Sunrise By the Sea by Jenny Colgan
Chapter Sixty-seven
With everyone gone, the house was silent; the cicadas played their little creaky song outside, of course, but she had practically ceased to notice it. She went into the tiny garden and, taking in the warm scent of the lilacs and the herbs, stood under the warm sky.
Perhaps she should stay here always, she thought. Her family was here. The weather was good, it was beautiful, she could find something to do.
But even as she thought it, she realised that she was British; that there was too much about her home country she would always miss, from chocolate digestives to Fleabag that she wouldn’t have a hope of explaining here; that she missed her friends so, so much and was going to rectify that as soon as she got home; that she genuinely wanted to go dancing, to go to a party to eat food that wasn’t Italian, to laugh until she was sick. Italy was wonderful, but England was home.
And if she could have the best of both worlds; if she could find her freedom within herself, and only herself – well. That was the most healing thing she could think of, she thought, under the bright starry sky of an Italian summer.
A faint noise pulled at the edges of her consciousness and she frowned. Somebody must be playing the piano near here. How funny. It must follow her everywhere. She frowned and tried to figure out where it was coming from.
That was odd; it sounded like it was coming from inside the house.
Slightly nervously, she turned round again. What on earth was it?
Inside the little kitchen it was louder still; a great crashing epic of a piece, loud and bold, played on a piano . . . Had she left the television on?
Immediately she realised, and felt like a complete idiot. Of course. They’d been out the previous night, but of course – it was coming from the laptop, that was still connected to the flat.
She sat in front of it, even though there was nothing to see in the dark Cornish room. She could hear, though, the great swells of the playing. It sounded absurdly close; close enough to touch. So she simply sat, closed her eyes, opened her mind and listened. She hadn’t really listened before, being too irritated, or sad, or both. But now, here, far away, she let the music take her; music that felt like the rolling of a boat, like a great heavy-masted ship crashing through stormy seas, ploughing up and down through the waves. By the end of it, she felt like clapping, and did so. To her surprise she heard lots of other people too, through the walls, and a resumption of noisy chatter and laughter. Oh my God, he was having a party!
‘Alexei,’ she whispered through the computer. Of course he couldn’t hear her. Experimentally she tried a little louder. ‘ALEXEI?’
But nobody could hear her. She was torn between being insulted at him having a party and not inviting her, admiration for his consideration to wait for her to be gone – and an unexpected desire to be there too.