Читать книгу Footprints in the Sand - Chloe Rayban - Страница 10

She was like that. She’d always been like that. She knew instinctively the kind of boys I fancied. It was so maddening. I’d do everything to cover up. I’d send out a massive smoke-screen of negative comments or drop red herrings about some other boy who wasn’t even in the running, but I never fooled Mum.

I lay there on the bed while we were meant to be having our siesta, thinking about it. She always looked kind of crumpled when she was sleeping – but she wasn’t bad-looking really for a mum. One of the best in my class at school, as a matter of fact. How was it that someone who was such a brilliant judge of who I liked could have made such a mistake in her own life? I mean, she must’ve been in love with Dad once. Weren’t you meant to know if you really loved someone? And if you did, wasn’t it meant to last? And if it didn’t last… was it really love in the first place? It was a terrible circular argument which went round and round in my head and never seemed to have an answer.

As I tried to get off to sleep my mind kept swinging back to Ben. I could imagine him right now, sitting outside under the vines, having lunch maybe at the table by the kitchen door. Or sitting with a drink in his hand, in silhouette against the sunlit sea. Maybe he was there now. I strained my ears for the sound of a chair scraping on the concrete or the chink of a knife on a plate. There wasn’t a sound. Where was he? Maybe he had left? I couldn’t just lie there doing nothing. I had to find out.

I crept to the door and peeped out. The sun was beating down from practically overhead. It was the hottest time of day and very still. I had the feeling that the whole village was asleep. Even the chickens were quiet.

Ben wasn’t on the terrace. Nor was Stavros – I could hear his steady snoring coming from a room beyond the kitchen. I went back and lay on the bed again. Oh curses and botheration. I picked up my book and tried to concentrate on reading.

I must’ve fallen asleep. I woke with my face crushed uncomfortably against the book. Mum was still asleep. I glanced at my watch. It was four o’clock. If I left her sleeping I could have a look for Ben in peace, without her interfering.

I tiptoed out of the room and across the terrace in bare feet and picked my way down the long flight of steps that led down to the beach.

The pile of windsurfers was neatly stacked. The shack was locked up and the sign advertising that they were for hire was leaning up against the door. I tried to make out whether the pink and blue sail was rolled up with the others. Did he always use the same sail? I stared at the boards, wondering if his was among them… They all looked identical to me.

That’s when I caught sight of them. Footprints in the sand. Large strong footprints with a fine curve inwards where the foot arched. They looked like male footprints. They were deeply imprinted as if whoever they belonged to had been carrying something heavy. I went up to one and tried my foot in it. Yes, by their size, they were definitely male.

They led down to the water’s edge. And beside them, where the water met the sand, something heavy had been placed down – like a windsurfer’s board.

With a rush of conviction, I felt sure the footprints were Ben’s. Who else could they belong to? The Albanian boy’s feet would be far too thin and puny – and as for big flat-footed Stavros…

I studied the sand for more clues. There was a slight graze in the sand where the windsurfer had been launched. He was out there somewhere, I knew it.

I made my way slowly along the beach, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of pink or blue. No sign of a sail. So I sat down on a rock in the shade, under the very furthest tip of the headland where it jutted out into the sea.

And I waited…

Waves don’t actually move towards the shore. That’s an optical illusion. The waves move through the water but the water stays where it is. Or at least that’s what I’d learned in Physics. Over the next hour or so I had quite enough time to study this puzzling phenomenon. And I added a P.S. to it. Whatever was on top of the waves didn’t move into the shore either – neither plastic bottles, nor bits of weed, nor horny windsurfers.

I was about to give up and head back to the taverna when a flash of colour caught my eye… Was it a sail? Was it really pink and blue? At a distance, with the sunlight on the water, your eyes can play tricks on you. I blinked as the sail dipped, and then as it raised again and the windsurfer tacked away – I was certain. It was Ben’s.

