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

by Chloe Rayban

  I would have liked to go out to a club as a matter of fact. Oh bother, bother, bother, bother, bollocks!! Why is life so-oo complicated?

  Chapter Ten

  I stood in the shower allowing the water to wash through my hair and down my body. I was thinking about men.

  Why did it always have to be like this? You meet a boy and you think he’s the greatest thing that ever happened to you. And then, as you get to know him better, you find out what he’s really like. And he’s never anywhere near as great as you thought he was. At least, that’s what had happened with all the boys I’d fancied before. But I’d thought Ben was different. It was just so-oo bugging!

  I stood there cursing myself for not taking him up on the offer. That’s if it had been an offer. How was I going get to know what he was like if I was never alone with him? I had Stavros on one side and Mum on the other, like a couple of jailers. I should’ve said I’d go along with him tonight. I didn’t have to stick with him all evening. Now it was too late.

  Or was it? Maybe if I hung around later, when he was leaving, I could just casually disappear with him. That’s if we could give Stavros the slip and I could get Mum to agree. Mum was dead funny about clubs. There were certain ones she wouldn’t let me go near.

  ‘Are you using all the hot water in there?’ Mum’s voice came through the door.

  I turned the shower off.

  ‘No – I ’spose not.’

  ‘Good. Then you can rinse these out,’ she said, handing me our swim things. I rinsed the salt water out of them and then went out on to the balcony to hang them up.

  Ben was out there, kind of hovering. Was he waiting for me? I shot him an uncertain smile. He raised a hand but he didn’t say anything. My mind was going round in circles. I had no idea where I stood.

  Mum wanted to have dinner at the harbour again – I reckon she’d got addicted to fish. I said I wanted one of Stavros’s omelettes, but she said if we ate another one we’d get terminally egg-bound. So she won in the end.

  I wasn’t wildly hungry, and after eating half of my spinach pie, I thrust it aside. Mum ate all of her meal and then ordered another glass of wine.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘These chairs. They’re really uncomfortable. Don’t you hate the way they cut into you?’

  ‘Mine doesn’t.’

  ‘Maybe you’re better padded.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’

  ‘How long do you want to sit here?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. There’s nothing else to do, is there?’

  ‘No, I ’spose not.’

  ‘Well, is there?’

  ‘Apparently there some sort of club in the next bay.’

  ‘Club? What sort of club?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know – open air. They have music and stuff.’

  ‘What sort of music?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Lucy, I hope you haven’t come all this way to have your eardrums blasted by some sort of heavy metal…’

  ‘Heavy metal’s really passé, Mum…’

  ‘Well some sort of amplified rubbish.’

  ‘Do you really expect me to just sit here, doing nothing every night?’

  ‘How did you hear about this club, anyway?’

  ‘Ben mentioned it.’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Mum looked at me with her head on one side. ‘Oh dear. I suppose it is a bit boring for you, isn’t it?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Well, why don’t we go then?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  ‘You don’t want to come, do you?’

  ‘Well you can hardly go on your own, can you?’

  ‘But you’d hate it. There’s bound to be really loud music…’

  ‘No I wouldn’t!’

  ‘But Mum…’

  ‘Come on Lucy. You said I ought to break out a bit. You never know, I might meet some dark romantic Greek – remember Shirley Valentine?’

  I reckon the wine had got to her again. This was totally unlike Mum. She was already calling for the bill. She really seemed keen on the idea of the club for some reason.

  I followed her back up the steps to the taverna, racking my brains for some way to put her off. Ben wasn’t around any longer. I wondered if he’d already left. Mum was unlocking our door – she seemed really excited about going out.

  ‘What shall I wear?’ she asked, searching through the stuff she had hanging from the peg on the wall. She took down her sundress.

  ‘You can’t wear that.’

  ‘Too creased?’

  ‘No-one wears dresses to clubs.’

  ‘Well if you think I’m going to dress up like some teenager… Maybe I should wear these…’

  She brought out her really gross patterned leggings. I’d loathed them from the start and now they were years out of date.

