Читать книгу Footprints in the Sand - Chloe Rayban - Страница 8

‘I can’t understand why you’ve changed your mind like this,’ said Mum. ‘You couldn’t wait to get out of the place at lunchtime.’

‘Yes, I know but… I went down to the other bay this afternoon. The beach is much nearer and it’s quite nice really.’

‘I hope you didn’t sit in the sun.’

‘Don’t fuss. Mum. I had a closer look. It should be fine for swimming. There are plenty of channels through the weed.’

‘But the beach I’ve found hasn’t any weed at all.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve left a deposit on the room. Said we’d arrive by lunchtime. If we get up early and pack before breakfast, we can settle up with the Old Rogue and be there by mid-morning.’

‘He’s not really an old rogue. He’s actually quite nice. His name’s Stavros. He brought me some hot crispy onion rings, free with my drink.’

‘This new place has got a proper water heater and everything. We have to share the bathroom, but at least we can have decent hot…’

I leapt on this shred of hope.

‘Oh, we don’t have to share a bathroom, do we?’

‘It’s only with one other room. And that room may not even have people staying…’

‘But I had a hot shower here this afternoon. It was fine…’

‘Is the water on again? Thank God for that. I’m feeling really anti-social.’

She got up and reached for her bag.

‘Mum, do we have to go?’

‘What do you mean – have to go?’

‘Well, it’s not really so bad here, is it?’

‘Lucy, what’s going on? I’ve been half-way across the island in a stuffy bus, searching in the broiling heat. And all because you said you absolutely loathed the pl…’

Mum paused. An arm leaned over and took my glass and empty plate away. It wasn’t the Old Rogue’s arm. It was a nice bronzed one, flecked with golden hairs.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Paradisos. My name’s Ben. Can I get you anything?’

Mum looked up and smiled at him.

‘I’d love a glass of white wine. Chilled white wine?’ she said.

‘Coming right up.’

He turned and gave me a half-grin and walked away, disappearing into the kitchen.

Mum sank back into her chair and looked at me wryly. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh I get it now,’ she said. ‘A lot can happen in an afternoon, can’t it?’

Half an hour or so later, Mum was sitting on her bed wrapped in a towel. She’d perked up a lot after her shower.

‘It’s not like that, honestly. I haven’t even spoken to him,’ I protested.

‘Does he work here or what?’

‘I don’t know. I wish you wouldn’t keep going on about him. Wanting to stay here has nothing to do with him.’

Mum wasn’t buying that. ‘Oh, I suppose it’s the view of the bay that’s the big attraction.’

‘Maybe it is. There was another fantastic sunset. You missed it.’

‘Lucy, you get sunsets everywhere. You said yourself, there’s absolutely nothing for you to do here.’

‘Yes there is.’ I racked my brain for inspiration. ‘We could hire a pedalo.’

‘I saw the pedaloes on the beach, in pieces. They’re wrecked.’

‘Well, we could hire donkeys then.’

‘Correction, donkey. There’s only one – one of us would have to walk.’

‘You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?’

‘I’ve paid a deposit. For two whole nights. And the beach there is far nicer.’

‘How much have you paid?’

‘Umm – two nights, about fifty quid.’

‘Why did you have to go and do that?’

‘It was the only way to secure the room.’

‘Well you could’ve checked with me first.’

‘I think you’ve forgotten, Lucy. It’s because of you we’re moving.’

I could tell Mum was losing her cool. She was right of course, it was because of me.

I tried a new angle. ‘But you said you really liked it here.’

‘I did, yes. But, I don’t particularly want to waste fifty quid. Do you?’

‘It’s only fifty quid.’

‘Only!’

‘No, I suppose not.’

We had a meal down at the port again. It was a warm evening so we sat at the water’s edge. The fishermen were setting out in their boats. Each had a tiny lantern in the bows. They rowed out really quietly and you could see their lights reflecting in the water going further and further out to sea. It was so still, their voices came over the water to us as if they were sitting at the very next table.

The lady at the taverna had cooked a cheese and spinach pie. I think maybe she’d been expecting us to come back – she looked really pleased to see us.

