Footprints in the Sand (Back-2-Back, Book 1)

by Chloe Rayban

  ‘To every Albanian then…’

  ‘Lucy… Don’t you read the papers? Those people – they don’t have anything.’

  ‘Oh honestly, Mum.’

  ‘Honestly what?’

  ‘You exaggerate. He’s probably got a job. He may even work at the taverna…’

  An awful thought struck me. What if Ben had left? What if that boy had got Ben’s job? Maybe he’d been sent to wait at the bus stop and drum up trade for the Old Rogue – Stavros.

  ‘Come on, we’d better go and see if we can get our room back,’ said Mum.

  I brushed my hair out of my eyes and followed Mum with a thumping heart. Stavros was sitting alone at a table on the terrace. Ben was nowhere to be seen. The minute Stavros caught sight of us he leapt to his feet.

  ‘You come back!’ he said, waving his arms about in a wild greeting. ‘You no find other place nothing like Paradisos – no?’

  ‘No,’ said Mum. ‘I mean yes, we’ve come back. I hope you have a room free?’

  ‘I have room, your room yes? Best room in the taverna. You like, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum.

  ‘We like very much.’

  ‘You like views – quiet, peace, eh?’

  The dredger let loose a joyful welcoming cascade of gravel.

  ‘Umm, quite,’ said Mum suppressing a smile.

  ‘Oh they not work long. They go. Very soon,’ said Stavros with a dismissive wave towards the bay. ‘Bad for business.’

  ‘We really don’t mind,’ I said.

  ‘Siddown,’ said Stavros. ‘You have drinkses. On the house.’

  I sat down and cast a searching glance towards the kitchen. At any moment Ben would come out with a tray in his hand and give me that wicked smile of his. I waited.

  ‘Whaddya want?’ asked Stavros.

  Ben didn’t come out. Stavros went to get the drinks himself, and I realised with a sinking feeling that Ben wasn’t there. But maybe he was out windsurfing. He must get some time off during the day.

  Ben didn’t come back while we were having lunch either. And he still wasn’t there when we took our bags to our room and started to unpack.

  Mum threw the shutters open wide while we did so.

  ‘Lovely,’ she sighed.

  I gazed past her. There was a really good view of the bay but I couldn’t see a windsurfer out there.

  ‘It really is such a nice room,’ said Mum, unzipping her suitcase.

  ‘Mmmm.’

  I stood at the window, scanning the sea for a glimpse of a pink and blue sail. The sea was a milky blue in the harsh midday sun. Maybe the sun was too hot for windsurfing. The dredger had fallen silent – the workers must’ve knocked off for the day.

  ‘I wonder what happened to that English boy,’ mused Mum. As if she’d read my mind.

  ‘What English boy?’ I asked innocently.

  Mum stood holding up her sundress and examining it for creases.

  ‘The one we had to come back for,’ she said, without looking at me.

  ‘Oh Mum, honestly.’

  ‘Well, I hope we haven’t come all the way back for nothing.’

  Chapter Six

  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?’

  Chapter Seven

  He didn’t walk all the way back to the taverna with me. He stopped at the foot of the steps and said in a kind of embarrassed voice:

  ‘You go up first.’

  ‘And he’s got manners too!’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Stavros, the guy who runs the taverna – he says I’m not meant to socialize with the guests.’

  ‘We were only walking up the beach. I’d hardly call that socializing.’

  ‘No, he’s like that. Doesn’t even want me talking to people.’

  ‘That’s a bit heavy. How are you meant to communicate?’

  ‘I take all the orders in sign language.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Go on. Go ahead. I’ll give you five minutes, then follow.’

  I walked up the steps, only too conscious of him watching me. I mean, he was trying to pretend he wasn’t, but I could tell he was. I felt kind of flattered and embarrassed at the same time. I came to the top of the steps to find Mum was up and sitting at a table on the terrace, reading.

  She looked up from her book.

  ‘Where’ve you been? You look pleased with yourself.’

  I flopped down on a chair beside her.

  ‘Just for a walk down the beach. I’m really thirsty. Do you think we could order some drinks?’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Anyone? Like who?’ I ignored Mum’s expression and got up and went over to the kitchen.

  I poked my head around the door but Stavros wasn’t in there. ‘Do you think Stavros’d mind if I helped myself from the fridge and paid him back later?’

  Mum wasn’t listening. She was looking over at Ben, who was standing at the top of the steps, silhouetted against the low evening sun.

  ‘Someone trying to do me out of a job?’ he asked.

  ‘Hello,’ said Mum.

  ‘We thought you must’ve left.’

  (How could she? She’d made it so obvious we’d been talking about him. I could have killed her.)

  ‘I had a few things to do in town. Then soon as I got back, the wind was absolutely perfect…’

  ‘For windsurfing? So it was you we’ve been watching, out in the bay with the pink and blue sail…’

  ‘Yeah. Must’ve been.’

  ‘Please, do you think I could have a drink?’ I interrupted Mum before she could give him a total rundown of every single movement we’d seen him make.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  I thought I’d impress him with my Greek. ‘Portocalada?’

  ‘Coming up.’

  ‘And I’d love a cold white wine,’ said Mum.

  ‘Oh, and could we have some of those yummy onion rings as well?’

  ‘Onion rings?’

  ‘You know the ones Stavros does, all hot and crispy with a slice of lemon?’

  He grinned. ‘Those aren’t onion rings.’

  ‘What are they then?’

  ‘Kalamari.’

  ‘Kala – what?’

  ‘Squid.’

  ‘Squid? Oh that is so disgusting!’

  ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘It is. Yukk – to think that I ate squid!’

  Mum and Ben cracked up. Don’t you just hate that, when you’ve made a real fool of yourself and other people laugh at you – kind of indulgently? They both seemed to think it was a great joke.

  ‘So what are you doing here? Working in a place like this?’ asked Mum, when Ben returned with the drinks.

&nbs
p; ‘The money’s not much, but I took the job because Stavros said I could use the boards for free in the afternoon.’

  ‘You’re pretty keen, aren’t you?’

  ‘On windsurfing? Yeah, I’d do anything, if it meant that I could sail.’

  I wished Mum wouldn’t go on like this. Why does she always have to talk to boys – to show so much interest. It was so un-cool. I pretended not to be listening and looked out to sea.

  ‘You weren’t very friendly,’ commented Mum when we returned to our room.

  ‘Well, you were. Far too friendly,’ I retorted.

  ‘He seems a nice boy.’

  ‘He’s all right, I suppose.’

  She looked at me assessingly. ‘All right. Enough said. Let’s eat down at the harbour tonight. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.’

  ‘What d’you mean – cramp my style?’

  ‘I’m obviously being a real embarrassment to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you want to shower first or shall I?’

  Chapter Eight

  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.