  ‘No, wear the dress if you like. I’m sure no-one’ll notice. It’ll probably be really dark in there. And smoky,’ I added, still hoping to put her off.

  ‘Rubbish. I thought you said it was in the open air.’

  ‘Well open air-ish. Anyway – how are we meant to get there?’

  She raked in her purse and drew out the card of the taxi company. ‘We’ll call Manos – good thing I kept his card.’

  My heart sank even further.

  Chapter Eleven

  Manos picked us up from the square. Mum had put make-up on and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. It was a nice sundress, not flowery or anything, a kind of dark terracotta colour – it suited her. In fact, she really looked quite good.

  I was wearing my jeans and my non-flattening T-shirt. I lingered in the room as long as possible, putting on my make-up in slow motion. I was hoping against hope that Mum would have some last minute doubts and decide she didn’t want to come.

  But no, there was a series of hoots from the square and Mum announced that the cab had arrived. Manos was leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette, waiting for us.

  ‘You go out?’ he said to Mum.

  ‘Mmm – we thought we’d try a spot of nightlife.’

  (A spot of nightlife! Pl-ease, Mum.)

  ‘Very good,’ he said as he opened the door for her. ‘VIP Club. First class. Five star.’ And he turned to me with a grin and a wink and added: ‘Lots of young people. Co-ol.’

  ‘Oh good,’ I said with a grimace. ‘That’ll be nice.’

  I could really picture myself, sitting at a table with Mum, being the last word in ‘co-ol’.

  It must’ve been round about nine pm when we drew up outside the club. As the cab slowed to a stop, Mum suddenly said: ‘Oh look Lucy. Look who’s over there.’

  I shrank into a corner, trying to make myself invisible. But it wasn’t Ben. It was the Albanian boy. He was leaning over a wall and people were gathering around.

  ‘What’s he doing? I can’t see without my glasses.’

  ‘Umm – he’s got some sort of fruit. I think he’s trying to sell it.’

  Mum groped in her purse. ‘Take this, buy us some, whatever it is.’

  I left Mum to pay the fare and went over to the boy.

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Hello lady,’ he said.

  ‘Not lady. Lucy,’ I said.

  ‘Lu-cy,’ he said with a shy smile and he pointed to himself. ‘Ari.’

  ‘Hi Ari… What have you got there?’

  ‘Fragosika. Taste good. Have some.’

  They were the fruit of the prickly pear – the cactus I’d seen growing wild all over the island. He must’ve been out gathering them in spite of their lethal prickles. I’d no idea they were edible.

  Deftly he split one open and held it out to me.

  ‘Oh, so you found your knife?’

  ‘I get it back, from the English boy,’ he said in a superior manner. By the way he said it, he obviously didn’t think much of Ben. Or maybe he was just trying to stand up for himself, the way boys do. Sometimes they
were so difficult to understand.

  He wrapped the fruit in a leaf and I carried it over to Mum. She was standing peering through the entrance to the club – it looked deserted.

  ‘There you are,’ I said. ‘We’re way too early. It’s not even open yet. We’d better go back to the taverna.’

  But Manos was on Mum’s side. ‘The club is open, yes. Look, very nice. Co-ol.’

  ‘He’s right. There are some people dancing in there,’ agreed Mum.

  I leaned over her shoulder and peered into the gloom. There was a lone couple on the dance floor. A really fat lady and a little bald man who came up to about her cleavage. They were slow-dancing to a Frank Sinatra number.

  ‘Oh, it looks really gross. Let’s go back.’

  ‘No, don’t be silly. We might as well have a drink now we’ve come,’ said Mum. ‘At least the music isn’t too loud.’

  ‘Quite!’

  ‘Come in ladies. Ladies free tonight,’ said a voice. A Greek guy popped up out of nowhere, making over-the-top welcoming gestures. This offer sealed my fate.

  ‘See?’ said Mum. ‘We might as well stay for a drink while we’re here. Come on Lucy. It’ll be a laugh.’

