Page 95 of Sunrise By the Sea

He looked at her. ‘It must haff been so hard for you.’

‘What do you hear in your head?’ she asked. ‘Genuinely curious.’

He blinked. ‘I do not think of it.’

‘No,’ said Marisa. ‘I suppose healthy people never have to.’

He was playing with the tiny mother-of-pearl spoon in his huge hands, turning it over and over as he contemplated the question in his slow way.

Then he grinned suddenly and she noticed he was tapping the spoon on the table top.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I suppose I think in my piano. So! If I hear thunder I think, well, crash crash that is Rachmaninoff, and if I hear rain I think well Debussy is here, he is playing in the raindrops, and when I hear a police car I think, well, modern music is full of challenges . . .’

Marisa looked at him. ‘I like you,’ she said simply.

‘That is good,’ he said. ‘Truly or because I live next door?’

‘Truly,’ said Marisa. She laughed. ‘My grandmother wants to meet you.’

He looked from side to side.

‘She is livink here? She is even quieter than you? She is in cupboard?’

‘No!’ said Marisa. ‘We Skype. Like, a lot, like most days. She’s in Italy.’

‘Oh!’ He nodded. ‘I hear you one night! Talking.’

He smiled rather roguishly.

‘Is much noise. You must stop. I write note.’

Marisa stuck her tongue out at him. He raised his arms.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘She can meet me. You want her to meet me? Now?’

‘It’s late! In Italy it’s very late.’

Mind you, thought Marisa, hernonnastayed up half the night, she knew that already.

‘I want your babushka to approve. Is important. Family.’

He dug under a large pile of papers until he found what he was looking for: a large old black laptop that looked a zillion years old.

‘You can call her!’

Then he opened it and Marisa stared at the neatly laid out keyboard – all in Cyrillic.

‘Ah,’ she said. Alexei frowned.

‘Ah. I see problem.’

‘I could get mine. This is ridiculous!’ said Marisa, giggling.

‘Go fetch computer grandmother!’

Marisa slipped back into her own house, gulping the cold air eagerly as she did so. Everything seemed to be moving very quickly. She was slightly drunk, which was probably why it seemed like a good idea but . . . She leaned against the door. Oh my God. Was this the stupidest thing . . .

She looked around. Her spotless house that hadn’t changed an iota since she’d moved into it. Compared to Alexei’s warm, messy, human, personal space, it felt clinical; empty. Cold.

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