Читать книгу Footprints in the Sand - Chloe Rayban - Страница 12

I woke early next morning and lay in bed savouring the deliciousness of a totally relaxed body. I was on holiday and I could enjoy the luxury of being able to drift in and out of sleep. The bed might be hard, but wasn’t a hard bed meant to be good for your back? And during the night, the pillow and I had come to some kind of mutual agreement. If I made a big dent in it, it was even vaguely comfortable. But more importantly – Ben was somewhere out there, maybe on the terrace right now – just the other side of that door.

The very thought of him had me wide awake. I leaned over and reached for my watch. It was only seven. But I simply couldn’t lie in bed any longer. What a waste of the day. I climbed out of bed and peered between the shutters. And what a day! Everything looked fresh and newborn in the pale early sunlight.

I slipped on my clothes and left Mum asleep. I’d go down to the beach, have a swim maybe before breakfast.

Ben wasn’t on the terrace. And he wasn’t in the kitchen. I couldn’t see him in the vineyard. And when I got down to the beach, he wasn’t there either.

I slipped off my sneakers and paddled along the edge of the water. The sea felt pretty cold this early in the morning. I’m not absolutely wild about swimming, anyway. I mean I can swim all right – a good few lengths of a standard swimming pool. But I loathe all the business of inching my way into cold water. And I’m not too keen on going underwater either – I hate the way it goes up your nose and into your ears. And then, in the sea, you’re never quite sure of what you might meet. All those kalamari maybe – trying to get their own back with their slimy tentacles twining round my legs. I shuddered. A swim really wasn’t a good idea at all. It would be a much better idea to have a walk.

I retraced my way back up the steps and started wandering along the track that led from the taverna through the olive grove. If it happened to be the track I’d seen Ben running down the other morning – so what? That had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The bay was so quiet. The dredger hadn’t started up yet and you could hear for miles. The donkey braying a slow cascade of sad eeyores. Chickens somewhere with a cock crowing triumphantly from time to time. The sea very faint and distant beneath it all. And through everything and everywhere the constant, steady, rhythmic chanting of the crickets.

Then alongside this sound I heard a distant approaching thud, thud, thud… of sneakers on the dusty track. I heard him long before he came into sight. I considered turning back, but he’d rounded the bend before I had a chance.

He slowed to a trot and drew level with me.

‘Hi. You’re up early.’

‘Mmm. Seemed such a waste of time. You know – staying in bed.’

‘Here look. Hold this a moment?’

He handed me a parcel. I could feel the bread inside through the paper. It was still hot.

He brushed the hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand and leant down to tie a shoelace. He was quite sweaty actually from running, you could see a damp mark on the back of his T-shirt. It showed the shape of his shoulders, the muscle on him. And it gave off a faint and delicious whiff of warm male into the air.

‘Fresh bread! Smells good, I’m starving,’ I said and broke off a bit of crust and nibbled at it.

‘Don’t! Stavros’ll kill me.’

‘Blame it on me.’

‘I can’t. I’m not meant to speak to you, remember?’

‘Crazy.’

‘Look, this is for your breakfast. If you come back now you can have it while it’s still hot.’

I’d turned anyway. I was already walking back with him.

‘Where were you going?’ he asked.

‘Just wanted to see what was along the path.’

‘Another village.’

‘Oh, right.’

We continued walking in silence for a while. And then he suddenly stopped and said: ‘Listen.’

‘What?’

‘They’ve stopped. The crickets. One moment they’re all going for it like crazy, giving it everything they’ve got, chirping or whatever they do. And then suddenly, they all stop. All at once. Why do you think they do that?’