It took him forever to tack back into the shore. As he drew nearer I felt really shy for some reason. And it occurred to me that I couldn’t just appear out of nowhere. It’d look as though I’d been watching – waiting for him. I drew a little further back in the shadow of the cliff.

He reached the shore, climbed neatly off the windsurfer and drew it up behind him on the beach. I decided to wait where I was – hidden until he’d dismantled and stacked all the equipment. I reckoned he’d go back to the taverna and then, after a suitable pause, I’d be able to wander up nonchalantly – as if I’d just come back from a walk or something.

But he didn’t stack the windsurfer right away. Instead, he seemed to be looking for something on the beach. He crouched down and peered at the sand. Maybe he’d dropped something.

No, he’d given up. He went to lock up the shack and then he came back to where he’d been searching before. I watched as he moved a few steps in my direction. He seemed to be following something. Yes, he was definitely tracking something along the sand.

Oh my God! My footprints! That’s what it must be. And they led right to where I was sitting.

I felt myself go hot and cold all over with embarrassment. This was just so cringe-making. I wondered frantically if I could try and edge my way round the other side of the headland. But on the far side, there was nothing but open sea and a sheer cliff – no chance of making a speedy escape. I was going to have to brave it out.

He was really close now. I could see a gap in the footprints where the sea had washed some away. Please, please – let him give up right there. But no such luck. He was looking for where they continued.

He’d found them. In seconds he was bound to catch sight of me. There was nothing for it. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows.

‘Looking for something?’

He stopped dead. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words. That’s when I suddenly realised that he must be just as embarrassed as I was. I decided to make the most of the situation.

‘Yeah… a flip-flop,’ he said.

I tried to keep a straight face. ‘A flip-flop?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Want some help?’ I asked innocently.

‘Help?’

‘Finding it.’

‘Oh yeah, thanks. Why not?’

‘Right. What colour was it?’

‘Umm. Blue… Blue and white.’

So we both set out on a search for this fictitious flip-flop. I concentrated my efforts on the area around my rock. He backtracked a bit down the beach. But I could tell he was sneaking glances at me.

‘So you came back?’ he called over from where he was splashing around in the shallows.

‘Mmm. Mum liked it here. So I had to give in, in the end.’

‘Ohh?’

I clambered over some rough shale to where there was a rock pool. And believe it or not, right in the middle – there was a blue and white flip-flop. It was old and tarry, looked as if it’d been in the pool forever.

‘I’ve found it!’ I said.

‘Have you?’ (He sounded ever so surprised.)

‘Yep. But I don’t think I can reach it.’

He joined me and we both stood gazing down at the flip-flop.

‘You could probably reach it if you climbed down,’ I suggested. ‘Your arms are longer than mine.’

‘Yeah, guess so.’ But he didn’t seem in too much of a hurry. Instead he asked: ‘You staying back at the taverna?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long for?’

‘Not sure. Depends…’

‘On what?’

‘Oh I don’t know. Mum’s always getting ideas. She’ll probably want to go off and delve about in some boring old ruin or something.’

‘There’s an interesting site on the next island.’

‘Is there?’

‘Well, it’s not up to much – mainly Roman but…’

‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Mum about it.’

He grinned. ‘You going back to the taverna now?’

‘Mmm… sun’s going down.’

‘Maybe I’ll walk back with you.’

‘Aren’t you going to get the flip-flop?’

‘Yeah, guess so.’

I watched as he clambered down the slippery side of the pool and picked it out. It was so gross. Must’ve been in there ten years at least. It was all rough and perished and had disgusting slimy algae growing all over it.

‘How can you tell it’s yours? You’d better try it on,’ I suggested wickedly.

He turned and looked at me through half-closed eyes and caught my expression.

‘Here catch,’ he said, making as if to throw it to me.

I flinched.

But he didn’t really throw it. Instead he turned and hurled it as far as he could out to sea.

‘What a waste,’ I said.

He laughed.

‘Yeah, well. What’s the use of one flip-flop, anyway?’