Mum said her fish wasn’t nearly as nice this time. And she noticed the bits floating in the water. She kept going on about them.

‘It’s only weed,’ I said.

She looked at it darkly. ‘You can never be sure.’

When we got back to the taverna Ben wasn’t around.

He wasn’t there next morning either. We packed up first thing and Stavros brought us breakfast. I kept expecting Ben to turn up. I’d felt sure he’d be around and I’d purposely worn my favourite T-shirt – the one that didn’t have a flattening effect. But he must’ve gone off somewhere – windsurfing perhaps. I scanned the bay for a glimpse of his pink and blue sail as I listened to Mum explaining to Stavros why we’d changed our plans. It was really embarrassing.

‘But you say you stay one week – two weeks maybe? Why you change your mind?’ said Stavros in a grumpy voice.

‘I’m really sorry. But you know, my daughter…’ Mum glanced apologetically in my direction. ‘You know what they’re like, young people!’

She was making out it was my fault. That was so unfair!

Stavros frowned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I make the bill,’ was all he said.

I felt terrible. And he’d been really nice to me.

‘How could you blame it on me?’ I hissed to Mum.

‘Well, what was I meant to say? There was no water yesterday. And honestly, look at the breakfast…’

The dredger started up at that moment, drowning out her voice.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mum in the direction of the dredger. ‘Thanks for reminding me – that too.’

I spread my bread carefully, hoping that maybe, given time, Ben might turn up.

‘Hurry up Lucy. We’ll miss the bus.’

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘Well, leave it then, I don’t blame you. Perhaps we could have a proper breakfast when we get there.’

‘Mmmm.’

I shrugged my backpack on and followed Mum to the bus stop. We didn’t miss the bus. It was standing waiting in the square. It wasn’t full up either. There were two seats free at the back.

I sat staring miserably out of the window. The bus took off with a lot of honking at some chickens that had wandered into its path. The sun gleamed on the little white dome of the chapel. A dog which was lazing in the sun raised its head and then flopped back again, basking in the warmth. The donkey brayed in the distance. Mum had been right – it was all so unspoilt.

I didn’t see him until the bus had practically turned the bend in the road. He was running along the goat track. He ran effortlessly, as if running was his natural way of moving. God it wasn’t fair. He was so gorgeous.

The place Mum had chosen was miles away. Right on the other side of the island. My heart sank as each kilometre went by. Every one of them taking me further away from Ben. Why on earth had she wanted to go so far? There was no way we’d meet up if we were on opposite sides of the island.

The bus was full of local people – old ladies mostly with bundles and crates who got dropped off at remote bus stops in wind-torn villages in the interior. They were dismal-looking places. There was one in particular where an old granny in a tattered black dress was standing on a corner, screaming something at the passers-by. I wondered what it could be like living in a place like that, year in, year out, until you got really old with absolutely nothing happening – ever. No wonder she was in such a state.

I was really fed up by the time we reached the place Mum had found. The bus dropped us off right beside it. It was a modern brick building, set back from the road standing on its own, in a dusty olive grove. It didn’t even have a view of the sea or anything.

Our room was on the first floor. It led off a communal corridor that was open on one side to the wind. The bedroom seemed small and dark. As Mum drew up the roller blind a white box of a place came into focus. It had a horrid tasteless lino floor.

‘You see, it’s all lovely and new and clean.’

‘But there’s nowhere to sit. No terrace or balcony or anything.’

‘There are some garden chairs in the olive grove.’

I looked out of the window. There were a few broken plastic recliners standing in the dust.

‘So how much is this room?’

‘Well, it’s a bit more than it was at the other place.’

Mum was already unpacking and trying to hang things in the wardrobe, battling with those beastly hanger things that come off in your hand.

‘So if we went back now, it’d come to the same thing in the long run, wouldn’t it?’

‘Lucy, I’ve paid for two nights, so we’re staying here now. Don’t be difficult.’

‘But it’s daft to spend our holiday staying somewhere we don’t like.’

‘I like it here.’

‘No you don’t. I can tell you don’t.’

