Katerina smiled compassionately. "The one will come," she said.
     "Is that in the cards?" asked the young woman.
     "It is in your eyes," said Katerina.The young woman laughed. "Well I hope he comes soon!" she said, standing up as Katerina gathered in the oracle. "Can I get you anything?" she offered. Katerina didn't hesitate to politely decline. It would have been easy to ask for a sandwich or a glass of milk but she had to take care not to take advantage of the situation. "Stay as long as you like," said the young woman.
     "We won't be busy for a while yet. No one will bother you."
     "Thanks," said Katerina. Her patron returned a few minutes later with a precious café latté, rich and milky, and left it beside her on the table with a conspiratorial wink. Ah, luxury! Katerina sat back with the Metro she had picked up earlier. It was full of abduction and conspiracy, political speculation and financial crisis: news of the world that Katerina lived outside but reading about it made her feel… connected. There was an article about economic migrants and how they were stealing all the jobs and depressing the wages of lower income earners. She wasn't stealing anyone's job at any rate, she thought. If only! Anyway, the jobs weren't 'stolen' if nobody else wanted them. She knew about the sort of jobs her people got: assembling sandwiches on conveyor belts, packing vegetables and cleaning offices. She put the paper aside at last and looked up through the dazzling glass dome above her at the elaborate clock tower that overlooked the station. The great white clock with its black circle of roman numerals embedded amid the tessellations and points of a cluster of miniature gables and spires seemed to be telling the time in another world. It read 10:05.
     Katerina murmured a prayer, "I hope you are happy. I will love you always. Watch over me," she whispered. Ten-o-five was the exact time that her mother had died, drifting away in a miasma of morphine that had mercifully quelled the agony of cancer and mercilessly carried her away too young from the realm of being. Katerina had been with her for three days without leaving her side. She'd been with her alone. Petar and Jelka had never come. She had not been sorry they had not been there. She, at least, had had their mother to herself, had been able to talk with her, console her and cuddle her undisturbed by the scorn of her unwilling siblings but why hadn't they come? How could they not come when mother was dying? "We booked the holiday to Morocco months ago," Jelka had said. "I can't afford to cancel it," while Petar had talked about the pressure of work. "Your mother is dying," Katerina had told them and wondered at their heartlessness. Afterwards, Petar had arranged the funeral and Jelka had cried crocodile tears over the coffin that had made Katerina feel ashamed of her own tears lest they be confused with these empty droplets that fell with so little cost.