Killing Eve: Resurrection (2)

The second instalment of a new Killing Eve story, published exclusively on Substack

           

Pushing open the door to their building, Oxana winces. That momentary whiff in the stairwell of drains and boiled cabbage. The smell of her childhood. She runs up the stairs. In the apartment, Eve is making pancakes. Oxana takes four, pours on raspberry jam and thick cream and devours them. 'These are so good,' she murmurs. 'Is there some coffee?'

Eve gives the pan a shake. 'Do you mean, have I made some coffee?'

            'Obviously.'

            'No.' She flips a pancake. 'And don't give me that look.'

            'What look?'

            'That wide-eyed look you put on when you want something. You're not Princess Diana.'

            'What's she got to do with anything?'

            'She specialised in those looks.'

            'You think she was like me.'

            'I was, like, six when she died. But apparently she was super-manipulative.'

            'Are you going to make some coffee?'

            'No, my love. You are.'

            'Ahhh, right. Okay. So where's the... ?'

            'Oxana, don't be useless. You know where everything is.'

            'I don't. Because you put stuff in weird places. You hide things.'

            'Oxana...'

            'But that's OK. The kitchen's your space. I respect that.'

            Eve closes her eyes.

            'So Diana was a psycho.'

            'That's not what I said.'

            'You said she was like me.'

            'I didn't. And you're not a psycho, anyway. Not in the classic sense.'

            'No?' Oxana touches her thumb to the angle of Eve's jaw, and traces the course of her jugular vein.

            Eve twitches. 'You can be very sweet and loving when you choose to be.'

            'How do you know I'm not just pretending?'

            'Are you?'

            'What do you think?'

            'I think there are some things you can't pretend.'

            'Like?'

            'Well, when we...'

            'When we what?' Oxana locks her arms around Eve. 'Show me.'

            'Babe, I'm cooking.'           

Later, they're sitting on a bench in the English Park in Peterhof, overlooking the lake. It's late afternoon, and the day has clouded over.

            'Have you noticed anything strange lately?' Oxana asks. 'Anything out of the ordinary?'

            'Like what?' Eve says.

            'Like... I don't know, people watching the flat?'

            'Why do you ask? What's happened?'

            'Nothing. Nothing's happened.'

            'Oxana, tell me the truth.'

            'That is the truth. Nothing's happened. I just think we should be careful.'

            'We are being careful. Also, we're being protected by Tikhomirov's people.'

            Oxana nods. She doesn't say what they both know: that Tikhomirov has enemies, that he will not last forever. A breeze passes through the trees, shivering the surface of the lake. 'All this,' she says, gesturing vaguely. 'Is it enough for you?'

            'You're enough,' Eve says. 'You're a lifetime project.'

            'Me apart, though?'

            Eve looks at her. 'You're in a very strange mood today.'

            'Am I?' Oxana touches the tip of her tongue to the scar on her upper lip. 'There's a student thing tonight. Everyone's meeting for a pizza. I thought I might go.'

            'But you're always saying how annoying you find those people.'

            'I know, but Sasha's going to be there. I don't want her to think I'm an elitist bitch, and fail me.'

            'You are an elitist bitch.'

            'Nevertheless.'

            'So where is it, this... thing?

            'That place in Kovenskiy Lane.'

            Eve is sure something's up. She spotted Oxana's tell. That furtive flick of tongue to lip. She's definitely lying, and Eve's certain that if she were to ring the pizza place and ask if they were expecting a student party this evening, they would say no. But she's not going to ring Camorra or question Oxana further; there would only be a fight.  She's going to wait until Oxana goes out, open the bottle of Krasnodar sparkling rosé that she's been saving in the fridge, put her feet up, and spend the evening watching Plyazh Lyubvi, the latest TV dating show.

            A pair of ducks lands on the lake, and the reeds at the water's edge sway as the ripples reach them. Perhaps the ducks know something that Eve and Oxana don't, because it begins to rain. Lightly at first, but soon thunderously. Hand in hand, the couple run towards the park's exit. Eve, ever prudent, has brought a waterproof jacket, but Oxana is immediately soaked to the skin. She looks up at the steel-grey sky, exhilarated. There's a burnt, metallic smell in the air that reminds her of gunfire.

            I instinctively lie to Eve. It's exhausting, to be honest, as if we're locked into an unending chess game. She still fascinates me, though. I want to eat into her like a wasp into an apple, to hollow her out and control her. But she's too adroit, too clever. Sometimes it feels as if she's the one playing me. Scheherezade, teasing out her thousand and one nights as the executioner waits in the shadows.

            Oxana dresses for invisibility. Jeans, T-shirt, trainers, ponytail. In the hallway, as she pulls on Eve's wet jacket, she can hear the plink, plink of the rain dripping from the leak in the kitchen ceiling into a saucepan. In the front room. Eve is curled up in an armchair in front of the TV, a bottle and glass on a table beside her. On the screen a tearful young woman is staring at her reflection in a makeup mirror. Touching a tissue to her dewy lashes, she fans her face with her free hand. 'He was licking her tits,' she whispers falteringly. 'I feel so disrespected.'

            'Wow,' says Oxana. 'Intense.'

            Eve pauses the TV and looks up. 'Go. Have fun.'

            'I won't be late.' She smudges a kiss onto Eve's cheek.

            'It's fine. Do what you have to.'

            'Right.' Oxana zips up the rain jacket.

            Eve inclines her head. Watches Oxana with narrowed eyes. 'Don't you understand it's the lying that hurts me,' she says. 'Do you really not get that?'

            Oxana stares at her for a moment, expressionless, and walks out.

            As the door closes Eve jabs at the remote control, and hits the power button by mistake. The screen goes blank and she hurls the remote at the floor, where it shatters. Batteries roll across the floor. 'Shit,' she hisses, falling back into the armchair. 'Cunt, bitch, fuck, shit.'

The story continues…