by Chloe Rayban
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?’
While we listened they started up again.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe there’s one of them – like the boss. A kind of bumped up orchestral-conductor cricket who’s in charge.’
‘No, I think it’s more likely to be because of predators.’
‘Predators?’
‘Yes. If you really listen, there comes a point when they’re all starting to go quiet. Imagine you’re a cricket and you suddenly become aware of it. You don’t want to be the last one to chirp, or you’ll get noticed and nabbed… by a predator.’
‘You think?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Then why do they start up again?’
He was right. This is where the theory fell down.
‘Maybe it’s a mistake. Perhaps some inexperienced cricket kind of can’t stop himself. You know, like when you’re singing at school and you come in at the wrong moment and all eyes turn on you…’
‘And then all the others feel – like it’s safe to join in?’
‘Exactly.’
‘No. I think you’re wrong. It’s nothing to do with predators.’
‘What is it then?’
He looked embarrassed for some reason.
‘There it is again. They’ve stopped,’ he said.
We were both standing listening for the first one to start up again, concentrating hard and kind of staring at each other – you know the way you do when you’re listening. He was looking me straight in the eyes.
People talk about a glance being electric. It’s an understatement. This was more like nuclear fission. I reckon if someone had put a quark between us, we could have split it.
And then a single cricket started up, nearby, breaking the spell.
‘There it is,’ said Ben, looking away. ‘It’s in that tree.’
‘So you see what I mean?’ My voice kind of shook.
‘Yeah. When there’s only one, you can kind of home in on it.’
He came a step closer as he said this.
‘Mmm.’
I took a step back.
I felt sort of odd as we walked back down the path. I went on ahead. Mum was still in bed when I got back. She looked up from her pillow and smiled that Mona Lisa smile of hers. You know, sometimes I wonder if she’s psychic.
‘What happened? Have the clocks gone forward and no-one’s told me?’
‘I just felt like getting up early, that’s all.’
‘That’s not like you.’
I sat down on my bed. ‘I was going to have a swim actually, but the sea felt a bit cold.’
‘You? Having a swim, before breakfast!’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Come on Lucy. Normally, this time of the morning, you’re in a persistent vegetative state.’
‘It’s so lovely here, that’s all.’ I brushed my hair out of my eyes and concentrated hard on staring out of the window. ‘Why aren’t you up anyway?’
‘I felt lazy.’
‘Slug!’ I said. It was her favourite nickname for me when I was vegging out. ‘Do you want breakfast in bed?’
‘Mmm. Bring me a lettuce leaf.’
‘Ben’s just brought bread, hot from the bakery. He ran all the way.’
‘Oh did he now? How do you know?’
‘I met him…’ I’d fallen straight into her trap. ‘I met him, by chance, on the goat track.’
‘In that case I’d better get up,’ said Mum. ‘Wouldn’t want to waste all that effort.’
Ben brought us a really nice breakfast. Fresh bread with butter and honey. Proper breakfast orange juice and coffee.
‘There you are,’ I said to Mum, triumphantly. ‘That’s a much better breakfast than we had at the other place.’
‘Mmm, things have certainly changed for the better round here,’ she agreed. And she cast a half-amused glance in Ben’s direction.
I ignored her comment. Instead I turned my attention on to a group of cats who were sitting at a polite distance, eyeing our plates. There were three of them – almost full-grown kittens. Young cats at the age when they’re at their hungriest.
By the way they sat together so peacefully, I could tell they were a family. They were obviously weaned – their mother was lying some way off, contentedly washing. She was one of those cats nature had made a complete mess of – mainly white with asymmetric blotches of tabby on her. Which was odd because all the kittens were perfect specimens – one pure white, another a tiger-striped tabby and the third a picture-book ginger cat.
I was trying to work out how a mother cat like that could have such an unlikely litter. I’d been doing this project on genetics for Biology. I had six white mouse females and two white and two brown mouse males, and I was attempting to make a graph to demonstrate how many different coloured mice came out of each generation. I was halfway through the project when one of my brown mice, Benjie, had escaped and spent a night of bliss with all the white females and totally thrown all my calculations.
But what intrigued me about the cats was how something as seemingly superficial as fur colouring could be passed down absolutely perfectly like that, through a real mess of a mother.
‘Penny for them?’ said Mum.