‘I’m not going to waste fifty pounds. You haven’t even looked around yet. You’ll love the beach. White sand.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh for goodness sake, don’t look like that. Come on, let’s have some breakfast – you’re probably hungry.’

We had breakfast sitting on the broken recliners in the olive grove. Unfortunately, it was a much better breakfast than we’d had at the taverna. Mum kept going on about how much better it was. I made a point of not eating much.

‘I hope you’re not sickening for something.’

‘The butter tastes funny.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘It’s got a kind of rancid goat taste.’

‘Oh honestly Lucy, don’t exaggerate.’

‘But if we really don’t like it here, we could go back after the two nights you’ve paid for, couldn’t we?’

‘I don’t want to spend my whole holiday moving from place to place like a bag lady.’

‘Now you’re exaggerating.’

‘Well, it’s a bore all this packing up and moving around. I came here to relax.’

She slid the back of her chair down and stretched out with a sigh as if to demonstrate her commitment to the place.

A wasp settled on the bowl of jam.

I made more fuss than absolutely necessary about the wasp, and went back to our room to change for the beach.

The beach was about ten minutes’ walk away. We had to cross a stretch of green swampy marshland to get there. There was a wobbly bridge made of planks which crossed a stagnant-looking stream clogged with reeds.

Below us, standing waist deep in the dyke, was an old man cutting reeds. Up on the bank was another fellow who had a sackful of wet reeds and an old chair frame. Oh, local colour! Mum was going to love this. Sure enough, she’d spotted them.

‘What do you think they’re doing?’ she asked.

‘How should I know?’

‘Let’s go and see.’

The chap on the bank was doing something tediously rustic with the reeds. He’d twisted them into long strands. You could see where he’d already woven some of them back and forth to make a new rush seat for the chair.

Mum went into ‘reverie mode’ at that point.

‘It’s just so timeless, isn’t it? You know – I reckon they’ve been making chairs like that since… since…’ She paused. ‘Since chairs were invented,’ she finished.

‘How long ago is that?’ I asked with a yawn.

‘Oh I don’t know – couple of thousand years – more probably.’

‘That must explain why they’re so uncomfortable.’

‘Oh honestly Lucy,’ said Mum, forging on ahead again.

I followed, scuffing up the sand. ‘Well, it must.’

‘See?’ she said when we reached the beach. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

It was white sand. Acres of it – deserted – not a soul to be seen.

‘Why isn’t there anyone here?’

‘I don’t know. Aren’t we lucky, we’ve got it all to ourselves.’

‘Mmmm.’

I smothered suntan lotion on and lay down on my stomach before Mum could get a good look at my red skin. I wasn’t going to let on, but the skin on my front was still pretty sore from the day before.

Mum stretched out on her towel and took out her book.

‘The sun’s pretty high, so just half an hour and then we can have a lovely cooling swim before lunch,’ she said.

I put a tape in my Walkman and turned it on. Anything to try and put myself in a better mood.

Mum made her usual fuss about the volume. (‘Sounds like people clashing saucepans around – can’t understand why you like that stuff, Lucy.’) So I turned it down a bit. Some holiday this had turned out to be.

It was barely half an hour before Mum started fussing about sunburn, so I agreed to a swim. Or should I say a paddle? We had to walk out about a kilometre before the water got up to our waists. No wonder no-one came to this beach.

‘But there’s no weed,’ said Mum, still trying desperately hard to stress the finer points of the place.

‘And we’re not likely to drown, that’s for sure,’ I commented sarkily.

We had a very half-hearted swim, constantly encountering sandbanks and running aground. And then we went back for lunch and a siesta.

Once back in the room Mum fell asleep almost immediately, but I lay awake staring at the ceiling and silently plotting ways to talk her round. Outside, I could hear the steady rhythmic chanting of the crickets. It really wasn’t fair. There were all those crickets outside, thousands of them by the sound of it, packed tight as bodies on a beach on a hot Bank Holiday, sounding as if they were having the time of their lives. While I was here in positive solitary confinement – except that I had Mum for company. I was starting to feel like those hostages you read about. Locked up with just one other person till they drive you barmy. If this went on much longer, I reckoned I’d start having delusions.

