The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith

is it?
    Zoya dropped her head, speaking under her breath:
    —I feel sad. I feel sad all the time.
    Raisa bit her lip, trying not to cry. She put a hand on Zoya’s arm:
    —Tell me what I can do.
    —Elena can’t go back to that orphanage: she can’t ever go back.
    —No one is going anywhere.
    —I want her to stay with you.
    —She will. You both will. Of course you will. I love you very much.
    Raisa had never dared to say that aloud. Zoya looked at her carefully:
    —I could be happy… living with you.
    They’d never spoken like this. Raisa had to be careful: if she said the wrong thing, gave the wrong reply, Zoya would close down and she might not get another chance.
    —Tell me what you want me to do.
    Zoya considered:
    —Leave Leo.
    Her beautiful eyes seemed to swell, soaking up every detail of Raisa’s reaction. Zoya’s expression was filled with hope at the notion of never seeing Leo again. She was asking Raisa to divorce Leo. Where could she have learned about divorce? It was rarely spoken about. The State’s initially permissive attitude had hardened under Stalin, making divorce more difficult, expensive and stigmatized. In the past, Raisa had considered a life without Leo many times. Had Zoya detected the remnants of that embittered relationship and drawn hope from it? Would she have dared ask if she didn’t think there was a chance Raisa would have said yes?
    —Zoya…
    Raisa was gripped by an intense desire to give this girl anything she wanted. At the same time, she was young—she needed guidance, she couldn’t make outlandish demands and expect them to come true.
    —Leo’s changed. Let’s talk, you and me and him, together, tonight.
    —I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his voice. I want you to leave him.
    —But Zoya… I love him.
    The hope drained from Zoya’s face. Her expression became cold. Without saying another word she broke into a run, leaving Raisa behind, hurrying through the main gates.
    Raisa watched as Zoya disappeared into the school. She couldn’t run after her: there was no way they could speak in front of the other students, and anyway, it was too late. Zoya would remain silent, refusing to answer. The moment had passed, the opportunity was gone, Raisa had given her reply—
I love him
. Words greeted with a grim stoicism, like a convict hearing a death sentence confirmed. Cursing herself for responding so definitively, Raisa entered the school grounds. Ignoring the students and teachers passing her, she considered Zoya’s dream—a life without Leo.
    Inside the school building she entered the staff room, unable to concentrate, dizzy and distracted. She found a parcel waiting for her. There was a letter attached. She ripped it open, glancing at the contents. It contained instructions that she was to read the enclosed document to all her students, every year group. The letter was from the Ministry of Education. Tearing off the brown paper wrapped around the parcel, she glanced at the top of the box:
    NOT FOR PRESS
    She lifted the lid, taking out the thick stack of neatly typed pages. As a politics teacher she was regularly sent material and instructed to convey it to her students. Having read the covering letter, she tossed it into the bin, only to see that the bin was filled with identical letters. Copies must have been sent to every teacher, every class must be having the speech read to them. Already running late, Raisa picked up the box, hurrying out.
    Arriving at class, she saw the pupils talking, making the most of her delay. There were thirty students, aged between fifteen and sixteen. She’d taught many of them for the full three years she’d been at the school. She put the pages down on the table, explaining that today they’d be hearing a speech by their leader Khrushchev. Waiting for the applause to die down, she read aloud:
    —Special report to the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. By