CHAPTER TWO
At the Baronkins, Sunday morning started in the tempo of a vigorous squabble that came to the boil in sync with Tatyana’s pea soup.
Trousered but bare-chested, Vassily was fretfully pacing the shared flat’s corridor now and again filling the cramped communal space with clamour on the sore subject:
‘Who da f**k is da boss in ‘ere?’
Tatyana kept silent and did not take her eyes off the stove.
At that same time, sprawling on the unmade bed of her parents, Lisa, one of the Baronkin twins, was interrogating the other twin sitting by her side:
‘Olga, you are a mongol, aren’t you? Tell me honestly!’
And without waiting for an answer, she announced:
‘I know, you’re a mongol. Mum told me. I am going to tell everybody that you’re a mongol.’
Olga suddenly broke into a howl, cover