I wondered what Ben was doing. Ben – short for Benjamin, I supposed. I could imagine him now, serving people drinks maybe, at the taverna. A vision of him came into my mind, so vivid it was almost real, of him standing there last night in the gloom…

The low sun had turned him a kind of over-the-top all-over golden colour. I’d had to look away. He’d stood there waiting to take my glass, and when I looked up he was already walking off – but then he turned back slowly and smiled at me. I’d gone hot and cold and tingly all over. It was how he’d smiled. I mean, I’ve got to notice these things. There’s a certain way guys look at you when they fancy you. Kind of eyes halfway between open and closed, trying to look as if they’re not looking, if you know what I mean. We had to go back. I’d get around Mum somehow.

And then I had a dreadful thought. What if someone else had come and taken our room? What if all the rooms in the taverna were booked up? Maybe there was some other girl staying in my room. Who was older. And had a nicer nose…

I stabbed at my pillow and turned over. Oh why had I been such an idiot wanting us to leave like that?

Fate didn’t intervene until that night. I didn’t hear the first one. I woke with a hot itchy feeling on my leg. Switching on the light I discovered that I had the most gigantic mozzie bite.

‘Oh no!’ There was a whole row of them all the way up my leg.

‘Hmm – what is it, Lucy? Why’s the light on?’

‘We can’t stay here! I’m getting eaten alive!’

‘What?’

‘Mosquitoes. Look at them! We’ll get malaria!’

‘Don’t be silly – you don’t get malaria in Greece! Hand me that magazine – I’ll swat it. And put the light out!’

‘How can you see to swat it with the light out?’

‘Well if you don’t put the light out, more will come in.’

‘Too late,’ I announced.

There were already six or seven of the creatures circling round the lightbulb.

‘Oh my God.’

I turned the light out.

‘Oh damn and blast, one’s bitten me now.’

‘Didn’t we bring any mozzie spray?’ I whispered to Mum.

‘No need to whisper. They can’t hear you, you know.’ Mum sounded really cross.

‘But didn’t we?’

‘Didn’t think we’d need it. And besides, that stuff’s so bad for you.’

Mum was such a fanatic about chemicals and things. I could hear her raking through her bag.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Bite stuff – can’t see a thing.’

‘I’ll put the light on then.’

‘No! Oh bother, think it must’ve fallen out on the beach.’

‘But I’m itching to death!’

‘Put some lick on it. And cover yourself up or you’ll get bitten again.’

We both covered ourselves in sheets, including our faces. I lay in silence, hearing the mosquitoes circling overhead like heat-seeking missiles searching for a target. My bites itched like mad, and I could hear Mum turning over restlessly. Hers were obviously as bad as mine.

After half an hour or so, I turned on to my side.

‘Mu-um?’ I whispered.

‘Hmmm?’

‘Not asleep, are you?’

‘What does it sound like…?’

I lifted the corner of her sheet.

‘There weren’t any mosquitoes at the other place.’

‘Maybe there are now.’

‘No, it’s the fresh water. You know where the swampy bit was, by the beach? They only breed in fresh water. We did mosquitoes last term.’

‘So all that education wasn’t wasted after all.’

‘You have to admit – you liked the other place better, didn’t you?’

There was a moment’s silence and then she answered: ‘Well, yes, OK. I suppose I did.’

‘So what’s the big deal about staying here?’

‘There’s no big deal.’

‘You mean we could possibly go back?’

I could sense Mum staring at me through the darkness.

‘You’re really keen on that place, aren’t you?’

I blushed in spite of myself. I was glad it was dark.

‘Well it was just – so much nicer, wasn’t it?’

Mum leaned over and gave me a hug through the sheet.

‘After two days, yes. Why not? Better give the Old Rogue a chance to calm down first.’

‘Really, honestly, truly?’

‘Well it’s what we both want, isn’t it?’

‘Now she admits it.’

There was another, longer silence.

‘Can’t we go back tomorrow?’

‘Oh Lucy. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘We could have another swim at that brilliant beach of yours first.’

‘It’s not that brilliant.’

‘Mum, it’s ghastly and you know it.’