by Chloe Rayban
The tar had disappeared as if by magic.
Thank you, that’s brilliant.’
‘Parakolo.’
‘Parakolo?’
‘No worries.’ His face broke into a smile. He wasn’t such an Old Rogue really.
‘How do you say “thank you” in Greek?’
‘Efharisto.’
I messed it up the first time, and he repeated the word syllable by syllable.
He was tickled pink when I got it right.
I hung the shorts on the balcony rail to dry in the sun and leaned beside them gazing out to sea. It was a really intense blue – like a mirror-image of the sky, but deeper. There was a lone windsurfer skimming across the bay. My eyes lazily followed it. I’ve always wanted to windsurf. Plenty of girls do. There was a gravel pit not far from home where they gave lessons. But Mum said they were too expensive. That’s the thing about your parents divorcing. You soon discover that two different homes cost a lot more to run than one did. Even though Mum worked too now, we never seemed to have anywhere near as much money as we used to.
Leaning further over the rail, I saw that there was a kind of shack on the beach that I hadn’t noticed before. It had a pile of windsurfers beside it and a sign which said that they were for hire. Civilisation!
Once my shorts were dry, I’d take a closer look at that beach. Maybe, somewhere along that stretch of sand, I could find a big enough gap in the weed to risk a swim.
Half an hour later, I was down on the beach. I cast an eye along the stretch of sand, looking for bathers or sunbathers, but it was deserted. Or was it? At the very far end, almost too far away to see, there seemed to be a few rough tents and towels maybe, hanging between the trees – signs that backpackers had taken up occupation. I thought of the bronzed boys on the boat. Just maybe this wasn’t such a bad place after all.
I drew level with the shack. The sign advertised pedaloes as well as the windsurfers, but I couldn’t see any. The shack was locked up, and on closer inspection, I found a piece of paper was stuck on the window giving the opening times for hire. It was closed between one o’clock and four.
I took off my sneakers and found the black sand was burning hot, so I had to do a hurried hop, skip and a jump down to the water’s edge. The sea felt deliciously cool. Just the right temperature, in fact, and the weed didn’t look too bad close up. There were plenty of gaps to get through.
I hesitated. I was longing for a swim, but a swim is always all the more delicious if you get really hot first. So I spread out my towel quite near to the water’s edge, stripped off to my bikini and stretched out. Not much point smothering myself in sun-lotion – I was going in the water any minute.
I had a compilation tape made by Migs’ brother in my Walkman. It was brilliant, he’d put all my favourite tracks on it. I quite fancied Nick actually. He was quite a bit older than us, going to University next year, so he was hardly likely to take much notice of a friend of his kid sister. But he was always nice to me for some reason.
I lay on the sand soaking in the delicious warmth of the sun, with my eyes closed listening to the tape and having some rather censorable thoughts about Nick…
I woke up to find the tape had come to an end. How long had I been asleep? I’d left my watch back at the taverna. I looked guiltily at the height of the sun. It had moved round quite a bit. My skin didn’t look burnt in the bright light – maybe I hadn’t slept for too long. It would be just my luck to end up looking like a slab of coconut ice – all pink one side and white the other. Maybe I should have that swim. But now the sun was lower, the sea didn’t look half so inviting. I wondered again what was lurking in the weed. Perhaps a better idea would be to turn over and get my back to catch up with my front. I turned over on to my stomach, and as I turned, I caught sight of the windsurfer again.
I watched the little pink and blue sail gliding effortlessly in the steady breeze. It must be so quiet out there, with just the sound of the sea and the wind. The windsurfer hesitated and the sail dipped, then quick as a flash it was up again and the board started off in another direction. The surfer was tacking like a sailing boat, and as he turned and took another tack, I realised he was obviously heading for my beach. I propped myself up on an elbow and slid on my sunglasses to cope with the glare.
As the surfer came closer I could see it was a guy – and quite a nice guy too, as far as I could tell from this distance. It was going to be tricky to tack in to the shore, and I was interested to see how neatly he could do it. As he drew nearer, I became even more interested. He must’ve been here some time because he had a great tan and I couldn’t help noticing, not a bad body. That’s the thing about windsurfing – at least that’s what Migs always said. ‘It tones guys up in all the right places – pecs, six-pack, you name it! Take it up Lucy – and then you can introduce us to all your friends.’
The windsurfer changed direction again, and for an instant he paused and the sail dipped into the sea. In those few seconds that he waited, poised and about to pull the sail up, I got a full view of him. Oh no, this just wasn’t fair. He was absolutely gorgeous, sunbleached hair, nice jaw-line – yes, definitely – he was very, very yummy.
He was pretty close to the shore now and I could tell he’d caught sight of me. To my delight he did an epic wobble and nearly fell off. Wicked! I’d really put him off his stroke.
I just managed not to laugh. Instead, I turned over and put my headset back on and pretended to ignore him. I didn’t turn the tape on though. Through the phones I could hear him beaching the board and dragging it up on the sand. I sneaked a glance. A pair of nice strong feet and ace legs deliciously flecked with golden hairs strode past me. He carried the sail up the beach and then he went back for the board. Closer up he was definitely very good news indeed.
