He stood up when he saw her, spread his arms wide and Marisa suddenly got a terrible pang. Imagine if he was waiting for her, every night, just waiting to welcome her home. Imagine if that was her life.
She thought of Huckle – he and Polly must have been married for ages – desperate to get his wife back home again. Even of bloody Caius unable to live without his little coterie. Sometimes it felt like she was the only person by herself. She had been focusing so much on just getting herself out of the house that she hadn’t stopped to consider what it would be like having nobody waiting for her when she came back to it.
Was he cross? She didn’t think so. Not this time. Surely. Surely? Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest.
Chapter Fifty-six
‘Marisa!’ He stood up. ‘There you are.’ He frowned. ‘You work every night now?’
‘Not Sundays. I can’t believe you haven’t eaten our pizza.’
He patted his stomach sadly.
‘I think pizza is not for me.’
‘You’ll like mine.’
‘That is exactly what I am thinkink is my problem – I will like it too much. But! You did not do this.’
He was waving the note.
She smiled. ‘I did.’
He shook his head. ‘But! Is amazink!’
‘Oh, it’s not . . . could you read it?’
‘Of course!’
She had done her best; decorated the paper with leaves and birds.
And it said, simply, ‘Please play at night’.
‘You are never here at night.’ His face fell as he held the beautiful card. ‘So you don’t have to hear my terrible noise.’
‘No, just that you can . . .’
He shrugged. ‘But I have nothing to play.’
‘What do you mean? You can play anything!’
His head tilted to one side.
‘I mean this . . . it is so beautiful.’
‘No, forget about that,’ she said. ‘What do you mean you have nothing to play?’
‘My music . . . It was lost in the mud . . .’
‘But don’t you have copies?’
Gradually she realised, and saw at last why he had been so upset.
‘That was your music . . . You wrote it?’ she said. ‘Of course! You are trying to be a composer! Oh my God. I am so sorry.’
He shrugged.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘So when I was complaining . . . that was your own compositions?’
‘I am very unsuccessful composer.’
Marisa closed her eyes. ‘For that girl?’
He shrugged.
‘And you lost your music. Oh God, I am so sorry. I am so sorry.’
‘I think it was way of saying, Alexei, no more composink for you. Is no good. She does not love you; nobody loves your music.’
‘No,’ said Marisa. ‘It was me! I was so sad and I couldn’t bear it and . . . maybe I just didn’t know how to listen.’
‘You hated it,’ he said sadly.
‘I know nothing about music!’ said Marisa. ‘I think we’ve established that.’
‘No, your first note was right.’
‘My first note was a mess. This note . . .’
Alexei looked at it and smiled. ‘Your spellink is many wrong.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry about that.’
He picked it up and turned away. But Marisa was so tired of being misunderstood, and so sorry for what had happened.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘You are hungry?’
She smiled.
‘I don’t eat pizza every day.’
He frowned.
‘But it is my turn to feed you. Come, come.’
She wasn’t tired, just a little enervated. She wanted to go in, very much, wanted them to be friends again. ‘Going into that strange man’s house late at night is a very very bad idea,’ she could hear her nonna sitting on her shoulder.
Okay, she thought. Well, if she was all mucky and sticky from work, she couldn’t possibly misbehave herself again. So.
She glanced at her watch.
‘I mean, if you don’t have anything in . . . it’s late.’
‘It is late. But yes, I have food for you. Come!’
He looked nervous as she lightly climbed his blue wooden steps, her hair swinging in her ponytail, that had got messier and messier as the night had worn on. She was pink-faced from walking up the hill, and any make-up she’d applied earlier had long worn off.
She looked fresh-faced, and busy and young. Her mother would have suggested about a foot or so of thick black eyeliner, but she looked rather lovely as she was.
Inside the house, with its usual ramshackle collection of books and papers and musical instruments and tasselled coverings on the tables, and lamps everywhere, there was no smell of cooking, Marisa noticed, as she walked over to wash her hands without even thinking, because of course the sink was in exactly the same spot as in her own apartment.
‘Oh!’ she said.
‘No, is fine.’ He gestured. The soap smelled good, of almonds.
‘Do you actually have food?’ mused Marisa looking around.
‘Yes! Sit!’
As she sat down he went into the fridge.
‘No vodka,’ said Marisa immediately. He popped his huge head back round the side of the fridge.
‘Nyet. Nyet vodka for you,’ he said mock severely and then, to Marisa’s extreme surprise, brandished a bottle of Champagne with a label shaped like a tri-pointed shield.
She blinked. ‘Seriously?’
He looked at it. ‘I think so.’
‘But that’s . . . that’s Champagne.’
‘Yes!’ he said. ‘Very important.’
He popped the bottle without asking her, and Marisa felt a little fizzy herself, just at the very idea. Champagne! It reminded her of so many happy times, happy days, excitements, parties, weddings, everything that seemed to have vanished for her recently. Hearing the pop – and the fizz, and the mumbled growling from Alexei as it went all over him and he couldn’t stop it – felt like it was unleashing something inside her. She found herself smiling and clapping her hands together. He realised how seldom he had seen her smile. He bit his lip to stop himself grinning too enthusiastically and poured them two glasses, bringing hers over.
She looked at it. ‘I have done nothing to deserve this,’ she said.
Alexei shook his head.
‘Look at what you have done,’ he said quietly, those brown eyes as steady and thoughtful as the rest of him was full of motion and energy.
‘The little girl who hides and is silent like tiny mouse. And now she work, she laugh, she moves. She makes most beautiful notes. Of course – of course – we must have Champagne.’
She looked at him, and they swapped a look then, and her heart beat a little faster as they raised their glasses.
‘Za zdaróvye,’ she said.
‘Salute.’
And they looked at each other steadily as they drank, and the champagne exploded inside Marisa like fireworks, and suddenly she felt herself tingling all over.
The toaster pinged, and he quickly went over to it. His huge hands fumbled with a tea towel, and he pulled out four slices of toast.