  She was already negotiating with Manos to come and pick us up at eleven pm. I stood there helplessly as he nodded and shook hands and then drove off into the night.

  Mum and I were shown to a table like royalty. I managed to steer her away from one right beside the dance floor and chose another further back in the shadows.

  I unwrapped the fruit and she helped herself.

  ‘Mmm, delicious,’ she said. ‘We used to eat these when we were in Greece. I’d totally forgotten the taste.’

  ‘You and Dad?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  The fruit was red and sweet and kind of gritty. As I ate it, that photo of Mum and Dad on the mopeds flashed through my mind. I decided to make the best of the evening – for her sake.

  She lashed out on the drinks. She ordered a really exotic cocktail for herself and something called a ‘Tropical Dream’ for me – a mixture of different kinds of fruit juice with grenadine. They came complete with a cringe-making display of cherries and umbrellas.

  ‘Oh, isn’t this fun,’ said Mum, sipping from her straw.

  Another couple had risen from their table and joined the first lot on the dance floor. The music suddenly switched from Frank Sinatra to Abba and the four of them began to wiggle random parts of their bodies in a grotesque imitation of dancing. I caught Mum’s eye and we both cracked up.

  ‘So which one do you fancy?’ I asked her. ‘The little bald one, or the big one with the paunch? Oh no – hang on… Here comes the talent. Wow, you’re going to be totally spoilt for choice now.’

  A group of middle-aged Greek blokes had come in through the gate. They didn’t have any women with them.

  I nudged her. ‘What are you going to do if one of them asks you to dance?’ I whispered.

  ‘Dance of course,’ said Mum, taking another long sip of her cocktail. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh Mum – honestly.’

  I remembered the last time I’d seen Mum dance – that was embarrassing enough. The thought of her dancing to an Abba number, making an exhibition of herself and possibly Ben turning up… It didn’t bear thinking about.

  But the blokes didn’t seem too interested in Mum. They’d ordered a big bottle of ouzo, and one of them went over to the guy who was putting on the tapes and said something in his ear.

  Abba came to an abrupt stop right in the middle of Dancing Queen, and then the clatter of Greek folk music filled the air.

  Mum settled back into her chair with a sigh. ‘Oh this is more like it. This is the real Greece,’ she said.

  There was a lot of toasting and cheery laughter coming from the men’s table, and then a group of them got up.

  ‘They’re going to dance,’ said Mum. ‘You watch.’

  It was a really old man who started. Must’ve been at least seventy, but he moved with incredible agility. The others paused and clapped as he raised his arms and bent his knees and swayed to the music. The guys formed a circle round him and stood cheering and hissing – but in an appreciative way, not like people hiss back home. And then another of the men joined in, bending and swinging and leaping. One by one the dancers wove themselves into the circle, all in perfect time with the old man who was still going strong in the middle, dancing like a fellow half his age.

  ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ said Mum in my ear.

  ‘Mmm – why aren’t there any women with them?’

  ‘This is a man’s dance.’

  I looked around. Come to think of it, there didn’t seem to be any Greek women in the club at all.

  ‘Where are all the women, anyway?’

  ‘At home, with the children.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem fair.’

  ‘I suppose it’s not much different from blokes going down to the pub in England.’

  ‘That’s never seemed fair to me either.’

  That’s how it had started with Dad. He used to go to the pub to meet friends, leaving Mum behind with me. And then he was out more and more. Eventually, he hardly came home in the evenings at all. And then they broke the news to me that they were separating…

  Maybe all males were like that? Like it was some sort of unwritten law of nature, or something. Most male animals went off and left their females stuck down holes or up trees or in nests or wherever, to bring up their young. Apart maybe from… was it male sticklebacks? Or was it sea-horses? I reckon, whatever the species, males had it all their own way. I don’t know why Mum had just accepted it. I wasn’t going to let what happened to her happen to me.

  Mum tugged at my arm. ‘Hey look Lucy – isn’t that Stavros?’

