Sunrise By the Sea by Jenny Colgan
Chapter Fifty-two
Marisa’s strange new hours meant that even though she was coming and going – quite happily, on that same route – she didn’t see Alexei at all, which was probably quite useful after the hideous embarrassment of their dinner.
He hadn’t been in for pizza, which was a mystery because she had, quite despite herself, ended up meeting almost every single person on the island as there was no one who could resist at least trying it, and once they’d tried it, they normally came back for more, except for Mrs Bradley, who thought it was foreign muck and didn’t say exactly those words but looked like she might every time she asked Polly in a very enunciated fashion for BATH buns and EMPIRE biscuits, and said, ‘I’m sorry, but . . . does it smell like garlic in here or is it just me? Goodness. Garlic in a bakery, I can’t get my head round the new-fangled way of doing things at all,’ and pretended to laugh.
It did produce another problem, though: once she got home at ten, she found herself still too geed up and unable to sleep and would watch television, drink tea, try and email friends she’d been out of touch with for far too long – and stay up till one in the morning or so, then sleeping in much longer than usual as her work day had turned topsy-turvy.
Except, of course, every morning Alexei would be welcoming students and performing scales by eight a.m. or so, clanging into her early morning woozy dreams.
Well. Serve her right. But even though she was embarrassed about her drunken night, she thought one thing might work – tell him he could play in the evenings. If she did it right . . .
It still felt insulting: I’m not here in the night any more so play as much as you like. But that seemed all right, didn’t it? She couldn’t do much about the mornings, but she could at least improve something. A little bit.
Anita was surprisingly insouciant about it.
‘I thought you’d have a view,’ said Marisa suspiciously. Anita beamed.
‘Marisa,’ she said. ‘Look at you! You’re going out to work every day! Three months ago you couldn’t leave the house. I asked you to do a tiny thing every day, and you took it and ran with it more amazingly than I could ever have expected. I almost never fix anyone . . .’
She swallowed and realised she’d obviously gone too far.
‘I mean, it’s very difficult often for people to get over certain stubborn anxiety issues. Some of them really bed in and people find it very difficult to overcome them.’
She couldn’t stop smiling.
‘But you – look at you. You’ve made friends. Created interpersonal relationships . . .’
‘Yes, a really bad one!’ said Marisa. ‘That’s what I need to talk to you about.’
Anita’s eyes danced. ‘I’m not that kind of therapist, I’m afraid. I’m signing you off.’
‘What?’
‘You have a job, a functional life, a social life, your family . . .’
Marisa frowned. She didn’t have her whole family, not at all.
‘Look at you, not even panicking at me telling you I’m leaving,’ said Anita, still exuberant.
Marisa realised she was doing what Alexei did when you told him something: listening to it, letting it sink in before forming a reaction. She swallowed hard.
‘I . . . I think. I think maybe I can manage.’
‘Terrific,’ said Anita. ‘I have a bloody parents’ night. I think you’re my last bit of good news for the day.’
‘But first,’ said Marisa, ‘note or knock on the door? What should I do?’
Privately, Anita thought Marisa should fling open the door and jump on whoever lived next door regardless of what they were like, drawing the line only at actual murderers.
But giving a professional opinion was what she was paid for, and the correct professional opinion in this situation was to smile, and say, ‘Marisa. You are ready to decide that for yourself.’