by Chloe Rayban
‘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.’
Chapter Five
So we went back the following morning. Mum didn’t even seem to mind about losing the money she’d paid for the second night. And she didn’t want a swim either, so we left straight after breakfast.
We saw the bus coming as we finished our coffee and had to run for it across the olive grove.
The bus driver waited for us, grinning and honking his horn in a teasing manner. Mum and I flopped down in the front seats.
‘Two please, to Paradiso,’ said Mum.
‘To Paradiso!’ said the bus driver. ‘You go back?’
He winked at me. It was the guy who’d driven us here. It was such a small island he obviously recognised all his passengers. It was a nice feeling actually.
‘Yes,’ said Mum.
‘Ahhh! Paradiso. Paradise! Yes?’
‘Yes – I know.’
He leaned forward and switched on his radio full blast, and we set off with the sun glinting through the trees and the music clattering in our ears and the sea dreamily blue in the fresh morning light.
We drove back through the villages we’d passed on the way. Maybe it was the direction of the sun or something, but in the morning light, those villages looked completely different. Between the whitewashed houses, there were flowering plants brightening the place up with totally improbable splashes of colour, colour that plants simply don’t have back home. All the mad old ladies had disappeared and been replaced by younger women who had baskets of bread on their arms. And there were loads of children around, and contented-looking cats and well-fed dogs. And even the men sitting outside the cafés smoking and chatting had a kind of festive look about them, as if they were on holiday like us. I wondered how it could all look so different.
‘Maybe we should have rung first. What if he hasn’t got a room free?’ Mum interrupted my train of thought.
‘Oh no, I’m sure he will have.’
‘I think we should stop off at the next village and check. It’ll be a waste of time going all that way back if he hasn’t.’
I’d been dreading this. What if the rooms were let – they couldn’t be! No way! The very idea of not getting back to the Paradisos after all this effort – it was unthinkable!
‘Mum. Who else in their right mind would want to stay at the Paradisos?’
‘Yes, I suppose you’ve got a point there.’
It was about twelve by the time we reached the square above the taverna. The bus juddered to a halt, and with a gentle sigh of the power brakes, the doors swung open. The dog was still basking, but he’d moved out of the sun and into the shade. The donkey was still there – I could hear it braying a hilarious greeting in the distance. The sun was so bright on the chapel, you couldn’t see the flaking paint. Even the shop with its dusty display of out-of-date Hello magazines and battered sun-hats looked somehow welcoming.
The driver climbed out of the bus and hauled our luggage on to the cobbles.
‘Ahhh,’ he said, stretching out his arms as if encompassing the view of the bay. ‘Paradise!’
‘Mmmm,’ agreed Mum. ‘Isn’t it just.�
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We were about to start the trek with our luggage, back down the goat path, when a figure shot out of the shadow of the chapel.
‘No,’ he said.
‘I carry bags for you.’
It was a skinny boy of about fifteen or so. He was wearing peculiar old-fashioned trousers made of cheap material and one of those tourist T-shirts they gave out free at the Tourist Office with the picture and the slogan on it – the one we’d cracked up about. You’ll learn to love Lexos.
He took Mum’s suitcase out of her hands and made a grab for my backpack.
‘No it’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can manage.’
But Mum said: ‘Let him, Lucy.’
The boy lifted Mum’s suitcase on to one shoulder and flung my backpack over the other. He put out a hand for the beach bag I was carrying too. But I shook my head, he was smaller than me. As we followed behind him, I thought Mum was being really crazy. We were on a really strict budget, it didn’t allow for luxuries like porters.
The poor kid was so puny too – I wondered how he could support the weight of luggage from both of us. But he went at quite a pace on the rough track as if he was used to it.
Carefully selecting a clean place, he put Mum’s suitcase down at the top of the steps that led to the taverna and placed my backpack beside it.
Mum was scrabbling in her purse. She came out with a one thousand drachma note and handed it to him. I frowned at her. Typical – she was getting all mixed up with the noughts again.
The boy took the note and hesitated.
‘Yes, take it, thank you. That’s fine,’ said Mum.
He cast a wary glance towards the taverna entrance and then made off.
‘Mum!’ I exclaimed. ‘That was worth over two pounds.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you see? He looked half-starved.’
‘Yes I did. I don’t know why you let him take our stuff in the first place. Honestly, two pounds for carrying a suitcase fifty metres? I thought we were meant to be on a budget. If you’re going to give hand-outs to every Greek…’
‘He wasn’t Greek. He was Albanian.’
‘How do you know?’
‘His accent. It wasn’t Greek.’