Page 20 of Sunrise By the Sea

‘I don’t think I can do that,’ said Marisa. ‘It’s his job.’

‘Then, at night! Put on very loud music at four a.m. and leave a note saying “This is what you will get,signore. Hahaha to you.” Also, get a very large dog that barks,bau bauall day and all night. And if all else fails, I will send Little Carlo to cause some trouble.’

‘Um, thanks,’ said Marisa.

‘So, to begin with. Go round to his house. Take the broom. Bang on the door and say, “This must stop now. Or . . .”’

‘Or what?’ said Marisa, whose options, she felt, were very few.

‘Or you hit him with the broomstick! This isn’t difficult, Marisa.’

‘I’ll end up in prison! Is prison your answer to this?’

Is prison quiet? Marisa found herself thinking. Probably not.

‘Don’t actually hit him with your broomstick! But you really must convince him that you could!’

‘Is that why you don’t talk to your neighbours?’

‘No, that is because our neighbours are . . .’

And Nonna used a word in Italian Marisa would have sworn she didn’t know.

Chapter Sixteen

However bad Nonna’s advice had been, Marisa was still glad that she’d spoken to her and was sorry to hang up. It had been a while, she realised. She seemed to have more or less stopped speaking altogether. And her phone had stopped ringing too.

Enough, she thought. She was going to get through this. She was feeling better already. She had a therapist, and she’d managed to get in touch with hernonna. Two things had gone well already and she’d only been here a few weeks. She’d be down playing on the beach in no time.

She went to bed oddly pleased with herself for the first time in months. She’d achieved something.

Just as she was turning out the light, it started up. A low crumping of chords, all deep low keys, loud enough to make the light shades shake.

She sat up, incredulous.

‘Shut up shut up shut up!’ she said, teeth clenched. She was dying to shout it, loudly, bang on the walls – but oh my God. What if he answered? What if he was angry; what if he came round . . . She didn’t know him at all. What if he was dangerous? He was so big those kids had thought he was a bear.

She felt her heart race, fell back on the bed, cursed herself for her weakness. She knew she could say goodbye to sleeping tonight.

This couldn’t go on. It couldn’t.

Marisa agonised over writing the note – it felt so passive-aggressive, probably because it was.

On the other hand, she didn’t know what else she could do.

But what to say? Could you set your piano on fire and never play again? Could you give up what is patently your job and livelihood just because I don’t want to go into the office?

So much of this, she knew, was about her own issues.

No. During the day she’d have to deal with it. It was the nighttime music – the awful modern stuff that wasn’t really music. That was the stuff that really had to go. He must see that was reasonable, surely. Just the night stuff.

Then next door they started a halting, punishingly slow version of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ – this must be one of his new collection of older lady pianists, who had suddenly started turning up out of nowhere – and this stiffened her resolve.

She took out her pen and pad. It always felt nice to be writing by hand again. She had always taken a lot of pride in her handwriting, looping it carefully. She started:

Dear Neighbour

Tentative, but friendly. The last thing she wanted was him coming over to make friends. And she couldn’t remember his name. It was Russian so it seemed she was unlikely to guess it correctly. But then his English wasn’t very good. Maybe he wouldn’t know what that meant? She frowned to herself. She was overthinking this. Maybe she should leave it for another time.

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