I lay pretending to be absorbed in my music as he stowed the board and then made off up the beach in the direction of the taverna. Our taverna. Maybe he was staying there too…
Brilliant! I sat up and started to gather my things together.
Once back at the taverna, I was half-expecting to find my bronzed windsurfer sitting there, having a drink after his sail, maybe. I ran my fingers through my hair and just prayed I hadn’t burnt myself red as beetroot. But he wasn’t on the terrace. I caught sight of him walking down the path between the vines with a towel round his neck. So he was staying here. Excellent!
Then I suddenly had an awful thought. Oh my God, what if Mum had found somewhere else to stay? Nightmare! Oh curses and damnation! Why had I been such a pain about wanting to move on? It wasn’t such a bad place. I mean, one beach in Greece is very much like another, isn’t it? And the taverna was so cheap. A real bargain. There might even be some money left over for windsurfing and I could start to learn and…
But Mum wasn’t back yet. Did that mean she was still searching – fruitlessly? Or was she held up looking at rooms – fixing up the details – oh pl-ease!
I went into the bathroom wishing there was some magical method of thought-tranference by which I could bring her back. Our shower was working again and wonders will never cease – the water was actually hot.
I had a really good shower and washed my hair. My skin stung as the hot water ran down it. I had overdone it. I just prayed it wouldn’t all peel off before I had a chance to tan. I’d have to be really careful tomorrow.
After my shower, I dressed in my most favourite T-shirt and the pair of jeans that made my legs look longest and went out on to the terrace.
The sun was dipping towards the horizon and promising a pretty spectacular sunset. The evening light shone through the vines, casting dancing shadows across the terrace. The faded blue tables and ancient wicker chairs looked kind of rustic and picturesque.
I sat down at a table nearest the sunset. Even the dredger looked somehow glamorous in this light. The low sun had lit up all its rust, turning it a dramatic burnt ginger colour.
The Old Rogue came out of the kitchen wearing a clean vest.
‘You want drink, yes?’
‘Yes please. Orange.’
‘Portocalada?’
‘Is that orange?’
‘Yes. Greek for orange.’
‘Portocalada?’
‘Yes, good!’ he smiled. He was in a much better mood today. He held out a hand. ‘Stavros,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Lucy – very nice.’
He was a long time bringing my orange, but when he came back he was carrying a plate as well, with what looked like crispy fried onion rings with a slice of lemon on them.
‘For you, on the house,’ he said.
‘Oh thank you. What are they?’
‘Mezze,’ he said. ‘Good – eat!’
I tasted one. They were hot and crispy and delicious.
‘Good, yes?’ he said, watching me.
‘Very good,’ I agreed.
He was going to be ever so disappointed if we moved on. We’d really be letting him down. I smiled and nodded and sipped my drink and indulged in a silent prayer that Mum had found nothing but chicken-pens and and five-star rip-offs on her search.
Stavros waved an arm towards the sunset.
‘Beautiful, yes?’ he said proudly as if it was his very own sunset ‘on the house’.
‘Fantastic!’ I agreed.
‘Best sunset view in the island,’ he said, and he made his way off back to his kitchen.
It really was, too. A narrow band of cloud was hovering above the horizon, splitting the sunlight into great golden shafts like you see in old-fashioned religious pictures. It was incredible. I mean, Stavros was right. This headland must be the very best place in the whole island to watch the sunset.
As I sipped my drink I heard footsteps on the gravel. I steeled myself to confront Mum. But it wasn’t Mum. It was him… the windsurfer. He did a double-take when he saw me – almost dropped the package he was carrying.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ I said, in what I hoped was a suitably cool and laid-back voice.
Then he made off down some steps behind the taverna and I heard a door slam. He was staying here. There was no question about it.
There was no way I was going to move on now. My mind raced. How was I going to persuade Mum to stay? Well, there was the sunset for a start.
I climbed down the few steps from the terrace and on to the headland to get an even better view of the last moments. It was only a few metres to a rocky outcrop that stood at the furthest tip. Standing there was like standing on top of the world. I was sandwiched between sea and sky, and the two of them were putting on a performance that was like the biggest firework display and the most dramatic laser show ever.
The clouds were tinted violet and the sun had turned into a great molten ball of fire, sliding down the sky. As the last liquid orange glob of it slipped down into the inky sea I heard Mum’s voice, calling:
‘Lucy… Lucy!’
She was back.
Making my way across to the terrace, I prepared myself for a forceful introduction to a change of plan.
She dumped her bag down on the table. She looked hot and tired. She didn’t look as if she’d had a lot of luck!
I slid on to a chair opposite her.
‘Phew, what an afternoon!’ she said. (I felt sure she hadn’t found anywhere.) But then she leaned forward with a triumphant look on her face.
‘It’s all settled. I’ve found a fabulous place. You’ll love it.’
Chapter Four
‘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.’