Pizza Delivery

With the TV remote in one hand and a large glass of Chardonnay in the other, Valentina rapidly cycled through the news channels on her mega-sized flat-screen — Al Jazeera, BBC, and CNN. She was frantic to find the latest development. Like missing car keys.

She needed to know how far their armoured columns had come from the north, the east and the south. How many paratroopers had landed on the airfield north of her native city. How many people were dead.

She needed the facts. She needed to understand the who, what, and where. The facts made it somehow more manageable. Because to understand the ‘why’ was, she thought, impossible and infuriating. Valentina had lived in their country; she’d had boyfriends from there. Anatoly, the last one in Dubai, who’d bought her a BMW. And, of course, the ‘business’ in the Emirates and here on the Gold Coast was with Russian backers.

Her partners. Several of her girls — Nadezhda, Vika, Maria. People she talked with every day. People who knew her and who she knew. People she’d had in her home and tossed back shots of vodka with. Now, as their tanks crunched the concrete of the main highway toward the capital city centre’s cobblestones and golden domes, they had instantly become invaders.

Through the night’s attack, she’d doused her anger with wine and cigarettes. There was an empty wine bottle and a crushed cigarette pack on the table on her flat’s balcony.

Now, there was nothing new on the TV or the Telegram channels she’d been scrolling since it started. Valentina walked out on to the balcony of the 27th story unit that looked out over the broad beach below. She couldn’t recall when the night had turned to day.

The early morning sun was cutting through sea haze and she could see people jogging on the sand or sneaking their dog for a walk. Surfers tea-bagged in the swell and hoped for a rideable wave.

Australians were like their dogs, Valentina thought to herself. Open-hearted, carefree, and alive with the present rather than the past. It was why she loved them and it was why she also missed home. Australia was where sentimental things happened: the surf, sunshine, happiness. Home was where significant things happened: history, culture, wars, hatred.

And now 15,000 kilometres away, war hadn’t only returned. It had slammed into a higher gear of violence and destruction.

She pulled her gold-plated lighter from the pocket of her silk bathrobe and lit up again. Valentina pulled hard on the cigarette and held the smoke deep in her lungs. Exhaling in a long burst, she picked her new iPhone from the balcony table and looked for texts or messages on What’s App or Signal.

From her mother who disowned her in between Western Union transfers. Or, from her grandmother who had raised her. The ‘baba’ who was still in the village and who said she prayed for Valentina every day. The 85 year old woman who whitewashed her own house every second Spring.

She’d left messages for dozens of friends through the night — their first day of invasion. Yes, she was checking on them — whether they had experienced the bombing or seen the armoured personnel carriers or whether they were evacuating their homes in the big cities toward the western border. But, Valentina knew, she also needed the news for herself. Knowing whether they were alive and safe would make her feel alive and safe, she hoped.

“What am I thinking?” she said to view of skyscrapers for foreign tourists looking for Aussie paradise and Aussie teens looking to get laid after 12 years of school. “Don’t make this about yourself.”

There were no responses to her messages. The newscasts had said the invaders were targeting the telecommunications network by blowing up mobile phone towers and antennae.

As she lay the phone back down, it tingled and vibrated on the table. The screen said it was Vasya, a cousin from Kharkiv. Like her, Vasya hustled for a living — selling counterfeit leather handbags from Vietnam or renting cheap scooters to delivery drivers. He had never judged her. She picked up.

“Vasya. The fucking bitches. The fucking bitches,” she screamed into the phone.

“Take it easy, Valentina. You’re louder than the missiles,” Vasya laughed.

“How can I take it easy! How can you laugh! The whole country is under attack by those fucking bitches who said they were our brothers.”

“Well, they lied, didn’t they? They’ve lied for centuries. This was always going to happen. We have no choice. Only to fight.”

“But how, Vasya?”

“With what we’ve got, my favourite and most beautiful cousin, Valya. Me and my lads are already volunteers with the territorial defence guys. We’ll move out tomorrow after they hopefully issue us weapons. Tonight, we’re packing up some sausages and our sleeping bags. Like a camping trip.”

Valentina listened in shock. Shocked by Vasya’s calm and that he could joke around as he went through everyone they commonly knew and what he knew about their whereabouts. Whether they were in Italy or Portugal for work or at home and in danger.

“I have to come back, Vasya. I have to do something with you guys or for you guys,” Valentina offered as the conversation was wrapping.

“Why would you do that, Valya? We’re gonna need all the help we can get from the world. From your country in paradise too. You’ll think of what you can do. Send love,” Vasya said.

The call ended. Valentina went inside for another run through the channels and another round of the same content. And there was still nothing on her phone either.

Her glass was empty and she opened the metallic fridge door to get another bottle of wine. As she did, she noticed a bright orange box of tea from T2 on her kitchen bench. It had been untouched there for months. One of the girls was a gym junkie and given it to her with an annoying talk about being brave and grounded. At least she’s a good earner, Valentina had thought.

Valentina closed the fridge. Carefully, she peeled put a manicured finger nail under the plastic sleeve and peeled it off the box. Then, she found a tea diffuser in the clutter of unused objects in the bottom kitchen drawer.

It was made of perforated tin turning green from age like an old cupola. One side was dented in. She folded it open at its fragile hinge and scooped in tea leaves. Gorgeous Geisha, the box said. Valentina realised the tea diffuser was likely the only thing she still had from when she left her grandmother’s 16 years ago.

The black tea steamed in the mug. She went back out on the balcony and leaned over the glass partition to look down at the street waking up. Uber drivers delivering conventioneers back to hotels after partying all night. Street sweepers picking up empty soft drink bottles.

She should eat something. She spotted the local Domino’s. They were everywhere, it came to her.

On-line, Valentina ordered 100 supreme pizzas to be delivered to Vasya’s address. Valentina had found a front to fight on.