But maybe I should try. Tell him everything? Maybe I'd carry the burden a little easier if I shared it with Martin.

– How long have you been talking to your parents? – I finally broke our cosy silence.

– A couple of days ago. Are you going to have an exhibition? – Martin leaned back on the bench and looked at me.

I had no doubt that he was already aware. As were all the Mroczeks, though. The whole clan.

– Yes. In three weeks. I want to see you at the opening. – I turned round to face him, one leg tucked under me. Good thing I was wearing jeans and sneakers.

Sneakers. That's a red flag. I don't tolerate athletic shoes or shoes without heels. But today I was so sick of what had happened in London that my soul needed a change. So I bought sneakers. In the nearest shop. For seventy zlotys. The most ordinary black sneakers with long black laces, which I hid inside.

But the sneakers weren't the worst part. Something more frightening happened: today I didn't wear a single gram of make-up. I wear make-up even when I don't go out. There are days like that – when I'm heavily engaged in my work that requires the use of photoshop. And today I looked like a teenager. Sneakers, jeans, plaid red shirt.

How come Martin doesn't make fun of me? He's probably being delicate and pretending not to notice the dissonance. And he's different from the Martin who's always sitting in the office. Used to. Now he lives in this small town, where he opened a small restaurant with Eastern European cuisine. So now he looks like an ordinary but too good-looking mortal. Grey jeans, white T-shirt with the inscription "Greetings from Gdansk", white trainers. Not different from a mortal student. The only thing that distinguished Martin and me from the mortals around us was the absence of autumn jackets or jumpers or anything to protect ourselves from the cold September night. Windless and bright. But bright not because of the moon – it was hiding behind the clouds. It was the dead light of the streetlamps.

– Where did you buy that T-shirt? – I grinned, pulling back the collar of his T-shirt.

– There's a souvenir shop next to my restaurant. Oh, you want one of these? – Martin replied with a grin.

– You got me. I've been dreaming about it all my life! – I laughed briefly. – So, will you come?

– I'm not sure. I need to check my schedule. Just a minute. – Martin pulled his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. – Has the exact opening date been announced yet?

– Tenth of October.

– Damn, I'm busy. A meeting with a Japanese entrepreneur," Martin sighed, putting the iPhone back in his pocket. – How about moving the opening date?

– I think it would be a lot easier for you to reschedule the meeting with the Japanese than it would be for me to reschedule the opening date. What do you want from him so badly? – I asked a little irritated. I needed Martin's presence at the opening of my exhibition. Like blood.

– I want to open a chain of Polish restaurants.

– Where?

– Osaka and Nagoya.

– Why not Tokyo? – I asked

– A little later, if the business makes a good profit. – Martin smiled contentedly. – But for friends and family, everything is on me.

– Well, then the fact that we don't eat their food is good for you. Imagine a bunch of Mroczeks and Morgans eating you at three mouthfuls each! – I grinned. – But you've upset me, really upset me, Martin.

– I'm sorry. This meeting was planned two months ago," my brother said in an apologetic tone. – By the way, when you came here, none of the teenagers asked for your phone number? They didn't take you for one of their own?