Sunrise By the Sea by Jenny Colgan

Chapter Seventy-eight

Polly’s face worked in slow motion as she saw the twins running towards her. She opened her body like a gate, gathered them in, clung them to her, a warrior queen, fierce in fury and holding them tight, oblivious to their cries or their need to tell her what had happened. Avery looked up, all preferences forgotten.

‘Daddy! Daddy! We need you too!’

And Huckle, who had been thundering up behind, completely whey-faced, was hurling himself on top of them, completing the circuit.

Polly looked up to babble at Marisa, but she had already left and was charging back to the dunes.

By the time they got there, the situation had changed considerably. Alexei was standing being shouted at by the girl with the short hair for damaging her snake, which she insisted had been no threat at all, and now he’d given it concussion and Alexei appeared to be apologising.

Marisa saw red.

‘What the hell are you doing letting a snake roam free at a children’s party?’ she hollered.

‘We don’t believe in cruelty to wild animals, actually?’ said the woman.

‘You rent it out for children’s parties! If you really don’t believe in it, take it and set the bloody thing loose in South America! And I don’t believe you. I’ve watched documentaries. That thing was ready to go for one of those children.’

‘Don’t talk about Janice like that.’

‘You are actually going to be sued to South America, and back,’ said Reuben, who was unable to stop himself clutching his cutlass. ‘So, I hope that suits you?’

The women sloped off in a hurry after that, carrying the very dazed-looking beast over their shoulders.

‘Should have stuck to pirates,’ said Reuben, half to himself.

He stalked over to Alexei, who was panting slightly.

‘You saved my friend’s kids,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you want. Anything is yours.’

Alexei shook his head.

‘It was nothink,’ he said. ‘It was my pleasure.’

Marisa, bold as brass, stepped firmly in front of him.

‘But he’d quite like that piano he was playing earlier.’

‘Oh yeah, sure, whatever, done,’ said Reuben, wandering off to find Huckle and Polly.

Marisa turned to Alexei, her face bright pink.

‘Oh my God! Did you really hit that snake with a . . . ?’

But before she could finish the sentence, he had grabbed her in his arms and was looking down at her, his whole body trembling.

It had been so long.

She had denied herself human touch for such a long time, hadn’t even reached out to a human being. Her loneliness had gone beyond the skin; had been bone-deep, soul-deep.

And now this. This was something else, something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she hadn’t felt in so long she had thought it might be gone for ever.

It was the deepest form of desire, a deep low aching, a rush of strong impulse beating in her brain; that it had to be this man, that it had to be now. His lips were full and plump and soft and nothing else could fill her mind than the desire to kiss him, and for him to kiss her back, the way she wanted – needed, absolutely needed to be kissed, firmly, with passion, and confidence and full-hearted conviction. She found herself letting out a small sound, even as the noises of the party faded away completely.

She stretched herself up on her toes, her eyes beginning to close, the scent of him intoxicating, the sunny breeze blowing through the dunes.

His huge hands moved down to circle her tiny waist in the red dress, holding her firmly. But she saw he wasn’t moving his head towards her, showed no signs of being about to kiss her.

She panicked. Was he still thinking of Lara? It was the excitement; it had to be. She had been overwhelmed. She looked up at him, terrified, blushing: had she misjudged it? It had been so long since she’d had any male attention – any attention at all, it felt like. Of course she had gone nuts. Of course she had. Oh God. This was awful. And it made things worse somehow that he was a teacher, as if she was a ridiculous student with a crush.

He let her go, gently, sat down in the sand, his arms around his knees looking confused. His brown eyes blinked in that slow way they did.

Marisa looked at him, her embarrassment turning to fury. ‘What?’

He shook his head shortly.

‘No. Please. I am thinkink,’ he said. ‘Sit down please?’

She refused and instead stood, furiously, a short way away from him, crossing her arms over herself. She wanted to leave, but couldn’t bear to.

‘I haff to think.’

‘Oh, do you.’

Her tone was sarcastic.

‘I haff to think. I think Marisa does not know I am so crazy about her. She does maybe not know what she is doing, maybe she has been unwell, maybe she is just lonely, maybe she does not really care about a bear who lives next door, maybe if I kiss her I will be happy for two minutes and then so sad for ever and that will be very bad.’

She looked at him steadily.

‘Marisa. I cannot be your—’

‘Crutch. I get it. You said that.’

He looked puzzled.

‘But I have to say. Is important. If you want to kiss me . . .’

This was torture. Marisa stood there, torn, uncomfortably aware of her own breathing.

‘You have to know. That it is not nothing to me. It will be . . . lot to me.’

He looked straight at her, those long lashes fringing those beautiful eyes.

‘You are music to me,’ he said quietly. ‘You are a dance, or the whisper of a song. When you are cross, you are Beethoven dreamink of the far seas, and when you are happy you are Saint-Saëns to me, and when you are sad you are Grieg looking on a rainy day, and when you laugh it is Mozart to me. And I would so very much like to make you dance.’

This speech took her totally by surprise. She felt the flush rise in her again, but this time it was something else; not humiliation. Something else. The ice that had flooded her veins started to melt.

‘So.’

He was still seated, his hands now outstretched in a gesture of supplication.

‘. . . Marisa,’ he finished finally.

Very, very slowly and nervously she walked closer towards him, not breaking eye contact.

‘I—’

‘Enough,’ she said finally.

And very carefully she climbed on to his knees, sitting sideways on his lap. He was so solid. He felt like a mountain she could climb. Something immutable; that she could lean on absolutely.

With one hand she pressed a finger to his mouth.

‘Be quiet.’

And then she traced those wide lips, hard and soft at the same time, so ready to laugh, to shout, to sing.

‘Sssh,’ she said again, and leaned in and she could feel the beating of his heart, as big as the rest of him, under his shirt, and gently, carefully, traced his lips with her own, tiny brushing kisses, teasing him, light as a butterfly.

‘Argh.’ He made a groaning sound from somewhere deep inside himself. ‘No,’ he said. ‘For me, that will not do.’

And with a sudden jerk, his hands pulled her closer to him, much closer; he put one of his huge hands on the side of her head, where it cradled her face, and he bent down and kissed her so fully and deeply and hard and with such intent that every other kiss she had ever had suddenly felt as if they dissolved into nothing in the sea because this – this was full colour, full-hearted; this was everything and he was right. He was all or nothing. The heart and the soul and the passion that came out in his playing; that was everything he was, in everything he did. And suddenly he was everything she had ever wanted, more than anything. And he kissed her all better.