntsevo they had first to take the Metro, then a bus, and, while they were travelling alo