‘I was just wondering how such perfect kittens came from such a dreadful-looking mother.’
Mum looked at me sideways. ‘It has been known.’
I suddenly had an awful feeling that this was a really tactless comment. I mean, Mum’s really nice-looking. She’s not fat or anything, she’s got a really nice figure for her age and she looks great w
hen she’s not got her glasses on and she’s happy and dressed up and going out.
‘Oh Mum, honestly. Don’t be daft. You are the best-looking Mum in my class. Everyone says so.’
‘Oh do they?’
‘Yes.’ I was about to add that I bet she’d find a really great new man soon, but something stopped me – it didn’t seem the right time somehow.
‘Well it’s nice of you to say so.’
That thin-lipped look of hers had come back again. I thought of her and Dad. I thought of the wedding photo that used to be in a frame in their bedroom. The one she’d put away somewhere and said she couldn’t find. She’d looked oddly unreal in it – not like Mum at all, dressed up in white like that. And now Dad was marrying someone else. It gave me a really bad sick feeling inside every time I thought about Dad marrying Sue.
And it must be beastly for Mum – much, much worse. I remembered that electrical feeling in the olive grove. She must’ve felt like that once. How could she live without it? I mean, seeing young people around like Ben and me, it must really rub it in. I made a resolution to keep whatever happened between us well out of her way. It would be kinder really.
Chapter Nine
Ben was working on the beach when we went down for a swim. Stavros was sitting by the shack reading a paper and smoking cigarettes, giving Ben the occasional grunted order. Honestly, it wasn’t fair – he seemed to expect Ben to do all the work.
That morning Ben had to uproot all the parasols that were planted along the beach and lug them up the steps. They were terrible old things, spotted with black mould and with half their ribs broken. Mum and I had taken one look at them and decided we’d be better off without one.
I felt really self-conscious lying on the beach doing nothing while he worked like that. I listened to all my tapes and had a few swims. I was feeling a bit bored really. Eventually Ben disappeared up the steps with the last load of parasols and didn’t come back again.
Stavros seemed to have fallen asleep in his deck chair. I wondered what Ben was doing up at the taverna. I made an excuse to Mum that I was going up to our room for my book.
Ben’s door was open and I could hear him moving around inside. I tiptoed over to it.
‘Hi!’
I peered around the door and got the shock of my life.
But I wasn’t as scared as the boy inside. It was the boy who’d carried our suitcases. He was crouching in the shadows, looked even shabbier than when I’d last seen him – looked as if he’d been sleeping in his clothes. By his expression, I assumed he was up to no good.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
He didn’t answer – he just stared at me, terrified.
‘What are you doing in there?’ I demanded. I wondered where Ben was. Maybe I should shout or scream. But the boy looked so scared I didn’t have the heart to.
‘Please lady – is my room,’ he said.
‘No it’s not. It’s Ben’s room.’
‘Was my room,’ he corrected himself. ‘When I work here.’
‘You worked here?’
‘Yes, before him – the English boy.’
‘So what are you doing here now?’
‘I look for my knife – my knife is here, I know,’ he continued. ‘Don’t tell. Please?’
He was edging his way out of the room, trying to get past me.
‘How do I know you haven’t stolen something?’
‘No…’ his eyes blazed. He flared up: ‘It is he who is thief. He take my job!’
‘Who… Ben?’
‘Yes… He sleep here… Eat here, no pay. He speak good English. Stavros like. He give him my job.’
‘But that’s awful.’
He shrugged.
‘I go now. Don’t tell,’ he whispered.
I decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. It seemed a very odd excuse for a burglar, so I moved aside to let him pass.
‘I hope you find your knife,’ I said.
He nodded, slipped silently across the terrace and disappeared from sight through the vineyard.
I went to my room and looked for my book. My mind was racing. Would Ben do something as low as that? Do a poor boy out of a job? I remembered the gleam in Ben’s eye when he said: ‘I’d do anything, if it meant that I could sail.’ Boys were like that. They could be obsessive about things like sport. But he’d seemed such a nice guy. Maybe the Albanian boy had made up the story. But what a strange thing to make up.
My book wasn’t on the rickety table and it wasn’t underneath the bed either. I had a half-hearted rake through my backpack but it wasn’t in there. Maybe I’d put it in the bag with the swimming things after all.
