Page 36 of Sunrise By the Sea

‘Um . . .’ Marisa blushed again. ‘It’s nothing.’

Then there was a pause and she retreated into her house to eat her own meal, odd as this felt.

She had forgotten, she realised. She had forgotten the taste of real food, made properly. There was nothing complicated about it; it was just superb ingredients, handled properly. The garlic was soft and sticky and aromatic and delicious. She practically licked the plate. She called her grandmother back over to the computer halfway through. Her grandmother ignored her the first four times. Then she limped over, making a fuss of her back and her arthritis as if it had been agony to come the four steps from the parlour.

‘You are calling to tell me I was right.’

‘Yes,’ said Marisa. ‘You are always right.’

‘Iam,’ said her grandmother in satisfaction, straightening up.

‘Thank you,’ said Marisa. ‘It was the kindest thing to do.’

‘Yournonno, he loved my cooking.’

‘We all did.’

‘Yes. I should have been worse then I wouldn’t have had to do so much of it.’

They both smiled. Then suddenly, as if from nowhere, came a quiet little noise.

‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marisa.

The tinkling noise continued and Marisa realised it was a very soft, sweet rendition of a tune that even she knew on the piano.

The tiny noise played in little ripples, tinkling like a waterfall. It was absolutely like nothing else she’d ever heard emanate from next door before. She and hernonnaboth fell silent to listen.

‘“Claire de Lune”!’ said hernonna, happily. ‘I love it! I thought you said he was terrible!’

‘He normally is,’ said Marisa. ‘Huh.’

The sweet, soft piece played – and then finished. And there was no more noise, even as Marisa worried suddenly that this truce in manoeuvres might result in the hammering starting up again.

But no. He played it, as a little benediction – perhaps he thought it was a tiny thank you, Marisa wondered, and then left it in peace.

‘You have dinner and now you have music,’ said Nonna. ‘I do not think maybe that everything is as bad as you think.’

She paused momentarily.

‘Perhaps next you will even cut your hair.’

Chapter Twenty-two

The walls really were incredibly thin. So it was two days later, when she could hear the twins plonking at either end of the piano, that she heard another noise, from the other side of the house. Confused, she moved towards it.

It was – definitely, unmistakably – a sob. Marisa crept closer to the wall, where there was a little window above the cupboard that held the washer dryer and the mop.

There it came again. It wasn’t a wail; it wasn’t shock or pain. It was very clearly the sound of someone crying, but desperately trying to keep it quiet. It was a sound Marisa knew better than anything.

She began bargaining with herself. She could open the door, just a bit. Just to see. She had promised Anita to go to the bottom of the steps, that was all. That wasn’t far. Someone needed help. It was a basic human feeling she was having, nothing to worry about or even think about. Old Marisa would have done it without a second thought. Her mother would be making them soup right now.

That decided it. She couldn’t bear what would happen if Nonna found out that she’d ignored someone crying outside her door. She’d probably end up having to do nine decades of the rosary.

She opened the door a tiny crack. Polly jumped back about a foot.

‘Oh my God! I didn’t think there was anyone here!’

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