  ‘Where?’

  I made out his great sagging body standing at the edge of the dance. As we watched he joined in.

  ‘Well,’ said Mum. ‘Would you believe it? The immovable object has actually moved.’

  Stavros was obviously the star turn. As soon as he joined in, the others stepped out of the circle to allow for a solo. They were laughing and clapping and urging him on. The music got faster and faster with the bazouki clattering at a frantic tempo. Sweat was running down Stavros’ face, but however fast the music went, he kept up with it. His great body was flying around the circle now as if he was about to take off like a spinning top… and then suddenly with one leap he landed and the music stopped dead on the beat.

  He put up both arms for applause. A great roar went up from his audience. He turned and bowed, his face red and beaded with sweat but triumphant.

  The men had finished dancing and were returning to their table. But Mum was beckoning to Stavros.

  ‘Oh no Mum, don’t, please…’

  But it was too late. Stavros had spotted us. He came over immediately. ‘Good evening. Kalaniktasas! You like watch dance, eh?’

  ‘You were wonderful,’ said Mum. ‘Can I buy you a drink? What would you like?’

  ‘No no, I buy you ladies…’

  ‘No, I insist.’

  ‘Well, after dance… Maybe a beer. Thank you. May I siddown?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mum handed me her purse. ‘Lucy, go and get Stavros a beer and something for yourself, darling.’

  Great! Wonderful! That did it. Now, if Ben did turn up I’d have both of them to contend with. Stavros on one side keeping his beady eye on us, and Mum on the other being cringe-makingly encouraging. I took her purse and made off for the bar.

  It took ages to get the drinks. More people were arriving by the minute and a queue had built up. Younger people had started to seep through the doors. Sun-bronzed guys who looked like nicely laid-back backpackers, and cool-looking girls who weren’t with their mums.

  When I got back to the table. Mum and Stavros were deep in conversation.

  ‘Sorry I was so long.’

  Mum peered at her watch. ‘Oh my God. Completely forgot the time. The taxi should be back!�
��

  I barely had a chance to gulp down my drink before she was on her feet saying goodbye to Stavros. He was in a great mood – he even kissed her hand! And he insisted on escorting us right across the club and out through the doors to where Manos was waiting outside in the taxi.

  As we crossed the dance floor a really cool track came on and the lights were dimmed. All the older people seemed to have dematerialised and there was actually some talent on the dance floor. Typical, wasn’t it? Just when the place was starting to get a bit of life, I had to leave?

  I sat in the taxi feeling really pee’d off.

  Ben hadn’t even bothered to show up. Don’t you just hate that? When a guy says he’s going to be somewhere, and you wait around half the night expecting him to arrive – and he doesn’t?

  So much for our great night out!

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘What were you and Stavros talking about?’ I asked Mum in the car.

  ‘Oh he was telling me about Ben.’

  ‘Really? What about him?’

  I waited for her to go on, but Mum was scrabbling in her purse. ‘I do hope I’ve got the right change. How much do you think I should give as a tip?’

  I pulled out a hundred drachma note. ‘That should do it.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s enough?’

  ‘Yes. What was he saying about Ben?’

  ‘Oh, I said I thought it was a bit unusual having an English boy working for him.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And he told me how he’d turned up without any money. He’d had all his possessions stolen on the beach. Everything! He was absolutely penniless. Couldn’t pay his bill.’

  ‘Poor Stavros! That must’ve really got to him!’

  ‘No, but the thing was – Ben came back the next day. He’d borrowed the money and insisted on paying Stavros back. Now how many boys do you think would do that?’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘Not any.’

  I went to sleep feeling really good. I’d been right about Ben all along. Why had I ever had doubts? He was a good guy – and a babe – a total babe.

  The next morning I went out with my camera. Dad had given me this brilliant one for my fifteenth birthday. It had a zoom and everything. I think it was a bribe really. When he first started going out with Sue, he missed three Saturdays in a row which we were meant to spend together. I suppose he thought the camera would make up.