Page 40 of Sunrise By the Sea

He nodded sadly, his big bear face looking glum.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Marisa.

He put his hands out in a ‘well, what can you do?’ gesture and turned back around and went back in without giving a clue as to whether that was a yes or a no. She sighed, and went and turned Skype on for Nonna.

‘What’s the matter? You look even sadder than normal. It’s really bad for the face, looking sad all the time. What happened?”

Marisa sighed

‘I tried to do something good. I don’t think it worked very well.’

Hernonnalistened to the whole story, sniffing occasionally.

‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘I think this is easily solved.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Marisa, surprised.

‘Do you have any lambs’ liver in the freezer?’

Marisa gave hernonnaas sharp a look as she could manage through the laptop camera eye.

‘No!’

‘Oh. Okay. Not quite so simple. Let me think. What do you have?’

‘Is this about food?’

‘Everything is about food,’ said Nonna.

In fact, inspired, Marisa had done a slightly more adventurous online shop. Okay. There were a few microwave meals in there. But there was a lot of fresh stuff too. Possibly more than she needed. Possibly.

‘Um, chicken . . . potatoes . . .’

‘Okay! Stop right now. That will do. You have mushrooms?’

Her grandmother immediately instructed her to slice some of the truffle incredibly thinly and put it on a layer of butter under the skin of the chicken leg, then whisk up a mushroom sauce before making truffle mash, which included more butter than Marisa privately thought any human should eat in a year or two, but on the other hand her grandmother was eighty-four and still swam in the sea with her friends every weekend so who was she to judge?

‘You will need Madeira for the mushrooms. Or brandy.’

‘Why would I have either of those things?’ said Marisa.

‘You’re an adult,’ retorted Nonna.

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘Well, you’ll have to find some.’

Chapter Twenty-four

It was a glorious evening, and Marisa took the potatoes – which she was mashing with plenty of salt and cream – to the little balcony terrace.

To her right, the sun was setting in a light medley of gold and pink. It was wonderful. She glanced round at the houses meandering up and over the hill, down the other side to the northern edge of Mount Polbearne, and the thin land bridge that came and went and joined her little end-of-the-world yellow house to the mainland and the rush and dash and fuss of the rest of the world. She glanced back into the lemon house. She was happier where she was.

The chicken roasting started to smell heavenly; so good it felt unfair, like leaving a trap for a hungry dog. Sure enough, eventually, the shaggy head appeared on the balcony.

‘I am thinkink we should be better . . .’

He had looked up the word but it had gone from him.

---