My Ice Prince - стр. 41

I looked round: there was a crowd of onlookers around us, probably not very happy that we were blocking the road. It was just like in that film: the girl had jumped off the roof, and the neighbours were very sad that they had to suffer some inconvenience because of her suicide – now they had to clean up the pavement!

I had a lot more to say to this insolent man, but I decided it was useless to fight him: he even called me «hysterical»! He's a boor, not a vampire! And he's wearing an Oxford robe!

– Why don't you go? – I said one last time, then picked up my bike and, despite the bent rear wheel, got on it, going to leave this unfunny comedy with a proud look.

But suddenly an unfamiliar vampire grabbed my forearm.

– Wait a minute. Are you Maria’s sister? – he asked.

– What do you care? Do you have a hearing problem? – I replied grudgingly. – Who gave you permission to touch me? Get your hands off me now!

– But Maria never told me about you. – It was as if he hadn't heard me and hadn't taken his hand away.

***

– Take your hands off me or I'll scream! – She said in such a convincing tone that I knew she would carry out her threat.

I thought she was stupid and hysterical, but I still wanted to know who she was. Maria’s sister! Here! In Oxford!

– Listen, my name is Fredrik Haraldson. Has Maria told you about me? – I asked, hoping that she had, but of course not all of it.

The hysterical girl's grey-blue eyes rounded.

– 'Especially don't you dare grab my hands! And in fact, don't you dare touch me! And don't you dare talk to me either! – She yanked off her forearm and rode away. The bent wheel of her bicycle squeaked pitifully.

Unwillingly looking after Sister Maria, I realised that she would definitely never speak to me again.

«Does she really know?» – I thought, not taking my eyes off her straight, narrow back as she walked away from me. The girl's coat was soaking wet from the fall onto the wet pavement.

I don't know why, I don't know how, but I had an irresistible urge to follow Maria’s sister, and I rushed to the car, but suddenly I saw a white envelope lying on the road, already covered with drizzle. It must have fallen out of the hysterical girl's bag when she fell off her bicycle.

I picked up the envelope, got into the car, ignoring the drivers' shouts of displeasure, and followed the girl carefully, keeping a good distance, knowing that she was unlikely to think that she was being followed. Finally, I saw her turn onto Cowley Road and stop outside a two-storey old looking cottage with white wooden windows, put her bike down by the stairs, put a lock on it and went into the house.

Now that I knew where she lived, I decided that I would definitely stop by to visit her: I wanted to talk to her, to find out what she knew about me and Maria. On the way home, I wondered how this girl had ended up here in this city, for if Maria had told her what had happened between us, this hysterical girl would never have come to Oxford, where I lived. After that unpleasant incident, Maria and I gave each other our word that we would never meet again. And so, in Oxford, I had just met her sister, about whom Maria had told me nothing.

When I got home, I threw off my robe and clothes and took a shower: I wanted to wash away the unpleasant feeling that had come over me after seeing Maria’s sister, but I realised with doom that I would never be able to forget that shame, because a living reminder of Maria would keep flashing before my eyes. I left the bathroom, put on clean clothes, picked up one of the fresh newspapers, sat down in an armchair, and began to read, but I couldn't concentrate on reading as I mentally returned to my encounter with the hysterical girl today.