Page 30 of Sunrise By the Sea

Polly was opening up cheerfully, with Jayden her assistant making plaits in the back. There was still a chill in the air, and meatball plaits to go with a steaming cup of coffee were proving very popular. ‘Tastes like pizza,’ said Avery, giving them a hard look. The children’s greatest dream was of takeaway pizza, something they had seen on American TV shows and occasionally experienced at Lowin’s. There wasn’t a takeaway pizza place within range of Lowin’s house either but somehow Reuben made it happen.

The postie, who hated having Mount Polbearne on his beat – constantly lashed by the weather, nothing but hills, having to time his visits with the tides – came in, looking lugubrious as usual.

‘Hello, Janka!’ said Polly, who always tried to cheer him up. It had never worked one single time, not even on the golden days, when children paddled through rock pools with shrimping nets; when the sounds of happy laughter could be heard around the ice cream stand, and the whole town bustled with happy holidaymakers, and people thrilled by the beauty and strangeness of the place; little ones, faces sticky, scurrying up the streets and pointing at the lighthouse; the days when it felt like there could be nowhere more delightful to be on earth than Cornwall.

Janka grunted.

‘What’s up?’ she said, fetching him his regulation triple espresso, which she firmly believed did nothing to improve his temper.

‘Someone got their magazine subscription mixed up and complained about me to head office,’ he said crossly. ‘Apparently there is a python magazine that is about computers, and a python magazine that’s about really big snakes and if you get one you don’t really want the other.’

He downed his coffee. ‘Who even subscribes to magazines about really big snakes?’

Polly had a fair idea, but decided now was not the time to drop Lowin in it.

‘And,’ he said, even more crossly. He bent into his red wheelie bag and pulled out a huge box. Both of them recoiled. A very pungent scent was coming from it. ‘What even is this? How can it be legal to send this through Royal Mail? This is toxic waste! This is probably poison! I will probably end up poisoned and all I will have to show for it is a life trekking across that bloody causeway.’

‘In the loveliest corner of the world?’ suggested Polly, gingerly reaching out. ‘That . . . is it for me?’

He shook his head.

‘Marisa Rossi,’ he read.

‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘We haven’t seen her.’

She thought about that crossly. Given that she’d given her keys and everything, a courtesy visit would have been nice, seeing as they were, you know, the community’s bakery. Maybe she was one of those people who thought all carbs were evil. Although she hadn’t looked like one of those people.

‘She lives all the way up the top of the town,’ said Janka heavily. ‘On anunpaved road.’

He looked at the large box.

‘It’s actually against Health and Safety for me to deliver to unfinished roads,’ he said.

‘Isit?’ said Polly sceptically. She knew Janka knew that she saw almost everyone in the village from time to time and if he could use her as a kind of free intermediary drop-off point, as she was right on Beach Street, he would. She was fighting this at all costs and made no move to touch the large parcel.

As the stand-off continued, fortunately the bell rang. It was Mr Batbayar, the very large piano teacher, who came in most days and was, Polly remembered, the girl’s next-door neighbour.

‘What you bakink today?’ he said, recoiling instantly at the smell.

‘Janka, you’re poisoning my shop,’ said Polly. ‘You’re going to have to take that out.’

‘I can get coffee anywhere, you know,’ said Janka threateningly.

‘No, you can’t!’

Mr Batbayar examined the box.

‘That is my street.’

‘It’s your neighbour,’ said Janka quickly. ‘Can you take it to her?’

‘Of course.’

‘You don’t have to!’ said Polly, but Janka was already out the door. ‘Argh. That confounded postie!’

The piano teacher blinked in surprise.

‘This is bad?’

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