Page 31 of Sunrise By the Sea

‘Oh . . . no,’ said Polly. ‘I’m just not sure I can take on being local postmistress as well as . . . Anyway. Never mind. How are the twins getting on?’

‘They are very five,’ said the piano teacher, making it clear that that was about as much information as he was willing to give right then. ‘Six red things please.’

‘Mr Batbayar . . .’

‘Alexei, please.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said Polly. ‘I’m Polly. Anyway, one thing is, they’re called strawberry tarts.’

Alexei made a game attempt at shaping his mouth into four syllables that meant literally nothing to him, and smiled cheerfully in the way that often meant people stopped fussing him about his English.

‘And secondly, are you eating all of these yourself?’

Alexei gave her a look.

‘Um. No?’

‘Really no, or is that what you think is the right answer no?’

‘The other one,’ said Alexei. ‘You try not to sell too many thinks?’

‘No, but you could mix it up a bit. Look, I have some beautiful asparagus tarts.’

‘I loff . . .’ He pointed at the little spears. ‘Yes! Six please!’

Polly put the strawberry tarts down. He gave her a bear-like look and she picked them up again, and he paid quickly, then shouldered the large heavy box like it was nothing and dinged out of the shop whereupon Polly spent a faintly irritating day explaining what the smell was.

Later that day it was still chilly, but Marisa didn’t really notice the weather. Had she been able to step outside she would have seen celandine blooming through the rocks that made up the end of the unfinished road; she would have seen swifts returning to lay their eggs in hedgerows and singing a cheerful song, the white flashes of cow parsley and the daffodils that thickened every hedgerow, as well as the woods full of bluebells back on the mainland.

But she didn’t notice any of that. She left open the balcony door open for fresh air, but apart from that the seasons were passing her by.

There was a knock at the door. She glanced up from the laptop – Nonna was out, and she was tidying up the archiving files.

It was becoming increasingly clear to her that, useful as she was, there was less and less homeworking she could actually do. One day they weren’t going to need her any more

The knock came again, and with it her instant physiological response: her mouth went dry, her hands started to tremble.

‘HELLO!’ came a loud voice.

Marisa’s heart sank. It was him. She knew it was him from next door. Of course it was. She wanted to pretend she wasn’t there, that nobody was in, but that was ridiculous.

‘HELLO! LADY NEXT DOOR!’

He sounded gruff and impatient.

Okay, she wasn’t going to be able to get away from this. Timidly she opened the door.

‘I HAFF PARCEL FOR YOU!’

In the morning light he looked larger than ever, his beetle brows jammed together, the parcel, square and wrapped in brown paper, looking small in his hands, even though it wasn’t.

‘Um . . .’

She started to stutter and he looked at her as if she was completely beneath his worth attentions.

‘I put here,’ he said. Then he did something odd. He picked it up and sniffed it. Marisa blinked at the oddness of his gesture. Who was this guy?

There was a parcel, square and wrapped in brown paper with her grandmother’s familiar handwriting, sitting on the top step. They both looked at it for a moment, the man’s beard obscuring half his face.

---