Sunrise By the Sea by Jenny Colgan

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!’

Marisa half smiled.

‘But you gave me the keys.’

‘I know, but nobody’s seen you at all since Huckle did a couple of weeks ago and Alexei brought your parcel . . .’

‘Who’s Alexei?’

‘Your next-door neighbour.’

‘Oh,’ said Marisa, slightly abashed.

‘He’s nice,’ said Polly.

‘Okay,’ said Marisa. ‘But I’ve been here all along!’

Polly wiped her eyes, trying to pretend she hadn’t been crying at all.

‘What have you been living on?’

‘I get deliveries,’ said Marisa, fidgeting and uncomfortable with the conversation.

‘Oh,’ said Polly, whose lip looked like it was about to start wobbling again. ‘Well, if you ever want to, you know, support local businesses . . .’

Marisa felt ashamed.

‘Uh,’ she said. ‘it’s all very new. It’s been a big move, it’s been . . . quite difficult.’

Polly nodded.

‘Are you okay?’ said Marisa.

‘I’m . . .’

Polly was still cross at this person not buying her bread from her, but her face was so concerned and it was so exhausting, so very, very tiring having to keep up a cheery facade, day after day, not frighten her customers, maintain a cheery line of banter and happiness so as not to worry the twins, and this was the only person in the village she didn’t know, asking kindly and sincerely, and the temptation to unburden herself was almost overwhelming.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Marisa when it became clear Polly couldn’t go on. ‘I didn’t come to the bakery. I have a . . .’

It hurt, it really stung to say it out loud.

‘I have an anxiety disorder.’

There. It was done. The world did not, a part of her noticed, implode at her saying it.

‘And . . . sometimes it’s very hard for me to get out and about.’

‘Oh,’ said Polly again, instantly changing from resentment to empathy. She could only imagine. ‘Oh goodness, I am so sorry. That sounds tough.’

Marisa shrugged. ‘I can . . . I can still . . . do you want coffee?’

Polly found herself agreeing and following her in – partly out of nosiness. She was desperate to see one of Reuben’s chalets.

‘They’re really beautiful!’ she said. ‘Wow. Reuben can be a putz, but this is just lovely.’

‘I can’t believe he had trouble renting them,’ said Marisa.

‘Oh no, he didn’t; it’s just the stupid road.’

Polly’s eyes moved to the wall, where the plonking noise from the twins continued.

‘Do you get that all day?’

‘It’s not so bad,’ said Marisa, almost without thinking as she went to the coffee machine.

Then she paused. It was true. Kind of. She had really stopped noticing the piano lessons during the day. They blended into each other like background noise on the radio. She played her own music through headphones and just generally got on with things. In fact, she’d almost applauded the other day, when Mrs Finnegan had successfully made it all the way to the end of ‘I Know Him So Well’ without collapsing halfway through, which had elicited a joyous shout of encouragement from Alexei.

‘It was at night that was driving me crazy. When it was just him.’

‘Is it not nicer when he plays?’

‘No! Oh my God. No. Weird, weird music.’

Polly smiled.

‘Well, you won’t have to put up with the twins for much longer.’

‘Why not?’

Marisa brought over two little espressos. Then she coloured, realising it had been so very long since she’d had company she had completely forgotten to ask people what they wanted to drink.

‘I’m so sorry . . . what would you like?’

‘I’ll never sleep,’ said Polly, smiling at the tiny cup. ‘But hey ho. I never sleep anyway. It can’t do me much more harm. Thank you.’

Marisa remembered suddenly a little packet of biscotti had turned up in her care box and jumped up to get them.

‘Oh, look at these!’ said Polly, who couldn’t resist anything sweet. ‘Oh, they’re wonderful. We should sell them in the . . .’

Her voice trailed off.

‘Why aren’t you coming up here any more?’

‘Oh. We . . . I need to cancel piano lessons. They’re just a bit pricey. Don’t tell anyone.’

‘I can’t,’ said Marisa. ‘I don’t know anyone.’

‘Okay, well don’t mention it to your landlord.’

‘I’ve never met him.’

In fact Polly knew that the second Reuben found out they couldn’t afford the lessons, he would insist that he paid for them. And that was too awful. When she and Kerensa had first been friends, of course she admired Kerensa’s drive, her iron discipline with her diet – but then she knew Kerensa loved her too, appreciated her sense of humour, liked having her around. They were equals. The idea of their longstanding friendship being reduced to a begging bowl of inequality: oh God. They had lost their money, she couldn’t bear to lose real friends too.

‘Are . . . things not doing well down at the bakery?’

Polly sighed. ‘We’ve lost a lot of the holiday trade – it’s tough all over for everyone, and my husband’s business and . . . Oh, I don’t want to wang on about my problems.’

‘We all have problems.’

‘We do.’

‘Everything will get better.’

‘Do you really think that?’ said Polly, sceptical.

‘Well,’ said Marisa. ‘I know I seem totally rubbish but . . . I never thought I’d make it here. And I did. I never thought I could move. I couldn’t even . . . well. You probably didn’t notice but I just made it all the way to the bottom of the steps to see you. Which I couldn’t have done before.’

‘Seriously?’ said Polly. ‘Wow! Well done then!’

Marisa couldn’t help smiling.

Polly raised her cup.

‘I can see why you order stuff in. This coffee and biscuits are absolutely awesome.’

‘From Italy,’ said Marisa.

‘Oh, great.’

‘But as soon as I can make it to the bakery, I’ll get my bread from you.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Yes,’ Marisa said firmly. ‘Yes, it is.’

Next door a terribly clunking duet was making its way to an end. There was a lengthy pause and then BANG! all four tiny paws finished simultaneously and on the right chord.

Marisa and Polly grinned at each other.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘YOU ARE NINJAS!’ came the voice from next door, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. ‘YOU ARE MY TWIN NUNCHUK DUET NINJAS!’

‘How come he knows the word for ninjas and he doesn’t know the word for strawberry?’ grumbled Polly.