I went back to the beach. Stavros had gone off somewhere, his deckchair was empty. And Ben was nowhere to be seen.
I flopped down on my towel feeling really hot and confused. My book wasn’t in the beach bag. Irritatingly enough, Mum was totally absorbed in hers.
‘Have you seen my book?’
‘Hmm what? – no.’
‘Bother – must’ve left it at the last place.’
‘Oh honestly, Lucy.’
‘It was only a paperback.’
‘Still.’
I stretched out again, turned my tape over and listened to it with one eye on the flight of steps, expecting Ben to appear at any moment. Sure enough, after a few minutes, I heard his footsteps coming two at a time down to the beach.
He glanced over, grinned at me and then made for a deckchair. I watched as he got in a muddle with the back bits, trying to adjust the chair to a more comfortable angle. He didn’t seem the kind of person who would do a half-starved boy out of work. But how could you tell? I didn’t know what to believe.
I watched him assessingly as he got out a book and started reading. He turned a page and laughed to himself. No, he really didn’t look capable of doing anything mean or underhand.
I cast a glance up at the taverna to see if Stavros was looking down. He wasn’t, so I got to my feet and wandered over to Ben.
‘What are you reading?’
‘My Family and Other Animals.’
It was my book. He’d nicked my book. And he didn’t look in the least bit guilty.
‘Where did you find that?’
‘Someone must’ve left it on the wall.’
‘They did – me.’
‘Oh, look, sorry – take it – I had no idea.’
He stared up at me with those wonderful grey-green eyes of his and smiled that gorgeous open smile. He was just such a babe. How could I suspect him of anything…?
‘No honestly – you borrow it. I’ve hardly started it,’ I backtracked.
‘No really – take it back.’
‘No, I don’t want it. I’d like you to have it. Mum’s brought plenty of other books.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘It’s about this boy living on a Greek island and the animals he finds and his family and it’s really funny.’
‘Sounds great.’ He was looking at me like that again. I was convinced now – there was absolutely no way this guy could be anything less than perfect.
‘Just let me have it back when you’ve finished,’ I said.
‘Thanks.’
We kind of ran out of things to say at that point and I stood there feeling awkward. And then I caught sight of the Albanian boy again. He was running up the beach with a dog. They were playing some kind of game – he was just a kid. I remembered his face as he begged me: ‘Please don’t tell.’
The nagging doubt came back like an evil shadow in the corner of my mind.
‘Do you know that boy?’ I asked.
‘What boy?’
I pointed him out.
‘Oh him, yeah – kind of.’ (He was being dead suspicious about him.)
‘Is he Albanian? Mum says he is.’
‘Yeah, she’s right.’
‘He’s always hanging around. Hasn’t he got anywhere to live?’ I prompted.
Ben frowned. �
�Search me. Why do you want to know?’
‘He carried our suitcases. He’s really thin and he looks dead poor.’ (I was really laying it on.) ‘I just wondered…’
‘There are loads of Albanians around. The Greeks use them as cheap labour.’ (This sounded really heartless. Maybe Ben had pushed him out of his job!)
‘No-one’s using him,’ I said pointedly. ‘He doesn’t seem to have anything to do.’
‘No.’ Ben looked uncomfortable. He cast an anxious glance up at the taverna. He obviously wanted to drop the subject.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble,’ I said, giving him a very straight look.
He totally misinterpreted the look. Would you believe it? He took it as a come on. The arrogance of the guy!
He came out with one of those exasperating male invitations – you know the kind – totally non-committal, so you’ve no idea whether they’re asking you out or not.
‘I was thinking of trying out a club in the next bay tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s not much of a place but it might be good for a laugh.’
‘Really?’ I said. And waited for him to be more specific. Typically, no more was forthcoming – so I added: ‘Well have a good time. Let me know what it’s like.’ And turned and walked back to Mum.
Mum propped herself up on one elbow. ‘What was all that about?’
‘I lent him my book, that’s all.’
‘I thought you’d lost it.’
‘So did I, but he had it.’
‘So what are you going to read?’
‘I don’t feel like reading anyway.’ I stretched out and turned on my Walkman.
I was fed up with this tape, I’d heard enough of it.
I watched Ben through half-closed eyes. He turned another page of my book and shook his head and chuckled to himself.